A/N: Hello!

Thanks for stopping by to read this!

This fic is for the Cloti Fall Festival 2020 Day 4 prompt (which is actually tomorrow but whatever). The alternative prompt I chose is the following poem:

Sometimes I think we will always come back to each other.
Not by chance, but by choice.
There is no magnetic pull, no right time or right place.
The stars are not aligned for us.
So we reach our hands up to the night sky and rearrange them ourselves.
- Caroline Kaufman

Welp.

The idea for this fic originally came from a piano teacher prompt that was posted by Rando29 (which is why they are one of the folks I am dedicating this piece too, along with Karmi and SK Evans). The prompt so intrigued me, but I took it wayyyy left because I am feeling super angsty lately, thanks daylight saving time.

You'll notice from the tags that the fictional illness "Star Tear Syndrome" is mentioned. For those who don't know, this is another fictional Japanese disease that is similar to Hanahaki (choking up flowers from unrequited love). Star Tear is crying twinkling stars due to a broken heart or unrequited love that is associated with other symptoms. However, I will be taking this in a new direction in an attempt to make it more realistic, so just bear with me, please.

THIS DOES HAVE A HAPPY ENDING!

This is a multichapter fic (I'm not sure how long yet) and will be updated more frequently once I finish Last Train.

I hope you enjoy! 💜💫💋

Melodies at Midnight

Chapter One

[ ν ] - εγλ - 2007 | 3 rd March

Atonement

"Strife?"

Cloud looked up from where he sat behind his desk on the 47 th Floor of the Shinra building, staring blankly at the old television above his unit's open office space. It was quiet, only a few other contractors working at desks nearby, sitting behind their computers and waiting for assignments.

Kunsel was standing over him, his dark brown hair already graying at the temples, gray eyes watery and weary. Cloud marveled a bit at how his comrade, who he'd known since he'd joined Shinra a decade ago, had already begun to age so poorly.

"Director Lazard wants to see you."

Cloud's lips turned down in a nasty scowl. What did Lazard want now? It seemed as if he didn't tire of calling Cloud to his office lately, pestering him about one of his assignments.

"What does he want?" Cloud couldn't keep the seething edge out of his tone.

Kunsel just shrugged, pulling a bit on the black collar of his contractor's uniform. "I don't know, Strife. You know he just sends me back and forth like I'm his errand boy. He doesn't actually tell me anything."

Cloud sighed, pushing up to his feet. He tossed his head at Kunsel in response, narrowing his royal blue eyes in frustration before he wordlessly pushed past him, making his way to the elevators to ride to the 49 th floor, where SOLDIER's main operations were located, along with the Director's office.

Cloud had been working for SOLDIER for the last ten years, though he'd been discharged from active military service just over three years ago. Since then, he'd entered SOLDIER's contractor program, an offshoot of contingent employees who technically worked for the conglomerate, but weren't entitled to the same benefits that active-duty personnel were. They were usually employed to serve as couriers or executive protection, sometimes mechanical or technical work, for those with the right skills for such. It was at-will employment, but Shinra was a large and active enough organization that the flow of work was usually constant.

While Cloud detested this arrangement for a number of reasons, he liked the courier work best. It gave him the opportunity to drive for hours in silence on his motorcycle, often between cities across the Eastern Continent, sometimes even beyond, a welcome escape from the daily drag of life where he could clear his head and let his thoughts run free in whatever direction he liked, although usually, he tried to force them to run blank. Lately, though, he'd been placed on a lot more protection details than he would have liked.

He suspected that was why Lazard was calling him to his office.

He sighed at this thought, running his fingers through the sleek mop of golden blond spikes on top of his head before he dropped his hands into his pockets when the elevator doors opened and made his way down the hallway toward the director's office.

Like the other upper-level floors of the Shinra Tower that housed the company's most critical and prioritized operations, the 49 th floor was outfitted in crimson carpeting and graphite walls, luminescent with the glimmer of neon-violet and jade mako lighting. In the distance on the far opposite end of the main hallway, Cloud could see the expanse of a wall of windows, sunlight sparkling through the glass, bordered by Midgar's skyline of gray skyscrapers and glowing mako reactors in the distance that released bursts of green energy into the air at odd intervals throughout the day.

It was a sight that Cloud had seen nearly every day for the last ten years, and one that he had always been completely unimpressed by.

He eventually reached the center of the floor, which led to another open floor plan for employees in cubicle units to work. Beyond that, Cloud could see the branching hallways that led to the SOLDIER training facility, the mission briefing and conference rooms, and the lounges for off-duty SOLDIER operatives. In the center of this spiral were the double, polished oak-wood doors that led to the Director's office.

