A/N: Hi friends!

Because ffnet has entered the dinosaur age, I alas cannot add tags. But I did update some over on Ao3 and I feel the need to mention that one of them is Angst With A Happy Ending. For real. That said—

*peaces out*

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Maybe we're from the same star

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part eight

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His mark is fading.

It starts the day after the video call with Tifa. Cloud wakes up more tired than the night before; light filters through the curtains, only to get swallowed by the enduring darkness of the room. It's a reminder that he needs to get out of bed, but he doesn't—Cloud stays where he is, buried under covers, sprawled in a bed that was never meant to be his alone. His mind skips from memory to memory, never settling long enough for the pain to spike—instead, it needles at him in fleeting bursts that build upon each other. It's not any better, he finds, and it feels too much like the sharp longing for the ghost of a cherished time.

Minutes pass into an hour, and Cloud still doesn't get up. He won't make it to class by now, anyway. There's no reason for him to stay in bed, and yet it feels like the most appropriate thing to do at the moment. Next to his head, on the nightstand, his phone lights up, brightening the room. Cloud closes his eyes; his phone is the last thing he wants to look at.

He falls asleep again, hovering in a murky place between dreams and nightmares, between respite and escapism. Reality grasps him eventually, a violent surge back into consciousness that steals the breath out of him. Cloud rubs his eyes as he sits up. The phone flashes again; he ignores it again. The darkness makes it hard for him to tell what time it is, and the realization startles him over everything else. It feels like he wandered into a foggy corner of himself he would rather not have discovered; the door shuts behind him and he throws the key away, letting himself drift in that shadow-fueled dreamscape. The illusions hurt just as much as the real world, but there's a twisted sense of relief to be found in their transient nature—it all fades away like wisps of smoke in the morning.

Once he wakes up, he drags himself out of bed, aware the day needs to go on and him with it. By the time he walks into the bathroom to shower, his mind cleared a bit. The cold of the bathroom has him start the shower first before undressing—the steam fills the air, its warmth welcome. Cloud tosses his shirt on the tiled floor, and the leather bracelets on his left wrist snag his attention. He knows he has to remove them to shower, but the prospect of seeing the dark, inky mark sends a shiver through him. Part of him wants to—the mark can be a kind of reassurance, a reminder that Tifa and him aren't defined by harsh words and unbridgeable distance. And, deep down, he knows this isn't meant to be the end—but he's also never believed that cosmic will is all that ties them together. It would be easier, he thinks, if he could navigate this murky landscape of their relationship with his eyes closed, the star on his wrist a beacon of fate. But that has never been Tifa and him, and in the end, he wouldn't trade the life they made theirs for blind faith.

Cloud removes the bracelets, dropping them on the floor next to his shirt. The mark catches his eyes immediately—or rather, its new appearance does. He blinks once, twice, then rubs his eyes as if the change in his mark is nothing but an illusion conjured by tiredness.

But it stays the same—only a dull outline of the eight-pointed star remains, the inside bleached of its darkness.

The roar of the shower is too loud suddenly, and the steam drifts into his lungs and suffocates him. He doesn't believe it, doesn't believe what he sees—how can he? Cloud stumbles out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, almost bumping into the bed as he makes for the window; his rising anxiety sharpens his movement, and he almost rips out the curtains to let in the daylight. Its soft glow warms his skin, the sensation a reminder that this is real and not one of his tumultuous dreams.

"This—this isn't—" Cloud barely registers his own voice, the frenetic drum of his heart beating too loud for anything else to get through. "I don't…"

He runs a thumb over what remains of the mark, not sure what to expect. For it to feel wrong maybe, but he doesn't know what wrong can be. Perhaps raised skin and jagged lines like a scar—a proof that something was taken away from him, something that may not have been his to keep forever.

The skin is smooth, unblemished—it's even more of a surprise to Cloud. His mind whirs, jumping from possibility to possibility, unable to settle on one. When he turns away from the window and remembers his phone, a burst of nausea hits him. It goes away just as fast but leaves dread in its wake; he received messages earlier, didn't he? What if—

His phone is in his hands within seconds, and apprehension surges as he unlocks the screen to reveal messages from Tifa.

[01/12 - 07:54] T: i shouldn't have snapped at you like that, i'm sorry

[01/12 - 08:38] T: i can't sleep, i feel like everything is upside down and slipping away from me.

