They don't arrive back at her apartment until midnight.
The drive is quiet, sheltered underneath an umbrella of contentment. They don't say much, and Tifa doesn't feel the need to fill the silence. The engine is loud enough in the compartment. Tifa sits in the seat with her legs curled up, her heels left on the floor of the passenger's side. Cloud's hand rests on the stick shift, and he occasionally glances at her. They smile when they catch eyes, and Tifa is inundated with a rush of warmth, looking away when she's overcome with it—because there is a sudden fear threaded through the warmth. A fear embedded in the roots of it, infecting the feeling like a blight. She stares out the window and tries to focus on the teeming nightlife of Midgar, with all its bedazzled signs promising a good time.
When they arrive at her apartment complex, Tifa advises him on where to park nearest her building entrance. When he does, he puts the car in park, and she says, trying not to blush, "Thank you again, Cloud. This was…nice."
She's getting out of the car and preparing to say goodbye when he interrupts her and says, "I'll walk you to your door."
"Oh, you don't have to do that."
He merely shrugs, stepping out of his car and closing his door, the action final.
"Alright," she says, closing the passenger door and turning toward her stairwell. "If you insist."
They walk up the steps and Tifa walks down one of the covered hallways, her heels clapping against the metal grates as they come upon the door to her apartment. "This is me," she says, pushing her key into the lock. When she opens the door she stands inside of it, turning to face him.
His eyes pass over her and glance into her living room. An abrupt thought shoves its way into her. Invite him in?
What would happen? What if he stayed?
What would it be like to allow him to sleep in her bed, to wake up with him lying next to her? It's one thing in the office. It's another thing in the intimate confines of her apartment.
The thread of fear tugs on her again, the color a bright burst of red neon. No, she thinks. I couldn't.
He must feel the same. He eyes her for a moment, and she watches the way his face shifts. The rigidness remains the longer he stands before her, but she can't deny the softness that lingers around his eyes. She's more in tune with it, and it is such an obvious thing, now, she wonders how she had missed it before.
"Goodnight, Tifa," he tells her.
"Goodnight, Cloud," she answers. As he turns away, the fear tugs once more, but it is a different kind. It is a smaller fear, fraying at the edges. In a stroke of madness that grips her spine, she says, "Wait."
He pauses to glance back to her. "Let me grab something," she says, going into her office space. She hesitates. She could easily ask for it—open up her phone and input the numbers. Something about that doesn't seem quite right as she impulsively grabs a sticky note and pen. She jots down the quick scrawl of numbers, folds it, and walks out to the hallway. She hands it to him. "This is my personal phone," she explains. "If you need anything other than changing meeting times or…telling me to eat lunch."
Cloud takes the paper and stares at it for a while, the ghost of a smile imprinted on his face. He slips it into the front pocket of his shirt. He pats his hand over it and says, "I'll keep it close."
She swallows, the blush that forms on her cheeks furious and hot. She is unable to form a comeback, merely watching the smile that stays on his lips.
As soon as he leaves and she closes the door, she wonders if that was a terrible idea. Should she have done it? He didn't seem like he was going to ask for it. This whole thing is silly—and this allows him to easily throw it away if he wants, forgetting all about it if he chooses.
Except…
I'll keep it close.
She sighs.
Professionalism has been gone a long time, hasn't it? she thinks. It doesn't matter. She begins to change out of her work clothes and into her pajamas when her phone buzzes.
A foreign number decorates the notification. This is Cloud. It says. Bother me anytime you'd like.
Tifa goes to bed smiling.
Saturday morning, Tifa calls her dad. They talk about the usual things—her work, his chemo, Nibelheim and his second in command. She tries not to mention him living with her, again, but it's stretched tight over the words like a drum. They both feel it there, unasked and unanswered, but always steadily pulsing like a heart.
"What if I visit you after the merger?" she asks, instead, trying to remain hopeful. It might be her last chance to persuade him—and she knows she can at least have a better conversation in person.
"I would love that, honey," he tells her. "A few more weeks, isn't it?"
"Yes," she answers. "Three weeks and two days."
"Ah. It's close. Don't run yourself ragged, okay? I don't want to be more lively than you are when I see you."
"Dad!" she says, unable to keep her laugh at bay. "Actually, I hope you are."
"Pah," he scoffs. "How's Clobber? Is he minding himself?"
Minding himself, she thinks. Minding himself too well.
"Oh, dad, his name is Cloud. And he is. It's been…good."
"That's great. Seemed to take him a while to warm up, didn't it?"
She hesitates. "Yeah…"
"I still don't like him. Treating you that way. Making you feel so badly. I wanna give him a good wallop."
Tifa chuckles at that. "Maybe one day you will."
At the dojo, Tifa can't seem to pull out as much sweat as she's used to. She goes on a run afterwards in an attempt to further clear her head, but she's too distracted. Thoughts of Cloud continually bombard her. Her mind is on a replay reel, imagining how he patted his chest with her number folded into his pocket.
She thinks about that odd, flying thought. How many girls have been there, before? And others. How many have come before her? What happens when the merger is over?
She gets little work done that day, and by the time it's late afternoon, she finally relents. She texts Cloud.
Tifa: Did you fight monsters, today?
It takes him little time to respond.
Cloud: Yes, this morning. No dragons, though.
She smiles.
Tifa: Bummer.
Cloud: Did you go to the dojo?
Tifa: I did. It was
She pauses, wanting to type great even though it's a lie with how distracted she had been. Instead, she types out: It was okay.
Cloud: Only okay?
She bites her lip, debating before allowing her thumbs to type out the truth.
Tifa: I was distracted.
Cloud: So was I.
His response makes her smile again.
Tifa: How come?
Cloud: I was thinking about last night.
Her heart twinges.
Tifa: Good to know it wasn't just me.
There is a lull after her text. She places her phone down on her desk and goes to the kitchen, trying to distract herself with deciding on dinner. She grabs a glass of water instead, coming back to her desk and curling up in her seat.
Cloud: What are you doing tonight?
