Cloud closed his phone slowly, thinking about what had just happened. He couldn't concentrate very well, but he knew that Tifa needed him in some capacity. The thought both excited and confused him. Tonight was going to be the night he finally did something.
But do what, exactly? He supposed he'd figure it out by the time he got home.
He shakily set his glass down on the bar and grabbed a few crumpled Gil from his pockets, laying them on the counter. He didn't even know where he was, really; he had never been to this bar before.
Getting up to his feet, he looked around for anything he might have left. His brain felt blissfully empty of any rational thought. He had a vague idea of Tifa waiting for him, and he decided to hurry home. He left the pub and walked out into the now darkened street. Was it this dark when he came in? What time did he even come in, exactly?
A thought occurred to him that he should be able to present himself as being at least halfway sober, so he coughed, straightened himself, and began to walk at what he thought was a reasonable pace.
Passing by the late-night thugs and hookers (the latter he now eyed especially warily), he proceeded to immediately forget his resolution from moments before. He slunk through the streets, weaving a little. His feet, at the very least, seemed to know where they were going, and before too long he was coming upon familiar corners and usual street signs.
He passed an empty shop window, reflective of the harsh street lamps and of himself. Staring into the black interior, he locked eyes with his own reflection. His hair, as per usual, was a mess. Halfheartedly running a hand through it, he examined the rest of himself.
Cloud wasn't above the average person's vanities, and he was blearily self-conscious of the sweat accumulated under his arms and of the wrinkles in his shirt. At present, though, he was too drunk to hold onto these cares for very long. Little time passed before he began to wonder why he was standing staring into an empty shop window.
Bad case of the tilts tonight, thought Cloud as he covered one eye with his hand and tried to stop the street's spinning. A wave of nausea passed through him, and, for the second time that day, he clung to a wall for support. The nausea went away and he carried on, realizing suddenly that he was actually quite close to Seventh Heaven. Why was he rushing to see Tifa again?
Didn't matter. He wanted to get home; he wasn't feeling altogether himself. Just outside the door to the bar, he cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. The kids weren't home, and he and Tifa would be alone. Tonight he would have to say something. He opened the door quietly and slowly, trying to carry a train of thought to fruition.
