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He wasn't a SOLDIER.
He had never been a SOLDIER.
Cloud Strife, First Class SOLDIER was a figment of his imagination.
And yet…
Cloud held the worn leather belt in his hands, the SOLDIER insignia proudly etched into the material for all to see. It was well used; nicks and scratches and gouges from various battles they'd fought across the planet.
One deep gash on the left side was the result of friendly fire, or spearing, when a confused Cid had lashed out in Cloud's direction and the belt had taken the blow. He couldn't help but grin at the memory. The swearing and shouting afterwards must've scared away all the monsters in the area for miles.
He slid his fingers up the suspenders, feeling the loops and the rivets, up to the wider piece for his pauldron, already cleaned and resting in its box.
He gently placed the belt on the bed and stared down at it, its solid lines and stiff leather incongruous against the soft floral bedding.
It was ridiculous. He was never a SOLDIER. He hadn't earned this uniform, despite his promise and his hopes and his dreams. It had been placed on him by a real hero when he himself was nothing but a drooling mess, as far from a SOLDIER as there could possibly be.
Well, from what the propaganda had led people to believe a SOLDIER could ever be.
And he knew it was all bullshit. Shinra, SOLDIER, the lies, the torture, the manipulation. So, why did he feel like he was letting go of a piece of himself, like he was grieving, by removing this symbol of Shinra's brutal past?
He sat at the edge of the bed, the mattress bending under his weight, and placed his head in his hands, staring mindlessly at the floor while his elbows dug into his thighs. The jeans he wore now weren't as comfortable as his fatigues and the tee-shirt on his back felt too bright and too… normal. He felt out of place because he felt normal. Since when did normal feel wrong?
He should've been glad to let go of the past, to let go of the uniform. It sounded good in his head. Fresh clothes, fresh start. The boots would stay because they were incredibly comfortable and finding good shoes was a nightmare, but the jumper, the belt, the trousers, everything else would go in the bin. That was the original plan. Now though, now it was going in boxes to be placed in the loft.
A traumatic, catastrophic, almost literally world ending piece of his life, carefully folded into boxes and labelled "Cloud's stuff". He clenched his fingers in his hair. A bathetic end.
A knock sounded on the bedroom door and Tifa popped her head in.
"Hey," she said as she quietly shut the door behind her.
He grunted.
"How's it going?"
He couldn't see her face, still absorbed in the floor and his own turbulent thoughts, but he could imagine the concern in her ruby eyes.
"Fine."
He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. They had much more of a bite than he intended.
Tifa shuffled where she stood and her awkwardness was palpable as she murmured, "Okay, I'll leave you to it then."
Cloud sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He always seemed to take his feelings out on the wrong people.
"No, don't go…" he took a moment to look at the belt, the source of all this trouble, resting on the bed beside him. "...I don't know why I can't get rid of it."
Tifa hesitated slightly by the door and then tread closer to perch on the bed on the other side of the stressful accessory. She gazed down at it.
"Hmm…" She paused in thought and tilted her head. "Maybe, you feel it's part of you. Part of your identity, I mean.
Cloud twisted his face up in disbelief. "That's stupid though. I was never a SOLDIER. "
"Doesn't mean you didn't feel like it."
They sat in silence, Tifa's words reverberating in the room and settling into his mind. They rang with truth. He was never a SOLDIER, that was true. But even though he knew it wasn't real and it was Jenova and his own mind, he still felt it. The pride, the confidence, that knowledge that he had achieved something. He, Cloud Strife, had actually succeeded.
"…I don't think I know who I am without it. It's all I wanted and now…"
Tifa reached across and squeezed his hand. She caught his eye and held it, a hopeful look, a look that said she believed in him, gleamed in her eyes.
"You don't need to know. That's what we're figuring out, right?"
"Right," Cloud chuckled. He squeezed her hand. She was throwing his own words back at him.
They sat quietly for a moment, their hands linked over the SOLDIER insignia. Cloud broke the silence with a grumpy admission.
"…I don't like these clothes."
Tifa giggled and then pinched her lips together to smother it.
"I didn't think you would," she said through a grin.
"Huh? Why not?" He asked, utterly perplexed. She was always saying he could read her mind, but he had no idea it went both ways.
"Too average. You've always liked to stand out from the crowd," she said easily, as if it was as obvious as the sky being blue or Edge being grey.
That—he—no he didn't!
"I—I do not!" Cloud objected, yanking his hand away from hers and crossing them over his chest in protest. A petulant move for sure. He knew though, in his heart of hearts, she was right. As usual.
Tifa raised an eyebrow at him, skepticism clear, as she stood and brushed herself off.
"We can find something you like better. I want something new too," she gestured to the black leggings and crew neck tee-shirt she was wearing with a grimace, "this is so not me."
A cheeky grin on Tifa's face and mischievous glint in her eyes suddenly appeared, and Cloud raised an eyebrow at her quick change of mood.
"And hey, maybe you can wear something that matches mine."