Melodies at Midnight

by Somebody's Nightmare

Cloud's life is defined by tragedies and failures. Following the tragic deaths of his best friends, Cloud is raising their child, still reeling from the inadequacy and anger he's had since he was ripped from the girl he had fallen in love with 10 years ago, until they reunite. She was supposed to teach his son how to play the piano. Instead, she taught him how to love again.

2. Chapter 2

Melodies at Midnight

Chapter Two

—

[ ν ] - εγλ - 2007 | 3rd March

Decisions

Later that evening, Cloud was sitting across from Denzel at their small table in the kitchen, an open box of pizza between them. Denzel was still sulking, and had been silent ever since Cloud had called him into the kitchen. The bruise under his eye was still puckered and puffy, and Cloud had sighed when the boy came into the kitchen, taking a moment to offer him another icepack before he opened the box of pizza.

He sat down across from Denzel, who held the icepack up to his face for a few moments before putting it down again when Cloud offered him a paper plate. He watched the boy move quietly to pull two slices of pepperoni pizza from the box, dropping the greasy slabs onto his plate before he sat back in his seat.

Cloud had known Denzel since he had been born, had watched his best friend, Zack Fair, and his wife, Aerith Gainsborough-Fair, raise the child together. In those days, Cloud lived alone in Sector6, having not been in a successful relationship for the better part of a decade. Instead, he became attached to Zack and his family, not really having any of his own anymore, aside from his mother, who still lived on the other side of the Planet in Nibelheim. He spoke to her from time to time, and sometimes she came to visit him in Midgar, but Cloud never wanted to go back to Nibelheim, not after the embarrassment of what had happened there all those years ago.

Denzel had always been a quiet kid, so different from his parents, who were both bright, colorful personalities. And they were both so much different from Cloud himself, who had always been somewhat quiet and introverted, but especially so since joining the military. Ever since Cloud had met Zack on Shinra's base, soon after he joined the infantry, he had been compelled by the older boy's sunny outlook on life and his ability to inspire others and drag everyone into seeing the possibilities around them. Cloud had never felt that way in his life; everything that had ever been positive or hopeful had at some point been dashed away. But for whatever reason, Cloud found that he couldn't ignore the way he was drawn to Zack and how quickly their friendship developed, especially since it seemed that from the moment they met, Zack was determined to stick by Cloud's side and take him under his wing.

His wife, Aerith, was Zack's perfect match, his equal in female form. She was a local florist in the city, and Zack had already been dating Aerith when he and Zack first met, and Cloud couldn't remember a time when the two of them weren't together. Aerith had been a genuine person, one with a vivacious sense of humor who had initially gotten badly on his nerves when they'd first met, especially with the way she had taken to teasing him about his lack of a social or love life. More than once he had snapped at her in response to some of her comments over the years, but she never seemed affected by it.

He remembered when they had gotten married, Cloud Zack's best man at their wedding in a church in Sector5, when Zack was only twenty-two and Aerith twenty-one, and it was just a year later that Denzel was born.

Sitting across from him now, watching as Denzel quietly chewed on his pizza, Cloud thought back on the events of the past year that had brought them to this present reality. After everything he'd been through in his life, becoming a parent was not something he ever expected to add to his repertoire. He felt awkward and unsure about the entire role, and even a year later, he still didn't feel as if he had adjusted to it nearly enough or knew what the hell he was actually doing.

Still, he remembered standing over Zack on an expressway outside of Midgar, when he lay in the dirt, rainwater pooling blood into a trail in his eyes as he stared up at Cloud, the distant wail of sirens and emergency choppers behind them. Their gloved hands clasped together, Cloud promised him that he would take care of his son.

Protect my living legacy.

The memory of that moment always made Cloud's eyes sting, and he shook his head out, glancing back at Denzel for a moment before reaching for the slice of pizza on his plate and taking a bite. He chewed for a bit, grabbing his beer to wash it down before he sat back and sighed, his eyes connecting with Denzel's pale blue.

"So what happened?" He finally asked, breaching the thick silence that had been hanging in the air since they'd returned home from Denzel's school earlier that morning.

Denzel kept his eyes trained down on his plate, not saying anything for a long moment. After a while, he reached for his cup, drinking down the cola that he'd poured, while Cloud sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

He was losing his patience. He really didn't want to deal with this shit in the first place. That same scenario, and worse, had happened to Cloud more times than he cared to admit.

"Denzel?" he finally prompted.

Denzel looked up, and Cloud realized that the boy's eyes were a little misty and shiny. It made Cloud's heart pound, forcing him to think back to all the times he'd hidden behind his mother's skirts with his own eyes burning after he'd been ripped apart by the school's administrators.

"Ira was making fun of my friend, Lyric," Denzel finally admitted, his voice small and his eyes still downcast. "He's always being mean to her. He's a big bully. She doesn't have a place to live right now, Cloud, and he was calling her names." Finally, Denzel looked up at Cloud.

Cloud unfolded his arms, his face softening as he reached for his beer again. When Denzel remained silent, he tipped his head at him.

"And?"

Denzel looked back down again. "So… I hit him. We were in the gym."

Cloud sighed. "So you started the fight, Denzel?"

"He was hurting her feelings," Denzel protested, his boyish voice choked.

Cloud shook his head, feeling the irritation grow and scrape at the back of his throat. "We talked about this, Denzel. You don't start fights. You finish them. Why didn't you talk to Ms. Collins or one of the other teachers?"

Denzel rolled his shoulders dismissively, angrily even, focusing his attention back on his food as he continued to eat, not bothering to respond to Cloud's question.

"Denzel," Cloud went on, his voice growing stern, but the boy refused to look up. "You've got to stop getting into trouble. All these suspensions… and your grades."

Denzel said nothing, but Cloud could see the way that his cheeks were darkening, his hand beginning to shake as he dropped the crust from his slice of pizza onto his plate. Cloud sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in defeat, picking up his beer and draining it.

He really wasn't cut out for this parenting shit.

Long moments of silence passed again, Cloud having run out of things to say. He didn't know how to offer Denzel any encouragement, or what words he should choose that would set him straight. He'd had this same conversation with Denzel at least half a dozen times already this school year, and nothing he said seemed to be sticking. And Cloud didn't know how to punish or scold or correct a child who wasn't his. None of it made any sense to him, and so he found himself letting these moments slip by unresolved. He figured that it was probably the reason things were not getting any better.

Eventually, Cloud got up and grabbed another beer from the fridge, leaning over the sink as he popped the bottle cap away. His mind couldn't help but drift to the devastating unfairness of the entire situation. Of course, Denzel was going to continue to act out in school, in fact, this was probably only the beginning. The kid, an only child who Cloud had to admit had grown up a little spoiled by his parents' adoring love, had lost them both, suddenly and tragically, and had actually witnessed the exact moment that it had happened. Cloud knew that no amount of counseling or mentorship could ever undo the trauma of that, and he damn sure knew that a fuck-up like him was a shitty substitution for a father, especially standing in the shoes of a man like Zack Fair.

"Cloud?"

Cloud tore himself from his despairing thoughts, turning away from the sink to glance back at Denzel, who was looking up at him, his eyes glassy, the bruise on his cheek blue and yellow against his pale, freckled skin. He had both hands in his lap now, twirling and twisting his fingers over one another anxiously.

"What's up, kid?" Cloud asked, leaning back against the sink and taking another swig of his beer.

Denzel paused for a long moment, as if unsure of his next thoughts and deliberating them carefully. Cloud dropped a hand into the pocket of his black uniform pants, crossing his feet at the ankles as he waited.

"Ms. Collins talked to me about piano lessons today," Denzel began shyly. "She… said I might be good at it. She was gonna talk to you about it?"

Cloud stared. Ever since the moment he'd tossed Tifa's brochure out of sight a couple of hours ago, he had pushed the entire idea out of his head, not expecting Denzel to raise the issue. There were two significant issues here; one, piano lessons sounded fucking expensive, and two, he wasn't about to chance running into Tifa Lockhart again.

"Yeah," he found himself responding in the most noncommittal tone he could muster, watching Denzel's face carefully.

"I think I want to try it, Cloud," Denzel suddenly ventured, and Cloud quirked an eyebrow at him, before frowning severely.

"I don't know, Denzel," Cloud began, his neck stiffening slightly at just the thought of it. "Piano lessons cost a lot of gil. You might not like it, and I can't really afford to waste the money."

Clearly, this was not the right thing to say to a child, because Denzel stared down at his empty, greasy paper plate, and Cloud realized from the trembling of the boy's lip that he was about to cry.

