Illusionary
Disclaimer: Eh...Square characters not mine.
Chapter 2
Dawn approached as the first signs of summers light seeped through the ivory blinds of Cloud's fairly vacant room. Barely ever being present, the use for many personal items such as pictures or posters was non-existent.
But Cloud was no where within the blinded bedroom. Body adorned in a white tee and faded loose jeans, he was already making his descent down the silent steps just as the crack of dawn shined through the clear glass windows of the pale blue villa. Only a touch of the faintest light reflected off of the white washed walls of the living room, where Tifa continued to slumber.
The house was silent save for Strife's barefoot stride and the brush of his calloused hand to the polished banister. He didn't have to peak inside her untouched room to know she hadn't left the comfort of the loveseats welcoming embrace to her sleeping figure. He felt her down below.
Carefully crossing the hardwood floor, he gazed upon the sleeping brunette with nothing less than an admiring smile. So peaceful and content; he wondered what her dreams were made of. Were they of her aspirations, her future or perhaps something more personal? She had been inside his head by some twisted miracle—what he wouldn't give to take a glimpse in hers...
It may have been an invasion of privacy, but he was drawn to her, like a Prince to his Sleeping Beauty. The reason behind the conscious comparison baffled even him, but regardless of such he proceeded to stalk toward her, careful not to emit a solitary sound.
The loveseat nearly fit the entire stretched length of Lockhart, her body upon its side as her spine and bottom were pressed comfortably to the back cushions. With breathing steady and a trace of a smile to her lips, the young man gathered her dreams must have been pleasant. Cloud could only internally desire to be apart of them.
Approaching her quietly, he boldly sat to the space by her hips and simply watched her in a daze. Moments like these made him wish to never leave her side. She was always so understanding, so supportive to everything he did or had ever done. No matter how many times he left, with word or without, no matter how extensive the period of time, she always welcomed his returning figure with friendly smile and warm embrace. He couldn't take that for granted.
Yet, his venturing was at times necessary. He required time to himself to think, to understand himself. So many memories, so much pain, so many wounds left unhealed and open to infection. There were times no one could help him, no one could save him but himself, and the inner voice within his mind that kept him going, despite the knowledge of who loved him, of who cared. His inner voice was what kept him prowling through the storms, shuffling through the snow and wading through the floods. His inner voice, sounded remarkably like hers...
His fingertips possessed a mind of their own as they lifted from his lap and gently touched Tifa's cheek, delicately stroking a crescent path, and traveling that path repeatedly. What was it within him that caused him to withhold his honest emotion? Fear? Rejection? Both were tremendously possible, his general shy nature still holding him captive. How would he even go about it? Perhaps it was wrong to think such a way, for if he did admit, it could easily tarnish what they already had created. There was simply no risking it.
"Oh Cloud..." The smile widened upon her visage as she inhaled deeply, shifting in her place which caused Cloud to instantly retract his hand, fearful he may have awakened her. However, to his fortune, she remained in her current state, sleep still confining her to her dreamland. So, maybe he was there...
Touching the strands of hair that had fallen to her face, he studied her expression—so blissful and jubilated. She was content with whatever image was being presented by her subconscious, and he didn't want to disturb that. However, he felt selfish, and desired her attention. So he would stay there, and watch her sleep while his lips burned, yearning to feel her. And as the thought entered his mind, he lowered his lips to her temple to do just that—this kiss perhaps the only one he'd ever bestow upon her...
He never got the chance. Once a face filled with nothing but contentment, suddenly contorted into confusion, and finally fear, as her limbs jerked sporadically. Alarmed as he was, Cloud made no immediate move but observed her motions. A good dream had obviously shifted into a nightmare; it was almost too much for the blond to bear. The whimpers of distress that were emanated from her throat were enough to send him into action. As softly as he could, he shook her exposed shoulder, attempting to ease her into the waking world.
With a start, her eyes snapped ajar, clenching and recoiling from the ex-mercenary's touch. At once, he pulled back. Once her glossy irises came into focus, she gazed upon Cloud's figure, slightly startled by the sight of him. "Cloud... G-good morning."
Strife smiled kindly, "Morning. You were having a nightmare."
Tifa frowned, but only a small bit as she sat up straight, curving her back to stretch the cramped muscles beneath her skin, "Yeah."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
A flash of anxiety appeared on her tightened features as she avoided his piercing blue gaze. "It's not important..." she answered with much uncertainty in her tone.
Despite his raging curiosity, he didn't pursue his interrogation. After all, to know the mare, he must know the dream, which seemed all too personal. He simply caressed her moist shoulder in a comforting motion which had produced a thin layer of perspiration during her mild tremors, "If you say so. If you ever want to tell me you know, you can."
