Chapter Four
Dangerous Dreams
Hair, shining and gold.
Lips, soft and pink.
Eyes, sparkling and blue.
These are the images that burn across Tifa's senses when she wakes up the next morning, a thick dull beat pounding the sides of her temple as she stirs. She's laying sprawled out across her bed, on top of the covers, still wearing the dress she had on the night before.
Still wrapped in a dark leather jacket that smells masculine and clean, like the forest after a rain.
The images come back.
Tifa groans, rolling over onto her back and blinking her eyes open to her ceiling, wincing at the pain that skewers her forehead when the sunlight beyond her window greets her eyes. She covers her face with an arm, stretching out her legs and feeling the effects of last night's abuse radiate through her entire body.
Her memory of the night before is still a little foggy, but there's no denying the fact that she can still see and feel and taste Cloud, the boy who she's known since she was a kid, the boy who always ignored her and the boy who had stood across from her in the center of a dark and smoky club. The longer that she thinks about him and about the sight of him stamped to the front of her mind's eye as she slept, the more that she aches, though these pains echo through a different part of her body, this time a little further south and in a place that causes her to flush.
She tries to push it away, carefully leaning up to sit on her side and reorient herself, her entire body feeling like it's been dried out from dehydration. She blinks again, adjusting to the sunlight. Glancing around her, she finds herself still fully dressed on her bed, her purse spilled open to one side, her hair tangled, her make-up smeared.
And she's wearing a leather jacket that is oversized on her body, that she knows instantly doesn't belong to her. The leather is soft, the inside of the jacket lined with warm flannel material. It's covered in zippers, and as Tifa slips it off and holds it up in front of her, she knows instantly that it belongs to Cloud.
The realization scalds her, and she drops his jacket to one side of her bed and pushes her head into her hands. She tries to forget about Cloud for the moment, trying instead to piece together events of the night that transpired. She'd snuck out of the house with Aerith - they'd gone to Seventh Heaven, that club in downtown Sector Seven that was infamous and that Tifa had secretly wanted to dance in for ages. They'd danced and drank, and she'd seen Jessie and Biggs and Cloud -
Her mind seems to white out when she thinks of him again, her memory growing fuzzy as if a roadblock has been put up to keep her recollections from connecting. Frowning, Tifa reaches for her scattered purse and fishes through it for her PHS, eventually locating the device tucked inside with less than ten percent battery life left.
She sighs. It's after ten am - Tifa never sleeps in this late, even on a Saturday - and she winces, wondering how badly she'd overdone it last night and how much of a mess she might have made of herself. Scrolling through her PHS, she decides to go straight to the source to get a handle on what happened.
"Tifa!" Aerith exclaims after a few short rings. Even though her voice is bright, Tifa can hear the grogginess in it. It seems obvious that her best friend went through as much of a ringer as she did last night. "I'm so glad you called me. I texted you a million times when I woke up this morning!"
Tifa realizes that she hasn't even bothered to check her text messages. She blinks, still despising the sunlight, rolling over to face the opposite direction in search of any shade at all.
"Sorry," she groans sheepishly into her device. "I just woke up."
Aerith releases a giggle, and Tifa can hear the rustle of fabric in the background, and she wonders if her friend is still in bed too, nursing a hangover. "I'm just glad you got home safe. Zack told me that Cloud took you home, but I was still worried. So, is he as good a driver as everyone says he is?"
Tifa feels blindsided by this bit of information, and she looks down at herself, stretched across her queen-sized bed still wrapped in the tight knit fabric of her mini-dress which has twisted itself around her body in a thousand different directions. She glances at the black leather jacket, her cheeks staining red. She searches her memory frantically, but she doesn't remember riding in Cloud's car.
"What?" she questions hesitantly.
Aerith makes a tsking sound against her teeth. "Oh, Tifa!" she sighs. "Please don't tell me you don't remember! I was sooo looking forward to hearing about your night with Cloud. Especially after that kiss, I was sure - "
"Kiss?!" Tifa immediately repeats, her heart picking up speed. "What kiss?"