"I just want to try, Cloud," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat and so small Cloud almost couldn't hear him. "I… promise to stay out of trouble and be good."

Cloud closed his eyes, sighing inwardly as he set his beer down on the kitchen counter. Hearing the sad desperation in this little boy's voice was enough to break him. Instantly, he thought of Zack and Aerith, of how much they would always encourage Denzel. They signed him up for soccer leagues and martial arts classes, they took him to fun places like the museums or the galleries or even across the world to the Gold Saucer and Cosmo Canyon so he could learn more about the world. In the year since their deaths, Cloud realized that he hadn't done any of that shit with Denzel. All he did was keep the boy fed and make sure he made it to and from school safely every day, using his meager, shitty salary to keep a roof over his head and tried to at least keep the kid from flunking out of his classes.

It was pathetic, really.

Over the course of that last year, Denzel hadn't asked for much. He'd always had a relationship with Cloud that was something like a distant Uncle to him, but so many of their interactions when Denzel was growing up had been facilitated by Zack or Aerith. Now, with them both gone, he found it difficult to bond with the boy, and Denzel seemed to understand this cold separation, because rarely did he try to move past it.

Cloud needed to do something before he ended up undoing all of Zack and Aerith's hard work and ruining this child.

"I guess," he finally relented, dreading the idea of calling Tifa Lockhart.

That had brought a smile to Denzel's face, and two hours later, after sending the boy to his room, Cloud sat at the desk in his bedroom, staring at the wrinkled brochure Marle had given him, Tifa's name looking back up at him in swirly, italicized letters.

Tifa Lockhart

Virtuoso Pianist

For a complimentary lesson, please call 555-7777

Cloud had his PHS sitting on the table in front of him, but his body felt frozen. He didn't know how to handle the situation in front of him.

Cloud hadn't seen or heard from Tifa Lockhart in a decade, not since they'd separated and splintered away from each other under incredibly ugly circumstances. It had been one of the most defining and difficult moments of his life, and he admitted to himself - every day, probably - that he had never gotten over the situation or the preceding events or the entire fallout from everything that had happened.

Just sitting there at his desk, thinking about the past, was stirring up the anger and the depression that had been buried for so long inside of him, ten long years of trying to forget and ignore the deep hurts that were laid across his soul from the disintegration of their relationship. It had been a nasty, painful break-up, one that was activated and facilitated by external forces, and even though he had long ago forced himself to stop thinking about her and everything that could have been, to this day he could not truly get over the things that had happened way back when.

Tifa had been the only girl he had really been with, the only girl he had ever loved.

And he had loved her.

Hard.

All of these thoughts, dragging up the repressed specters of feelings from the past, were filling him with anxiety and anguish that he wasn't prepared to confront. He hadn't even known that Tifa was living in Midgar these days, much less a piano teacher in the city. The last time he'd seen her had been back in Nibelheim, his mother's hometown village where he had lived for a year after high school, where he'd fallen hopelessly in love before everything was ruined and she was torn away from him forever, and soon thereafter he was drafted and sent back to Midgar anyway.

He stared at the brochure, at the piano on the cover, and opened the insert to read some of the services that Tifa offered and the biographical information on the opposite page. She offered beginner, intermediate, and advanced level courses, and was skilled at teaching both children and adults. She was trained in a variety of styles, but emphasized her expertise in classical and contemporary piano. She was a graduate of the prestigious Midgar Academy of Arts, and Cloud remembered how badly she had wanted to go to that school when they were teenagers.

And she had an extensive background as a concert pianist, had traveled all throughout the planet with the Midgar Philharmonic before she had retired from professional playing to open her own tutoring academy.

Cloud remembered Tifa playing the piano almost more than he remembered anything else about her. The first time they had hung out together - him stealing away and sneaking into her room as she shushed him and begged him to keep his voice down - she had played the piano for him. She would always play for him, and he would always lay back and smile, listening to the notes drift around him as if the stars were falling at his sides and into his ears and skin.

There was a photo of her on the insert, and Cloud felt his heart stutter and rise as soon as his eyes fell to it.

She looked almost exactly the same, though the lines and curves of her face had sharpened with age, her cheekbones higher than he remembered them, her jaw slimmer. Her lips were still as pouty and full as they had been all those years ago, lips that he had remembered sending him into space every time he'd kissed them. All of the perfection in her face was bordered by the black ink spill of her long, straight ebony hair, still cut to frame her face but hanging loose and heavy around her shoulders.

But it was her eyes that caught and held his attention, that captivated him the way that they had reeled him in years ago. They were a bright, shimmery scarlet red, a color that he had never seen on anyone else but that he almost could never tear his eyes from when they had looked at one another, they were so beautiful.

Cloud dropped the brochure and opened one of his desk's drawers, rifling through it, pushing aside the bottle of whiskey he'd stashed there and some of his other personal effects. Eventually, he came across what he was looking for: a small, spiral-bound notebook whose cover was faded from use and time, ripped in several places.

Most of the pages were filled with old notes and doodles from his school days, but that wasn't why Cloud had kept the notebook. He'd kept it because he used it once to stuff away a couple of mementos that had been so important to him. He hadn't opened this notebook since Zack and Aerith had died, when his heart had been so broken that only his lost, cherished memories of the past that had been scattered away from him with the winds of time could briefly console him.

He opened the notebook carefully to a dog-eared page, discovering the items he had pressed hidden between the pages. First, he lifted what he had been looking for - the photo of him and Tifa, outside of the carnival that had come to Nibelheim the spring before everything had fallen apart. It was just a few months after one of the worst tragedies had hit Tifa's life, and he remembered sitting with her through it all, consoling her and listening to her as she cried her way through the anguish. And in that photo he could still see the sadness that lingered behind her dark crimson eyes, even as she smiled, leaning against him.

It had been a bittersweet moment where she had tried to find happiness again in his arms, where he had given everything of himself to her until they were torn apart at the end of that following summer.

He sighed, placing the photo next to the brochure, looking for the differences between the two women who stared back at him. They were both smiling, but both sets of red eyes betrayed a deep, lingering despondency that was buried somewhere deep and irretrievable. The woman on the brochure was only slightly older and firmer in appearance, while the girl who stood next to him in front of a backdrop of bright lights and a Ferris wheel still had the thickness of youth in her cheeks, her hair pulled high into a ponytail.

Cloud looked at his own boyish appearance in the photo, at how skinny and lanky he had been, his hands both shoved into his pockets while she clung to his arm, him giving the camera the surliest, most wannabe-badass look, while she was smiling. Cloud couldn't remember who had taken the photo - one of the silly high school girls from the village, he thought - but he remembered the day and spending it with Tifa vividly.

He pushed the photo away and reached next for the bright blue flower that was pressed among the pages, its petals dried and cracked from the passage of time. Tifa had given it to him late that spring, when he'd found her in the high school's auditorium, playing the piano in the darkness, tears streaking down her chin. He wasn't even supposed to be at the school, but Tifa'd sent a message to his PHS, and he had left his house and made his way there in the middle of the night, hearing the loud sounds of the music and the students in the gymnasium down the hall.

He'd found her there in her dark, royal blue dress, and she'd burst into fresh tears when she saw him, collapsing into his arms on the piano bench before she pressed the corsage into his hands.

The memory of that night and the sorrowful notes that Tifa had so often begun to play reminded him that things had started to unravel for them both far sooner than that moment at the end of the summer.

He pushed the flower away, instead dropping his attention to the last item that was inside of the notebook, a long, silver chain that was hooked onto the spiral binding to keep it from being lost. It was a delicate, thin filigree, and hanging from its chain was an iridescent crescent moon charm. Tifa had given it to him near the end of that summer, when they shared their promise, only days before everything between them had erupted into chaos and he quickly ended up breaking that promise.

That thought stung something painful inside of him, and he replaced everything quickly, slamming the notebook shut and tossing it inside of the drawer again.

He stared back down at the brochure. His skull was beginning to pound painfully, the sides of his temples flaring as if being stabbed. He found himself dropping his head to his hands, shaking it in his palms as he thought about the situation at hand.

It wasn't fair for him to keep Denzel away from an opportunity simply because he couldn't get over the ghosts of his past or keep his emotions in check.

Rubbing his temples and glancing at the time, Cloud made the decision to make the phone call and set up an appointment for Denzel's complimentary lesson. He didn't have to reveal his identity to her. And she didn't have to ever see his face once Denzel started lessons.

Sighing after a very long pause, Cloud picked up his PHS and slowly dialed the number that was on the brochure. He held the device up to his ear, his heart rate climbing and suddenly loud in his ears as the phone rang and he waited.

