She isn't hungry when she steps out of the bathroom, but she finds a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt lying on top of the covers of the bed beside her wrinkled skirt and bra and underwear. She feels her cheeks heat up at the sight of them, which is ridiculous—but thinking of Cloud touching her underwear without the urgency of sex on his mind is…strangely endearing. She hears Cloud moving around in the living area, and she shakes her head, smiling briefly as she takes the clothing he left for her. She slips them on, tying the drawstring tightly around her waist to keep them from falling down and rolling up the bottoms so they don't drag on the floor. As she walks through the hallway to the living room, she sees Cloud in the kitchen, rummaging around and moving pots and pans along the countertop.
"I usually eat cereal in the morning," he says, glancing up. He pauses when he sees her, his eyes catching on the battered t-shirt she's wearing. She is suddenly well aware that she isn't wearing a bra. She bites the inside of her lip and tugs at the bottom of the shirt. It's a wonder why she feels self-conscious. She's worn his clothes in front of him, before.
"…but I can make scrambled eggs without burning anything down," he finishes.
Tifa tries to smile a little at him. He scratches the back of his head, and she walks up to him, kissing his cheek.
"I can cook."
"I can help," he says.
She shakes her head. "Go sit. Cooking helps me enough."
She doesn't have to elaborate. While he nods in acknowledgement, the frown doesn't leave his face.
"Okay. If you need something…"
"Yeah," she says softly, pushing him out of his kitchen. "I know. I'll ask."
She falls into the pattern of cooking, exploring his cabinets, finding the different utensils available, and learning the layout of the land.
Instead of going to the living area, Cloud takes a seat in one of the barstools lining the counter. He props his forearms in front of him, leaning forward against it.
Tifa tries to pay him no mind, concentrating on the rhythm of gathering food and ingredients. She occasionally looks up to find him staring at her, and she darts her eyes away. She still feels the puffiness against her eyes and her cheeks, and she clears her throat.
"I can make eggs, and you have some ham that I can fry up. I can also make pan fried potatoes…" she says, gesturing to the items she picked out and placed along the island. "Does any of that sound alright?"
Cloud raises his brows at her. "That sounds more than alright, Tifa."
She nods, feeling a bit unbalanced by his gaze. "Okay. Great."
She takes a knife and a cutting board and begins chopping the potatoes, gets a pan hot with oil simmering against the teflon. She heats up another for the ham. The steady tempo of chopping and cooking begins to calm the swirl of stubborn emotions in her. Eventually, she looks back up to Cloud. He's still watching her move around the kitchen, and she smiles.
"How do you like your eggs? Sunny side up, overeasy, or scrambled?" she asks.
"If I was fancy, I'd say I can only eat them poached."
"You know what a poached egg is? I'm shocked."
He smirks. "I'm only dense about cooking food."
"Mm," she hums. She brings the cutting board over the hot oil in the pan, scraping the potatoes into it. The crackle and sizzling fills the air. "I forget you're a connoisseur of restaurants."
Once she's seasoned the potatoes to her liking, she turns to look at him. He has his face propped on his fist, head tilted. His eyes, she swears, dart from her bottom to her face as she glances at him.
She raises a brow at him. "Were you looking at my butt?"
His cheeks color at her blunt accusation. She stifles a smile.
"I, uh…yes."
She shakes her head. "I'm wearing your sweatpants. I have no butt in these."
He begins smirking. The line of his lips curving up against the blush on his cheeks is somehow cute and attractive all at once. "I was wondering what type of underwear you wear on the weekends."
She opens her mouth then closes it a moment after. She turns back to the potatoes, stirring them unnecessarily.
"I don't wear any," she says. She clears her throat and busies herself with placing the ham slices in the other pan to fry. It gently bubbles in the center from the heat. "So, what kind of eggs?"
It takes an irrelevant amount of time for Cloud to answer. When Tifa glances at him over her shoulder, he's running a hand through his hair.
"Uh, I don't care. What kind do you like?"
She hides her smile, placing the lid on the pan and heating up another, grabbing the butter and the eggs. "Overeasy."
"I never eat them like that," he says, and she hears his feet pat against the floor. In a moment, he's beside her. "Teach me?"
"Sure. As long as you don't distract me."
"How would I do that?"
He's smirking at her knowingly. She narrows her gaze at him, pushing lightly at his shoulder.
"I'd at least like to finish breakfast before you try to undress me, Strife."
His smirk turns into a grin at that. "Don't worry. I'll busy myself by thinking about you wearing my clothes without underwear."
She laughs lightly, rolling her eyes. "What about you? Do you just wear sweatpants?"
"I put on a shirt sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
"When you're not here."
"Ah. So it's a service for me?"
He steps closer and reaches down, pinching her bottom. She jumps and squeaks, nearly dropping the egg in her hand.
"Cloud!"
He smiles. "Viewing pleasure for you only," he says, glancing down at her shirt before he turns his attention to the stove. He nods at the pan. "So, how do you make it?"
She huffs a little before she shows him how long to wait for the egg to denature, then flipping it when it's fried and brown on the bottom.
"I've always thought it was called overeasy because it was easy," she says. "Then you let it cook for another minute, and it's done."
"You make it look simple."
She lifts the pan off the burner and slides the eggs onto a plate. "Wanna try it?"
"Alright…" he says. He takes her place, and she turns off the heat for the ham, adding the slices to separate plates. She checks the potatoes and, satisfied with their doneness, turns off the heat and lets them rest. She watches Cloud as he waits to flip the eggs, gently guiding him on how to hold the spatula to edge underneath the egg. As he follows her instructions, she lightly bumps his hip with hers. "You're a natural egg flipper."
"I'll put it on my resume. Never know when I'll need it."
She grins before she's hit with that fury of worry in her throat. He's leaving and taking your pieces with him.
She internally shakes her head at herself.
"It'll be much more notable than your CEO status."
"It's all about diversity. I'll be unstoppable now."
