Tifa stares at the note. She reads over the words four times before Aerith says, "I couldn't help myself."
Tifa blinks, looking up at her. "Couldn't help yourself?"
"I read it." Aerith smiles sheepishly before her smile falls and she leans forward to grab Tifa's hand. "Oh, Tifa, it's okay."
Tifa shakes her head, turning her face away from Aerith. She can't believe she's about to cry over a note on a flower.
"I'm fine. It's just…really nice, that's all."
Aerith tilts her head at Tifa, giving her a soft smile. "Did you talk to him about your dad?"
Tifa shakes her head, placing the vase back on her desk. She runs the back of her palm across her eyes. "No. We talked a little bit, but…nothing specific."
"You must have inspired him, then." Aerith pats her hand, beginning to grin again as Tifa recovers.
"Maybe so."
Aerith stands and comes forward to wrap Tifa up in a hug. Tifa hugs her tightly back.
"I know we were teasing you yesterday," Aerith tells her, standing back from her and holding Tifa's shoulders in her hands. "But he certainly wants you for more than just sex."
Tifa tries to smile, but she's too overwhelmed to do anything but sigh and shake her head. "I…yeah. I guess he does."
Aerith kisses her cheek before leaving, demanding she text the group about any and all updates between the two of them. Tifa laughs and assures her she will. When Aerith leaves, Tifa falls back into her office chair, staring at the flower.
Tifa spends too long overanalyzing how she should text Cloud. She thinks about saying, Thank you so much! I love it! But that doesn't sound like her. She thinks about, I got your flower. Your note made me cry. Nope.
She types out, No one has ever sent me something so thoughtful. She thinks about this one for a long time. She stares at it, her index finger hovering over the send button. Ultimately, she deletes it. It feels too…close. In the end, she settles on something simple, and she already knows she'll laugh about how long it took her to form the short response.
Tifa: I received the flower. Thank you. It is very lovely.
Cloud: Don't mention it.
She can easily imagine him shrugging off her text. She wonders if he's smiling.
Tifa: The note was lovely, too.
Cloud: The flower shop owner was helpful.
Tifa grins, making a mental tab to tell Aerith.
Tifa: Can I see you today?
Cloud: How about tomorrow? I have a few things I need to finish tonight. A meeting or dinner?
Tifa contemplates the words. She thinks about having dinner with him on a weeknight. It almost seems…unfathomable. The work week feels like a different universe than the weekends.
Tifa: Whatever's easiest for you.
Cloud: Dinner. We'll have more time.
Tifa stares at the text, holding back a sigh.
Tifa: I can teach you how to cook.
Cloud: I'd like that. Be patient with me. I have no idea what I'm doing in the kitchen.
Tifa: You're a fast learner. You'll do just fine.
Cloud: With you as my teacher, I'm sure I'll be more than fine.
Tifa laughs at that, rolling her eyes at the phone.
Tifa: Okay, Romeo. What food do you like?
Cloud: I'll eat whatever you want to make me.
Tifa: No, you can't do that. Pick three types of food.
Cloud: Alright. Pasta. Fried. Midgarian.
Tifa: Very refined.
Cloud: My tastes are pretty simple.
Tifa smiles. The more she gets to know him, the less and less he seems like an almighty figurehead.
Tifa: My place or
She stops typing. She backspaces.
Tifa: We can start with pasta?
Cloud: Sounds good to me. My place?
Tifa sighs, feeling simultaneously like she dodged a bullet and like she's the biggest coward in the world. Cloud texts again in succession.
Cloud: I have food I should cook before it goes bad.
Tifa: Good idea. Meet in the garage after work?
Cloud: If you're okay with other employees seeing us leaving together.
Tifa bites her lip. She hadn't thought of that.
Tifa: Never mind.
Cloud: I'll come to your office. We can waste time before leaving. Make sure everyone is gone.
Tifa blushes at the words. She bites the nail of her thumb, thinking of what to send back.
Tifa: You want to know the color of my underwear, don't you?
Cloud: Like I said. I have simple tastes.
Tifa: I don't know if that's accurate.
Cloud: When it comes to you, it is.
Tifa begins smiling, trying to stop the lightness spreading through her. She wants to laugh.
Tifa: I'm flattered. That makes it easy to please you.
Cloud: That's true. You don't have to do much.
Tifa finds herself rolling her eyes again.
Tifa: You don't, either.
Cloud: I don't?
Tifa: No, you don't, but you sent me a flower anyway.
Cloud: Couldn't help it.
Tifa: It's sitting on my desk. I'll be staring at it all day.
Cloud: That was my ulterior motive. Force you to think about me.
Tifa laughs at that.
Tifa: You didn't think I was already?
Cloud: I hoped you did.
Tifa: You no longer have to hope, Strife.
Cloud: Good to know, Lockhart.
Tifa sighs, staring at the words. She doesn't realize how dreamily she's smiling until a minute later, and then she scoffs at herself and attempts to get back to work.
She's derailed from it, however, as she finds herself looking up different motorcycle helmets, reading reviews, and making lists from the multitude of brands. She stars the one that looks the most Cloud-like, and places it in her shopping cart before she decides to input his address and clicks the place order button without any further thought, laughing as soon as she receives the emailed receipt.
The next morning, she receives his text once she's settled in the office.
Cloud: I guess I didn't change your mind.
The message is followed by the picture of the motorcycle helmet she had ordered him.
Tifa grins.
Tifa: Nope. You were very persuasive, though.
Cloud: You're crazy.
Tifa: Only because of you
Tifa types it out without thinking about it. She stares at the words.
He does make her crazy.
She erases the message and starts again.
Tifa: If you think I'm crazy, you should meet my friends. They're worse.
Cloud: That's terrifying.
Tifa begins smiling, imagining what a meeting between Cloud and the girls would look like. She nearly laughs. Cloud would be eaten alive.
Cloud: You're not THAT crazy, though. Just enough.
Tifa quirks her eyebrow at his second response.
Tifa: Is there an adequate amount of crazy someone should be?
Cloud: I think so. I've realized normal is overrated. Crazy makes the world go round.
Tifa: Oh, that's why the earth is tilted, too, isn't it?
Cloud: You got it.
Tifa laughs, placing her phone to the side. She pulls up the few leftover projects that she's finishing. The rest have been sent to her team to clean up and revamp. She opens the file holding Shiva and Ifrit, who both now look livelier than ever with their lines, shadows, and saturation. Tifa examines Shiva's icy glare underneath her pale blue eyelids, and she glances over Ifrit's fiery snarl and the golden amber of his irises.