Finally, on the fourth ring, a bright, sunny female voice answered the phone.

"Seventh Heaven!"

Cloud swallowed, looking down at the brochure and wondering if he'd dialed the wrong number. "Uh. I'm looking for the piano teacher. Is this the right number?"

"Oh," the woman responded. "Yeah, hold on a second."

Cloud heard a clatter and then some rustling sounds, and things were silent for long moments. He realized his bloodstream was a downward rush in his ears, and he swallowed thickly to stem the sound.

Moments later, another female voice picked up the phone, answering with a rich, husky cadence that instantly had his breath catching.

It was her.

He knew that voice. Even if he had not heard it in a decade, he would never forget the sound of her voice.

Ever.

"Hello?"

Cloud cleared his throat, suddenly worried that she might recognize the sound of his. He tried to put on a slightly deeper inflection. "Uh, I'm calling about piano lessons for my son. I got your information from my son's teacher, Marle Collins."

"Oh," Tifa responded on the other line. "Sure. Who am I speaking with?"

Cloud panicked. "Uh, Fair. Zachary Fair."

"Okay, Mr. Fair. My name is Tifa Lockhart. And what is your son's name?"

"Denzel."

He heard Tifa moving around in the background before she answered. "How old is he?"

"He's eight," Cloud responded carefully.

"That's great. It's a perfect age to begin learning."

"Sure," Cloud answered, not really knowing what else to say in response to her enthusiasm. It was hard enough to concentrate on getting through this conversation, given the circumstances, and already he could feel himself beginning to sweat.

"Well, I offer complimentary initial lessons to all of my new clients," Tifa informed him. "Does Denzel have any previous training or preparation in the piano or any other formal instruments?"

Cloud had to think about that. Aerith had kept Denzel busy with activities when he was younger, but he really didn't remember the boy ever playing any instruments.

"I don't think so," he replied.

"You don't think so?" Tifa repeated, her voice conveying a sense of amusement.

Cloud winced, shaking his head. "No, he hasn't."

"Okay. Would you like to schedule his first lesson this Saturday? I can do one in the afternoon."

"S-sure," Cloud stuttered.

Tifa was quiet, and Cloud strained his ears, thinking he could hear her writing something down. "Great. I'm located on the second floor of the Seventh Heaven Bar and Grill in Sector7 Topside. It's on 17th Street. When you arrive, you can come right to the front door."

"Oh, okay."

"I'll work on a diagnostic first to see where his skills are, and what level of lessons we should focus on," Tifa explained. "Then we can talk about future lessons, if you choose to continue them."

Cloud just expelled a breath in response.

Tifa cleared her throat after a moment. "Okay, then! I will see you on Saturday. I am looking forward to meeting Denzel, too. Oh, and please tell Marle thank you for the recommendation."

"S-sure," Cloud found himself stammering again.

When the call ended, he stared in disbelief at his device, awestruck by what had just happened.

He had spoken to Tifa Lockhart for the first time in ten years, lied to her about his identity, and now, she was expecting to see him on Saturday when he brought Denzel for his lesson.

What had he gotten himself into?

---

The following Saturday rolled around far more quickly than Cloud would have liked or anticipated. The rest of the week transpired without incident, though SOLDIER had not called him in for any additional jobs, and Cloud felt the dryness in his wallet, thinking that Lazard was probably punishing him for his outbursts and his rude behavior. He was probably waiting for him to come to his office to apologize and beg for an assignment.

Cloud had absolutely no intention of doing that, no matter how much of a burden it placed on him financially.

By now, Denzel's bruising had mostly healed, and his suspension was almost over, allowing him to return to school on Monday. But the promise of piano lessons had brightened his mood considerably, and it put a smile on Cloud's own face to see him emerge from his room to join him in the living room before they left, Denzel wearing a bright grin.

"You ready?" Cloud asked, pulling his arms through the sleeves of his motorcycle jacket, his heart in his chest as he tried to figure out how he was going to keep Tifa from seeing his face.

Denzel nodded eagerly. "Thanks, Cloud. Do you think playing the piano will be hard?"

Cloud thought about Tifa, how she had made playing those notes seem so simple and carefree, how her fingers danced so gracefully across the keys in a blur, how she had held his hand in hers and guided his own fingers across the ivory, trying to teach him simple notes that he found himself blushing and stumbling his way through, her body warm and soft beside him on the bench. They were memories that he could not disassemble from the core infrastructure of his brain, memories that returned to him at odd intervals through his waking hours and filled him with a strange, melancholic sadness.

"Your teacher says you have a knack for it," Cloud answered, offering Denzel his jacket. "I'm sure it won't be too hard for you."

They left their home without too much else to say, Denzel putting his helmet on before climbing onto the bike behind Cloud. Seeing this, recalling the echo and stomp of his heart in his chest, he reached for his own helmet that he never wore, strapped to Fenrir's side, and carefully pulled it on.

"Wow, Cloud," Denzel blurted behind him. "You never wear your helmet!"

Cloud shifted on the bike's seat, his mind turning over with lies. "Yeah. I need to start being a better example for you, don't you think?"

Denzel only shrugged, and Cloud said nothing else, peeling Fenrir away from the house and onto the open roads of Midgar, picking up the Expressway to head to Sector7.

The weather was still cold and crisp, the winter sun high and bright in the sky as they drove. From beneath his goggles, he could see the shops and businesses and quiet residential homes that lined the sides of the streets Topside. Midgar was a city with impressively modern infrastructure that still retained certain nineteenth-century qualities of the old towns that had once lived here independently before the Shinra Company had begun to amalgamate everything into one vast floating city that hovered over the world, with dark, damp slums below. Topside, it was reflected in the curved iron architecture of some of the city's tallest buildings and public spaces, in the cobblestone paths that made up the sidewalks, and the rich brick and limestone foundations that held up most of the homes.

Sector7 was a more tightly packed neighborhood than Sector5, the homes closer together and the streets lined with boutiques and stores. Cloud had rarely spent any time in this sector, but for whatever reason, he had always found that it felt much more homely and provincial than other parts of Midgar.

It wasn't long before they reached 17th Street, and soon, Seventh Heaven, Cloud pulling his motorcycle to a stop in front of the curb. It was a two-story building fashioned from brick, an inviting wooden sign over the front awning that announced itself to the neighborhood. In a window on the second floor of the building, Cloud could see a bright neon sign that announced: "Piano Lessons Within."

Cloud let Fenrir's engine hum to a death, and he stopped with his feet planted on the ground on either side of the bike, looking up at the building, his heart beginning to pound as he realized who stood on the other side of that door.

"A-alright, this is it," Cloud said to Denzel, who was sliding off of the bike. "Go ahead and go inside. You have your PHS?"

"Yeah," Denzel responded.

"Good. Call me when you're ready for me to pick you up."

"You're not coming inside?" Denzel asked, suddenly looking a bit apprehensive.

"Nah," Cloud answered, feeling a sting of guilt, but pushing it quickly to the side. "You go ahead, meet the teacher. Let me know what she says when you get home this afternoon."

Denzel hesitated, but Cloud tossed his head, still wearing his helmet, in the direction of Seventh Heaven.

"Go on."

Denzel nodded, pulling his helmet off and dropping it back into place on the bike. He gave Cloud one more look before he began to slowly make his way up the stone pathway toward the building, stopping when he reached Seventh Heaven's steps.

Cloud held his breath as the front door opened.

She stepped out, her hair long, dark, and thick around her shoulders, instantly glimmering with highlights from the sun overhead. She was dressed in all black and white, long, black skinny-leg pants that hugged the lower half of her body that was curvier than Cloud remembered it, and a thick white turtleneck sweater that was ruched at the waist, making the bends and arches in her body even more prominent and defined. Her breasts were full and perky, tight against the fabric of her sweater.

Cloud was sweating something awful under his motorcycle helmet.

"Are you Denzel?" he heard her voice ask as she bent forward, placing her hands on her hips, glancing down at where Denzel stood by the foot of the steps. Cloud watched as the boy nodded his head slowly.

"Where's your dad?" she asked him, and Cloud felt the panic begin to rise like bile in his gut.

Denzel only turned, pointing at Cloud on the street behind him. Tifa rose to her full height again, squinting against the bright sunlight as she looked at him, before she finally lifted her hand and waved.

Cloud lifted his hand and waved back, but instantly turned away and twisted the handlebars of his bike, pulling the bike away before she could say another word or call him over.

No way in hell could Tifa see his face.

Maybe this wasn't going to work.

