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.

7. Chapter 7

A/N: Again, I am so grateful for the reviews and the readership! Thank you for following and enjoying this story. for updates, you can follow me on twitter at nitezintodreamz

Chapter Seven

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[ ν ] - εγλ - 2007 |May 3rd

Star-bound

"Right here is fine, gentlemen," Director Tuesti said from the backseat. "My business will keep me here for the next three days. I will page you when I'm ready to be picked up."

Kunsel nodded from behind the wheel, while Cloud slid out of the passenger side and opened the back door of the sleek black sedan for the Shinra Urban Planning Director to depart. Reeve picked up his briefcase from the seat as he stepped out of the vehicle, then nodded genially at Cloud before he departed inside of the Upper Junon corporate hotel.

When he was gone, Cloud turned around and climbed back into the passenger seat, shutting the door and buckling his seatbelt as he leaned back with his head against the headrest.

"It's still early," Kunsel pointed out, turning to face him. He was wearing reflective aviator shades, shielding his dark gray eyes from the bright, earlyMay sun. "We don't have to be back at HQ for a few hours. Want to stop downtown for a drink?"

Cloud sighed quietly, glancing out of the window at the bustle of activity coming and going from the hotel where they'd dropped off Reeve Tuesti for their executive escort assignment. Lazard was still punishing him by pairing him with Kunsel for every assignment he was handed, and Cloud knew that he would not cease until he relented to his demands to attend therapy with Dr. Rayleigh. Cloud still didn't give a shit; the last thing he was planning to do with his time was sitting around talking to that woman about his multitude of problems.

While he wasn't exactly dying to spend time chatting with Kunsel, the idea of killing a few hours over a drink was appealing. He nodded with a shrug in response, and Kunsel put the vehicle into drive, peeling off onto the road and heading deeper downtown toward the city's shops and dining thoroughfare.

As Kunsel searched for a parking space along the street, Cloud continued to stare out of the window, his mind wandering. He found himself once again thinking about Tifa, still reeling from their dinner and then their date, when he had finally drawn in close enough to her to dare and kiss her, leaving his lips staining the side of her cheek. It wasn't enough, but it was a start. And Cloud knew that the more time that he spent with her, the more that he found himself falling back into old habits, his feelings and urges being rekindled like the eternal flame of Cosmo Canyon, having never been extinguished in the first place.

"Liquid lunch is always good, huh?" Kunsel was saying as he shut the car's engine off, pulling Cloud out of his reverie.

He followed Kunsel down the block and into a quiet bar and grill named Eddy and Sam's, the lunch crowd filling seats at the bar and at nearby tables. Following him with his hands in his pockets, Cloud slid into a booth near the window across from Kunsel, picking up the menu that was left on the table.

"Is that a new jacket?" Kunsel asked suddenly, picking up his menu as well.

Cloud looked down at himself. He had half a dozen leather jackets, but he rarely wore most of them, always most comfortable in the black one that he had worn the most for the last few years. But he had given that jacket to Tifa over the weekend, and so today he was wearing a different one, this one a dark gray with fleece hood attached.

"Not really new," Cloud responded after a moment. "I've had it for a while. I gave the other one away."

"Gave it away?" Kunsel repeated. "I think I'm gonna go with a pilsner."

Cloud shrugged, staring at the beer list on the menu. On one hand, he wasn't particularly enthusiastic about the idea of sharing the more intimate details of his life with Kunsel, but on the other, they had grown friendlier in recent weeks, and Kunsel gave him no reason to be so reticent with him. Their conversation had always been low-stakes and easygoing, and besides, Zack had always trusted him as a friend.

"Yeah," he finally conceded, dropping the menu after deciding on a stout. "I gave it to a girl."

"A girl?" Kunsel repeated, his gray eyes lighting up with interest at that. "Want to split some wings?"

"Sure."

"So who's the girl?" Kunsel pressed when Cloud didn't elaborate.

A waiter came to take their orders, giving Cloud a moment to think carefully about his words and how much he wanted to share about his situation with Tifa with Kunsel. They ordered their beers and wings, and then Kunsel sat back in his seat, looking over at him expectantly.