She immediately unravels from her chair. She hesitates over her response before she types out the first impulsive answer that runs through her head.
Tifa: Probably you.
She huffs a laugh, staring at the words before deleting them. Then retyping them.
Whatever, she thinks, sending it. She flips her phone over as soon as the message zooms away. She stares at the back of her phone until she hears the chime of his reply, a sudden rush of sparkling nerves bubbling up her throat. She takes a drink of her water before finding the courage to flip her phone.
Cloud: I had a feeling.
Tifa laughs out loud, blushing at his response and imagining the smirk he might be giving her behind the words. Before she can type something back, he sends another.
Cloud: What time? I'll pick you up.
Tifa stares at his words. That would be going very out of his way.
Tifa: You don't have to. I'll take the tram.
Cloud: No need. I like driving.
Tifa can't say no a second time. The thought of Cloud knocking on her door to pick her up gives her that same warmth, threaded with the same fear, and she wonders when the sensation will leave her.
Tifa: Okay. Seven?
Cloud: I'll be there.
She's given herself enough time to shower and ready herself. She chooses comfier clothes, including shorts, a soft, flowing V neck t-shirt, and sandals, hoping they aren't going anywhere that requires specific attire. Then she thinks she'll just ask when he arrives.
She's in front of her bathroom mirror when she hears the knock rap against her door. Her stomach bounces, and she runs a hand down her hair and thumbs at the bottom of her shirt before she realizes all of her nerves are making her fidget. She sighs at herself. This is silly. It doesn't matter.
She opens the door, and she is stricken with surprise.
Cloud stands there in clothes that aren't business dress. She's hit with the fact that she's never seen him in casual clothing.
Or, she amends, different clothing. He's wearing a form-fitting, black jacket, slivers of reflective patterns running across his shoulders and arms. His pants are sturdy kevlar, folding into ankle boots that are made of thick leather and rubber soles. Gloves are hanging out of his front pant pocket. His cheeks are pink, and his hair is messier than usual. The flush on his face exaggerates the shine of his eyes, and though he is not terribly tall, the figure he imposes in her entryway is a tormenting kick to her system. She stares at him, her mouth parting. He stares back.
"Hi," she says.
"Hey," he answers.
"Um, I'm almost ready if you want to…" she says, stepping back from the door. He steps in, his booted feet echoing against the wood floor. He glances around her apartment, and she feels naked as he stares at her walls and decor, at her kitchen table and through the doorway to her office space. From his position, he can't see into her bedroom, and this feels like a slight relief.
"Let me just put on my shoes…" she says, hesitating. "Um, is what I'm wearing okay? Because…" she motions at him. "Did you just come from battle?"
He smiles a little at her words. "No, that was earlier. I was driving my motorcycle."
She blinks. He has a motorcycle. Of course he has a motorcycle. She shakes her head, placing a hand on her hip and laughing slightly.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing, just that…I'm not surprised."
He tilts his head at her, eyes surveying her. "What you're wearing is perfect. I won't drive fast when you're with me. I wear this because of the wind."
She takes a breath. "I've…never ridden on a motorcycle before."
"It's like a bicycle. Just faster."
She raises her brows. "Right."
"I think you'll like it," he says. The humor in his eyes starts surfacing. "Trust me."
She toes her feet into her sandals, feeling woefully underdressed standing in front of his armored body. "Alright, Strife," she says, lightly, fighting against her nerves. "I will. You better not disappoint me."
It's a tease, and she smiles at him, but his face becomes serious as he walks forward, closing in on her. She inhales sharply at his sudden proximity, and he lightly touches one of her hips with his palm. He leans against her with a soft kiss.
"I'll do my best," he says.
He remains close for a moment, and Tifa stares in his eyes then gazes at his lips, feeling the heat of his hand easily bypass the thin fabric of her shirt. She thinks about reaching up into his hair and bringing his face back down into hers. She can drag him into her bedroom—Jessie's voice enters her mind. Invite him into your bed and never leave. She almost wants it, everything else a secondary and feeble consequence to how he has just made her stomach wrap around her spine. How her muscles twist and warp around her organs. How would it feel to wind her legs around his hips, dressed up in the rough fabric of kevlar, rubbing against her? Would it be as rough as his voice? As intense as the darkening blue of his eyes? Would having him in her bed be as richly detrimental to her body as it was in his car? In his office? His scent staining her sheets and covering her mind like gift wrap?
He steps away, and it fractures the spell. Tifa takes a deep breath, running a quick hand through her hair.
Get a hold of yourself, she thinks. Not here. Not yet.
"Let's go," he says, grabbing her hand. His voice is edged. She watches their fingers interlock. She filches her purse from where it sits on the side table in the entry hallway, and she locks the door behind them. The urgency surrounds them, again, as stifling as the humid summer evening.
"Aren't you hot?" she asks, breathlessly, as they make their way to his motorcycle. It sticks out like a sore thumb against the sedans and trucks. It is undeniably a Cloud feature, she realizes.
"It breathes," he states. "The clothes aren't my problem." He pauses. "I mean, they kind of are."
Tifa laughs, and she feels damp everywhere. Damp and dewy and restless.
"They're always a problem."
He smirks at her as they stop in front of the motorcycle. Tifa stares at it, a small hit of adrenaline sticking in her heart. Cloud unhooks the helmet from the handlebar, handing it to her. Tifa doesn't see another one.
"What about you?" she asks.
He shrugs. "I wear goggles."
She frowns at him. "Cloud, are you saying you don't wear a helmet?"
He shrugs, turning his head away from her. "It's not as fun."
She places a hand on her hip. "That is dangerous!"
"I never really cared, I guess," he tells her, seemingly amused at her reaction.
"You should," she says, slipping the helmet over her head and finding the buckle under her chin.
He makes an apathetic noise, eying her as she tightens the strap. "It looks better on you."
She rolls her eyes at him. "Didn't you say you would do your best not to disappoint me?"
At that, he shakes his head. "Oh, so I'm disappointing you already?"
She glares at him half-heartedly. It's hard to glare when he smiles. "Are you going to make it up to me?"
