HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY 2021 Y'ALL

This chapter features a valentine!


Chapter 15: The Nightmare's Beginning


It was a warm morning when Aerith bid her goodbyes to the Elder and said her thanks, promising to keep him informed about her doings. The Elder arranged for a passing merchant to convey them to the nearest town, which was a day's ride away, after which it would then take them several days' march to reach the mountains' shoulders, unless they found another ride; and then Cloud hoped to find a merchant heading up the mountains to Nibelheim. He was consulting a map when Aerith approached him, peering at it to see what he was looking at. He pointed at a tiny black dot nestled inside the mountains. "There's my hometown," he said. "I wonder if there's anything left there." He contemplated the tiny black dot for a moment, seeing it as an empty circle. "Well, then," he said shortly, shouldering their supplies. "Let's not waste any more time."


It was a gray, misty day when they began to draw near Nibelheim. With Cloud still recovering his strength, their pace on that week of travel was initially slow; but as the towering forms of the mountains loomed on the horizon, their spiked peaks rending the sky, he seemed to forsake his lethargy and to become more driven to increase his pace and the hours of travel. He spoke little and ate less, only stopping when he noticed that Aerith was tired, and seemed to be wrapped in a growing state of agitation. He still often looked weary despite having a full night's sleep, and when she queried about it, he told her that he was still visited by the same nightmares. "Not as bad as when I was sick. But they weary me out. I wake up feeling as if I never slept at all."

Aerith noticed his restless energy, that seemed to become almost feverish as the days wore on, and began to harbor doubts whether returning to Nibelheim was a good idea; but she knew that he would not agree to change their course now, and refrained from discussing it with him. Her reticence was exacerbated by the fact that she noticed that, throughout the journey, his manner towards her had continued to be somewhat restrained. It had begun to be this way the day after the bonfire dance, and had continued the two days that followed, before they began their travels. He no longer displayed the warmth that had been growing between them since they met, and she felt that it was as if he re-enacted that cagey barrier that had shielded him from the softer emotions that he had started to display around her. He treated her courteously, but in a circumspect manner, as if she was no more than a traveling companion; keeping conversations short and strictly oriented on the tasks at hand, and seeming to be focusing his energy on that zealous drive that propelled him towards Nibelheim.

Aerith remembered the Elder's warning about a relapse. She thought that something beyond both their control was driving him on, and felt almost as if he was pushing her away because of it, subjugating his feelings for her as a needless distraction from his goal; as if his softer feelings would render him too susceptible to her influence. After her initial perplexity about this sudden change has subsided, but failing to guess about the Elder's warning to Cloud, she began to wonder whether it was by design or a subtle effect of that inner presence; little guessing that it was both.

She did all she could, by treating him with the White Materia when he said that he felt tired. But when she asked whether it was helping, he would usually just say "Yes," and would leave quickly in the direction of his room or sleeping space, trying to avoid any closeness. She did not know that, for him, it was a kind of torture which he tried to relieve by seeking to burn his energy on his mission, in the restless activity that it brought, and through the taxing trial of the week's travel, and it caused him to drive himself to the point of exhaustion. He dimly became aware that, despite his efforts, he may not be in control of the situation as much as he would like to be, and began to fear a failure that may lead to something disastrous; and this haunted his thoughts, and kept him awake at night.

At least now, he thought to himself as he surveyed the sloping path, we are very near this destination. I should just focus on one thing at a time, instead of trying to tackle everything at once, which just makes me feel stretched thin and more susceptible to external disturbances. The mountain trail they now traversed had a sort of grim, wild beauty to it, and Aerith was contemplating it thoughtfully when Cloud stopped. "I think that I recognize this area," he said. "We are very close."

She looked up at him, trying to smile. "That's good."

"I wonder what I'll find there," he said quietly, but more to himself.

She placed soothing fingers on his hand. "We don't have long to wait. Just a little more."

He said nothing, but moved his hand away from her grasp, and began to walk again up the trail. She did not try to take it again.


