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"Zack," Cloud breathed, scraping his hands and knees across the rubble—dragging himself towards him.
"Cloud?" He spluttered. He didn't dare sit up. "What are you doing here...?"
"You didn't come back," he whimpered, resting a hand beneath Zack's head. "You always said you were gonna come back, but..."
"I'm sorry."
"H-Huh?" He stammered. "N-No... I- I was worried, and you're—"
Zack put a hand to his own chest, feeling the blood soak through. "Dying," he chuckled.
"No," Cloud begged. "You can't die here."
"I fought, Cloud," he breathed. "I fought, but now I'm so damn tired."
"You're a liar," he accused, blinking back a tear. "You don't have time to get tired, Zack. You're SOLDIER, first class!"
"Heh..." He smiled a little, eyes drooping. "And so are you."
"What?"
"I'm promoting you," he mumbled. "To take my place."
"Zack..."
"C'mere." Zack reached a sore, aching arm to the sky, hooking it around Cloud's neck. He smiled softly, pulling Cloud's head to his chest. He held it there for a good moment, knowing those could be his last breaths.
Once Zack let go, Cloud pulled himself up, blinking; feeling the blood on his cheek.
"You're gonna live," Zack murmured. "You got that, Cloud?"
"But..."
"You're gonna live," he repeated. "My living legacy."
"Your... living...?" Cloud couldn't help the shake in his voice—he couldn't help his whole body from shaking.
With great effort, Zack lifted his buster sword, pressing it into Cloud's hands. "Here," he grunted.
"I- I can't take this," he stuttered.
"If you don't, it'll be lost," he frowned. He shoved the weapon into Cloud's open hands, waiting for him to grasp it. "Angeal wanted me to use it," he said. "And I did. And now, I want you to use it, Cloud. I'm asking you to honour me."
Cloud swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the enormous sword in his arms. "Please don't go," Cloud weeped. "Please, Zack."
"Why the long face?" He teased. He stretched a hand out to ruffle Cloud's hair one last time. "It's gonna be okay."
"If I take this sword," he whispered. "That means I'll never see you again."
Zack shook his head. "We'll meet again. Trust in me."
"Zack," he croaked.
"Just go," he pleaded. "Put your head up, Cloud."
"Was it my fault?"
Zack scoffed. "What?"
"That they hurt you," he mumbled. "If I hadn't have gotten caught... If I hadn't made us both targets..."
"Enough," he frowned. "Everybody has a death day. You can try all you want to delay it, but it'll always come."
"If I'd just—"
"Cloud."
He nodded slowly. "I'm sorry."
Zack only smiled, letting the wind and rain seal his eyes shut.
Cloud choked—Zack's sword across his lap. He screamed; he yelled; he cried—he did it all until his body gave out.
He took Zack's cold, dead hand in his own, bringing it up to his own cheek. He held it there, shivering at the touch. There was so much he owed Zack for, and he never said thank you.
His head hit Zack's chest, and he wailed, listening as his heart shattered, bit by bit.
The moment he touched Zack was the moment everything came flooding back. The memories.
Zack's unfiltered flirting; his huge grin, his laughter—the way he carried Cloud to safety on a number of occasions.
He remembered the brief brushing of hands. The hugs; the touches—everything that made him feel worth something. It was gone.
He'd never have to listen to Zack drone on about Aerith. He wouldn't have to watch him put himself in danger—he wouldn't be able to trace his fingertips across the scar Angeal left on his once-perfect jaw.
All the things that made up Zack disappeared the moment he stopped breathing.
And Cloud couldn't move. He was paralysed.
He couldn't decide whether he wanted to scream or cry or both or neither. He had no idea how much he relied on Zack. He had no idea how much he cared about him. Because Zack was his light. Zack was the one who blinded him from the harsh reality. Zack made everything okay.
But Cloud had lost his light. He was left in the storm and darkness—entire body aching. He couldn't live without his light. He was lost.