In Tifa's sock drawer, there is one pair that, for no one reason in particular, goes untouched, wedged into the side of the drawer between the wood siding and neat piles of folded undergarments. There's nothing wrong with them, really. They are plain, black, shin-high socks that are well-worn and slightly faded, yet not holely or over-stretched; just a reliable pair of socks Tifa used to wear.

But not anymore.

Cloud notices this one day, when he happens to see her slipping on white ankle socks before lacing up her shoes. Nowadays, she's traded in her hiking boots for tennis shoes, just like she's traded in life on the road for life in (what used to be) Midgar. This makes sense. What he notices is that he never saw her out of that one pair of black socks during their adventure, but she never wears them anymore. Whenever it's Cloud's turn to do the laundry – the chore he gets stuck with most often, because he can't cook to save his life – he finds himself folding a dozen pairs of white socks, the kind with grey-patched toes that every person in the universe seems to have.

But never that distinct, familiar pair.

Cloud thinks he's known Tifa long enough to know what kind of socks she wears. But then again, he thinks, he's probably over-analyzing it all.

The old pickup they'd nabbed in Midgar didn't drive at all well on dirt. As a result, the newly formed team – a delusional ex-SOLDIER, a man with a gun for an arm, a large wildcat-esque creature, a former bartender, and a flower maiden – endured the hours-long trek through the wastelands that surrounded the colossal city.

Finally, when the dry, craggy earth fell away into sprigs, then patches, then wild, vast expanses of pale green grass, Aerith's expression lit up as if she'd seen something incredible. Though she had been strolling at her own pace at the back of the group, suddenly, she was bounds ahead of her companions, skipping forward and falling into the soft blanket of growth.

Tifa chuckled. She picked up her pace to catch up with Aerith – even though the others resolved to keep walking as normal – and sat next to her in the grass, folding her legs beside her.

"It's beautiful," Aerith breathed as she ran her hands through the blades of grass. "Don't you think?"

"Yeah," Tifa agreed, taking in a deep breath of the verdant air. "It's been so long since I've been somewhere like this. Being cooped up in Midgar the past few years, I almost forgot."

Aerith plucked a clover from the ground and twirled it between her fingertips. "Can you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

Tifa didn't quite understand what she was talking about. She'd never considered the planet in such a way before – Aerith sure was peculiar.

But when she looked up, when she saw how perfectly cotton-puff clouds hung in the pure blue sky, how you couldn't get that kind of view under the pollution and construction of Midgar, she felt something different. Something stirred in her, tugged at her heart, pulled her closer to the Earth.

It was faint, but perhaps it was what Aerith felt.

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "I think I feel it."

She was running.

She ran and she yelled, she yelled at Cloud to do something, do something, but he was frozen in place, deaf to the world, a hero-shaped statue placed upon the altar as a witness as the blade fell from the heavens and pierced her tiny body. She wanted to act, to save her, but she was just as useless as Cloud, helplessly watching from afar, just like always.

There was a storm in her. It raged against her chest, flooded her eyes, burned her throat. It felt as if the entire world collapsed in on her, crushing her body.

And yet she felt completely numb, because part of her died that day, too.

Every time they stayed at an inn, they rented a room with two beds; one for the girls and one for the boys, while Nanaki preferred to curl up on the floor. It would be more comfortable if they were to rent two rooms, but when they were fighting monsters almost all the time between cities, their funds were better allocated towards medical supplies and weapon repairs.

Not that it bothered Aerith and Tifa. They grew to find comfort and warmth in sharing a bed. After Yuffie came along, they fell into a habit of curling up together in bed, Tifa to the right, Yuffie to the left, Aerith holding them together in the middle.

And so they became quite close.
Whenever they got a chance, when they stayed at an inn with a private bath, they washed together for the sake of saving time. After all, since both of them had absurdly long hair, it was nice to have a friend to help shampoo.

"You know, Tifa," Aerith said one day as she attempted to work the dirt and grime out from the ends of her thick, ebony locks. "If you'd braid your hair, it would keep a lot cleaner..."

"Heh. I can't do that," she replied. "Braids are too much of an 'Aerith' thing. " I can't live up to that."

"Oh, don't talk that way."

Tifa laughed. "Just kidding. I just... it would be weird if I suddenly wore my hair like you, I guess. I can't picture it."

But she lied. Aerith had a certain serenity about her, as if she was a sanctuary within herself. Tifa couldn't match that. Where Aerith was peaceful forests and pleasant meadows, Tifa was crashing waves and stormy waters; too wavering, too emotional.

The pool of blood around her was too great for her to possibly be alive; too massive for any cura or phoenix down or elixir to save her.

It was the same thing that happened five years ago, all over again.

Just like five years ago, she was gone.

Just like five years ago, Tifa couldn't do anything about it.

Still, she brushed her hand against her cold cheeks, as if there was still someone worth fighting for. Her fingers trembled as they caressed Aerith's face, her hair, her dress, trailing down her corpse until blood messied them, clinging to her skin, staining.

The abandoned home they rested in that night was cold, likely because not a soul had inhabited the Forgotten Capital in countless years, and not a soul would inhabit it for countless more. A lonely, silent atmosphere hung over the entire city – Tifa noticed it when they first entered, but after all that transpired, it now felt heavier and more unsettling than ever.

She tried to find solace in the comfort of her friends, holding Yuffie close when everyone went to bed. But when the two of them clung to each other in the space left by Aerith, the tears wouldn't stop; Yuffie sniffled and sobbed into Tifa's chest while she lay wide awake, overwhelmed by stinging eyes and briny scents.

The only other person in the room was Cloud, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the indigo light of midnight – he couldn't sleep either. He moved not an inch, gazing into space with red, irritated eyes, light-years removed from the planet.