They've kept the first idea with them swirling around each other in the yin and yang structure, but Tifa added Shiva's hand clasping Ifrit's ragged claw. Shiva's ice runs up in glowing rivulets into Ifrit's wrist. Ifrit's red fire blazes trails along Shiva's knuckles and the delicate grooves of her fingers.
Tifa thumbs her phone, inspired by the image encompassing her computer screen.
Tifa: I'm looking forward to seeing you today.
Cloud: Me too.
Cloud responds again a minute later.
Cloud: And not just because of the underwear.
Tifa glances at her flower, still open and fresh and vibrant against the other colors of her office. She rubs a finger over her chest, feeling the warm palm of emotion gripping that long, taut thread inside of her. It's probably as warm as Ifrit's claw in Shiva's hand.
Tifa: Good answer.
Cloud: I aim to please.
Tifa chuckles, grabbing her digital pen, and falls into the rhythm of work.
Cloud knocks on her door at 4:30 pm. He opens the door slightly, leaning against the door jamb and peeking his head through.
"Are you free to discuss a few things, Ms. Lockhart?" he asks.
She glances up at him, smiling. When their eyes catch, her heart shimmies into her throat.
"I believe I am, Mr. Strife."
He strides in, locking the door behind him. He absorbs her with a generous eyeful as he walks up to her desk. His gaze strays to the flower, and he smiles.
She stands to meet him in front of her desk. She clasps her hands behind her back, and he places his in his pockets.
"How was your day?" she asks, glancing from his lips to his eyes.
"Just fine. Can't complain," he answers. "How was yours?"
She lifts a shoulder in a light shrug. "The usual. Better now."
A smirk creeps up along his lips. He takes one hand out of his pocket, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of her face. He leans forward to kiss her, and she releases her hands from behind her back, dragging one hand along his chest and up to his collar. He's wearing a blue shirt today, and Tifa wants to laugh. Instead, she smiles into his kiss, and he breaks away, glancing at her.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing," she says. "Just that we match."
He looks down at her clothes and frowns. "No, we're not."
She continues smiling at him. It takes him a moment before it dawns on him. His face slackens in realization before he begins to smile—and it is such a devious curve on his lips that Tifa's mouth parts. She gives it a generous eyeful of her own.
"Oh," he says, his voice somehow silky and dark, just like his tie. "Blue Tuesdays."
"Mm." She reaches behind his neck and toys with the hair at his nape. She twines it in her fingers as she kisses him. One of his hands grabs her hip and the other moves up her torso, cupping her breast.
"Why blue today? Any reason?" he asks, pressing his thumb against the soft cup of her bra. Her nipples harden at the sensation.
"Blue is supposed to be a sad color," she breathes, opening her mouth to kiss him deeper. "Tuesday is still so far from the weekend. My least favorite day."
"Blue's not that bad," Cloud says, voice hushed.
"No, it's not," she says, gasping when his hand leaves her breast to find the side of her skirt zipper, dipping underneath. It loosens enough to fall down her legs, a light puff echoing in the room as it hits the ground. "You're changing my mind."
"Hm," he groans, his fingers trailing up her torso underneath her shirt. "Good. I'll change it more."
When they divest their shirts, Cloud stares at her bra. It's a deep royal blue, a darker shade than his shirt. When his eyes dart back to hers, it shoots down into her toes. "It's a good color on you," he says, reaching forward again, hands as greedy as his mouth as he kisses her. "A shame we need to take it off."
She laughs, and when he unclasps it from behind her, she moans into his ear when their chests rub together.
"I'll wear it more often," she says. "It's growing on me."
His hands dip underneath her underwear, squeezing her bottom. One of her hands slips into the small space between his lower abs and his pants. He groans into her when she touches him.
"No belt today," she whispers.
"Easier access," he answers. She smiles into his lips, his tongue delicately meshing with her own. She grips him, running her palm up and down slowly, and he grabs her ass hard enough to make her gasp into a moan.
"Where?" she asks, releasing him and allowing herself to rub against him. He presses her hips into his, and they grind against each other. The friction between their clothes is merciless.
"Anywhere," he growls, tilting her up and down.
"Oh, shit," she says, the curse slipping out of her throat at the newness of sensation. Her underwear clips against his pants, and it is rough and needy and quick. "Oh—I don't know—if—" she cries.
"You can come, Tifa," he tells her, and at that, he lifts one of her legs around his hips. The friction increases, the surface area wider. The hidden length of him hits the entire seam of her, trapped behind her underwear.
"Oh, but I don't—oh, Cloud," she says, closing her eyes and allowing the pleasure to rock her. He presses her into him, and the force of it hits her clit again and again. She spasms, and the orgasm is so sudden and abrupt, she has to clench his shoulders to keep from falling over.
She breathes through it. "I—I'm—sorry," she stutters, holding herself against him. He helps ease her leg down, but one hand is still across her back, holding her in place. "I—didn't mean to—"
"No, Tifa, don't be sorry," he says, and she can hear the laugh behind his words. "Never be sorry."
"But we didn't even—"
"We didn't have to," he says, kissing her softly. He looks down at her, and she realizes her cheeks are flushed from both the exertion and embarrassment. She blinks, turning her head away.
"Um…well…did you…"
"Doesn't matter," he says, checking his watch. "We still have time to do other things."
He smiles at her easily, but she frowns. She immediately goes to reach for his groin, and his smile falters as she takes him in her hand.
"Yeah," she says, her voice husky in her own ears. "We have time."
They arrive at his apartment a little after 5:30, the drive filled with the euphoric haze of post-orgasmic pleasure. They take off their shoes in his entryway, straying into the kitchen. Cloud takes off his suit jacket and places it over a barstool, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. Tifa goes to his fridge and opens it, examining which vegetables are on the verge of rot and death.
She hums under her breath, taking out a head of broccoli and a bag of spinach, a few of the leaves a darker, wetter green.
"I brought a few seasonings just in case you didn't have them…" she says, continuing to dig in his fridge. The carrots look fine, and they usually keep well. She's surprised when she finds zucchini sitting unobtrusively in the back of the drawer. They are cold and firm and unlikely to go bad anytime soon. "Do you have any garlic?"