"Oh, Tifa," Aerith can only sigh.
Aerith spends a good ten minutes rehashing the events of the night that Tifa has seemed to blackout - the drinking, dancing, the kissing, and of course, leaving the club with Cloud Strife. But all Tifa can think about as her friend prattles on is the fact that her booze-induced dreams about the touch and feel of his lips were not her imagination but were all together real.
She knows that they are real, because despite the way that she's fogged over, she can still feel the press of that soft mouth, can taste his tongue, languid and sweet.
The embarrassment is just as real, and she hopes she never sees Cloud again.
Tifa hears her PHS bleat a warning as its battery starts to die, and she tells Aerith she'll call her later, no longer wanting to hear this secondhand recollection of her own behavior. She hangs up and puts her phone on the charger, then finally crawls out of bed, flinching every step of the way to her own private bathroom.
A quick but sudsy shower rinses the alcohol out of her skin, and Tifa promises herself over and over again that this is the last time she drinks like this. She hopes to Shiva and Sin both that Aerith is over-exaggerating - she couldn't possibly have been drunk and bold enough to kiss Cloud after one dance the way her friend describes. Dance with him, maybe - Tifa likes dancing, and that had been one of the reasons she wanted to visit the club in the first place. But kiss him?
No, it's too unfathomable to be true.
But even though she wants to believe it's not true, she knows deep inside that it is. His lips are still branded to hers, and she thinks about that jacket again, how she woke up with it tucked around her like a blanket of protection.
And she also knows it is true that Cloud brought her home. Aerith wouldn't fib about that, and Tifa knows that her best friend would have been genuinely concerned about her safety. Tifa wonders, then, how she made it in the house and up to her room - did she stumble her way up the stairs on her own after Cloud dropped her off?
Did he help her inside?
Did he carry her?
And what was in those Round Island Iced Teas?
That she hasn't heard from her father is the truly perplexing thing about all of this, Tifa thinks as she steps out of the shower and dries her hair, slowly slathering lotion over her skin. She's almost terrified of going downstairs and finding him, not even daring to imagine what might await her if he has any idea of what transpired last night.
Tifa combs her damp hair and dresses in clean sweats and a t-shirt, then quietly pads her way downstairs to the first level of the mansion she shares with her father. It's quiet in the house, but it's early enough that she suspects he may still be home. On the weekends, her father rarely leaves until later in the day. He usually conducts his business out of his study until it is time for him to leave, off to do Gaia knows what, with Gaia knows whom and where.
The kitchen is empty when she arrives, and Tifa exhales a quiet sigh of relief. Feeling her temples bang, she goes into the refrigerator and opens the door, finding a bottle of water and quickly sucking half of it down in three long pulls. Gods, she can't remember ever being this thirsty.
She finds a potion in one of the cabinets and swallows it down next, badly needing the painkillers to assuage the throb in her skull. As soon as its healing properties kick in, Tifa feels hunger pangs stab at her belly, and before she knows it, she's in front of the stove and cracking eggs, distracting herself from the thoughts that have plagued her since she opened her eyes that morning.
"There you are," she hears his voice as she is dropping slices of bread into the toaster. "Hope you made enough for your old man."
Tifa stops and turns, finding her father standing in the kitchen doorway, one hand in his pocket as he leans against the frame. He's already dressed for the day, wearing a three-piece navy-blue suit over an over-starched pale blue dress shirt. His wingtips shine in the sunlight that pours in through the open bay windows, and his hair is neatly combed and slicked back, dark tresses a thick pompadour on his head.
"Papa," Tifa responds, turning to face him as she pushes the bread down to toast. "S-sure."
Her father is regarding her with a stern but appraising expression, and it makes Tifa's pulse race, anxiety building as she thinks over the night before and how she's struggling to remember half of it. She wonders if he knows she snuck out, if he heard her sneaking back in, if Cloud, who works for him, ratted her out the way those scalding blue eyes and smug, chastising smirk suggested he might.
She would kill him.
She goes to fetch more eggs to add to the pan while her father enters the kitchen, finding a seat at its island. He slaps his newspaper on the counter, and Tifa can feel his eyes following her as she works.
