--continued
@protectist:
it truly was an entirely different feeling to hear those words leave cloud, of all people. in his voice, it almost sounds like it could be a dream, or something fabricated nonetheless. he forces down the heavy emotion in his chest and the feeling that he feels he will choke on as he swallows it away.
“what the hell you talkin’ about?” barret grunts out, and it’s nearly harsh enough to make him feel bad for the way he said it. he bites back the urge to stand by the tone, only to shake his head and avoid the other man’s eyes at all cost. “sorry. ain’t like me to feel this way, i reckon.”
another deep, ever so exhausted sigh leaves his lips. “old pains… hard to settle ‘em. but i think you know that as well as anyone, spiky.”
it’s enough to turn his lips up in the smallest of smiles, the nickname. it’s something at least.
Two tough guys who think highly of themselves as such. Their exact definitions, however, might differ. One thing is the same: those gender norms which expect men to bury their grief and suffer it in silence. Cloud glances at the other man and allows Barret’s outburst to bounce off him as they usually do. He accepts the words objectively; their manner of delivery ignored.
“Hm,” Cloud responds with a brief intonation, soft around the edges and absent his usual surliness. A typical accord between men quite unwilling to explore their demons in spaces where they can be heard.
Sometimes words are unneeded. He’s here if the other man needs him. If he wants to talk. If he doesn’t.