Cloud comes up behind her. "Uh, yeah, in the pantry."
He points to the pantry door and she goes to it, having to choke back a gasp when she sees how large it is. It is walk in with a multitude of shelves, almost like a closet. She stares in the doorway before she recovers, glancing over all of his ingredients. "This is amazing," she says, eyes taking it all in. Bread. Too many boxes of cereal. Potato chips. Fruit snacks? Tifa pauses over them, laughing and picking out the box.
"I used to eat these all the time when I was a kid," she says.
She looks up to see Cloud in the doorway, running a hand along the back of his neck.
"Yeah, me too. I never grew out of them."
She continues, her eyes roving over a few cans of vegetables—corn, green beans. She finds his flour and sugar, a fewfew bottles of seasoning, salt, pepper, and the pasta and rice. She reaches for the pasta noodles, all of them spaghetti. She eventually finds a hidden bulb of garlic, sniffing it and deeming it palatable. No telling how long it's been in the corner of the shelf.
Collecting everything she'll need, Tifa directs Cloud to gather different kitchen utensils—knives, cutting boards, one pot and one pan.
"Don't worry, it'll all be in this pot in the end," she says, noticing the endearingly overwhelmed look on his face.
"Uh, sure," he says. "Just tell me what to do."
Tifa instructs him to fish out the chicken from the freezer and set it to defrost in the microwave. She fills a deep pot with water for the pasta, setting it over the back corner gas burner. She places a wider, flatter pan for the vegetables and chicken on a front burner. Then she shows him how to begin cutting the broccoli, teaching him which directions to use for cutting and the best knife. It seems easy enough for him, and Tifa isn't surprised considering his sword-wielding hobbies. She begins dicing the chicken once it's done defrosting, turning on the heat for the pan on the stove, oiling it, showing him the best way to season the chicken before tossing it onto the stove. Cloud watches her and then tries to mimic her when she asks him, laughing lightly at his grimace when his hands are full of chicken juice after tossing.
"It's not that bad, Strife," she says.
"The texture is disgusting," he answers, holding his hands in front of him as he goes to the sink to wash them.
"Says the guy who hunts monsters."
"That's different," he says. "I don't season and eat them."
Tifa laughs again.
Once the chicken begins sizzling in the pan, Tifa goes back to the fridge, eyeing a head of romaine lettuce and tomatoes.
"We could make salad, too, if you'd like," she says, glancing over her shoulder to him. "It'll keep for a couple of days so you can eat it this week."
When she catches his eye, she notices he's simply staring at her, his arms crossed over his chest. The blue of his shirt makes his eyes glow. She turns back to the fridge, sighing.
"Sure," he says. "Salad is fine."
She takes out the vegetables, placing the romaine and tomatoes on the cutting board beside the broccoli. She demonstrates a few cuts for him to perform. When he satisfies her with the technique, she checks on the chicken, stirring it around a little.
"I'll show you an easy way to avoid smelling like garlic," she says. "Once the chicken is done."
"Mm," he answers her, the noise an acknowledgement more than anything else. A minute or two passes before Cloud comes up behind her. He rests his hands on her hips, pressing his jaw beside her temple.
"Almost done?" he asks her.
Tifa's grip on the wooden spoon tightens. "Just about."
He watches her stir for a moment before he lowers her head and kisses her neck. One of his hands runs along her torso, the other one pressing her bottom further into him so that she can feel his arousal.
"Good," he says. "I finished cutting the vegetables."
She sighs, allowing her head to fall to the side, his mouth more able to have ample access to her skin.
"I knew you'd be a natural at that."
"Hm." His hands roam over her stomach, and she stops stirring the chicken, placing the wooden spoon off to the side. "I think Tuesdays are my favorite," he tells her, his voice rumbling into her ear.
"Why's that?" she asks.
"Because you're in my kitchen, teaching me how to cook."
"Oh, is that so?"
"Yeah," he mumbles, nuzzling her neck. He reaches one hand out to turn off the burners. "Let's break."
"But the pot just started to boil, and I have to put the pasta in—" she starts, moaning when his fingertips slip past her skirt.
"It'll have time to boil later," he says, unzipping and pushing her skirt further down her thighs.
"Hm. Yeah. Okay," she mutters, easily allowing him to take over. His hands dip further to her underwear, slipping underneath the band. Her back arches when he gets closer to her, her bottom pressing forcefully into his groin. He grunts and nibbles at her earlobe, and he pushes along the tender seam between her legs. She gasps sharply, widening her stance. His fingers glide against her, his palm pressing against the curve right above her clit. She moans, reaching above and behind her to find the back of his head, tangling her fingers into the feathered strands of his hair.
He continues kissing her neck, biting at the juncture by her shoulder. She moves one hand away from him, fumbling with the buttons of her shirt. He helps her slide it off, then he immediately turns her away from the stove to the countertop beside it. He continues to pleasure her with his fingers and his palm, and now free of her skirt, Tifa spreads her legs a little wider, leaning forward and pressing her hands into the counter. She feels his length against the line of her bottom, and she mewls as his fingers slip deeper and deeper into her.
"Tifa," he says, the hand gripping her hip disappearing. She hears him unzip his pants, and she moans at the sound.
"Yes," she answers, arching her back when she feels him bare behind her. "Oh, please."
His arousal takes the place of his hands, gliding along her wet skin, the tip of him touching her clit. He slides himself along her folds, hitting the deep grooves. She pants, one hand reaching up to one of the cabinet handles. She grips it tightly in her hand, closing her eyes and concentrating on the feel of him. When he slides into her, she cries and leans further forward, the fullness deliciously different at the angle. He taps a bundle inside of her, and it shocks and zaps, and she cries again.
"Oh, Cloud, keep doing that," she breathes, her fingers curling. "Don't stop."
"I'm not," he grunts. His thrusts evolve, hitting harder and faster and ricocheting against her every time.
"Gaia," she hisses. His hands grip her hips and pull her against him in time with his jerks. "Mm. Oh." Her back arches further.
"Shiva, you're tight and wet and fuck."
She moans, the rough edge of his voice pushing into her as deeply as he is. "Cloud—touch me. Please. I need you to—"
She cuts off when a hand leaves her hip, coming around in front of her. His fingers find her clit, and she almost loses her mind. The swell of his touch is an endless pressure, and it climbs and climbs, higher and higher, the oxygen becoming thin.
"Tifa," he breathes. "I'm going to—come. Come with me."