He drove straight to Sector6, finding one of his favorite bars, intending to have a drink or two to purge her from his mind before he had to return to pick up Denzel.

---

[ ν ] - εγλ - 2007 | 7th March

Painkillers

"I think your pupil is here, Tifa."

Tifa had been sitting at one of the booths in her bar, going over a ledger of the previous month's business when she heard Jessie's voice from where she stood, peeking out of the window. She looked up, just as Jessie turned back to her.

"There's a guy on a motorcycle outside, talking to a kid," her friend went on. "Think the kid is coming this way."

Tifa glanced at her watch, then nodded and closed the ledger, pushing up to her feet. As soon as she did, she felt a familiar, stiff pain in her joints, her knees aching and her shoulders sore, even her hands filling with pain.

Tifa had been living in Midgar since she'd first moved to the city a decade ago to attend university at the Midgar Academy of Arts, where she had earned both her undergraduate and graduate degrees of Fine Arts in Collaborative Piano and Orchestral Studies. She had quickly established herself as not only a brilliant pianist but also an accomplished, talented composer, and as soon as she had graduated with her MFA, she was recruited by the Midgar Philharmonic as its principal pianist and also as an integral member of the composition team.

After a successful, flourishing five years in college, she soon found herself traveling the world with the Philharmonic, performing at concerts in every corner of the Planet for diverse audiences, everywhere from Midgar to Junon, from Cosmo Canyon to the Gold Saucer. She was soon featured, along with many of her other prodigious musician colleagues, in orchestral magazine and television interviews that were right in the center of the music world. To play the piano for the world and to write her own music had been her dream, and it had come true, even if it was preceded by an adolescence that was laced with disappointment that hovered, bleak and black in the background of her memories.

Those happy days of performing and traveling had been cut short, though, and Tifa was only twenty-five years old when circumstances had suddenly once again changed so dramatically that she soon found her musical career meeting an abrupt end. It was another cruel play of fate's hand, and Tifa had wondered then, as she continued to from time to time, if she would ever catch a break, if the stars she had once followed with so much hope in her heart would ever align for her.

It started one day with the onset of an emotional outburst that she found herself unable to control after a particularly difficult performance in Junon. She had made it backstage after the conductor had harassed her relentlessly behind the curtains during an intermission. He was new to their troupe, his expectations high but his demeanor cruel, and he had belittled Tifa in front of several of her colleagues before the curtains had gone up over what he had judged unacceptable errors in her performance, notes that she had struck out of key. Tifa had bit back her tears for the rest of the evening, but as soon as she was alone behind the stage, everything had suddenly flooded out, choking her with sobs at the embarrassment.

The problem was, these tears were like nothing Tifa had ever experienced. They burned and stung the corner of her eyes as if she were crying knives, and Tifa had looked down to the wooden floor beneath her polished heels to find bright, sparkling jewels on the ground, wet and sticky in puddles of blood.

Stars.

As soon as she saw the sight on the floor beneath her, she felt the panic and the bile rise in her chest, and instantly Tifa was reminded of her mother, of the last few months of her final year of high school, and suddenly, she was terrified.

She saw a doctor soon after that night in Junon, learning that she had indeed been afflicted by Star Scar Syndrome, a disease of the heart that damaged the physical self, not typically fatal, though it could be if not properly managed. Tifa still remembered the conversation she had with the physician as she sat on the gurney in her office, twenty-five years old and frightened.

"Are you familiar with the Star Scar Syndrome?" the doctor asked, pushing a lock of curly blond hair behind her ear.

"My mother died from it," Tifa answered.

The doctor offered her a sympathetic look. "Star syndrome can be managed if you stay on top of your symptoms. Do you know what causes it?"

Tifa shook her head.

"Have you experienced any significant emotional trauma in your life? Heartbreaks?"

Tifa was staring down at her feet, swinging them back and forth below her, watching the laces of her sneakers flop back and forth as she thought about that. She wasn't sure how to answer. Before she had left Nibelheim, her last year of high school, so many things had happened so suddenly.

When she didn't answer, the doctor went on. "Star Scar Syndrome is a reaction that the body has to severe emotional pain, suppressed or promulgated. It occurs in people with certain susceptibility to it, and it takes its name from the star-like tears that it produces. These are believed to come from a magnetic reaction to the celestial bodies in space that, for some reason, have a greater impact on some people than others."

"What does that mean?" Tifa asked, horrified.

The doctor shifted her clipboard across her chest. "It simply means that the stars in the sky can affect one's health, especially if you are at risk for the Syndrome. It is similar to how the moon pulls the tide. These emotional traumas place you at risk."

"What can I do?"

"There is really no cure, aside from rectification of the source of the trauma, but that is almost impossible for most people. So we advise that patients treat Star Scar as an autoimmune disorder. It must be managed. Your symptoms will deteriorate - but they can be slowed if you manage your diet and your health, and keep up with your medication."

"What symptoms?"

"Most commonly, painful tears, joint and body pain, fatigue and weakness, depleted vision and myopia, and memory loss."

Tifa blinked in horror. "Am I going to die?"

The doctor tried to offer a supportive smile, but it did nothing to make Tifa feel any better, to alleviate the way she felt her insides begin to crack. "No - you don't have to. People only die from this affliction when they ignore it, or if they are repeatedly exposed to additional trauma that worsens the original source of the disorder. I imagine that this may be what happened to your mother?"

Tifa didn't say anything, not wanting to think back on those days.

The doctor gently patted Tifa's hand. "I won't lie to you. This isn't going to be easy. But you are young, and I can help you with a regimen that will help you live a healthy and active life."

That had been three years ago, and since then Tifa had done her best to manage her symptoms, trying to avoid situations that would make her cry and stuffing her face with painkillers. But soon, the weakness and the stiffness in her joints had been too much to ignore, and her managers began to notice how her playing suffered.

And before she knew it, she was forced into an early retirement, though it felt more like she had been fired.

It was another devastating emotional loss that only exacerbated her condition, and her doctor had warned her that she needed to be more careful. She was encouraged to find hobbies and things that she would enjoy and take interest in, and Tifa had wanted to scream that playing the piano was the only thing she wanted out of life.

Instead, she sat down with her close friend, Barret Wallace, who operated a bar in Sector7. He encouraged her to join him in his business to take her mind off things, and Tifa soon fell into a new rhythm in life, happy to cook and serve customers and join in the camaraderie of Barret and his comrades and his daughter, Marlene.

Still, she missed the piano, and it had been Marle, an older schoolteacher who frequented Seventh Heaven and had developed a friendship with Tifa during her visits, who suggested that Tifa could continue her love of the piano by becoming a teacher herself and offering lessons. Marle had many students who she thought would love to learn from her, and Marle, after watching Tifa with Barret's daughter, thought that she would be excellent with children.

Tifa had thought about it, and with blessings from Barret, she was allowed to convert the second floor of the bar into her own personal piano studio. That had been almost two years ago, and ever since, Tifa had slowly but surely built up a steady clientele who came to Sector7 to learn from her, and she also began to take over more of the responsibilities of managing Seventh Heaven, wanting to keep herself busy despite the pain that traveled through her body and had her not wanting to get out of bed most mornings.

Jessie, chestnut-haired and hazel-eyed, was a friend of Barret and Tifa's and helped them run Seventh Heaven. She turned to Tifa. "Are you okay?"

Tifa was dipping into her apron for a stash of the blue pills she kept wrapped in plastic. She plucked two out, stuffing them into her mouth before swallowing them dry. She winced, then pulled her apron off and dropped it on the table.

"I'm fine. I'll go get the door. The lunch rush will be starting soon, and I have a two-hour session with this kid. Do you want me to call Wedge?"

Jessie waved a hand in the air. "Nah. If anything, I'll make Biggs come over and help. He still owes me."

Tifa nodded, then made her way out of the bar, finding a little boy standing in front of the steps.

He was floppy-haired and blue-eyed, his face almost cherubic as he looked up at her where she stood on the steps. Tifa placed her hands on her hips, offering the boy a bright smile.

"Are you Denzel?"

He nodded slowly at her.

"Where is your dad?"

He turned, pointing at a man seated on a motorcycle at the curb. Tifa squinted, trying to get a better look, and the man was instantly raising his feet to the sides of the bike when her attention was on him.

She waved, trying to get his attention. "Doesn't he want to come inside? I was going to start first by telling you both what I hope to accomplish for this session."

Denzel only shrugged, and soon, Tifa was astonished to see the motorcycle peel away from the curb, a cloud of dust in its wake.