It becomes harder to smile as they finish fixing the plates together. They set up their spots on his couch, using pillows as table tops. Cloud turns on the TV, news reports headlining the bottom of the screen and the volume low. Before tucking into their food, Cloud asks, "Better?"
He's alluding to earlier, to her crying and her father. She knows because of the way he looks at her, the word soft and tentative. Tifa looks down at her plate and allows herself to truly think about it.
"Better," she answers. The word is careful, as delicate as cracked glass. "Not as…better as I would like, but better enough."
Cloud nods in acknowledgement and says nothing more about it. Tifa is half-grateful and desperate to say more. To say something hopeful, like I'll be fine, and he's happy. Everything happens for a reason. When he looks up at her, it is impossible to lie, and it is impossible to muster false cheer. Instead, she continues quietly eating the food on her plate, still not hungry but forcing it down regardless.
"This was delicious, Tifa," he says.
When she looks up, she sees he's cleaned his plate.
"Thank you," she answers, smiling a little. "I'm glad you liked it."
She pushes her food around a bit more before she gives up on eating, and Cloud offers to finish it. Laughing lightly, she hands it to him.
Once the plates are empty and Cloud's hunger is sated, they relax into the couch. Cloud props his arm along the top of the cushions, and Tifa scoots closer, finding the niche in his side. She lays her head against his shoulder and chest. His hand finds her hair.
As Tifa listens to his lungs fill with air, she is overwhelmed by Cloud's easy reception of her—her presence in his apartment, her struggle, her cooking. She turns her head to look up at him, and he catches her eye.
"What is it?" he asks.
It's everything you've done, she thinks.
"Nothing," she answers, instead leaning forward to kiss the area right underneath his jaw. His hand stills on her hair at the contact. "I just…wanted to look at you."
He brings his other hand around to touch her chin. He cradles it with his palm before coming forward to kiss her mouth. It is slow—it reminds her of his kiss last night before she fell asleep after asking if she could stay. It feels like he's memorizing her.
She isn't sure how they manage it or when it happens, but the kiss evolves into something else. His tongue slips into her mouth, one hand now on her waist. Both of her hands are buried in his hair. Her back is on the couch cushions, and Cloud is hovering above her, his knees trapping one of her legs, her other dangling off the side. He pushes up her shirt until her breasts are bare to the room, and she moans when his mouth finally leaves hers to find the hardened peaks. She shifts and squirms underneath the hot, wet line of his tongue. His teeth gently graze against her, and her eyes flutter shut. She continues holding the back of his head, his hair soft and feathery and light.
"Oh, Cloud," she whispers, and the knee between her legs moves up higher until it presses against her. She doesn't expect it, and she grinds against his thigh while he sucks the skin of her chest. His throat vibrates in a growl, and she feels it ripple across her stomach and down to where she connects with his leg. His sweatpants are both rough and soft all at once, and the friction between them is an indulgent, textural pleasure. She gasps as he maintains the pressure. She rocks against his lips and the heat hovering between them. He runs his tongue between her breasts, and the line he leaves is a shocking chill. Her breath shudders out of her, back arching to follow the trail of his mouth. He kisses her neck, sucking along the hollow beneath her jaw. Her hands fall from his head to his neck, his chest, down to the line of his own sweatpants. She pushes past the band to find his arousal, cradling the smooth, silky skin in her hand. He moans against her neck as she explores his length. "Oh, Gaia," he breathes.
He bites her throat while she gently tugs on him. "You feel so good in my hand," she confesses, pinching her eyes and focusing on the sensation of his skin.
"Oh, do I?" He licks down the column of her neck to her shoulder. "You taste like dessert."
She huffs a laugh then moans when he presses his leg up harder against her. His hands roam to the band of her pants, and he shifts his legs away from her, dragging the pants down her thighs.
"No such thing as breakfast with dessert," she says, allowing him to pull the pants off her legs.
"Now there is," he answers, smirking down at her. Her cheeks flush, and he lowers his head to her abdomen, sucking on the soft skin below her belly button.
"You know what's sexy?" he whispers.
"Mm," she moans. "You?"
His breath puffs against her in a laugh. "You think so?"
"Yes."
At her emphasis on the word, he glances up and catches her eye. He props himself up on his hands, gaze darkening. She bites her lip.
"I was gonna say you, in my clothes," he says, voice heavy. He moves his forearms underneath her thighs, sinking lower. His head is positioned right above her, and she nearly whimpers at the sight.
"Cloud…" she says.
"But this is better. You on my clothes and in my mouth."
He says nothing else before he drops his head, his tongue gliding over her arousal. His words and the wetness of him dart into her stomach, and she grips the couch cushions surrounding her.
"Oh…oh…"
The pad of his tongue strokes and curls along her, filling the spaces of her folds. It is a warm, electric tease before he licks her clit, and she moans loudly. Her back arches again at the contact.
"Oh…fuck. Oh, Cloud."
His hands readjust, coming around to open her up further for him. His mouth sucks on hidden creases, his teeth dragging against sensitive skin. Tifa's hips rock unconsciously at the sensation, and when Cloud's lips cover and fold over her own, his tongue pressing her clit, teeth grazing her lines, she sees nothing but a haze of bliss.
She's never been kissed so savagely there, cradled in the heat of another mouth. It's a burn and an ache and a pulse.
"Oh, Cloud, please, I'm—I'm…"
He doesn't answer her with anything but licking and sucking. His touch claws at her throat, cutting off her windpipe. She can't breathe, and she realizes she doesn't want to—not when it feels so good. Oh, how can it feel so good?
"I can't…" she whispers. She's blind with ecstasy. "Cloud…"
He moans into her, and the vibrations make her buck up harder into his mouth. He sucks deeply, and she cries.