Cloud tried to keep his face neutral and from turning into a severe glower when he approached the secretary in the vestibule and informed her of his arrival, noting the way that her lips pursed into a line at his appearance. He was frequently being summoned here, usually to be reprimanded or rebuked in some form or fashion. She nodded, brushing a wisp of dark hair out of her eyes as she made a brief call over the intercom. Cloud took the moment to look around, catching another floor-to-ceiling window that announced the sprawl of wealth in Midgar above the plate in the distance beyond, and he found himself shaking his head, having seen that exact same sight so many times when he'd been called up here to get an earful from the Director.

"Director Lazard will see you now."

Cloud gave her a nod that was more of a twist of his head as he made his way around her desk, pushing open the doors to Lazard's inner office without so much as a knock.

The glass perimeters in the room outside were nothing compared to the wall of shining sunlight that beamed behind Lazard's desk, inviting Cloud to wince when the bright rays hit his retinas. It took Cloud a moment to adjust, blinking as he stepped onto the plush black carpeting that lined this office. Lazard had been facing his computer, and at the sound of the door opening, he turned, rising to his feet and pulling slightly on the hem of his suit jacket.

"Ah, First Class Strife. Please, have a seat," he gestured.

Cloud rolled his eyes at the way Lazard continued to insist on referring to them by their official class rank, even after they'd been discharged, knowing full well Shinra did not let SOLDIER operatives hold on to those titles when they were no longer actively serving. More like Ex-SOLIDER First Class.

Lazard was a tall and slim man, golden blond hair framing his face and resting at his shoulders, parted down the middle and combed so that faint, wispy fringe bordered both sides of his face. His dark blue eyes were bespectacled by rectangular frames, and he seemed to favor the color blue, today dressed in a navy pinstripe suit.

He was also the older half-brother of Shinra's president, Rufus, which was why Cloud didn't really trust him, despite the fact that he'd never given him any reason not to.

Cloud crossed the room without a word or a greeting, only tipping his head slightly when he dropped into a leather-bound armchair across from Lazard's desk. The Director, who was about ten years older than Cloud - close to forty - offered Cloud a good-natured, if not guarded smile before he sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap.

Long moments passed, and then, "How are you, Strife?"

"Why am I here?" Cloud responded, his tone measured but clearly displeased.

Lazard let out a little sigh. He reached for a bright red file on his desk and offered it to Cloud.

"What is this?" Cloud asked his second question, not moving for the folder, feeling the annoyance building up to the base of his neck.

"That is a complaint from Weapons Director Scarlet," Lazard replied evenly. "I believe you were on protective detail with her last week?"

"Yeah," Cloud grumbled, finally opening the file.

"She was quite… dissatisfied with your performance," Lazard managed. "She says you were lazy and mouthy, difficult to work with, and that you disappeared from her detail for nearly an hour while she was conducting business at a facility in Junon."

"She's a bitch."

Lazard winced visibly, watching as Cloud abruptly slammed the file shut again and threw it back on the Director's desk. No way was he going to sit there and read that bullshit.

"That may be true," Lazard conceded after a moment, "But that does not excuse your conduct, Strife. She threatened to go to Rufus. Fortunately, I was able to placate her and convince her I would handle you myself."

At that moment, Cloud could really not give two fucks about Rufus or anything he had to say about this shitty situation. He just glared back at Lazard, feeling the anger rise inside of him like the bubbles of lava inside of a trembling volcano.

When he said nothing in response for a long moment, Lazard let out another heavy sigh, this time shaking his head along with it. Cloud watched him as he considered his next words, staring down at the polished wood of his desk that gleamed in the sunlight behind him, before he finally turned back up to look at Cloud again.

"You know, Cloud," he began, his tone softer, and Cloud instantly found himself tensing up at his use of his first name. "Ever since Fair -"

"Don't," Cloud warned, his voice now carrying a dangerous edge, a knife in its grip.

Lazard inhaled, opening his mouth to continue, but thinking better of it, relented and shook his head slowly again. He let the thoughts dissipate into mist somewhere between his brain and his tongue.

The Director began to drum his fingers across the top of the desk, much in the way that Rufus was often seen doing, much in the way the former President Shinra had before his death.

More and more, Cloud found himself despising this organization that he'd spent the last ten years of his life dedicated to ruthlessly toiling for. He'd returned to Midgar at the age of nineteen to join the military, leaving his mother in Nibelheim after a short stint in the windy, dusty mountain city. He'd had very little choice or say in the matter, finding himself running out of options and so aimless and directionless in his life that he'd woken up one day to find out he'd been conscripted.

Despite this, he had worked hard, pushing himself until he rose through the ranks of the infantry, taking longer than most to advance into the elite SOLDIER operative units due to his slight stature and his combative attitude with superiors, but succeeding nonetheless. He'd mostly made it, he thought, thanks to the encouragement of his best and only friend, Zack Fair, who he'd met not long after he joined Shinra, two years older than him and already in the SOLDIER program.

When they'd both been discharged, Zack had been the one who told him that they should just be glad that Shinra was still willing to offer them work, even if the risk was greater and the pay was worse and the benefits sucked and there was no longer any stability or allegiance.