"Okay," she said, still somewhat surprised, but she nodded at Denzel, and he climbed the stairs, Tifa resting her hand on his shoulder as she guided him inside.

---

Tifa was pleasantly surprised by Denzel's seemingly underlying gift and his ability to pick up concepts quickly. She spent the first hour of their time together getting to know him, asking him questions about the things that he liked, the kinds of music he listened to, and what subjects he liked or didn't like in school. She shared a few stories with him about his teacher, Marle, who Tifa had been friends with for years and considered a surrogate grandmother. She found him to be a quiet, shy child, commonly keeping his eyes down at his lap when he spoke, not really offering her much in the way of answers unless she prodded him with additional questions.

She spent the next bit of time assessing his musical skills, realizing that he did not know much about the piano but had learned a little about sheet music and basic notes in school. It was a good starting place, and he picked up quickly, watching as Tifa showed him how to hold a good posture at the bench. She reviewed the techniques for holding his hands and wrist placement and finger curving, watching as he mimicked her and gently correcting his form. She began a simple tutorial of the keyboard when she realized that their time was almost up, and she folded her hands in her lap when Denzel pulled his PHS out of his pocket to call his father to pick him up.

When he was finished, he put the device away and turned back to her.

"Do you think you'll come back for more lessons?" she asked him.

Denzel offered her one of his rare smiles, one of the few she had seen from him since he'd arrived that afternoon.

"I hope I can."

Tifa nodded. "Well, I'd like to talk to your dad when he comes to pick you up. Let's make sure he comes inside this time, okay?"

"He's not my dad."

At this, Tifa furrowed her brow a little, confused and slightly concerned. "He's not? What do you mean?"

Denzel lowered his head even further, picking at a scab on the top of one hand. "My parents died," he told her in a small, quiet voice. "There was… an accident. Cloud adopted me."

If Tifa had been surprised at the first part of his statement, the last sentence threw her completely off guard. She blinked, leaning back a little, not sure she heard that correctly.

"Cloud?" she repeated, slightly dumbfounded.

"Yeah," Denzel said. "He was my dad's best friend."

Tifa blinked, disbelieving what she was hearing. It had to be a coincidence. Tifa knew of only one Cloud in the world, but she couldn't imagine that this could be him, here in Midgar raising his dead friend's kid.

It had to be a coincidence.

Right?

She thought back to the phone call a few nights ago, when Zack Fair had inquired about sending his son for piano lessons, and how that voice had sounded strangely familiar to her, needling her senses like a fly buzzing somewhere behind her ear. She thought about the way he had pulled away from the curb before she could get his attention, his helmet concealing his head.

It couldn't be.

Could it?

She looked down at Denzel again, her mind spinning. Cloud Strife had been the source of a lot of the emotional turmoil that Tifa was certain was at least partially responsible for her current condition. It wasn't his fault, of course. It hadn't been either of their faults. It had just been outside of their control.

Well, maybe it had been her fault. Tifa realized that the more she thought back on what had happened as she got older.

Maybe, she could have done something to stop it.

Still, she never thought she would ever see Cloud again. She had thought of him from time to time, but after the way things had ended between them, she wasn't sure she could handle a reunion with him.

That didn't stop her from being intrigued, though.

"When Cloud gets here, he needs to come inside this time," Tifa found herself saying to Denzel. "I need to go over everything you've learned today with him to make the arrangements for your lessons."

Denzel only nodded, and after a moment, Tifa rose to her feet, leading him downstairs to wait in the bar.

Barret was there with his daughter, Marlene, a dark-haired, six-year-old girl who immediately took interest in Denzel. Tifa left the two children sitting in a booth, and after greeting Barret, who was sitting at the bar nursing a drink, Tifa drifted to one of the wide-paneled windows that overlooked the street outside, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited.

Already, the feelings that had been buried for so long into a sheltered part of her, somewhere that she had tried long and hard over the stretch of the last decade to submerge, were bubbling to the surface, threatening to reveal themselves again. They were deep-seated feelings of longing for a blond-haired boy who moved in next door to her right before her senior year had gotten started, who made that entire year thrilling even as it had begun to pile with miseries and mishaps. But by the time the summer had ended, she found herself standing at a crossroads between him and her future, those past events dark storm clouds that had gathered to overshadow the love that had grown between them.

Once she'd left Nibelhiem that fall, she'd learned that he soon left too, and she never saw him again.

So many promises had lived between the two of them that year. But most importantly, they had promised each other that summer that they would never let anything or anyone come between them. It was as if they both already knew, somewhere deep inside, what was coming when the summer ended, together creating that vow to preempt the external forces of the world that were set to tear them apart.

It hadn't worked.

They'd both broken it.

Tifa knew that it probably wasn't a good idea for her to open old wounds by seeing him again, especially with her condition. But she couldn't staunch her curiosity.

She had to know if it was him.

As that thought was pulsing through her mind, she looked out of the window to see the motorcycle pull up to the curb. He was wearing the helmet, so she couldn't see his face, but she peered through the semi-frosted glass, trying to get a good look at his frame to see if she recognized it. She was certain that she had remembered Cloud's body, that his physique was forever stamped into her memories.

Watching him as he leaned back on the seat of the bike, her heart began to thunder and pound, hurricanes erupting in her chest as she saw him, lean-figured and not very tall.

Denzel was getting to his feet, ready to make his way out the door, but Tifa held up her hand.

"Have a seat, Denzel," she told him. "I'll go get Cloud."

With that, she turned and made her way for the door.

She stepped out onto Seventh Heaven's porch, folding her arms around her upper body at the sensation of the cold winds that whipped through the Sector, stinging the lingering aches in her joints and bones. He sat back on the bike, still keeping the helmet in place, and Tifa stared at him, waiting for something to happen.

He didn't move, though, didn't say a word. He glanced down at his PHS in his gloved hand, and Tifa felt her heart rate accelerate at the realization that this might really be him.

When he continued to sit there, Tifa finally grew frustrated and climbed down the steps, crossing the pathway toward him, watching him visibly start as she approached. She walked right up to him, and he leaned back on his seat as if trying to create more physical distance between them.

"We need to discuss Denzel's lesson," she began without preamble, and he said nothing, only nodding his head slowly. When he didn't move, she folded her arms under her breasts and leaned forward toward him.

"You can take the helmet off, Cloud."

If he had been still before, he was now truly frozen in place. He didn't move for long seconds, and Tifa heard her heart loud in her ears. But she refused to move, instead keeping her eyes on the black shaded visor of his helmet.

An eternity passed before he relented under the pressure of her stare, and slowly, he brought his hands up, pulling the helmet away from his face.

Despite her suspicions, Tifa heard herself gasp when he showed her his face.

It was him.

It was truly her Cloud Strife.

His eyes were bright and blue, but they were different than she remembered them. They were spiked with a bright, verdant rim, a color so green it seemed to glow and pulse against his irises.

Mako, she realized slowly, thinking back to what she had heard her friends say about him and some of the other boys being conscripted into the military and SOLDIER during the height of the war, after she'd already left Nibelheim for Midgar.

His face hadn't seemed to change much at all. It was still boyish and handsome, almost too pretty to be real. His skin was pale, and standing outside in the sun, with his golden-blond hair that was still fluffy and softly spiked like the feathers of a chocobo, he was haloed in a way that made him appear almost angelic and serene.

Ten years. It had been ten years since she had seen his beautiful face, and already her heart was in a rise the way it had been the first day that she'd met him.

"…Tifa," he breathed.

Tifa blinked, still not sure if what she was seeing was real, if she was looking at a dream or a mirage or a figment of her imagination that had been conjured up from some of her most deeply entrenched memories. But the tremors in her heart, the way that her face and neck and soon her entire body flooded with heat, told her that all of this was very, very real.

"Cloud," she exhaled softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We finally meet again."

---

[ μ ] - εγλ - 1996 | 12th September

Windows

The next time that Tifa saw Cloud Strife, it was at the Red Ribbon Diner, one of the most popular places in Nibelheim for teenagers to eat and hangout. It was located on the Northeastern side of town, only a block away from where the high school sat on a hill, and kids would walk to the diner after school or in the evenings, congregating there on the weekends after hanging out at the local strip mall where the movie theater and the ice cream parlors and the shops were located.

Tifa knew that some of the town's older kids also hung out here, the ones who had already graduated but weren't looking to leave the village for college, usually finding jobs in town or at the mako reactor. She saw them sometimes loitering by their cars in the lot or occupying booths in the back of the diner, and Tifa had been warned by her father more times than she could count to stay away from them. They were degenerates who didn't have a lot of options and even less ambition, he always said.

