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It never stopped raining in Midgar.
Once, high in the Nibel mountains when he had been younger, Cloud had eagerly awaited every rainfall. Snowfall was frequent, yes, and that brought its own sense of muffled peace, but there was nothing like the silence that came with rain.
No voices reminding him of his position at the bottom of the social heap, no need to awkwardly mumble his way through conversations with the well-meaning but clueless members of their tiny community. There was only him, the wash of rain, and Tifa.
Her voice had always carried crystal clear through the rain. Hands on hips, calling up to the water tower and telling him to come down then inevitably climbing up to join him when he didn’t.
Even here, out of the smothering reach of the Plate, any voice he was lucky enough to hear only ever sounded muffled. That was how it had been ever since he had become a SOLDIER. Ever since-
He winced and rubbed the bony knuckle of his thumb against his forehead until the sharp pain of yet another headache eased.
Cloud had long given up trying to understand what had happened to his hearing. He assumed it was the mako’s fault, not that he had any other SOLDIERs he could ask. All he knew was that there was only one voice which ever came through clear when it was raining anymore, and he despised it.
He was sitting on the roof of Seventh Heaven, Buster Sword tucked between his knees with the grip resting over his shoulder. He tilted his head against the cool metal and watched the crowds go every which way below.
It was a familiar pastime but it still unnerved him watching all these people rush to and fro while the rain drenched them in silence. Back in Nibelheim, people stayed home when it rained unless they had no other choice. There were too many creatures out in the forests which it would be dangerous to not hear coming.
And, he supposed, Nibel folk had the luxury of time. The people in and around Midgar, especially those crammed in under the Plate, weren’t so lucky.
There were safety measures, of course. Some, like the large screens placed throughout the trains cars to inform travellers of the next stop, had been implemented by Shinra. Others , like better lighting at street level and frequent places to put down belongings to make conversation through signing easier, had been provided the community. All were so taken for granted that Cloud suspected no one realised just how rare they truly were.
Cloud watched a couple hurry down the street, heads bent together in intimate conversation. They were the only ones. Everyone else passed in silence.
A glint of metal caught his eye and he glanced down to spot Barret waving his gun arm aloft. He was carrying a shopping bag in the other. It kept him from signing as he otherwise would have but the jerk of his chin and questioning raise of his eyebrows said plenty.
Cloud tucked his chin slightly. When Barret rolled his eyes – good-naturedly, probably – Cloud raised two fingers then briefly tapped his thumbnail just below his lower lip, his remaining fingers curled into a loose fist.
Two minutes, I promise.
Barret nodded and stepped inside. The door was heavy and should have thumped loudly but Cloud didn’t hear a thing. There was only the faint vibration of the wood beneath him as the door juddered closed again.
Aerith would be coming by later, he remembered. Tifa had mentioned something about that.
“Were you planning to wait for her?”
There it was. That smooth, odious voice.
Cloud gritted his teeth but didn’t move.
“How romantic.” Long, silvery hair fell like a curtain in Cloud’s periphery. He felt it brush his shoulder and tangle in the pauldron. “Whatever would that lovely young girl downstairs think?”
Tifa knew he and Aerith were soulmates. She didn’t mind. In anything, she had been delighted.
“She says she doesn’t mind-” Hair tumbled over his shoulder and into Cloud’s lap as the speaker leaned down. “-but can you ever really know?”
No.
“They can hear each other,” Cloud muttered. He had grown used to keeping his voice low these days, just in case he was overheard.
“Indeed,” the voice purred. “It’s a wonder they need you at all.”
Cloud hunched his shoulders. Warm air curling over the shell of his ear was the only warning he got before the voice came again, so clear that it might as well have been pure thought transmitted between them.
“Cloud,” Sephiroth said, savouring the name in his mouth in the way he always did. The way that made Cloud’s cheeks warm and his stomach twist. “Don’t you get tired of straining to hear them? Soulmates, and yet so distant.”
Not like us.
Cloud shuddered. Abruptly, he stood up on unsteady legs, silver hair washing off his shoulder like water. He gripped the Buster Sword tight. It was warm from where it had been resting against his skin, warm like someone else had been holding it while he couldn’t.
The Plate blocked the worst of the actual rainfall but Cloud found himself blinking water off his lashes anyway. He curled his fingers around the Buster Sword so tight that his knuckles went white.
He was about to turn, readying himself for a slash, when he saw light spill out over the cobbles as the door to Seventh Heaven was pushed open.
“Cloud?” A voice called. Faint, more so than the distance suggested it should be, but enough. More than enough.
Some of the tension – but none of the wariness – leaked out of Cloud’s shoulders.
“Coming,” he called down.
Below, Tifa glanced up at him and smiled. If there was anything behind him to fear, she didn’t see it.
Cloud stowed his sword on his back and stepped up to the edge of the roof.
“I can hear her just fine,” he murmured, then leapt.