That morning, before Tifa finishes getting ready for work, she decides to text Cloud.
Tifa: How was dinner?
He responds quickly.
Cloud: Not terrible.
Tifa smiles a little.
Tifa: But not good?
Cloud: I guess it was fine. But I'm comparing it to other things infinitely better.
Tifa blushes, placing the phone down for a moment. She realizes when she texts him, she merely stares at the screen of her phone, waiting for his reply, instead of doing anything else productive. She sighs and grabs a blouse from one of the hangers, slipping her arms through the sleeves. As she goes to button it, she catches her own eye in the mirror. Her gaze falls to her bra. It's pink on Thursdays. One year for her birthday, Aerith jokingly gave her a myriad of things in pink, because Tifa always teased her for it being her favorite color. "It's just so…bright," Tifa would say when Aerith asked her what was wrong with it. Sticking out her tongue, Aerith teased back, "And purple is so…dreary."
At first, Tifa never wore the bra and underwear. Then it started to grow on her. Then Yuffie coined the term of Thursday being Friday Jr., and it should always be a happy day.
Thus, Tifa put on the bra and it's been that way for longer than she'd care to admit.
Biting her lip, Tifa grabs her phone again. She hesitates over the keys before she begins typing.
Tifa: What things could be infinitely better than a fancy dinner?
Cloud: Lots of things.
When he sends nothing to elaborate, Tifa expands on it.
Tifa: Tell me.
Cloud: A fancy dinner with you, for one.
Tifa: That does sound better. What else?
Cloud: A not very fancy dinner with you.
Tifa: I did enjoy cooking in your kitchen. And leaning against the counter.
Cloud: And the shower. And the bathroom sofa.
Tifa: The sofa might have been my favorite.
Cloud: Really?
Tifa: Yes.
Cloud: Why?
How can she really describe why it's her favorite? She can't rightly say, because I felt you bathe my throat. She can't necessarily say, because I got to consume such an intimate part of you. She doesn't feel confident enough in herself to say that pleasuring him gave her the highest feeling of satisfaction and empowerment she's ever had.
Tifa: Because now I know what you look like when you come in my mouth.
It takes Cloud longer to respond to her last text, and Tifa smirks a little bit at the lengthy pause. She takes advantage of it by completing the process of getting ready for work. She's mid-swipe with her mascara when her phone twinkles with sound. Tifa makes herself finish one eye before she looks.
Cloud: And now I know what your tongue can do.
Tifa reads his words and imagines him saying them in that tone he has when he's aroused—dusky and low.
Tifa: And I know what you taste like.
Cloud: It's Thursday. I haven't seen you on a Thursday.
Tifa: You can if you want to.
Cloud: I always want to.
Tifa smiles, feeling her stomach twist. She finishes in the bathroom and leaves the room. She makes another cup of coffee for her walk to work, and she grabs her purse on her way out of her apartment.
Tifa: What are you doing for lunch?
Cloud: Probably you.
Tifa laughs out loud when she reads his text.
Tifa: I think you're right, Strife.
She turns on the sidewalk before she sends him another message.
Tifa: I'll get to your office a little after noon. I want to avoid Scarlet
Tifa pauses at that, then she backspaces the sentence about Scarlet before sending.
Cloud: Looking forward to it.
Tifa: You have any guesses on color?
Cloud: Only several hundred.
Tifa laughs again, shaking her head.
Tifa: I'm sure one of them is right.
Cloud: I don't know. There are a lot of different bra colors.
Tifa: Have you been researching?
Cloud: …no.
Tifa: Cloud! You have!
Cloud: There are a lot of lingerie options. A lot.
Tifa: Oh, so you went from bras to lingerie ensembles?
Cloud: My simple tastes have been evolving, I think.
Tifa: Find anything you like?
Cloud: A few things.
Tifa: Show me later. Maybe I'll wear one for you.
Cloud: I can't say no to that.
Tifa smiles, entering the building strolling to the elevators. She taps the up button, dimly aware of the bustle occurring around her. She doesn't notice the presence that materializes beside her until her dreamy thoughts are interrupted.
"Looks like someone is off in la-la land," Scarlet says, her voice as scathingly sweet as ever. Tifa jolts, looking at her side. Her eyes are assaulted by Scarlet's redness, her dress tight, her body so curvaceous Tifa has wondered if it's modified.
Scarlet's striking figure makes Tifa think about her pink underwear below the armor of her clothes, and she feels, somehow, woefully equipped standing next to her.
Tifa attempts to act unbothered. "Hm. Maybe I am."
"Thinking about anyone in particular?" she asks, an eyebrow raising.
The elevator opens, and they both step inside. The terribly condescending way Scarlet poses her question claws inside of Tifa. Her knee-jerk reply is, "No, just happy I still have a job."
Tifa taps the button for her floor before glancing at Scarlet. She is giving her a hardened glare as she smashes the button for the top floor.
"What are you implying, Lockhart?"
Tifa shrugs, biting the inside of her lip. Scarlet's anger is…easy to flare. And Cloud's voice enters her mind. She's a declawed cat.
Tifa hopes it's true, because she finds herself saying, "Nothing at all, Scarlet. I'm just counting down the days until the merger."
Tifa tries to smile at her. Scarlet doesn't try to hide her sneer.
"At least I didn't need to threaten my boss to rewrite a contract to keep me employed," Scarlet hisses.
The color drains from Tifa's face. That's supposed to be confidential. All contracts are. Has Scarlet known about it because she's Cloud's secretary? Of course, she'll have to go through files, organize, set up lunch meetings and dates. Cloud has seemed so apathetic regarding Scarlet, and Tifa's worry about her has been shoved to the back of her mind. More prominent, important worries have overshadowed her.
