[Cloud and Zack, the realization overcoming him like a storm. He recalls, with a clarity uncharacteristic of a wine-heavy mind, his conversation with the other man before he had disappeared from this world like a ghost, and wonders the same of him — why hadn’t he said anything?

But then he recalls the way he had looked at him, the freezing flash of fear when Sephiroth had brandished Masamune at a Shade, and the pieces of the story slot into place again. He feels addled, suddenly, and not only by the leaves of the berries. One by one, the truth slides needles into his brain, to the point where it seems as though they are talking about someone else. Another man who shares his name, a story penned by an author with a penchant for tragedy.

Surreal. Sometimes still unbelievable. Perhaps a weak defense mechanism, tossed up for his own sake, to feel this way. He listens, and then he almost scoffs humorously at her question. It seems like such an innocuous thing, to sit and discuss this like it were fond tale to recite outdoors, beneath the sun.]

What does it matter?

[Said stubbornly regarding taking a seat, though given the unsteady nature of both body and conversation, maybe it wouldn’t be unwise to sit.]

You think I’m influencing him? Controlling him? [Would that explain that strange connection, felt at the cellular level, but easily explained away by the Bond? Intrinsically, maybe he already knows. ] Everything he does on this planet is of his own accord. I know it; I can feel it through our Bond.

[Why is this such a poignant concern, beyond the obvious? Unless—]

You’re worried because it’s happened to him before. Hasn’t it?