Zack always managed to find the silver lining in everything, while Cloud was always mired in the gray. He thought it pretty shitty that a company would suck away the best years of your youth, only to turn around and offer you nothing but a chance to do its least desirable work at nearly half the salary.

"I told you I preferred the courier work," Cloud informed Lazard to steer him away from the present direction of the conversation.

Lazard steepled his hands, another infamously Shinra gesticulation. "Strife, I don't control the assignments that come in, nor do I control their frequency or how they're doled out. Certain departments make certain requests. Of course, I try to accommodate your preferences for delivery work. But surely, you understand that I cannot promise that to be the only work you do?"

Cloud just stared.

"Besides," Lazard went on, "I think it would be good for you to spend some time around other people, to take on more diverse assignments. Even Kunsel says you no longer really speak much to him."

"Am I being written up or what?" Cloud finally spit, now having completely lost his patience.

Lazard looked almost sorrowful before he leaned back in his high-backed leather chair, the sun streaking a golden shimmer over his hair. "I just wish you'd consider what I said before, and talk to someone," he finally relented. "It's been over a year, and it seems to me that you still haven't recovered. The company has plenty of counselors and therapists for you to see."

"I no longer qualify for corporate health benefits, remember?" Cloud found himself snapping, rising to his feet. "I'm leaving."

Lazard was opening his mouth, and Cloud heard him calling his name as he walked away, but he ignored him, bristling past his secretary with a trail of fire behind him.

What were they going to do? Fire him?

Cloud decided to leave the Shinra Tower for the rest of the afternoon. There was no reason for him to sit around and wait for them to give him an assignment when it was obvious he was on the verge of being suspended or worse. So he took the elevator all the way to the ground floor and left the building, finding his motorcycle, Fenrir, parked in the garage.

Fenrir was one of the few small personal joys in Cloud's life, one of the only things that brought him any sense of satisfaction. He would often bring the bike to a local garage, where years ago the mechanic there, a dark-haired, kind-hearted fellow named Biggs, had taught him how to tune and upgrade and replace parts on the machine. Now, Cloud would spend hours of his free time working on the piece of machinery on his own.

He was pulling his shades on, glancing at this watch and realizing that he had a few hours of free time, thinking that he might stop by a local bar for a drink or two to drown the headaches brought on by his conversation with Lazard. Resolving to do just that, he settled onto Fenrir's seat and was seconds from twisting the bike's handlebars to rev the engine when his PHS rang in his pocket.

Swearing inwardly, Cloud leaned back and slid the device out of his pocket, glancing down at the call display.

First Midgar Elementary.

Cursing again, Cloud let the phone ring a few times, wondering if there were any excuse in the world he could come up with for not taking this call. Of course, there wasn't. He'd made a promise.

He'd broken one promise, a long, long time ago. He couldn't afford to break this one, too.

"Hello," he finally answered, already dreading the nature of the call and the voice on the opposite end.

"Good Morning, Mr. Strife," it was an older woman's voice, roughed over with the sound of someone who'd spent at least two decades of her life smoking. "This is Marle Collins. I am sorry to bother you."

Again, Cloud thought.

"Yeah?" he prompted instead, trying to keep the edge of annoyance out of his voice.

"I'm afraid it is about Denzel," she responded after a clear of her throat. "He's gotten into some trouble, had a fight with one of the other boys, Ira."

Cloud sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"The principal has already made the decision to suspend them both," Marle went on. "You'll have to come to pick him up right away. I'm sorry."

"I'm on my way," Cloud growled, disconnecting the call before Marle could say another word.

Cloud finally did turn the handlebars of his bike, so hard that his wrists popped, and he pulled out of the Shinra lot, onto Midgar's busy roads. The mid-morning sun was still high in the sky and bright alongside the early March chills that threaded through Topside, still clinging to winter winds and occasional snowfalls.

Denzel had been getting into trouble more and more at school over the course of the last several months, to the point where it was becoming an almost regular occurrence. Ever since Denzel's parents had died, the boy's behavior - especially at school - had begun a steady downhill tumble, and it got to the point that Cloud found himself being called to the schoolhouse almost weekly to meet with his third-grade teacher, Marle Collins, or one of the school's administrators. It took up parts of Cloud's time that he hadn't anticipated when he reluctantly signed up for this parenting gig.

And it all reminded him a little too uncomfortably of his own youth growing up.

He rode through Sector0 and then eventually Sector1, finding the elementary school in a quiet residential neighborhood, a bright orange brick building surrounded by neatly manicured green lawns and pretty sequoia trees that had been planted by man. It was just a little before noon, and Cloud could hear the bright sounds of children laughing and playing at recess on the playground behind the schoolhouse as he parked Fenrir along the curb.