"I've been seeing her for a few weeks now, but it hasn't been anything serious," Cloud finally responded. "I… used to date her when I was younger. We broke up a long time ago."

Kunsel nodded, his eyes shining with amusement and interest as he thought about that. Their waiter returned with their beers, placing them in front of them on the table.

"So you're back together?"

"Not really," Cloud answered. "We just went out for the first time the other night. It's complicated."

Kunsel nodded, not really pressing, instead sipping his beer and then shifting the conversation slightly. "I've been dating this girl for the last couple of years," he said instead. "She's from Mideel. I've been thinking about asking her to marry me."

"Really?" Cloud responded, lifting an eyebrow, somewhat surprised by this. Kunsel had never mentioned a girlfriend before, much less indicated he was serious with any girl. Of course, Cloud had never really bothered to ask or make much conversation with him about anything personal at all. "That's a pretty serious commitment."

"I'm not getting any younger," Kunsel admitted. "And I want to have children."

Cloud shrugged, not really sure about this.

"What about you?" Kunsel carried on the conversation, just as the food arrived. He leaned forward and immediately plucked a chicken wing from the bowl and dropped it to his own small plate. "You want to get married? Have kids?"

"I haven't much thought about it," Cloud confessed, reaching forward to grab a wing as well. "And I already have a kid."

Kunsel made a face at the mention of Denzel, but he nodded in response. "I meant your own kids," he clarified. "This girl you're dating. Can you see her being your wife one day?"

Cloud felt his neck explode with heat at the mere suggestion of marrying Tifa. He could admit to himself and no one else that there had been a time long ago when he had dreamed about it, when he was almost certain it was a possibility. After everything that had happened, though, he had flung the idea that he would ever settle down with anyone that way out of his mind completely.

"I don't know," Cloud answered after a moment.

Kunsel seemed to find this mildly amusing, smirking as he continued to eat. Unnerved by how embarrassed he suddenly felt, Cloud turned away and looked down into his beer.

"The fact that you gave her your favorite jacket says a lot to me," Kunsel finally replied. "She must be somebody special. And you ain't getting any younger either, you know."

He chuckled, leaving it at that, Cloud trying to will the burn out of his cheeks.

The conversation dropped, and they left Junon sometime after that, Cloud closing his eyes and trying to block out the highway as they passed through the Mythril Mines and beyond the Zolom marshes. He distracted himself by reaching into his pocket and pulling out his PHS, staring at the screen as Kunsel's earlier words to him echoed throughout the back of his mind.

Heaving a quiet, determined sigh, he opened Tifa's contact, typing a quick text message to her.

Cloud: Hey.

He waited a moment, staring at the screen, brushing his gloved thumb across the cool glass, feeling his heartbeat beginning to pick up speed. The screen was just beginning to dim when it came back to life, Tifa's name flashing up at him.

Tifa: Hey!

Cloud: How's your day going?

Tifa: Good! I got up early to train with Zangan. I have some accounting to do today at the bar before my first lessons. How about you?

Cloud: That sounds cool. Not bad. Had an assignment in Junon this morning. Heading back to Midgar now.

Tifa: Do you travel often for SOLDIER?

Cloud: Sometimes.

Tifa: That's pretty cool.

Cloud stared at her last message, his thumb beginning to itch. His brain was pulsing with his next question, but his fingers trembled, an irrational sensation of apprehension beating against the back of his skull as thought about it.

He glanced over at Kunsel, who was wearing his shades again, drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the rock song that was quietly humming from the car's radio, oblivious to Cloud's internal conflict.

Turning back to his device, Cloud sighed quietly and began to tap out his message, shaking his head as he went, knowing that no matter how much he tried, there wasn't a force in the world powerful enough to stop him from what he was doing.

Cloud: I want to see you again.

He stared, his neck beginning to sweat as he waited for her response. He hoped that he wasn't coming on too strongly, but he also hoped that his meaning didn't go past her, especially after their date and the moment that they had shared in the park that weekend.

Tifa: I want to see you again too!

Tifa: Do you have something in mind?

Cloud let out a louder exhale than he meant to, not realizing that he had been holding his breath as he waited for her response.

Kunsel glanced at him as he changed lanes, making for the exit that led to Midgar. "You alright over there?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Cloud answered, a little too forcefully, his thumbs already tapping out his response.