"Just…a little…a little…"
His tongue swipes against her two, three, four, countless times. She loses track, only concentrating on the building fire. Her breath is like lead in her chest. Her lungs feel like a burden. She can't stand it. She can't stand it—
She nearly screams as she comes, his mouth all over her, holding her in place. They are connected this way, too, and the thought floods her system. Her orgasm rams into her bones, and she shakes and clenches, body taut like a wire.
He leaves his tongue on her as she rides it out, and once she can breathe again, he sits up and hovers above her. He smiles down at her, his chest rising a bit breathlessly, and he says, "I always want to remember what you taste like."
The unwelcome anxiety runs up her throat at his choice of words, and her mind whispers, he's leaving you and taking your pieces. She reaches up to his neck and grips the hair at his nape, and she says, "You don't have to remember."
She pulls him down into a kiss. She tastes herself on his mouth, and it is visceral and sharp and sweet. She runs her tongue along his teeth, and his breath is hot against her jaw.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
She wants to say something outrageously bold. Running on the high of the orgasm, she wants to say, You have me, and you'll always have me. You'll never forget.
"I mean I—" she starts, but she's interrupted by the ring of a phone.
Cloud curses above her. "Ignore it."
He kisses her until the ringing stops. When his phone rings again, Tifa gently breaks away from him.
"It might be important," she says.
"It's probably a spam call."
"Twice in a row?" she asks, raising a brow. Cloud sighs and presses his forehead against hers before sitting up and reaching over to the coffee table where his phone rests. He glances at the ID, and he frowns.
"I should take this," he says, but he's slow to answer the phone. When he finally does, Tifa is sure it's on the last ring.
"Rufus," he states into the receiver.
Tifa blinks in surprise. Rufus Shinra calling Cloud? Her heart squirms.
She can't make out what Rufus says, but she sees Cloud nod.
"Yeah. Okay, good. Thanks. I'll be there." There's a pause, and she sees Cloud scowl. "Shut the fuck up, Shinra."
After that, Tifa can hear the laughter on the other end before Cloud hangs up. He turns to look at her, his scowl smoothing at her concerned look.
"I have to meet with Rufus this afternoon. I'm surprised he called. He usually isn't up this early on a Saturday."
Tifa looks at him pointedly. "Really? It must be important."
Cloud averts his gaze, rubbing his jaw. "Yeah…important."
Tifa sits up and pulls his sweatpants back on. She curls her legs up onto the couch, hugging them to her chest. "Is…everything okay, Cloud?"
"Yeah. Yeah, it's…fine." He stands up and grabs their dirty dishes from the table, and he makes his way to the kitchen.
The unease settles over her as she sits on the couch, watching him soak the dishes in the sink. It only takes her a few seconds before she hops off her seat, making her way to him.
"I meant what I said earlier," she says, placing her hand on his forearm. "I'm here if you need to talk about anything."
"Yeah. I know." He shakes his head. "Sorry. It's not a big deal. I'm just annoyed I have to see Rufus today."
He's evading again. She can see it like the flutter of a curtain. He smirks at her, but it doesn't feel as genuine. It somehow seems more obvious, now. Tifa isn't sure if it's because she knows his expressions better, or if Cloud is starting to struggle with donning his armor.
Either way, Tifa gives his arm a squeeze. She rises on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I can put those in the dishwasher."
"No, that's okay. You cooked. I'll clean," he says.
"Alright," she says, stepping away from him and leaning back against the countertop. She watches him move around the kitchen, grabbing the pans from the stove and the cutting board and dirtied knife. His face is pinched as though he's thinking about something else far more interesting than where to place the dishes in the washer.
As he closes the door, he sighs. "It's not that I don't want to talk to you, Tifa. I do, I just…" he pauses, running a hand through his hair. "I signed a nondisclosure agreement. Shinra has some things going on in the background that I can't…discuss. Nothing bad," he says hurriedly. "I wouldn't have allowed the merger had that been the case. And at the time, I had no problem with the agreement. Now…" He glances at her, the struggle in his eyes much more prominent.
"Cloud, it's okay," she says softly. "I understand."
"It's not that I think I can't trust you—" he begins.
She shakes her head at him. "No, I know. You could be sued or lose your job or…I don't know. A lot of terrible things."
He shrugs, turning his eyes to the floor. "I guess."
She thumbs at the drawstring, gnawing at the inside of her lip. She takes a deep breath.
"Cloud…can I ask you if you'll still work for Shinra after the merger?" She quickly follows up with another statement. "I know I have no right to ask, and that it's none of my business, but…I was just…wondering."
Thinking about it constantly, she thinks, her anxiety a bullet in her spine.
He's quiet for a moment, but it feels like a lifetime. Tifa almost takes it back, suddenly not wanting to know. What's the saying? She thinks. Ignorance is bliss? She can be ignorant for a week longer. She'll be just fine with that.
"I don't know," he answers. "Haven't decided."
She nods slowly, taking it in but not thinking too hard about it. He says decided, as if he has full authority over his options. It makes her heart thud, a sudden chilled rush of adrenaline spiking in her system. Later, she thinks. She'll spend so much of her time thinking later.
"Have you thought about what you'll do if you don't work there?" she asks.
Cloud crosses his arms over his chest, glancing toward the walls in front of them. "A little. At first, I thought about traveling. Driving off on my motorcycle to anywhere but here," he starts, smirking a little wryly. "I need to uh, visit my mom. I've…neglected her."
Tifa perks up at that. He's never talked about his mother before. "Does she live very far?"
"No, she doesn't. She's in Edge. I could visit her a lot more, I just…don't," he says, frowning. He shifts his weight.
"Because of work?" she asks. She feels as well as hears how tentative her words are as they come out of her mouth.
He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "I say because of work. I think it's more of an excuse than anything."
Tifa nods, understanding that all too well. "Are you close to her?"
"Pretty close. I mean, I guess as close as I can be…" he pauses. "Uh, sorry. Talking about her or family in general is…complicated."
His tangled words make Tifa smile. "Luckily, I know what you mean."