Tifa recognized those eyes. They mirrored her own.

After all that had happened, and Cloud and Tifa moved back to Midgar together, they found themselves sharing a room above Seventh Heaven. They knew what such living arrangements typically entailed, but for the most part, they shared the space because sleeping alone felt too vulnerable, too uncertain – especially after all they had been through.

Sometimes, however, she kissed him; slow, sweet kisses after everyone else had gone to bed and no one could tease the obvious tension between them. She kissed him to pull him back, when she noticed the distant gleam in his downcast green eyes that told her he was thinking about the planet, thinking about Sephiroth, thinking about her.

She understood. She wasn't a person to simply be forgotten – deep down, when Tifa kissed him, she still thought about her, too.

"Tifa...? There's a hole in your sock..."

It was night time and Tifa sat at the end of the bed, pulling off her boots as the team settled into the room they rented in the Kalm Inn – Cloud and Barret had both already passed out in their bed, while Red XIII sat at its foot. Aerith was still fully dressed, standing in front of the mirror and combing out her hair until she noticed Tifa's socks.

When she pointed it out, Tifa looked down at her feet. Sure enough, there was a gaping tear in the end of her left sock – her entire big toe was exposed. "Oh yeah," she laughed, wiggling the bare toe in the air. "They're an old pair, but since AVALANCE got busy, I haven't had much of a chance to get new ones..."

At this, Aerith stopped with her hair and pulled out her coin purse from her coat pocket. She opened it and peered inside, moving her lips as she silently counted her gil. "Hey, Tifa," she said, looking over at her with sparkling, inspired eyes. "I have a decent amount here – let me go get you some!"

"What- no way!" Tifa replied incredulously. "I mean, it's not that bad. Socks are such a minor thing..."

Aerith smiled. "You can't go running around with a hole in your sock, especially the way we're adventuring now."

"Well..."

"It's fine. There's a drugstore nearby – they'll have stuff like socks, I think. I'll be right back!" Without needing any more encouragement, Aerith was off, skipping out the door.

Tifa rose to her feet, standing by the window in her sock-feet and witnessing Aerith's pink-clad figure travel from the inn across the street to the store. She felt guilty, having not accompanied her; she was a very precious, very sweet girl, the kind Tifa wanted to protect. But at the same time, she trusted Aerith deeply, even though they'd known each other for only a short while.

Sure enough, it didn't take long for her to return. Tifa watched as she quickly made her way back to the inn, clutching a small object close to her chest. She then emerged into the room once more, still shivering from the nippy night air, her nose painted light red.

"I... I got these," she said, slightly out of breath. "They look like they're your size. You should try them on!"

Tifa stepped over and took the socks from Aerith, feeling the thick, soft material between her fingers. "Thank you so much, Aerith," she replied. Her cheeks flushed pink. "It's just that... you don't have to do this. Any of this, really – I've only recently met you, and all you've done is act totally kind towards me and everyone else."

"Oh, it's nothing,"Aerith replied, ornamenting her response with her light, distinct giggle. "It's only the natural thing to do. Just take them as a gift from a friend; now, when you look at your socks, you'll think of me!"

Under her breath, Tifa chuckled. "You know, you are the most adorable, loveable person I've ever met."

"Stop..." Aerith said, grinning. It was, to her, just a mundane experience, a normal act of kindness; as it should be.

Yet there was something about it that Tifa couldn't let go. Something about the exchange sat in her heart, replaying in her mind whenever her thoughts drifted to the flower girl she once knew.

She woke up with a start.

Her breaths were short and quick as she lay with her eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling. Slowly, she pulled herself into a sitting position, bending forward, her thick, raven hair falling over her face. Her hand clutched her chest as she caught her breath, adjusting back to reality outside the realm of dreams.

It was the same dream, of course, the dream where she died and Tifa stood, paralyzed, witness to it all. As soon as she felt at terms with it all, there was the dream again, crashing against her mind like a tidal wave.

Shivering, Tifa pulled the blankets tighter around her.

The world felt so much heavier, colder, since Aerith was gone.

Tifa looked to her side, expecting to see Cloud, but the bed was empty. Her gaze then wandered around the room until she found his shadowy figure seated in the chair across the room, leaning to the side, propped up by his elbow.

He stared back at her solemnly. While Tifa was aroused by a nightmare, Cloud couldn't find a night's rest to save his life.

She sighed. "You too, huh?"

Cloud finally decides to ask Tifa about the socks. It isn't a big deal at all - both of them definitely have greater issues than those of socks – but it bothers him. He wants an answer, just so that he doesn't have to worry about her dumb socks every time he does laundry.

"Tifa," he asks one morning before going out on a job. "Do you mind if I borrow a pair of socks for today?"

As expected, she smiles exasperatedly at him, but fails to see through the petty lie. "Okay. You really should wash your clothes, though."

"I know, I know," he replies as he rummages through the drawer, carefully avoiding the items she'll punch him for, should he tamper with them. Finally, he finds what he's looking for, neatly folded into each other like a tulip.

He holds up the pair. "Do you mind if I take these?"

She looks up, lips parting when she lays eyes on what he's picked out. "Um... not that pair," she stutters. "Pick another."

"Why? You never wear these."

Tifa walks over and takes her black socks from his hand and slides them back into the drawer. "It's... it's not actually a big deal," she explains. "They're just kind of... special, to me."

"Special...?" Leave it to Tifa, with her orthopedic underwear and special socks...

She smiles at him again, but this time, with a sort of bittersweetness, a sort of heaviness in her earthy brown eyes. "They're just a gift from an old friend, that's all."