A/N: *peeks around corner* ...Hi?

It's a little short, but it's a start *finger guns*

Shout out to Epik High for sponsoring the inspiration.

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Maybe we're from the same star

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part five

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The bar is loud, and Tifa hates it.

Or rather, she hates tonight, and tonight they are hanging out at the bar. That's how she's come to refer to all the places Cloud's friends bring them to; they all look the same, sound the same—in the end, all nights just end up being the fucking same. She had imagined her life in Midgar to be different—not an endless cycle of going to school and hanging out at another bar. Maybe she's being unfair—she thinks about that pretty often—but in the last two months, it's become harder and harder to let that feeling go.

Next to her, Cloud laughs at something someone said; his chuckle is quiet, inaudible almost, but she hears it. It could be that what she hears is the memory of it; she's listened to the softness of his laughter for so long and captured the accompanying smile so many times—the sound is as much a part of her as it is a part of him. It strikes her as selfish that she doesn't want others to hear what she does—but she just adds it to the pile of unfair thoughts that have been plaguing her since coming to Midgar.

The noise surrounding them is just that to Tifa—noise. At this point in the night, when they've all had one too many drinks, she's taken on the habit to stop listening. They talk about things and people and places she doesn't know; the familiarity she doesn't share with them is just another reminder of the distance that grew between Cloud and her—this distance she's tried not to let grow without success. It might not even be distance, really, but it's the only word Tifa can think of—it's what it feels like.

Cloud's hand rests on the table, his fingers drumming to the rhythm of the music, and the urge to grab his hand, to touch his mark is overwhelming in its intensity. She craves the reassurance and the peace of mind—but he moves before she can and picks up his glass, and Tifa can't take this night. She's had enough suddenly, like everything around her is too much and too little, and she needs a moment to herself.

Tifa tells Cloud something about going to the bathroom and slips out of her seat. If he replies, it gets lost to the cacophony, but she wasn't listening for one, anyway. It's only as she makes her way through the crowd, sticking to the edges of the room as best as she can, that Tifa realizes she doesn't know where she's going—she only knows she wants to go back home. And it's hard to tell what home means in this moment—home has always been Cloud and Nibelheim, only now it's Cloud and a cold apartment in a city that swallows her whole. So she focuses on the constant, on Cloud, but right now, it's not enough to ground her, not without his presence at her side. She doesn't want to pull him away from his friends, though—she has a hard time acting upon selfish impulses, and for a second, she thinks maybe she would be happier if she did.

Instead, Tifa walks out of the bar. The heat and the noise had fogged up her mind, and the chilly fall air clears her head a little. It's still loud out here, people talking and smoking on the sidewalk, but still, Tifa feels the vice around her throat lessen. She leans against the brick wall, a few meters away from the entrance, closer to the tattoo parlor next door. That's how she stays for a minute or two, watching the people walking by and the cars passing through the street. There's the nagging feeling that she should go back before Cloud worries, but it wars with dread at the idea of plunging back into that crowd.

But Cloud decides for her. When he shows up at her side, Tifa can't say she's startled—she glances up at him, and her expression must reveal something she can't verbalize because he frowns.

"I'm not feeling well," she says before he can ask. "I think I should head back."

"Alright, let me tell the others we're leaving." Cloud makes to turn around, but she grabs his sleeve. "What is it?"

"You don't have to come back with me."

As soon as the words leave her, Tifa knows she made a mistake. Cloud's frown deepens, and he unlatches her grip on him, squeezing her hand before letting go.

"Now I'm leaving for sure," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Just give me a minute, then we can go."

Any additional protests die off as he walks back into the bar. Tifa bites her lip, a strange kind of guilt she's become familiar with surging at once; the last thing she wants is to drag Cloud away from his life here, but it's becoming harder and harder to see his life as their life. And that's all she's known since she was a child and they watched the stars in her backyard for the first time.

Tifa pulls her stare away from the bar's entrance, the anticipation of Cloud's return causing her heart to throb; her eyes meet a girl's standing in a group nearby. She moves away from her friends and towards Tifa, who does her best not to appear too cautious. The girl smiles, but there's something about the way it sits frozen on her face that makes Tifa wary.

"Can I help you?"

