You're nothing without a purpose.

With no goal, you don't know what to do. Where to go. You're stuck in stasis, while the rest of the world moves around you. You're lost, hopeless, and you've always had something going on- fights, deaths, lifestream, that the idea of not having any of that, sleeping in your own bed, living a life you hadn't been suited for in a decade, scared you.

You hated being special, you'd give anything to not be, but the idea of not being special, of not being noticed, was so foreign you didn't have a single idea about what it would be like. Tifa offered you a way out; marry her, get over Sephiroth and the Remnants and everything that had ever happened- be a real parent to Marlene and Denzel- but you didn't- wouldn't- take it. You'd been so changed, so different, so confused for so long, you couldn't. You wouldn't do it to them. You wouldn't do it to yourself.

You distanced yourself, not on purpose. You lived at the bar and cleaned up with Tifa, you taught Denzel how to fight, and Marlene later when she showed up one day with a makeshift buster sword that made you proud. You learned more about rockets then you'd ever wanted from Cid, emotionally bonded (in your and his odd ways) with Vincent, teased Yuffie, supported Barrett, and traveled with Nanaki once in awhile.

But was that really enough?

You were so confused about the mundane, about the calm, about waking up to knocks or loud voices every morning, and your thoughts are "Who's destroying the world today?", and it ends up being nothing but Reeve at the door to talk about WRO.

You were confused. You had no purpose, except to exist, which was refreshingly different then you were used to, in an odd way.

You weren't sure if it was good or bad.

It was just strange.


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no ownership except for the writing.