Tifa's eyes glance up to the numbers on the elevator's display. She has fifteen more floors. Clenching her jaw, she takes a breath and says, "Of course. I'm sure you think I've also done more than that."
"Oh, like sticking your tongue down his throat?" Scarlet's eyes fall down over Tifa's ensemble, a devilish smirk appearing on her dark lips. "Or sitting on his face?"
Tifa almost chokes, her cheeks reddening. "I'm sure that's what you'd like to do, isn't it?"
Scarlet laughs, and it echoes against the metal elevator walls. It resounds like a drum cymbal, brassy and sharp.
"You're cute, Lockhart. I'm surprised such a timid girl like you had the guts to fuck our boss."
Tifa clenches her teeth harder until her jaw creaks under the strain. "If that's what you believe," she says, trying to maintain a light tone. She has eight more floors. She exhales her sudden anger and annoyance, hoping it sounds like a pitying sigh. "But I guess it worked. I've retained my job." She glances over to Scarlet, and their eyes clash.
"For now," Scarlet says. "Breasts and ass can only get you so far."
Tifa grimaces, feeling a burr of anger run up her spine. Scarlet grins like she knows something Tifa doesn't.
"From one girl to another," Tifa carries on, taking a breath to steady her calm. "Maybe you should try screwing the next boss you have. I'm sure someone wants a secretary who'll work under the table as much as she works on it."
Scarlet glares at her. Tifa stares back. The elevator dings, and the doors open to Tifa's floor.
Tifa takes her leave. "Have a good day, Scarlet."
"Once a whore, always a whore," Scarlet answers back, smiling, to anyone else, a sunny, bright white smile. The elevator doors close on her.
Tifa sighs, frowning. What is her deal? Tifa doesn't know. And sadly, Tifa thinks, maybe she doesn't have one. Maybe Scarlet is vicious just because she wants to be.
Sometimes, that makes someone the most dangerous of all.
Tifa waits until 12:15 pm to get to Cloud's office, wanting to avoid Scarlet at all costs. When she arrives, Scarlet's desk is blessedly vacant, and Tifa breathes a sigh of relief.
She enters Cloud's office without knocking, and she finds him standing by the window, staring out over Midgar. His hands are in his pockets, and the afternoon light hits him, creating subtle shadows along his creases. She wonders how much he stands up during the day and takes that exact spot, contemplating his days or simply breaking from them. Tifa admires his figure as she closes and locks the door behind her. The sound is loud enough for Cloud to glance up, turning his head toward her. He smiles.
"Hey," he says.
"Hi," she answers, pressing up against the door before beginning the long walk to where he stands. He's donned his dark green dress shirt, the one she sewed up and fixed for him. Something niggles inside of her at the sight of him wearing it.
"How's your day been?" she asks, now standing in front of him.
"Fine," he states before smirking. "Better now."
She laughs lightly at his answer, mimicking her from days before.
"How's yours?" he asks.
She thinks briefly about telling him of her encounter with Scarlet but decides against it. Why talk about her when she's in his office, standing beside the window looking out over the big, wide world? It's too perfect to blemish.
"Good," she says. "I've spent most of it thinking about you."
"Mm," he hums, and he leans forward to kiss her. "That's what I do every day."
She loves it when he talks to her like this. It sounds like he's freeing the words with their kisses, only unlocked by intimate touch.
"You do?" she breathes, bringing her hands up to his neck. Their kisses aren't open-mouthed yet, just long, warm presses of their lips.
"Yeah," he says. "You make it easy."
"Oh," she huffs. She gently bites his bottom lip, and his hands roam to her sides. "How?"
"By everything you do," he says, one hand unzipping her skirt. She turns her head to deepen the kiss, finally allowing her tongue to lick his lip and for his to enter her mouth.
"Sometimes, I think about you…sitting at your desk…the sun behind you…" she says in between breaths. "I think about you…staring at me."
He pushes closer to her, and her back hits the chill of the glass window. His chest and groin become flush against her, and she moans into the hard length of his body.
"I think about you bent over my kitchen counter," he says, husky and dark, and he shoves her skirt down her legs. They land at her ankles, and he stops for a moment, glancing down. "Ah, pink?"
"Thursday is close to Friday. It's a happy day," she breathes.
He grins at her. "I guess it is a happy day." He leans in to continue kissing her, and she moans at the contact. He drops one hand to the lace of the panties, and he toys with them for too many, achingly long seconds before he dips his fingers below the band.
"Oh," she keens, unabashedly vocal, the simple word flowing into his mouth. His touch is freeing, too, provoking her to do what she pleases. There is something visceral in the way she hangs onto him with her nails, grasping at whatever skin is available.
She eventually finds the button of his slacks, fumbling to open them with her eyes closed while his fingers slide up and down against her, and she is able to push his pants down right before his fingers slide into her, his palm caressing the mound of her clit.
"Oh, Cloud, oh, that's it, that's…mm," she breathes, moaning while he kisses her deeply, curling his fingers ever so much, pressing against her with a gentle, focused ease. His rhythm is on a steady timescale, and Tifa's hips move with his hand.
"Oh, Gaia," she whispers. "Oh, goddamn."
"I'm rubbing off on you," he says against her, and she can hear his smile. "Goddamn."