[01/12 - 12:01] T: you were right when you said i was running away, but it doesn't change that things couldn't stay the way they were. i panicked and didn't do it right, i can see that now.

[01/12 - 12:09] T: we'll figure it out together. isn't that what we've always said?

We'll figure it out together—those simple words they weaved into an even simpler promise pierce his heart with deadly aim. He hadn't realized just how scarce honesty had become between them, discouraged by silence and fleeing eyes, crushed under all the unkind truths masquerading as everyday lies—until the lies were all that remained.

Cloud puts the phone down, unable to look at it any longer. The room tilts around him, and he understands what Tifa meant about everything being upside down. He sits on the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths and letting out long exhales in hopes of calming his racing heart and disordered mind. Right across from him is the dresser, still covered with Tifa's belongings. She didn't grab everything before returning to Nibelheim, and he hates it—he hates that she did it to keep her decision a secret; that maybe she was still hesitating, so she left pieces of herself behind, a trail to guide her back to Midgar. Most of all, he hates seeing how messy it is because he should have known she wasn't okay—it's so unlike her, an overt reflection of her inner turmoil.

He grits his teeth as he senses a furious need to put any and all reminders away; it won't change the situation for the better, and he tries to focus on that, too scared to regret his actions. It would be nothing but an act of anger, driven by hurt and spite. But his frustration deflects and redirects itself within him—deep deep deep within him, into a forgotten rift full of guilt and jealousy, of panic and self-loathing.

His mark stares back at him, faded and incomplete—the outline of the star is faint in places, like someone failed to erase it properly. Cloud looks away and then at the mark again as if it might escape him once and for all. He feels stupid for thinking that, all those years of unwavering confidence in the bond screaming at him that there's nothing to fear. But there is, isn't there? He is the proof of it, with an evanescent fate etched in his skin and an undetermined future ahead of him.

The longer he stays still, the more panic builds; a stray thought wanders too close and grips him with ruthlessness. It blooms inside him, void of logic and perseverance, full of agitation and questions—everything happens for a reason, and he is not exempt from fate's will. The mark's fading cannot be without reason; its meaning cannot be avoided forever.

Cloud picks up his phone again; he does his best to ignore the slight tremor of his hands as he types a message. But five words in, he stops—there's something about sharing the truth that is so much more distressing than carrying on lying. He tells himself the lies won't be for long, that they won't be forever—but forever has been buried, hastily but entirely, and it doesn't mean anything now. Most of all, he doesn't want Tifa to know; if she asks why, he won't have an answer for her. Nothing but conjectures that aren't right—that can't be right—and then all he'll have accomplished is widening the rift between them.

The phone's screen flashes, displaying an incoming call; he feels no surprise at Tifa's name. For a moment, he debates declining it, or letting it ring to voicemail and then deleting that. It's only at the last second that he accepts it. As he brings the phone to his ear, he realizes how loud his breathing has become and instead switches to speaker, hoping the sound will be faint enough for her not to catch on.

There's a second or two of silence, but it's too long already—Cloud senses the urge to break it and he doesn't resist it. "Hey. I just saw your messages." While it's not a lie, it sounds like an excuse; he can't decide which is worse.

"You—" Tifa pauses, like she's searching for the best words. "Did you sleep in?"

The straightforward nature of the question masks the underlying heaviness; he chooses not to acknowledge it, too wary of how the conversation could evolve. "You could say that."

"I didn't sleep well either," she says, her voice a little weak. The next words tumble out of her. "I'm sorry."

The apology slams into Cloud with an unrestrained force. Maybe it's because she doesn't specify what it is for, or rather because she doesn't need to; sometimes there is more heartache found in the unsaid. He knows there has to be more to it, and it's as he glances down, his eyes finding the fading mark, that he understands.

"Cloud?"

Tifa's hesitancy is what makes him close his eyes. Her apology is for words coated in bitterness and pain; for solitary decisions and tightly kept secrets, the ones that weren't really lies but hurt just as much. Still, she's not the only one who has to apologize, and Cloud knows this; his missteps are no less than hers. But that won't be what he'll be apologizing for today; I'm sorry means too much to him now that the mark is disappearing—now that the bond between them is unraveling.

"I'm sorry too," he whispers. The words almost get stuck in his throat, clinging to that part of himself that wishes silence was the better answer. "I know I haven't been acting right about this—situation."

