Disclaimer: This fic still belongs to Sakura-Angel. And FFVII still belongs to Squenix.
Sakura-Angel: Umm... I sat on [who the mystery person was] for awhile and it was really kinda hard. I hope you'll be happy with who I decided. It's dreadfully short.
Tifa felt a lump rise in her throat at the sight of the recognizable hair and tried gulping the lump down, but she couldn't get rid of it. God, how was she going to get her coffee now? It sat on the tabletop across from him, happily steaming away.
She couldn't go there, right in front of him after she sang that song. The song that, she cursed Kael's intuition, seemed to suit her relationship with the blonde perfectly.
She felt like an idiot just standing in the middle of the café, so she resolved to walk over to the counter and talk to Lynn, say she was sorry about suddenly leaving, but she had an appointme-- Oh. No.
He was looking at her. He saw her. Now she was obliged to go over and say hello. Either that or he'd come over.
Well, at least she'd get to drink her coffee now. So she set her jaw firmly and walked over to her table, noticing his eyes trailing her. She slid into the chair opposite him with a false ease. "Hey."
"Hey."
Tifa kept her head down instinctively, as if a look into his eyes would make all her common sense dissolve. She sipped her coffee slowly, now finding some courage to look around. Her eyes darted about, focusing on one thing and suddenly flitting to another. Ruby orbs focused on everything but the blonde.
'Just say something! Anything!' She thought of all the stupid things she could end up saying. Hey, long time no see. Uh-huh. Fish, huh? Well, I'm still in love with you. 'God! So dumb!'
"Teef?" his shaky voice came to her ears.
She looked at him now, a little surprised, and took his eyes in and felt that strange twinge. The feeling never left her, it seems. "Yes, Cloud?"
"You remember the day... you left? You remember what you told me?"
She nodded a little and set down her coffee.
"I..." He gulped, hoping to send the lump in his own throat away.
She noticed everything about him was hesitant - his shuddery breaths, his hands, reaching slowly across the table to her own, his eyes, silently asking permission to hold her hands.
She shouldn't have been surprised when he took her hands in his own because she saw them coming, but she was. She was surprised at how hot they felt, how callous and shyly awkward his fingers felt around hers. But it felt right.
He braced himself for the worst, and looked straight into her eyes, which, she'd never known, were as intoxicating to him and his own airy blue were to her. "I'm ready. For you."
Her fingers contracted around his briefly and she tore her hands from his grasp, only to throw them around his neck seconds later.
She was leaning across the table, face buried in his chest. Her lip was bleeding because she had bitten it too hard when he told her he wanted her back, but she didn't care.
"Thank you," she murmured into his chest, warm from the delight of acceptance.
He wondered why she was thanking him, shouldn't he be the one doing that? But later on, on a couch near a fireplace with warm cocoa in their hands, she'd tell him that she was thanking him for reviving the happiness behind her smile.