He glances up to her, his eyes falling to her lips. "I talk to her when I can. She's always tried to be there for me, and I should treat her better." He averts his eyes again. "I don't know."
His crossed arms are coiling tighter. The muscle framing his jaw clenches, and he reminds her of an animal, trapped in the cage of his thoughts. She steps closer, overtaken with the urge to assuage his discomfort. She places a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up. He slowly drops his arms.
"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, Cloud," she says. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"You don't—didn't," he says. "I'm just…not good at talking about myself."
Tifa grins at that. "I know." She wraps her hand around his wrist, pulling him back to the couch. "C'mon. Let's sit."
He follows behind her, taking a seat on the end of the sofa. She sits beside him, the cushion sinking and allowing her to fall back into his side. It's a position they're used to taking, and Tifa settles against him. He lifts one arm over the top, and she rests her head against his arm.
He looks at her for a while. She doesn't say anything, curling up her knees and resting her hands on top of them. She gently bunches up the fabric and releases it, waiting for him to speak.
Eventually, he does. She sees it when he decides on his words, his eyes finding the rhythmic motion of her hands. He takes a breath. "I'm not very good with…expression," he says. "Talking and…how I feel."
She smiles. "Yeah. I kinda figured that out."
He blushes, shifting on the couch cushion. "I'm not sure how much is just me and how much it's from how I grew up."
"Both, I'm sure," she says. "How'd you grow up?"
He's quiet for a while, and Tifa bites her tongue from taking back her question. She doesn't want him to retreat, but his eyes begin unfocusing as he stares at her hands.
A film of silence settles over them before he breaks it. "My dad…" he starts slowly. "My dad always wanted me to be more than what I was, I think. He disciplined. My mom comforted. It had always been that way." He rests his head back against the top of the couch. "I was small for my age. I remember crying a lot." At that, he smirks. It is a dry and brittle thing on his face. "I was sensitive. We lived out in the country. We had some land and some animals, and when one of the goats couldn't produce milk, he gave me a gun and told me to shoot it. What good are you if you can't perform what you were born for? He'd say that, occasionally. If I couldn't do what he asked, then I was no son of his."
Tifa watches his face and takes in his words. He has no expression, and his tone is easy and relaxed as he speaks.
"I didn't want to be good for nothing. So I did it. I cried for weeks. He was more disappointed in my emotions afterwards than proud of the action by itself." He scoffs a laugh. "He'd get so angry at me. I remember thinking, what if he takes me out back and shoots me, too?" He pauses, hesitating before his next words. "I started…uh, hiding when I needed to cry. Either in my room or my closet or the bathroom. Didn't want to deal with his rage and disappointment."
Tifa is quiet for a moment. "How old were you?"
Cloud scratches his chin. "I dunno. Five, six."
She reaches up, her fingers grazing his cheek. Cloud blinks and looks down at her.
"He shouldn't have treated you that way, Cloud."
He shakes his head, shrugging. "You know when you're young, and you don't realize what's normal? It was all normal to me. I didn't think any differently about it. It didn't make me sad. I was just…afraid all the time."
Tifa reaches up and takes his hand from the back of the couch. She brings it around her, and she rests into his side. She begins to weave her fingers along his palm. He absently begins to caress the roughened skin around her knuckles.
"I didn't look anything like him except for the green in my eyes. I look like my mom, and I don't think that helped foster much affection for me."
"Why's that?" she asks, feeling as though she already knows.
"Half the time, I didn't think they loved each other, but I didn't think about that until I was older. He left when I was six for the Wutain War. It was a long time. He was deployed for three years. When he came back, I…" he pauses. He turns his head to look out the window, and Tifa can't see his expression. "I never knew him before he left. All I remember is a feeling. The dread, you know. The fear of disappointment and the fear of him gripping my shoulders and telling me that good little boys don't cry about anything."
Tifa thinks about a smaller Cloud, staring into a green-eyed gaze bearing down on him, his skin thickening and his heart hiding and afraid. She doesn't realize she's holding her breath until she asks, "What did your mom do?"
"She was there," he says. "She'd hold me when dad was out working in the field. She told me she loved me and that she didn't believe I was weak. I remember asking something like, "Do you love me like dad loves me?" and she started sobbing really, really hard. Scared me half to death. I thought I killed her with how…sudden her reaction was."
Tifa feels her chest tighten.
"I realized how unhappy she had been, before dad left for war. Those three years he was gone were some of the best in my life. We tended the land and animals. We made whatever food we wanted. We read books and laughed and played board games and watched movies. She taught me cards. I was seven and could play poker."
Tifa smiles as she listens to him. He is so free with his words as they sit together, and when she looks up to see his face, though still obscured and turned away, knows he must be in another place.
But he's comfortable enough with me, she thinks, and the thought grips her heart and doesn't let it go.
"He came back when I was nine. I had this thought that I was going to show him how strong I had gotten while he was away. I had this dream that he'd be so pleased with me when he arrived home. I measured my height every week. I didn't know how scrawny I was. Funny, the things you remember, isn't it? The things that stick with you."
Tifa is afraid to break his contemplation, for fear that it'll break this spell he's under. His question sounds rhetorical, as if he's asking himself.
"He came back worse. He'd always been easily angered, but he came back…mean. Post-traumatic stress. He started drinking more—he drank before, but it became his favorite thing to do. He'd put whiskey in his coffee. He'd take his flask out to the field. It didn't take away how strong he was. He could lift all of our equipment without breaking a sweat. He killed all the prairie wolves with one slash of his sword, and through everything, I still wanted to be just like him."
He's quiet for a long time. He leans his head back against the head of the couch, staring up at the ceiling.
"He was such an asshole. My mom would call him a dark angel from heaven, because he saved her from her family and gave her one of her own. Once, she had been drunk, and she told me he was a beautiful man. She never drank, but she was drunk that night, and she said, 'You know what? As beautiful as he is, I think he's the most beautiful when he walks out that door.'"
