A/N: Heya, friends! Has it really been since October, hahaha...? *sweats nervously*

Maybe one day I will be better at updating. Then again, maybe one day I will post before 2AM so I can take the time to edit properly.

All I'm gonna say about this chapter is that there are A Lot high level Feels. Only the best for y'all *finger guns*

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Maybe we're from the same star

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part seven

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The morning comes too fast for Tifa. She didn't sleep, instead watching the night pass and morph into dawn. She feels empty and tired—heartbroken, too, but she tries not to think about that too hard. Not now.

Noise downstairs lets her know her father is up, and the realization breaks through her haze a little. Part of her doesn't want to leave her room; there's a certain safety to it, but beyond that, she wants to stay because everything reminds her of Cloud. In a way, she craves the hurt her memories give her—she's the one who made the choice for both of them, after all.

Tifa knows she can't sit on her bed and gaze through the window all day—as tempting as it seems. Because if she stays hidden in here, wallowing in a heartache of her own making, then nothing else has to exist; the world doesn't have to turn and the sun doesn't have to set and rise forever—everything can just disappear, and then maybe her memories will vanish, too. Truth and lies have no place in this darkened room so long as the door stays shut; all that remains is a mangled mass of emotions where everything feels wrong and nothing feels right.

The gauzy white curtain of her window allows her to spy on the outside world with a distorted sight. The flash of movement catches her attention, and though she knows she shouldn't, Tifa lifts her head, seeking Cloud at his own window. He stares right back for a few seconds; it's too far for her to make out his expression, but the sharp edge to his movements as he turns his head aside and walks away speaks loudly enough.

Her father's voice is faint as he calls out to her from downstairs. It's what makes Tifa move more than anything else, prompting her to grab a change of clothes and head into the bathroom. The warm spray of the shower does little to clear her mind, and Tifa goes through her routine. It's only once she's changed and made her way down to the kitchen that she realizes what time it is—the red numbers displayed above the stove are hard to miss. Her heart skips a beat. It's not that she had forgotten about the flight back to Midgar, not really—but in the darkness of her room, time had lost its meaning.

"Tifa?" Her father sounds unsure, wary. "Are you going to eat?"

She wants to say yes, but that would be a lie; nausea replaced her appetite, and the simple thought of eating repulses for now. On the stove display, the time keeps on mocking her. "No," she says at last. "I have to…"

Tifa can't even discern what she wants to say—I have to catch a flight is as much of a lie as I have to stay behind. She doesn't have to do any of these things; they are choices to make, and this is what rips her heart out, Tifa thinks—that feeling of being responsible for the consequences she's drowning in. It's always easier to blame someone else, to find a target for the anger left in the wake of a fate decided by others. But Tifa has no one to hold responsible for what happens next—no one but herself. There were several paths to take, and she picked the one where she couldn't hold on to Cloud's hand anymore.

"I have to—" The words stick in the back of her throat, viscous and vicious, and for a second, Tifa thinks she will choke on them. "I have to say goodbye," she says, her voice little more than a rasp.

Her father's voice registers as she heads for the front door, but the words get lost. She stops only to put on her boots and grab her coat out from the closet; the hanger clatters on the hardwood floor, another sound that mixes into the cacophony in Tifa's mind. Only the pulse of her heart rises above the noise, its throb painful and powerful; it amplifies as she crosses the front yard towards Cloud's house. She's still slipping on her coat when she gets to the driveway.

It's Claudia who sees her first—or rather, Claudia is the first to react. Deep inside her, Tifa knows Cloud noticed her; she would be ready to bet he'd expected her to show up. But now there's no humor or delight to be found in the strength of their bond; there's only sadness and guilt and regret.

Claudia whispers something to her son before going back into the house, the gesture clearly one of courtesy. The door shuts behind her and still Cloud keeps his head down as he riffles through a bag.

The car is all that stands between them, but it's a distance Tifa doesn't dare to cross. Now that she is here, the words retreat, plummeting down to her stomach where they settle, heavy and muddled. It feels as if she stands on the edge of an invisible precipice. Now that she let go of Cloud, she loses her balance and stumbles over the brim in an unending descent through a sea of stars. Or maybe it's the world that's tilting, and they're both falling—and maybe their real destiny is to orbit the same star, always passing each other and never colliding.

