A/N: I was going to wrap up the story this chapter, but then a certain someone coughKarmicough motivated me to continue in another direction.

—

—

Maybe we're from the same star

—

part six

—

Cloud isn't sure how he got to Zack's place. Even now, as the sunlight drifts in through the curtains of Zack's living room, he doesn't remember. Cloud shifts on the couch; he gave up on being comfortable hours ago—the acute ache in his chest makes it impossible, anyway.

"Did you even sleep?"

It's tempting to ignore Zack's question—so tempting, because then maybe Cloud won't have to explain what happened. Maybe Tifa and him just had a disagreement, and he left for the night so things would calm down. He wishes he could say that, but the thought of the lie alone makes his lungs constrict tighter to a point where he wonders how he can breathe still. Cloud sits up instead—there's something heartbreaking about downplaying the reality of what happened last night.

"No," he says in a rasp. "Not really."

Zack flops down on the armchair, his clear gaze focused on Cloud as if to root out any growing lies. It almost makes Cloud laugh—the truth is the real poison festering inside him.

"What happened?"

Cloud presses the palm of his hands against his eyes, hoping to ease the pressure of unshed tears that's been plaguing him for hours now. The idea of verbalizing last night grips him, and an invisible hand twists teasingly in a reminder it can wrench his heart out of his chest at any moment.

"I don't want to talk about it," he says after a beat.

Zack lets the silence build for a moment, and Cloud tenses when he finally speaks. "Does Tifa know you're here at least?"

The question makes Cloud flinch; he can't hide the reaction from his friend, who shakes his head.

"I didn't grab my phone." Cloud is aware it's a feeble excuse.

"You know I have her number."

He pulls his hands away from his face but avoids Zack's eyes. "You're right."

His admission doesn't seem to surprise Zack. "Never too late." Zack fishes his phone out of his pocket. "Here you go."

Cloud barely glances at the outstretched hand. "No, I should head back."

"Up to you, man. But don't leave her hanging. You know she'll be worried."

"Yeah," he whispers. "I know."

He doesn't linger, disregarding Zack's order to eat something first. Once he stands outside in the cold of early December, Cloud feels nausea rise; the thought of returning and not knowing what he'll find scares him beyond measure. He knows Tifa will be there—during the night, as he stared at the ceiling, he realized she had nowhere to go in Midgar, not really. At that, the guilt had been overwhelming; in the end, everything he hadn't wanted to happen had come to pass, and she'd been left alone. But once that wave of self-reproach had passed, he'd imagined walking through the door of the apartment. Imagined finding Tifa still on the couch, her hair a tangled mess, her face blotchy from crying—Tifa, immobile and silent in her own culpability at having hurt him with her silence, in her spiral of downward emotions that consumed her last night. He's scared this is what he'll see—because then the fracture in his heart will expand, and he won't know where to go from there.

It's hard to explain to Tifa, this feeling of helplessness he felt in his time away from her. Like he'd been thrown in the ocean with nothing to hold on to except a promise of finding the shore one day. He'd done what he could in that time to create a life for himself—otherwise he would have drowned in the distance separating him from his soulmate. And it's even harder to explain that he can't get rid of that life he found; he doesn't want to let go of the raft he built to stay afloat for that year. Even so, there's something definitely painful about the world not being just Tifa and him anymore. Part of his soul longs for that universe they had together, that world filled with stars and promises in the dead of the night—he doesn't want it to become a bittersweet dream or a childish memory.

By the time he's made it to their apartment, the nausea has ebbed a little, but it still takes him a minute to insert the keys into the lock and walk in. Cloud closes the door behind him; he removes his jacket and his boots before taking a deep breath and entering the living room.

The pain in his chest returns with a vengeance the second he spots Tifa on the couch—but it's not the exact image he'd conjured. Her hair is damp from a shower, her clothes are different; she stares at the window without moving, though, not even glancing up when he pads closer. For a second, Cloud hesitates—fear at what will happen next comes back in an anxiety-inducing wave, but he beats it down and sits on the other end of the couch.

"I'm sorry for running out," he says quietly. He finds he can't look at her either and instead keeps his eyes on the window as well.