"Yes, you—oh, yes, I'm…yes," she says, her incoherency bordered by the blur of pleasure. Her fingers embed themselves in his skull. Her hips circle around his palm. He changes his pace as she unconsciously takes over. She is suddenly hazy, thrusting herself on his hand. The pads of his fingers inch deeper with the movement, and she cries.
"Shiva, fuck. Cloud," she breathes. Cloud moans.
"Say my name again," he mutters.
His command is a direction. She suddenly knows no other word.
"Cloud. Mm, Cloud. Oh, Cloud," she mewls.
"Tifa," he says. Her head lolls to look at him, and the sunlight hits his hair in a golden halo. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches her, and she moans at the sight of him. She is throbbing, pulled into a deep ache.
"Do you want to come for me?" he asks.
The question makes her gasp, her fingers tangling into the glowing threads of his hair.
"Yes," she says. "Yes. Cloud. Oh. Cloud. Yes."
"Mm, Tifa, not yet," he says, taking his hand away. Tifa nearly cries out. "Cloud—"
"Turn around," he says, gently spinning her. Her face is so hot and her mind so coherent, she thinks it might be melting. She places her palms against the glass window, the chill of it a reprieve. Her eyes are so unfocused, she doesn't pay the view any attention. Her body is honed into Cloud's, and she moans when she hears his pants hit the tile floor, quickly followed by her own underwear. When she feels his arousal against her, she moans even louder.
She is tight and sensitive and inflamed with desire, and all she can think about is the friction of him against her, feeling his fingers press into the soft flesh of her bottom, and when he says, "Tifa," she looks up into the transparent reflection of the window. She sees his eyes looking through her. Her breath forms condensation against the window, multiplied by the heat of their bodies. Her palms slip against it, and she hisses when he drags his length against her swollen skin. Her eyes flutter shut at the contact. She gently rocks her hips with his movement, and it is a pleasure when he rolls against her—more than a pleasure. How can it be that she loses her mind a little more every time they touch this way? How does he break off pieces of her to keep within him, in his pockets, wrapped around his neck? She feels twirled around him like the newly fastened threads on the buttons of his shirt.
Tifa's palms curl against the glass, and she presses her bottom back into him. He groans, and he slides into her effortlessly.
Her breath is strangled when he fills her. "Cloud, oh."
"Shit, Tifa, keep saying my name. Keep…saying…"
"Cloud…Cloud…Cloud," she repeats, over and over, in time with his thrusts. They are slow and steady and smooth, just like his fingers and his palm. Tifa opens her eyes briefly, and she can see his face behind her—that crazed, glazed over look, the pinch of his brows, the cords of his neck. She clenches deeply at the sight of him, and he growls. One of his hands run underneath her shirt, pressing into her belly. He begins to press into her harder, the pace becoming faster. She gasps. His friction and his touch and his voice all swirl together, and Tifa's eyes slam shut as she pushes her hands against the window. Her breath is gone, and her back arches, and her whole body seizes together as she comes.
"Cloud," she whispers, his name fogging up the window. Her eyes eventually catch his in the window, their chests and shoulders heaving. She slowly stands up straight, and his other arm comes around her stomach, holding her against him. She feels his heart thundering against her back.
She leans her head back against his shoulder, closing her eyes and listening to his breath catch up with his lungs. She lays her hands on top of his forearms.
She feels him turn his head and kiss her temple. She makes a quiet noise at the affection.
"A happy day, a happy color," he whispers in her ear, a quiet grumble.
She smiles. "Yes. A happy day."
She glances at their reflection in the window, overlaid by the gleaming sun and the outside terrain of the city. It's a beautiful view, she thinks, as she catches his eye in front of her. She sighs contentedly at the smile he gives her. It awakens the courage within her to ask the question lingering in her throat.
"Do you want to waste time together tomorrow, after work?" she says. "We could…" she pauses and takes a deep breath. "We could go to my place. Or grab dinner somewhere. Or something else."
He nuzzles his face into her neck. "How about my place?" he says. "I'll drive you after work again. We can go somewhere or cook or order in. Whatever we feel like."
It is partial relief and partial dread that fills her when they agree on his place. She realizes she is ready for him to be in her apartment and to allow him inside, and that is almost a terrifying venture. Terrifying but thrilling. Her fear is no longer holding her back.
And if I let him in, she thinks. Maybe he'll let me in, too.
Throughout the day on Friday, Cloud consistently sends her pictures of different lingerie. When she doesn't think he can possibly find any others, he proves her wrong.
Tifa is on the verge of laughter and embarrassment the entire time, either blushing at her phone or giggling at her computer as she tries to concentrate long enough to finish her project. The lingerie options continue getting more and more questionable the longer he researches.
Tifa: Don't you have anything better to do, today, being the CEO and all?
Cloud: Honestly? No. Not until next week. That's when it'll get busy.
Tifa glances at her calendar. Next week. The penultimate week before the starred merger date. Everything will be finalized and trimmed and smoothed out, days filled with meetings to make sure it is all going according to plan. Then the week after that, it will be wrapped up in a pretty bow. Some departments will move to a different floor. Others will reorganize as Shinra employees join their ranks. Because of the sheer size of each company, it was agreed upon that both SOLDIER CORP and Shinra Inc would maintain their respective company buildings, with redundant departments mixing together under the direction of Cloud and Rufus. Whichever company with the bigger department in both scale and employee number would relocate to that location. SOLDIER's HR, IT, financial, and budgeting department's are smaller, so they will move to the Shinra Inc building. Their manufacturing, marketing, customer service, and engineering departments are larger, so Shinra employees will move in. While not ideal, the speed with which the merger occurred allowed no time to create a massive, personal building large enough to suit both of them. Shinra Inc's building will become the main hub of operations, and the SOLDIER CORP building will be considered a satellite office, though the operations entailed within each building will be vastly different. It also gives enough space for the company to perform what they need, when they need it, and in a more efficient manner. Unfortunately, with merging, that meant more employee cuts. There aren't as many as there had been at Cloud's initiation, but enough to feel the substantial release of numbers.
