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You’re going to die here. You knew your line of work left you open to the threat of death more often than not, always the chance the next monster encounter would be your last… But you hadn’t expected it to end like this – sweaty from fever, a horrible chesty cough, every breath feeling a struggle and surrounded by used tissues on your sofa.
But the worst part of it all? You’re going to die without kissing Cloud Strife.
There were always ailments going around the slums – it was par for the course with so many people living in close quarters, sunlight obscured by a metal sky. There were rumours that this particular one had stemmed from Shinra HQ and thus it had become nicknamed the Shinra Flu, much to the company’s chagrin. It’d floored you from day one. There had been no build-up, no telltale sniffle or scratch in your throat, you’d just woken up feeling like death and that’s how you continued to feel the past four days. Tifa - bless her heart - was straight round the moment you’d not shown up for the Avalanche meeting. You think she must’ve knocked but she was in possession of a spare key and that’s where she’d found you, wheezing away in the bed. What had followed were clean sheets on your bed, water, soup and medicine.
She’d been round morning and evening since, going through the same routine. You’d never felt so pathetic in your life. Every night you’d drift off to sleep hoping you’d feel better in the morning but nothing seemed to be easing despite the numerous combinations of medicine you were taking and the hours of bedrest.
There’s a hesitant knock at the door. Tifa is going to be annoyed you’re on the couch, but you’d split your water in your bed in the night reaching for it after a coughing fit and didn’t have the strength to deal with the situation, so you’d decamped. At least it gave you a different view of the water-stained ceiling.
The key twists in the lock and the door opens and you brace yourself.
“Hi.”
You know you’re still burning up with fever, but that’s definitely not Tifa’s voice. You turn your head towards the door and Cloud Strife is standing there, minus his sword for a change, a paper bag in hand and looking incredibly awkward.
“Cloud?” You rasp out, which was a mistake. Speaking sets a coughing fit off and you sit upright awkwardly, the blankets spilling off your lap – you wished you were wearing nice pyjamas - trying to catch your breath. You hear the door close, footsteps, and the sound of running water. As the coughing subsides, Cloud is now crouched in front of you, holding a glass of water out.
“That sounds nasty.”
You nod, and regret it instantly because it makes you feel dizzy. You reach out to take the glass but your stupid hand is trembling. Could you stop being so pathetic for one moment? Cloud notices and supports the glass as you take it to your lips for tentative sips. This is not how you ever imagined the ex-Soldier being in your home.
“Thanks.” Your voice sounds tight. He nods.
“So,” he gets to his feet, “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here and not Tifa.”
“Hallucination?”
“Not quite.” Cloud smiles slightly, glad to see your particular sense of humour hasn’t been lost, but it isn’t long before he resumes his usual serious expression. “This virus is really contagious. Tifa’s lucky she’s not caught it from coming round here. I said I’d check on you instead.”
You frown at him, positive you’ve misheard. “You wanna get sick?”
“I can’t get sick - not like that anyway. Mako gives you quite the immune system.”
“Oh. Lucky.” You pull the blankets back over you from where they’d fell off in your coughing fit. You’re feeling cold now, though you’re painfully aware your forehead is covered in sweat in front of your crush.
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your bed?” He looks at it pointedly - it’s only a few steps away in your studio apartment after all.
“It’s wet.” The blonde raises an eyebrow at that. “I spilled water on it.”
“Ah. I can help with that. Tifa wrote me a list. Starting with…” he produces the paper from his pocket, “..have you taken medicine recently?”
“Last night. Is it morning now?” Time has lost all meaning.
“Mm-mm, afternoon.” His hand is in the paper bag – you recognise the logo from Wall Market – and he withdraws a small vial holding a luminous green liquid.
“Oh.”
“Drink the whole thing. Apparently the latest in Shinra flu fighting technology, whatever that means.” He twists the lid off and hands it to you. It smells foul so it doesn’t bode well for the taste, but you down it in one with a slight grimace. You’d drink all manner of disgusting things if it made you feel a little better. “I could only get two – supply and demand.”
“Thanks.”
