goodnight & go
… … …
One day, Cloud didn't come home.
Tifa wondered why, even though in her heart she knew — but still, she kept going. She was not a delicate flower that needed protecting after all; she was not an empty shell imprisoned within her own abode that could not function without a man by her side. She ran the bar. She took care of the kids. Life was the longest thing a person did and she refused to let it pass her by. There was no time to sit around and stare up longingly as the clouds drifted across the sky. It did not matter whether she missed his quiet presence or not. She had work to do, children to take care of, and that was that.
However . . .
Her usual routine was broken by the sudden, unexpected appearance of a certain Turk one evening.
The bar was close to closing. She found herself humming a pleasant tune underneath her breath as she wiped down the counter, glad for the long night to be drawing to an end. The jingling of the bells above the door greeted her however; then she spotted him, a man donning a pure black suit standing just inside the entrance. There was no way she could miss him, what with the way the low fluorescent light gleamed dimly on his shaven head. He had a feathery, black-haired goatee, and a multitude of metallic, silvery piercings in his ears; for such a large man, he moved quietly. He ended up seating himself three seats down from her. His back was straight and his shoulders leveled, making him the perfect picture of collected calm and coolness. Those trademark sunglasses were in place as well, keeping his eyes hidden from view. All in all he looked more refined than her usual customer, yet there was a commanding and mysterious air about his presence.
"Hey."
The man tilted his head by way of acknowledgment. She remembered his silence, and the fact that he had never been prone to waste words or conduct idle conversation. Usually, he preferred to reserve the talking to his long-time partner, Reno, who was currently nowhere to be seen. She would have to ask about that later, she mused.
"It's been awhile, Rude." Tifa's rosy lips were curved upwards into a small smile, voice ringing with a hint of amusement as she approached, hips swaying. Her reflection bounced back into her chocolate-brown eyes as she gazed at him purposefully. "You know we're about to close though, right?"
"I could leave . . ." His voice was the same — maybe a little lower, maybe a little deeper.
She laughed and gently shook her head, lustrous black strands of hair brushing against her contrastingly pallid cheeks. "It's fine. I guess I'll just have to make an exception this once. What would you like to drink?"
"Scotch."
She nodded. "I think I can manage that." With those words, Tifa turned around to prepare his drink. She pulled out a cup from the cupboards, along with a crystalline bottle. A torrent of sparkling amber liquid was poured into the short glass. When she at last set the alcoholic beverage down in front of him with a soft chink, the young woman fixed him with a self-satisfied look set upon her lovely visage. "Seventh Heaven as a rule only serves the best drinks around all of Edge."
"I see," Rude replied, his voice coming out coarser than she'd ever heard it. He cleared his throat afterward, taking a quick swig from the liquor within his grasp. "Thanks," he added.
"No problem," Tifa replied. She flashed him a brief polite smile, before ducking her head and rubbing at her eyes. She was tired, barely able to sleep a wink last night; it was nice to be actually making pleasant small talk with someone her own age though, even if that someone was a certain taciturn and silent sunglasses-wearing-Turk. As gratifying as it was to have such sweet kids like Marlene and Denzel around and look after, it still was not the same as when she had . . . Tifa shook her head, cleared her jumbled thoughts, and stared across the bar at Rude in mild interest, hands cupping the sides of her rounded face.
"So where's Reno? You two are always together."
" . . . not always."
"So?" she urged. Tifa smiled yet again — but it wasn't the same polished one as earlier. It was different. It was sincere.
Rude took another sip before responding. The bitterness of the drink seeped into his grating intonation. "He's off gallivanting in the streets."
She couldn't help but roll russet-painted irises skyward. "Yeah, that sounds like him." Being in her profession, and looking the way she did in her skin-tight leather attire, one tended to get used to womanizing men like him hanging around the bar. The dark-haired bartender immediately recalled the way his ragged, scarlet-colored mullet swung behind him; the twin tattoos on his high cheekbones, right below a pair of gleaming turquoise orbs. That on top of his vetoed tie, unbuttoned open jacket, and un-tucked messy white dress shirt that practically showcased his heaving chest left little to the imagination. The only difference was that he was legitimately good-looking and of higher stature, both of which he knew, and had no problem bragging about.
