Turning.

I own nothing at all 'cause I'm poor. I present you this mess. Crap. This scroll button is tiny too. O_o

The difference between me and her? Lots. She wasn't a Turk, I wasn't from Avalanche. She used to be against us, I used to be opposing her team under orders. We did have something in common. We fight. With reasons, with comrades, with pride. We live, would die at one point or another … and also blood.

Some people found it revolting. Some people loved it for illogical explanations, while others didn't give a damn. It was something common for me. If you ask me, I'm practically immune to it – in some ways. I was sure she was, too. Fighting monsters with weird colored blood, having blood spilled right in front of her eyes – those who were innocent and those who bask in the rays of sin.

Blood.

I have blood, she has blood. It's common knowledge.

In living things, blood is the essential medium for the small particles of things in the veins to travel with, to nourish, to move and to simply live. Beat that, yo. I got that from Rude, my man.

Every night I walked past that newly established Seventh Heaven, I would notice her happily serving her customers. She had friends to help, of course but I realized that she was the one who was doing most of the work, all that welcoming smile and a lending ear to her customers' minor life complaints.

Don't you get tired?

Maybe. I knew I won't get answers by wondering and staring at that direction with that warm, friendly glow. Tearing my gaze away, I stepped into the cold, unlit darkness.

- - -

I got wasted again. From another bar.

What I had never expected was she was also there, at a random bar. It never occurred to me that she was the barhopping type of woman. But there she was, right next to me, keeping an awkward silence between us. We didn't talk, we didn't make eye contact…or so it seemed. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that she was glancing this way from time to time.

We got the same cocktail. We ordered refills at the same time, too.

Were we that in sync?

Wait, no. I just followed her example. Yeah. She stopped at the first refill, though and exited soon after. After god knows how many refills I asked, I exited that bar. Drinking an unknown mix wasn't my style, though.

Because of that, I got sick at one of the nearest wall. That was not cool.

A warm hand patted my back unexpectedly and I shot my head to whoever that was.

"L-Lo—?"

Of all people … her? So not cool.

"Expect the unexpected," she tilted her head, searching for my lowered gaze. "Feeling better now?"

"What am I, your son?"

After a less-than-five-minutes staring contest I started, she sighed in defeat and stood up. "Alright, I'll be going now."

"Wait," I managed.

"Need help?" she asked, glancing my way before squatting down back at me.

"Hell yeah. Two choices: bring me home—"

"Don't know where you live," she interjected, shaking her head.

"Or, call my buddy, Rude, will ya? Can't see any friggin' numbers right now." I pulled out my cell phone and it slipped, only to be caught by that skillful hand of hers.

She paused. "I'll take the second choice," she said and…was that a small chuckle I heard? Must be the alcohol.

- - -

I always passed by the Seventh Heaven whenever I go anywhere, so to speak. The headquarters wasn't even that far from it and for most of the time, I noticed two men whom I was now familiar with - their clothes, speech style and their constant lingering outside the Seventh Heaven. One was having a toothpick sticking out most of the time and the other had a beanie hat and spoke in lisps.

I tried my hand on Seventh Heaven for the first time and I didn't get a real friendly welcome from her.

I remembered those two men looking at her almost at the same way I did – at her every turn and movement, from the soft curves of her lush, feminine traits to her small gestures and occasional comments to her customers' rants. Oh, she also did the clichéd tucking her hair behind her ear … and when that didn't work, she blew it away in an adorably failed attempt with such charming innocence.

Tch. Fuck her. –I'd love to but …Why do women do that with their hair? Don't they know that it's a plus point? Or do they know it already? Shaking off that thought, I resumed observing them this night. They were always nearby.

I grimaced as they picked the lock to the front door and that recognizable jingle chirped faintly in the early morning. Rogues. With the absence of Strife and two Yuffie-spawns sleeping upstairs, I wondered.

… Whether she was able to defend herself or not.

As a fighter, she would.

I'd seen her switch from the bartender to the bouncer skillfully. Thinking that there were only two of them, I started to walk away but I picked up more scuffling. "One, two, and three… So there are a total of five of them," I whispered. "You need a new lock, defenseless hart."

Grinning, I followed their tracks, making even lesser noise than them, thinking silently,

As a woman, maybe not.

Because those men looked like they would still be alive and kicking after being run down by a truck.