In the end, it's Cloud who speaks first; he shuts the door with a little too much force, and the noise tightens the tension between them. It will snap any moment now, Tifa knows that—what is unknown is the damage it will leave in its wake.

"Did you need something?"

She doesn't like how brittle his voice sounds, a reminder of a too-fresh wound. His eyes focus on everything but her, and she hates hates hates it—but how can she blame him?

"I wanted to come with…" Tifa trails off as he winces. "I just…"

"You thought seeing me off at the airport would make all this okay?"

It's her turn to flinch, but she holds it in as best as she can. "That's not—"

"I don't want you to come." The stiffness of his body clashes with the soft way he speaks.

Tifa goes to protest, the urge more reflexive than anything else, but she swallows down her words at the last second. The quiet between them expands to a suffocating point, and she waits until she can't take it anymore before walking around the car. She maintains a distance still, too aware of the fragile ground they stand on.

"Why?" Cloud whispers as she stays silent.

It's not hard to make out the meaning of his question, but it hard for Tifa to find a proper answer, one that isn't a mismatched amalgam of explanations that mean very little in the end. She wants to say she didn't intend to take this decision behind his back, that she wasn't already thinking about it before they flew to Nibelheim—but they both know she would be lying.

"I can't go back," is all she can say. A pleading note weaves through her words, begging him to understand.

Cloud lets out a shaky exhale; it's like he's trying to hold something in, like he needs to keep himself under control. "Why didn't you talk to me?"

"I—I didn't know what to say." It's not the answer he wanted, and she knew it before the words left her.

The chill of the winter morning hits her suddenly despite her coat and the lack of wind; she wonders if her trembling is even due to the cold. Tifa doesn't realize what she's doing until Cloud steps back sharply, holding his left arm to his side and far from her reach—until he tugs down the sleeve of his coat to hide his soulmate mark from her.

"Don't," Cloud says softly.

More than anything, this is what shatters her. Her hand hangs in the space between them, another reminder of what she chose. Tifa wants to tell him so many things, from I won't see you for a while to I love you and everything in between. But she can't muster her voice, not without letting the tears fall, and she knows that once they do, everything will be too real and too hurtful.

Cloud takes a deep breath, then another. "I have to catch the plane."

As if on cue, Claudia steps out of the house, hesitating for a moment before walking their way. Tifa stares at Cloud as she waits for him to say something, anything, but he just turns towards his mother in a silent dismissal. Claudia says nothing once she's reached the car, but her tentative expression when she glances at Tifa is enough intrusion for her to twist on her heels.

The pain in her chest makes itself known before she's even crossed their driveway and into her yard. She bites down on her lip to rein in her reaction; her heartbeat overpowers all other sounds, pulsing in her ears. The temptation to look back is immense; part of her wants to know if the soulmate bond is also destroying Cloud from the inside, clawing at his heart and sucking the air out of his lungs—but the possibility that it might not be affecting him is too much to stand. It's only once she's stepped over the threshold of her house, as the door closes behind her, that Tifa dares to turn around.

But all she sees is the car driving off.

—

The first days alone in Nibelheim are surreal, like she locked away reality once the door to her house shut, cutting off her view of Claudia's car. In her house, in her room, Tifa can pretend things aren't what they are—and isn't that what she'd wanted all along, after all? To be back home in Nibelheim; to be in a place where she belongs; to be surrounded by what she's always known. Her father is careful not to push; he knows now is not the time, and in that small part of her mind where reality gnaws at her, Tifa is glad for it.

It takes almost a week for Claudia to ring the doorbell. Tifa is in her room, and she doesn't bother getting out of bed to go open the door—but when Claudia's voice drifts in through the open doorway, Tifa sits up straight. Apprehension at the thought of speaking to Cloud's mother slams in her, followed by the sharp rise and bitter taste of fear. She doesn't dare move; it's childish and ridiculous, but it feels like if she moves, Claudia will know where she is, and then avoiding her will be impossible.