He presses his fingers harder, pushes into her faster. She grips the counter as if it's her only handhold on the earth. Her back arches further, and she feels him break. Her thread snaps right after, hearing his deep, low groan like the bass of a song, like the rolling thunder along the plains. It is a beautiful sound, so natural and vulnerable, and she rides her orgasm like it's high tide, crashing into the cliff faces of her soul.
They catch their breath for a minute or two, Tifa's arms shaking on the counter. She feels her sweat beading on her spine, her heart whipping in her chest. She pushes herself up slowly, and Cloud's hands come around her, holding her waist.
"You good?" he says into her ear.
She smiles at that, beginning to laugh. She places her hands on top of his and squeezes them. "I'm more than good, Cloud."
He kisses her cheek, and she reaches for his face, turning hers to find his lips and kiss them. Then she turns in his arms and kisses him some more.
"We're flithy," she says breathlessly.
"Mm," he moans. "Are you hungry, or…"
"Not hungry," she says. "But I'd kill for a shower."
His hands knead into her bottom. He deepens their kiss.
"Let's take one, then."
She breaks away from him, and Cloud shoves his pants the rest of the way off. He is still wearing his shirt, his sleeves pushed up on his forearms, the blue of his eyes like brilliant stars in his face. Grinning, Tifa grabs his hand, and they nearly run to his master bathroom. It is almost like a second home in his condo, with how spacious the vanity, how massive the tub. The shower is a glass case, a multitude of jets lining the walls, and a rainfall shower head hovering along the top. Cloud goes in and turns the knob before coming back to her, kissing her for a moment then stepping away. He gazes at her with a glazed expression.
"Cloud," she starts. "Why is there a sofa in your bathroom?"
He cracks a grin at that, shaking his head. "Ask the interior decorator."
She grabs his head and brings him down in a rough kiss. She's burning up with desire. The sofa, the shower, the heat. How he keeps making her body feel. It all compiles together, shoving up against her heart. She suddenly knows what she wants from him.
"How long for the water to warm?" she asks.
"A minute or two."
"Okay," she says, dragging him toward the sofa. She pushes him to sit, and she kneels in front of him. "Can you last for a minute?"
Cloud blinks at her, the glaze still hovering in his eyes. "What…"
She runs her hands up his thighs, and comes forward so that her mouth is hovering over his building erection. She smirks at him, and it feels coy even to her. "Tell me when the water's warm enough."
He looks gobsmacked. "I—Tifa—" he tries, but she dips her mouth on him, letting her lips come over the tip of him. His voice breaks into a moan, and he falls back against the cushion.
"Tifa—I—you're—"
She realizes his stuttering might be the thing that turns her on the most. She brings a hand up to hold him and squeeze his length while she sucks with her mouth. Cloud breathes shakily. She can feel it through his legs as he trembles.
"You're…I'm…"
"I'm what?" she asks, running her tongue up and down, all along him. She glances up and catches his eye. His jaw is slack, his lips parted in ecstasy. He's watching every movement she makes like she's going to show him an alternate universe, and it dazzles her. It is a punch in the stomach, and she kisses the tip of him before taking him in her mouth again.
"Fuck. Tifa. I can't—" he stops, moaning. One of his hands finds her hair, gripping it, lingering in the strands. He doesn't push against her head, only holds it, and there is a reverence in the way he lays his fingers against her cheek while she takes him in her mouth, while she tastes him. He is so sweet and decadent while she curls her tongue around him.
There is an absurd pleasure in making Cloud Strife feel this way. His jaw clenches and releases, his eyes fade in and out of the world, taken somewhere only he can see. His chest rises and falls in uneven jerks, his other hand grips at the cushions beside him. He utters her name quietly, softly, as if he doesn't mean for her to hear it. It travels across the air between them like a mild quake, rippling through his body.
"The shower's ready," he manages, his voice strained. "Tifa. It's—I—Stop."
She continues, ignoring him. His body shudders.
"I don't…want you to…" he tries.
"I want you to," she whispers. She takes him in deeply, gently glides over him with her teeth. He bucks a little at the sensation.
"Fucking goddamn it," he shakes.
"Give it to me," she breathes. She squeezes and sucks and pulls, relentless and unwilling to let him go.
It takes a few more seconds before he releases, and she endures him, fills herself with him. She is taken over with a specific fullness as she eats him alive.
He stares at her as she leans away from him. It's the same look he gave her when she wiped her lipstick across his mouth. There is madness shifting under the blue, like the wisps of green along his pupils. It is a tease, a hint, but it is present and dangerous.
"Tuesdays," he says after a lengthy amount of time. His voice is gravelly, like tire treads burning against pavement. "My favorite day. Without question."
Tifa blushes, but she smiles. He sits up and helps her stand with him. He takes off her bra, delicately dropping it onto the sofa. She undoes the buttons of his shirt, and he slips out of it, letting it fall over her bra. They look at each other. Cloud reaches up to cradle her face in his hand, his thumb running along her jaw.
"Let's clean up," he says.
"Yeah," she breathes. "Let's."
He pushes the glass door into the spacious shower, and Tifa is hit with heat and mist and steam, like she's stepping into a wide open mouth. Cloud follows behind her, and he is quiet, only loud with his stares. She steps back underneath the rainfall of water, her body hit with the spouts and jets situated vertically in the tile. There are three lines of them, with the wide shower head easily able to soak two people. She dampens her hair, lifting and smoothing it with her hands, and her heart races as she watches him, because he doesn't join her—he only observes. It reeks of intimacy. It is an unsettlingly high level of sensuality as the water cascades down her body, trickling from her chin to her neck, between her breasts, her torso, her hips and legs, the water acting like warm, wet fingers on her skin. Cloud is being hit by the jets, and his torso becomes slick. His hair falls in damp strands, his bangs plastering against his forehead. His eyes follow the water paving along her skin, and when his eyes come back up to hers, her mouth parts and she has to look away. She glances to the side and sees the shampoo, busying herself with grabbing it from the small, indented shelf. Cloud finally steps forward before she can place any shampoo in her hand.
"Let me," he tells her, gently taking it from her. She watches him squeeze a glob of it in his palm, standing in front of her and running his fingers in her hair. The suds occur immediately, and his blunted nails graze against her scalp in a wondrous massage. She hums at the feeling, smiling and closing her eyes. She feels the heat of him, mixing with the heat of the water. It coalesces around her. She toes a little closer and reaches her hands up to land on his chest. She sighs as she feels him, opening her eyes to look up at his face. He's looking at her hair, his fingers tangling in the long strands carefully, trying not to pull on her. She keeps smiling, running her palms up to his shoulders.