"I'm sorry for hurting you," she says, voice just as quiet.

Their apologies float in the air in between them, making it overflow with regret and sadness. It becomes hard to breathe, the weight of what remains unsaid pushing down on him, compressing his lungs, and he's drowning again. His harsh breathing must alert Tifa because he hears the rustling of clothes, senses his body shift to the side as she sits next to him, feels her hands on his arm and back.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Tifa says it over and over, a barely there whisper that amalgamates into white noise.

"I don't want you to be sorry." Cloud isn't sure how he speaks through the gasping inhales and shaky exhales.

She shushes him, her hands rubbing soothing circles; warmth seeps through his skin where she touches him, and it almost feels like a lullaby to his panic. Cloud focuses on that warmth, letting it spread through him little by little until he feels mended enough to keep on talking. He moves out of her grasp and twists to look at her. She masks her hurt at his distance so well, he almost can't tell it's there; the way her nails dig into her palm gives her away, though.

Despite not sleeping and thinking all night, Cloud still doesn't know what the right thing to do is. But the one thing he knows is that they can only move forward.

"Do you want to stay here?" he asks.

Tifa frowns at his question, another one of those little signs. There is ample wariness in her voice as she answers, "In the apartment?"

"No." Cloud takes a deep breath. "In Midgar."

"What are you getting at?" She slides back on the couch, putting more distance between them.

"I want you to be happy." He holds in the urge to reach out when he sees the panic flare in her eyes. "I'm trying to—"

"I'm not leaving," Tifa says in a whisper. The softness of her voice hits him harder than if she had yelled. "I won't be happy by leaving."

"Tifa…"

She stays silent, and he sighs, messing up in hair to release some of the building tension in his body.

"This is familiar." His head snaps in her direction, the bitterness weaved through her words startling him. "Back when we were younger, you did this."

"Did what?"

"Decided something that affects us both because you thought you were doing the right thing. You pushed me away, remember?" She turns his way, and he thought there would be anger in her gaze, but he only notes sadness.

Cloud gulps down the sudden burst of guilt. "I remember."

"Don't do it again. It didn't do any good last time, and it won't do any now."

"Then what should I do, Tifa?" He hates the frustration that finds a way out of him. Her lack of answer makes him blow out a breath. "I'm sorry. I'm just…" Cloud trails off as he feels the pressure behind his eyes again, and he falls back into the couch, looking at the ceiling and counting to ten in the hopes it'll go away. He can only go on once he's reached sixteen. "The truth is, I want it to be you and me again," he confesses, voice low. "I want to go back to our field and look at the stars with you again. But…" He moves slightly to stare at her. "That's not possible anymore, Tifa. Things can't be what they used to."

She blinks, the movement slow, and he guesses she must hold back tears—he's doing the same, after all. "I know," she breathes out. "That's why it hurts so much."

"But we can have something else." Cloud sits straight, leaning into her space a little; she doesn't move back, and the small victory fuels him. "Remember how we said we'd find out together what soulmates are?" He waits for her to acknowledge his word with a nod before carrying on. "We're still figuring it out. We always will be because things can't stay the same forever."

"I'm afraid," Tifa says in a hush.

"Of what? Of things changing?"

"No, not exactly." Her eyes stray away. "Things can change as long as we're still us. And I'm just so scared we won't be, Cloud. Look at us now."

"Hey, listen to me." Cloud slides a hand through her hair to cradle the back of her head, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Don't let this define us. We are so much more than this last year. I know you're scared. So am I, Tifa."

Cloud thinks about the start of their intertwined lives sometimes—that they got to know each other so young, that they were marked so early. Most days, he thinks it's a blessing to have grown up with Tifa and to have come to love her in a way he can't even express. But there are times where the thought it might be a curse crosses his mind. He hates those days so so much, because there's nothing cursed about knowing and loving Tifa—only maybe the fear of losing her in so many unspoken ways. The fear of crashing down from the biggest high and discovering that what he lived was never meant to last. And there's something so much worse about a quiet loss, one he could have prevented with words and actions. It's what claws at him now; it shreds his soul with such violence that he wonders if he'll be able to stitch it back together.