Luckily, employees who were certain to be terminated were given three month's notice to find another means of employment, retaining their jobs and, most importantly, their paychecks, until the final merger date. This seemed to give enough incentive for the employees to keep toiling away.
Rufus will have an office at both buildings, making it easy enough for him to jump between sites. This slice of information is not new, but it now gives Tifa pause. The only office space worthy enough for Rufus Shinra would be on the top floor—Cloud's floor and Cloud's office.
Tifa bites at her thumbnail. Where will he go? It continually makes her nervous.
Tifa: We probably won't get to see each other much, right?
Cloud: Probably not. I'll get to see you in some of the meetings.
That's true. She'll get to discreetly stare at him from afar while listening to different department heads talk about a lot of…business.
Cloud: No one likes to take seats around me, usually, so you could sit by me.
Tifa thinks about it, wanting to take him up on the offer.
Tifa: Would that be suspicious?
Cloud: I doubt anyone would think twice about it. Except Scarlet.
Tifa laughs out loud. Definitely Scarlet.
Tifa: Then deal. Next week, I'll sit by you.
Cloud: Great. It'll make it much less tedious.
Tifa smiles.
Tifa: Now I know I won't be bored to tears. See you around 5:00?
Cloud: Yeah, I'll be there.
Tifa calls her dad around 4:30 pm, knowing she won't be able to call him later. She thinks about waiting until Saturday, but she has a sudden, desperate sense of homesickness settle over her when she thinks about him. Tomorrow seems too far away. She has the need to hear his voice tunnel into her ear.
"Hey, dad," she greets warmly when he picks up.
"Hey, sweet pea," he says. "You're calling early. Everything okay?"
"Yeah, everything's good. I wasn't going to be able to call you later, so I thought I'd call you now."
"I see. A lot of work, tonight?"
Tifa internally sighs, hating that she's going to lie to him.
"…yeah. Some. But I'm also going to…hang out with a friend, tonight."
"Ah, I see. One of the girls?" he asks.
Tifa glances at his picture on her desk, the one with the two of them after she got promoted. They are grinning from ear to ear. Happy and full. She curls her hand into a fist, cutting her palm with her nails.
She doesn't want him to worry. If she tells him she'll be with a boy, it'll put him under unnecessary stress. And high blood pressure. Things his chemo-riddled body does not need.
"Yeah, yeah, one of the girls," she says. "Yuffie and maybe Jessie. Aerith is always with Zack, so she probably won't join us. It's, uh, different when you have a boyfriend. I really don't see her as much as I would like, and sometimes I miss seeing all of them because work has been so busy…" She cringes. She always rambles when she lies. She doesn't make it a habit, but she wonders if her father can hear the artificial lightness in her tone across the phone connection.
"Ah, yes. You all have been so tight knit, I'm sure Aerith will make the time if you ask. I remember being young and in love. Who knows, Teef? Maybe you'll meet someone tonight."
Tifa smiles a little.
"Just…please be careful. Take pepper spray. Make sure you keep your brass knuckles in your purse. I know you can fend for yourself, but it doesn't make me worry any less."
"I know, dad," Tifa says softly. "I will be. Anyway, how are you? How was the week?"
They talk for twenty more minutes, him telling her about Nibelheim and the grat infestation they're dealing with, requiring hired hands and other exterminators to take them out. He talks to her about how they have to budget for the education and police and tourism, as Mt. Nibel is one of the town's main attractions.
By the time they hang up, Tifa feels much better. She grabs the picture of the two of them and moves her thumb across her dad's smile. He's so able-bodied in the snapshot. She never would have anticipated how skeletal and gaunt he would be in only a few short months.
Cloud arrives at her door at 5:07 pm. She is still holding the picture in her hand when he enters, and she places it back on the edge of her desk.
"Hey," she says. "Any stragglers?"
"Nope," he answers. "Everyone's gone."
It continues to amaze her how quickly everyone deserts the office at closing.
"You mean no one is working overtime?"
Cloud smiles. "Not on a Friday, at least."
"I don't blame them," she says, grabbing her purse and standing. She makes her way over to him and leans up to kiss his cheek.
"Ready to go?" he asks.
"Yes," she nods, walking out beside him and locking her door. They leisurely make their way to the elevator, and Tifa blushes, thinking about what they did only two days prior. When he hits the down arrow, he glances at her.
"You want to go to my place and eat, or do you wanna eat out somewhere?" he asks.
"Oh, I don't know," she says. "Either works. Is there a restaurant you haven't been in a while?"
"There are a few. I mean…" he shrugs. "As much as I would like for you to cook for me all the time, we can go out tonight. Give you a break."
She rolls her eyes, but she smiles at the jest. "Sure. Give me a break."
"The least I can do."
"Are you being nice because you want me to wear that lingerie you sent me?"
He makes a noise as they step into the open elevator, pressing the button for the garage.
"Of course I am."
Tifa laughs at the answer, not expecting it. "You don't fool me, Strife."
When they step out of the elevator, she feels his palm lightly land against the small of her back. She looks up at him inquiringly, because he's never initiated this kind of touch before. When he catches her eye, he hesitates, but his palm remains against her back. She smiles at him and allows him to lead her.
