Melancholia
Tifa watched him, unamused. He felt her disapproval searing into his back. He had done wrong and he knew it. He simply hadn't expected an unending stream of wrath to be poured upon him day and night. He was sure that it should have subsided. That left him one last explanation, she isn't angry with me. He felt the dread build within him.
It wasn't him whom she was intending the glares or low mutterings for. That meant that it would continue until its true target arrived. He had little doubt as to who the Intended One was. He also had little doubt that the Intended One had no intention of arriving soon. Therefore, he settled into despondency.
She saw his expression turn to discontent. A momentary feeling of guilt rose within her, but it was easily quelled. She returned to her glaring and the expenditure sheets with ease.
When the doors finally opened he was greeted with a view of darkness. The shadows were snug where they were. They clung to everything. It was utter stillness that his mind automatically likened to death. He closed it behind him carefully.
He treaded deliberately. It would be a grave error to disturb the sleeping residents. It would be a grave error to awaken Tifa. She had been avoiding his few calls for the last month or two; he didn't particularly remember how long a period. It had been weighing on his mind. That had been why he returned so soon. He had thought it unwise to leave her to her irrational nightmares.
The steps creaked beneath his heavy boots, but he was wise. He knew the building too well. It was he who had helped to make the floorboards so weak in the first place. The weary exercise of lowering one centimetre of himself at a time made his mind wander.
However, he made it to the first floor without a sound. How he had stood the careful tip-toeing had surprised even him. He took a moment to revel in his abilities. Then, he began again. The slow footfalls played at his mind. He was bored. He wanted speed. He wanted his motorcycle and the wind whipping through his hair with nothing but the vast, deserted land before him, behind him and all around him.
"Welcome,"
The curt, stressed word shattered the silence. He froze, cursing himself silently and regretting his awful care on the staircase. The word seemed to echo. It filled his racing mind and he knew it was too late to make excuses but he was determined to have one regardless.
He turned and saw her silhouette against the shadows. The deep scowl was not simply confined to her lips. It creased her forehead firmly. She looked far older than she really was. She also seemed strict, unforgiving, and he supposed it was true. He had no escape.
"Your room is ready for you," she said and slipped past him. "Use it if you want. If you're not staying the fridge is stocked. Take what you need."
Her matter-of-fact tone fooled no one. She had been worried sick. She wouldn't have waited for the sound of his arrival otherwise. She was simply too proud to admit it. The haughtiness that had developed in the last few years was all too evident.
Denzel spoke, just as callously distant. "Don't you have your own to take care of?"
She paused. The hand that held the doorframe shook it. Her lips were pursed tightly. She was almost as still as the bar had been. It was unearthly. She was less real than even ghosts in that one moment.
A hand appeared at her waist. "Denzel, it's good to see you,"
She glowered at Cloud. The deeply set curve of her lips had intensified. Her brow was knitted together. She almost slapped his hand away. She wanted to. He knew she did.
A low, supercilious snort was made. "Wish I could say the same,"
Cloud looked at him for a long moment. It took a mere second for a conclusion to be reached. His lips moved slowly at Tifa's ear. She listened, and then obeyed. There was no glance back as she slipped under his arm. There was only the slamming of the door once Cloud had left their bedroom.
"Denzel," he called. "Don't do this."
He was on the edge of the stairs; so close to escape, so close to freedom. "Don't do what? You've seen her. She doesn't want me here. Why should I stay?"
Cloud leant against the door. "I think we both know that she's lying. She's angry, but she does love you,"
He didn't miss the flicker of Denzel's eyes to the third door. It had once been a storeroom. Now it was a child's bedroom.
Denzel was hushed. "She has someone else to love now,"
Cloud shook his head, resisting a yawn. "She can love you all. She hasn't stopped caring about you just because…"
He stared. Moments later a drained smile took to his features. He had underestimated the boy. When, he wondered, had the boy become so silent. A rush of paternal pride filled him. Denzel was just like he used to be, and he had every faith that the boy would stop racing around the openness and return to friends and family as he had.
A quiet creak stopped him at his door. "He's gone again, hasn't he?"
Cloud nodded sombrely. "Yes,"
Marlene groaned. "You're a bad influence…"
The door shut behind her with more force than necessary. The slight whine to her voice was an odd comfort, reminding him of his own foolish youth.
Author's Note: Now this will really be just a short series. A few more chapters at best, I guarantee. In fact, I swear that death's embrace can touch me if it doesn't. I was curious about how Denzel and Marlene would react to a new family member. I always thought that it would affect Denzel the most since Marlene has Barret to fall back on. Denzel doesn't. When the new family member gets all the attention he's going to be sidelined a little. All things considered, he'd probably be an angst ridden teenager by that point, and voila, you have this… Whatever this is…
Thank you for reading. I do hope that you've enjoyed this chapter. I apologise if you're unhappy with the story.