When Tifa wraps her hand around his wrist and presses her thumb over his mark, against his pulse, his breath catches in his throat. The magnitude of what he feels seems surreal suddenly; the relief, the fear, the love, the panic—they pulse through his heart with enough strength to make him think it will burst.

He wants to say they'll be okay, that tomorrow they'll wake up and everything will be as it was. But he also doesn't want to live with sweet lies and broken promises. So instead, he says nothing—he just kisses her; it's nothing more than a soft brush of his lips against hers, then a lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth. Tifa's hand comes up to grip the front of his shirt; the way she holds on is tight, almost desperate, and it tugs at something deep within him. She hides her face in his neck, letting go of his wrist; Cloud senses the tears drip on the skin exposed by his shirt, but he stays quiet about it. He holds her close, moving so they lie down on the couch.

The warmth of her body against his calms the hurt in his chest that never let go. There's something terribly reassuring about the peace he feels. Tifa's tears stop, but she doesn't pull away. She moves around, settling to be more comfortable.

When she whispers I'm sorry, Cloud pretends not to hear it.

—

The day they go back to Nibelheim for Christmas break, Cloud wakes up with a pressure in his chest. It's not pain, not exactly, and as they hurry to the airport and board the plane, it eases. But something else comes along, a kind of foreboding feeling that makes him nauseous. He sits next to the window, and Tifa leans her head on his shoulder to get more sleep. Cloud stares at the world becoming smaller as they take off, doing his best to hold in his anxiety.

It's the thought of returning to Nibelheim that makes him nervous, and he knows it. The fight Tifa and him had was two weeks ago; they can still find the aftermath in the little things. It feels like he keeps finding pieces of broken glass everywhere, the way one does by accident—cutting your finger on a sharp edge or stepping on a jagged shard. Tifa's eyes straying away when his friends text, the sudden tension of her body when he says goodbye for the day, the desperate way she holds on to him in the morning—he picks up all these pieces one by one until he's got enough of them to rebuild what was broken. It hurts him to see that the pain they caused each other was never truly gone, only shattered and hidden away in the deepest part of their souls. And it hurts even more to dig to such a profound depth within himself to discover those concealed fragments—sometimes Cloud prefers to act like nothing is wrong because he's grown tired of cuts and bruises.

He never thought he'd be so apprehensive to go back home. Luckily, as they get closer to Nibelheim, Cloud relaxes, the dread at untold possibilities fading away. By the time they land and exit the airport, his breathing regulated itself, and his smile is genuine as he spots his mother standing in the crowd.

Claudia hugs him first, her arms tightening around his shoulders to the point of pain before she lets go and turns to Tifa.

"Welcome back, you two. How was the flight?"

"It was fine." Cloud shrugs, following his mom as she leads them outside. "Tifa slept through most of it."

"I was tired," Tifa says. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, the gesture almost shy.

Claudia takes out the keys to the car. "Rough end of the semester?"

Cloud doesn't hear Tifa's reply as he drops their bags in the trunk—he doesn't really want to hear it, anyway. He's aware her fatigue has little to do with school and more to do with their lives in Midgar. Tifa won't admit to his mother, or even to him, and to see her lie about it sends nauseous shock-waves through his body.

They chat on the drive to Nibelheim, though Tifa stays mostly quiet. At first he thinks it's out of consideration for his reunion with his mother, but as her silence stretches out, he realizes that can't be all it is. Claudia doesn't seem to notice, or if she does, she keeps it to herself, and Cloud is glad for that. He glances at Tifa through the rearview mirror, hoping her eyes will meet his, but he finds her staring out of the window. It's the longing in her expression that hits him the hardest, and he tears his gaze away, ignoring the questioning look his mother sends him.

Brian Lockhart's car isn't in the driveway when they arrive. Claudia asks Tifa if she wants to stay with them in the meantime, but she shakes her head as she grabs her bag. With a smile and a parting thank you, Tifa heads into her house. Cloud lingers outside even after his mom has gone inside, debating whether he should go after Tifa. But something about the quietness she'd shown through the car drive warns him to stay away for now. He walks into his house with one last look over his shoulder.