As I got closer, I heard grunts of pain coming from those males. She fought, indeed. Two bodies were thrown out from the swinging door. As I closed my distance from the door, I got my rod ready. Why shouldn't I? So as I was currently contemplating whether to make a flashy entrance or not, a third body was shoved to my way, landing next to my feet.

Someone aimed a fist at me and gasped. It was her.

"…You," she breathed, confused.

"Yo, babe. Expect the unexpected."

Three were down and two more left.

As dodged some sloppy dagger hacking coming my way, I observed her quick movements, it occurred to me – damn, was she fighting or dancing?

A dance floor wasn't meant to be occupied by a lone dancer. Such will mirror only imperfection to a keen eye. A cracked diamond if you will. It needs to be dominated by a pair to compare, to compete or to be side by side – a fleeting yet complete love.

Thanks, Tseng. If that was cryptic, I never got that. If that was already straightforward, I didn't get that too. I might, but you know me. I have near zero concentration and comprehension on things like that.

All I could register was how unwavering she seemed to be and how vulnerable she currently looked – her eyes darting wildly from me and her foe. So I was still regarded as an opponent? I evaded the oncoming heavy slash. After catching that man in front off guard by shocking him with my prized rod, only one was left.

From where I was standing she was definitely … dancing.

"When this is over, remind me to thank you," she breathed, catching her foe's hand and twisting it with both hands.

Crack!

To avoid him from yelling, she elbowed his face, leaving him writhing and soon, motionless.

Ouch.

His nose was bleeding like a broken faucet.

She took off her gloves and walked slowly to me, frowning. "What brings you here at this time—"

A silhouette loomed at her back. She must have seen my shocked face for a split second because she stopped her sentence there. That glint in the moon-washed dark area was showing unmistakably a dagger and it lodged itself near the base of her neck, and the tip rapidly changing its distance from her skin – unsteady.

"Move an' I'll slit your p-pretty thr-r-oat, missy," he slurred. He was the one I shocked earlier. He was drunk so I might have a chance.

"By 'move' you mean her?" I raised an eyebrow, grinning at their direction. She watched me in horror. I could easily guess what she was thinking.

Was I going to save her?

Saving a damsel in distress was always what I wanted to do.

"Or me?" I saw that almost invisible grin from her. "Duck!" I ordered and threw my rod and it plunged forward. She needn't be told twice. Or even once – her reflexes were lightning. Not that it really mattered. It hit him on the nose, cracking and buzzing. I took a long step forward and by the blade, I yanked the dagger away, taking that man by surprise.

The cut burned. I was starting to regret it though. I should have grabbed it by the blunt edge to reduce the fatality … on (just) my hand.

She presented him an uppercut – something I don't want my tongue to be caught in between – and sent him flying to the door with a frontal kick and the door was … destroyed by contact.

Cold.

I wondered if she was going to give me a cold, silent treatment after this.

- - -

I let out a relieved sigh as I sat down on the floor next to her. She raised her hand and I thought that maybe that act was just one of those reflex actions – impulse – and she wiped off something on my face calmly. My blood. Probably splattered from earlier.

"I dislike blood." There was something off with her voice. There was no rage, no fear. Just … weary. Tired. What I thought that never registered into her after a long time.

"Don't you get tired?" There. I asked her that question that was bugging me for a long time now. Where that came from, god knows.

"Oh, I do," she replied, shrugging. "I am human, after all. Which is why … I rest."

I nodded, not knowing what to say. She was not as strong as I had mentally conjured her up to be. Weak? Not even close. Like she said, she was simply … human. Taking her hand, I licked that small, not-so-offending blood smear on the thumb. As expected, she jerked her hand almost instantly.

"Hey." She glared and pushed my shoulder slightly.

What was she expecting, an apology? Tough. Like I would. I was thoroughly enjoying torturing her in a subtle way, getting emotions rising from her. Teasing, you call that. I remained on the floor as she examined the deep cut at my hand; the type I was already used to.

"You're wounded," she said softly. Her voice seemed metallic in that silence; a tinkle, you might say; angelic.

Her eyes, god, her eyes … they were as dark as ever – those mysterious pools of earth. She scanned for some other signs of injury, tilting her head this way and that as I licked the flowing blood off my hand. When she realized that I noticed she was (indeed) checking me out as I also was, she averted her gaze, straightening her apron.

"Minor scratch, love," I countered and waved my hand dismissively. Whether it was out of politeness or just her nature to help even a tramp, it was that lone quality of hers that I always found gnawing my heart by bits. Irritation? Maybe. Interest? Maybe. Something else? Maybe. I wasn't sure myself.