Her guarded tone doesn't deter the girl. "Sorry, I just have a quick question." At Tifa's silence, her smile dims. "The guy you were speaking with—he's in one of my classes. Do you know if he has a girlfriend?"

Tifa can't hide her shock in time; her mouth drops open a little, and she's certain her eyes widen. It feels surreal and ridiculous at once that someone would ask her this question, but any and all justifications tie up her tongue, and she ends up unable to say anything. She only stares and blinks at the girl, whose gaze lights up with understanding.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Are you his girlfriend?"

Again, the words stumble back into her throat and into her stomach, weighing it down and twisting her insides. To her horror, Tifa realizes she has no answer to the question—not really.

"I'm—" Her heartbeat overtakes all other sounds for a second, and she drowns in its loudness and its oppressiveness. "I'm his soulmate." Because what else is there to say?

But the girl blinks as if what Tifa revealed is nothing of importance and replies, "Okay, but are you his girlfriend?"

The pressure in Tifa's chest is unexpected, unbearable, and she chokes under the stranger's stare.

"We're good to—hey, what's wrong?"

Cloud's voice doesn't lessen the pressure—it makes panic rise instead. Tifa schools her expression, aware she does a poor job, but all that matters is that she gets away from this bar and this night.

"I'm okay," she lies. "Let's go back."

It's easy to tell he does not believe her, yet Cloud doesn't argue, as if knowing the best thing to do is to leave. Tifa doesn't glance at the girl still standing close as she walks away, Cloud following not far behind. As the distance between them and the bar grows, the weight on Tifa's chest fades, but the poison it brought with it spread through her already, and now she keeps wondering, doubting, overthinking—she hates that she couldn't answer such a simple question. And now she thinks of what she should have answered and which answer would be the true one.

Cloud peeks at her once in a while, worry etched in his features; she knows he can sense her mood, and yet she can't find the strength to explain, not right now. He needs reassurance, but so does she; she comes closer, gripping his hand too tightly and wrapping her other around his wrist, her fingers brushing the skin where his mark is.

"What happened?" His voice is low enough to be a whisper in the racket of the city.

Tifa shakes her head, the words once again paralyzing her. This feels like a conversation to have alone and not surrounded by millions of strangers and the unfamiliarity of Midgar. "I'm okay," she lies again.

She sees his frown and senses the sudden tension in his body—but Cloud doesn't insist, as if understanding why she doesn't want to talk at the moment.

The walk to the apartment feels like an eternity, and when they get there, Tifa breathes a little easier. The pressure is still there, squeezing her heart, but only faintly. It's nothing she can't withstand, the pain trivial compared to the ache she can feel when apart from Cloud.

They both stay quiet, and while she knows he's waiting for her to speak first, the idea is still a little too terrifying, so Tifa hides in the bathroom to get ready for bed. The lengthy process of brushing her hair brings her some calm through the repeated motions. Now that they are at their place, it seems so ridiculous to bring up what's bothering her; she feels silly for even letting it get to her. But despite her best attempt at reasoning, the girl's question plays on repeat through her mind.

Cloud waits for her in the bedroom; he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at her expectantly. For a second, Tifa wants to run away, wants to burrow under the covers and tune out whatever it is her world has become. But instead, she walks to her dresser to get out her nightclothes.

"What happened?" he asks gently. "Was it that girl speaking with you?"

Tifa pulls out one of his t-shirts, deciding this will do. She keeps silent as she changes; she leaves her clothes for the day in a heap on the floor, something she never does, and though it's another sign she's upset, she's past caring about that. Cloud can already tell something affected her.

"I have a—weird question for you," she says as she turns around to face him. Tifa leans against the dresser, gripping the edge with both hands, hoping it will ground her.

"Yeah, go ahead." He rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward.

"Am I…" She stops the words from tumbling out, swallows them down, then finds another way to string them together. "That girl asked if I was your girlfriend." Tifa notes his confusion and surprise even if he tries to hide them. "I didn't know what to answer."

Cloud rubs his cheek, then runs his hand through his hair. "I see."

She holds her breath, waiting and waiting until she can't take it anymore. "What do you think?"

"Actually…" He sighs; a smile lifts the corner of his lips, and the sight dissipates some of her tension. "I was asked the same a while back. Aerith wondered if you were my girlfriend."