"Take me to another place you like," she says, inching closer to his side. "Some place you've been missing."
As they reach his car and settle into the seats, he seems to be contemplating, turning over the engine and letting it idle.
"Alright," he says eventually. "I have one. Do you like hibachi?"
She grins. "I love it."
He takes her to a hibachi grill and sushi restaurant in the inner city of Sector 6. It's located along a downtown strip, near a theater, an arcade, and several bars. They park in a garage, and they walk down the sidewalks to the restaurant. Tifa glances around at all the people milling about, the names of the bars and the kiosks selling trinkets and different, trivial items. One bar stands out to her, the name Chocobo Sam lit with yellow and orange neon stars, a lasso rope design creating the o's and a cowboy hat atop the S in Sam. There is a mechanical chocobo ride to the right in the covered patio, with several tables and benches to the left, surrounding an outside bar. Country music emanates from the open space, intermingling with the very different seductive tones of rhythm and blues music from the bar across the street, named Madam M. It has a provocative silhouette of a woman and her bust hovering above the wide entrance.
Tifa bites her lip, unable to diminish her smile. "You come here often, Cloud?"
He follows her line of sight, taking in both bars. His stare is deadpanned when he says, "I like to ride the chocobo."
She can only hold for a second before she snorts, covering her mouth with her hand. His expression turns into a grin.
"Wait," she says, still chuckling. "Have you actually ridden it?"
He shrugs, placing his hand on the small of her back again. "I might have, once or twice."
Tifa can't imagine Cloud doing something so…fun. It floors her, but the image in her mind makes her continue laughing.
"I can't believe it," she says.
"I was drunk," he admits. If anything, it makes Tifa's grin wider.
"What are you like drunk?" she asks, unable to help herself.
"Dumb enough to ride a mechanical chocobo."
She presses into his side, tilting her head up at him. "How long'd you last?"
"Definitely not longer than five seconds."
"Oh, I bet you could do much better than that, drunk or not."
"You give me a lot of credit."
She smiles at him, her eyes shining. "I dunno. You kill dragons. I'm sure you could slay a mechanical chocobo."
Cloud scoffs, the laugh brief and fleeting. "Alright. Next time we come to Sector 6, we'll both ride it. See who lasts the longest."
"You're on, Strife," she says. "May the best chocobo rider win." She pauses. "I bet it'll be me."
"We'll see, Lockhart," he says. Then he leans down to kiss her, and it surprises her so much she has to stop walking.
"Oh," she says, startled. She blinks up at him. He blushes.
"Uh, sorry," he says. He jerks his head to the side, hand still on her back. "C'mon, we're almost there."
Tifa smiles at his embarrassment, and she reaches for his hand behind her, threading their fingers together. He glances down at her and she squeezes his palm.
When they arrive, it doesn't take too long for them to be seated. They take their spots around a flat top grill and order appetizers while they figure out their decisions for entrees. Tifa learns what Cloud likes and doesn't like. She asks him what he usually gets when he eats here, and he answers her a few options that sound disastrously delicious. They eventually choose one of each of Cloud's favorites so they can share.
After the orders are placed, they begin talking about mundane things—the sweltering summer heat and how terrible it is this year, the hope for a rain shower in the coming weeks.
"There have been reports of higher monster populations around the Eastern Continent," Cloud mentions. He's resting his arm along the back of her chair, his forearm grazing her shoulders. "The heat might be driving them out to find cooler habitats, or they might just be agitated."
"Sounds like you might have to expand your sword fighting territory," she tells him.
He looks at her, smirking. "Yeah. Maybe so."
"The world is counting on you."
"I've got to save it. It's a heavy burden."
"Can't be much heavier than your swords."
He smiles. "Probably not."
Tifa learns that Cloud is good at using chopsticks-mostly as she watches him eat their dumplings. He doesn't spare a glance at the silverware. He likes anything spicy. He drinks water and coffee and hardly anything else. He tells her he drinks beer and other liquors when he feels he needs it, but he avoids whiskey.
"When I got drunk enough to ride that chocobo, all I drank was whiskey. Don't think I wanna do that again."
Tifa smiles at him, attempting to be as graceful with the chopsticks as he is. "How'd you get so good with these things?"
Cloud ducks his head at her inadvertent compliment. "Uh, I used to be terrible, so I practiced."
"Must have taken a little while."
Cloud clacks the wooden sticks together in his hand. "Longer than it should have." He pauses before saying, "I hate being…bad at things."
Tifa watches him for a moment. "That makes sense."
"Easy to tell?"
"I think it's everything," she answers him. "How you've worked so hard for what you have. You always seem so determined."
He averts his eyes. "I guess."
She presses her elbows into the table, giving him an intentional stare. "You know you are."
He scoffs. "Yeah. Sure. I just…" he shrugs. "When I know what I want, I do what I need to do to get it." He looks at her again, and though his cheeks are slightly pink, he matches her lean until their faces are close. "I guess you know that."
She bumps his shoulder with hers, shaking her head. "You flirt a lot, too. That surprises me."
He raises a brow. "Why?"
"You're so serious at work, I never imagined I'd hear you flirting with me. Or anyone."
He tilts his head at her. "Probably because I don't flirt with anyone."
"Oh," she says, pressing into his shoulder again. "Just me, then?"
A beat of silence passes between them, Cloud's eyes darting over her face.
"Yeah."
She scrunches her face into a smile before turning her head away, her neck heating. "Seems to be a lot of…just me."
"…seems like it."
