OF COURSE HE CAN HEAR HIM. He heard him every single time he left that strange little building he called home these days, every time he wandered along the misshapen streets of the slums in search of.. him. He heard every word he muttered, every breath he took, every familiar scratch of the massive sword on his back. The weapon that has changed hands so many times, gaining more value with each pair it rests in. Zack feels almost nostalgic looking at it, part of him even jealous, perhaps, wishing he could get it back and hold it one more time. But his time with it is over and it now belongs to Cloud, who might pass it on to someone else in his own time.
It felt like a game, luring him out, watching him try to catch up, but it’s obvious that Cloud is losing interest in playing. And, at the end of the day, that’s not what Zack is here for either - but it wasn’t all fun and games. He had to get Cloud’s attention without drawing anyone else’s, because after everything that happened, he isn’t the slightest bit willing to go back to ShinRa. He’s leaning against a pile of scrap metal and rubble, eyes closed, and a soft smile spreads on his lips when Cloud’s demand echoes through the empty clearing. Not the shy and sweet boy he remembers, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise. Plenty of time and pain lies between him and the warrior Zack is facing now.
Deciding that it’s not fair to make Cloud wait any longer, Zack pushes off the rubble in his back and slowly steps out into the dim light of the ever-glowing lamps in the steel sky above.
“I can hear you alright,” he says, stopping a few feet away from Cloud, very much aware of the hand on the sword. He doesn’t expect his old friend to attack him, but he’s made that mistake before.
“—Damn. That’s a really good look on you, Cloud. If I didn’t know better, I’d be sure you’re a first class SOLDIER.”
Stealth isn’t an option for him; dirt and small pieces of rubble creak under the weight of his boots, rubbish other citizens of the slums might find useful but only get in his way tonight. Not that Cloud is trying to go unnoticed per se. He knows he’s been detected, has been stalked for as much as he’s done the stalking, and that for once he’s not the sole hunter in their little game of cats and mice. Still, his senses are heightened, pushed outwards in the very likely case that he will be attacked. Something about the mysterious stranger’s scent rises the hairs on his skin - it’s tastes too familiar, smells too wrong. It’s the unmistakeable stench of ShinRa.
Cloud chose this little, secluded niche for two reasons: it is spaceous and free from big chunks of garbage, far away enough from the rest of Sector 7′s main town to avoid ruckus or attention from wandering night owls. It also only has one entrance, and that puts him at an advantage. Once he finds his place in the middle of the cove-shaped yard, Cloud turns towards the narrow entrance, his fingers still curled around the cool hilt of his sword. He already did the calling - now, he only has to wait.
‘I can hear you alright,’
There - there it is. A voice that feels as though he ought to have heard it before, something his mind both remembers and doesn’t, a voice that definitely doesn’t sound like Sephiroth. A brief cause for relief, but only until the body it belongs to reveals itself by stepping from the narrow entrance and into the light. His hand slips from the sword, a weight that suddenly feels like lead, and Cloud knows his body’s having a reaction to something - someone - he doesn’t remember. Separated by eight feet, he has a clear view of those strange, familiar...beautiful features. Heat coils in his gut, but Cloud can feel his whole body clamping down as though he’d been thrown into the icy sea. Cold sweat trickles down the back of his neck and he feels as though he’s trying to swim against the currents, reaching for a memory that feels too far away, always out of reach, although he’s faced with its picture right here and there. The familiar flashes of mako-green lightning cripple him until Cloud starts grasping at his hair, gulping down air heavily, until his knees collide with the dirt of Sector 7. There’s nothing - it doesn’t come to him! But he should know. The tears on his cheeks seem to know. He should know this person - it’s someone important.
But why does his scent smell so utterly wrong, then? Why does he smell like the enemy?
“I am.... I am a First Class SOLDIER,” Cloud grits out with another heavy gasp. When the headache finally subsides, he scrambles to his feet and unhooks the sword from his back, noticing that the man before him didn’t use Cloud’s vulnerability to his own advantage. Yet.
He still feels disconnected from his body, and his limbs won’t stop shaking. Everytime he looks at the raven-haired man, he’s overcome with an urge to touch him, ensure he is real - why? What history do they share? But.. he also wants to - to eliminate him. It’s his scent. It’s not right. It screams all the wrong things.
“And so are you. A ShinRa lap dog, through and through. They sent you after me, didn’t they? Pretending to know me? Whatever. I’m happy to send your head back in a box if they want a statement from my side.”
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