"Bleeding from the head and passed out isn't what I call okay," Cloud huffs, the relief of hearing Wedge's voice so clear on his usually stoic face. "Don't care you worried me. What matters is you're fine. We'll go home and I'll have a look."

Home. Cloud ponders the word a little bit as he walks, focusing on getting back as quickly as he can with minimal jostling to the exhausted man in his arms. Their home. Together. It really wasn't a home for Cloud until Wedge showed up. Before then it was a cold, empty space he used to sleep in and exist as comfortably as he could during the isolated agony of his dragon changes. Then Wedge came into his life like the sun itself, insistent on making the space cozy and happy. He added new paintings on the wall, decorations atop the fireplace mantle, shopped for much softer, comfier blankets. The list went on and on, really...The cottage now stands as the first place Cloud feels he could, and wants to return to since Nibelheim. A space where perhaps he belongs. He feels it every night as he curls up in bed at Wedge's side. After that vision, a part of him knows they belong together even more than ever before.

Which begs the question: Just what are they to one another?

Cloud is roused from his thoughts the second he makes it to their front door, opening it and wasting no time to get Wedge to their shared bedroom. He lowers him onto the bed itself with great care before taking a seat next to him along the edge. Those sharp, presently slitted eyes never dare stray from keeping watch. There is a protective fire alight in his chest.

"One of those things got you," he says quietly, brushing his fingers over the puncture wound on Wedge's forehead. "You didn't come back for way longer than I expected, so I came to find you."