Cloud hated coming to the school. It was noisy and busy, the hallways always somehow occupied by children or harried adults, the front office chaotic and disorganized. It reminded Cloud too much of being a kid, of hating the loud noise of his peers who moved around him as if they had been electrified, while all he was seeking was calm and quiet.

The secretary in the main office made him wait for a frustratingly long time, until Cloud was at his feet, about to demand what the hold up was when Marle suddenly appeared, her hands on Denzel's shoulders. Denzel, blue-eyed with floppy, uneven ash-brown hair, had a bruise under his right eye that was split open and red, and wore a pouty, defiant look on his face, but appeared otherwise unscathed.

"Mr. Strife," Marle greeted him, walking over to him and offering him her hand for what felt like the thousandth time. She always kept up these formalities whenever they met, and for some reason, it grated on his nerves.

"Cloud is fine," he reminded her.

Marle was an older woman, perhaps in her mid to late sixties, certainly not far from if not already beyond the age of retirement. She often dressed in long, bohemian dresses and skirts, her thick silver hair tied away from her thin face with a thick headband. Despite her age, she seemed well adapted and equipped to handle eight-year-olds.

"Alright, then, Cloud. I'd like it if we can talk in the back for a moment before I send this young man on his way." She leveled a stern gaze at Denzel, who Cloud realized was staring at the floor. "Denzel, can you wait here while I speak to Cloud for a few minutes?"

"Yeah," he mumbled unhappily at his sneakers.

Cloud watched Denzel as he turned and took a seat on one of the chairs in the seating area of the office, feeling a familiar, deeply buried pang somewhere far in the center of his chest. But Marle was tapping at the side of his arm, leading him down the hallway beyond the office to a set of empty classrooms.

Cloud followed her inside of one, Marle taking a seat in a pupil's desk and gesturing for him to slide into one across from her. He looked around, noting the brightly decorated walls that announced community activities, local blood drives and fundraisers and family nights and tricky trays. Cloud had been in this room several times during these impromptu visits and knew that it was used as the parent engagement room.

"So," Marle began, and Cloud realized for the first time that she had been carrying a grade book, watching her open it. "I'm very concerned about Denzel."

"Yeah," Cloud breathed, hating every time he had to have one of these conversations, wishing he'd never signed up for this shit.

"He has really been struggling this school year, and it's only getting progressively worse these last few months," she went on. "I know what happened to his parents must have been very traumatizing for him. And for you, too, I imagine."

Cloud said nothing.

"I am just concerned that he is not getting the support that he needs," Marle continued. "Have you considered counseling? For him, or for you both?"

Not this shit again.

Marle was relentless. "Losing a parent is traumatic, but becoming an orphan is a unique sort of devastation. I worry that you may not be equipped with all of the necessary tools to provide him the sorts of social and emotional supports that he - "

"I'm doing my best," Cloud snapped at her, his face trapped between a glower and a pout.

Marle's lips stretched into a thin line, but soon she was offering him a sympathetic look. "I understand, Cloud. I know that this is difficult. I just don't want him to fall behind academically or continue to get into trouble with his peers this way."

Cloud found himself thinking back to the stretches of years in the past when those same words had been spoken to his mother, over and over again.

"What do I need to do?" he asked after a few beats passed.

Marle nodded. "I recommend counseling, as I have suggested before. But I also think he needs to be engaged in some positive activities outside of school. Hobbies, things that interest him but are still valuable and intellectually rewarding. Not video games, or that sort of thing."

Cloud already knew counseling was out, thanks to his shitty health insurance situation. "What kind of activities?" he asked her.

Marle smiled, as if she had been waiting for this opening, and started to flip through her grade book, pulling out a small brochure. "Well, in the case of Denzel, I have noticed that he has some proclivity for music. It seems to be the class he does the best in. He has an ear for tunes and notes, and is even able to follow some very basic sheet music during our choral activities."

Cloud raised an eyebrow, never having realized any of this. He did know that the kid liked to listen to music in his earbuds, but what kid didn't?

"When it comes to music," Marle went on, "I recommend piano lessons. It is an intellectually stimulating skill to learn, strengthens vocabulary and mathematical skills, and exercises multiple parts of the brain."

Marle tapped the brochure she was holding before she went on. "I happen to know a very talented and renowned piano teacher in Sector7 who is excellent with children. She is a good friend of mine, actually. If you tell her that I recommended her, I am sure she will give you a very good deal."

Cloud just nodded and swiped the brochure up, offering it a cursory glance before folding it and sliding it away into his pocket, knowing goddamn well he didn't have gil lying around for fucking piano lessons.

It wasn't long after that that he and Denzel were walking quietly side by side out of the schoolhouse, Denzel shamefully keeping his eyes glued to the ground. Every time one of these events transpired, Cloud never knew quite how to deal with them, finding it awkward and difficult to scold a kid that wasn't even his. And he had little idea how to encourage Denzel, knowing he was an even bigger fuck-up and a terrible role model.