It's as he says it that guilt unfurls within him, wretched and frightful. His mind pulses with a reminder that not everything is your fault, but it gets devoured by hesitation and disquiet—if this is why he's losing his soulmate, he wonders when fate became so fickle. Cloud can't even say if he lost her or if she lost him—maybe they lost each other along the way, wandering in opposite directions, widening the distance with every step, straying too far to the edge of an uncharted realm.

There's fear at the thought, enough that Tifa hears it—of course she hears it, and he curses himself for this and so much more.

"What's going on?"

Tifa's voice doesn't falter despite lost time and ever-growing distance—she asks the same way she would have in Nibelheim. The ghost of her touch wraps itself around his left wrist; the illusory sensation sends shivers through him, and he senses sudden tears building. He falls back on his bed, the phone not far away, and tells himself not to cry—there's something scary within him pleading to be released, something that will be violent in its escape.

"I don't even know where to start," he says, his voice cracking on the last word.

It's the truth, but Cloud says it as a lie—he knows where to start; he knows what he should say; he knows there's no fixing something without understanding what's broken. And yet he doesn't dare to utter anything else.

A faint noise rises to shatter the silence, like Tifa took a deep breath and then released it. "I'm sorry."

Cloud flinches. "You already—"

"I know," she says, the strength in her voice swelling over the frailty of his. "But I'll say it again. It's not just me who—" She cuts herself off, swallowing the words down. There's a beat where the stillness between them feels too fragile, like it will shatter at the smallest intrusion, but Tifa doesn't let it stop her. "We both could have done better, with each other and with ourselves. But Cloud…"

He waits for her to finish her sentence, only nothing ever comes, as if she's asking for his permission to talk—or say something he knows will hurt. And for a moment, Cloud thinks about saying he doesn't want to hear it; the temptation sways him a little too much until he gets a grasp of himself.

His apprehension is loud and clear as he replies, "Yeah?"

"Don't shut me out." Tifa waits for him to say something, but he can't muster any will to argue, too aware of that harsh feeling trying to break free. "I know that I should have told you the truth. About how I hated staying there. But I didn't want to make problems out of nothing and hurt you." She clears her throat to hide the shakiness of her voice; he hears it anyway. "I just made it worse. And I understand that I'm asking you for something I didn't do. I'm just… worried."

"About what?" Cloud keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling; when he realizes he's searching for glow-in-the-dark stars, he looks away.

"You've done this before," she says softly. "Shutting me out, I mean."

"I did, didn't I? I guess we're even now."

He's not sure why he says that, not sure why he feels the urge to add fuel to the fire—neither does Tifa.

"That's uncalled for."

"Is it really?" Tifa is quiet, like she's waiting for him to take back his words—but he can't stop now. "What are we even doing at this point?" It's not a question, not really.

"We're trying to figure it out."

"Right."

Her sharp intake of breath tells him the passivity of his reply hit true. "That's what we've always done," Tifa says after a few seconds. "That's what we do. I know you're angry with me, Cloud—so am I."

It crosses his mind to stop her—to let her know that the anger at her choices is an ember next to the one directed at himself. Tifa pauses, gives him the chance to say it, but in the end, he stays silent.

"You're hurt and—I get it. I couldn't sleep last night, and I kept thinking about what I said about your mark."

The mention zaps through him, bringing with it a frenzied pounding in his ears and a surge of trepidation. Cloud sits up and grabs the phone, not sure what he's trying to do; he doesn't end the call and he doesn't interrupt Tifa. There's an awful tension bursting from his heart and expanding through his body, stiffening his limbs and squeezing his throat. He needs to hear what she has to say so he can understand why everything is askew.

But he doesn't want to. Fuck, he doesn't doesn't doesn't want to hear the words, whatever they will be.

"I can see why you'd hide it." Tifa breathes in deeply once, twice; her ensuing pause lasts too long yet feels too short. "After I hung up… It was—weird. I checked my mark—I'm not sure why," she adds quickly. "Nothing is wrong with it, but I just… had this need."

A sick feeling takes over Cloud as she doesn't ask his mark, not feeling the need to—after all, neither did he until today. It only reinforces that soul-deep impression that nothing about any of this is real. Nothing about last night and this morning can be real—nothing has been since they sat in that field under the stars and Tifa unearthed the truth she had buried.