She watches him frown in concentration—or thought—as he continues to caress her skull. When she finally steps back to rinse the soap out of her hair, he continues to avoid her stares. She takes a breath and hedges, "You okay?"
He grabs a smaller bottle along the side of the jets. Tifa is surprised to find he has any conditioner at all—and then wonders if he has a secret fondness for his hair.
"Yeah," he says, still not looking at her as he squeezes a drop of conditioner in his palm. Once her hair is rinsed and free of suds, she steps out of the spray and squeezes out the water. He comes forward when she's ready, threading the conditioner through her long, damp locks.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, Tifa, I'm sure," he says. "You have so much hair."
She smiles a little at the comment, but she can't help the feeling of nerves twisting up into her stomach. She hesitantly reaches out and places her hand on his forearm, stopping his ministrations. He pauses and eventually looks at her. There is nothing in his eyes that says he's hiding from her, but it feels like he is—somehow, suddenly, some way.
"I'm sorry if…" she starts, uncertain what she's trying to say. "I…didn't want to stop earlier, even though I know you wanted me to…"
His brows furrow before he shakes his head. "No, Tifa, that's…I'm not upset about that. I'm…the opposite," he says, and he finally smiles.
It's a relief to see it. Tifa reaches up a finger to touch his lips. He lightly bites her fingertips.
"Okay," she says softly. "You just seemed a little…"
A little what? She's not sure.
He merely shakes his head. "Guess I'm still recovering."
She laughs at that, taking the shampoo again and pushing him under the spray. "Your turn."
She copies him, lathering up his hair, fluffing it up with bubbles, kissing his nose because he looks adorable underneath a wig of suds. When he rinses himself, she admires him freely once he closes his eyes, following the flow of water down the curve of his neck, the planes of his chest, and the gentle ripples of his stomach. She eyes how his muscle falls into a V from his hips, and he shines under the water, glistening like the marble of his apartment.
She gazes at all of him without the burden of him knowing how much she loves staring this way. When he opens his eyes, she hurriedly turns to grab the conditioner. She comes up closer to him and takes care to place attention on each strand of his hair. She teases him about how she wondered at its perfect messiness every day.
It is impossible to tell if he blushes in the heat of the shower, but he averts his eyes, smirking a little and scoffing. "Yeah, I like my hair."
She laughs, bringing him closer to her so she can kiss him. "Me too."
He watches her, continuing to smirk. She settles away from him a bit, and his gaze is heavy as it mingles with the weight of the mist and warmth. She maintains eye contact with him for a while before her eyes rove down his body again. His do the same. He runs a hand through his wet hair, and she watches him become aroused as he observes her. Her breath catches, and she feels herself tighten in between her thighs. He takes a few steps closer until he's crowding her. They don't touch. He's only an inch away from the line of her body. She curls her hands, keeping them at her sides as they gravitate in each other's orbit. Their eyes hook on each other, charged and waiting and staring. It is suddenly taut and thick between them, thicker than the humidity. Heavier than the weight of heat.
"How do you want it?" he asks her, and his voice is dark and wispy, like threads of smoke.
She takes a breath. "Any way. I just want you inside of me."
At that, his hands come up and cradle her face, and he kisses her with that severe, crazed madness. His tongue tastes like the color of the green insanity he conveyed on his bathroom sofa. His scent isn't diluted by the water flickering against them. Instead, it magnifies him, beading up on her in droplets. He is beginning to seep into her skin.
Her hands claw at the strong lines of his forearms. They move until her back touches a wall. He pushes against her with an aching force, and Tifa moans while he grips her thighs, thumbs digging into her muscle.
"Let's do what we did in the office earlier," he growls. "Except without the clothes."
"Oh," she shudders. "Yeah. Okay. Let's do that."
He smiles at her easy agreement. He takes her hips in his hands and stands between her legs. He shifts her over him, grinding and rubbing her clit feverishly over his arousal. She keens immediately with the contact. One of her hands grips his shoulder while the other reaches up against the slick shower wall behind her.
"Oh, Gaia, Cloud," she stammers. "This feels good. This feels too good."
"I didn't know this could exist," he tells her, groaning with another roll. "Mm. Fuck."
"Me either," she whimpers, her voice coming out an octave higher. She begins panting, clawing at his neck. She moves one leg up onto his hip, and he helps support her. The increased access to skin makes her close her eyes, and she extends her neck back, her head pushing into the tiles behind her.
"Give me more," she demands. "Oh, I want you inside me."
He leverages her leg up higher and does what she commands. He enters her, and it is slow and steady and luxurious. She moans low and long, and his other hand leaves her hip, finding her hand on the wall above her head. He presses their palms together, and she weaves their fingers into a pattern of wet skin.
His thrusts are slow but hard, and the noises that come out of her are punctuated by his force. The pleasure is too outstanding for her to hold back. He presses closer to her, chest against chest, his groans falling into her ear like the sweetest music. It weaves into her like their fingers, tightens around her stomach. She clenches every time he groans, and she hears him hiss, and she is overcome with the purest form of ecstasy. It is as if she's ingested an elixir when she closes her eyes, because she sees how the water falls across his muscle, how he looks at her like they share a secret, the smirk like a dagger through the lower curve of her abdomen, a pressure—always a pressure—blazing a trail up to her brain.
She can see how his face looked when he came in her mouth. She thinks about how that fullness is so similar to the one he's giving her now—almost sharp and almost painful, tiptoeing along the edge of destruction and creation.
"Fuck, Cloud," she whispers, her voice whittled and hollow as she is so close, so close, on the precipice about to fall.
"Oh, Tifa," he answers, his thrusts turning faster and frenzied. Tifa pushes her thigh into him and digs her nails deeper into his knuckles. Her body becomes taut and strained, until one single thrust breaks her. She falls apart, holding onto him while they fly on the wave, waiting for it to recede.
He leans against her on the wall, lowering her leg. They hold each other for a long time, waiting for their recovery and their energy to come back. Tifa is so boneless, she doesn't think she'll be able to get out of the shower on her own. She doesn't let go of him until he attempts to back away, and she says, "Cloud, I'm really shaky."