"I'm sure I can think of a few things."
She blushes, but she squints her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. "You could start with buying a helmet."
He scoffs, and she sees a glimpse of his teeth. "C'mon. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can change your mind."
He brings a leg over the seat, settling into it. He holds out a hand for her as she copies him, adjusting her bottom half so she surrounds his legs, her front pressing against his back. She finds the footholds and situates her sandaled feet on them.
"Where are we going?" she asks.
"My place," he answers.
Her heart throbs in her chest. She catches herself from her knee-jerk reaction of saying We are? Or Really? Or Why?
Instead, she says, "Okay." But he's already pushed back the kickstand, revved up the engine, and turned out of the parking lot, her words lost to the sudden clutches of the wind.
The drive is surprisingly short. It is only a twenty minute drive on the streets of Midgar, versus the hour it would have normally taken on the tram.
Sector 2 is a blend of severely urban lines and residential neighborhoods. It is pristine and well-kept, the blankets of rare grass trimmed without a blade out of place. Everything else is a concrete, metal, and glass marvel, high rises on the corner of every block, the mansions populating further downtown in the sector.
He maneuvers them into the garage of one of the high rises, parking in an open space near an elevator and stairwell.
She gets off the bike first, Cloud holding out a hand to help her again. It takes a second to feel grounded, but when he stands out of his seat, she can't help her grin.
"You were right. That was fun."
He smiles. "I knew you'd like it."
"Now I understand why you enjoy driving."
"It's more fun outside of the city," he tells her. "I'll show you sometime."
The thought of it being a potential outing in the future makes her grin grow. "Okay."
They walk toward the elevator, forgoing the stairs. "I'm on the 59th floor," he tells her. "Might be easier this way."
When they arrive at the landing, it continues to impress her. The floor is shiny, white marble, streaked with veins of black and gold. Dark rugs line the floors to off-set the severity of the shine, and half the walls are lined with glass. It is reminiscent to Cloud's office. Potted ferns crowd corners, and flowers in thin, crystal vases decorate tables that would otherwise be bare without, the colors popping vibrantly against the chromatic white and gray.
"This is…" she trails as they walk down a hallway. "Gorgeous."
"It's alright," he says.
"Nothing impresses you, huh?" she teases.
"Not nothing," he answers, glancing at her. She smiles a little, looking away.
They reach the end of the hallway to his front door. It isn't decorated. There is no welcome mat. As Cloud opens the door, Tifa thinks for a moment what the inside of Cloud's home might be like. Will it be like an empty room, desolate and wanting? Will it be cluttered and messy, a disorganized arrangement of topics and hobbies? Will it be what she imagines, clean and precise, with straight lines as severe and frightful as his name lasered into the glass on his office door?
When she steps inside, she doesn't know what to expect. The first thing she sees is the sky.
An entire wall is made of pure glass—just like his office. So reminiscent of his office. Had he done that on purpose? She thinks as she stares at it, her breath momentarily taken away. It looks out not over Midgar, but toward the Western Continent, the glimmer of sea like a border of diamonds sparkling against the neckline of the earth. The sun is in the middle of its decline, gently lowering against the horizon. It is far enough to the left of the highrise that it isn't as blazing or bright as it could be, had the window been directed any further west.
It reminds her of her dream. She expels a breath. No, he didn't do this on purpose. Midgar's buildings are all the same—looking out into the far reaches of the world to remind everyone of how beautiful the world could be, rather than what it truly is.
Cloud, seeing her staring, says, "Oh, I can lower the blinds." He gestures to a slit in the ceiling beside the window. "They come down from there."
Right, she thinks, shaking her head.
"No, that wasn't…I mean, I was just admiring it." She gravitates toward the expanse of the window, but stops herself, glancing to her left and right. Off the entryway to the left is the kitchen, with an island and ample space for cooking. There are gas stove tops and double ovens. His fridge is paneled, camouflaged with the cabinetry surrounding it. A bar countertop runs along the outside of the kitchen, acting as a partition from the living space and lined with barstools. The living room consists of a long, simple wooden coffee table, a cream colored sofa, two matching side tables, a loveseat and recliner. Each is a neutral color, within the same palette and harmonizing together with creams and tans and browns. Standing lamps are placed along one side of the sofa and recliner, the metal necks dark bronze and the lampshades a mixed and aged orange and brown. It is bright yet warm, the cushions begging for someone to sit in them. A rug is situated underneath the furniture, holding a simple repeating pattern in gray and white, distinguishing continuity of the grays and white of the rest of the architecture.
There is a television mounted on the wall in front of the sofas, hanging above a long, delicate gas fireplace, surrounded by granite and glass. Everything is shiny and sparkles in the evening light.
"Did you decorate this place?" she asks, impressed with the layout and colors. It isn't messy at all. She glances toward the hallway she spies behind the wall with the television, wondering what his bedroom looks like, wondering again if he color coordinates his closet.
"I bought it as is," he says. "It came with the furniture. Made it easy."
"Ah," she says, nodding. "I like it. Did you buy it once you became CEO?"
He watches her walk around the space, going to unzip his jacket. He is standing in the entry hallway, hanging it up on the coat rack. He bends down to take off his boots. "Yeah," he says. "About a year and a half ago."
She stops in front of the window, sighing at the scenery. "It's beautiful. I would love living here."
"The view doesn't get old," he admits. "But it always feels far away. Like I'm far away from everyone."
"You said you liked space," she says, glancing back at him. Her eyes snag on the t-shirt he's wearing underneath his jacket. It is a simple white cotton shirt, the short sleeves ending at the caps of his shoulders. It stretches over his chest, gently bunching around his torso.
"I do," he says, his lips curving in a smirk. "I guess I have limits."
She hums, admiring the cut of him before turning back to the window. "How'd you realize it?"
She hears him walk up behind her. He places his hands on her hips, and his chest presses against her back. There is a subdued heat between them, as there always seems to be. Her mind darts back to her dream—and how extraordinarily uncanny their positioning—but it feels divergent from their usual, crazed rush. His hands are gentle, further taming their ever present urgency in this moment in time.