The touch, as soothing as it was to the young woman, left her feeling dirty...
"Stay away from him!"
She twitched involuntarily, suddenly struck with a reminder of guilt and fear. Quickly rising from her place upon the loveseat, she immediately made her way toward the stairway, never once risking a glance to the spiky blonde's direction, "I'm going to try and get some more sleep..." A little white lie. She could do anything but sleep at this point. The dream that began was like any other her subconscious produced, but the dark, perplexing nightmare that shattered her fantasy...she couldn't understand it. What did it mean? That voice, so filled with blood curdling hatred and jealousy—a voice that followed her from her subconscious to her utterly conscious state. Was it really her?
Strife remained seated, watching her leave without another word to her. Was it his touch that was responsible for her discomfort? It was never an issue before, so why was it now? Was her nightmare responsible for her withdrawal from his touch? With these questions unanswered, he lied within the warmth of the cushions, where the warmth and scent of his childhood friend, his adulthood companion lingered, unconsciously relishing in what was left behind.
A simple ringing of the telephone shattered his oncoming fantasies. He rose from his place to reach for the vibrating phone set upon the pale blue end table to his right. Placing it to his ear, he spoke into it while attempting to feign off the drowsiness that began to consume. "Hello?"
A pause ensued on the other end before someone deeply masculine replied, "Well you ain't Tifa..."
"She's sleeping," Cloud responded to the gruff comment on the other end, "but I hope I can temporarily substitute till she wakes up."
A short, amused chuckle sounded, "Hey spiky-ass. So ya decided to come home after all!"
Cloud thought to reply to his friend, but was interrupted by a childish melody, "Uncle Cloud? Is that uncle Cloud, daddy?"
Strife couldn't help but smile at the familiar voice, "Tell Marlene hello for me."
"Sure—Hey....sweetie, give daddy back the phone...!"
The undeniably sweet and innocent tone of Marlene took over the receiver, "Hi Uncle Cloud! I'm happy you went back to Tifa. She missed you."
These words caused a touch of redness to flush into his cheeks, "I missed her, too."
"So did you tell her?"
This earned a perplexed look, though it was impossible for her to see. She was always so nosy, and sometimes, as humiliating as it was, she stumped him relatively easy. "Tell her what?"
A dramatic, exasperated sigh sounded over the line followed by a deep chuckle from another source, "That you like her, silly!"
He paused a long moment. It was hard to believe he was being interrogated by a child! "I think she knows I like her. She is my best friend, right after you." Shaking his head, he instantly wished to take that statement back. He knew playing stupid with this intelligent five year old was a big mistake.
"No! Not like that...that you –like- her. You are so dense sometimes, Uncle."
"She's got you there, punk!" The child's father shouted from a slight distance, for his voice was muffled and fuzzy to Cloud's ears.
Cloud didn't answer immediately. The thought had crossed his mind several times over, but was quickly dismissed as a possibility. What they already had could easily be lost through the expansion of their relationship. That was something he wasn't willing to risk. "Marlene...you have to understand that sometimes we adults don't think it's a good idea to put a good, friendly relationship at risk to...get together--in that way."
"I think you're scared! Are you scared, Cloud? You shouldn't be because she likes you too! Just teeeeell her. You'll be happy you did. You should get married and have lots of babies for me to play with!" Marlene told him with an excited chipper in her tone. She wanted nothing more than for two of her favorite people to come together. Even though she was young, she was nothing less than observant and wise for her years.
The hero's face turned a deep shade of crimson, and he was relieved he was the only one aware of this fact. "....I'll think about it. I promise."
---
That phone call early that morning left Strife pondering as he stood at Tifa's '7th Heaven' late that night. Who knew it would be a five-year-old to give him the subtle push he needed? His arguments fell flat upon deaf ear as her persistence weaseled its way into his debating, logical mind with unfaltering grace. Though five-years-old, her perception was uncanny, despite the distance between them. She thoroughly convinced him his silence was useless, and he needed nothing more than to allow his emotions to reign free. Of course, it wasn't so eloquently put from the mouth of a child. Still, Marlene was something special.
As the unofficial leader of Avalanche, one would think he'd have his plans in order—to the contrary. He didn't have a clue how to go about it. With an exasperated sigh and a hand through his spiky hair, he turned the knob of the wooden entryway where he was at once greeted with the sight of a practically empty bar. A half drunken male lingered toward the end of the bar counter, his index finger idly tracing his shot glass' edge while two men toward the right hand side of the room, one exceptionally younger than the other, chatted with one another while seated at a round table cluttered with empty shot glasses and crumpled napkins as their attention temporarily diverted to the television positioned against the beige wall. It wasn't normally so slow from what he recalled. However, it was less than an hour before closing time; and within that time he had to piece together his confession.