The sun was sinking when they finally approached the town. The dark forms of buildings slowly rose against the gray horizon as they strode up the steep path. Then Cloud stopped, staring into the scarce light.

"It looks like some of the town was rebuilt," he suddenly said, pointing.

Aerith peered at the houses, thinking that they did look rather crowded. "Well, that's good, isn't it?" she said gently. "Let's go have a look."

"Maybe," he agreed; but his voice was strained. Then he strode up the path again, his pace quicker now. She found herself breaking into a slight run to keep up with him, but did not call his attention to it. She caught up with him a few minutes later, as he stopped at the gate. He was standing very still, staring.

"Cloud?" she said. "Is everything all right?"

"I… I don't know," he said. "The town… it looks… strange. It looks almost like… it has never burnt down."

Aerith looked at him. Something in his tone warned her that she should try to distract his mind from some dark thought. "Zack and Tifa said that it did," she pointed out.

"Yes," he said, after a short silence. "They did. But how do you explain this?"

Aerith mulled the incident over, and soon made an evident connection. "Maybe Shinra helped to rebuild the town?" she suggested.

"That's true," he said, after a moment. "They don't like bad publicity, and this would be a way to make up for what happened. But, still… look at this." His eyes surveyed the buildings again, and he stood still. She allowed him to mull over his thoughts, and he finally said, "Well… I can't really rely on my own memory, so… I'll have to rely on theirs."

"Please don't worry about it," Aerith said softly. "Let's just enter the town. If it was rebuilt, it may help you to look around, since it could jog your memory."

"I'm not sure," he responded. "I mean… it's not as if they would rebuild it exactly the same, would they?" He stood for another moment, surveying the houses, then turned his head to look at her for the first time since they came to the gate. "Well, at least it means that we can find a place to sleep," he said, sounding calmer. "Let's go."

They slowly walked through the town. The traffic was low in that late twilight hour, and the townspeople ignored them, passing them like shadows in the dusk. Aerith followed Cloud quietly. She could tell that he was surveying everything, taking in the details, trying to reconstruct his memories of anything that would look familiar. When they reached the central square, he stopped.

"Yes," he said. "I can remember all this. The images are vague, but they're there."

"That's good," she said. "It means that you remember."

"Yes," he said. He swallowed for a moment, and then spoke with difficulty. "I… I wonder if we should also look for my house."

"Not now," she said, sensing that he needed a break from his intense focus on his past. "Let's get a place to stay in first." She reached for his hand again; but he glanced over his shoulder, and something in his expression made her withdraw her hand away.

"All right," he said. She followed him slowly as they scouted for an inn, which they found near the square. They took two rooms, and Aerith retired to hers, telling Cloud that he should go to sleep. After she left him alone, he lay on the bed, still fully clothed and staring into the ceiling for a long time, before drifting into a dazed, nightmare-filled sleep.


It was past midnight when he woke up. The livid moonlight shone on his face through the open curtains. An echo of a voice, calling to him faintly and luring him out of his sleep, still lingered inside his mind. He rose in the bed, his movements a little mechanical, an urge to follow that pulling whisper animating his limbs into lethargic motion.

He left the hotel, and slowly wandered through the night-filled streets of the town. He was only partially conscious of his surroundings, and did not know exactly where he was going except that he was pursuing that call, that dim echo that floated from deep within his mind. Slowly, inexorably, his dragging feet led him to the edge of the town, where the form of a great mansion loomed, a darker mass of blackness in the nearly starless night. It stood against the pale crescent of a new moon, seeming to radiate a hostile majesty, like a ghostly sorcerer lording over his realm of death.

Cloud opened the metal gate. It swung inwards soundlessly. He advanced down the lightless garden trail, the deep blackness obscuring his figure. The mansion's great double doors loomed into view, a flat, black rectangle rising above him, their heavy wood wide open. The mansion's many windows watched his progress like dead eyes, and even the dry winds of winter seemed to have been stilled before the oppressive, breathless chill that pervaded the atmosphere.