"I don't know," he mumbles against her ear. "All at once."
She lays her hand on top of his, observing their transparent reflection in the window. She smiles when they catch eyes, pressing her temple against his jaw.
"All at once?"
"Do you ever just wake up one day and realize…" he starts, breaking eye contact with her. "You don't like where you are? That you don't…want to be there?"
Her hands tighten on his. She stares at his face.
"Yes," she says.
He catches her eye when she answers. He might be surprised she agrees with him. She can't know for certain. Any other words to say elude her, twisted up in her heart.
"It's like that," he says softly, his words trickling into her ear. "I woke up one day and knew. I didn't…like it. I didn't…like a lot of things. I suddenly wanted it all to change."
Her fingers begin curling around his own. She presses deeper into his chest. She wants protection from the words, and yet she wants to wrap herself up with them, because it is as if the words are pulled from her own chest. It is an uncomfortable friction flossing against her throat.
"What parts don't you like?"
His shoulders curve around her. "I got my job because I thought it was what I needed," he says, slowly, as if each word might be wrong. "It's isolating. It's busy. It's a good challenge. That's what I expected. What I didn't expect—"
At that, he pauses. She feels him shrug against her. "I didn't expect life not to be…what I imagined. Different. It wasn't what I…thought."
His words ring inside of her like an echo across an empty valley. The silence pervades the room, the sunlight waxing across the tiled floors of his condo. Her dad's smile flashes across her eyes, and it is a battle waging within her constantly. It is the background noise of her life, now, like the high-pitched whine after an explosion.
Zangan's sturdy, steadying voice reverberates through her. See those incapabilities, greet them, know them, and accept them.
"Have you accepted it?" she asks. It is a deeply personal question, but she can't help herself from wondering. It is so wrapped up in her, that one question, part of the fabric of her being. It doesn't leave her alone.
It takes him a long minute to respond. "…No. I haven't."
She takes a slow breath, allowing the air to caress her lungs, attempting to keep her sudden leaden emotions at bay. It is something they share between them, she realizes, though the reasons are vastly different. He hasn't elaborated, and she can ask, but that heightens the risk he might ask, too. It plucks at her threads—both the fear, and the other, smaller one, fraying with affection. She turns in his arms and reaches for his neck, staring at him before bringing him down into a kiss. His hands move across her back to tug her closer.
She's mortified when she feels the tear fall down her cheek. It hits their lips, the salty tang a pungent shock. It breaks their kiss. Cloud looks at her, his brows pinching.
"Tifa, are you—"
"Where's your bedroom?" she asks him urgently. It was only one tear, but she knows what her eyes might look like—a dark pink, the lining inflamed, the shine watery instead of sparkling and eager.
"It's…through there," he points absently toward a hallway. He reaches for her face, but she jerks, stepping back.
"Okay. Let's go, then. Isn't that why I'm here?" she asks, her emotions betraying her. It is not a snap or a jibe, but it sounds fake and light. She's trying to push all of it back down into her trenches, because he's looking at her with puzzlement, as if he's trying to unravel her. It makes that thread of fear bright and taut, pulling inside from her brainstem to her toes.
She slips one of her hands into his, and she walks toward the hallway as if she knows where she's going. He follows her without resistance.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"The scenery," she says, the first and only thing she can utter. "It was too pretty."
"Tifa—"
"Please, Cloud," she whispers, her voice coming out like a plea. She hates it, and yet that's all she can manage.
He says nothing more, allowing her to find his bedroom. The scent hits her in a wild waft as soon as she steps into it, ensconcing her with a thick wall of heat. It smells like his cologne—like the grasses of summer, the fresh beats of adventure. The wind whipped texture of skin.
He does not have many personal effects. He has a bed—a large bed, large enough for a king and several queens—a dresser, a desk, a television. Everything screams cleanliness, not even a rumple or wrinkle in his bedsheets. His comforter is so tight on his mattress, she's certain she could bounce a quarter off it. He has a few pictures on his desk. He has a bedside lamp and an alarm clock. The glass wall continues into his room, the entirety of the left side overlooking the world, framed in a picture.
He wakes up to this every day, she thinks. Picturesque and lovely, and yet life continues to be something neither of them thought it would be.
His hand in hers is heated. She turns to face him, and he watches her as if she's a powerpoint presentation, as if he'll be quizzed over the projections and quarterly figures.
She reaches up, cradling the sides of his jaw in her hands. She pulls him down to her, kissing him roughly, the fervor seeping from her lips and into his mouth. He wraps his arms around her, coming around her back. They press together, his hips hitting her stomach, the coarse texture of his pants rubbing against her thighs. She curls her fingers against the nape of his neck, clinging to him, thinking about everything other than the life that surrounds her. She thinks about everything to do with Cloud. She thinks about how devastatingly handsome he looks in his driving attire, how his white shirt glows against his tanned arms, how she loves the way he looks in casual clothes almost as much as she does his suits.
His lines are changed in his room as she breaks away from him, pulling her shirt over her head and kicking off her sandals. They aren't defined like they are in his dress shirts and slacks. He is curved and softened, smudged versus distinct.
His hands immediately come up to her ribs, pressing his palms into her. He steps forward and she steps back until her legs hit the edge of his bed.
"What do you want to do with me?" she whispers, faces close, their lips brushing one another.
His nose bumps hers and he makes a low noise, his hands falling to the band of her shorts. They're elastic, and they peel down her legs with a few easy tugs of his fingers. She reaches behind to unhook her bra.
"Help you," he says, and he leans forward to kiss her, at first gentle, then harder and harder, his teeth beginning to nick her lips before leaving them to bite at her neck.
The words take a moment to filter into her mind.
"What?" she asks breathlessly. "Help me?"
"Why were you crying?"
"It's not—" she tries, relishing the feel of his tongue gliding along her shoulder. "It's nothing."
"You can tell me."