Cloud: Yeah, I do. It's a surprise. Can I see you on Friday?

Tifa: I can't wait.

Cloud didn't type anything else after that, just killed his PHS's screen and leaned back in his seat, glancing out of the window and trying hard not to let his face break out into a vivid grin, a smile that had been threatening his face ever since he had pressed his lips against Tifa Lockhart's cheek.

—

On Friday night, Cloud found himself leaning against his bike again, staring up at Tifa's apartment complex, his heart stammering as he waited for her to appear and join him for their second official date together.

It was a warm May evening, Topside no longer quite so breezy as early summer began its promise to descend on the city. Cloud decided to forgo wearing a jacket for once, dressing in a new, crisp white button-up shirt he'd recently purchased, paired over his favorite pair of dark-wash jeans.

He couldn't avoid looking down at himself and running his hands over the smooth material, once again feeling slightly overdressed, if not a little self-satisfied with his appearance. He had to admit to himself that he'd gone shopping earlier that week and replenished his wardrobe solely because of the time he was beginning to spend with Tifa. But despite his new motivations, he also had to admit that putting a little more thought and care into his appearance was making him feel a bit better about himself.

He tried to keep his breathing cool as he waited, his PHS in one palm as he occasionally glanced between it and the gate of her complex. He'd seen Tifa a few times since their last date, any time he dropped off or picked up Denzel from his lessons, but they always kept their interactions cordial and friendly, quickly shared hellos and goodbyes alongside downcast looks and coy smiles and slightly pink cheeks. During these interactions, there were always too many people around for them to share any true affection, the bar's customers filling the tables and Jessie hovering and surely eavesdropping as she flitted about, Barret glaring from where he often sat at a large booth in the front of the room.

It was only a few moments, though it felt like an eternity to Cloud before Tifa finally appeared at the gate, carefully closing it behind her before she advanced in his direction. Tonight, her hair was loose and full, hanging low all the way to her hips, fanned out around her body as a gentle, warm breeze blew through it. Immediately, Cloud found himself pulling up to his feet as he watched her approach, wearing another dress, this time one that was bone-colored with a periwinkle trim, a tight bodice that lifted her breasts, and a flowing, A-line skirt that accentuated the endless lengths of her legs.

Cloud dropped his hands into his pockets in an effort to remain cool, keeping his eyes trained on her, unable to look away until she was standing directly in front of him.

"Hi, Cloud," she greeted, and at once, he was flooded with her sweet fragrances, somehow floral and sugary at once, urging him to wonder what the smooth expanse of her throat might taste like if he just bent forward a few inches and pressed his lips to that warm skin.

"Hey, Teef," he replied, unable to stop himself from licking his lips, his eyes running a line over her from head to toe. "You look pretty tonight."

"Thanks," she responded shyly, looking down at her feet, and Cloud realized then that she was wearing a pair of strappy white sandals, that her toenails were painted lilac, and that her feet were so pretty. He entertained a brief, sudden daydream of pressing light, soft kisses to those toes and the tops of her feet, seeing them arch and flex in response, and when she spoke again, he had to force himself to look up at her face and fling the lustful stupidity from his mind.

"You look nice too," she responded. "But you always do. And we match again! I'm beginning to wonder how this keeps happening, Mr. Strife."

Her teasing tone and the way she managed to outdo his own compliment had him sweating, and Cloud smirked at her to shake off the scalding heat that was flooding him. The warm weather was certainly not helping his current situation. Working desperately to remain casual, he shrugged at her, tipping his head to the side.

"I can't reveal my secrets."

She laughed, and the sound was so rich and husky that Cloud felt a new, soaring ache race to his groin, and he turned slightly away from her, facing his bike so she would not see how even her simplest mannerisms turned him on.

"Ready to go?" he asked her, reaching for his goggles in distraction.

"I am," she replied, stepping behind him. "Where are you taking me tonight?"

"Your choice," Cloud responded, offering her his hand. "There are two places I thought you might like. There's the AIR Music Gallery in Sector2, and then there's The Beat Dance Theater in Sector 8. We can watch the performances at either one."

