Tifa doesn't like the smell of coffee.

A waft of those roasted cocoa beans would drum her head like Snow White's seven dwarves are mining her brain while singing their catchy dig dig dig song.

The problem though is: she has lived her whole life sharing places with people who love their coffee like it's their second child.

First, it's her dad, with his acidic Gelnika coffee that he often chug with his nose buried in the morning paper.

Afterwards, it's Marle, her former landlady and housemate, who's a real pain in the ass if she missed any of her doses of morning, afternoon and evening coffee.

Then, it's Barret Wallace, her former sugar daddy and fuck buddy, who had a whole penthouse smelling like coffee because he didn't want his wife finding out that he's fucking around (he really thought coffee's going to cover the smell of all the ladies' perfume that ever graced his sex lair – including hers).

Now, it's Cloud, who loves his coffee extra bitter while he's having his breakfast of typically crunchy white crackers.

The stench is especially offensive today.

The nausea it's giving her makes it harder for her not to think about… collarbones.

Those beautiful, prominent collarbones.

She tries re-centring her thoughts to the food she's frying– two sausages and two eggs – but… those collarbones…

"Cloud. Where were you?"

Cloud briefly pries his eyes away from the TV screen to look at her. "Huh?"

"Zack's exhibition party. Where were you?" She needs something more than two sausages and two eggs to divert her, and this subject might just be the one.

Cloud goes back to watching the TV, seemingly pretending to enjoy a weather forecast report. "I was… here and there."

She's putting the sausages and eggs on a plate. "Here and there?"

"Yeah… here and there. People needed me left and right."

She shoots him a look. Needed you for what?

He's lying. She knows he is. His tense shoulders and the way he's avoiding eye contact are all that she needs to figure out that he's hiding something.

"What's the big deal anyway? You had fun, didn't you?"

"There's no need to get all worked up," she says, climbing onto a stool. It's her turn to get annoyed. "Was just asking a question."

Frankly, she's not ready to let go of the subject. She doesn't like it when Cloud hides things from her. But she has somewhere to be and having a fight with him first thing in the morning is not going to help her case.

Her pottery studio is her safe haven. Tifa likes to be here because it is all of her.

It is located in the least busy area of Midgar – a rented space in the cheapest Evergreen Apartment of Sector 6. The walls are all red bricks, reminiscent of her home in her old hometown of Nibelheim. A painting of Mount Nibel that she commissioned from the (pretentiously) enigmatic artist and Midgar socialite, Sephiroth, hangs as the featured décor. Works of ceramic, ranging from decorative vases to dining plates and bowls that she and her assistants crafted, fill up most of the shelves, ready to be purchased or collected.

Business has been in the black for a couple of months now because people had taken notice of a beautiful huge and slender vase she made for Mayor Domino's mansion in one of Midgar Crib's episodes.

The orders often come in long lists, and today isn't any different.

As always, Tifa's going through the lists to choose which ones to prioritize first.

A name struck her. The name of a woman whose collarbones she has been dreaming of kissing (and nibbling… and sucking) since three nights ago.

Medium-sized ceramic pitcher vase, printed with Forget-Me-Nots is what the woman had written for her request, and attached to her order form is a picture of the aforementioned blue flowers.

Tifa frowns. Does she know I run this place…?

She decides to work on the ceramic pitcher vase first.

A record player is spinning, bringing with it a slow ballad that sets the mood and patience for long hours of working on delicate materials with hands. Tifa settles at her potter's wheel, then begins to mould a shape out of a revolving clay.

It must have been an hour later when a motorbike parks at a spot close to the studio entrance.

Its loud engine manages to attract her attention and those of her assistants'. The safety helmet around the rider's head is soon removed… and it's the woman who wants her medium-sized pitcher vase, printed with Forget-Me-Nots.

It's Aerith in a pink dress that ends just above her thighs, underneath a black leather bomber jacket. Her wavy brown hair is strung into a high ponytail. She's wearing sunglasses over her eyes, which she fixes on her head as she makes her way to Tifa.

"We meet again!"

"So it seems."

"How's it going with my pitcher vase?"

"I'm… getting there. It should be done by tomorrow."

"Awesome!"

Aerith offers her a roll of cigarette, most likely an attempt to thaw the ice of awkwardness between them. She shrugs, tilting her chin to her hands that are entirely sodden and soiled by wet clay.

Aerith grins, then lights up the cigarette anyway (Folks are free to smoke at her studio, by the way. It's a smoke-friendly zone). She nestles the roll of tobacco in between her puckered lips, making three rounds of inhaling and exhaling.

She just realized how soft and supple Aerith's pink lips are… like they're made of jellyfish – so incredibly fragile to touch but also lethal for the bodily system – her bodily system, precisely.

In no time, Aerith's already sliding the cigarette in between Tifa's lips. She's fighting against the intensity of Aerith's gaze against hers as she tries to absorb as much of the nicotine as she can into her lungs.

She tries to think about something else…

…And it happens to be about the massive fight Aerith had with Zack.

"You okay?"

The brightness around Aerith's eyes darkens.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Aerith is defensive in her demeanour, which tells her that they're venturing into a touchy subject.

"Is he… always like that?"

Aerith takes a drag longer than she previously did. "Like what?"

Her words come out loud and clear, and without warning: "Being rude to you. Calling you names. Hurting you physically."

Eyes are now all on them but Tifa doesn't care. She's not buying into Aerith's pretence at acting like nothing bad happened.

Aerith rolls her eyes. "That's just Zack for you."

"Well I think he needs to stop treating you like shit."

Aerith smiles… a not so sincere one. "Oh really? You think so?" she tilts her head sideways, "What about that boyfriend of yours? What's his name again? Cloud, is it? Is he treating you right? Does he make a habit out of kissing you at your feet?"

"He's not rude to me… or call me names… or hurt me."

"Right. Right." Aerith nods a couple of times rather mockingly. "But do you know what he did that night though?"

Tifa bites down her lower lip.

"I bet you don't," Aerith says with a sinister smile. "Ask him what he did that night when he left you all alone."

Aerith drops their cigarette onto the floor and crushes it beneath the sole of her brown combat boot.

She replaces her sunglasses back to her eyes and says another few more words before leaving the studio, "Don't take too long to finish my vase. I'm expecting it to be delivered at my doorstep no later than three days from now."

After she leaves, Tifa has to take a couple of minutes of break because her hands have gone too shaky.