"Still, that could get infected," she pressed and went somewhere a few steps away and bending down to retrieve a first aid kit.. "Let's get that patched up," I heard her say.

Persistent, aren't we? I sat still with my back on the wall; kicking away the arm which was twisted in an awkward way that I knew it was broken. She's strong. I give her that.

"I want you to repair that door." She began cleaning up the cut and bandaging it with keen precision – not loose or damagingly thick.

"No biggie. As long as you let me choose what lock you should have."

"Okay," she sighed. "So why are you here?"

"Yo, are you kiddin' me? You're the one who made me stay."

"I'm not buying that."

I sighed. "Fine. I saw those five getting in … and well, y'know. Things happened?"

She raised one scrutinizing frown. "Ohh… And who do you think you are, my father? I can defend myself well."

"Ha-ha."

"Indeed." She stood up and packed everything back into the box.

When I had finished sending the bodies – both unconscious ones and dead – to a medical center, we began to work on the door. Needless to say, it was work…difficult on her part, and the opposite on me. Most of the time, I realized I was trying to obtain that one thing I never get to see fully – a laugh. Even making her smile was a challenge to begin with. Our conversation was kept short and she responded with bits of heavy sarcasm.

Sarcasm, my best friend. As if. It was killing me.

The door was done and she was ushering me out and just before she shut the door, I heard a hushed "Thanks."

Click.

"Anytime."

I didn't have to remind her, sadly. I was hoping I could the next time I would make an entrance there.

- - -

That particular night promised no brawls, no blood spilling, and no chaos at all – with the clichéd stars decorating the sky heavily, drunkards swaying and rolling down the pavement – singing their rants or utter nonsense – in loud, undignified way as Tseng would call them and last but not least, that place which was still awake in the heart of Edge at that ungodly hour. In the quiet street, most of her customers exited, some entered and that familiar jingle always resonated cheerily in that warm simplicity of her bar.

Seventh Heaven.

I let out a 'tsk'. Heart. Imagine that. How can an edge ever obtain a heart? I blame thee, Tseng, for influencing my brain with all those catchy poetry of yours.

I remembered the first time inviting myself to the Seventh Heaven. She had remained aloof but the venom in her voice was present. She did serve me something I wanted – something I didn't really remember. Upon gently giving me that, she hissed a warning.

"Don't try anything funny."

Heck, I never did funny things whenever I was barhopping. At times, I would get wasted and sleep with the hobos if I was too drunk to get somewhere called home.

My system works that way. I grinned at the thought … which could change given the right circumstances.

The second time was last night where I was the unexpected savior. I may be no hero, but I could act like someone closer to it; a villain as the knight.

The third time's a charm, everyone. If I get kicked out, I could always try another time. If I get to stay, my luck.

I stepped under the threshold, pushing and weaving my way to the area I had last sat on, the barstool opposite her usual spot, which was strangely unoccupied. Sensing that someone was right behind her, she turned around.

"I'm sorry, that seat's taken…"

She looked up just to meet my gaze. I was apparently amused to no ends and a smirk automatically registered to my face. "Taken by whom?" I asked, knowing full well who as I raised a relaxed eyebrow.

"Uh…" She knew I had known. She shook her head tentatively and I could've sworn there was a slight rose hue on her cheeks. Hearing someone shouted an order for something, she exhaled the breath I had noticed she was holding and went up to him.

Her side was then leaning against the counter pretending to be busy with something and tapping her fingers atop the smooth surface she always wiped – in an unnamed rhythm.

I propped my elbows on the counter, trying to read her expression (maybe I would get to know why she had this seat reserved) but there was none to explore. Blank. Professional masking. The background noise gradually decreased, leaving only some hushed chatter and occasional comments on the TV show. After a brief moment of familiar, awkward silence between us, she returned her gaze to me, turning to my direction as she … smiled.

For that, I was glad she remembered…

Tifa Lockhart remembered to smile. It wasn't the usual practiced 'Welcome to Seventh Heaven! What can I get you?' one. This was a rare one for someone like me; a Turk with imperfections who should have none of those – her smile.

In which I knew it was just for me alone. A smile which simply said, 'Hey.'

"Yo," I greeted and my trademark smirk grew in pure delight and sudden fondness. I'm no hero. I'm just someone she's gonna learn to know—

An exchange in late greetings.

—a friend within the knightly villain.

.

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