A black smile creeps onto his lips. "I remember her pointing at the entryway, because it was forceful and unkind and she laughed, and it didn't sound like her at all. It was like she was someone else. When my dad came back, he yelled at her for drinking, saying, 'Don't you see what drink does to me?' And he slapped her around. The normal stuff, except that he threw her. He'd never done that, before. I was so mad at him, I grabbed his arm to do…anything. He flung me into a table, and that's when he realized what he was doing, I think. He stopped and looked around at us, kneeling by my mom and telling her how sorry he was. He looked at me, and I remember him hesitating. I'm sure he told me sorry, too, but I can't remember it. I can only remember him hesitating, like he didn't regret it. Like I wasn't something to be sorry for, only sorry about."
He swallows. "And I still loved him, that son of a bitch. I would have done anything for him. I hated his guts, and I loved him."
Tifa feels a deep pool of hurt surround her. She doesn't realize how tightly she's holding his hand until he looks down at her, trying to pry it away.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she says, letting him go. They catch eyes, and Cloud's eyebrows raise, his eyes widening, and then he looks away, shifting beneath her.
"I, uh…" he starts, and Tifa panics. He can't close up—she can't let him drop his blinds again.
"Is that why you learned sword fighting?" she asks hurriedly. "Because of your dad?"
He runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Yeah, he's the reason. I guess he's the reason for a lot of things."
"What other things?" she whispers. She finds his hand again, and she concentrates on tracing the grooves of his palm. He lets her, and her body rises and falls with his deep sigh.
"I whined enough about wanting to be strong that he finally made a sword for me. He gave me lessons. I…failed a lot."
He doesn't expand on it, and Tifa wonders about the word failed and how he says it. She thinks of the chopsticks at the restaurant—such a silly, simple thing he'd taken the time to make flawless. She thinks about the grace he walks with, holding himself with a back ridged in perfection. Most of all, she thinks of his blurred lines outside of his suits, and how it is far from hardened perfection and much closer to smudged vulnerability. Those blurred lines of him are tangled, haphazardly woven, and hidden.
"My mom stayed with him when she could have left. She stayed with him until he drank himself into stupors, and she stayed with him after all the beatings and the bruises and broken bones. I thought I could—" he pauses. He exhales sharply. "I thought I could protect her. Use my fighting skills to stop him from hurting her. Of course, I couldn't. He was too strong, and he'd only hurt her even more to hurt me. I was so angry all the time. I was angry at my mom for staying with him and for accepting her unhappiness. I hated what my father was and what he'd become. I finally realized how much I wished everything was different, and how it would never be—" he stops, and she can feel the dark redness seep into his words, like these thoughts have been sucking on his bones like parasites, full and fat with blood.
"And I wanted that, you know? I wanted a dream. I wanted my mom to be happy again, and I wanted my father to be gone. But I also thought I could change him if I could only be what he wanted me to be."
"Cloud…" she says softly, unsure of what she wants to say. He doesn't seem to hear her.
"Then he was hospitalized when I was sixteen. Alcohol poisoning. Liver cirrhosis. Failing kidneys. The whole thing. My mom was there at the hospital with him every fucking day. She gave him everything she had, and he had the audacity to die. Just like that, after everything he put her through and after everything he did. He died. It was the best thing for us, but at the time…"
Tifa hears his heart beating, quicker and harder than it should. She brings his hand to her chest and wraps it with both of her own, holding it close.
"It wasn't?" she finishes quietly.
"No. It wasn't."
They hang onto the silence like the stars cradle the moon. It lays over them like a blanket, but Tifa's insides shiver like they're in a blizzard without cover. She imagines all of it. She imagines a teenaged Cloud, standing over his dying father and wanting two things all at once: for his father to leave them, and for his father to stay and learn how to love him.
A tear falls down her cheek, and she sighs.
"I swore I wouldn't be like him," he says, eventually, so softly it's no louder than the falling of snow. "Ten years later, I've finally realized that's all I've ever been."
Tifa inhales a strangled gasp. "That's not true."
His chest jerks in a laugh. "Tifa, look at this past year. Hell, look at my entire career. I cut people down and climbed over them to get where I am. I placed myself in advantageous positions to hurry along my promotions, and I thought once I made it here, I'd finally feel…"
Another tear falls down her face, and Tifa wipes it away.
"I don't know. Like I'd finally feel like my dad would be proud of me." He laughs again, low and ugly, and Tifa hates this. She feels all the anger for him, the nebulous hatred for a man she will never know. She smashes his hand to her breastbone, keeping it as close to her as she can.
"Why do I still fucking care about him?" he says. "He's been gone for so long, and I still—"
At that, Tifa sits up. She turns and hovers over him, and the emotions she feels from his own twist her up so badly, she glowers into his face. She wants to pull out all of the black roots from his heart, to save him from the haunts that fill up those dark, dusty corridors inside of him.
Her look surprises him. He blinks, and his words are stemmed.
"It doesn't matter. He was your father and you loved him and you have every right to feel all these things, Cloud. You don't have to hide away, and you don't have to feel unworthy, and you don't need to—" she hiccups, and she realizes she's crying, really crying again. "You don't need to accept unhappiness like your mom did. You're meant for better things."
Cloud stares at her. He reaches up to cradle her face in his palm, and he thumbs away the trails of tears.
"You don't need to cry for me, Tifa," he says.
She furrows her brows and she doesn't know what her face looks like with the swaths of emotion crowding all around it. Her lips feel like they're twisting in a grimace and a sneer.
"Don't tell me what to do, Cloud. You need to understand."
He sadly smiles at her. It is small, but the curve of it is broken. "What do I need to understand?"
She shakes her head, angry and disheartened and full with his hurt. She raises her palms around the sides of his face, holding him with her hands. She presses her fingers into his skin until they cage him. She stares into his eyes, and she sees the green in them—a mark of his origin, a scar of his past, and what he must examine in himself every day.
