@edgedwing maybe some things are worth waiting for
He'd lost count of how many days it'd been since the Inn. He and Kimihiro were able to finally escape after finding the key. Reasoning with the other Shadow Link was just not possible, and neither party could bring themselves to strike through the doppelganger. There was something too demented about that, even for Shadow.
But, since Shadow'd had a sword driven straight through his stomach, he'd been under strict watch, being checked on every couple of hours. Leaving the shop was out of the question until he got better.
And as he did get better, the visits to Shadow's room lessened, and lessened, until his check ups were minimal and more courtesy than anything. The gash was still pretty grotesque but it was manageable, and it finally didn't require any more packing, it just needed to heal.
One night, with the full moon burning bright, Shadow decided to try something and risk it. He was used to having free roam of the city at night, and he wasn't supposed to leave without saying anything as of right now, but, he'd kept someone waiting long enough.
With the nights growing impossibly colder, Shadow wore the cloak that was made for him ontop of his winter jacket as well. The satisfying crunch of snow underfoot got him running. Shadow was on a mission now, he couldn't imagine how long he'd made Sephiroth wait, but that'd end tonight. All he had to do was let the moonbeams and trails of the city guide him.
As he cleared into Savior's Respite, the array of flowers peeping through the layer of powder snow, it was notably empty. Shadow looked around confused, though, running the whole way here might've strained his wound a bit too much, as he felt himself grimace, now cradling his side.
Regardless, he bared his teeth through the pain, had he waited too long? Had the other given up?...Well, he couldn't blame him if he did.
At the summit's clearing of the Respite, Shadow dropped to his knees…Why waste the view? It wouldn't kill him to enjoy it for a little bit. So, he pulled the hood up on his velvet black cloak. A familiar warmth radiated from his side again...He split his side open again from running. But it was slow, So, gently, he just pressed against his side as he sat there, leaving his scabbard on his lap.
"...Am I in over my head?" He asked himself, scenes kept replaying in his head, lingering looks, touches, and everything else in between had been eating at him. As embarrassing as it'd be to admit for himself: it's what kept him up and looking forward to finally leaving the shop. Albeit, prematurely.