He maintains his grip on her, assisting in holding her up. "Are you…did I hurt you?"
"No, not at all," she says, letting go of him and standing on her own. Her inner thighs tremble as she tests her weight. She nearly laughs at how numb she feels, leaning against the wall.
"Let me turn off the water," he says, slowly making his way to the knobs. When he does, he presses a hand against the tile and runs a hand along his face. "That was really…"
"Yeah, I know," she says, holding back a wince. She feels like a shredded piece of rubber. "I think I'm still sore from Saturday."
At that, Cloud's face brightens with a grin. He pushes off the wall, seeming in a much steadier state than her. He opens the glass door as wide as it can go, and he steps up to her. "Need help?"
"Oh, just a little," she says, rolling her eyes. "Maybe it was the position—"
She nearly screams in surprise when he lifts her up in his arms, one arm under her knees and the other around her back. She immediately clutches his neck.
"Cloud, what are you—"
He shrugs. "Easier this way. You're light."
Tifa blinks, a blush hurriedly filling her face. "Cloud…"
He smirks at her. "C'mon. Let's go recover, relax, and finish dinner."
"Y-yeah, fine. Okay," she stutters, feeling suddenly boneless again. "But this is very unnecessary."
"I don't mind it."
She relaxes into him for the short distance between the bathroom and his bed, where he sits her down before walking to the bathroom and returning with a towel. He hands it to her, and while she dries herself and her hair, he goes to his dresser and pulls out a t-shirt and basketball shorts. "Wear these," he tells her, placing them on the edge of the bed. "Much more comfortable than work clothes."
"Thank you," she says, eyeing them. I'm going to wear his clothes, she thinks warmly, before dismissing the thought with an internal scoff.
Cloud reaches into the dresser for another pair of shorts. Before she can think about it, she blurts, "Lay with me for a while." When he glances up at her, she amends. "Not long, just…a few minutes."
As he gazes at her, he gazes at all of her, before he shakes his head and shoves the shorts on.
"Yeah. Okay. But I have to keep the shorts on or else we'll have a repeat of Saturday."
Tifa laughs and blushes. "Would that be so bad?" She glances at the clock, already reading 8:30. "Oh. Right. Maybe not on a weeknight."
He grunts and takes his place beside her, laying across the bed and resting his head on one of his various pillows.
She reaches for the shorts and t-shirt, slipping them on and resting beside him. She turns on her side so that she's facing him. Cloud lays on his back, and he turns his head to look at her. She smiles at him. He smiles back.
"This is…fun," he says eventually.
Fun. Yeah. It certainly is fun. Tifa bites her lip. An outlet, she tells herself. Who cares.
Then she thinks again of the flowers and the dinner and the drive under the stars, what she's been thinking about since his note. He's wooing you, Tifa.
Emotions don't care and life doesn't care.
He's only a boy.
It's not like you'll marry him.
Life is short.
Tifa sighs. Life is short.
She tries to imagine the thread of fear inside of her being snipped with a razor, cut and unraveled and dead at her feet.
If only it could be that easy, she thinks, as she stares at his smile. If only it was easy to allow herself to feel what she wants to feel.
"What are you thinking?" he asks her.
"Um…" she starts, a sudden panic running up her throat. "I'm thinking about how much I enjoy this."
Strange, how sudden and truthful the confession. She glances away from him to the comforter, bunched up between their bodies. She folds her arm under her head. "What are you thinking?" she asks.
"I'm thinking about how much I…" he trails, his eyes falling to her torso. "How much I don't want to go to work, tomorrow."
Tifa smiles, wondering if he's not hiding something in this space of time like she is. It's a fanciful thought, but for a moment—for a moment, she'll wonder and she'll allow herself to want whatever it is he won't say, and perhaps what he will never say—and then she'll go back to feeling the way she had before. Warm and content and always, always concerned about the future.
But at the end of the night, once they've miraculously finished dinner without any other sexual tangents, stuffed and full and ready for bed, Cloud drops Tifa back off at her apartment. When he kisses her goodbye on her doorstep, Tifa realizes that the once taut, neon red flare of her thread is no longer as vibrant. It has loosened, and it has dulled.
She falls asleep in his t-shirt and shorts, and she dreams of grassy hills and summer heat, his scent desperately trying to burn the thread altogether.
When she wakes, she blinks against the reality of the morning. When she washes her face in the bathroom, she catches her eyes in the mirror. Their color glows in the warm lighting, flickers of amber lighting behind them like coals. They are different. She looks…different.
It's then she realizes her thread has lost its deep thickness. It is shallower. It is beginning to pull apart like old scar tissue on an ancient wound, painful and sharp and…
She stares at herself in the mirror.
Necessary.
The next day at work, Tifa finds herself moogling Cloud.
She's not sure why. No, scratch that. She knows exactly why. She's been thinking about his face in the reflection of his condo windows he had given her last Saturday evening, how faraway his face looked while he tried to tell her…something about himself. She eyes the stargazer, sitting innocently on her desk, and she sighs. She pulls the note from underneath her keyboard, where she hides it to look at when she needs it. The severe, clean slashes of his handwriting stare back at her.
She glances back up to the computer screen, realizing how many links she's clicked on in the past year to get a better idea of who her new CEO was when he first ascended. All of them she's read before, except one pretty, new link, dated back only a few days prior.
Cloud Strife, SOLDIER CORP CEO Merging With Shinra Inc—Where Will He Go? Stamp reports.
Tifa hovers her mouse over the link. It sounds like a speculative article. She doesn't think Cloud would have interviewed with anyone about the merger yet. Would he have told her if he did? She frowns, not knowing the answer. He's hardly told her much of anything.
Regardless, the title of the article gives her pause. She hasn't thought too much about where Cloud will go after the merger or what he'll do. She feels a leaden guilt drip into her stomach for not thinking about it before. In the meetings, he has never once mentioned his future role. He's only talked about others'. Tifa can't believe she hasn't noticed it before. He's talked about the engineering, the marketing, the financial, the IT, the budgeting…but never once has he stated where his role will absorb into. Tifa blinks, a sudden thought running through her.
What if he leaves?
Where would he go? What would he do? Midgar is far from his favorite place. Would he move across continents? Would he start some other entrepreneurial endeavor elsewhere?
Do you ever wake up one day and realize you don't like where you are?