Her father was very, very strict about the sort of company that she kept.

It had only been a couple of days since she had met Cloud in the rain, but she had thought about him often, peeking out of her window in the evenings to glance across the way at his house, sometimes looking up at his front door when she passed by on her way home from school. But she hadn't yet run into him again, and she was definitely too shy to go looking for him on her own, even though she held onto his heavy black hoodie, which still smelled like him and was still warm when she wrapped it around herself in her room at night, dangerous fantasies entertaining themselves in the farthest recesses of her mind.

It wasn't something she would ever admit to anyone else, this new, brilliant attraction to this older boy who had suddenly appeared as her next-door neighbor, who had walked her home in the rain and let her borrow his hoodie, who flirted with her and touched her hands in a way that she could still feel the imprint of his skin on hers.

When she saw him again, she was sitting in a booth at the diner; Jody had just gotten up to join a couple of his friends who were sitting at a nearby table, leaving her alone. Cloud had entered the diner by himself, his hands deep in his pockets, wearing his leather riding jacket again, this time over a blue and black striped button-up shirt that was open over a faded black t-shirt. As soon as he stepped inside, he turned until he was facing her direction, and Tifa found her eyes widening when hers met his.

He was offering her that smirk again, the same one he'd kept tossing her when they walked together in the rain. And then, he was crossing the diner to her, and without waiting for an invitation, he was sliding into the booth across from her where Jody had been sitting just moments ago.

"Hey," he greeted her, his voice low, his cheeks bright from the cool, windy weather, and Tifa inhaled deeply, leaning back from the menu she had been looking over.

"Hey," she responded, offering him a small smile. She felt her heart begin to pound, and she was tempted to turn around and look for where Jody was sitting with his friends, terrified he might see her sitting here with this strange new boy.

"Are you here by yourself?" Cloud asked her right away, leaning back in his seat.

Tifa chewed her bottom lip, terrified of answering this. Finally, she shook her head. "No, I'm here with someone."

Cloud's smirk deepened. "Someone?"

Tifa inhaled, unable to tear her eyes from his face, the way that his endlessly deep blue eyes seemed to pour oceans into hers, the way his lips were full and almost turned down into a pout as he waited for her response. His hair was messy from the wind outside, a sloppy assortment of gold that softly floated around his head and framed his face.

"Yeah," she answered, carefully clearing her throat. "Um, my boyfriend."

She saw the flash of disappointment cross his face, highlighted by a deepening of the pout he wore as he cocked his head to one side in thought, and Tifa felt herself grow warm, ever more anxious that Jody would reappear. But she watched as Cloud leaned forward over the table, the look of discontent on his face transforming with a twinge of amusement.

"Oh," he whispered after a moment. "That's too bad."

They held eyes with one another, and his stare was so intense that Tifa felt he might be melting her into the booth where she sat. Unable to take it, she tucked her hair behind her ear and swallowed carefully.

"What about you?" she asked calmly, her eyes darting around, looking for Jody once more.

He shrugged, leaning back again. "Just came to pick up dinner for me and my mom. Take-out. She works at the brewery, and she was too tired to cook tonight."

"So I'm guessing you can't cook, then?" She tossed at him, and finally, he was blushing.

"No, not really," he admitted, his cheeks flooding with blood as he looked down at his hands.

Tifa heard herself giggle a little, and at the sound, Cloud looked up at her again, offering her another small smile.

His lips were opening to say something when Tifa heard her name above her, and she looked up to see that Jody was standing in front of the booth, two milkshakes in hand.

"Tifa?"

Jody Hartley was a sandy, ash-brown-haired kid, thin but well-built, his hair styled neat and thick into an Ivy League cut that spilled just slightly into his forehead with one thick curl. His eyes were a pretty, pale shade of icy blue, and he had a handsome, youthful face, his jaw sculpted and his cheekbones angular. He was one of the cutest boys in school. At least, that was all of her girlfriends always said.

He was also one of the wealthiest, was the president of the Student Council, was the captain of the school's basketball team, and was trying to decide which of the top universities on the Planet he was going to attend, knowing that all of them were ready to accept him.

Tifa looked up at him, her cheeks growing warm with embarrassment, and she straightened uncomfortably in her seat in the booth. Cloud just sat there, watching.

"Oh, Jody," she stammered, her eyes following his hands as he set the milkshakes down. "Um, this is my neighbor, Cloud. He just moved here. Cloud, this is Jody."

Jody looked down, his eyes meeting Cloud's, but the two boys didn't exchange any words. Cloud was smirking again, leaning back in his seat, before he turned away from Jody to look back at Tifa, his smirk softening into a smile.

"I should get going and pick up my food," he told her. "I'll catch you around."

His blue eyes lingered on her face for a moment, flooding her with heat, before he slid and pushed away from the booth, offering Jody a cursory glance before he walked away with his hands in his pockets again, and Tifa couldn't stop herself from watching the lines of the back of his body as he disappeared.

"Who was that?" Jody demanded as soon as he slid into the booth across from her where Cloud had been just seconds ago.

She pulled her line of sight from where it lingered behind where Cloud had walked away. "I told you. He's my neighbor."

"I've never seen him in school."

Tifa shook her head. "He's already graduated."

Jody rolled his eyes, turning to look down at the menu in front of him.

"What?" she asked him, not liking the unsettled look on his face, the way that his lips spread into a thin, displeased frown.

"You didn't even introduce me as your boyfriend," Jody complained.

Tifa snapped her shoulders back, stung and affronted. She thought back to the brief exchange that had just transpired, wondering if she should have handled it differently, but she only looked up to see the narrowing of Jody's cool blue eyes, his expression sour, and she shook her head.

"Jody, I - "

"Was he hitting on you?" Jody cut her off nastily.

It was Tifa's turn to roll her eyes. "What? No," she replied, her lips pursing. Jody could sometimes be so possessive, and she did not like it at all. It was one of the many reasons that they had taken so many breaks since they had started dating during Junior year.

"Whatever, Tifa," he responded, picking up the menu and refusing to look back up at her.

Tifa picked up her own menu, and she realized later that night that they had exchanged less than ten words before their date was over.

Later that night, Jody dropped Tifa off in the silver coupe that his father had bought him, but before she climbed out of the car, he was pulling on her arm, dragging her closer to him, and the next thing she knew, his lips were on hers.

She felt her body stiffen. She was still annoyed with his display of attitude in the diner and the way that he had given her the silent treatment throughout most of their meal, and she felt it in the coolness between the press of their lips. She let a moment pass before she pulled away from him.

"Goodnight," she told him, pulling the door open, and she heard him murmur a response as she climbed out of the car and closed the door behind her.

It was a Friday night and it was already late, a little after ten when she got home. Her father was still up, sitting in the living room, a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler on the coffee table in front of him.

He turned to her when she closed the door, and Tifa could see that his eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, his face flushed, making it apparent that he was already deep into drink. It was a sight that she had grown accustomed to seeing, especially on the weekends.

"Tifa," he greeted her, his voice slow and barely loud enough to be heard over the din of the television across the room.

"Hey, Dad," she greeted him, crossing into the living room. She stood a few feet away from his armchair, facing him, her arms holding her purse in front of her. "Where's mom?"

Brian Lockhart rolled his shoulders, running the fingers of one hand over his mustache. He turned away from Tifa, leaning over to recapture his glass in his palm.

"She was having another one of her episodes," he answered. "So she went to bed."

It was about as vague an answer as he could give, but Tifa knew that it was the extent of what she could expect from him.

Her mother had been dealing with serious emotional issues over the course of the past year, and they had usually resulted in her and her father having some type of fight before her mother either got in her car and drove away, or locked herself in her bedroom. What had started as outbursts and manic episodes quickly deteriorated into full-blown depression, and more and more, entire days would go by where her mother would rarely even get out of bed.

And her father dealt with all of this by drinking heavily when he came home from work, sometimes passing out in front of the television in the living room while her mother slept alone upstairs.

She held in the sigh she wanted to expel, turning away from him before he stopped her.

"Were you with the Hartley boy tonight?" he asked her.

Tifa turned back to him with a nod. "Yes," she answered softly. "We went to the Red Ribbon."

Brian nodded his head, now staring at the television, which was quietly airing an old, black and white movie.

"A nice kid," he told her, his voice deep and gruff. "The Hartleys are a good family. Hardworking people. Pay their taxes on time, do a lot of work in the community. MaryAnn dedicates most of her time to the church."

"Oh," Tifa replied, not really sure what else to say in response.

