He sat, as always, where he was sitting.
Where else?
Tifa smiled at him as she passed, going to get yet another customer's order.
She liked him because he always ordered the same thing: one beer, and he took a long time to drink it.
There was no use for words now that he'd been coming every week on mondays. He'd nod, and she'd take his order. He was never late, always there at precisely five o'clock.
Rude didn't come just for the beer, though it was top quality. He also came to see Tifa, and to see Tifa's smile when she looked at him.
It'd never amount to more, however. He knew that, because he'd never go any nearer to her than facing the counter to pay, at exactly seven thirty.
But Tifa was curious, as to be expected. Since she closed at seven thirty, and most of the patrons had left,
When Rude came up to pay, she started talking to him.
"Hi, Rude."
Rude nodded at her.
"I was wondering... Why do you come? I mean, if you came just for beer you'd probably bring Reno, too."
"..."
"Rude, do you come for the beer?"
Rude shook his head.
"Rude, why do you come then?"
"You."
The simple answer seemed to have caught her off guard. "Then why don't you ever talk to me?" She asked quietly.
"Because I shouldn't."
"Why, what's-"
In a wierd way, it was almost because of his hair.
"Tifa, are you saying you-"
"Yes. But why can't we make something out of this?"
"I won't live very long, and I don't want to be another person to add to your mourning list."
"So, you're a Turk, that dooesn't-"
"That's not what I mean."
Tifa stayed silent, looking at him.
"Have you ever wondered why I don't have hair?"
"I always thought you shaved your head or something."She replied, obviously confused as to what his hair -or, rather, the lack of it- had to do with anything.
"Chemo."
"What?"
"Chemotherapy."
Tifa stared. "Oh, Rude, I'm so sorry-"
"Don't be."
Rude walked out, knowing that if he had hair right now, he'd probably be kissing her.