"What did you say?" Her voice is meek, and she hates sounding so small.

Cloud shrugs. "That you're my soulmate. You?"

Relief slams into her, knocking the breath out of her. "Me too," she says once she can speak again. "But it made me think—"

"Hey, stop." Cloud stands and walks to her; the distance between them is easily bridged. "Remember, it means what we want it to mean."

"It took me by surprise," she admits, eyes straying away from his. "I just…never thought of it like that."

"You don't have to, I promise." He tucks strands of hair away and behind her ears. "Just focus on you and me."

"Of course," she says, holding onto his left wrist. Her fingers circle it, her thumb finding its spot over his pulse.

It's only once she's in bed and about to sleep that she realizes she lied—she doesn't see how she can do that in a place where she drowns in her own insignificance, surrounded by so much strangeness.

—

In the weeks following her arrival in Midgar, Tifa got to know Cloud's friends. The ones who came around the most are Zack and Aerith—but sometimes Vincent, Reno, and Rude tagged along, too. She'd been both worried and excited, then—what if it didn't go well, what if they didn't like her, what if she didn't like them, what if, what if—

Luckily, they all liked each other well enough. And at first, Tifa had figured that was enough. But as time passed and weeks turned into months, she understood just liking each other might not be enough.

It started with unplanned visits, then unforeseen nights out. And Tifa also realized those visits and nights out were planned—just not with her. Maybe she should have said something at that time, but she had stayed quiet because it had felt so childish to bring her jealousy up. But by now, the jealousy has morphed and crooked; it has hints of resentment and frustration now. These are emotions she hates but can't get rid of; they grip her, claws dug in deep, and won't let go.

Cloud notices. It'd be stupid of her to assume she could hide everything from him, not after all those years. But he doesn't bring it up much. Tifa knows this is a consequence of the previous year, of when he felt guilty for living his own life. And maybe, just maybe, it amplifies her own fears—because isn't that guilt the proof that she can't keep up with him? It's another one of those thoughts she labels as unfair; she tries to bury it, but it crawls its way out of the dirt every so often, coming back to haunt her.

Tifa did what she could to make her own friends. She's had friends other than Cloud before, back in Nibelheim, and she's aware she can't let her life revolve around him alone. So, she meets people—Barret and Jessie and Biggs and Wedge at first, then Yuffie who bumped into her and spilled her latte all over her shoes. It starts to feel like an actual life, something of her own she can develop here in Midgar. And yet—

The truth, she realizes, is that the life she knew—the one she held on for so long—slips through her fingers. And it's scary, so scary. The Before looms over her, hovering behind her shoulder in a perpetual reminder of what was and what could be. Tifa tries not to let it influence her decisions, her judgment, and on good days, she manages. But the bad days multiply as time goes on, and soon she yearns for something that feels unreachable now.

Though she doesn't want to tell Cloud, part of her regrets coming to Midgar.

It gets worse after that night at the bar. The girl's question sowed doubts that took root deep, deep inside. What's worse about these doubts is the lack of control over them. She doesn't doubt Cloud or herself—rather, she doubts the world around her. What she knew collapses like a house of cards, and it becomes impossible to rebuild it; she runs into missteps after missteps, and the cards never hold long enough for her to finally feel at ease.

The fight with Cloud happens on a quiet December night. He sits on the couch and watches a sports game with little interest. For Tifa, today was one of the bad days; she comes home late after a long shift at work where customers yelled at her for everything and nothing. Tears prickled her eyes all day but never fell, and she needs some measure of comfort. When she sits on the couch and leans against him so he can wrap his arms around her, Tifa closes her eyes, chasing the tears away.

"Rough day?"

Tifa nods, her nose brushing against the skin exposed by his shirt's collar. "People here are horrible."

"Just here?" She feels the way his chest moves with his soft laughter.

His comment strikes something within her, something she repressed for months. She swallows the comment threatening to surface, aware it won't do any good. Instead, she says, "Some people don't know what respect is."

He plays with strands of her hair, a mindless, casual gesture. "What happened?"

The thought of telling him the many ways people shopping for Christmas can be rude and horrible isn't appealing, so Tifa just says, "It was just a bad day." She wonders if she this where she constantly goes wrong, then—by not admitting to what she feels in the moment, bottling those emotions up and locking them away instead. But there would be too much to unearth if she started doing that, so she hides the key to her true feelings for tonight.

