A.N: In case we've forgotten, under this is the updated time line. Today in the story is April 22nd.

April 17th - One hundred days for Cloud (Chapter I, before ACC, close to midnight)

April 19th - Tifa's phone calls, mysterious trio (Chapters III, ACC, late morning)

April 20th - Tifa's nightmare (Chapter II, ACC, past midnight)

April 21st - Denzel's birthday with Tifa (Chapter II, ACC, morning), Cloud's thoughts about death and his dream without voices (Chapter III, during ACC, evening and minutes away from midnight)

And ... we're here right now. April 22nd, a little past midnight, and Cloud's just arrived at that somewhere.
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Before the Storm
By Syzeria

Chapter IV
:Depth in Silence:

I've heard this life is overrated
But I hope that it gets better as we go ...

Cloud's cheekbone banged against slick metal and he jumped up from his leaning position, his spiritless eyes suddenly igniting with energy and shock. He slipped off what he was sitting on—just realizing it was Fenrir—and the left side of his body collided against cold, hard asphalt. A pained noise rumbled out of his throat as he winced and rolled over onto his other—and better—side.

He abruptly pushed himself up into a sitting position with his good hand, his eyes still shining with bewilderment. Cloud stared at a shadowed building, its silhouette dimly lit by the quiet moonlight. He stared at the single door before him and felt his bones melting and his stomach twist awkwardly once he looked up at the sign. Seventh Heaven.

He had forced himself to stay away from here for so long ...

Absentmindedly, his hand gently brushed the lilac inside his pocket as he deliberated feebly, though the decision had, in truth, already been made.

He stood up slowly, his face impassive and his lips flat and inexpressive. But his eyes shone brighter than the light stolen from the sun, in fleeting fear and growing anticipation. When Cloud jerked back to reality, his hand was resting on a doorknob.

... Just be silent, Cloud told himself as he turned the knob. He nearly jumped back in alarm; the door was unlocked.

Cloud refused to think perhaps they left the door unlocked for him as he pushed it open.

The bar room was dark, its walls layered with a sort of hidden grief that made him feel supremely uneasy. He closed the door behind him, took a step off the mat laid by the door, and his shoes made a knocking noise that nearly echoed. The floorboards under him creaked noisily and his brows knitted in concern. Had he gotten heavier?

Careful not to shift his feet too quickly, Cloud removed his boots and his lighter feet padded almost silently across the room. His pace was very slow, and hesitance made each step keep its distance from the levels of a normal pace.

If anyone woke, he would have to run out the door before they saw him. He didn't move an inch further until he was more than half-certain he really would.

Cloud continued his slow and uncertain pace as he climbed the stairs leading to the second floor. He froze on the last step when he heard a strange noise. A moan echoed around him and clutched at everything, forcefully inserting pain and fright and pity-for-the-unknown into the very fibres of his body.

Cloud got up and walked as silently as he could to the door of the only room he had eyes for at the moment. The door stood ajar and Cloud peered through the small gap. His eyes softened when he saw a small boy sleeping on a mattress, under a thick blanket. The fact the figure was sleeping under a thick blanket concerned Cloud—he was quite warm himself without two sleeves—and he leaned in more intently, his hair pressing against the doorway.

I should go ... should go ... should go ... Cloud's mind pleaded over and over in time to the heavy swaying of his heart and the subtle pounding in his mind, powerful enough to echo through the rest of his body in a wrenching and pitiful vibration.

Swallowing, he pushed the door open slowly, letting out a relieved sigh as he did. The heavy sway inside him did not diminish, the echo didn't weaken, but it didn't matter so much. He had come near the children at last, and he felt much better around them.

Through the darkness, Cloud's eyes poured over the sleeping boy. However, as he moved closer, he saw the boy wasn't sleeping soundly. The pillow was worn and it was stained with liquid Cloud wouldn't name. Then, Cloud saw the dried tear lines on the child's pale skin, all drifting apart in different directions on his face, making him seem as a shattered portrait. Cloud hung his head in realization as the sleeping child knitted his brows in discomfort.

A part of him begged, writhed and shook from the will to leave and never come back. That part knew he was going to feel pain, much pain, soon.

The knowledge never really left him.

Then, that other part begged for the strength to complete an unfinished task. Slipping his hand in his pocket, Cloud retrieved a small metal ring with a wolf's head on it, nestling next to the lilac.

Cloud knelt down before the sleeping child and slipped the band around the boy's small finger. The ring was far too big, but Cloud feebly hoped the boy would grow big enough for it to fit one day.

"Happy Birthday, Denzel," Cloud murmured despairingly. Dipping his head forward, his eye caught a flash of moonlight off of something on the boy's bedside table.

A camera?

Cloud picked it up and, after looking around to find no one awake, turned it on and anxiously switched to the picture gallery.

The first picture shone bright in contrast to the dark room. It was of Marlene brushing her teeth in front of the mirror, white and creamy toothpaste oozing from her mouth and down the corners of her small lips. Her eyes twinkled with anticipation in an excitement to see the finished product. Cloud switched to the next picture and couldn't stop a frail and soft smile. Marlene had gotten toothpaste on her shirt and she looked down at the stain in disbelief. At the side of the mirror was a laughing boy holding the camera. Cloud's eyes softened, it was good Denzel could still smile the way a child ought to.