"Can't you see?" she says, her voice raspy. "You're not your father."
He places his hands on her forearms, gently peeling her palms away.
"Then what am I?" he asks.
How dare he, she thinks violently. How dare he not know?
How dare his life keep something so beautiful and marvelous and brilliant from him?
"You're gentle," she says, her words wobbly and wet. They stream out of her like a combination of punches. "You're kind. You're bold and intelligent and thoughtful and awkward and strong. You're so strong, and I don't know how you don't realize that you are." She claws her fingers into his chest, and she leans her face closer and closer. "You are uniquely and wonderfully and fearfully made, Cloud Strife. Never think any differently. Please, never think you're not."
His hands have come to rest on her waist. He continues staring at her. Staring and staring as if there is nothing else to do.
He doesn't speak. She's breathing heavily, and she realizes she's still catching her breath between her tears and her words.
Finally, he says, "I saw you for the first time three years ago."
She's so jarred by the words, she nearly gasps. "Wh…what?"
"I was in the financial department, then. You were one of the junior designers. I rarely ever passed through, but that day I had an assignment to deliver to Reeve. As I walked down the hallway, I saw you leaning over a desk, talking to Barret about something. You started laughing as I walked by, and I immediately knew who you were."
Tifa's mouth parts. "I didn't…I didn't see you."
He shakes his head. "You wouldn't have. I thought, "that must be Tifa Lockhart." I knew you were one of the first employees. Part of the first five. And I had always known you were…"
He smirks, but it is still dry and humorless. "You were beautiful and I guess…unachievable. That made me mad, too."
"Cloud, you thought that?" she asks, flabbergasted. "Why?"
"Everyone loved you," he says, easily, as if it's general knowledge, like grass being green. "Someone like you was never supposed to hang around someone like me."
His words catch her heart like a fish hook. "Of course you thought that," she says. A sudden thought flashes across her like lightning, amidst all of her emotion. It connects her to a shrouded path she has never seen before. "Those emails you sent me. You told me you sent them to make me remember how…good I was. And when I met with you that first time, you were…"
"An asshole," he says, and he scoffs a laugh.
"Was that you hiding?" she asks, staring at him. "Behind all your mean words and intimidation and apathy?"
Her question silences him. His mouth falls into a straight line before he breaks eye contact, averting his gaze. "I was…frustrated. Frustrated because of your art, but also because…I, uh, was reminded all the time about how great you were. From Reeve and Barret and…" he trails, shaking his head. "I don't know what I'm trying to say. I was…I didn't know how to…" he sighs.
She feels her face soften as she looks at him. "You could have just been…nice."
"No," he says, still avoiding her gaze. A light blush appears on his cheeks. "It's like what you said. I was…hiding. You came into my office for that first meeting, and all I knew was that I had to keep you working for the company. You already despised me. I didn't know how to talk to you or what to do besides to continue being…myself. Bullying you." His blush deepens. "Then I was both so…angry at myself and so…turned on by you and the image of you being in my office. Shiva, it was like I'd never talked to a girl before."
That deep warmth pools into Tifa's stomach at his words and his embarrassment. It suddenly makes sense to her. He's shedding his skin, and she can see the raw, shiny, untouched pieces of him. She runs her hands up his chest and leans closer.
"I think you mean, continuing to be business Cloud. He's not the real Cloud."
Her touches encourage him to bring his hands around her back, cradling her against him. "Yeah…maybe."
"No maybes. I know. You were so cold and closed off in that meeting. Now, you're sitting on a couch with me, telling me all your secrets. You bought me a flower. You…" Tifa pauses, blushing, before carrying on. "You touch me in ways no one else has, and you look at me like…"
The words tangle up in the cartilage of her throat. Her eyes widen as she tries to form different words.
"How do I look at you?" he asks, and his stare is a laser of dark, navy blue. It reminds her of the night sky.
You look at me like you might love me.
"Like you…" she tries. "Like you looked at the food we ate, earlier."
He smiles a bit at that. "I guess I always crave you," he says.
At that, she laughs lightly, and it finally feels like they've weathered something. A storm or a deep excavation of their emotions. She's tired, but she's happy, and she's even happier seeing the smile on his face.
She leans forward into a kiss. It is gentle and hopeful. She tries to pour her appreciation into it, her thank you for letting me see you, and her you are uniquely created. She wants him to feel it as brightly and forcefully as she does. He kisses her back slowly and softly, and it is endlessly sensual. It is a thrumming cadence, rippling across the space surrounding them. Tifa doesn't think their kisses have ever felt like this—so lackadaisical, so indulgent—as if they have all the time in the world to kiss and kiss and kiss some more.
They lean back into the sofa. It begins to hug their bodies, dipping into a shallow cradle. Tifa is tightening up, and she can feel his arousal pressing into her thigh, but neither do anything about it. They merely let their hands roam and palm and squeeze. All urgency is gone, but it does not diminish the fire blazing behind her sternum. The passion is a relentless thing, and she wants him—she always seems to want him—but the action of tender and simple kisses unlatches a crate of burning coals inside her. It expands in her system with an even and steadily rising heat.
She can do this forever and never tire.
They break apart sometime later. Tifa is unsure of the time, and she is uncaring. Cloud's eyes are glassy and hazy, obscured from the passion they create like morning fog rolling across the plains.
"I didn't mean for you to be my therapist," he says, but he's smiling.
"I'm always happy to listen."
"Thanks," he mumbles, kissing her temple. "I don't think I've talked about that stuff in…"
"A long time?"
"…yeah."
She runs her fingers through his bangs, pressing them back from his forehead. "If there's ever a reason for you to cry, Cloud, remember you no longer have to hide. I'll be your safe place if you need it," she says.
He stares at her, blinking through their haze.
"You, too," he answers, his voice a thick rumble. "I'll be here."