He didn't miss the way that Tifa blanched at the mention of AIR, quickly shaking her head. "Let's go to The Beat," she decided immediately. "I've never been."

He only nodded, not really thinking anything of it, helping her onto his bike before revving the engine and pulling off.

The ride to Sector8 was short, and they soon arrived in the Theater District, Cloud parking his motorcycle on the street among the rows and rows of cars. It was a busy Friday night in the District, the warm weather bringing out the crowds, and Cloud had to park two blocks away from the theater to find a parking space.

They walked side by side for a few beats, but Tifa was too close to him as they moved, carrying her sweet warmth and lingering scents with her, drifting them right in his direction and sending him straight for the moon. Distractedly, he felt his brain swarm with fuzziness, and without even thinking about it, he pulled his hand out of his pocket and dropped it into hers.

Tifa looked up at him for a flash of a moment at the sudden contact, and then was leaning in even closer to him, sending tingles rising through his loins and up the front of his chest, his heart burning as if he'd eaten too much spicy chocobo for lunch. He tried to quell it, tried to pull his mind away from the way that his body reacted so instinctually to her, but he found that he could not, that the more he tried to not think about it, that the more his brain stewed and that his sudden, possessive urges were taking over, forcing him to want to grab on to her in a way that was probably not very gentle.

He managed to suppress it, heaving a heavy sigh of relief when they reached The Beat Theater. There was a modern dance performance scheduled for that evening, and it had attracted a considerable crowd, Cloud and Tifa falling in line behind other couples and small groups that had gathered.

"Do you like dance, Cloud?" Tifa asked him as they waited, her hand suddenly squeezing his, her skin supple and soft and making his own sweat in a way that was altogether mortifying.

He shrugged, not really sure how to properly answer her question. He didn't know shit about dance, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

"It's cool," was all he said instead.

She giggled lightly, a girlish sound that reminded him of their youth, as if she knew he was lying. She made things worse when she leaned against him, pressing their shoulders and arms together in a warm line, her arm bare against his and burning right through the cotton and silk of his shirt.

Suddenly, everything he was wearing felt way too heavy and way too hot.

"Zangan-Ryu, believe it or not, is very much influenced by different styles of dance," Tifa whispered to him. "And gymnastics. Master Zangan wanted his art to be both brutal and versatile, and to be so fluid that it could stun and evade an opponent with ease. One day, I'll have to show you what I mean."

Cloud's collar was somehow cutting off his breathing. He could think of nothing he would like more than to watch Tifa fight (well, maybe he could think of a few things), but just the idea of it had his throat feeling tight.

"I learned a little hand-to-hand combat in Basic, Tifa," he responded, dropping his voice with a slightly taunting edge as they moved ahead in the line. "I wouldn't mind taking you on."

He saw her blush, and the color that rose in her cheeks, highlighting her bright, wine-stained eyes and full rosy lips made him boil up even hotter, the pain returning to his groin. She was smiling dangerously up at him, that plush pout parting at the center.

"Be careful what you wish for, Strife," she teased, and Cloud was smirking at her, their subtle flirting beginning to unwind him.

"Congratulations!"

Both their attentions were then captured by the bright shout, and Cloud turned to see the usher processing the line had stopped them, waving her hands with excitement in the air as a few other theater employees behind her began to clap. "You're our one-hundredth couple of the evening! Do you know what that means?"

"No," Tifa replied softly, but Cloud was frozen, staring at the woman as if she had two heads.

"You get to participate in tonight's event!" she exclaimed. "I hope you both like to dance, because you will be featured in tonight's fifth act. Now, run along and follow Marisol here. As our celebrated and lucky guests, you will have special box seats until it is time for you to perform."

"Perform?" Cloud repeated, his throat suddenly dry but his palms wet, dropping Tifa's hand to wipe his against his pants as his nerves descended into a tailspin.

"Oh, this sounds so exciting!" Tifa exclaimed, much to his horror. "I love to dance. Come on, Cloud!"

She looped her arm through his this time, and for the next stretch of minutes, he found himself following Tifa and the theater staff up a long, carpeted stairway, the back of his brain a train wreck as he thought about the implications of what was happening.

No way in hell he was getting on a stage and performing in front of all of these people.