Something moved across the terrain. A creeping mass of shadow had detached itself from the night, and slunk slowly across the ground in a lurching, uneven movement, skulking slowly in the same direction in which Cloud was traversing. He did not seem to notice it, and continued his own laborious movements towards the doors. The shadowy form paused a short distance away from Cloud. A voice breathed from the darkness, its tones low and rasping. "Re… reun… union."

The figure fell silent. Cloud's boots, that crushed the thin gravel steadily, halted for a moment, and his head moved slowly, as if he was trying to peer behind his shoulder. Another shadow had begun to crawl out of the night, slowly ambling through the darkness. Its thin hands, their skin livid, their fingers like talons, dragged its bent form across the grounds. Its voice, cold and flat, sounded through the darkness. "Re—un— ion."

Cloud began to walk again; his own mechanical, staggering movements almost like those of the ghastly specters that crawled in his wake. And slowly, inexorably, a creeping, gathering mass of shadows condensed into a host of black, slithering forms that followed him. But his eyes did not see them, and his ears did not hear anything as he walked down the path, drawn towards the gaping entry of the mansion like an automaton fixed to a rail.

On the threshold of the gaping rectangle, he paused. It looked into dense blackness, even darker than the open grounds, where the sliver of a moon provided just a little light. Behind him, the muttering died suddenly. The figures halted, strangely quiet for one moment; almost as if they were attuned to something. Then they began to move again. Their guttural voices rose in a hiss, in a blood-curdling union, like foul waves flooding together down a gaping abyss:

"Re…. reun… ion."

Cloud walked into the mansion.


The twisting tunnel under the mansion seemed to become a maze before his dragging feet. He could feel them compelled to take step after step in the endless corridors, and he was walking in a dreamlike fever, the world around him the shadow of his recurrent nightmares. The swirling darkness that held nothing, the constant whispering, the feeling of being unable to move, yet at the same time being drawn into a vortex where his consciousness could not, would not, control his body.

And now, from within the abyss, a voice spoke, deep and calm and portentous.

"Meteor…"

"The flames of that disaster, the calamity that will consume everything in its path…'

"It will inflict such a deep rift, such a gaping, irrecoverable wound, that the earth's very blood will gush from within…"

"A pulsating, throbbing wound, amassing to it a healing draught which the earth will call in its blind desperation … the flood of life itself, a force, an energy in quantities never yet seen…"

"And I, in the center of it all, will feed upon that healing energy, absorbing its incredible vitality and strength…"

"The Meteor… is powers dormant within the Black Materia."

"And where is it…? Where can the Black Materia be found? Where does it lie sleeping, awaiting me to awaken its power?"

"I found it… the Temple of the Cetra."

"Ah. The Cetra. The child of the Cetra again…"

At the mention of the Cetra, Cloud's vision seemed to clear a little. There was a pale light that shone dimly, then focused, shimmering, like water through glass, black and green and silvery pale.

The deep tones rang ominously now. "Puppet. So you returned to me."

Cloud froze in his tracks. His eyelids flickered. For a moment, he became conscious of his surroundings. He could see the tall figure clearly now, standing by the bookshelves of a great library, an open tome in its hand. But this was not what had awakened him to reality. It was a golden glow, shimmering from within somewhere… faint, but growing stronger.

Sephiroth advanced on Cloud. His figure came towards him, faster and faster, closer and closer, seeming almost to dart through the air, the terrible, livid face of an agent showing through the soldier's face like a festering wound—

Cloud turned and ran. He ran through the dark tunnel of the Shinra mansion, away from the menacing figure of death that pursued him, from the terrible pull on his mind. He ran blindly, not noticing in which direction he was going, and at some point he stumbled. He remained still for a moment, trying to catch his balance, his heart hammering in the darkness. He did not know where he was, and was not sure that he had outrun the specter that haunted him. He was lost in the night, trying to weave his way through a maze that seemed to lead into nothing but dead ends. Like his struggle against the pull of the presence that attacked his mind and his body, the mansion trapped him within its dark heart, and he was blind, mute, and could not find his way back to the light.