"Mm," she says, trying to evade the emotions creeping into her. She pinches her eyes shut harder, roving her hands down to the bottom of his shirt. "You can help me by taking me on your bed."
He growls into her skin at that, fingers finding her underwear and teasing at the band. "I can do that."
He steps back for a fast moment, lifting the rest of his shirt overhead and throwing it to the side. He gently pushes her to lie down on the mattress, and she pushes onto her elbows to watch him watching her. His eyes blaze a trail from her eyes to her neck, to her chest and torso. They land on her underwear and stay there while he unbuttons his pants. Tifa feels herself pulsating, right where his eyes remain latched between her legs. Her breath comes quicker, and she feels the heat rising in her neck. She bites her bottom lip and pushes away the sensation of embarrassment, focusing on the burning of her middle, watching his hands push down his pants and the ridges of his body hit with the light of the setting sun.
He takes his time, staring at her while he pushes down his briefs. Her eyes follow his arousal, biting her lip harder, the thundering inside of her turning into a deep, ponderous ache.
He comes forward and reaches for the band of her underwear, and she lifts her hips automatically for him to take them off. Once they do, she's ready for him to join her and crawl atop her, but he doesn't. He stands beside the bed and takes her in, his lips parting a bit. She sees the shine against his mouth from their kisses, and the look he gives her makes her stomach tremble with anticipation.
"You told me you touched yourself in your work bathroom," he says quietly, words slow and hushed. "I thought about it all day. I—" he pauses, glancing away from her for a moment, before his eyes come back to land on her body. His cheeks are reddening, and he runs a hand over his jaw.
She stares at him, the chill of the room populating her skin with goosebumps, the terrifyingly electric look he's giving her doing nothing to abate them. She's so exposed, so exposed, but his eyes gleam and admire her and she wants nothing more than—
"Cloud, please," she whispers, going to sit up. "I want you."
"I want you," he says, and he comes forward. She's so ready for him when he runs his fingers along her folds. It is the barest friction, the barest touch, and she lies back at the sensation. When he backs away, she almost cries in protest.
"Cloud—"
Her words are strangled as she sees him use his wet fingers to run along his own length. He breathes out a tremulous sigh, sliding his palm along himself. Tifa can't breathe as she observes him, the sight somehow the most wanton, inarticulate thing she's ever seen.
Cloud Strife, touching himself in front of her.
Her toes curl. Her insides clench. She makes a noise at the back of her throat.
"Cloud—you—"
"I thought about you, and I had to stop fighting because…" he huffs, and she sees his stomach twitch, his eyes closing slightly and reopening while his hand moves up and down his arousal.
"You were distracted," she says, her voice high and reedy. Her feet slide on the smooth comforter, bending her knees. She has to move. She has to do something. One of her hands squeezes into a fist while she watches, her heart ramming into her throat. She wants to go to him and take the place of his hand, but she can't stop watching his jaw tighten, his throat bob in a swallow. "Cloud…"
"Show me," he manages. "Show me how you did it."
She breathes sharply at his words. Her eyes focus on his length, how he's pleasuring himself, and the hand on her thigh continues to tighten. Her other hand is free, and the thought of what he's asking—of what she's going to do in front of him—
"You want me to…" she tries.
His pace is slow. His other hand comes up to his hair, as if he's not sure what to do with it.
"Yeah," he whispers.
"Okay," she says shakily, moving her hand slowly down her torso. She hesitates briefly on her hip before she tries not to think, bringing her fingers down to the line of her arousal. As she presses slowly along her wet skin, she catches Cloud's eye and can't help the moan that escapes her. He's looking at her with a crazed stare, hazy, completely scouring her like he's shedding her skin.
She watches his pace and follows it, moving her fingers in time with his own. As she hits her clit, her knees begin to fall to the side. Her clenched fist moves up to her breast, then to the side of her face.
"Cloud," she breathes. "Oh."
"Goddamn, Tifa, you're—" he groans. He begins to quicken his pace. She follows it, allowing her fingers to dig inside of her. She matches his pleasure, and her hips begin to move on their own, imagining her fingers as his erection, burning up underneath his stare, letting the satisfaction of his confession and his fantasy roll over her. She is wet—too wet—so wet—and she watches him lose control from watching her, his hand jerky and becoming out of sync.
Before he can come, he takes his hand away and stops. Tifa whimpers in protest, hearing herself say, "No, keep going. I want to see you." She continues to pleasure herself, and Cloud breathes heavily.
"Not yet," he says. "Are you close?"
Him talking to her this way makes her hips buck into her hand. "Y-yes, I am."
"Good," he says. "Let me."
She obeys and takes her hand away. She waits for his fingers, but it's even better when he crawls above her, positioning his arousal where she needs it.
"Gaia, Tifa, now I'll always know what you look like when you use your hands."
She shudders, running her hands along his arms before she feels him enter her without any other warning. She moans so loudly at the contact, she'd be embarrassed if she hadn't just touched herself in front of him. Now, she can't care about it. Not when she knows what he looks like, too, caressing himself with his hand, fantasizing about her when he's alone. She can see it, him in that valley, agitated, killing a few fiends, sweaty and flushed, halting his fighting because of his arousal from thinking about her.
She comes abruptly at the thought, his thrusts wild and freeing, the pressure brightly cutting through her. She claws at his back, her legs spread widely out to the sides.
"Cloud," she mewls, his release cascading over her while she rides out her own.
He kisses her, pulling her up into him. They breathe into each other, unable to catch their breath in between the kissing. The euphoria runs through her brain like a meteor shower, brilliant and luminous and tantalizingly weaving itself into her limbs.
When they finally stop to look at each other, Tifa blinks dazedly up at him.
"I've never done that before," she says.
"Neither have I," he tells her, kissing her again. "I'm…uh…"
She grips his shoulders, bringing her legs around his waist. "That was really…"
"Hot?" he asks, his voice lilting in a tease. She huffs a laugh.
"Yeah. Hot."
"I'll do that for you anytime," he says, his voice husky from the kissing.
"Even in your office?"
It's mostly a jest. She feels his lips curl up against her in a smile.