"How was your evening?" he asks her as she cracks two more eggs over the pan.
Here it comes, Tifa thinks, swallowing hard.
"Quiet," she lies.
Brian is silent for long moments, painfully long, and Tifa doesn't dare turn around to face him, concentrating on her cooking while her heart stomps. She pushes the eggs to and fro with her spatula, swallowing as she waits for his response.
"I see," he says after a moment. "Coffee?"
Tifa nods, grateful for another distraction.
She busies herself with making the coffee, scooping out enough grinds for them both to have a cup. He's now skimming through his newspaper, but every so often, he looks up at her, and Tifa feels like their conversation isn't over.
She finishes fixing their meal and heaps the eggs over the toast, bringing both plates to the island for them to eat together. She'd much prefer to eat alone in her room where she can muddle over her thoughts in quiet contemplation, but her father likes for them to take meals in each other's company whenever they can. She pours them each a cup of coffee and then sits, settling across from him.
Brian closes his newspaper and shoves it to the side, reaching for his plate. He nods his appreciation to her, then cuts into his food, swallowing back his first bite with caffeine.
"You know, Tifa," he starts again after he's shoveled away a few forkfuls. "I know you think I'm being too strict, keeping you from going to these parties and asking you to come straight home after classes. But I worry about you. It's dangerous in Midgar - especially in Sector Seven."
Tifa is chewing at her food lightly, and suddenly, she's lost her appetite. She tries not to frown, looking up at him and catching his eyes. They are a dark brown color, matching his hair.
Tifa got her eye color from her mother.
She says nothing, waiting for him to go on.
"You're a beautiful young woman," he continues, just as she expected him to. "Terrible things happen to girls like you in this city every day. I'm just trying to protect you, sweetheart."
Tifa swallows what she's been chewing, but her stomach feels sour. The coffee douses it with heat but doesn't really help. She tries not to make a face, only nodding at him in a way that she hopes will placate him.
"I know, Papa," she replies.
Brian's expression deepens further, and he doesn't take his eyes from her face. He's thinking, Tifa knows, and she wonders what is traversing his mind. Eventually, he turns back to his food, silently finishing his meal without ever giving any indication he knows what she got into last night before he departs for the day, leaving Tifa alone to finish her breakfast in a kitchen that is too vast for two people to share.
How wrong she is.
It is Monday when Tifa sees Cloud again, and by then, she's mostly forgotten the fact that they'd drunkenly shared a kiss on a dance floor, that she had been so wasted and out of it that he had to drag her home, at least, according to Aerith's version of events.
No, by now, Tifa has moved on from that Friday night. She's pushed Cloud - the cute blonde boy who refused to talk to her when they were kids - as far as she can from her erring memory. There's no need to dwell on what happened at Seventh Heaven, because she has no intention of seeing him ever again.
No matter how much Aerith tries to suggest it.
"Come on," her best friend whines as they make their way through the halls of the University of Midgar together. It's located in the center of Sector One, a few miles away from the Shinra Tower that sits in the center of the city. "You can't be serious, Tifa."
Tifa sighs and wishes she could shove Aerith to get her to stop. She is tired of talking about this, but she knows that her friend is relentless.
Where Aerith is studying nursing, Tifa is studying business, wanting one day to be an entrepreneur. Despite how much of her father's business he keeps concealed, Tifa has always respected that he's built something of his own. And she loves numbers, loves figuring things out, and has so many ideas for things she might want to do in the future - she loves to cook, so maybe she'll start a restaurant. But she also likes to sew, so maybe she can open her own dress shop. And she loves the piano, so maybe she can teach lessons.
"Well?" Aerith demands.
Tifa sighs, turning to face her best friend's emerald green eyes where they sparkle in the mid-afternoon sunlight. They are now standing in the center of the courtyard that spans between two separate university halls, college students milling about on the stone pathways and in the grass around them.
"I am not going out with Cloud," Tifa repeats for what she is certain is the thousandth time. "I'm not interested in him, Aerith, so please stop asking."