"I need to stay home for now. Flying to Midgar is so expensive, I can't buy tickets all the time. So, I'll make sure everything is alright on my end before going back."

The words register as if Cloud is underwater. He has no clue what to answer or if he even heard right. His mark stares back at him, the faded color still intense against the paleness of his skin. And he wonders if he should tell her, if he should confess that something is wrong with him. Because it has to be him, right? It can't be Tifa—Tifa, who kept secrets and broke his heart, saving herself the only way she understood; Tifa, who nevertheless didn't give up and reached out to him, thinking about the future beyond today. Her mark is fine while his isn't and he knows why now.

Tifa isn't the one running away—he is.

And it's this, more than anything else, that scares Cloud. He always believed Tifa was his soulmate because of her—because no one else could be what Tifa is to him, not in so many ways, not in all the ways that matter and even those that don't. But now—

"Cloud?"

It's her hesitation that breaks him—the soft doubt etched in his name, the faint trill at the end, like she tried to take the word back.

"Please say something." Her whisper is so low he's not sure it can be real.

Maybe he didn't lose his soulmate; maybe Tifa is the one who lost hers.

"Yeah," Cloud rasps out, "I'm here." But the words taste sour and scorch his throat the way a lie would.

"Cloud—"

"I need to go. I have to go to class," he adds at her noise of protest. He knows urgency sharpens his voice and makes syllables stumble over each other. Tifa will know he's lying—but he's not sure whatever he says could be otherwise. Not with a dulled star that doesn't match hers any longer. "We can talk tonight."

Tifa says nothing at first, but her silence is just as damning, the unsaid You've said that before resonating in his ears. Once she speaks, there's no denying her cautious tone. "What time will you get back?"

The question saps the air out of Cloud's lungs, and he tries to regulate his breathing, wishing for the call to end as quickly as possible. But his confidence unravels thread by thread, each one a belief he thought impervious to doubt; he doesn't know what to do or what to say. He just doesn't fucking know and it's too much to accept, it's too horrible to admit—the truth can't be pulled out of him, its claws dug in deep enough that setting it free would shred him apart. And it's the last thing he can hold on to, that part of him that hopes and remembers, that has become too precious to surrender.

"Please, Tifa," Cloud breathes out, uncaring of how desperate he sounds.

He hears her intake her breath, like she went to object but gulped the words down, or like his plea startled her; he doesn't dwell on which is worse. "Alright," she says after a few seconds of silence. "I'll text you later, okay?"

The time between her question and his realization that it was a farewell seems to stretch forever; something hurts about that suspended moment, that ever-growing tension. Cloud stares at the phone in his hand, the screen displaying his call log instead of Tifa's active call. She hung up before he could answer, perhaps afraid that he would dismiss or protest her request. Of all the outcomes to this call, this was the last one he expected.

Cloud lets his body fall back on the bed, all energy drained out of him. The agitation that kept building makes him both restless and unable to act. Understanding spreads through him as that turmoil steadies but doesn't disappear, almost like it's meant to stay encroached inside his heart; this isn't a situation that will vanish once he opens his eyes in the morning. It's nothing like a nightmare, with its acute spikes of fright—this is something that will make a home in his mind.

And yet, despite that soft daylight brightening the room and the insane beat of his heart, Cloud closes his eyes, yearning for yesterday.

—

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—

[01/12 - 19:41] T: are you out of class?

[01/13 - 01:26] T: don't do this again

[01/13 - 08:12] C: give me a few days. please

[01/13 - 13:04] T: what is going on?

[01/13 - 13:18] T: i understand needing some time and i will respect that

[01/13 - 13:21] T: but when the time comes, please don't leave me in the dark

[01/13 - 14:52] C: thank you

[01/13 - 14:53] [Tifa is typing…]

[01/13 - 14:55] [Tifa stopped typing]

—

[01/21 - 13:16] T: hey, how are you doing?

[01/21 - 13:31] C: fine

[01/21 - 13:39] C: busy with school

[01/21 - 14:01] T: right… can i call you tonight?