When the man sitting in front of her curled his hand around his glass and took another swig in one quick motion, Tifa couldn't help but marvel at how different they were. Unlike his partner in crime, he possessed a sense of liquid poise and grace. He was far from cocky, in fact, he even seemed somewhat shy and unaware of his glaringly attractive qualities.
Yet here he was, sitting in her bar.
"So, what brings you here?"
"The Scotch."
"Hmm." She had picked up a moist cloth and started to slowly run it around a glass. Without looking at Rude, she inquired, "Is it to your liking?"
There was a poignant pause. Then she heard him clear his throat loudly, and state, "To tell you the truth, I'm enjoying it more than I expected. I've had excellent customer service so far."
She blinked delicately in surprise, eyelashes fluttering like resplendent butterfly wings for a single moment. That was the most Tifa had ever heard the Turk say directly to her face, not to mention the most complimentary. The fact that she knew his words contained the truth as he perceived it made her promptly brandish a pleased look. "Well, good. I'd never want for a customer to go unsatisfied." Sadly she became acutely aware it was getting late, casting a brief glance against the clock hanging on the wall to only confirm her suspicions; she'd have to get back to cleaning up the rest of the bar now. "If that's all you'll be needing though . . . "
Rude dipped his head in a nod, grunting in response. "Sorry for distracting you."
"No apology necessary. If anything, you're a welcome presence," Tifa reassured kindly. Truthfully, she found it shocking how easily the conversation flowed between the two of them, and how they were getting along so well. She thought back to the few moments in the past when their paths had intertwined; even when they had been fighting on opposing sides, there hadn't ever been any blatant animosity present between them. Rude had never so much as raised a finger to harm her in battle. Now here they were, casually talking in a faintly lit Seventh Heaven, alone, and she was, dare she say it, enjoying herself. It had been awhile since she last remembered feeling like this. She started to wonder about that; in addition, the way he shifted slightly in his seat caught her attention, almost as if he was embarrassed at the praise she had given him. Then she stopped herself. There was no time for any further distractions after all.
Her life was full enough of that, she knew.
With that sentiment in mind, Tifa determinedly gathered up her glossy hair into a loose ponytail on the top of her head and resumed her chores. As she commenced in wiping down the tables, putting all the chairs up, and sweeping the floor, she was so busy she failed to notice her enraptured audience as she moved about the dimly illuminated abode; the fact that she was being watched by a pair of shining eyes, eyes that shone like dark stars behind even darker sunglasses, as she finished cleaning up the galley. Tifa walked back around behind the counter and began washing the remainder of the stained glasses.
Surprisingly, it was her softly spoken question that broke the silence.
"Why are you always wearing those sunglasses?" the pondering bartender ended up asking, voice brimming with genuine curiosity. She had just finished cleaning the last of the dishes at this time. Pulling the plug and leaning over the sink, she watched the soapy water spiral noisily downwards into the steel drain.
His answer was blunt and to the point. "I like them."
She laughed. "Yeah, I can see that." Tifa whirled around, a questioning look on her fair-skinned face, hands resting lightly on her hips. "But do you ever take them off?"
"Sometimes."
"How about now?"
"Now?" There was tension concentrated between the middle of his brow line.
"Yeah." Tifa crossed the small distance between them, until she was standing directly in front of Rude. A curious smile pressed onto her lips as she reached out both of her hands, stopping only until they were just shy of brushing the sides of his sunglasses. Her question introduced a playful tone. "May I?"
What possessed her to think that the serious, reserved, and aloof Rude would ever let her lay a hand on his perpetually present sunglasses, much less take them off was beyond Tifa. She wasn't sure why she had even requested it, come to think of it now it was a rather foolish idea. He seemed to almost bristle at her words too, and she expected him to tell her flat out no then; yet, that unmistakably usual calm expression instantly smoothed over his chiseled features, followed by something startlingly momentous.
He surprised her with his answer. "Go ahead."
Tifa didn't need to be told twice. Without a word, she took up the invitation — proceeding to gently lift up his sunglasses. Pulling back, she tilted her head to the side, admiring the newly revealed sight. Upon being suddenly exposed to artificial light, the black pupils of his eyes dilated. Still, Rude never failed to meet her probing stare unflinchingly; her own eyes narrowed in concentration, piercing against his, really taking them in. Tifa realized with a start that he had brown eyes, brown eyes that were just dark and utterly solid; it actually reminded her of Bourbon, because the color was almost swirling, almost depth-less. They were deep, endlessly drawing her down into their pleasing tantalizing depths. After admiring them for just a second more, she knew these were the kind of eyes a girl could get hopelessly lost in. Kind of like how she was losing herself in them now.