They were shown to a private box seating arrangement that overlooked the theater to stage left, designed for no more than a handful of people to enjoy the show. It was below the mezzanine but above the orchestra, providing them with a perfect view of the stage from where they sat.

"Please, enjoy the show," the staffer named Marisol said to them with a slight bow as they found their seats. "I will return to fetch you to prepare for your performance at intermission. You both have very important roles tonight!"

Cloud wanted to protest, but he saw the way that Tifa's eyes lit up, and the words died in his throat.

Instead, he sat there beside her, watching as the theater slowly filled and the lights began to dim. He bunched his hands up at his sides, trying to calm his nerves, knowing he was overreacting.

And then, Tifa was leaning in next to him.

"This is exciting, isn't it?" she whispered over the light chatter of the theatergoers seated below them. "Have you ever been dancing before, Cloud?"

"No," he answered truthfully, turning to her in the darkness, catching the pale slopes of her face against the white and blue spotlights overhead. Her eyes were shining, crimson jewels that were cut with a thousand carats, and he found himself muddling his train of thought as he became lost in them. "I don't dance."

She cocked her head to the side, pursing her lips in a slightly affronted manner. "Are you sure about that, Cloud?" she asked him, her tone trapped between playful and teasing. "Don't you remember prom?"

She held his eyes, but he could see the heavy brand of emotion behind hers, and he felt pinned into his seat by their weight. Of course, he remembered her prom. He could never forget that night. He still had her blue corsage pressed and dried out between the pages of his old, tattered notebook, shoved away in a drawer somewhere next to a bottle of bourbon.

Cloud hadn't taken Tifa to her prom. He hadn't been allowed to. But before the end of the night, he did find her alone in the school's music room, sitting at its Steinway, her makeup smeared from her tears, and they had danced alone together for the rest of the night, their bodies pressed close to one another's after she had given him her corsage.

The memory ached him, cut him somewhere deep inside, and he knew that it was pulling at her too, especially the way he saw her lip begin to tremble as she looked down almost in regret for bringing it up. Compelled by something he could not explain, Cloud reached over and took her chin, forcing her to look back up at him again.

"Hey," he whispered softly. "I remember. I -"

The orchestra suddenly picked up then, violins and double bass thundering around them as the first rifts of music began to play from below, cutting Cloud's words off and rendering him silent. He realized that Tifa's eyes were hovering around his lips, but at the sound of the music, she turned away and focused her attention on the stage.

Cloud was aware that his heart was suddenly pounding, and it wasn't because the loud music had suddenly startled him. Something about the sudden emergence of that memory and the look in her eyes as she had brought it up hit him hard, and he slid back in his seat, trying to discard it and fling it from his mind.

For the next hour or so, they quietly watched the performance, the music bold and enthralling, the dancers looping their bodies through powerful, sweeping moves across the stage. The story that unfolded was told completely through the machinations of their lithe forms, in the arcs of their backs and the stretches of their limbs, in the way that they twirled in the air and rolled and tumbled across the floor, sometimes colliding with one another. He realized that it was a love story, one that he feared was on the verge of becoming tragic.

Without even noticing what he had done, at some point, he had leaned over and dropped his arm behind Tifa's shoulders over the seat.

When intermission finally fell, as promised, Marisol appeared, quickly ushering them out of the box. Cloud felt the stomp in his chest again as she led them down another hallway and to a steep staircase, soon showing them to the backstage area where the dancers prepared for their performances.

When they came to a stop, she gave them a quick once over, then nodded. "I think what you are wearing is fine." She leaned forward then, reaching for his collar, and Cloud started to step back, he was so startled by her sudden encroachment on his throat. But she managed to quickly work open his top two buttons, pulling his shirt open a bit.

"I think that is much better," she said at last. "Now, the fifth act is the resolution between Isadora and Marcus. Don't worry about this part; it's written into the show for the audience participation. All you have to do is pretend that you are two reunited lovers, just as Isadora and Marcus are, and dance as such."

At this, Tifa made a quiet, slight choking sound at his side, raising her hand to cover her lips. He glanced over at her, finding her suddenly brightening with a flush of color.

"Sorry," she murmured.