Cloud continued to look through the gallery, but the pictures became all but better from the first. Cloud saw children on the street, hiding from the light in a narrow alley, a construction site, even the Midgar monument—and they were ignored by the blurred lower bodies of people savoring an early spring walk through the city. The frail kids were all stained and sad and lost—not a single one smiled. Cloud could no longer look through any more pictures, and turned the camera off and put it back on the table.

With an uneasy and even guilty shudder, he stood up and stared at the other bed on the other side of the room, but walked out. His job was done, he should go. Marlene would probably hear me if I move too close, he justified.

As Cloud walked passed his room and began passing by the last, his body was struck by an invisible lightning and he could not move. Did he have something else to do...?

Almost scared, Cloud backed up a quarter of a dozen steps and stopped beside a closed door. Stealthily, Cloud opened it.

The room he saw was breathtakingly clean and it smelled so fresh, so quaint. His eyes could not resist landing on another sleeping figure, lying silently on a mattress and taking soothing breaths.

Though her eyes were closed, they were slightly swollen. Cloud's hands were clenched into fists against his sides. He was angry. At himself, and a little at her, too—but mostly at himself.

When did Tifa ever cry...? When the reason was not powerful enough, she would never shed a tear.

It's my fault, Cloud thought.

Cloud surprised himself as he practically glided down over to the side of her bed, gazing at her intently with regret and sadness engulfing his mind. Tifa's nose crinkled and she shifted. At that moment, Cloud was frozen. Lost. He didn't know what to do, or even if he should do anything.

Cloud was surprised when Tifa sniffed curiously. She gasped lightly, her eyes still closed.

"Cloud ...?" she whispered. Without warning, her palms painstakingly gripped the bed sheets, despair entwining her fingers like her ring did. The twin of the ring he gave Denzel moments ago.

Cloud swiftly placed a hand on her tensed wrist. He was about to withdraw in bewilderment, but Tifa's grip relaxed on the sheets. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, relaxing when she remained as peaceful as a sleeping garden.

He suddenly noticed she smelled of tears, and he frowned. He didn't like her tears. He didn't like anyone's tears, for that matter. Every drop could burn a hole through his heart and his heart could shrivel up as slowly as a wilting flower.

He didn't know what he was doing tonight. Eventually, his normal behavior would kick in and he would leave. However, until then, he would remain here. And for her to subconsciously know he was near made Cloud's heart soften a little. Maybe, if I stay, she will be all right ...

Cloud abruptly backed away and shook his head until his back collided roughly with the wall behind him. He sat down, exhausted, yet his mind was still active. It wondered, protested, and deteriorated ever so slightly.

He knew he couldn't stay. Staying would only hurt them all in the end. Still, he didn't want to be away from them either. Then again, he also wanted to ... to not be anymore. Living shouldn't be this difficult, this lonely.

What was the point of living if it was?

Moreover, being part of the Lifestream meant being with Zack and Aerith. His heart sank along with his head. Confused, guilty, hopeless. Whatever happened to 'not dwelling on the dead'?

Cloud sighed. He had been what felt like dying slowly from his own hand for the past few months, but how long would it take until he was finally dead?

His stare at the floor altered from focused to bleary. He was exhausted and confused. All these unresolved conflicts were too much for his mind to be burdened with. As his vision faltered, it became a battle. Or many battles. He fought the urge to leave, his intention of falling asleep, even the distant and suicidal thought in his mind.

Suddenly, Tifa shifted so her back faced him and Cloud's head shot up. He stared at her back, then glanced at his watch, squinting when his vision failed. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning. Cloud shook himself feebly, shrugging as he stood up.

His mind suddenly felt surrounded and filled by a dense haze through which no thoughts could seep through. He stepped closer to Tifa's bed, his eyes unfocused.

He barely knew what to think anymore. The only things he was certain of were he was dying, slowly, and he should leave soon. Those two thoughts merely touched the unwelcome yet unbeatable fog clouding his consciousness. Cloud fumbled with the flower in his pocket. Without making the conscious decision to move at all, he lowered himself to his knees. He inhaled with exhaustion and smelled tears. It made him frown again. Had she always smelt like tears?

His finger lazily teased a lilac pedal and he took the flower out of its dark confines, placing it on Tifa's bedside table, adjacent to her alarm clock. The reason behind it evaded Cloud's logic, unable to pass through the fog and into his consciousness.

With a dragging pace, Cloud left the room and walked down the stairs. He felt cold and empty, except for the feeble crawling sensation he felt in his arm.

Cloud put his shoes back on and opened the front door, sending a distant backward glance at the stairs hidden within an inky black darkness. He closed the door silently behind him with despondent eyes and walked to his bike.

Cloud started the engine and woke abruptly from his sleepwalker's state. He shook his head clear of all thoughts as he focused on making the least amount of noise as he drove away.

Though ... he couldn't recall why he had to be silent. Same as how he couldn't remember the soundless bar in the distance behind him with a fragile flower lying on a bedside table.