captivating and sensual,
unusually hypnotic. d e m o n ' s d a n c e f l o o r
recurring nightmares
Tifa Lockheart woke up, her body slick with cold sweat, her nightdress clinging to her slender figure. Her black irises were dilated and the cherry ring around it was shimmering the familiar colour of a dark, blood red; a sign that she had once again succumbed to her nightmares. The air about her was comfortably warm and sweet with spice, which set her at ease. Still, those ominous eyes of ivy green looked back at her with an intense stare, seeming threatening, and she was, without a doubt, frightened. This handsome devil haunting her dreams was driving her to the brink of insanity, the very brink that her mother balanced on but was unsuccessful. Yet, his eyes also held the flavour of compassion and tenderness, something that seemed so very impossible.
So, relieved with her satisfactory contemplation, she flopped back down on her snug pillow and nestled underneath the thin covers. It was only when she had closed her eyes that she was again upright and breathing heavily. Those damnable eyes were now the cause of her current insomnia. Why couldn't it just leave her alone? Without answering her own question, she slipped out of bed and ran out her room, down the flight of stairs, and out the back door of her turquoise-coloured home. She crossed the miniature garden, beyond the swing that hung from a single branch of a tree, and crept through the fence that separated her property with her neighbour's, which was currently unstable. With tired eyes, she looked up at the open window on the second floor and firmly planted her eyes on the sill, determined to reach it.
Carefully, she climbed the tree that stood proudly next to it, making sure not to fortuitously rip her gown that he had given her during the Festival that occurred in her town not too long ago. Finally, she hoisted herself up on the topmost branch and settled there for a fleeting moment to catch her breath before she crawled over to the sill. When she did crawl inside the air-conditioned room, she was greeted with a familiar flicker of a wily smile and the most passionate of blues.
She shot him a crooked, accusing smile as he lay there, half-dressed in a pair of black pants exposing his tanned torso and sharp hipbones. One arm was delicately tucked underneath his head as he shot her a relaxed, sleepy smile and then scooted over to allow her some room. She gratefully took advantage of that welcoming gesture and snuggled up close to the nineteen-year-old who put a comforting arm around her.
He yawned and curled himself next to her, wrapping a leg around her slim ones.
"Why are you here?" He whispered softly in her ear, and ticklish as it was, she shuddered lightly.
"Mm…" She faltered for an instant and then said, "No reason."
"You lie. I mean, other than the fact we wouldn't want your father to know that his friend's delinquent son is corrupting his daughter during late night hours." She felt him grin. "Unless those were your definite intentions of coming here most every night, then I'm sure it could be arranged."
"The sight of seeing you strangled by a burly man twice your size will be pleasure on my part." Her voice was glossy with sarcasm.
He scowled and he abruptly pulled himself away before hugging her close to him again. This man was so full of uncertainty of himself; a lost boy, she liked to call him sometimes; he just couldn't make up his mind even on the littlest of things.
"You should consider yourself lucky I leave the window open for you to willingly come in here whenever you please. For my part, it's a violation of personal space, you know, just leaving the window open. I could have peeping toms looking in here when I'm changing and whatnot." He explained with a shiver.
"Peeping toms…?" She giggled and proceeded with her coming assumption. "You're still upset of old Lady Chanelle, aren't you? I feel sorry for her, actually. She lost her husband at a young age-
"-And she decides to go after fresh meat, preferably ones ten years her junior. And if that still manages to grasp your sympathy, I think you need your head checked."
"So much for decency. All you do is insult, insult." She teased and jabbed his ribs with her forefinger. He flinched and gently grasped her hand in his.
He flicked her forehead lightly and frowned. "Any more of that from you and you'll be the bane of my existence."
"Hush up. I want to sleep."
She gave him a quick, friendly kiss on the cheek before closing her eyes to the breath of the air against her skin and the warmth she shared with her companion.
"'Night."
The next morning showed to a beautiful day, a sparkling and yet another warm day with clear skies and the most golden of suns. Rays of light trickled through the window in vibrant lines of champagne-like ripples. The birds in the sky were chirping wildly in honour of the coming day, and oh how he wanted to shoot them all one-by-one.
He winced through the radiant sunlight and blinked once, twice before slowly sitting up and stretching out his limbs, listening to the cracks that followed after they stretched at his joints. His blue-sky eyes traveled to the unoccupied space behind him and he released a weak, light-hearted laugh. Again she had left him before he had moved a muscle, before her father had a chance to see an empty bed.
Smart move.
Yawning, he removed himself from bed and ambled to his bathroom, stripping himself of the last two pieces of garment that clung to his athletic figure. After they were discarded, he let the shower run and waited until vapor rose from the glass shower stall; that was how he liked it. Then, when everything was perfect, he stepped inside and allowed the stream of water pound against his chest as he leaned on the opposite wall, inhaling the mist and air that surrounded him. Damp locks of pale yellow drooped over his eyes, strands damp with moisture.