In the end, Claudia leaves without asking for Tifa. It's only once the door shuts and no more voices are heard for a couple of minutes that Tifa slips out of her room, padding towards the stairs; she leans over the banister to get a look at the entryway. Her Dad is nowhere to be seen. The wood creaks as she walks down; the noise reminds her of childhood summer nights and starry skies. Memories of sneaking out with Cloud leave a bittersweet aftertaste when she forces them down.

There's no reason for her to have come downstairs, but she also finds none to return to her room. Tifa wanders into the living room, her eyes skipping the pictures displayed on the wall to her left. The sliding door ahead beckons her, and before she knows it, she's opened it and stepped outside. The patio is cold under her sock-clad feet; snow blankets the yard and more drifts through the gray daylight. Tifa wraps her arms around herself in a futile effort to keep warm. Despite the chill, she doesn't move from her spot; wind ruffles her hair, blowing strands in her face.

The pain within her unfurls in a slow, cruel way; it scratches at her insides, deep enough for the lacerations to burn, shallow enough for them to heal in no time—on and on it goes until the hurt is all she knows and it spills out of her in silent tears. The reality she so wanted to run from claws at her, dragging her down into the murky depths.

She can't remember the last time she felt so alone—truly alone. In the whirlwind of Midgar, she'd drowned in loud noises and swarming crowds; she'd felt lonely, then, but there had always been a measure of comfort to be found in the never-ending liveliness of the city. But here, in Nibelheim, in her home, she has nothing but the piercing whistle of the wind and the quiet snowfall.

Nibelheim is nothing on its own—nothing but fields and mountains, stars and snow. It had only meant the world to her because Cloud had been there, too. Every inch of the town is saturated with fragments of Cloud, of her, of them—from nightly escapades as children to hushed confessions as teenagers. And there is no meaning in facing it all on her own.

Tifa twists on her heels to head back inside; her body doesn't cooperate well, her limbs stiff from the cold. Thoughts tumble one after the other as she goes back upstairs and into the bathroom; the loud flow of water as the bath fills up grants her a respite as it overwhelms her mind. But everything comes rushing back once she slips into the tub; the hot water burns as it hits her chilled skin, but Tifa slides in further until only her neck isn't submerged.

She hates herself for not understanding any of this sooner—she'd clung to her fears and doubts desperately, letting them blind her. Part of her realizes she could have seen it before if she had wanted to—it's what hurts the most now, that awareness of her choices and failures. It's a hard truth to swallow, sticky and acrid in her mouth. Tifa can't tell how long she sits in the bath; the front door opens and closes, muted voices float up to her, and the water turns cold, seeping away the warmth she tried to recover. Claudia's faint laughter greets Tifa as she steps out in the hall and walks to her room. Something about hearing Cloud's mother brings a mist of tears to her eyes and shreds her patience at the same time. When the door to her room falls shut behind her, dulling all noises, Tifa sighs in relief.

She changes into dry clothes before sitting on her bed, her phone in hand. The notifications let her know she got some promotional emails, all of which she deletes without a second thought. Her heart stings at the absence of messages from Cloud even if she'd expected it; if there's one thing she's learned with Cloud, it's that silence can be as unkind as the harshest words. Tifa puts the phone down to wrap her arms around her knees, hoping to warm herself up even more, but after a minute or two, she walks to her closet in search of warmer clothes. It's as she grabs an old wool sweater that her hand brushes the soft cotton of a sweatshirt. Tifa hesitates, then pulls it out of the closet.

Small white letters contrast with the black of the material, spelling out Midgar University up on the left side of the shirt. It's too big for her, as is the case with all of Cloud's clothes she's claimed as hers. He'd left this one behind after his surprise visit on her birthday, something he'd said was an accident—she would have believed him if it hadn't been for the smirk he'd been trying to hide. Tifa puts it on as she goes back to her bed; the sweatshirt engulfs her in the warmth and softness she craved.