Cloud’s already looking at the next step on Tifa’s list. You can’t imagine how many instructions are on there. “Medicine, check. ‘Temperature – thermometer in bathroom cabinet.’ Okay…”
He’s striding over to your bathroom now, and you hear the bathroom cabinet open and close and he emerges as quickly as he left, thermometer in hand.
“Wait, you don’t have to do this, Clo-“ your sentence is cut off as he slides the device under your tongue and waits for the beep, before retrieving it and scrutinizing the number.
“Fever still - makes sense. And I do have to do this.”
“Just leave me the list, I can do it.”
He stares down at you, hands on his hips, crushing the list ever so slightly. “Uh-huh…” You know you look awful, you couldn’t even hold a glass of water earlier, you haven’t washed your hair in days, and you’d made the couch your bed. Trying to convince this man that you were capable of looking after yourself is an argument you weren’t going to win.
“Right. ‘Change bedsheets. Clean sheets in the basket, wash used sheets in communal washroom downstairs…’ ” He’s heading off towards the bed, still reading aloud. You sink back on the sofa and close your eyes, willing the medicine to kick in and make you feel normal for at least five minutes and save some face in front of him…
--
Cloud was used to making his bed during training, so it doesn’t take him long for him to strip yours and put clean sheets on, but apparently it was long enough for you to doze off.
This wasn’t on Tifa’s list. You’d be better off in bed – it must be more comfortable than the thing you call your couch. He crouches down besides you, debating if he should wake you up. You look so peaceful though and he hopes that means the medicine must’ve kicked in. It’s only a few metres between the couch and your bed and sleep is important in recovery, after all…
He slides an arm under your knees and another around your waist, picking you up off the sofa in one fluid motion, your head lolling back . You mumble and he freezes, but you nuzzle your cheek into him and your breathing remains in its steady rhythm. He takes a tentative step forward, then another before he makes it over to your bed and carefully places you down on your mattress and tucks the blanket over you. You unconsciously snuggle into the clean sheets and your hair falls over your eyes. Without thinking, he automatically reaches out and tucks it behind your ear, his touch lingering a moment too long.
“Cloud…” you mumble happily into the pillow, cuddling it.
His face goes red, but not from fever.
--
You awake to a cool hand on your forehead. Everything aches and you desperately want to return to the comfort of sleep, but you’re so hot and there’s a one-sided conversation going on.
“No, she’s still really feverish.”
Cloud’s on the phone – you can hear Tifa’s voice from the tinny phone speakers, though not well enough to hear her side of the conversation.
“No, not since just after I got here. She’s asleep at the moment, but her forehead feels hot.”
Another pause. The cooling hand is removed and you let out a whimper, missing it immediately.
“And that’s all I can do?”
A sigh. “No, don’t come here. I told you, you’re lucky you haven’t caught it. I’ll stay the night and ring you in the morning, okay? Thanks. Night.”
You drift off again in the silence for a few minutes before there’s a gentle shake of your shoulder. It feels a monumental effort to open your eyes but you manage it, though your breaths are feeling laboured again.
“Sorry,” Cloud whispers, looking apologetic. He has the thermometer in his hand. “I just need to check your temperature again, then you can go back to sleep, okay?”
“Mm-hm.” You open your mouth and the device is slipped under your tongue. It beeps moments later and he frowns at the results. “Higher than last time – damn.”
“Bad?” You mumble.
“No, you’ll be fine. You just need to take some medicine and have some water. Can you sit up for me?”
“Yeah…” He can’t help but smile as your eyes close again and you make no sign of even trying to sit up. It’s pathetically sweet.
“Here, let me help,” he slips an arm around your waist and lifts you up slightly, leaning you back against the pillows. “You good there?”
“Uh-huh.” You don’t even sound convincing to your own ears.
“Okay, let me grab some more water.” Cloud’s gone for what feels like no time at all when a glass of water is held up in your face. “Small sips.” You take the glass and he places his hand over yours, supporting it as you dutifully drink.
As you do so, you become more awake and you can see he’s tidied up your living space - the couch is clear of your blankets, the tissues, the glasses…
“You cleaned up.” You say.