She bites the inner meat of her cheek. The heat of his chest and arm surrounding her inspire her to list off, "Your type. Visiting your condo. Flirting…"
"Seems like a pattern," he mutters, and she glances sideways at him. He's twisting his chopsticks in his right hand before shifting and saying, "Want me to teach you how to use these better?"
He's changing track, she thinks. He's avoiding the topic. His demeanor reminds her of his shift in his shower. He's not hiding, he's simply…evading. Dodging and parrying, his expression open and yet veiled all at once.
Tifa smiles at him and wants to apologize for making him uncomfortable. It's her immediate, empathetic response for anyone who she's made feel off-balance, and it doesn't seem to happen often. With Cloud…it seems to happen much more frequently.
She bites her tongue on the apology. It's not something he needs, and she doubts he wants it. Instead, she leans forward to kiss his cheek.
"Yes, please do," she says, reaching for her chopsticks and setting her hand in between them.
He focuses on her hand, bringing his arm out from around her and fixing the points of her fingertips and her grip. "Alright, so if you place the first one like this…" He places the far end of the chopstick in the crease of the base of her thumb. "Then let it rest on your ring and pinky fingers…then place the top one against the first knuckle of your index finger…here, and keep your thumb straight…then that'll make it easier to…"
Tifa only half pays attention to the instructions, allowing Cloud to move her fingers around like clay, listening to his patient, quiet voice and watching him immediately transform into a teacher. When he glances back up at her to tell her to practice with picking up the remaining dumplings, he pauses.
"Uh…what?"
She realizes she's smiling at him. She shakes her head, trying out the new grip position with the chopsticks. They feel a little clumsy but much sturdier and stable.
"Nothing," she says. "I'll try this. Thank you, Cloud."
He shrugs. "You'll get the hang of it pretty quickly."
He places his left arm back around her chair, having already finished his fill. Tifa settles in and practices on the last few pieces of food. She laughs when one dumpling pops out from between her chopsticks, falling between them and rolling to the floor.
"Yeah," she says. "Quickly."
He smiles at her, eying the food on the floor. "It was a pretty impressive slip, though."
She purses her lips at him before she begins smirking. "Hm. My hands just aren't as dextrous as yours."
He eyes her mouth. He easily catches on to her suggestive tone. "I wouldn't say that. You use your hands pretty well."
"I've really only used them once."
He rubs his hand over his jaw. "I guess I don't have enough experience with your hands to…have a valid opinion."
Tifa begins smiling at the stare he's giving her, shadowed and darkened under the lighting of the restaurant.
"I think I'll have to practice using my hands, then, like the chopsticks. A lot of practice," she says. "I need to get as good as you. I can't let you beat me, right?"
Cloud's throat bobs in a swallow. "Tifa…"
She laughs lightly. She wants to kiss him—a full kiss—but they're too close to the other patrons sitting near them for comfort.
He's quiet for a moment before he says, "Are you still hungry?"
"I—yeah, I'm—" she pauses, looking at his face. He's giving her a knowing, lustful look. It's a different mask on his skin, how it sharpens his cheekbones, how his stare cuts into her like diamond points.
"I'm not hungry," she breathes.
"Get it to-go?"
She places her hand on his thigh under the table. "That's perfect."
Cloud hails the waiter to notify him of their sudden change for dinner, citing an emergency and expediting their food. The next ten minutes seem ungodly long for the rest of their food to cook and be placed in to-go containers, and when they finally arrive at his car, Tifa kisses him like she's been wanting. She pulls him over the middle console, wrapping her hands around his neck. He kisses her back just as severely.
"My place isn't far," he says.
"I don't mind how far it is," she says. "I just wanted to be alone with you."
He kisses her again. "Yeah. Me, too."
When they get to his condo, they have been sated with wrapping their hands around each other's, their fingers pausing and weaving like a dance. One moment during the drive, Cloud smirked at her and said, "You know we're crazy, right?"
At that, Tifa laughed, leaning over the console and kissing his cheek, then tilted her head to kiss his neck.
"Maybe a little. But crazy makes the world go round."
He brought her hand to his mouth, gently biting her knuckles. "Yeah. It does."
When inside his condo, they put the food up in the fridge. Cloud begins walking to his bedroom, shedding his suit jacket on a barstool and beginning to unbutton his dress shirt. He glances over his shoulder at her and says, "It's time to practice, right?"
Tifa's entire body heats up at the sight of his smirk, leisurely undressing in the middle of his living room. She follows behind him and mimics him, unzipping her skirt first and letting it fall to the floor, kicking it off her ankles.
"Yeah," she answers behind him. He stares at her legs while he drops his shirt, going to unbuckle his belt. He walks backwards down the hallway to his bedroom. She unbuttons the entirety of her shirt as they enter, and it falls in the doorway, lying innocently on the floor. Cloud pushes off his pants, and she reaches for him, placing one hand around his neck and one on his chest. He presses her close to him, their bodies colliding together like their hands in his car. She moans into him, dragging the hand down his chest to his groin, slipping her hand below his briefs. He huffs into her kiss, and she pulls out a noise from him with one gentle tug.
"Tell me what you like, Cloud," she whispers, breathing heavily against him.
He groans at her words, and she fondles him for a minute more before he scoops her up into his arms. He walks them back to the bed before laying back on it. She remains on top of him, pulling his underwear down.
"Anything. I love anything you do to me," he mumbles against her lips. "Do whatever you want."
She moans, kissing him with more forceful intent, her hand gripping him and sliding against him, gently massaging until she hears him gasp.