"You guys kissed," Aerith states as if this proves everything.
Tifa feels her cheeks grow bright and she glances around, seething. "Keep it down!" she hisses. "And we were drunk! It didn't mean anything."
"Please," Aerith insists, hands flying to her hips in defiance. "Stop giving me that 'drunk' excuse. Alcohol only reveals the truth, Tifa. And the truth is you have it hot for Cloud."
"Stop," Tifa begs.
"Not to mention," Aerith persists, "Cloud was not drunk. But Tifa, he has it bad for you, too… I mean the way he was looking at you, and holding your waist… he didn't even have one drink!"
"It's time for me to get going," Tifa interrupts, shaking her head in dismay, wanting to run and slap her friend silly at the same exact time. It's now day three of Aerith trying to convince her that a mistake on the dance floor of a too-hot and foggy club is an indication of something more, when Tifa knows expressly that it is not.
Knowing Cloud since they were kids and seeing the man he's grown into now tells her that it will never be.
"Tifa?"
Tifa turns at the baritone voice, dismissing these thoughts. Her eyes only widen slightly when she sees the tall, pale sight in front of her.
Rufus Shinra.
Rufus is standing just a clip away from her, leaning back with his hands in his pockets. He's dressed in a stark white turtleneck sweater with light gray wool pants. He isn't carrying any books or a bag, just standing there, a shock of platinum hair spilling into his forehead.
His pale blue eyes are daggers, digging into her own, a smirk pulling at his lips.
Tifa feels her heart fall to the pit of her stomach. Rufus Shinra, heir to the Shinra corporate dynasty, is a graduate student at the University who is also in the School of Business. Tifa has taken a couple of advanced-level classes with him, and she's very familiar with him.
He has been hitting on her since the first day she met him.
Aerith chirps at her side, her lips turning up into a braggadocios smile. Rufus is flanked by three of his friends - a Wutain with long dark hair, a tall bald-headed man, and a third with messy red hair. The three of them follow Rufus everywhere, and Tifa isn't even sure if they are actually students here. More like bodyguards.
Tifa straightens her back as he approaches, head cocked to one side, pale hair and even paler eyes shining in the sun. Aerith titters again, but Tifa ignores her, nervously shifting her messenger bag over her shoulder.
"Rufus," she replies, calmly and cooly.
"You never texted me back," he launches into an accusation right away, though his voice is light and lilts, clearly flirtatious. "I was hoping we could grab coffee between classes one day this week."
Tifa pulls back the sigh she wants to emit at his solicitation. She feels Aerith nudge her in her side, and it makes a wave of anger pass over her. Tifa has been avoiding Rufus' messages for weeks now, and every time she runs into him, he propositions her like this. It is awkward and uncomfortable, because she isn't interested in him at all.
He isn't a bad guy, Tifa supposes, but he really isn't her type, popular and too-self confident and smug. Every time he approaches her, he makes Tifa feel like she owes him something, just in the way he looks at her, just in the way he speaks.
"I'm sorry," she finds herself apologizing. "I haven't had time, Rufus. I'm really busy with classes this semester."
Rufus' smirk deepens, and Tifa watches his eyes lower over her form. They linger in their trail a little too long, and Tifa finds herself crossing her arms in front of her body.
"That's too bad," Rufus intones, rolling his shoulders as if he's suddenly no longer quite so interested. He offers her a placid simper, then turns away. "Maybe some other time."
Tifa expected more than this, but she watches silently as he makes his way down the cobblestone path, his lackeys at his side. The one with the messy red hair winks and finger-guns at her, but Tifa only narrows her eyes and watches them go.
When they are alone again, Aerith huffs at her side. "What is wrong with you!" she demands. "How many hot blond guys are you going to ice out? You're never going to find a boyfriend at this rate."
It's Tifa's turn to huff, and she turns to Aerith to glare at her. "Why is it so important for me to find a boyfriend?" she asks in frustration. "Maybe I just want to have fun, relax a little. I don't want to date Rufus, or Cloud, or anyone else."
Part of that is a lie, Tifa knows deep down inside, but she isn't willing to examine which part or why.