Claudia waits for him in the entrance, arms crossed over her chest.

"What's with Tifa? Did something happen?"

"Yes and no." Cloud keeps his head down as he removes his boots so his mother can't read the lie on his face. "She's not adapting too well to Midgar." At his mother's lack of reply, he turns around with a sigh. Cloud reins in the surprise at the sadness in Claudia's gaze. "I'm just hoping spending some time here will help her," he adds as he passes her by to go into the kitchen. "She misses her Dad a lot."

Footsteps indicate she followed him. "Brian hasn't been too well, to be honest. He acts like he's fine, but he's having a tough time with his leg."

"That's just gonna make her feel worse," Cloud mumbles. He sits at the table and buries his face in his hands. "I don't know what to do anymore."

Claudia pulls out the chair across him. "Why don't you explain what's happening to me?"

He does, skipping details he deems pointless for her understanding—the nagging thought that maybe they aren't so pointless flashes repeatedly through his mind, but he ignores it. While he wants his mother's advice and opinion, he doesn't also doesn't want to share every aspect of his private life with her.

"We both try hard," he whispers once he's done, "but she's unhappy there."

"It hurts, right?" Claudia says, gentle and quiet. "Because she's your soulmate."

Cloud looks at his mom, then—really looks at her. Memories hidden deep within him, remnants of his childhood he pushed away, rise to remind him of something. Hissed words in the dead of night to someone on the phone, him spying through the half-opened door—He won't go through what I did. Though it's tempting, he doesn't ask her about what must have happened with her soulmate; she's never said anything about it, and to him that means she doesn't want to. And he understands that—that desire to keep this connection to yourself, that need to protect precious moments and beloved memories.

He nods once, twice. "It hurts because it's Tifa." His mother frowns, a question etched in her features, like she doesn't understand the distinction. Cloud wonders if anyone else does. "She's so much more than my soulmate, Mom. Tifa's all I've ever known." In so many ways, he thinks, in all the ways that matter—Tifa's always been at the center of everything.

His mother doesn't comment on this, and Cloud switches the topic quickly, not wanting to carry on this conversation. He holds in the sigh of relief when she catches on.

That night, in his room, he looks out of the window and at Tifa's, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. But the room stays dark all night long.

—

Christmas comes and goes until they only have one night left in Nibelheim. And being in their hometown, surrounded by familiarity and loved ones, Cloud understands why Tifa longs for this—so does he, really, but there's something about coming back that makes the yearning stronger.

It's dark out when Tifa rings the doorbell. Cloud opens the door to find her bundled up for the cold weather. When he moves so she can come in, she doesn't budge.

"We haven't been to our field yet," she says. She shoves her hands in her pockets and turns, signaling he should follow her. "Wanna walk there?"

Cloud nods and gets dressed. Soon, they're on the path to the field; the snow falls slowly, landing in their hair and over their clothes. He doesn't brush it away, enjoying the bite of the cold and the soft brush of snow against his cheek. Once they get to the field, he's glad to see barely any snow covers the ground, making it easier for them to walk to their favorite tree. Tifa lays down the blankets they always brought with them, and they sit.

"I didn't remember the sky correctly," Cloud says, his voice soft with remembrance. "The stars are so much brighter here."

"It's so beautiful. I never thought I could forget, but… I guess I did a little."

He looks down to take her in facing him; in his chest, his heart squeezes at the sight of her dark hair speckled with snowflakes, of her darkened silhouette embraced by the night sky and the mountains. Cloud feels it, then, this same foreboding sentiment that choked the air out of him before.

"What are we doing here, Tifa?" he asks, low and cautious.

Tifa runs a hand over the ground, just beyond the edge of the blanket, heedless of the cold. Her gaze stays on his as she whispers, "I'm not going back to Midgar."

Cloud feels strange as her words settle over him, as if a veil fell down between them, and the world on the other side is hazy, distorted, unreachable. His own voice echoes in his ears, sounding far away.

"What do you mean?"

"I talked to my Dad." Her gaze breaks away from his to focus on her hands twisting in her lap. "We both think it might be for the best."