Cloud is silent for a minute or two, and she assumes he resumed watching the game until he speaks up again. "You've been having a lot of bad days recently."

It's not an accusation, and Tifa knows that—but there is still a sting at the statement, and she senses her defenses rise in answer.

"Why do you think that?" she says, keeping her voice soft.

"C'mon, Tifa." Cloud cradles her face to lift it, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I know you well enough. So, am I right?"

The tears that had been present all day resurface, though she keeps them from spilling. "It hasn't been great," she confesses in a whisper.

There's a flash of hurt in Cloud's eyes, something she didn't want to see. His next words confirm her fear. "Why didn't you tell me?"

There are so many answers to his question that Tifa can't settle on one—they all seem too hurtful, too self-justifying, too silly. She settles on, "I'm feeling a little lost."

"Lost? How?" The note of disbelief in his voice pierces through her.

"I'm—"

A chime interrupts her, drawing her gaze to his phone laying on the coffee table; it lit up with a new message. She can't see who the sender is, but she supposes it's one of his friends. Her pause is long enough for Cloud to connect the dots. He releases his hold on her, and she sits back, like the loss of contact burned her. They stare at each other, the noise of the TV filling the space. And Tifa isn't sure why the tension that had been building within her breaks in that instant, but the admissions tumble out in a torrent, sweeping her along and away from the shore.

"I feel left out," she says, ignoring how Cloud flinches. "I feel left behind. I feel like I shouldn't be here sometimes, even if I want to be. I try to make a place for myself, but I don't know how to do that without you. And I can't keep up with the life you made here, so I'm lost." She halts, her actions registering too late—she gave life to his fears by voicing her feelings, and by the way his feature shutters, she knows it's too late to take any of it back.

"And you've been feeling that for—months?" Cloud doesn't wait for her reply. "Why didn't you talk to me?" A trace of anger weaves through his words, igniting her own.

"Because I knew it would hurt you," she bites out.

His mouth drops open a little, a telltale sign of his shock. "You should still have told me!"

"Tell you what? That I regret coming here?" The truth spills out of her unbidden, her words a stain she'll never be able to rub out.

Cloud freezes for a moment before getting to his feet; she can't move from where she is on the couch, even when his breathing gets a little heavier, a manifestation of his building anxiety.

"I thought you wanted to be here with me."

Tifa thinks the quiet of his voice is like the calm before the storm, one she can't stop anymore. "I did!" It's a plea for him to understand. "I wanted to be here with you. I want to be with you."

Inside her chest, something snaps; it burns and burns, spreading through her and charring her soul. Across of her, Cloud grips his shirt over his heart, and she knows the same is happening to him—and she realizes what they feel is the soulmate bond.

"You are with me," Cloud says, his voice breaking on the last word.

"I know! I know." Tifa hides her face behind her hands, the tears at last falling. She wipes them away. "But nothing here feels right."

His loud breathing mixes in with the noise of the TV. "What does that mean?"

"I want the life we had back," she says, giving up on stopping the tears. "I want it to be you and me again, like it used to be." She laughs at his silence, the sound punctuated with a soft sob. "I know that's selfish. I know that's not possible—we're not kids anymore. But I still want that. I don't know how to live any other way." The pain in her chest flares up again, and she bites her lip at the sensation. "I feel alone and lost and like everything I've ever known has turned upside down."

Cloud lets go of his shirt, but the strain in his voice tells her the pain is still there. "We're not in Nibelheim anymore, but we're still us."

He holds her stare, expectant, and Tifa's heart breaks. "Not for me," she whispers. "Not like this."

His answering stillness chokes the breath out of her—but it's when he moves, heading for entrance, that she gasps for air, feeling like she's drowning in the surrounding noise—that goddamn TV, the cacophony of the city, the door slamming behind Cloud.

Tifa doesn't know how long she sits there, just trying to breathe in and out, in and out. The pain spreads, overtaking everything, and she falls down on her side, hiding her face in the cushion. That's how she passes out, alone and curled in on herself, trying to run away from the ache her heart wants to set free.

In the morning, when she wakes, she's still alone.

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A/N: "Remember that angst tag?" - Karmi, 2020.