They lie on the couch together until the clock edges toward Cloud's meeting time with Rufus. Cloud showers and dresses, and Tifa remains on the couch, contemplating everything he told her while she's alone in the living room. She gazes out of the window into the world beyond. She imagines a young Cloud, killing a goat, carrying farm equipment, steeling himself against verbal punches from his father. She imagines him donning leather hides, first, evolving into metal sheets as he grows up, and finally, layer upon layer of apathy, shoving any other emotion deep into the cracks of his heart.
When he emerges from his bedroom, he is in a dress shirt and slacks, forgoing a tie and a jacket. It is as much of a relaxed lunch attire as it can get for Cloud.
"I'll drop you off at home before I head over there," he says.
"Okay," she says, gathering her clothes and her purse, toeing her feet into her heels and feeling ridiculous as she stands next to him, baggy in the oversized sweats.
As they drive and pull up to her apartment, Tifa says, "Come over after you're finished."
Cloud looks at her. "You sure? It probably won't be until evening. I have a few errands to run afterwards."
She smiles, leaning forward to kiss him. "Of course, I'm sure."
Strange, she thinks, as she walks into her apartment, how once she had never been so unsure in her life.
Tifa manages to keep her mind busy and bustling through the rest of the day. She finishes the last project for work, sending it off to Finn for any last minute revisions. She goes on a short run, having missed her session at the dojo that morning. After she showers, she texts her girls.
Tifa: How is everyone? Updates?
Yuffie responds immediately.
Yuffie: Everything has been gucci, except for this one thing that happened yesterday. I'll tell you guys tomorrow.
Aerith: I have missed you guys. Life has been normal. Zack has been sweeter than usual, if that's possible? And Yuffie, what thing? Tell us now.
Jessie: I've honestly just been having a lot of sex. Aerith, do I smell a proposal? Yuffie, SPILL IT.
Tifa snorts at Jessie's text, and she thinks about Aerith's, wondering about their relationship. They've been dating for a little over a year, now. Aerith is the one they've decided to settle down first in their group.
Aerith: Oh, we haven't even talked about that, yet! You know Zack. He does this sometimes.
Yuffie: Excuse me, Aerith, but you're getting engaged, we all know it.
Tifa grins.
Tifa: He has to make sure he has our approval, first.
Jessie: He marries you, he marries us. Poor soul.
Aerith: Oh, he is well aware.
Yuffie: Okay, okay, so a guy came into my shop and told me he loved the ninja stars and shruikens I make. Well, he didn't say LOVED but he said that he 'admired how they were fashioned', and I was like, who are you, from the fifteenth century?
Tifa laughs out loud at that.
Jessie: Oooooohhhh, so a mature dude? Or an obnoxious know-it-all?
Yuffie: Both maybe? I'm not sure. He was hard to read. Anyway. He asked if I would ever be interested in selling on a higher scale, and I was like, do you KNOW how much I love my gil? Fuck yeah, I would love to sale on a higher scale.
Aerith: Was he a business man? Or a scam?
Tifa: Aerith, you know Yuffie knows how to sniff out a scammer. ;)
Aerith: Very true.
Jessie: OMG did you talk about logistics and get hot and bothered? Did you TAKE HIM TO THE BACK OF THE STORE?
Yuffie: Jess, how dare you know me.
Tifa starts laughing again.
Tifa: Yuffie! Did you really?
Aerith: OMG LOL you didn't!
Yuffie: Okay, no I didn't, I was very professional. You'd be both disappointed and proud of me. So we got to talking, and I nearly texted you guys right after but…he works for SOLDIER.
Tifa gasps out loud.
Tifa: What? Who?
Aerith: You kept this from us, why?
Jessie: The. Drama. Yuffie, you are learning from me, aren't you!
Yuffie: Okay, I am straight up cackling. Let's wait for brunch.
Aerith: Omg don't you dare do this to us.
Tifa: Yuffie, this is the cruelest thing you've ever done!
Jessie: I love this but also hate this soooo much, YUFF, you SLUT.
Yuffie sends a devil-faced emoji.
Yuffie: Love you guys. HAH.
Tifa shakes her head, narrowing her eyes. She thinks about all the employees at SOLDIER, trying to remember relationship statuses, who's married, who's currently unattached. Who would go outside and look for different pieces of equipment to potentially license or buy out?
Reeve is too old and uninterested in weaponry. Barret…Tifa laughs. Genesis? No. He is too aloof…but…well, maybe. Does he have a girlfriend? Surely not…
She laughs at the thought of Finn, but she knows he had a girlfriend last time she knew. And who would say something similar to admiring how the weapons were fashioned?
Tifa is in the kitchen, thinking and sipping at a glass of water when it dawns on her. She chokes on her swallow, coughing up a lung and beginning to laugh. She grabs her phone from the counter.
Tifa: Omg. I know who it is. Yuffie, I bet you five gil.
Yuffie: Shut up. You do not.
Jessie: TIFA YES.
Aerith: Tell us tell us, I'm dying.
Tifa bites her lip, hovering over her next response before the notification banner appears at the top with a message from Cloud. Tifa clicks on it automatically.
Cloud: Hey. Just finished. Be at your place in about 30?
Tifa smiles.
Tifa: Perfect.
She goes back to the group message. She contemplates before being inspired by the fact that Cloud is coming to her apartment and Yuffie's playful wickedness.
Tifa: Guess we'll find out tomorrow.
Jessie: OMG YOU TWO ARE THE FUCKING WORST.
Aerith: How dare you, Teef? The BETRAYAL.
Tifa shakes her head, laughing at their responses.
Tifa: Sorry, you guys. It'll be more fun in person.
Jessie: Ugh. I'm calling Biggs to burn up my frustration.
Aerith: Fiiiinee. I'm also excited to hear about this Biggs situation, Jessie.
Tifa: Same.
Yuffie: *waggles eyebrows*
Jessie: Don't worry. I have all my stories ready.