Aerith just rolls her eyes. "You don't need a boyfriend," she corrects herself. "But you want to have fun, right? Well, Tifa, boyfriends are fun, and Rufus is hot. And he's rich. Like even richer than your dad."
Tifa clicks her tongue against her teeth. "I need to get going," she tells Aerith. "I'm training with Master Zangan today. He might let me pick up a class, which means I can make my own money."
Aerith smiles, and she lets the previous topic drop. "Well, then you better get going," she concedes, clapping her hands together and offering Tifa a wink. "I know how happy you'd be not to have to rely on your father's allowances anymore."
"Exactly," Tifa agrees, finally smiling. "Listen, I'll text you later."
She waves to Aerith and makes her way off campus, heading to the main road out front to catch a taxi. She's scrolling for one on the app on her PHS when she hears her name being called. She glances up at the sound, frowning into the sunlight that surrounds her.
To her great surprise, a glimmer of light across golden blond locks alerts her to the fact that Cloud is standing at the curb, leaning against a sleek black sedan. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he's wearing a black hoodie over a dark shirt and dark grey chino pants.
Tifa starts and then stops, and when their eyes meet, she feels flames ride up her spine. Her thoughts temporarily freeze, working to make sense of what she sees in front of her. What is Cloud doing at her university?
"Tifa," he calls her again when she just stands there, staring at him.
Tifa swallows and fists her messenger bag at her side. She wonders if this has anything to do with Friday night, and again she is reminded of their dance and their kiss, of the fact that she's been stubbornly trying to ignore any of that night's memories beyond the dance floor and those tall, bittersweet drinks.
He waits, and looking around her as if there could be another 'Tifa' standing somewhere that he might be beckoning, she wills the jelly out of her legs and approaches him with slow, cautious steps. She can hear her heart running a mad race in her chest, and she doesn't understand why she is so nervous and flustered over this boy that she doesn't even like.
Or so she tells herself.
"Cloud?" she chances when she goes up to him. "What are you doing here?"
Cloud wears an unreadable mask, his face expressionless and dour. His blue eyes are bright, brighter than the dreams that Tifa woke up to after the night at Seventh Heaven. She feels her cheeks heat up at the thought, and she tries a bit desperately to clean up her thoughts so she doesn't end up betraying herself.
Cloud is silent for a moment, and then he drops his arms, lowering his hands into his pockets as he pushes up and away from where he's been leaning against the car. "I'm here to pick you up," he deadpans.
Tifa blinks, caught off guard by this statement. She searches her memory again frantically, wondering if she made some sort of arrangement with him on Friday night that she doesn't remember. She feels her cheeks scald, and she is once again cursing herself, promising for the hundredth time that she will never drink again.
Cloud's face is passionless as she reads it. There seems like there is nothing of importance behind his words. He could have been talking about the weather or a traffic jam with the way he speaks.
"Pick me up?" she repeats, feeling a bit silly and stupid as the words leave her lips.
Cloud looks up to the sky, frustration seeping into his features. He seems to be summoning a small bit of patience, and this only riles Tifa up further. She balls a fist up at one side, watching him as he steps away from the vehicle and pulls open the passenger side door.
"Your father has asked me to drive you," he explains almost painfully, his voice tight and clipped.
Tifa feels a new wave of heat crawl across all of her senses, but this time it is inspired by a different sort of emotion. This time, it is inspired by anger.
Why was her father telling Cloud Strife of all people to pick her up?
"Drive me?" Tifa repeats, glancing at the open door of the car before she turns back up at him. His face is still pulled in a tight but indecipherable expression, as if this is the most boring and routine undertaking he's ever had to bother with. For some reason, that flippancy just makes her even more vexed. "I don't need to be driven anywhere. I can take a taxi, like I usually do."
Cloud just shrugs. "It wasn't a request," he states, and Tifa doesn't miss the way his gaze lowers slightly, taking in her black v-neck sweater and powder-blue jeans that snugly grip her hips. Those blue orbs quickly climb back up to her face. "It was an order, so get in the car, please."