So usually, he just let it pass without dwelling on it too much and ending up buying the kid pizza and leaving him alone for the rest of his suspension.

They climbed onto Fenrir, Denzel seated behind him with his helmet, holding onto Cloud's waist. Cloud was certain that Denzel's mother would have had a conniption if she saw her son on the back of a motorcycle like this, but Cloud wasn't planning to buy a car any time soon, not that he could afford one, even if he wanted to.

Eventually, they made it back to their two-family home in Sector5, the apartment that Cloud had inherited from Denzel's parents to make the transition for Denzel a little easier and to keep him from having to move out of his childhood home. The landlord's family lived on the first floor, and so Cloud and Denzel made their way upstairs to their apartment, Cloud quietly closing the door behind them and watching as Denzel sulked and disappeared into his bedroom, closing the door without another word.

Cloud expelled a sigh, swearing silently under his breath and shaking his head. He knew that he needed to go after Denzel, to sit down beside him, to try and talk to him or at the very least find out what had happened at school.

Instead of doing any of that, Cloud found himself falling into a seat on the couch, shaking his head and dropping his head into his hands.

Pots of yellow lilies still bordered the windowsill in the living room, soaking in the rays of sunlight that filtered in through the rows of blinds. Cloud tried to keep them watered regularly, but most of the time he forgot for days. Taking care of plants and flowers really wasn't his thing. He marveled that they managed to stay alive.

His eyes drifted across the room, up above the mantel of the synthetic fireplace that sat opposite the couch. Mounted to the wall there was a large buster sword, its hilt beginning to rust, the blade's edge blurred and dulled. Cloud had been meaning to clean and sharpen it for months now, but he couldn't bring himself to move it from where he'd hung it up there almost a year ago.

He thought of Denzel again, brooding alone in his bedroom with a nasty shiner bleeding under his right eye, and Cloud felt his palms itch with the desire to get up and do something, but instead found himself rooted in place, staring at the sword.

I keep letting you down.

He sat back on the couch, closing his eyes as he felt their corners burn with tears. He needed badly to distract himself before the memories of his past failures bled through his skull and sent him careening into a panic attack or a depressive episode that would leave him incapacitated for the rest of the day.

Thinking back on his conversation with Marle, Cloud dug into his pocket, pulling out the crumpled brochure that she had given him. He unfolded it, glancing at the photo of the piano on the cover, his eyes drifting down to the bottom where the contact information was printed.

Tifa Lockhart

Virtuoso Pianist

For a complimentary lesson, please call 555-7777

or email tlockhart

Cloud stared at the words on the page for a long, long time, his eyes hovering over the name that was centered there.

Tifa Lockhart.

It couldn't be, he thought. No fucking way.

Cloud only knew one Tifa Lockhart. There was only one Tifa, and she had played the piano, a long time ago on the other side of the planet.

Nope, Cloud thought, tossing the brochure on the coffee table. Not a fucking chance in hell was Denzel taking piano lessons.

[ μ ] - εγλ - 1996 | 7 th September

Rain

It began to pour when Tifa was only a few blocks from her house, and she found herself running for cover under the awning of a nearby jewelry shop, her skin soaked and her hair sticking to her blouse. Even her messenger bag was drenched by the time she made it to shelter, and she found herself inwardly cursing herself for her poor planning, wishing she had checked the weather that morning before she left the house and brought her umbrella.

She shivered, feeling the wind blow past and bleed through the water that clung to her skin, inspiring a chill that went down to her bones. Even though it was early September, the weather in Nibelheim was cool, the gusts that blew in from the mountains that bordered the village dipping the temperatures into the low forties. She hadn't worn a jacket today, and as she stood and waited for the rain to slow, she found herself growing colder and colder.

It had been the first day of senior year, and already Tifa was feeling the pressures of the future build. She'd met with her counselor early that morning, reviewing her plans for applying for college, going over her options and discussing the upcoming entrance exams. Tifa had excellent grades and a talent for the piano, and was hoping to attend the Midgar Academy of Arts in the Fall, so long as she was able to keep her grades up and keep herself in one piece for the remainder of the school year.

Already, she was feeling the anxiety just standing here, wasting time waiting for the rain to wane when she could've been home already, starting on the homework her honors teachers had already assigned and helping her mother with dinner in the kitchen. At seventeen years old, her responsibilities were immense. Aside from keeping up with her schoolwork and helping her mother with domestic maintenance at home, Tifa also was the treasurer on the Student Council, was the solo pianist in the school's concert band, taught kickboxing at Master Zangan's dojo on Saturday mornings to elementary school kids, and helped her father with the intensive bookkeeping he often brought home from his job at City Hall, massive ledgers that accounted for some of the town's most important taxpayer coffers. She did all of this while keeping a smile on her face and never complaining to anyone about any of it.