Their nightly visits were too much for a man going on twenty, simply too much. Especially when she was permeating her feminine scent of cinnamon and a faint fragrance of strawberry mint. That alone was enough to drive him over the edge where he would voluntarily jump off of only if she willingly offered her heart, her soul to him. Her visits had reasons behind them; she just wasn't telling, and that fact alone was breaking his heart. He trusted her and vice versa but there was some things, he knew, that she faltered in voicing out. Those eyes of hers were another giveaway. They were clear like crystal ice, they were the gateways to her soul; she was an open book – her emotions anyway. He noticed her desperation as she ran across the yard, the tensing of her muscles every time he asked her what she was doing at his house – it was like a ritual. And she'd never give him an answer. She would hide behind a damn happy mask and pretend everything was fine when it wasn't. In essence, she was a bad liar.
Eventually, he would find out. But he would have to take it one step at a time; he didn't want to force anything out of her that she didn't feel like telling.
Blinking, he sighed and washed his hair, rinsed his body, and turned off the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist, which sagged slightly below his hips. Opening the door, he was welcomed with the freshness of cool air (the usual aftermath of a nice, warm shower) and an impish grin on an adorable face of the one he was thinking about just moments ago.
He stared at her.
"The Missus let me in." She said and sat down on his bed, making herself comfortable with a magazine in one hand and an apple in the other.
He gave her a mock growl and strutted over to his closet, picking out a few summer clothes. She laughed; he smiled. There was always a drawback to being friends with the only girl in town, the girl his mother liked and would grant her any favors, and that included inviting her to intrude on his morning change. He rolled his eyes and plucked out a button-down shirt and a pair of loose jeans. He spun around and caught the girl staring innocently at him, south of his waist.
"Ahem."
"Oh… oh!" She blushed a fiery pink and laughed ruefully before burying her face in the magazine, stuffing her face with the piece of fruit.
He chuckled and reassured her, "Don't worry. It's nothing you haven't seen before. Though if you were to see anything, things might have altered in size."
She blushed furiously that shamed the reddest of rubies and glared at him. "You tease!"
"It was an open opportunity." He shrugged and pulled on the pair of pants and the shirt, which he left unbuttoned for the sake of cooling down under such an intense weather.
She felt her heart rate speeding up like wildfire, beating against her chest like a hummingbird in flight. She would strangle him if she could, but one touch in her current state of mind and she would go completely crazy and probably ravish him on the spot. And Tifa Lockheart was not that kind of girl.
Or was she?
Lately her pent-up desires of the enviable man in front of her were increasing with every passing dream. Yes, she was sure her dreams had some contribution to the untamed yearnings. No, it wasn't her dreams responsible for the heat welling up inside of her but the man who said he controlled them. Those curséd green eyes mirrored her want. She scoffed to herself. There was no such thing as a man controlling dreams. One would have to be crazy to think otherwise. Honestly, though, she wasn't sure. Every night of the new moon (or other moons, whichever night he chose to appear) he, the man within her dreams, was becoming more real by the second. It wasn't as though she actually had seen the man but more like felt him. It was an odd occurrence and she was beginning to think she was crazy.
Tifa was broken out of her trance when she felt the space beside her sink down under weight. She looked and saw Cloud peering over her, chin resting on her shoulder. Suddenly, she was well aware of the firm chest that pressed against her back.
"So, what are you reading?" He asked her.
"Oh, uh," she stuttered, "I'm not sure." She looked down and was caught by immediate surprise when the moonscope stared back at her, laughing at her. It was a schedule of the impending moons, from the crescent to the full to the new. She quickly closed it and dropped it from her hands and bit into her apple, anything that could possibly distract herself from the all-too coincidence.
"And here I thought you were looking at the Soldier boys that graces the pages of this magazine. Honestly, you'd think that a girl would have better taste."
She was thankful for his lightening the mood. "Oh, and I suppose you wish you were on those pages?"
"Already am, darling." He flipped a couple of pages for her and then pulled back. "Bask in the glory that is Cloud Strife."
"Pig. No wonder all the young women on the streets keep giggling when they see you. Every thing's been finally explained. Now will you excuse me – your room is stuffy from the bloating of your ego." She grinned and left his room, trotting down the stairs.
He laughed, a baritone musical laugh that reached her ears. She wouldn't leave, that he knew. She would probably butter up to his mom, make her like her more. Of course, she was naturally liked so it didn't take much effort. The sly fox.
He reached over to close his window (before he regretfully waved at old Lady Chanelle) and left the room to join Tifa and his mother.
Notes: Yes, fully aware that Cloud's house is a one-story but that's the beauty of alternate reality. That and you get to tweak everything around that would suit to your liking. Beautiful, indeed.