Tifa has a catch in her throat. The way he looked at her in the window reflection. The way he looked at her in his shower. How he was quiet and intense and something else. Tifa's been thinking about it all morning, ever since she woke up and studied her face in the bathroom mirror. That something else.
She has a rushing fear embed inside of her.
He's leaving, isn't he?
That must be it. She knows it. Deep down inside of her, she knows it. She knows exactly what he's going through with the decision, because that's how she felt before. She was going to leave this job that she had loved for so long for an unknown prospect. And while Tifa never tries to assume anything, and while she hopes she is wrong about it—perhaps she is being dramatic and worrying about nothing—she can't shake the feeling that he knew what he wanted to do when the merger agreement went through approximately four months ago.
Her mouse continues hovering over the link. She thinks about it, and she wonders. She reasons with herself if it would be worth the speculation or the time to read through it. She can just ask him, instead of wasting time in her rumination. But…
But.
She exits the web browser, and she chooses a project to work on instead. She struggles to concentrate, and eventually she thumbs the note from underneath her keyboard, rereading it for the thousandth time in three days.
Maybe life will begin to fulfill your dreams instead of breaking them.
The words are both a ripple and a squeeze. She holds onto the hope they give her, and she tries to gain the courage to ask him.
Because why would he be wooing her if he is, ultimately, going to leave?
She sighs, shaking her head. She's being silly. If he's leaving to find something that makes him happy, good for him. That is how it should be.
He has no obligation to tell her, no matter how much she's realized she wants him to. Her thread shifts, and she presses her cheek into the palm of her hand. She pulls out her phone and stares at it, and she seriously contemplates texting him and asking him straight out. Hey, I hope you're having a good day. So, are you going to leave the company?
She rolls her eyes at herself. No. She's become a mess. A teenager.
She ends up turning off her phone to deter herself, takes out her earbuds, blares her music from her desktop, and immerses herself with the finishing touches for the logo of the engineering department.
Tifa forgets to turn on her phone until she's about to leave from work. As it's in the process of rebooting, a knock resounds against her door. It's right at 5:00 pm on the dot, and Tifa frowns, knowing it can't be anyone else from her office—and she quells her heart from doing a somersault.
Cloud opens the door and pokes his head in. "Uh, hey," he says, hovering in the doorway. "I…texted you, earlier."
Tifa straightens. "Hi. I'm sorry, I turned my phone off. I should have…told you," she says. "I didn't even think about it."
It's a peculiar thing. She hasn't felt compelled to consistently text someone in a long time. She hadn't thought Cloud would text her throughout the day, and that he tried to talk to her without a response fills her with both endearment and another wave of guilt.
He simply shakes his head. "No, that's alright. I just wanted to, uh…" he trails, shrugging. "Make sure you were…fine. Not that you wouldn't be, I just, uh…" He begins blushing, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the door jamb. "Anyway, just ignore them."
A smile creeps up onto her face as she watches him. He's flustered and uncertain like a fish out of water.
"Were you worried?" she asks, unable to help herself.
He scoffs. "No."
"Hm," she says, continuing to smile. She goes to stand and grabs her purse. Her phone is now awake, and she opens it, sliding her screen to see her message notifications. A red five glares up at her, and she is strikingly curious. He speaks up and diverts her attention before she can tap them to open.
"You leaving?"
"Yes, I was," she says. "Unless you wanted to…talk about something."
His eyes land on her again, and a small smirk forms on his lips. "As much as I love talking," he starts. "I actually have a business dinner soon."
At that, she raises a brow and makes her way toward him, slipping her phone into her purse. He remains in her doorway, and there must not be anyone in the office since he's so openly and casually leaning against it. "What time's dinner?"
His eyes flutter over her.
"In thirty minutes," he says.
"Ah." She taps her lip with her finger. "How far away is the restaurant?"
The grimace that appears on his face is so dramatic, Tifa has to stifle a giggle. "Fifteen minutes."
"Oh, that's not bad," she smirks, placing a hand on his chest. "Isn't that plenty of time?"
His eyes darken, and he looks terribly regretful. "Hardly."
She wants to laugh, but it is stemmed when he leans forward to kiss her. He breaks away before it gets heated, leaving Tifa wanting.
"I actually came to ask if you wanted a ride home," he says, glancing over her. "I know you're only two blocks away, but…"
Tifa smiles up at him, and Cloud's blush lingers.
"That's really nice of you, Cloud. It won't make you late?"
He shakes his head. "No. It won't."
She bites her lip. "We can always…you know…instead. I'm fine with walking home."
He kisses her again. "I'll miss the dinner if we do. C'mon. I'll take you home."
With that, Cloud grabs her hand and leads them down the empty hallway, everyone already having deserted the office building. Tifa glances at their hands laced together, and the warmth oozes into her stomach.
Distracting herself, she takes out her phone again as they reach the elevator and says, "Let's see what you sent me, Mr. Strife."
He grunts. "Like I said, ignore them."
Humming, she opens up the messages. She thinks for a moment to begin reading them aloud, just to embarrass him. She bites her tongue when she realizes she'd only be embarrassing herself, too.
The first message is timestamped at 11:42 am. It says: Hope you slept well last night. I didn't because I was too busy thinking about you.
At 12:15 pm, the second says: I have a business dinner tonight. I wish I could skip it, or at the very least, bring you with me.
At 1:30 pm, the next one says: Sorry, I know you're busy. Can I see you today?
He sent one right after. I have time to drive you home before the dinner.
At 3:14 pm, the last one says: Never mind. I know you said you liked walking. Maybe I'll talk to you later.
Tifa bites the inside of her lip. The guilt runs through her, unfiltered. As the elevator doors close, Tifa glances up to Cloud.
"I'm sorry, Cloud, I didn't mean for you to think I was ignoring you."
"You didn't," he says quickly. "Forget about them. I could have just…emailed you."
He shifts, and he might be embarrassed. He is still too good at hiding how he feels. The numbers of the elevator slowly descend from twenty-five to twenty, and Tifa hesitates.
"But…"
"Put it out of your mind," he says before smirking at her. His hand is still loosely tangled in hers, and Tifa tightens her hold on it. It might be nonsensical, but both her guilt for shutting off her phone and the guilt for not even giving any thought to his job fills her up like an empty glass. As the numbers on the elevator hit level nine, Tifa steps forward and pushes the emergency stop button. Alarms immediately blare around them.