It was a bit overwhelming, she admitted to herself from time to time, catching her reflection in her bedroom mirror and wondering when she would ever have any time to herself. Her parents, her father especially, consistently preached the importance of being industrious and hardworking, and more than anything he wanted her to leave Nibelheim for a richer life in bigger and better parts of the world, preferably Midgar, where everyone who had any aspirations at all left to find their hopes and dreams in the arms of a floating city that was anchored by the world's governing corporation, The Shinra Electric Power Company.

When it became apparent that Tifa had inherited her mother's gift for music at the young age of five, her parents had encouraged and invested in her talent all the way to the present day. She'd taken piano lessons for as long as her memory could stretch back, and it wasn't long before she was performing in recitals and was the star pianist in both middle and high school. Of everything that Tifa gave parts of her life to, the piano was the part that she poured the most of herself into. Playing the piano anchored her to an existence that she sometimes felt she was floating away from, her commitments and her responsibilities so stacked.

"Hey. You okay?"

She had been running her fingers through her damp ebony hair, turning when she heard the masculine voice at her side. Standing just a few paces away was a blond-haired boy - a really cute one, she immediately thought - with eyes the color of desert bluebells, his skin pale and sheened over with rainwater. She found herself so captivated by his sudden, breathtaking beauty that she had almost forgotten that he'd spoken to her, and she was blinking at him, her eyes hooked into his.

"Hm?" he prompted, taking a step closer to her.

She heard herself gasp, overcome by how his presence was suddenly affecting her. He cocked his head to one side, causing his damp, fluffy yellow spikes of hair to halo gently around his face in a fringe that crept near his chin. Tifa realized he was wearing jeans and a zipped up hoodie with a leather driving jacket over it.

"Uh…" she stammered, forgetting what he had asked her.

"You were shaking," he told her softly. Something in the cadence of his voice was soothing and gentle, despite its baritone. It strummed a chord somewhere deep inside of her, setting butterflies loose to flutter and careen in her belly, causing her thighs to grow warm. "Did you get caught in the rain?"

She opened her mouth, but for some reason, her words seemed tangled and caught up in the back of her throat, and she found herself simply nodding her head in response.

Tifa had spent plenty of time around boys, and while not totally immune to their wiles, she was certainly wisened to them. Most of her friends were of the male persuasion, with a few exceptions, and that had been the way of things for as long as she could remember. They gravitated toward her like magnets, even when her own force repelled them away. She was even dating one of them, an on-again, off-again thing that sometimes made her feel things and sometimes didn't.

But this was different. None of the boys made her feel the way that this boy did, just staring at her with his intense blue eyes, the rain falling around them.

"You look cold," he went on when she said nothing. She watched him shrug out of his leather jacket, pulling it away from his shoulders. He unzipped the black hoodie, and she felt her breath catch when he pulled it off as well, revealing a black teeshirt with the logo of a metalcore band that Tifa thought did more guttural screaming than actual singing. Unprovoked, her eyes began to drift along the lines of his arms, lean but just slightly toned, enough that she could make out the subtle definition of muscle underneath.

"Here," he said, offering the hoodie to her, and Tifa stared at it for a moment before she finally reclaimed her wits.

"Um," she started, shaking her head. She realized that she had never seen this boy before in her life, and Nibelheim was a small enough town that she knew everyone. There was only one high school in the entire village, less than fifty kids in their graduating class. "I'm sorry, but who…?"

He offered her a smirk, still holding his hoodie out to her. "I'm Cloud. Here, you should put this on. It's dry."

She hesitated, but he gave the hoodie a little shake to emphasize, and Tifa finally relented, taking it in her hand. It was heavy and soft, and she dropped her messenger bag between her legs on the ground so that she could pull it around her body. It was so big on her that she could almost wrap it around herself twice, and she felt Cloud's warmth still clinging to the soft fleece inside, instantly seeping into her flesh and inspiring a wave of heat throughout her entire body. There was something unnaturally intimate about being cloaked in this boy's clothing, a boy that she didn't know at all and had met only seconds ago.

As that thought left her, Tifa realized that she hadn't even told him her name.

"I'm Tifa," she finally replied, picking her bag up off the floor again.

"I know," he responded, now wearing his motorcycle jacket again, hands in his pockets. Tifa realized he wasn't carrying a backpack or anything at all. She quirked her eyebrows at his response, but he went on, cocking his head to one side. "I live next door to you. Your mom is friends with mine. They went to school together or something like that, a long time ago."

Tifa found this stunning. She had never seen this boy in her life, and he lived next door to her?

"What?" she said stupidly, realizing that she had never been this choked up or at a loss for words in her life.

Cloud chuckled, his shoulders rocking gently, the movement causing his wild hair to flutter again. It looked so soft, Tifa found herself thinking as her eyes drifted upward, reminding her of the chocobos that sometimes carted people and supplies around throughout town.

"I just moved here," Cloud informed her bewilderment. "From Midgar. We moved in a couple of days ago."