The way he speaks does something to her insides, twisting them up in a way that makes her feel hot. He's serious and measured, almost a bit commanding. His tone suggests that there's no room for debate, and it makes Tifa even more annoyed but also turns her on in a way that confuses her, the space between her thighs growing warm and tingly.
"But I -"
"Tifa," he warns again when she protests.
Despite how furious she is at his sudden interruption, she can't defy the way he says her name. No, not when he says it like that, weighty and in control, his voice hovering over a knife's edge. It stabs straight to the center of her belly, and Tifa exhales a little and then bites into her lip, doing her absolute best not to lose it right there where she stands.
She tears her eyes away from his, and she finds herself obeying, her legs moving her in the direction of the car. She slides into the passenger seat, and as she's pulling her seatbelt on, Cloud gently closes the door behind her and makes his way around to the other side.
Tifa doesn't dare look at him when he gets behind the wheel and turns the engine over. Already, the sight of him standing outside of the car and the feel of his stare on her face and on her body has been enough to electrify her, and she presses her knees together and folds her hands in her lap, trying to dull the throb she feels almost everywhere.
"Headed home?" Cloud asks, glancing up at his rearview mirror.
Tifa feels a little disappointed at how businesslike Cloud is, and she isn't sure why. He hasn't asked her how she is or said anything to her outside of this straightforward talk related to why he is here with her in the first place. And no mention of Friday night at all. She knows that she and Cloud have never been close, and even after that night, she isn't sure why she's expecting anything more. Still, she can't ignore the fact that it stings.
"No," she answers after a moment, this time chancing to turn slightly in his direction. She catches the profile of his face, boyish, angular lines frames by spikes of gold. The sight is so distracting that she forces herself to turn away. "I'm heading to Master Zangan's dojo to train for an hour. It's in Sector Seven."
Cloud doesn't bother to respond. He simply pulls the car into traffic, spinning the wheel with one hand while the other turns up the volume on his radio.
Rock music pours out of the stereo, but Tifa's thoughts are elsewhere and she finds it difficult to pay attention to the tunes as Cloud weaves in and out of traffic on the highway. She's wondering again why her father sent him to drive her around. Of all people, he seems like the most unlikely choice. Tifa knows that her father has plenty of men who work for him who could take on such a task.
But her curiosity does not outpace her annoyance about it. The very fact that her father thinks she needs a personal escort - regardless of who that escort may be - burns her up inside. And he said nothing to her about it all weekend, instead choosing to dump this surprise on her unwittingly.
It infuriates her.
She glances over at Cloud again, catching the way that his thumb taps the steering wheel in rhythm with the beat of the song. He isn't paying her any mind, but has his attention fully focused on the road. Tifa has to admit he is a very good driver - he is going fast, probably above the speed limit, in fact - but the ride feels effortless and smooth, his vehicle's tires grinding over the asphalt. His seats are leather, and she can feel the subtle vibrations of the car as it rides over the road, sending little sparks up through her core.
She tears her eyes from his too-beautiful face as she considers that. She's reacting too strongly to him against her will, and she hates it. She feels like she is being held hostage to her own body.
Cloud says nothing as he drives, and Tifa feels like she is suffocating under the silence. Even though he passes through the Sectors quickly across the freeways, this ride feels like it is taking a lifetime. She fidgets where she sits, and the awkwardness has her so worked up by the time he is merging onto the exit for Sector Seven that she can't stop herself from turning to him again looking for any excuse to break it.
"… Did you take me home on Friday?" she asks.
"You know I did," Cloud replies impassively, not even bothering to offer her a sidelong glance.
Tifa hates how rude he is. It was a simple question and he could have just answered it without getting sarcastic. It burns her up inside, and she digs her nails into her palms, narrowing her eyes at him.
"I see nothing has changed," she remarks in response.
She isn't sure why, but the ice in the air between them is upsetting her, especially after Friday night. She wants to fight with him, and she knows her behavior is childish.
But she can't help herself.
She sees the line of his jaw tighten at that, and she knows that she is testing his already limited patience. Fine, she thinks. She is suddenly hoping to see it break completely.