Her father turned to her, narrowing his eyes a little bit. "The Strifes moved in next door a few days ago," he informed her. "The woman is an old friend of your mother's. Father left a long time ago."

Tifa offered him a small smile. "I met Cloud a couple of days ago."

But Brian's face turned grim and stern, and he was sitting up in his chair. "Listen to me, Tifa," he started. "I want you to stay away from that boy, do you hear me? I can already tell he's up to no good. Boys like that are only out for one thing."

"I thought that was all boys," Tifa snarked, remembering the many conversations she and her father had had over the years.

Her father chuckled darkly at her response. "You're right, Tifa. I'm glad you remember that. But some are worse than others, and some are better. Stay away from that one."

She hummed in response, soon bending down to kiss his cheek, smelling the alcohol in his skin and brushing his words away, not really thinking he was serious at all.

How wrong she would soon find out that she was.

---

Sometime later, Tifa was sitting in her room, running her brush through her damp hair, her room dim save for the light from her bedside lamp bathing everything in a warm glow. It was late now, and she could feel the exhaustion of the day and the first week of school wash over her as she settled on top of her bed, now showered and clean in her pajamas.

When she'd come upstairs, she stopped by her parents' room to check on her mother. Mama had been laying in bed, the covers pulled tight over her head, only the gentle rise and fall of the sheets an indication she was even breathing. It was a sight that made Tifa feel a deep sadness; whenever her mother fell into one of these moods, it meant that they spent less and less time together. Her mother was almost always sleeping her depression or her mania away.

Lorelai Lockhart had always been a cheerful, sunny person, the kind of woman who could light up a room with her smile, who turned heads whenever she walked by, whose voice was so rich and thick her words would capture everyone's attention, her laughter a melody everyone wanted to hear her play.

It was only recently that she had begun to deteriorate into wild mood swings, sometimes so low that she would sleep the entire day, and sometimes so high and wild she would race throughout the house cooking and cleaning, her excitement vivid and infectious and so, so very alarming. And it was in these last few months that she began to weep sparkling tears that spilled blood, that she began to get into screaming matches with Tifa's father, that she began to lock herself inside of their bedroom while she shouted and swore and tore her hair out, banging on the walls and throwing photos and trinkets across the room, sending glass into shards.

As soon as the onset began, Tifa didn't understand fully what was happening. She tried to push the reality of the fragmentation happening around her out of her mind, especially when she noticed that her father was beginning to douse himself in drink even more than he had before. Her parents had always been her entire world, they had encouraged her from her earliest years, had done everything they could to make sure that she was well cared for and happy. They invested in her talents and interests and encouraged her success. Even now, as they were falling apart, they stayed on top of her final year of high school to make sure that she was ready for college. But despite all of this, it pained her greatly to see them both splinter apart, especially as her mother's health was disintegrating right along with her mental and emotional state.

None of this was helped by the fact that she was commencing the most difficult year of her high school career and probably one of the hardest in her life. Everything in her future was riding on her success this school year. There were so many responsibilities and obligations, academics and extracurriculars, not to mention friends who wanted attention and a boyfriend who frequently lost his patience with her and who she wasn't sure was even worth her time, and even though the year had only just begun, already, she was feeling overwhelmed by the mix of everything.

The one thing that had remained a steady, constant truth in Tifa's life was music. The piano was unwavering, it did not change or have breakdowns or demand too much of her or drink too much. It always stood in its same place, its keys unchanging and its notes immutable and enduring.

With that thought, Tifa dropped her brush on the bed and rose, crossing her plush violet and magenta- hued bedroom to the small piano that lined one wall. It had been a gift from her parents when she was young, a few years after she had started taking lessons with a local pianist and had begun to really refine her skill. Although it was small and more for practice than anything else, Tifa cherished it, and she often sat at it to play and clear her head.

Her hair still thick and damp around her shoulders, Tifa sat at the bench and dropped her fingers to the keys, closing her eyes as they rolled across the ivory, pulling out a tune that she had learned long ago but had never forgotten, could never forget.

It was Yardis' The Sonnet of Sierra, a piece composed by an elder in Cosmo Canyon that had smooth, lilting transitions and a warm undertone to its cadence, especially when played in C major. It had been one of Tifa's favorite pieces to learn when she was younger, its notes simple to follow but challenging to execute with grace, especially the dramatic trills at the end of the piece. Once she had mastered it, she had frequently chosen it to play at auditions or requested it as parts of her solo arrangements during concerts at school.

Tifa had never been to Cosmo Canyon, but every time she played this sonnet, she could picture herself there, could see its red hills and the dancing fire of the Candle's eternal flame, could hear the gentle drumbeats and the soft splash of waterfalls in the distance. Even now, as her eyes fell closed and her fingers walked across the keys, she felt herself forgetting about her parents and her responsibilities, envisioning herself somewhere warm and beautiful.

Thwock.

Tifa stopped playing, turning at the sudden sound. Something was hitting her window, she realized, and frowning, she got up from the piano and crossed the room to investigate.

She pulled her curtains back, finding that her window was half open, a wide gap on the bottom. She looked around, trying to find the source of the noise, when another pelted the glass in front of her nose, and she narrowed her eyes and looked up.

Across in the short, thirty or so feet distance, just beyond the large maple tree that sat between their two houses, Cloud was leaning out of the window across from hers.

She blinked, but as soon as he saw her, he began to gesture for her to open her window.

Part of her wanted to ignore him, but part of her was also intrigued and excited, and she found herself pulling her window up, leaning forward and out of it. Even in the darkness, Tifa could see his smirk under the moonlight, could catch the faint glow of his brilliant blue eyes glittering in the starlight.

"Cloud!" She hissed across the gap between their homes. "Were you throwing stuff at my house?"

"I was trying to get your attention," he called back to her, a little too loudly. "I could hear you playing."

His smile deepened, and Tifa realized her heart rate was beginning to rise. She had never considered that her notes would drift beyond her four walls, and suddenly she was feeling slightly embarrassed for reasons she didn't understand.

"I wanna hear you play some more," Cloud went on, almost shouting, and Tifa winced, even as her face grew hot.

"Keep it down," she chastised him. "My father is going to have a fit if he hears you!"

Cloud only laughed. "Oh?" he challenged, the look on his face smug and playful even in the dark. "I think I have an idea."

Tifa blinked, not sure what he was talking about, until she watched with pure, stunned horror as he started to climb out of his window, deftly crouching on its sill until he leaped for the maple, catching one of its branches in his arms and swinging dangerously from it a few times before he pulled himself up.

"Cloud!" Tifa found herself shouting in terror, even though she'd just moments ago warned him to keep his own voice down.

Cloud was laughing again, though his voice was strained as struggled with his weight against the delicate branches of the tree, careful not to test one that might give way and split. She dragged her hands to her mouth as she watched him crawl through the branches until he reached one that was closest to her house, and then he was pulling himself up to a crouching position, the branch wavering dangerously beneath his weight.

"Cloud!" she hissed again. "Don't be stupid!"

"Back up, Tifa," he told her, and Tifa only had a moment to back away when he jumped for her window, catching the sill under his arms.

She gasped, seconds away from screaming, and he winced, but he pulled himself up with his upper body and pulled himself through her window. He kicked himself to his feet, brushing himself off before he looked down at her, offering her a sheepish smile as he blushed slightly.

"Sorry," he said.

"That was so dumb and crazy!" Tifa cried, her heartbeat crashing through her chest like a runaway freight train.

"I've done crazier," he admitted with a shrug. Tifa blinked, then pressed her finger to her lips before she ran to her bedroom door and locked it.

"You can't be here," she informed him. "My father will kill us both."

Cloud was smirking at this, clearly entertained by this piece of information.

"I promise I'll be quiet," he whispered. "I just wanted to hear you play."

He was dressed in jeans and sneakers and a plain white t-shirt, as if he'd been in the process of changing for bed when he'd chanced to look out of his window, hearing her melodies drift beyond the glass, and this thought had Tifa blushing.

She stared at him, their eyes meeting in the dimness of her room, and she realized that his were shadowed by the low, warm lighting, that she could still see the bubbles of blue across his irises. They sparkled with hints of orange and yellow as if the sun had burst apart behind them.

"You have to be quiet," she whispered, her heart roaring, the panic rising at the thought of her mother knocked out down the hall and her father slumped in his chair downstairs, watching television as a haze of booze clouded his mind.

He nodded, still holding her gaze with his smirk, and he looked around her room. Aside from her piano and bed, her bedroom was outfitted with her desk and chair, a small trunk in front of the bed, and a bookcase lining one wall. Taking everything in, Cloud opted to sit on her bed.

