[ it would be a lie to say he didn't dig the look; if he could give the man credit for anything, in full faith, it's that he had an undeniable flair. cloud's hands are dug into his pockets in some attempt to project a cool and detached disposition, but in reality he looks--

more clumsily withdrawn than anything. it's fine. he's in the process of formulating a response, but his brain scrambles in real time before he can.

his cheeks are not welling with heat, it's fine. you don't see the way the faintest shade of pink crawls across his skin in the dark, nope. cloud opens his mouth. then closes it. then opens it again. ]

...That's-- That's one word for it.

[ great comeback, really. ]

...Only been here twice myself. [ a beat. ] Think they had places like this back in Midgar, but -- I had better things to do. Other places to be.

[ no, he did not. but moving on. the waitstaff usher them into the lounge; the air is thick with smoke, haze-like and surreal as if the very interior of the place is fraying at its edges. they're guided to a large, plush booth, bong front and center. cloud practically hangs off one of its ends. ]

...I can't shake it. [ his eyes roam far ahead, looking into the ether. ] This feeling, like... we should be fighting.... something. Anything.