She can touch him endlessly, she thinks, kissing his neck and his chest, tasting the flavor of his skin and the deep heat of his desire. As many times as they've explored each other, it doesn't lose its excitement or its beauty or its novelty. They know their bodies better, now. Their words come easier, their shyness transformed into the sharp teeth of craving, following the journey it takes them on. It is always a constant ascension, always a manic rush of sensation and fiery nerve endings, entangling their limbs together like a knitted blanket.
They remove the rest of their underwear in that desperate haze. Tifa continues pleasuring him while he reaches a hand for her, burning a trail along her slick folds. "Cloud," she says, making him look at her as she moves his arousal at her entrance, and he slides into her without any other provocation. It is simply one movement out of many, and she moans and slips her eyes close, running on the high wire of bliss. They push and they shift and pull, tugging at their insides, filling each other up with electric currents. Lighting flashes across her skin. Tifa feels the blaze in her neck when he kisses her there, his teeth finding her tumultuous pulse. His hands fist in her hair. She grapples his biceps then his forearms, digging her fingers along the bands of his muscle. He moans underneath her, whispering nonsensical things, hands buried in the nest of her hair, then on her breasts, then over her ribcage, caressing and cradling and wanting, always wanting.
And when they come, one right after the other, Tifa is cradled against him, their arms around each other and their bodies surrounded by the comforters of his bed, and Tifa whispers, "Can I stay here, tonight?"
She's answered with a lazy, sensual, slow kiss. Cloud stares at her when they break away, thumbing her cheek.
"Of course you can."
He pulls her close against him, and she presses her nose into the crook of his neck. She breathes in the scent of him, and it is a thousand times more potent than falling asleep in his clothes. It is early evening, only just past eight o'clock, but she succumbs to a deep sleep almost immediately, undisturbed by dreams or the ghosts of worry.
Tifa wakes up to the gentle sunshine of the dawn.
She's facing Cloud's windowed wall of his bedroom. She blinks a few times, feeling his forearm around her waist, her back up against his chest. Sometime during the night, they maneuvered underneath his bedsheets. Tifa isn't sure if she even remembers moving to do it, and she wonders if Cloud did it while she was sleeping. The thought makes her smile. It's something he would do.
She feels his deep breathing hit the crown of her head. She moves her hands underneath the blankets, placing them on top of his own around her. He unconsciously tightens around her at the contact, and Tifa sighs at the feeling, realizing how much this is—naked, together under the bedsheets, holding onto one another, the sunlight cascading over them with a new day.
She is suddenly overcome by it. She tries to plug up the urge to slip out from his touch. She tries to relish it instead of push it away. She allows herself two calming breaths before she attempts to relax into him, listening to the steady cadence of his chest, the flooding warmth he exudes, and his scent on the pillow.
Why do I feel this way? She thinks. It isn't just because her father's dying. She doesn't think it is. She's thought about it on more than one occasion, especially on the nights where sleep eludes her. Self-examination always seems to be easy in the dark shadows of night, when you're alone with yourself, thinking about your life and wondering, wondering.
Tifa remembers her mother—such a bright light, as bright as the dawn light seeping along the tile floor of Cloud's bedroom. She had a lot of life. She was vibrant and soft and soothing, a loving mother and a wholesome spirit. She was a bright star. Too bright, her father had said, once, when they were visiting her grave. This world seems to snuff out the best of us, first.
He had still been grieving heavily then, but the words stayed with Tifa. They were the kind to imbed like a hollow point bullet. They've expanded over the years, she thinks, because Cloud feels just like the words do. He's a controlled piece of weaponry. He will not leave her even if he is physically gone.
Tifa knows why her father won't leave Nibelheim for her. It's because her mother is there, smothered in the confines of earth and dirt, just like one of those beautiful gems of materia. Her body is there, and her spirit is in Tifa's childhood home. Her father still lives in that house, surrounded by the dust of the past. He's never gotten over her. He doesn't want to get over her.
She's the love of my life, Tifa. She's the only one I'll ever want.
Tifa sighs against the thought, hating that it is invading her on such a beautiful morning. She had been so mad at her father for grieving for so long, because Tifa couldn't move on when her father was still in the past. They were supposed to carry on together. Then Tifa moved away to her fancy job and left him behind and—the thought of loving someone like that, then the crippling passage of time, the blur of the years floating along without pause once they leave the earth—she doesn't know. Tifa doesn't know if she wants something like that. A love so profound is poetic—it sounds like a fairytale, and the years that contain it are nothing but resplendent and beautiful. It's what everyone wants. It's the after no one writes about. It's the end of it. It's all the pain. It's the quiet wishes for death to allow finding one another in the after. It's the giving up on the rest of life, because it's not worth it without the one they loved.
Tifa thought she'd be enough for her father to carry on, but she isn't.
Tifa carefully turns away from the window, gently jostling Cloud. He must be in a deep sleep, because his face pinches momentarily before it smooths. The planes of his face are serene and lax and the most comfortable she's ever seen him.
It takes him a few more minutes before his eyes start to move underneath his eyelids. It's another few minutes before he blinks them open slowly, the shade of sleep slowly dissipating in the next seconds upon waking. As his eyes rove over her, he smiles and gives her a gentle squeeze, his arms still wrapped around her.
"Mornin'," he says.
"Good morning," she says. She reaches up to touch his face, still wrapped up in her thoughts and now ensconced in his beauty.
His smile slowly fades the longer he stares at her. "What's wrong?" he asks.
She shakes her head, trying to smile to bring back the one he just had. "Nothing."