Perhaps he'd chicken out? It wasn't unlikely. In fact, he was beginning to think it was a rotten idea in the first place. He nearly sauntered out...until he saw her; she was standing behind the bar counter, wiping away the leftover liquor that had drizzled from glasses and chins. Her eyes were clouded, as if she were somewhere else entirely, traveling the routes and detours her mind led her--completely oblivious to his presence.
Smirking slightly as this newfound knowledge, he quietly allowed the door to fall shut behind him. Noticing the eyes that followed his movements suddenly, he paid them no mind as he discreetly moved past various chairs and tables, slipping behind the bar stand where Tifa leaned to snatch an empty bottle from the countertop. As she leaned back to toss it unceremoniously into the trash bin, her back collided with the chest of Cloud Strife. Startled and caught completely off guard, she totally missed the garbage, the glass shattering against the tiled floor as she turned to stare at the male with wide eyes. Upon recognizing the fiend, she punched his shoulder, where he merely chuckled with a grin, reaching to grab the sore joint.
"You scared me half to death, you big jerk!" Tifa exclaimed with her eyes narrowed in annoyance.
He took a back step at the agitated look, hoping it was merely temporary, "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Looking to the mess upon the floor, his attention scattered all about the room, as if in search of something, "I'll clean it up."
"No, no," Lockhart shook her head as she dipped down to pick up the pieces. He startled her severely, that much was true, but she couldn't stay mad at him. Her visage had softened almost at once when he began to spew his apology. In fact, a part of her was glad he was present—she hadn't seen him since early that morning. "It's okay. Go on, I can get it."
"You sure? Because I'm not incapable of sweeping." Strife teased, earning a side glance from the brunette knelt before him. Yet even as he made his statement, he began to back out of her work area and toward the blaring television, which no one currently seemed to be paying any attention to.
Rolling her eyes, a quiet chuckle escaped her as she tossed the remnants of the broken bottle into the bin, successfully this time around as she rose to gaze at him. "I'm positive. Now go away, you're distracting me!"
The amusement in her tone was evident, and he playfully pouted regardless of this information. Before turning to depart, he reached into the cooler to his side and swiped a beer from the icy inside. He was unable to take a single step before a voice piped up behind him, "That'll be ten gil, mister."
Looking over his shoulder at the petite bartender who stared at his retreating figure, her fists planted firmly to her hips, he flipped off the top of the bottle with a carelessly placed cap opener, "Put it on my tab, please?" He didn't have to see it, he felt her amusement secrete from her pours as he set the opener back to its previous position and took a seat to one of the many vacant chairs placed closest to the television set.
For a time, there was silence within the bar, other than the news broadcast that Cloud was barely paying attention to as he nursed his beer. He didn't even really want it. It just seemed appropriate to handle for some odd reason. Perhaps it was his subconscious desire to fit into his surroundings, even if they weren't the best of conditions. The beer didn't matter—in his mind, he was debating. How was he going to say it?
'Tifa...I love you. I've loved you since we were children. I'd like to take it further.'
No. That was too cliché, too corny for his liking.
'I think it's time we got married and had babies.'
Absolutely not! What even possessed him to think of that?! ...Marlene.
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as a hushed conversation began to ensue behind him. The same men he noticed when he first stepped in were speaking quietly, trying to allow the television to veil the majority of their discussion.
"Have you seen the looks, the smiles she's been giving me all night? There is no doubt in my mind she wants me."
The voice was youthful, just on the brink of masculinity; possibly late teens to early twenties.
"I think yer wastin' yer time, lad. That's a 'tenders job, to ensure a tip from gullible boys like yerself!"
Obviously the eldest of the two with a strange; who spoke foreign accent. He'd been all over the world, but for some reason Cloud couldn't place this one.
"I'm no boy, old man. And I think I'm going to make a move. It's been awhile since I've gotten any action."
Wait...bartender...Tifa? The spiky blond suddenly felt his temper rise as he balled a hand into a tight fist, the other squeezing the perspiring glass bottle in his possession. It was a struggle to keep his back turned to the gentlemen as he eavesdropped, but he was certain not one would get near his friend.
For the first time in his life, Cloud Strife experienced rage brought on by immense jealousy. He knew he'd fallen then.
"She may be a 'tender, but she don't look easy."
'That's for damn sure,' Cloud thought with a soft smirk upon his lips.