"Where else?"
He kisses her deeper, and she moans.
"I could think of a few places," she says.
"Tell me."
"Um…" she begins. "The shower?"
He groans, moving to kiss her neck. "Yeah?"
"And…the bathtub."
"We can do that."
"Your…um…motorcycle."
He pauses his kissing, glancing at her. His eyes darken, and he raises an eyebrow. "We can definitely do that."
She laughs a little before he continues kissing down her neck to her sternum. When he sucks at her breast, she whimpers.
"Everywhere," she hums, running her hands up and down his back.
He trails down to her stomach, his teeth grazing against her ribcage, and she exhales, her skin perking up for him.
"Okay," he whispers against her. "We will."
They spend a very long time in his bed. The sky darkens and cascades into the room between them having sex and dozing. They tend to sleep for a handful of minutes before one of them wakes the other to begin again.
Tifa's stomach growls as they recover from one of their go-rounds, and she blushes.
"Oh, I guess I'm hungry."
"You can eat me if you want," he answers.
Tifa smacks him before she starts laughing. "Cloud!"
He grins at her, and she stares at it—because she's only ever seen him smile. She's never seen it light up his whole face like this one. She's never seen it so fully encompass his eyes.
They stare at each other for a long moment, his smile beginning to fade like the slow ending of a candle wick. She comes forward to kiss him again, and she rolls on top, wrapping her body around him until her stomach interrupts them with another growl. He huffs a laugh.
"Alright, let's get some food," he says, gently breaking away from her. She disentangles herself and agrees, venturing out of the bed and finding her clothes. She throws on her shorts and t-shirt, forgoing her underwear once she picks it up from the floor, flushing at how damp they still are. Cloud shoves a pair of sweatpants on and mentions he has some food in his fridge, then quickly suggests takeout for an easier option.
They spend time in the kitchen, Cloud opening his fridge and listing off the items that reside inside, from cheese to vegetables to chicken to frozen beef.
"Do you cook a lot?" Tifa asks, coming up behind him to look at the shelves lined with condiments and beer.
"I try. I'm not very good," he admits.
"Hm." She reaches into the crisper drawers, glancing over all the vegetables. "For a guy who doesn't cook, you're pretty well stocked."
He makes a noncommittal noise. "It's for show."
She smiles, saying without thinking about it, "To impress all the girls you bring here?"
There's a heavy blanket of silence following her words. Tifa feels it immediately, her skin chilling like the inside of the fridge. She turns to him to see him shift his weight, seemingly uncomfortable. He crosses his arms and she slowly closes the fridge doors, unsure how to salvage the lightheartedness that was so easily encompassing them the moment before.
"I don't…do this very often," he tells her.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to suggest…" she starts, averting her eyes and plucking at the bottom of her shirt. "I was just…"
"Uh, that's okay," he says, clearing his throat. He points to one of the menus pinned to the front of the fridge with a magnet. "Do you, uh, like Wutain? There's a place that's open twenty-four hours that's good."
She clutches onto that quickly. "Yeah, that sounds perfect."
She spends a few minutes perusing the menu, Cloud already having a favorite order. Once he places it for delivery, they are again suspended in the silence. Tifa runs her hands over the kitchen countertop, trying to decide if it's quartz or granite. Eventually, she says, "I like cooking. I could teach you a few recipes, if…you'd like."
He seems to think about it, leaning against one end of the countertop, his arms slightly behind him and hands pressing against the counter. He glances at her up and down. "I might take you up on that."
"I have a few easy ones that don't take much time at all."
He raises his brows at her. "You have any that would impress some girls?"
At his words, her cheeks start burning. He's teasing her, she realizes.
She rolls her eyes. "Oh, very funny, Strife."
"Didn't you know I'm a playboy?"
She opens her mouth, narrowing her eyes at him. "You mean, not all CEOs invite girls over to their place?"
"I'm sure some do," he says, smirking. "I only do it on special occasions."
Her heart flutters at his words before she shakes her head at both him and her. "Sure. And what special occasions are those?"
He glances away, a red curl appearing across his cheeks. He shrugs. "Ah, you know. When I have to rewrite a contract in the middle of a merger."
She smiles a little at him, leaning forward on the counter, propping herself with her elbows. "Oh, that kind of special occasion."
He eyes her. "Like I said. Doesn't happen often."
She tries not to think about the implication of his words—if he means what he says. There's no reason for her not to believe him. But the thought of being one of the only girls he's allowed into his condo is…a momentous thing. Everything tightens up, and she scoffs as she blushes under his stare. It doesn't help that he's only in his sweatpants, his upper body bare and mesmerizing.
She pushes off the counter and walks around it towards where he stands. When she reaches him, she places her hands on his bare chest and leans up to kiss him. He brings his hands off the counter and grips at her waist, pressing them together. They move enough for her bottom to hit one of the cabinets, and he easily lifts her up to sit on the island. She makes a noise when he does, breaking away from him for a moment, then continuing to kiss him while he stands between her legs. She drags her nails down his chest, and he grunts.
"You think we could finish before delivery gets here?" he asks, completely serious. Tifa laughs and moans all at once.
"We can try."
Fifteen minutes later, when Cloud opens the door to receive the food, his sweatpants are slung low on his hips, his chest is riddled with red streaks from Tifa's nails, his hair fluffed and his cheeks rosy.
Tifa, for her part, is lying back against the kitchen counter, her shirt stretched and tugged in all different directions, her shorts hanging on her thighs, and her chest heaving while she tries to catch her breath.
"Don't worry," Cloud says, coming back into the kitchen while she sits up and pulls her shorts on. "The delivery guy was a dude."
Tifa snorts, taking the bag from him and fixing up plates.
"Oh, good. A girl would have fainted."
Cloud grins again. Tifa tries to memorize it in the moment before she looks away, because the strum of fear resounds within her, and she wonders—she wonders if this can last.
She wonders if she can go on without it.
