The night deepened over Sector 7. The cacophony of factories and the shouts of drunks in the streets slowly subsided, ceding the air to the static hum of dying neon lights and the rustle of a dust-laden wind.
In the confines of his cramped room, Johnny sat on the edge of the bed. The window stood wide open, inviting the night breeze to cool his skin. He leaned his back against the cold wall, staring up at the massive steel plate of Midgar that crushed the world below.
His large hand rose slowly. Fingers roughened by labor—far more accustomed to gripping a sword hilt than offering a caress—brushed against his own right cheek.
The precise spot where Aerith's lips had landed moments ago.
It still felt warm. As if an invisible seal had been branded there.
Johnny let out a long breath, a thin wisp of white vapor escaping his lips.
"What is happening to me?" he wondered, bewildered.
His mind drifted far into the past, piercing through dimensions of time and space that were now dust. Casca's face emerged in his memory.
Back then, it had taken years for Guts to realize his feelings for Casca. Their relationship had begun with hatred, rivalry, and bickering, before slowly evolving into comrades-in-arms on blood-soaked battlefields. Their love had blossomed atop piles of corpses, forged by pain, shared trauma, and the desperate struggle for survival.
That love was slow, heavy, and painful. Like iron forged a thousand times over.
But with Aerith...
It had only been six months. No, if Johnny were honest with himself... the pull had been there since the first second he walked into that church.. Since those green eyes first looked upon him.
"Why so fast?" Johnny asked his faint reflection in the windowpane.
He compared the two women in his mind. Casca was beautiful in a wild, formidable way—an Amazonian warrior.
But Aerith...
Aerith was an anomaly. She possessed a beauty that defied a warrior's logic. Her skin was clean and soft, her eyes a clear green like forest gems, her smile capable of banishing nightmares, and the cute ribbons she wore...
Aerith was the definition of Pure Femininity and Tenderness that Guts had never touched in his entire life.
In his old, rough, brutal world, beauty as innocent as Aerith's couldn't possibly exist. Or if it did, it would be crushed and defiled in an instant by man or demon.
Perhaps that was why he had fallen so quickly.
Guts' soul—old, weary, and scarred, having spent a lifetime holding only cold iron and sleeping on hard ground—was now suddenly presented with a "Flower" offering absolute warmth.
He was like a man who had starved his whole life in a desert, suddenly offered a king's feast and cool water. He had no defenses to refuse it. He drank it in greedily.
"She is too bright..." Johnny thought, offering a wry smile. "And I am just a filthy stray black dog, somehow allowed to sit near the warmth of her hearth."
On the table, Puck snored softly inside a matchbox converted into a bed, unaware of his master's inner turmoil.
Johnny lowered his hand from his cheek. His face turned serious again. His jaw hardened.
The affection swelling in his chest changed shape. It was no longer just a warm, lulling feeling. It was fuel.
If he fell in love this quickly, if he felt Aerith was this precious... it meant he had an absolute reason to fight with everything he had. He had something to lose again, and this time, he wouldn't let any Eclipse take it away.
Johnny stared into the darkness outside the window.
"Two days until my sword is ready," he murmured softly. "And I will become a shield and sword stronger than ever before."