"You have really nice eyes," she stated softly, her own cinnamon oculars slowly moving left and right. Then she remembered who he was, like the realization just tore through her mind like rocks breaking a pond's surface, causing a rippling effect. That was enough to snap her back to reality, heat rising to her cheeks. She hoped he didn't notice her embarrassment as she handed him back his prized choice of accessory.
"You think so?" There was a sparkle in his chestnut eyes, or at least she thought there was — but then they were once again concealed behind shiny, opaque sunglasses.
"It wouldn't hurt to go without wearing them more often," Tifa admitted, and noticed the subtle upward curving of Rude's full lips into a small smile. The sight was an unexpected one — mesmerizing, but unexpected all the same.
"I'll keep that in mind," he told her, pleasure evident in his deep voice.
He took one last, long sip, successfully draining the rest of his glass, and the magic of the moment was broken; reaching into his pocket, to predictably retrieve some money, Rude momentarily gave pause when he saw Tifa shake her head.
"It's on the house," she said dismissively. Her voice left no room for argument, though her tone was lighthearted in nature. Even though she had ended up having to keep the bar open longer than she would have normally liked, she couldn't deny the fact that she had genuinely enjoyed conversing with the Turk. He was like a fresh breath of air; a mysterious and alluring deviation from what was her busy, hectic, not to mention lonely, day-to-day schedule. Maybe he wasn't the one person she wanted to see, despite everything, he had served as a welcome reprieve.
Thrashing away her thoughts, Tifa quickly reassured, "Believe me, your company was payment enough."
She watched him rise to his feet. He nodded at her; his gaze was piercing even as it made only brief contact with hers. That powered stare was all that was needed to communicate his appreciation.
"Goodnight, Tifa."
"Goodnight, Rude," the barmaid called cheerfully after his retreating back. It was only when Rude was standing directly in front of the maple wood door that he halted at once, his hand coming to rest on the doorknob as he addressed her for a final time.
"If nothing else . . . Strife's a lucky guy."
His words hit her like a splintered iceberg, stunning her into bittersweet silence.
Then there was the sound of small, silver bells tinning overhead announcing his departure into the night.
She was stunned. She shook her head slowly as if in disbelief. Tifa inhaled deeply, holding her breath for a few seconds. Everything whirled in her mind at an extreme speed while she turned to face the counter with a half-frown — exactly what had just happened in the past hour? A pleasant exchange between her and a Turk, joking around, then lifting up Rude's sunglasses only to gaze deeply into his eyes, that light smile that toyed on the line of his lips when she complimented him, and those meaningful last words . . . Her heart skipped beats, accompanied by a light shade of rose that bloomed in her cheeks at the implication of his closing sentiment. Why was she getting so flustered? Was it because she was flattered by his words? Was it because he made sense? Or was it because he made her feel something?
Tifa exhaled and reached for a bottle of spirits. She began to pour herself some alcohol, still mulling over Rude's words meanwhile.
The dark-haired woman herself had never been much of a drinker. She drank most liquids sparingly, but as she took the time to peer around a spic and shiny Seventh Heaven, she figured she deserved a small reward for her efforts, something to help put her mind at ease, like sweet, sweet red wine. The burgundy-colored liquor with its intoxicating aroma was the only drink Tifa indulged in every now and then. Wrapping her fingers slowly around a small, fluted glass, she took a sip. Funny, she didn't remember ever having red wine that tasted so strong. A bitter taste instantly spread across her tongue, and it sent a sugary yet slightly burning sensation down her throat.
Looking down at her glass, and then at the bottle, Tifa just had to smile. Smile . . . because it wasn't wine at all.
It was Bourbon.
► Yay! My first ever RudexTifa story. I simply just had to write this —
all thanks goes to my boyfriend for inspiring me, and my bestie Brittany
for being my beta-reader. Is it just me or are fluffy!Rufas sort of a rarity?
Anyway, in case it was not obvious this is set after FFVII but before ACC.
Which if you haven't seen you should go watch. It's awesome. :]
Oh, and I sadly do not own anything.
Reviews are appreciated!
E› tifa .