"Oh," Tifa replied, feeling suddenly awkward. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she began to run them up and down her arms.

Cloud was taking another step closer to her, and Tifa felt herself freeze in place.

"Are you still cold?" he asked her softly.

"I'm okay," she answered, her voice so low and weak it came out broken.

His eyes were trained on hers, and Tifa suddenly found herself sinking into them as if they were a whirlpool that was pulling her under, breathless. They were the deepest shade of royal blue she had ever seen, lit up with sparkling cuts of zaffre and aquamarine that made them shine as if starlight was behind them. Tifa had never seen anything quite like it before.

Her boyfriend, Jody, had blue eyes too, but his were light and icy. Nothing like these bright, fiery pools of sapphire.

A beat passed, and he backed away a little, rolling his shoulder and tossing his neck a bit. Tifa found herself biting her bottom lip, mulling over the sudden feelings of attraction that were pulling and dragging at her, making her feel like she had forgotten how to use her own brain.

"My mom mentioned you to me, that's how I knew who you were," Cloud was telling her a moment later, and she turned to look up at him with curiosity. "I, uh, saw you from my window the other day, and she told me that your mom was pregnant with you when we moved to Midgar."

Tifa felt her cheeks grow hot.

"I don't remember anything about Nibelheim before we moved," Cloud went on.

"Do you go to school here?" Tifa asked him, just as a customer emerged from the shop behind them, cursing quietly at the rain. Cloud moved politely out of the way to let him pass, before stepping close to Tifa again, closer than she thought was probably normal for two people who had just met.

"Nah," Cloud answered. "I graduated in June. My mom was waiting for me to finish school before she moved us back here." He stopped, his mouth open as if he wanted to add something else, but Tifa saw his eyes dart back and forth as he mulled it over and then thought better of it, shutting his lips.

"Oh," she replied, wondering why her tongue felt so thick in her mouth. She pulled his hoodie tighter around herself, enjoying its comfort. "How old are you?"

"I just turned eighteen in August," he responded. "How about you?"

"I'm seventeen," Tifa answered. "I'm a senior at Nibel High."

Cloud smirked at her as if this somehow amused him.

Eventually, he turned away from her, focusing his attention on the road beyond, and Tifa felt herself slowly begin to breathe a little more evenly again. She realized that whenever his attentions were focused on her, she was hyper-aware of her entire body and all of its functions, and even breathing seemed to become something that took some effort.

Long moments passed without further conversation, the rain still not letting up. Tifa found her brain wandering through all sorts of questions that her tongue seemed to repel and avoid. She wondered, since Cloud was no longer in high school, what he was actually doing now that he was in Nibelheim. There were no universities in this town, in fact, the nearest ones were the large research university in Cosmo Canyon or the technical college in Rocket Town. And still, those were both hundreds of miles away, requiring that students live on campus.

So he wasn't in college, that much she deduced. Maybe he had a job? Or was looking for work? That would be hard to come by, she found herself thinking. There were not many shops in town, and nearly everything was mom-and-pop owned, usually employing their own families. Most people worked for the city government or the local institutions like the schools or the hospital, ran their own businesses, or worked for Shinra in some capacity, either in the mansion where the scientists conducted their research, or up at the Mako reactor in the mountains.

She started to ask, but Cloud was looking at her, giving his head that little toss again.

"It's stopped raining," he finally said. "We should get moving before it picks back up. I'll walk you home."

Tifa opened her mouth to protest, but he had tipped his head at hers in that way again, and she almost swore he was pouting at her as if pleading with her without words. Finally, she nodded, and she tightened her grip on her shoulder bag, stepping out from beneath the awning to head back to the sidewalk.

But Cloud stopped her, coming around in front of her so that their fronts almost met. She heard herself gasp almost inaudibly in surprise, and Cloud smirked at her. She realized now that he was only a few inches taller than she was, which made their close, sudden face-to-face contact feel even more intimate, leaving her even more breathless.

He was reaching with both hands around her shoulders behind her head, and Tifa's mouth began to drop open to form a question when she realized he was gathering the hood of his sweatshirt in his hand and was pulling it over her head, gently sweeping the rope of her long, thick hair to one side. His fingers lightly brushed over the side of her neck, a feeling that was barely there but enough to ignite her, sending a tingle through her entire body and forcing her to visibly start, her breath hitching.

Cloud's smirk had deepened as he backed away. "Just in case," he told her, and Tifa couldn't understand why he was whispering.

He turned away, hands dropping into his pockets again, and stepped onto the sidewalk. He waited for her to fall in step beside him, and when she did, they began to walk quietly side by side, Cloud's shoulder only inches away from hers.