“Er, yeah,” he shrugs. “Hope that’s okay. It didn’t take long.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
He looks confused. “Why?”
“Cos I’m pathetic. You’ll never want to go out with me now.” The words tumble out of your mouth with no reasoning behind them.
“I… wouldn’t?” He’s trying hard to hide the smile on his face.
“Who wants to go out with someone who can’t look after themselves?”
“You’re sick.”
“I know – who lives like this?”
“No.” Cloud says, gently, “I mean, you’re sick - ill, poorly, feverish. Besides, I don’t pick who I want to go out with by how clear their floor is of clutter.”
“You don’t?” You sound hopeful.
“Do you?”
“I don’t know – I haven’t seen your floor.”
He laughs. If you weren’t feverish you would’ve been astounded you’d got the stoic Cloud Strife to laugh, but the moment flies well and truly over your head.
“Well, it’s not cluttered, but I don’t have a lot of stuff.” He admits, before retrieving the second vial he got from Wall Market.
“You might just be saying that.”
“Tell you what, when you’re better you can come and take a look.”
“Is that a date?” You sound so hopeful.
“Let’s say it can be a part of it. Now,” he twists the cap off as before and hands it to you. “Drink this, then you can go back to sleep.”
“Okay, only cos you’re so cute.” You down it in one again.
“Well, I’ll need to remember that one.” He takes the empty vial from your hands and places his hand on your shoulder, encouraging you to lie back down. “Try and get some more sleep, okay?”
“Okay…” It isn’t long before you’re enveloped in sleep again.
--
Through the night, Cloud doesn’t leave your side. He sits on the floor besides your bed, keeping a watchful eye. The fever was proving persistent and you had been tossing and turning, throwing the blankets this way and that in an attempt to stabilise your temperature in a fitful sleep. He remembered his mother looking after him when he was sick as a child, pressing a cool washcloth to his forehead to try and soothe him. Luckily, he found one in the bathroom cabinet, soaked it in tepid water before he placed it on your forehead. At first you tried to shuffle away, but he held it in place, words coming out of his mouth before he can even think. “It’s all right, sweetheart.” He wasn’t sure if it was the words or the washcloth that soothed you more.
Through the night, he’d take it back and resoak it, and when he pressed it once more against your burning skin you’d let out a sigh of content.
“You’ll be okay,” he mumbled – aware he was saying it more to reassure himself. He always hid his emotions well, but he’d been shocked by how sick you were. Although the two of you hadn’t known each other long, he’d grown fond of you more than he’d been willing to admit to himself. Seeing how open and vulnerable you’d been had only endeared you to him more.
Towards the morning, when he’d checked your temperature to find that you finally felt cooler, you’d rolled closer to his touch, causing your hand to drop down from the bed. He grasped it, trying to gently tuck it back under the covers but you wouldn’t let go though, unconsciously linking your fingers with his in a fierce grip and mumbling something. He doesn’t fight it, only smiles and leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment.
--
When you next open your eyes, it’s to the relief that the horrible pressure that had been on your chest for days has finally alleviated, the fluctuating temperature stabilised. There’s a weight to your hand, and you look through bleary eyes to see Cloud’s head bowed as he’s leant against the wall, your fingers firmly intertwined.
You let go in embarrassment more than anything, not sure how it had occurred. The motion is enough to wake the blonde, who smiles seeing you’re awake.
“Morning,” his voice is husky with sleep, and you feel warm once more – though this time it’s not from sickness.
“Hi.”
He frowns, probably noticing the colour in your cheeks. “How are you feeling?”
“No, I feel better. So much better.”
“Good,” Cloud smiles, before getting to his feet and stretching his arms over his head, showing off his muscular forearms. “You must be hungry, right? I realised I never got you to eat anything yesterday. I’ll go grab something light from the store for us.”
“You don’t h-…”
“I know, I want to.” In a few steps he's already opening the front door before hesitating, turning back to you and grinning, slyly. “Besides, you need to eat so you can build your strength back up ahead of our date.”
“Our… date?” Are you having a fever dream?
“We’ll talk about it more when I get back. Won’t be long… cutie.”