When they've eaten their fill, they lounge on the sofa in his living room, spent, exhausted, and warm with stretched stomachs. They've turned the television on to watch while they ate, only half-paying attention, occasionally catching eyes but eating in relative quiet. They sit beside each other, one of Cloud's arms hanging on the back of the sofa, one leg propped on the coffee table. Tifa's found herself curled up in his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes are heavy as she fights away the sleep.
"You okay with staying here? Or do you want to go home?" he asks her softly.
Tifa sighs. She should go home. She shouldn't spend the night. She has no toiletries of her own. If she wakes up beside him in the morning, then…
Then what?
The intimacy of it frightens her. Strangely, after everything else they've done to each other, sleeping in his bed through the night is what scares her the most.
"Um…" she trails. "Would it be okay if I…go home?"
There is a quiet three second pause, and Tifa's stomach fills with dread before he says, "Sure."
"Not that I wouldn't like to stay," she says, suddenly much more awake. "I…I just…"
"It's okay, Tifa," he tells her. "I don't mind. You don't have to explain."
She turns her head to look at him. When they catch eyes, his face softens. He reaches up with his other hand to thumb her cheek.
Her mouth parts. He is gentle, no matter what anyone else says about him. "Thank you."
He nods at her and drops his hand. "Let me know when you're ready."
She curls up with him a little while longer, relishing the warmth and the fullness, and trying not to worry about the future.
"So, you're telling me you banged your CEO in his super expensive condo approximately four hundred and fifty-two times in one sitting?"
They are at brunch, again, that next Sunday. Tifa sucks up her screwdriver through a straw, buying time for her cheeks to stop flushing.
Jessie dramatically falls back against her seat, placing a hand on her forehead.
"He drove you over there on his motorcycle," Aerith sighs dreamily.
"I swear, Tifa, you two are sex monsters, and I love that you have come to life this way," Jessie says, raising her bloody mary in the air. "So, next thing. Do you love him, yet?"
Tifa inhales, choking on her drink. Yuffie pats her on the back to help her, shaking her head.
"No! Of course I don't!" Tifa splutters, coughing a few more times.
"Did you hear how quick she said that?" Aerith says, grinning deviously.
"Pretty quick," Jessie agrees.
"Too quick," Yuffie states.
Tifa narrows her eyes at all of them. "Sex isn't love, you guys."
"Nope," Jessie says, grinning. "But if Richard's taught me anything, it's that good sex can help it along."
"Very wise, Jessie," Aerith nods, giggling.
Tifa sighs, shaking her head. "I don't…you guys know I'm not ready for that. And he's my boss! After the merger, who knows what'll happen. He's doing this because he's stressed. It's an outlet. That's all."
Yuffie throws her arms out to the side. "Look, ready or not, emotions don't care and life doesn't care, Teef. We all know that."
Aerith's soft smile begins to turn solemn. "Timing is important, too. A lot of things are happening for you, Tifa, but what if this is the best thing that can happen? In the midst of it all?"
Tifa pinches her brows together, sucking on her screwdriver again. She doesn't like thinking about it, but they're right. She should think about it optimistically. She shouldn't be so…afraid.
"Pftt, and what's so bad about that anyway, Tifa?" Jessie grins, placing her elbows on the table. "Doesn't mean you'll marry him. Loving some dick isn't going to harm anything. Life is short."
They all look at her, smiling.
That's the sticking point. Life is short. They've all learned that in some form or fashion.
She takes a breath. "I can't…" she pauses. She takes one more slug of her drink. "I can't handle both. My dad and Cloud? No." She shakes her head. "I don't want to have to handle both, if it comes down to it."
Yuffie grumbles. "Hey, listen up, Teef. You can't let the fear of the unknown stop you. When have you ever let it?"
"She's right," Aerith says, reaching out to place her hand over Tifa's. "You're unstoppable." She glances around the table. "You're all the strongest girls I know. When one of us falls, we'll be there to catch you. We promised, right?" She grins.
Jessie lifts her drink in the air. "Fuck yeah, we did. Chicks before dicks until the end."
Yuffie whoops. "No matter what happens, Tifa, don't be afraid. He's just a boy. Do you know how many boys there are in the world? Too many."
Tifa smiles at them. Just a boy. She laughs and clinks her glass against Jessie's.
"Thanks for the pep talk. I needed it."
"Always," Aerith winks. "Besides, if he hurts you, we will all collectively kick his ass."
"Duh," Jessie says.
"Hell yeah, we will," Yuffie snickers. "Or, I guess Tifa could do it on her own, but…that's not as fun."
"Hey, so on the topic of boys…" Aerith trails, giving Jessie a knowing look. "How's Richard doing?"
Jessie raises her eyebrows at Aerith before she waggles them and grins salaciously.
Yuffie guffaws. "Omigawd, can we please talk about how you just said Richard has taught you good sex can help love along. Um. Spill it, Raspberry."
Jessie opens her mouth before she laughs, splaying her hands on the table.
"Okay. Are you guys ready for an explosive sex story that will light your underwear on fire?" She pauses, pointing at Tifa. "I don't know if it's as hot as CEO sex, but it's pretty spicy."
They all gasp around the table. "Jessie!" Tifa exclaims. "Why didn't you tell us at the beginning?"
Yuffie smashes her cheek in her hand, leaning her elbow on the table. "I am ready for this."
Aerith claps her hands, her eyes sparkling in glee. "What's his real name?"
Jessie clears her throat, becoming the ever consuming presence of leading lady. "It all started when we were getting ready for the fifth rehearsal. This was the first sex scene were were going to practice. And I said, why don't we go bareback for fun? That way it won't be as embarrassing when we have to do it in front of the audience."
Tifa and Aerith giggle with each other while Yuffie shouts, "Yes, you did!"
"At first, he was very prim and proper, you know, ever the leading man," Jessie says rolling her eyes but grinning. "Then I said, "Your name is Biggs, already. You afraid you won't live up to it?'"
The girls guffaw and push up against one another.
"What did he say to that?" Tifa asks. Aerith grips her hand in pure joy. Yuffie laughs madly.