Mercifully, the rain held at bay, and the sky began to brighten, the afternoon sun peeking through the clouds high above them. They moved at a leisurely pace through Nibelheim's quiet streets, children beginning to venture outdoors and villagers emerging to continue their shopping and errands in town now that it appeared the storm had passed. Tifa found the silence between them unbearable, causing her mind to race, questions piling on top of each other inside of her brain. She was not used to not talking when she was with other people, but Cloud seemed perfectly content to move at her side in complete silence. All it was doing was allowing her focus on the way that her body still felt singed from the brief brush of his knuckles against her skin, from the way that the shimmer in the deepest flecks of his irises made her heartbeat pick up speed.

"So, Cloud," she finally broke the silence, swallowing to lubricate her throat after hearing her voice crack again. "Since you've already graduated, what are you planning on doing next? Are you going to work here in town?"

She heard him chuckle darkly at her side, and he tossed his shoulders in a shrug. "I don't know, Tifa. My mom wanted me to stay in Midgar and go to college but… it wasn't for me. She was pretty upset with me over it. She's still pissed, actually."

Tifa thought about that, almost reeling. Her parents would never allow for her to not go to college. There was no choice in the matter. It had been ingrained in her for as long as she could remember, so much so that she could not even imagine making such a decision or even considering it. Her father would forbid it; she couldn't even fathom how he might react if she proposed such an idea.

"Oh," she replied, unsure how to follow up after that.

"I'll probably get a job at the reactor," Cloud went on. "It seems like it's the only place in this town that's hiring. Maybe I should have listened to my mother. This place is dry as shit."

Her eyebrow went up at his casual swear, but she brushed past it, considering his words. The mako reactor was a dangerous place to work. There were frequent accidents, and Mount Nibel was populated with monsters. The father of one of the boys in school, an athlete named Percy, had fallen into a mako tank several years ago and to this day remained in a catatonic state.

"How about you?" Cloud asked her, turning to face her, his hands still in his pockets. "I know you're still in high school, but what do you do for fun?"

Tifa found herself having to think that over. She didn't do much of anything for fun; almost everything she did was out of obligation or to fulfill some future goal. But she did enjoy playing the piano, greatly so, even if it was a considerable pathway to her future. She turned to him, the corners of her lips turning up into a slight smile as their eyes met.

"I play the piano," she told him, and she saw his eyes widen slightly, signaling that he was somewhat impressed by this statement.

"Really?" his lips turned into another smirk, this one slightly devilish. "Can I see your hands?"

"What?" Tifa bumbled in response.

Cloud stopped walking, right on the sidewalk by a street sign. "Just hold out your hands, Tifa."

She blinked, stopping to stand in front of him. He waited, his ultramarine eyes boring into hers, his pale freckles suddenly highlighted by the new sunlight. Tifa found herself shaking, steadily lifting her hands in front of her and presenting them to him.

Her fingers were long and thin, pale and graceful and well defined, branching out from her smooth hands and narrow wrists. Her fingernails were perfectly manicured, one of the meticulous grooming tasks that Tifa undertook every Sunday night, painted a deep scarlet red. She wore a thin silver charm bracelet on one wrist, dolphins, chocobos, and Bomb monsters dangling off of its filigreed rope.

She watched as he lifted his own hands, so pale and thin she could see his blue and green veins, his fingers impossibly long as they wrapped around her hands, taking hers in his. She stopped breathing when his thumbs drew a trail over the top of her hands down to her knuckles, finally stopping as they ran warmly over her smoothly polished nails. They lingered there for a moment that felt like it went on forever, Tifa's brain producing smoke as she tried to figure out what was happening.

Finally, he pulled his hands away, dropping them back into his pockets, and slowly, Tifa lowered her hands again.

"Yeah," he tossed at her, holding that smirk that was starting to burn into the back of her memory where it would live forever. "I bet you're good at it."

His words left her heart stuttering painfully in her chest, blood rushing far too loudly in her ears as she found herself rendered unable to speak once again. Cloud turned away, walking once again down the sidewalk, and Tifa inhaled, awestruck but picking up her pace to keep up with him.

"Maybe you could play for me one day?" he suggested casually at her side, and Tifa blushed, still unable to speak, and even though Cloud was still looking smug as he stared ahead, Tifa realized that the tops of his cheeks were pink, too.

It wasn't long before they were on their street, Tifa seeing her house fall into view. Cloud walked her up to her gate, then stopped and pointed at the smaller cottage to the left of hers.

"That's where I live," he told her. "Maybe I'll see you around?"

"Sure," Tifa answered, finally breathing again.

"It was nice meeting you, Tifa," he told her, his smirk a little softer as he turned away to make for his house.

"Wait," Tifa suddenly cried, her fingers rising to the zipper of his hoodie. "You forgot your hoodie."

Cloud stopped, turning to her, his smirk widening into a smile that was too soft, warming her cheeks and her chest all over again.

"Keep it," he told her before he turned away again, walking toward the gate in front of his house.

Tifa would never give the hoodie back to Cloud, never again, for the rest of her life.