"What are you talking about?" Cloud asks, his voice climbing a hill of annoyance.
"Your attitude," Tifa states, feeling her blood pump faster in her veins. The way he keeps his eyes trained on the road instead of on her, even when he approaches a stoplight, roils the fury inside of her. "The same way you were when we were kids."
Cloud finally glances at her, and Tifa sees that his face has reddened slightly. His expression shifts, and as he turns away, she thinks she has found a weak spot.
"I don't have an attitude," he insists, his eyes completely averted from hers. Tifa hears the leather of his gloves squeal as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel, and she decides to go for the jugular, badly wanting to navigate the confusing thoughts that have been harassing her all weekend.
"Maybe you're right," she shrugs, turning to the window with a smile on her lips as she looks out the glass. Cloud is now pulling right up in front of the dojo, and Tifa drops her hand to her seatbelt. "You didn't seem to have much of an attitude when you were kissing me on Friday night."
Cloud stops the car with a lurch. It is clear he is caught off guard because Tifa knows he is not that uncoordinated behind the wheel. She counts it as a small victory that she's managed to ruffle him so badly.
He is quiet for a long moment, but Tifa doesn't bother looking back at him, because she knows her own face is on fire. She busies herself with taking off her seatbelt and gathering her bags, gripping the door handle as she prepares to climb out.
"Tifa," Cloud finally tries.
But Tifa is too mortified and too excited by her own boldness. She gets to her feet.
"See you later," she tells him as she closes the door.
Tifa is not been expecting Cloud to stick around while she trains, and she soon learns just how serious his escort job is and how serious he is taking it.
She is moving through a set of yoga rotations under Zangan's direction when she finally notices him, chancing an accidental glance out of the tall wall of windows that line the front of the dojo, facing the street. She catches Cloud standing at the curb, outside of the car, his arms folded over his chest. His head is ducked slightly, and he's watching her through the window as she pulls one leg back and stretches her body out in a dancer's position. The sudden sight of him standing there nearly startles her out of her form.
"Tifa-san," Zangan scolds. "Keep your concentration."
She is Zangan's only student this afternoon, fortunate to be able to afford to pay for private lessons with him, so she knows that Cloud is not observing anyone or anything else with those incandescent cobalt eyes. She nods at Zangan, but this knowledge is unnerving her, and it's difficult to keep her focus for the rest of her session. He watches her through every stretch, through every punch and parry and kick, as sweat breaks out across her skin and the lycra of her workout gear she's changed into pulls across the toned curves of her body. She can't help but constantly check the windows to see if he's still staring, and every time that she does, their eyes unconsciously meet between the glass. She realizes that she suddenly no longer feels quite so self-assured about her earlier behavior, and she wonders what type of games the two of them are playing. It sends her distraction soaring, and Zangan chastises her for the entire hour.
After their session is over, Tifa hydrates and wipes the sweat from her brow and shoulders with a towel. She leaves her spandex on, deciding to wait until she gets home to shower and change. Her hands are shaking as she packs her bag, and she bids farewell to her weathered old sensai, not missing the look of annoyance etched across his face.
By the time she steps outside, Cloud has already relocated behind the wheel, listening to his music absently as if he had never been standing there watching her like a hungry hawk at all. Tifa inhales and lets the cool, early fall breeze bristle away some of the heat in her skin, willing iron into her nerves before she approaches Cloud's sedan.
When she gets back in the car, Cloud refuses to look at her. He's staring straight ahead, and once she is buckled up, he peels away onto the asphalt, his jaw set and his lips twitching.
"I wasn't expecting you to take me home, too," she tells him, but Cloud just shrugs and says nothing.
Tifa is too tired and pent up from her workout to say anything further to him. She's still thinking about the way that his eyes followed her body when she trained, even through that thick glass, and she's not even sure how to deal with any of this. Teasing him earlier relieved some of the tension she'd felt, but now, it's climbed into the sky again.