He dropped to his knees, holding his head between his hands, trying to shake off the disorienting haze that had invaded his consciousness. For a moment he could hear nothing; but then something, a golden glow, drew his attention again. He placed his hand into his pocket almost without being aware of it, and his fingers closed around a smooth object. He drew it out, staring at it. It threw a warm, comforting glow over his white face, thawing his frozen body, soothing and healing him. He closed his eyes, submitting to the warm, shimmering light, breathing slowly to compose his thoughts. The glow slowly died; but Cloud, sitting in the darkness, quietly collected his confused thoughts. And now he began to feel a pressing urgency to leave that place. He rose to his feet with some difficulty, and tried to examine his surroundings.

And then a voice, speaking gravely, like the tolling of a deep bell, shook him into complete consciousness.

"Come this way," it said.

Cloud started at this unexpected address. He strained his eyes to see through the tunnel. A door, previously rendered invisible by the darkness, or maybe purposely concealed, opened in the wall of the tunnel. He glimpsed the swirling of a crimson cape emerging from its black mouth. It came to stand before him, gazing at him silently, its eyes a lurid red aura in the darkness.

It was the Turk, Vincent Valentine.

Vincent perceived how the young man opposite him was standing frozen and bewildered, and his deep voice sounded again. "I will not do anything to you."

He turned and added over his shoulder, "Of course, you may stay here, if you like, until Sephiroth comes to claim you."

He began to move down the tunnel without waiting for a reply. After another moment, Cloud followed him with slow steps. The Turk walked in silence for a few moments, then halted again, and opened a door in the side of the tunnel, walking through it.

A white bed that looked like a hospital bed stood in the middle of the room, and a figure was stretched across it, as in sleep. It was Lucrecia. Her long, wavy hair fanned around her prone figure like rippling waves. Her eyes were closed, her face white in its usual, deathlike hue. After Cloud entered, Vincent locked the door behind them. Then he went to the bed, and his shadowy form bent over Lucrecia. "We were following Sephiroth," he explained calmly. "But it was her limit. So I placed her here, and prepared everything."

Cloud sensed that, for the moment at least, Vincent was in some way separated from Shinra; but he wasn't quite sure how to pin this new suspicion down, and found that it was too much of an effort to think about it. He said nothing.

Vincent withdrew a small glass bottle full of a clear liquid from the folds of his robe, and a long needle attached to a hollow tube. He rolled the crimson sleeve of his right arm, the one that had remained a real arm. He appeared to concentrate on something for a moment; then he inserted the needle into a vein in the white flesh. Cloud couldn't help flinching a little; but he watched as the red blood began to fill the hollow tube. When the blood filled the tube half-way, Vincent withdrew the needle. He finally spoke.

"Every once in a while, she needs a fresh supply of blood; and this." As he spoke, he poured some of the potion contained in the glass bottle into the tube, mixing it with the blood. Then he rolled the prostrate woman's left sleeve, and proceeded to inject the compound of blood and potion into her exposed arm. There was utter silence until he completed his work. Then he straightened and turned towards Cloud.

"Within a few minutes, the medication should work," he said. "And she'll wake up."

Cloud remained silent, and the Turk continued distantly. "I heard everything that Sephiroth said. But it doesn't matter to me. I came here seeking something else."

Cloud finally felt compelled to speak. "What… what did you seek?"

"Memories," Vincent answered, looking into the dark ceiling of the chamber. "This is the place where it happened. This is where the change in me was wrought, where I was altered and turned into what I am now. This is the place where it all started."

"Many things started here," Cloud muttered.

Vincent took something out of the folds of his robe, extending it to Cloud. "This harbors the powers of an ancient king. It will help you on your mission."

The object in the Turk's hand glittered like a red jewel; a materia. Cloud stared at it. His mind has gradually cleared, and now he lifted his gaze to the Turk's face, searching it for some hidden intention. It was, as always, passive, distant, inscrutable. "Why are you giving this to me?" he asked.