This time, when she picks up her phone, she doesn't let herself get discouraged so quickly. She takes a moment to figure out what to write—apologies and justifications won't get her anywhere, not if she wants to start a conversation. And though the anticipation makes her nauseous, Tifa thinks there is only one thing she can write—the truth in all its painful glory. Hiding it from Cloud had done nothing but tear them apart, and though she knows one right won't erase the many wrongs, she at least has to try.

[01/11 - 17:26] T: could we talk when you have the time?

She stares at the screen, not expecting a reply soon, or even at all—but when jumping dots indicate he's writing back seconds later, Tifa holds her breath.

[01/11 - 17:27] C: what is it

[01/11 - 17:27] T: i want to talk to you

Seconds tick away into minutes as Tifa waits for his reply, and when she gets the notification, she scrambles for her phone.

[01/11 - 17:41] C: a little late for that

She reads it once, twice, but the words stay the same. It's not as if this is a complete surprise—she knew the possibility of him refusing was very, very real. And yet, the words slice through her ribs, down to her heart.

[01/11 - 17:45] T: please

The message sent, Tifa lets the phone fall on the bed; though she knows he won't answer, she at least had to try one last time. But the phone rings within minutes, startling her. Excitement rises only to crash into uneasiness when she sees Aerith's name on the screen. Her thumb hangs over the screen as her apprehension wars with curiosity. Tifa hadn't even thought of how Cloud's friends would react to her absence—she hadn't wanted to dwell on how trivial her presence had been. Her hand trembles as she accepts the call and brings the phone up to her ear.

"Tifa?"

The worry lacing Aerith's voice shatters the tension that had gathered within Tifa; it's reassuring and puzzling all at once—she had never thought any of them would care enough to contact her.

"Hey."

There's a beat of silence, and then, "I'm going to strangle you when you come back!"

Tifa blinks, the burst of exasperation taking her aback as much as the words themselves. "What?"

"You had us worried sick!"

"I'm—I'm sorry? I didn't think—"

"Clearly!" Aerith sighs when she gets no answer. "So were we not supposed to care that you never showed up?"

Embarrassment flares through Tifa; it all sounds so simple coming from Aerith—to her horror, she realizes it sounds real. This time when she apologizes, it's little more than a whisper. "I'm sorry."

Noise filters then cuts off, like Aerith moved somewhere quiet. "What happened?" she asks, her voice losing its frustrated edge. "Cloud won't say anything other than you didn't come back with him."

Tifa bites her lip, unsure what to say—everything she'd believed in Midgar has been crumbling throughout the day, the dust flying away to reveal another side to her stay there. And wouldn't it be cruel of her to voice those insecurities she nurtured so secretly? As she opens her mouth to lie, Tifa hesitates—none of them can go forward with half-truths.

"I didn't want to come back," she says, anxiety making her voice meek.

It's a lame explanation, but it's also the truth, and Tifa tells herself it's better than nothing. Aerith and her were barely friends—or so she had thought—and confessing to these things isn't something easy for Tifa. There was only one person she relied on, and now he won't talk to her.

Thankfully, Aerith seems to fill in the blanks on her own. "I'm guessing that wasn't planned?"

The question is code for Cloud didn't know?—and Tifa decides there is no point in hiding anymore. "I told him the night before his flight to Midgar."

"I see…" Aerith trails off as muffled noise flows through the call, and she waits for it to quiet before carrying on. "You texted him earlier, right? He got a little agitated, so I figured it might be you, since—well, you're not here."

"Yeah, I wanted to speak with him."

Aerith hums as if contemplating something. "Wanna video chat instead?"

"Oh, I—I don't know," Tifa says, awkwardness coating her tongue.

"It's not a secret plan, I promise." A pause settles between them, and for the first time, she hears shyness in Aerith's voice. "I just want to see how you're doing."

Her heart-rate accelerates, the sensation a strange one—something about it is scary. It reminds Tifa of that day she boarded the plane for Midgar; she'd been alone and heading into more unknown. There is no doubt that Aerith is genuine in her concern, in her friendliness—now that Tifa is away from Midgar, her mind no longer muddled, she hears it loud and clear. And she wonders if accepting Aerith's request is akin to stepping on that plane—something she craves but may come to regret.

