an; this is by the tremendous S. Zix, because she's super awesome and cool and is making my pitiful drabble badass.
More Than He Does
Petunias force themselves into Tifa's nostrils as she wanders to the remains of the Sector Five slums. When the Sun shines through the cracks in the church ceiling—as it so seldom does anymore—she can detect the distinct smell of striped carnations, no matter how many scrapes from clawing through the dirt cover her knees as she uproots them.
Leather backpack, heavy with incense, smashes the patch of daisies as she drops it.
Cloud had told Tifa that sometimes, but only when the Sun is warming his face, he can see Aeris standing in a swaying streak of light, holding out her arm and dropping ulcers into his stomach. Since then, Tifa started coming to the church more than he does, but she has never seen Aeris. Not even once.
The zipper whirs, and Tifa pulls the stack of incense from her bag. She picks up the lavender and the incense board. Her hand shakes as she holds the lighter, thumbing the mechanism one, two, three—
Flame sparks blue and gold in her hand. She closes her eyes because she cannot believe she hasn't seen it before. The wood circles her, rotting and brittle every day, and she has never seen it before.
Outside of the church, the clouds still paint the Sun gray like the smoke wafting from dry wood. Suddenly, the flame picks up the scent of striped carnation: a kiss before the sinking feeling and water sucking it down deeper.
Flowers don't remind Tifa of Aeris at all. They always bloom, even when the Sun does not shine; no one has told them that it doesn't get better. Flowers keep hoping, drinking in the humid air to no avail.
It doesn't get better.
Tifa's still waiting for someone to tell her that.