Tifa just stared at him.

"So?" he whispered after a moment. "Will you play something for me?"

His eyes were so heavy on hers as he looked up at her, scooting back on her bed, getting himself comfortable, that she felt as if he were pinning her into the floor with that look alone. She realized that his cheeks were flushing, that despite his casual flirtation and his smug, laid-back attitude, something about their proximity in her small, feminine bedroom was beginning to affect him, too.

She couldn't respond the way that she wanted to. Instead, she huffed a little, turning away from the ferocity of that bright azure stare. She slid into place on her piano's bench, her back to Cloud, her fingers hovering above the keys as she straightened her spine. She heard him shift on the bed, and she turned back to realize that he was now laid back on her bed, his feet still planted on the floor but his arms crossed behind his head.

Her cheeks heated over again, and she quickly turned away, finding him audacious. She inhaled, pushing the image of the golden-haired boy stretched out across her comforter from her mind, and she dropped her fingers to the keys, soon spilling out Radcliffe's Dusk's Reverie, a resonate, mellow piece with alternating harmonies that crossed over one another as her hands danced across the keyboard, the notes telling a somber story that drifted into hopefulness near the end. It was another piece that she had committed to memory, a piece that was the perfect blend of sadness and rejuvenation, that every time she played or listened to it, something in her heart swelled as if a balloon was being filled with air. She closed her eyes as she played, images and feelings of a place that was far away filling her senses, somewhere snow-capped and beautiful where her lungs could inhale the sharp, bright air, leaving her with a sense of serenity.

She played on for a while, and when she neared the end of the piece, she let the last notes trail off before she stopped, and she opened her eyes, gently dragging her fingers from the keys. She drew in a long breath, letting the feelings of calm descend over her, and after a moment, she turned around to face Cloud.

But he had gotten up off of her bed and had crossed her small bedroom to the piano bench, and she looked up at him as he sat down beside her, facing the opposite direction with his back to the keys so that he could look directly into her eyes.

"Hey," he whispered after their gazes locked for a moment. At his sudden close proximity, Tifa could catch his boyish scent, and she realized that although her breathing had slowed, her heart was racing, and the combination made her suddenly dizzy. "That was really beautiful. I knew you were talented."

He looked down at her hands, and she felt them beginning to tremble. After a moment, he looked back at her face.

"Th-thanks," she breathed her reply.

There was a long pause where neither of them said anything, and Cloud turned away from her, smirking, even though his cheeks were flooding. Despite his bravado, she realized, his skin was so pale that it was difficult for him to conceal his emotions, and it made her feel a little bit better about how flushed and warm and off-kilter he constantly made her feel.

He was looking down at his own hands now, absently picking at the calluses under his palm, and Tifa turned away, focusing her attention on where her fingers continued to hover over the keyboard. She tried to think about whether she should say something, but she was suddenly thinking about her father again, and she glanced at the clock on her wall to realize that it was already midnight.

"Um, Cl-"

He turned to her, his lips parting, cutting her off as she stammered her way through her thought. "Hey, Tifa?"

"Yes?"

"That kid you were with earlier," he started, and his eyes held hers for a moment before he looked away again. "He really like, your boyfriend?"

Tifa felt her heart begin to pound. She hadn't expected Jody to become a subject of their conversation. She swallowed, trying to map out her response carefully.

"We've been dating since last year," she said as straightforwardly and as simply as she could.

"Yeah, but are you serious?"

Tifa blinked, but Cloud was looking at her again, his gaze expectant. She shook her head slowly, trying to navigate how to answer that.

She and Jody had broken up more times than she could count. He took her on dates, they hung out together after games, they went to school socials together. But a lot of the time that they spent alone together was dispassionate, and sometimes Jody was cross with her, or he would abandon her at the last minute to hang out with his friends, or he would complain about the time she spent with her own friends.

She wasn't sure how she really felt about him, and she really wasn't sure how to explain any of this to Cloud, or why it was even any of his business.

"What do you mean?" She asked him instead.

Cloud offered her a lazy shrug. "I dunno. It's just, in my experience, these high school relationships don't actually mean anything at the end of the day. They're all just for show."

Tifa frowned, although a small part of her, deep down inside, thought that he was probably right.

"Sorry," Cloud said, shaking his head and looking away. Tifa couldn't find the words to respond. She thought again about the time that she spent with Jody, about how many times she wondered, when they both parted ways for university if any of this would hold together. Already, it had begun to feel like the glue between them was decaying.

"It's okay," Tifa finally replied, though she didn't say anything else about her relationship with Jody.

Cloud was still leaning back against the piano, fidgeting with his hands again, Tifa listening to her heartbeat as she tried to decide what to say next when he turned to her again.

"I just…" he started, his cheeks pink again. "I wanted to know if you would go out with me sometime?"

Tifa's mouth fell open, her heart now not only loud but heavy and painful in her chest. She blinked, stunned by the question, and as soon as their eyes met, Cloud looked away again.

She had no idea how to respond, how to react. Part of her was thrilled by the idea, her entire body flooding with warmth. She admitted to herself that she had been thinking about him since she had met him a few days ago in the rain, and she realized that she wanted nothing more than to go on a date with this super cute boy who complimented her and made her heart somersault every time that he looked at her with one of his smug smiles.

"I - "

"Tifa!"

Tifa froze, the blood draining from her face as she found herself frozen with terror at the sound of her father's voice.

"Can you clean up the kitchen, please?"

Her father's voice was slurred, and she could tell that he was just a few feet down the hall. She could hear the shuffle of his slippers across the floorboards. Instantly, she was at her feet, her hands on Cloud's shoulder.

"You have to go!" she hissed a whisper. "Now!"

Cloud smirked, but his eyes were wide at the sound of her father's voice, and he quickly got to his feet. "Okay, okay, I'm going." He quietly padded to her window, but as soon as he reached the sill, he glanced back at her.

"Will you go out with me?" he asked her again, his voice a decibel too loud.

Tifa felt a cold chill run down her spine, and she shoved him again. "Shh! Please. We can't talk about this now. He'll be here at any moment. You have to go!"

Cloud leaned against the window sill. "Not until you promise me one date. Just one."

"What!" Tifa seethed. "Are you - "

"Tifa?" her father called again, his voice much closer.

"Just go out with me once," Cloud begged, crossing his arms over his chest. "Promise me, and I'll leave.

"You're crazy!" she whispered angrily at him, the panic now a full wash over her body. "Okay, fine!"

"Are you sure?" Cloud started to tease. "I wouldn't want you to feel like you were doing me any favors or -"

"I said yes!" she nearly cried in desperation. "I'll go out with you! I want to!"

At this, Cloud offered her a triumphant smirk, before he nodded.

"Okay, Tifa. Whatever you want."

With that he climbed through her window, reaching for the tree's branches and carefully climbing his way back to his own house.

Tifa pulled her window shut and tore the curtains closed again the moment he was gone, not bothering to look out to see if he had made it across. Her heart was pounding so hard that she was beginning to sweat, and she realized that she had stopped breathing at some point.

There was a knock at her door, and Tifa turned around with a start. Her father twisted the handle, finding the door locked, and she heard him grunt.

"Tifa?"

She wiped her brow, trying to still her breathing. Carefully, she inhaled and crossed the room, expelling her breath before she unlocked and slowly opened the door.

"Dad?" She began. "I was just getting ready for bed."

Brian's brown eyes were cloudy from the alcohol he had been drinking all night, and she watched as he tried to focus on her face. After a moment, he gave up and shook his head.

"The kitchen," he finally stated. "Your mother left everything out from dinner, the dishes and even the leftovers. Please take care of it before you go to bed."

Tifa nodded, swallowing back the fear that was swimming in her throat, and she tried to push away the thought that her father had been moments from finding Cloud Strife in her bedroom.

"Yes, of course," she finally responded.

He nodded, then turned away, offering her a lazy wave.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight, Dad," she responded, watching him shuffle down the hallway to her parents' bedroom.

As soon as he was gone, Tifa closed the door behind her, sighing deeply and closing her eyes, leaning back against the door and listening to her heart ricochet inside of her chest, so loudly she could hear it against the wood of the door.

When she felt that she had begun to calm, she opened her eyes, glancing across the room to the window that Cloud had just escaped through, the curtains still disturbed from her frenzied rush to right everything back into place.

Cloud Strife was crazy, she thought then, thinking that maybe her father was right about him, had been right about boys like him.

But she liked him, she realized, her heart pounding again for a brand new reason. And she wanted to spend more time with him.

She couldn't wait to go out with him.