Tifa has changed into her normal pajamas, consisting of loose shorts and a baggy t-shirt, with her hair piled on her head in a bun, curled up on the couch with a cup of hot tea when she hears the knock on her door. Her heart races instantaneously, and she sighs at it, shaking out her unnecessary nerves as she stands up and goes to the door.
She's greeted by Cloud in a casual shirt and jeans and boots. She smiles at him, stepping back to let him in.
"Hi," she says.
"Hey," he smiles back, entering her apartment.
"How was lunch?"
"…informative," Cloud answers. "Not bad."
She closes the door behind him, crossing her arms. "Rufus Shinra, not bad?"
He scoffs a laugh, following her as she walks back into her living area. He begins taking off his boots, setting them by the kitchen counter. "He's always a little annoying, but…we came to an agreement."
Tifa raises her brows at him. "You did?"
Cloud nods. "Yeah."
When he doesn't elaborate, Tifa asks, "Was it…what you wanted?"
Tifa doesn't miss the way he looks at her. It is brief, but it is filled with that something again. It reminds her of the look someone takes before they blow out the candles on a birthday cake, like a hope and a wish. It's gone once he blinks, as though he remembers himself.
"Yes," he says. "As much as I could have hoped for, anyway."
Uncertain how to respond, she clears her throat and gestures toward the room. "Well, this is my place."
Cloud takes it in, glancing from her eggshell white painted walls, to her bookshelf in the corner, to her sofa and rug and coffee table. Her apartment is much smaller than his condo, with the kitchen three steps from her living room. Her office door is windowed and off to the right, allowing the view of her desk and computer and miscellaneous decorations strewn beside her keyboard. On the other side of her living room is the door to a guest bathroom, her bedroom door closed halfway a few feet to the right of it.
She has few paintings on the walls. One is from Aerith, who, in a fit of creativity over the past year, dabbled in watercolors and acrylics, creating the scene of her mother's front garden and pond. It is a myriad of smudged flowers and green blankets of grass and the black and blue shadows of the water under the midday sun. Tifa loved it so much, she hung it above her couch for everyone to view and admire.
He glances into her office space, and his eyes catch on Aerith's painting for a few moments. He looks over her bookshelf and he asks, "You like reading?"
"Occasionally, when I have the time," she says, clasping her hands behind her back. "I've been too busy these days."
Cloud taps one of the shelves, reading the spines. Tifa has a sudden anxiousness as he looks over them. It's almost as if he's examining the ridges of her mind, taking a closer glance over her deeper interests.
"Nonfiction?" he asks.
Tifa glances to the floor, toeing the ground and feeling utterly vulnerable. "Yes. I like history and crime, but other things, too."
Cloud smiles at that, settling away from it. "I like it," he says, giving the room a general glance.
"Thanks," she says. "Not as fancy as yours, but I somehow make do."
Cloud scoffs a laugh at that. "I'm not sure how," he teases. "I think I like your space better than mine."
"Why's that?" she asks, walking up to him.
"It's…comfortable. Lived in. Mine looks the way it did when I moved into it."
She smiles up at him. "Sounds to me like you have to actually live in it, then."
He blinks down at her. He reaches up to touch her cheek, and she feels her neck heat up at the gesture. "I should, shouldn't I?"
Unable to take it any longer, Tifa brings her hands up around his head and pulls him down into a kiss. He kisses her back, wrapping his hands around her waist.
Tifa breaks away and looks up into his face. She makes a decision right then, as he stands in front of her, looking like he belongs in her small, cramped living room, cluttered with a large sofa and too many chairs. He's another fixture in here, something detailed and unnecessary like an impulse buy at a trinket shop. He shouldn't fit.
She grabs his wrist and steps backward toward her bedroom door. "C'mere," she says, the word hovering in the air between them.
He lets her take him to her bedroom, and he's able to glance around for a moment before she closes the door, grabbing his wrist again and tugging him onto the mattress.
"Tifa—"
She stems his voice with a kiss, hovering over him. She's been thinking about his childhood all day—during her run, during her shower, as she finished her work. She's been thinking about him hiding from her and everyone, attempting to find his happiness but avoiding it all at once. Happiness is such an intangible thing—so heavy yet fleeting, so quick yet so slow. There is no rhyme or reason to it. It is there, and then it is gone.
"Remember what you told me, before? 'Let me help you'?" she asks between kisses.
"Yeah," he breathes.
She smiles against him before sitting up, curling her hands around the bottom of her shirt. "Then let me help you, now."
She peels the shirt away and throws it to the floor. He stares at her before she leans forward again, curving into his chest, kissing him and holding his shoulders. She kisses him until he moves underneath her, slowly taking off his own shirt. They pause and stare at one another before continuing their kiss.
It is different in her room, she thinks. It can't just be something she imagines. It's different because she wants him here, the windows shuttered and closed off from the outside views and landscapes. There is a gray shadow that lines her walls, but it is not dark or dreary. It's like they are under blankets, in their own palmful of the world that no one knows except for them.
Cloud gently touches her waist. Her hands hold his neck. She feels him come alive underneath her, the hardened press of arousal afflicted with desire and need. Her legs open further around his hips. She tastes the slick edges of his tongue. He breathes into her mouth between each lingering pull of their lips.
"Tifa," he whispers. "I'm…"
She shakes her head, rubbing against him. He moans, and she gasps.
"Let me help you find the real you," she says.
She slowly unbuttons his jeans. He assists in sliding them off his legs. Still clad in his underwear and her in thin, loose shorts, they don't touch, not yet. But they feel close. It suddenly feels like they are inside each other's skin with the way he looks at her, with the way she caresses his chest with her hands. He leans up to kiss her, his roughened palms gliding over the middle of her back, along the points of her shoulder blades. She moans into him, his pressure everywhere, the ache a pleasurable pain. It is deep, she thinks. The deepest thread there is, connecting from where they touch to the apex of her heart.
"Tifa," he mutters, his voice quiet and bare. "You already have."