"Oh, you know, he spluttered around and blushed, and it was so cute. And then he came up to me after we ran through our lines and said, 'You can come to my place, if you want.'"
The girls all titter around, eyes gleaming.
"And then!" Jessie says, raising a hand. "You better believe he lived up to his name."
Yuffie wrangles Jessie's neck in a headlock. Tifa and Aerith grin at each other.
Jessie spends the rest of brunch detailing her sexual experiences, much to the chagrin of the waiter, who always seems to refill their carafe every time Jessie says penis.
Monday morning, Tifa arrives at her office rejuvenated and feeling ready for the day. She pulls up the portfolios, sends emails, and gets to work, occasionally glancing at the calendar on her desk. The big merger date is starred and highlighted, astoundingly closer. Time has been flying by, and it both gives Tifa excitement and a whiff of nerves every time she looks at it.
The day is a blur of static activity. Just about finished with one of the logos, she writes down the last additional comments over it and forwards it to Finn for the final touches. He's one of the employees who has really stepped up during the entirety of the merger, his artistry unparalleled and his ideas insightful and creative.
When the knock on her door happens after midday, Tifa calls for them to come in. She glances up when her door opens, half-expecting it to be Cloud—and finding herself hit with a sudden disappointment that it's not.
It's quickly replaced with a shockwave of joy.
"Aerith?" Tifa exclaims, jaw dropping. "What are you doing here? You didn't text me."
"I missed you, of course!" Aerith says, a grin splitting her face in two. Her eyes are sparkling, even more effervescent than usual. Tifa goes to stand, and that's when she notices what's in Aerith's hand.
Tifa blinks.
"I also have a very special delivery!"
A single stargazer lily sitting in a thin, crystal vase is held against Aerith's chest. Instead of the usual bright drip of yellow, however, the lily is a deep fuchsia, with black spots freckling the inside of the petals.
A small, square paper is attached to the stem.
"What…" Tifa asks, looking at her with furrowed brows. "That's for me?"
"Of course it's for you!" Aerith says, laughing. She pads into her office and stops in front of her. "And you will not believe the story I'm about to tell you."
Tifa opens her mouth, then she closes it. She hedges, "Is this from…"
"Nope!" Aerith says, and she must see the flash of dismay cross Tifa's face because she hurriedly says, "It's not from Al."
Tifa blinks again, laughing. She shakes her head. "That's good news."
"But you know who it is from," Aerith says, nudging Tifa with her elbow, holding out the glass for Tifa to take. Tifa does, handling it with care. She fingers the piece of paper, her eye catching on the black ink on the inside.
"Cloud?" Tifa asks.
At Aerith's continued grin, Tifa feels the warm rush she's trying not to become accustomed to.
"It is definitely from Cloud," she says. "Are you ready for the story? Let's sit."
Tifa places the flower on her desk, and her and Aerith grab the chairs off to the other side of the room, bringing them closer to her desk. Aerith clasps her hands together.
"So, at 11:32 am today, a one-of-a-kind Cloud Strife walked into my flower shop…" Aerith says, setting the tone with her lilting voice. Tifa cracks a smile at her antics, leaning back into her chair.
"And when I saw him, I swear I gasped. He looked at me with his scary stare—you know, the one you're so fond of?"
Tifa rolls her eyes. "You mean the one that looks like an ink stain?"
"The exact one!" Aerith exclaims. "So, I composed myself and said, as if I didn't know everything about his bedside manner, 'May I help you, sir?'"
Tifa starts chuckling. "Bedside manner?"
"And he glanced around the shop looking utterly lost, poor thing. He hesitated for a moment and said, 'Yes, but I'm not sure what I'm looking for.'"
Tifa tilts her head, leaning forward a bit toward Aerith.
"So I said, knowing exactly who he was thinking about staring at all the pretty flowers around, 'Why don't you describe the person you're shopping for, and I'll lead the way.' And do you know what he said, Tifa?"
Tifa sits up straighter in her chair, sending a sideways glance at the unassuming flower on her desk. "What did he say?"
"He said, and I quote, 'Beautiful and strong, caring and intelligent.' Tifa! I just about died."
Tifa swallows, blood rushing to her face. She curls her hands into fists in her lap.
"Oh, that's…really nice."
Aerith makes a high-pitched noise. "I recovered and said, 'Oh, sounds like a lovely person,' because you know I don't assume gender. And get this—he said, 'A lovely lady.' A lovely lady! I died again!"
Tifa begins to smile at Aerith's reaction, trying not to be overwhelmed by the information.
"He's…sweet."
"Yeah, sweet is one word for it," Aerith says, the grin on her face crinkling her eyes. "So I led him to the stargazers, because they mean a lot of things. I started to list them off, but when I said fulfillment of dreams, I saw his face change. It was like it dawned on him, and that was it. He was sold. So when I asked him if he wanted a dozen, he said, 'No, I'll just have the one.' And of course I had to ask why, and he said, 'She doesn't like attention. I figured it would be better this way.'" Aerith shakes her head, clasping her hands by her heart. "He listened to what you said about Al. He didn't want there to be a lot of attention on you, but he still wanted to send you something. What a romantic, huh?"
Tifa finds that she's staring at the flower. "Y-yeah. A romantic. I wouldn't have guessed that."
"Then I told him I'd hand deliver it to make sure I was very discreet. And guess what! He paid the price of a dozen as a thank you." She laughs. "He's bonkers. I couldn't wait to tell you."
Tifa bites her lip, her mouth curling up into a smile regardless. She twists her fingers together, unsure of what to do with the information.
"I'm…I don't know. This is a very kind thing for him to do."
"He's definitely wooing you, Tifa. I said he was hooked, and I meant it."
Tifa breathes a laugh, her chest tight as she reaches for the flower. She gently unties the note and says, "Well, let me see what he wrote."
Unsure of what to anticipate, Tifa unfolds the delicate piece of cardstock.
Maybe life will begin to fulfill your dreams instead of breaking them.
Maybe you'll wake up one day and realize you love where you are.
P.S. This isn't from the IT department.