Cloud blinks, swiveling his head to stare at her. "Tifa, what are you—"
"Three minutes," she says, stepping up to him and pushing him into the elevator wall. She curls her hands around his neck and brings him down, slamming their lips together. "Just three minutes. That'll be enough time."
"I—but—" he tries, before groaning when she presses her body up against his hips. She breaks away to hike up her skirt, then she makes quick work of the belt, button, and zipper of his slacks. It is a testament to how attracted she is, she thinks, by how quickly aroused he can make her. As she palms him to free his erection from his briefs, a flare of satisfaction burns up her stomach, because she can make him so quickly aroused, too.
She removes her underwear, and Cloud spins them around, pinning her up against the wall. She gasps and wraps her legs around his hips, and he thrusts into her without any preamble. She whines and he breathes into her neck, his fingers digging into the ridge of her hip. Her body slides up and down the wall with the immediate and forceful pace he sets. She claws at his arms and his hair. The alarms are blaring in the background, further emphasizing their race against time, and her heart dumps adrenaline into her system.
"Oh, Cloud, I'd never ignore you on purpose," she pants.
"You could ignore me," he answers, a moan underlying his words. "Doesn't mean I'd stop bothering you."
She smiles and gasps, already on the verge of orgasm. She curls her legs tighter around him, and he presses his face into her neck.
"Mm. Please keep bothering me."
He maneuvers one hand between her legs and thumbs her clit. Her body shakes at the sensation, jarring and sudden.
"Yes," she hisses.
"You like that?"
The low grumble of his words, punctuated by strain and desperation, make her seize and clench. His breath hits her neck in hot puffs.
"I love it," she breathes, and his thumb presses against her harder, and the last few thrusts make her come with an abrupt edge. She grips him tightly with her arms and legs, one hand holding on to the back of his head. He moans as he releases, and they remain wrapped together for one tantalizingly warm second before he helps slide her back to the floor. They situate themselves again, Tifa pulling up her underwear and jerking down her skirt, Cloud readjusting himself back into his pants, refastening his zipper and button and buckling his belt. He reaches forward to the button panel to undo the emergency stop, and they are doused in an incredibly loud silence.
Tifa glances at her phone, running a hand through her hair. "Oh. Four minutes."
Cloud smiles. "Not bad. We can practice."
She leans against the wall, allowing her breathing to calm and grinning at him. His cheeks are rosy, and his hair is a bit more out of place. He is ruffled and glorious, and it is a hit to her system.
The elevator doors open to the garage not a minute later, and Cloud pulls her along towards his car.
"Cloud, are you positive?" she asks, glancing at her phone again. The face reads 5:09 pm. "I can walk home. It'll be cutting it very close, and I don't want you to be late."
Cloud makes a noise. "It's just Rufus and his lackeys. A minute or two won't kill them."
Tifa opens her mouth but is silenced by the exasperated look Cloud gives her. She relents.
"Okay," she says.
Once they turn out of the garage, Tifa asks, "What's the dinner about?"
"Finalizing a few things," Cloud says. "Now that it's much closer to the merger, Rufus wants to make sure what he wants is implemented." Cloud pauses before admitting, "His father won't be there."
Tifa nods, acknowledgment rushing through her. "Ah. I see."
"I think Rufus finally wants to handle something by himself without his dad's handholding."
A faint sneer settles across Cloud's face, and Tifa eyes it. She hesitates for just a moment before she rests her hand on his forearm. Cloud's sneer fades when he glances at her from the touch.
"Do you think he won't do a good job?"
Cloud shrugs. "I hope he does. We'll see. I don't want this to be all for nothing."
Tifa opens her mouth but is unsure how to ask what she wants. Their time is too short. They are one turn away from her apartment.
"What do you mean, all for nothing?"
Cloud blinks, and she sees the shift in his jaw, as if he's deciding on what to say.
"I, uh…I just don't want Rufus to botch up the business, that's all."
Tifa bites the inner meat of her lip. It is too hard to say what she wants—to ask but won't you be there to help? Or don't worry, you'll be there to fix his mistakes.
Tifa sighs as he pulls up to her complex. The time on the dashboard is 5:14 pm, and Tifa is amazed at how well their timing turned out to be. Perhaps they don't need practice after all.
She tries to smile at him, but she is still consumed by her questions, haunting the back of her mind.
"Thank you, Cloud," she says. She presses her hand into the line of his forearm as she leans over to give him a soft kiss. His lips linger on her for a strangely intimate amount of time before they settle back. "Have a good dinner."
As she opens the door to step out, he says, "I meant what I said. I'd take you with me if I could."
She smiles. "And I'd go, if I could."
He stares at her for a moment. "I'll…text you."
It almost sounds like a question instead of a statement. Tifa's heart squeezes, thinking about how she detached from him all day, knowing he was embarrassed or uncertain or even…
"I'll answer," she says, closing the door. She waves as he turns out of the parking lot, and Tifa is hit with another realization.
He wasn't embarrassed.
Not how he shifted against her office door jamb. How he smirked and shrugged, how he averted his eyes, how quickly he said forget about them in regards to his texts in the elevator. No. Not embarrassed at all.
He was hurt.
Cloud Strife with his feelings hurt because she was foolish enough to turn off her phone. After the previous night they had shared together, if Cloud didn't respond to her texts, Tifa knows she would have been hurt, too.
Tifa stands in her apartment's parking lot for too long. She thinks about Cloud's heart being large enough to feel pain. How is it that something so normal continues to shock her? It doesn't make sense, and yet she is surprised all the same. She sighs before walking toward her stairwell.
It's a deep yearning she is beginning to feel. As she walks into her apartment and sets down her purse and settles in for the evening, she notices it happening like the swell of a river after a storm. She can't quite stop wanting more from him. While it may not be his intention to seem mysterious, Tifa thinks the difficulty that surrounds him with opening up and speaking about himself is merely how Cloud is wired. He is a bundle of quiet contemplation and intense stares. He is gentle but firm, driven and intimidating. He is a lot of things, just like anyone else, but to Tifa he is…more. He's someone she wants to spend time getting to know, to explore every nook and cranny, to dust off every underutilized shelf and to rummage through forgotten pockets, to find the parts of him that are vulnerable and unguarded. She wants to know what makes him.
When Tifa goes to bed that night, amidst all of her thoughts and deliberation, the fraying thread of fear inside of her does not tighten or pull. For this evening, at least, it is simply a decoration.