Luckily, they are only a short drive back uptown to the neighborhood where she lives. She doesn't have to sit in this car with him much longer, still sweaty with her muscles aching while he ignores her, subtle vexation bleeding across his features. She pulls out her PHS and scrolls through it, checking Warker and MoogleBook, pretending that she is so engrossed in something important that she has forgotten he's there even though the subtle notes of his cologne and the vibrations of his car's engine distract her from the social media in front of her.
It isn't long before they pull up in front of her house, not word exchanged on the entire trip. Tifa exhales a quiet sigh of relief and puts her PHS away, gathering her things as she prepares to get out of the car. She's got her hand on the doorknob when she feels his eyes on her.
"You kissed me."
She turns to him immediately. "What?"
"I didn't kiss you," he tells her, and this time he is looking right at her face, his blue-green eyes smoldering, a simper pulling at his lips. "You kissed me. You've got it backward."
Tifa feels like the sun has just melted over her face. At her shocked expression and lack of response, Cloud only seems to grow smugger. He leans back in his seat, still holding the wheel with one hand while he throws the car's gear shift into park with the other.
His swift, smooth movements only draw her eyes to the tight definition of his body, swathed in clothing so casual but that fit so well. She hates how it makes her feel, how her stomach flutters at the sight, the way the back of her mind blazes her with imaginings of seeing him without any of those clothes on at all.
"What are you talking about?" she asks defiantly, the wildness of her blended anger and arousal setting her off into a panic. "That's not how I remember it."
"I doubt you remember much of anything," Cloud bites back. "Maybe you shouldn't drink so much, Tifa."
He is far too glib and the teasing but scolding twist of that pretty mouth is puddling her insides. She wants to slap him and crawl right over the console into his lap at the very same time.
She throws the door open instead, her anger winning over everything. She is also embarrassed, because the truth is, she knows he's right. She doesn't really remember what happened exactly, the events are all tornadoes in her head. And she did drink too much, did act reckless, and just as her father had warned her so many times, she was regretting it.
That Cloud can read all of this and is so garrulous about it only fires her up even further. She really doesn't want to see him anymore.
She turns back to him, hoping her sudden tears of frustration don't leak out. He's looking at her, but when he catches her expression, his own seems to soften.
"You left your jacket here," she tells him matter-of-factly, throwing bars of steel behind her voice. "I'll go get it. Then you can go and leave me alone, Cloud. Don't come picking me up again. I'll tell my father to find somebody else."
Cloud's eyes widen at her harsh tone, and before she can climb out of the car fully, a gloved hand finds her wrist.
"Hey," he stops her, his voice low, almost gentle, and something inside of her melts. "Keep the jacket. I was only teasing you, Tifa. I'll see you tomorrow."
But Tifa pulls her arm away and slams the door as she gets out, blinking to keep a raging river of tears behind the dam of her eyes.
This time, Tifa enters her house through the front door, the same as she usually does. She can't wait to go up to her room and cry her aggravation out, maybe beat up her punching bag for a few hours even though she just got finished with a thorough workout. She has to release the wires of fury and desperation that Cloud has wrung out of her, feelings that started to bud and build years and years ago.
To her surprise, her father is home, and he's standing in the foyer when she opens the front door. He's dressed as if he is prepared to go out, but it is apparent that he has been standing there purposefully, waiting for her.
Watching her from the window as she gets out of Cloud Strife's car.
He regards her for a moment, offering a curt nod in greeting. The sight of her father after the afternoon's events just makes her even more vexed. Before he can open his mouth to speak, she scurries past him, making for her room and slamming the door.
Tifa showers and swears silently to herself, and she tries to do some homework to create a distraction. But by the time she is crawling into bed that night, her thoughts have drifted right back to where they lived before, lit up by her thoughts and each memory of her every single interaction with Cloud thus far.
Her frustration builds, but soon, she is wrapped up in his leather jacket again, filled with the scent of his delicious warm body, remembering his slick words and that cool smirk and the taste of his tongue, of the way his eyes followed her body while she moved, of the way his hands had held onto her hips.
Tifa cries and screams into her pillow that night. But somehow, throughout it all, her fingers find their way into her panties.