The answer caught him off-guard. "Because I knew Sephiroth's mother."

Cloud found that words failed him for a moment. Then he said faintly, "Wasn't… wasn't Jenova his mother?"

Vincent turned and bent over Lucrecia's prostrate figure, shaking his head slowly. "Sephiroth had a real, human mother," he said. "Lucrecia was his mother. I was a Turk, and I loved her; but she preferred another to me. When she was with a child— Sephiroth— Professor Gast injected her with the cells of Jenova. He and Hojo wanted to make the ultimate creation in Sephiroth, a child with the powers of the Cetra. And when Lucrecia bore him, she went into a coma."

He continued to speak, relating the story with perfect composure, as if it was something that he explained every day. He spoke of Lucrecia in the past tense, as if she wasn't alive anymore. "I was turned into— this— by Hojo, after I almost died myself. But I couldn't live without Lucrecia, and I asked him to revive her too. Having Jenova cells, she could not easily die. Hojo agreed. He never told me what he did, but Lucrecia's life depends on a potion that he himself invented. Every once in a while, when she needs it, he brews a fresh supply."

At that moment, Lucrecia's eyes opened. She slowly rose to a sitting position. She remained sitting without speaking, and Vincent bent towards her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

Lucrecia shuddered violently. "Back," she said, her cold voice enraged. "Back AGAIN. Why can't you let me sleep in peace? Let me sleep in peace!"

She seemed to struggle within the Turk's grasp. Vincent said, a hollow note to his deep voice, "She's always like this when she wakes again."

Lucrecia writhed within Vincent's grip, her head jerking back and forth like a dislocated marionette. "Let me sleep!" she cried, her voice rising shrilly. "Let me sleep, and not wake— again and again— into this nightmare!"

The Turk maintained his hold on her, not replying. His features contorted suddenly, in horrible anguish; but his grip remained silent and determined.

After another moment of a desperate struggle, Lucrecia's body relaxed. The potion worked its full effect, sedating her mind. Her posture slowly slackened. Vincent supported her with his arm, easing his hold on her. He looked at Cloud, who watched them with a white face. The Turk's leaden voice seemed to reach into the darkness, to something, or someone, beyond that terrible mansion, that room of death.

"Of some things," he said, "you cannot let go. They are infused into your blood, become integrated into your very being. So you do them again and again, despite the pain. Or because of it."

"And for you," he said, fixing his lurid gaze upon Cloud's livid face, "it's only the beginning. Sephiroth has finally found the answer, and attained his purpose. He will seek the temple of the Cetra for the meteor, and wreak its devastation upon the planet…"

"For you, the nightmare is just beginning."


When the pale dawn stroked the skies, Aerith, looking for Cloud after finding his bed empty, discovered him curled on the grounds of the mansion. She called for assistance, and two men from the town helped her to convey him back to the inn, where he lay unmoving on the bed and she, holding the White Materia in her shaking fingers, said her healing chant over and over into the dark air of the room, hoping, praying that it would break him out of that latest relapse. Towards evening, the fever abated, and he seemed to sleep; but he still looked white, frozen, inert.

The next morning she discovered that he had left the room and was gone again without her; but he returned to the inn soon afterwards, and went to his room without telling her. She knocked on the door quietly when she found out, but received no reply. The door was locked. She stood in front of it for a few moments, her head lowered. Then she turned, and went back to her room.

The sun was sinking in the sky when Aerith walked down the cold corridor of the small hotel. She paused before Cloud's door again and, after some hesitation, knocked on it quietly.

It was a while before she heard his voice, low and weary, telling her that she could enter.

Aerith placed her fingers on the door handle. She maintained a slight pressure upon the metal, but for many moments she remained standing, her head low, her face in shadows. Her lingering stillness seemed to indicate that she was meditating on whether she should enter the room. Then she pushed the door open gently.

Cloud was curled on the bed, his back to the door. His eyes were open in the darkness. She closed the door behind her, so softly that it barely made a sound.

"Cloud," she whispered.