"Okay," Tifa says too softly. She clears her throat and adds, louder this time, "Yeah, we can do that."

Aerith wastes no time, and when her face fills the screen, Tifa oddly feels like crying. A brief silence stretches as both girls take in each other; it's Aerith who breaks it first, letting out a slight laugh, the sound almost nervous.

"You've seen better days," she says.

Later, Tifa will wonder why this was the breaking point for her—the instant she registers Aerith's words, unbidden tears surge and fall down. She wipes them away with the sleeve of the sweatshirt, almost forgetting about the phone in her hand; more follow and she soon gives up.

"I'm sorry." Tifa lets out an unamused chuckle. "I feel so dumb."

"How come?" The soft but firm tone of Aerith's voice is a giveaway—she already knows, one way or another.

A last spark of hesitation flutters through Tifa, but it fizzles out too fast to sow doubts within her. "I thought you didn't care. I thought none of you did."

Through the mist of tears, Tifa catches Aerith's moment of uncertainty before she speaks. "I'm not saying this to hurt you, Tifa, but we thought the same. So I suppose that at one point we kind of stopped trying. I'm sorry, we should have known it would hurt you," she rushes out as she gets no answer. "That wasn't considerate, I know."

"It's okay," Tifa says, surprising them both. A few more tears escape. "I wasn't trying either."

"I think we can call it a mutual failure." A bit of noise rises, startling Aerith, who pushes away from the wall she'd be leaning against. "Tifa, wait, give me a—"

Maybe it's because the dam has finally broken for Tifa, but the words tumble out of her despite Aerith's warning. "I know I should have talked about it. It wasn't fair of me to stay quiet about how I—"

The sound of a door opening pierces through her haze—so does Aerith's sudden stillness. And Tifa knows who came into the room before he even speaks—the violent burst of pain in her chest does nothing but confirm it.

"Zack's looking for—hey, are you okay?"

Footsteps follow as Aerith stays silent; his incoming nearness seems to snap her out of it, like she just realized he'll see the screen if he gets close. "I'm okay!"

She moves brusquely, and the world twists and blurs before Tifa's eyes—when it rights itself again, she finds herself staring at Cloud as he picks up the dropped phone. For a moment, as their eyes meet, she thinks he'll let go of the phone, but he doesn't—just like he doesn't hand it back to Aerith. Tifa doesn't know what to say—and neither does he, it seems. Or maybe he just doesn't want to talk to her; the possibility crystallizes further as she takes in how impassive his expression is.

"I'll take that back." The wariness in Aerith's voice is obvious, and it only grows in the ensuing silence. "Cloud, give me my phone back."

Tears fill up Tifa's eyes again, the onslaught impossible to stall—still, she does what she can to hide them. That's when it suddenly hits her that she can end the call. "It's—it's fine, Aerith," she whispers. "I'll hang up."

She swipes the sleeve of the sweatshirt over her cheek, and the movement seems to snap Cloud's attention; she doesn't miss the moment he recognizes the shirt, the faint surprise etched in his features hard to dismiss.

"Wait, Tifa—"

"You wanted to talk to me?"

A hush falls over them at Cloud's question—Tifa doesn't react immediately, too stunned for her thoughts to sort themselves out.

"So?" The way his tone wavers between impatience and urgency makes her think part of him doesn't want to listen to her while another begs her to say something, anything.

Though she can't decide if it's the right choice, Tifa nods. "Okay. I'll be fine," she adds for Aerith's sake.

The conversation with Aerith both drained and soothed her, and the resulting vulnerability is bound to shatter once she talks with Cloud, but she won't let the chance slip through her fingers.

"Hang up if needed, Tifa." Aerith does nothing to mask the concern in her voice, and there is a comfort in hearing it.

Cloud waits for her to exit the room before sliding down against the wall to sit on the floor, his hold on the phone staying steady. The second the door shuts behind Aerith, his shoulders droop and he lets out a sigh; his head falls back, hitting the wall.