He squeezes her again. "Tifa, you can tell me."
He is looking at her so openly in the throes of the early morning light. His face is soft and vulnerable with the vestiges of sleep. He is holding her against him like his favorite pillow. He's been showing her pieces of him, like little handfuls of gleaming pearls.
He's been letting me in, she thinks. It's me. I haven't. I haven't let him in.
She takes a deep breath, staring at his neck. She doesn't realize how emotional she's become. Her throat is tightening, her eyes pinching at the corners. She blinks a few times before trying to find her balance in the thickets of her sadness. Speaking has suddenly become the hardest thing for her to do.
"My father's dying," she whispers. One tear streams down her cheek in a curving, wet line. Its descent is slow and hesitant, catching on the mottled redness of her skin. It is as if it doesn't want to travel any further. "He has cancer and he's dying, and I've had so much time to accept it, and I can't. Why can't I?" she asks him and no one. "Why can't I let him go?"
Her eyes begin to fill up, blurring her vision. She can't see his defined edges, blinded by both the morning sun hitting his skin and the overwhelming burn of grief.
Another tear falls behind the other, pushing it down until it curls around her jaw. It hits her neck with a frightening chill.
"Why do I have to?" she asks, the words straining against the desperate pull on her throat. There's a sob waiting in the back of it, but she forces it down. "Why do I have to accept something I hate? Because I can't change it? Because it's out of my control?"
Along with the despair, there is a budding, blooming anger. Tifa has never let it surface. She's gripped it in her fists when she pounds the punching bags at the dojo, when she settles into her forms, when she swings her legs through the air and cuts through the breath of the earth.
Now, she feels it crawling up the heavy, thunderous artery in her stomach. She feels it like a lantern in the dark cavern of her heart.
"The world already took away my mother. Why does it want to take away my father, too?"
The sob escapes her without warning. It is ragged and wet and ugly, and she buries her face in her hands, unable to allow Cloud to see her like this any longer. She's never cried this way in front of anyone—not her girlfriends. Not her father. Only in the quiet, lonely spaces, blessedly alone with herself.
"Tifa," she hears him say. One of his hands lands on her shoulder, and she hunches further in on herself. The tears fall faster, and they won't stop because it feels as though they can't stop. It is an endless sea.
Cloud pulls her into him, and the backs of her hands hit the wall of his chest. His arms are tight bands, and his heat is a hearth, warming her up from her toes to her stomach to her fingers. His chin rests on the crown of her head. She slowly lowers her hands from her face and rests them on his chest, her cheeks pressing in the hollow of his neck. The salt of her sorrow mixes with the summertime grasses of his skin, and she buries herself closer and closer. The veins of her tears connect them, the pulse of his heart attempting to tether to her own.
"Tifa," he says softly. "I'm here."
His arms are a crushing weight, but he can't let go—if he lets go, her pieces will fall apart all around them. She slips her arms up around his shoulders, clawing at his back.
"Please stay," she cries, gasping. "Don't leave."
"I'm not going anywhere, Tifa."
She leaves a mess on his chest and neck and shoulder. Her eyes are puffed and swollen. She is a mixture of tears and snot and all the disgusting things that intertwine with misery. She hates her weakness. She hates how she can't be strong in the face of fear and uncertainty.
When there is nothing left for her to give, she steadies her breath and Cloud's arms loosen slightly. It is enough for her to take fuller breaths but not enough to leave her position. Her faces buries deeply in his neck. Their legs tangle, curling together like a fist.
His hands are running through her hair. Her grip on him is no longer desperate or clinging, and her hands begin to rest on the strong ledges of his shoulders.
As she gets a hold of herself, the presence of shame creeps up on her. She gently pushes away from him, quickly hiding her face with her hair. She runs her hands over her eyes and under her nose.
"I'm sorry," she says, her voice hoarse. "It's stupid. Crying is a waste of time." She turns over to the other side of the bed, sitting on the edge. She reaches for the tissues on his nightstand, dabbing it over her face.
"That's not true," he says. She feels the bed shift under his weight, and he takes a seat beside her.
She shakes her head. "It doesn't change anything. It doesn't—"
"It's okay," he says, interrupting her. He reaches up to touch her face, turning her to look at him. She averts her eyes, unable to bring herself to match his stare.
"Tifa. Listen. It's okay."
She reaches up to take his hand in her own, lowering it from her face and continuing to avoid his gaze. She weaves their fingers together.
"Thank you, Cloud. I…I really appreciate you…listening."
"I'm here if you need anything," he says, and he wraps his arm around her, pulling her into a gentle hug. Tifa sharply inhales before relaxing against him. She reaches around him, closing her eyes against his touch.
"Okay," she breathes.
When they finally break away, Tifa runs a hand through her hair. "I should…probably clean up. I'm…" she gestures to the floor, standing and walking over to the door jam to pick up her shirt. She slips it back on. "I'm going to the bathroom."
Cloud stands. "Tifa—"
She stops her trek, looking back at him. Gaining her courage, she hesitantly catches his eyes. She takes in a long, slow breath at the way he's looking at her. It is kind and soft and, somehow, understanding. He does not look at her as if she has just sobbed into his neck. He looks at her like he sees her despair and her grief and accepts it. Her heart swells with a different kind of ache.
"Life…is never fair," he says. "It won't ever be okay, but…you're not alone."
Tifa jerks her head away, feeling the dry well of her emotions fill up again. She closes her eyes against them.
"It isn't," she breathes, trying to steady her voice. "Thank you."
She goes to the bathroom and scrubs at her face until she's all out of tears.