He made no response. She didn't press for a reply, but simply walked to the bed and seated herself beside him, scrutinizing him. She could see his profile against the darkness of the room, white and cut very purely; the vivid color of his eyes looked almost preternatural, and they seemed to stare into nothing. Her heart wrung with pity for his struggle, so extended and seeming entirely futile.

"Cloud," she said again. He did not move. There was a long silence before he spoke, his voice breaking the darkness.

"Aerith, I… I went to visit my house this morning. Everything rushed back to me… my room… the last conversation with my mother, before the town had burned down. And it all looks exactly like it did back then. Exactly. But, Aerith…"

He stopped for a moment, swallowing, and she waited silently for him to proceed, sensing that the next revelation was difficult for him to articulate. He finally continued.

"Aerith, I… I spoke to some of the people who live in this town. And… no one here recognizes me. They, they say that they've never seen me in their lives… and… and I don't know them, either."

"They don't know you?" Aerith echoed softly.

He nodded. "Yes."

"But…" she said, her mind working quickly, sensing the turn of his thoughts. "Wouldn't it make sense? Most of the townspeople died in the incident. Most of the people here may be new residents, who came here due to some kind of an incentive, maybe supplied by Shinra."

"Maybe," he responded, his voice listless. "But that's not all."

A long pause ensued, and Aerith waited, both anticipating and fearing what she would hear next. He finally spoke again.

"The people of the town told me that no one of my name ever lived in that house. I went to the town records office, just to see what I would find. The people there checked all the records. They showed me everything. No one of my own name ever lived here. Aerith, it's… it's as if I never existed."

Aerith bit her lip. "But it all happened," she repeated. She knew that he needed that reassurance now, more than ever. "You have other witnesses to it, and they know and recognize you. And records can be falsified."

He was silent for a moment. "I… I don't know anything anymore," he said flatly. "Most of my past remains shrouded in this… this haze. As if I've been living in a mist all my life." After another short silence he spoke again, almost stammering. "What— what did Shinra DO to me? I have to know, and no one can tell me the answers. No one seems to know, not those that were there that day… no one. And as far as Nibelheim is concerned, I never existed. Aerith… this isn't the Nibelheim that I grew up in. It's… it's all just a nightmare."

"I think that it has something to do with their SOLDIER experiments," she said, her voice low. "Cloud, don't lose heart. I'm sure there's a rational explanation for this. Otherwise, why would Zack know you?"

Cloud's fingers clenched. "I'm going to find Hojo," he said, suddenly savage. "And I'll wring the truth out of him, or kill him in the process. They took everything away from me, Aerith— my past; my future; my whole life. They took it away, and gave it to Sephiroth. I've struggled and struggled, and I cannot release myself from him. And maybe I truly am nothing more than a puppet, like that… that thing that I released in the lab. Just an empty shell."

"Cloud," Aerith said quickly, and her voice trembled now. "Please don't speak like that. I… I know that I failed you. I have tried and tried to heal you, and haven't been able to find a permanent solution. But remember the Elder's advice. Let's travel together to the city of the Cetra, and find out what we can do."

He maintained a silence. She sensed his frustration, the dimming of his hope at every failure. But he finally said, "It's not your fault, Aerith. I know that you tried. You tried your best."

Something in her wrung at these words. Despite the distance that he had placed between them that past week, she still sensed his desperate need to reach out to her. She brought her arms to encircle him impulsively, and rested her head against his shoulder, wishing to give him comfort with her warmth. He did not withdraw from her this time, although he stirred restlessly at her touch, and she felt his muscles tensing.

"I feel nothing but grateful for your efforts," he said, after a silence. His voice had, for the first time in a week, a gentle note.

"Cloud," she whispered.

"What is it?"

"What… why… this whole week… why did you push me away?"

He stirred at this again. Then he said, "I… I didn't want…"

"What? What is it?"