"That's my shirt," he says. There's a tone to his words that sounds strangely like defeat.

"It is." She can't fathom how she can sound so calm while a tempest runs under her skin, ready to tear everything apart.

He sighs again, a sliver of frustration shining through. "I don't get it."

Something about the statement stirs up a memory within Tifa. It's like déjà vu in its own way, and she hates how inevitable this moment feels as she echoes his own words. "It's not because we're fighting that I love you any less," she says quietly. "Isn't that what you told me?"

It's impossible to miss Cloud's flinch or the way his eyes flicker away from the screen—away from her. He gulps as she waits for him to speak, and when he turns back to her, she notes the sheen of his eyes—but it's gone in a flash, like a trick of the light. The thought makes her heart pulse, the sudden blast of pain brutal but short-lived. Tifa bites her lip in an attempt to keep her composure; it frays every second she talks to Cloud, and the prospect of unraveling looms closer and closer, but it's a bet she's willing to take. There's no way to say when Cloud will accept to speak with her again.

"I did say that, didn't I?" he says at last, just as softly. "Then how did we get here?"

He doesn't make the question sound like an accusation, but it's difficult for Tifa not to hear it as one, despite logic telling her not to. "I'm sorry, I should have—"

"That's not what I meant," Cloud cuts her off. "We'll be here all night if we list everything we feel should have been different."

Her breath hitches at his comment, something that doesn't go unnoticed by him; she sees the way he looks down in a silent acknowledgment of the hurt he caused—but he doesn't take it back, and Tifa senses her control slipping in the wake of his silence.

"I think I should go," she says, wavering on the last word.

"You're the one who wanted to talk to me." Cloud runs a hand through his hair, tension sharpening his movements.

"Yes, but right now, I—" Tifa gasps, whatever she was going to say forgotten as she notices the leather bracelets around his left wrist and covering his mark.

He frowns at her stillness. "What?" A moment passes, and then understanding gleams in his eyes as he lowers his hand, catching sight of the leather. "Can you blame me?"

For the first time since their conversation started, Tifa hears bitterness and resentment in his voice. Cloud's words tumble deep into the hollows of her heart, a lit match to gasoline; the flames flare, and she can't tell what is burning—it might be her or the world. She searches for her anger but only finds ashes. There's something unbearable about this instant, something too painful to be real—but deep down, Tifa knows nothing she could conjure in her mind could hurt as much.

"Yes," she says hoarsely, "I can."

When Cloud scoffs, the sound mocking and dismissive, she knows there is no turning back now. "You're the one who—"

"It's a choice!" Tifa doesn't realize she's shouted, not at first. "You're the one choosing to hide it!"

"Because I don't want to look at it! You hurt me, Tifa," he carries on, unaware or uncaring of her sharp intake of breath. "You hurt me in a way no one else ever could. So yeah, Tifa, right now I don't want to look at this fucking soulmate mark."

There are a thousand words that fight to escape from Tifa, but she can't find the will or the strength to utter any of them. All she can settle on is a bitten out, "Fine". Nothing about tonight is fine; it's a meaningless thing to say, but she's sick of earnest words and cutting truths. The last thing she sees before hanging up is the flash of regret drowning in Cloud's furious gaze.

The house is silent but for the wind howling outside. Faintly, Tifa thinks of how her Dad and Claudia were downstairs but can't bring herself to give a damn. Her phone holds all of her attention as she turns it off; she doesn't want to risk any kind of contact with the people in Midgar. Not right now. Not anymore.

Restlessness is what gets her to get off the bed and across the room to her standing mirror. She pushes the sweatshirt's sleeve up to her elbow, exposing her soulmate mark—nothing looks different, and Tifa isn't sure why she thought it would. Maybe it's because she feels different in a way she can't decipher yet; for now, all she can make out are swirls of anger and spasms of guilt.

As she stares at her soulmate mark, Tifa realizes what had been burning earlier couldn't be anything else than her heart.

—

A/N: What will happen to our sad dorks now? Will I ever find my chill? Find out in the next episode!

You can find me on the twitter under sk_evans !