[01/21 - 14:14] C: not yet. please

[01/21 - 14:18] C: i need to stay focused on school for now. i'm not doing very well so far

[01/21 - 14:32] T: alright

[01/21 - 14:35] [Tifa is typing…]

[01/21 - 14:36] C: thanks

[01/21 - 14:36] [Tifa stopped typing]

[01/21 - 14:39] [Tifa is typing…]

[01/21 - 14:43] T: of course

—

[02/02 - 21:27] INCOMING CALL - TIFA

[02/02 - 21:29] YOU HAVE A NEW VOICE MESSAGE

I get being angry or wanting space or being unsure what to say. I get it, Cloud, but I can't know what you're feeling unless you tell me. And… I know that asking you for honesty is asking you for something I didn't do. I just want to know how you're doing. Please give me that at least.

[02/02 - 23:49] C: i have a lot on my mind and i'm having a hard time getting stuff done. i'm just trying to keep going for now

[02/03 - 00:13] C: i'm sorry. i keep fucking up and i don't want that. but it's like that's all i'm doing. for now i think it's better if i just take time to think things through

[02/03 - 00:54] C: i'm sorry

[02/03 - 07:43] T: you keep saying sorry for something i don't understand. what happened, Cloud?

[02/03 - 07:59] T: you're not the only one who feels like they made mistakes or like everything is wrong

[02/03 - 09:19] C: i'm sorry but i don't want to talk about it

[02/03 - 16:46] T: is it because of me? because i didn't want to go back? at least tell me that

[02/03 - 16:49] T: please

[02/03 - 17:05] C: no

[02/03 - 17:10] [Tifa is typing…]

[02/03 - 17:13] [Tifa stopped typing]

[02/03 - 20:46] [Tifa is typing…]

[02/03 - 20:47] [Tifa stopped typing]

—

[02/19 - 09:16] A: helloooo? testing testing, aerith to cloud

[02/19 - 09:20] C: good morning to you too

[02/19 - 09:22] C: what the hell is this about

[02/19 - 09:23] A: so you CAN pick up the phone! amazing job, cloud. now reply to tifa

[02/19 - 10:58] A: don't test me dude. i know where you live

[02/19 - 12:17] A: she feels horrible about staying behind and you can't even send her a text once in a while.

[02/19 - 12:40] A: you don't deserve her, you know that?

[02/19 - 12:46] C: yeah. i know

—

[03/21 - 02:54] C: [draft] you've always been a better person than me and it's something i've always loved about you. maybe I also was a good person before coming to midgar. i don't know. but now i know i'm not. you were right in saying that i wasn't telling you what happened. i didn't want to tell you because it's going to hurt you, i know it will and i'm just fucking sick of hurting you somehow. just always finding a way to fuck everything up even if it's the last thing i want. i'm sorry.

that morning after we talked on the phone… when i woke up, my soulmate mark had faded. it still is. i mean, it's not completely gone. but it's gone enough. and yeah, i should have told you, i know that. maybe not that day because i could barely process any of this myself. and i still can't, to be honest. i've spent the last months trying to understand. but i guess those things were always going to be out of our hands in the end. soulmates marked by fate are subject to it no matter what, i suppose. i forgot about that until that morning. i always thought we were soulmates because of you and me, what we are together, is what really mattered in this bond. but maybe that's where i went wrong.

i'm sorry for not telling you and running away. i feel so guilty for so many things now, i can't even say what for exactly. and i feel horrible for lying. and ashamed of myself because i couldn't find the courage to tell you the truth when it concerns you too.

but i'm not a good person the way you are, Tifa. i didn't want you to know because i was scared that would be the end. i'm not even sure who i've become. i feel like a coward and like a jealous asshole because i don't want to lose you when it seems like i already have. i don't know what's going on with me anymore. i'm scared and angry and ashamed and just so many things i don't want to be. maybe i could be the Cloud you knew because you were holding my hand.

i don't want this to be the end, Tifa, but i don't know where we can go from here. i'm sorry. i still […]

[03/21 - 03:47] [Message unsent — Keep as draft?]

[03/21 - 03:48] [Draft saved]

—

A/N: No pitchforks allowed in this house, we sit down and drink our goddamn chamomile tea to chill out.

Shout out to the person who said my readers are Angsty Maso Sad-Pandas—this is too cool of a name not to be used. If you want to be a fellow Sad-Panda, Club President Karmi has the sign-up sheet *finger guns*

I feel like I might regret this, but tradition has to hold. You can find on the twitter as sk_evans!