He drew a breath. "The… the Elder… we had a conversation before I left. And he told me that I should be careful around you. Not that I didn't know this already… but I asked him if he thinks that it's safe for me to travel alone with you, because I had never done it before. He said that he… he doesn't know the answer to this question. I thought that I should follow my instincts for your safety. I… Aerith, I'm still afraid of what I could do to you. Afraid of losing control… and doing something terrible."

She moved her head against his shoulder, as if in negation, but he continued: "Well, look what happened to me just yesterday night." His voice suddenly broke. "He took control over me again. It was only temporary, but it happened."

Aerith tightened her grip around him. "I know," she said quietly. "But… you broke it, and by yourself this time, Cloud. You have resisted him again. You have to trust your strength. I think that you are the one who could decide whether or not you are under his control. Even more than anything that I can do."

He was silent, neither affirming or denying her observation. Then he said quietly, "I hope that you're right. But I promised you, Aerith, that I will not give up. And I won't. And I promise it to you again."

His hand moved, resting on hers, his fingers curling around it. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you," he said, almost voicelessly. "After you have been so… so kind to me. I know that I was pushing you away. I… I was scared, Aerith. I still am."

"I know," she replied, her voice still trembling slightly. "And it's all right to be scared. You are facing a challenge that most people would find very difficult to handle."

He exhaled a deep sigh, as if releasing a great tension. She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "I know that it's difficult. It's very difficult. But you'll survive it. I promise."

He pressed her fingers in his hand gratefully. Then he finally rose in the bed, and turned around to look at her. She rose into a sitting position in response.

He stared at her. Now that he was looking at her, he saw that her hair, loosed from its ribbons for the evening, had draped her slender frame in long waves, and that she was clad in a light, white slip that gave her an almost ethereal look but, at the same time, defined her body very clearly. His eyes fixed on her, his palms pressed against the mattress, and a vivid flush rose to his cheeks. She met his gaze for a moment; but the way that he looked at her made her suddenly feel hot all over. She blushed, and averted her face. The long curtain of her hair partially concealed her features, as if seeking to mask her emotions from him.

"Aerith," he finally said, with some difficulty.

He fell silent. She glanced at him briefly. His face was down now, his fingers rubbing the blankets almost absently, and his color was still very high. Her eyelids fluttered and she looked down again. There was silence for a few moments, only relieved by their audible breathing. She was staring down at her hands, which she had clasped in her lap, and they gripped each other tightly. Then she whispered his name.

He looked up immediately. He could see that she had lifted an arm and turned a little, stretching her hand towards him, and seemed to be unsuccessfully trying to smile.

He was still for a moment, his eyes still fixed on her, not a muscle moving in his face. Then he reached a decision.

He moved to sit beside her, and peered into her downturned face gravely. She lifted her lashes fleetingly, but looked away again almost at once. She felt his hand touching her face, smoothing her hair down her cheek, and raised her hand, placing it on his. She closed her eyes.

He felt tired of struggling against what he wanted. He wanted to give in to his instincts; and his instincts said what they had always said; that he wanted to be with her— immediately, now. He could not stand a delay. He would do what he wanted to do, and would have to trust the rest to fate. He could not bear to wait another moment. Not now, when she had understood him, and decided to stay here, with him.

He lowered his head, seeking her mouth, and kissed her; once, twice. Then, submitting to the fever that gripped him, he drew her down with him. His skin glistened with sweat, his heart hammered, and he clung to her with a shivering breath. "Aerith," he whispered.

"Yes…?"

"Will you… stay with me?"

"Yes"

"Will you stay... right here... with me...?"

"Yes"

"All night… here… with me?"

"Yes"

"A—Aerith…"

"…Yes?"

"That's… all I wanted to hear."


© Written by Hadas Rose, revised 2015, 2021.

Final Fantasy VII is © Square, 1997.

Notes

You guys saw the last scene coming a mile away, didn't you?

I wasn't sure that I was able to hammer this chapter into the shape that I wanted, but then I realized that it should be published on Valentine's Day. You didn't want to wait another year for it to be perfect, did you?

The next two chapters are fun, and 16 is one of my favorites, featuring Cid & Shera & lots of angry cigarette smoking.