"But you…" Cloud blinks to make sure he's not dreaming this—but the chilly wind and the freezing water of melting snowflakes down his neck let him know this is very real. "Before you said you wouldn't be happy by leaving."

"I know I said that. I believed it when I said it." A pleading note enters her voice. "But now—I think… I think I need to be on by own for a while." His stunned silence has her stumble over her words, like she's rushing to say everything before it's too late. "Nothing's going to change if we go back together, Cloud. At least this way I can—"

"You can what?" The question bursts out of him unbidden, cutting her off. "I thought we would get through this together. Isn't that what we both wanted?"

Tifa closes her eyes a moment too long for it to be a blink; a few tears still escape, but she wipes them away. "You know I want to be with you. But it's not working like this."

"So your solution is—" Cloud rubs his hands over his eyes. "You're giving up, Tifa."

"No, I'm not!" Her voice rises in volume, not quite a shout but a hint she's barely holding on. "I need some distance. From that place and from school. I'm not doing okay."

He gulps down the sharp words threatening to come out, aware they would be said in anger—but he also knows that anger won't disappear so easily. "You need distance from me?" he asks in a breath, the low sound almost lost to the wind. "For how long?"

She says nothing—the faint sound of her crying resounds in the field. Cloud stares through the veil, feeling dazed and sick; he thinks he's going to be sick from the weight pressing down on him, on his chest, over his heart.

"I'm sorry," Tifa says at last. Her words weave through her tears in a broken cadence.

It takes him a while to say anything in return. When he does, his voice is hoarse as if from disuse. "You had to bring me here to break my heart?"

Tifa reaches out but pulls her hand make as if thinking better of it—and he's glad she did. "No, that's not—don't say that," she says in a whisper.

"Say what? The truth?" This time, it's his turn to raise his voice; he feels himself slip and spiral out of control. Ahead, the stars shine too brightly, blinding him, and it's too much, too much, too—

"I can't stay here," he rasps out as he gets to his feet. Cloud clutches his head; it does nothing to alleviate the sudden pulse behind his eyes, but the pain makes it easier for him to regain his composure, giving him something to focus on. "We're going back."

Tifa stands up, her breathing arduous like she's in pain—but he doesn't like to think this hurts as much for her as it does for him. Not when she's the one who chose this. He picks up the blanket without another word.

"Cloud, please—"

He hates himself for looking at her at the moment. The darkness of her disheveled hair, still spotted with snow; the flush of her cheeks from the cold; the deep red of her eyes, gleaming from unshed tears—and then the tall tree behind her; this field that was a sanctuary; the endless river of stars that shine down on them, almost mocking him and the mark on his wrist that'll never fade. It hurts to gaze upon the person he's loved for so long standing in the place they called theirs—and to have the world fall down like a curtain to a stage, revealing a reality he wants no part of.

Cloud tears his eyes away and twists on his feet, heading for the street. Tifa follows; he knows she does, even if she keeps a few meters behind. The closer they get to their houses, the harder his pulse drums in his neck, to a point where it overwhelms all other sounds. When Tifa asks him to wait, please, wait as he walks for his door, Cloud hears it as underwater. And he decides that, like so many other things after tonight, it can't be real. The door falls softly behind him, but still nothing seems right.

He's grateful his mother is sleeping as he makes his way up the stairs, not realizing he forgot to remove his boots and his jacket. It's only once he's hidden away, the door to his room shut behind him, that Cloud notices his drenched clothes. He removes them, the movements mechanical, and throws them on the floor. His boots follow. It's once he stands alone in the dimness of his room that everything rushes up to him in a wave that pulls him under into shadowy depths.

Cloud slides down the door until he's sitting, not seeing anything before him, not really. His mind replays the last hour, and it's the last image he has of Tifa in the field that comes back over and over again. Even when his eyes close, or when tears fall and silent sobs shake his body, the image doesn't disappear.

He wishes it did, though. In this moment, left on his own to the night, Cloud wishes for all of his memories to fragment and dissipate.

He'll regret the thought in the morning—he knows that. But for now, for those hours before dawn, he lets the darkness drag him down.

—

A/N: Please direct all concerns about this chapter to Karmi. It's her fault after all :D