"'Sides, she's been starin' at that blond fellow over there. I think they might be somethin'."
'Blond fellow'? Slowly, Cloud turned his head to gaze at the brunette the duo referred to, and his eyes locked with a pair of reddish irises that had previously burned holes in the back of his head. Those beautiful, feminine eyes blinked, and looked down at the glass she continuously wiped as if caught doing something wrong. The male merely smiled, and looked back to the television.
'Cloud... Words aren't the only thing that tell people what you're thinking...'
These words he held within his heart since the day they were spoken. He now had his means of confession.
"All right boys, time to move out. It's closing time." The owner announced sternly, but as sweetly as possible as she remained behind the bar but ready to leave it if any of the few customers resisted to vacate the premises.
Cloud turned and surveyed the bar as the remaining three patrons grumbled and rose from their seats. The man at the bar stumbled at first, but reached out for a stool to assist his stance. He was successful, and slowly shuffled toward the door with drooping eyes and loose limbs.
The young man gazed at Tifa for a long moment, as if debating something. Cloud was in the midst of giving him a cold, hard glare before the older man roughly shoved his shoulder while mumbling something to him, which was incoherent to Strife's ears, but the young male appeared to hear perfectly. His shoulders slumped forward as he departed the facility, the old man behind him. A slight grin came to the blonds' face as they left, which was quickly replaced with a look of anxiety. So here comes his moment; no longer was he to put it off, but to come face to face with his feelings, and the woman responsible for them.
Currently, she was preoccupied, sweeping the shards of broken glass into a pale green dust pan. She was practically out of his line of vision. And here he thought he had it sorted out, his confession on the tip of his tongue, his fingers, but nothing came. His mind was blank, and his heart was pounding. What was holding him back? Only a moment before he was determined, resolved in his demeanor but the tables seemed to have turned in less than a second.
Standing, he moved toward the wooden door to flip the bolt, locking it from the outside. Moving to the dirt speckled window, he flipped the 'CLOSED' sign just before pulling the shade down to block the moonlights' entrance into the small building. Still, nothing came to his mind. He was at a loss...as usual. Sighing inwardly, he turned toward his comrade to observe her nightly tidings.
Taking a rag in hand, she bent over one of the many tables to wipe the liquid puddles from its top before the sticky substances dried into the unpolished wood. He stared as she moved to yet another table, and she didn't notice the eyes upon her until she reached her third.
Looking in the direction of the still figure by the covered window, she smirked as she placed a hand to her hip. "You could help, you know. Then maybe I wouldn't be in here all night."
Where once fear had existed, had completely dissolved. Where uncertainty lingered, was quickly replaced with resolve. His confidence returned to him with the sight of her smile, and he knew then he was making the right decision.
Strife smiled at her kindly, moving to approach her in an easy, confident stride. Lockhart didn't move, nor did she barely blink an eye or continue her bussing. She watched carefully as the smile on his visage never faltered, as the look in his eye was something uncommon to see. So uncommon, she didn't understand what it was.
And when they came face to face she still couldn't place it. Even when his warm fingers grasped her delicate wrist that held the dirty rag while the other removed it, casting it carelessly to the floor, she couldn't place it. But when that free hand found its way to her face to cup her blushing cheek, she could place it.
He kissed her. Soft, tender, and pressing his passion onto her. A kiss had the capability to say so much, to answer so many untouched questions. This was the beginning—the beginning of the end.
"Stop it! Stop it now!"
Eyes once closed, lost in the euphoria of their lips coming together as one, snapped wide open as a terrifying pitch resounded in Tifa's head, and didn't stop; not for a second.
"Get away, he doesn't belong to you! I WILL NOT LET YOU HAVE HIM!"
Abruptly as well as fearfully, Lockhart fell away from the kiss, away from the befuddled man who didn't understand her reaction. Her expression told that of confusion, fear, and regret. It was an expression that tore Cloud to pieces.
Searching for words, his mind fumbled over and over again for the right ones. He should have known better than to listen to a five-year-old. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't ha—"
At once, Tifa shook her head, raising a hand to interrupt him as she avoided his eyes. "I...I have to get to work. Go home, I can handle it."
"Tifa—"
"Go home!" She strained on these words, and regretted the volume. However, only a brief, apologetic look was the only indication of such a feeling that her roommate never did see; his back was turned to leave. In a swift dash, she retreated to the back supply room of the bar and slammed the door behind her, leaving Cloud to ponder where he went wrong.
With a longing look behind him, he departed the facility with a broken heart, leaving behind an equally shattered friend who could do nothing but cry, and curse the accusing voice that had been long dead until now.
End of Chapter 2