Marisol ignored this. "Modern dance, as you may know, is entirely interpretive, not bound by the conventions of classical ballet. So simply follow your hearts. There will be background dancers on the stage, so you won't be alone. You can always rely on them to set the pace."

Cloud wasn't sure if that was going to be helpful. He glanced down at himself, trying to picture him clumsily moving across the stage the way he'd just spent the last hour watching those graceful dancers rotate and spin, and it seemed an incredible impossibility.

"Oh, and take off your shoes," Marisol instructed. "All of our dancers perform barefoot. Not only does it encourage greater flexibility and range of movement than say, the restrictions of ballet slippers, but it also brings the dancer in greater connection with the Planet and thus with ourselves and our emotions. Plus, the theater owners get very upset about scuff marks."

Marisol was laughing at her own joke, but Cloud only groaned, dreading this experience.

"Do you have any questions?" she asked them, and when he and Tifa were both silent, he knew that neither of their nerves were ready for this.

"A stagehand will retrieve you in a little bit," Marisol finally said when they remained wordless. "Oh, and just try to do your best. Mr. Rhodea is in the audience tonight, and I've been told he's already taken an interest in you both. He may have a special reward in store for you if he is pleased by your performance," she added with a wink.

Cloud didn't know who the fuck 'Mr. Rhodea' was, but Tifa gasped lightly at his side, so he figured he must be someone important in the world of fine arts.

Marisol disappeared, leaving them standing there in silence as the music picked up behind them again beyond the stage. Its sound sent a typhoon of nervous energy through Cloud's chest, and he wiped his hands on his pants again, trying to rid himself of the clamminess and the sweat.

Tifa was quietly bending down and unbuckling her sandals at her sides and slipping out of them. Cloud watched her as if fixated, his eyes on her fingernails, realizing they matched her toes as they carefully worked at the straps. He could see the fine bones press into the skin of the top of her feet, and he could not believe how sexy the sight of it suddenly was to him.

She was rising to her full height again, and Cloud distracted himself and slid out of his boots, hesitating before pulling off his socks and stuffing them inside. When he looked up again, he found Tifa watching him intently.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked softly, and Cloud couldn't believe how easy it was for her to read him, cursing himself for being so goddamn obvious, knowing that his nervousness and anxiety was on full display and that she must think he was a fucking coward. "We don't have to, you know. I know you don't like this kind of attention."

The logical part of him would have agreed with that and insisted they back out of this farce immediately. But he could see the hopefulness behind the shine of scarlet in her eyes, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would do anything she wanted, anything that would make her happy.

"Naw, I'm good, Tifa," he replied as casually as he could, even though his palms were wet again and his neck felt sunburnt. "It might be fun."

She smiled, and it betrayed just a hint of toying gaiety, as if she knew he really didn't want to go through with this but was doing so just to entertain her.

Moments passed with a debilitating slowness before Cloud heard the roar of applause and the shift in the air as the music died down, and a svelte pair of dancers, covered in sweat, emerged from behind the curtains. A man and a woman, they were both breathing heavily, and as they passed Cloud and Tifa, they both smiled.

"Good luck," the man said to them, and Cloud realized they were the principal dancers they would be replacing on stage.

A stagehand quickly retrieved them, and Cloud followed in a daze, Tifa right at his side as they were led beyond the curtains to the stage. Its wooden floor was worn from being beaten by the stomps and jumps of The Beat's dancers, but shined under the spotlights that were too bright and too hot overhead, sending beams of heat under Cloud's skin and igniting a line of sweat across his forehead. The stagehand led them into position in the center of the stage, and a group of a dozen dancers in black and white tights circled around them.

"Stand here," the stagehand instructed, positioning them until they faced each other. "The curtain goes up in less than a minute."

He raced away, leaving them alone with the exception of the dancers behind them. But when Cloud looked down into the glassy swirls of cherry-red that were Tifa's eyes, seeing the nervous smile pulling at her lips, suddenly, it was as if they were the only two people standing on that wood.

"It's been a long time since I've been on a stage," she whispered to him, her voice soft, and he could hear the gentle lilt of sadness behind it.

"Better than me," Cloud replied in an equally soft tone, reaching up to sweep her bangs out of her eyes to console her. "I've never been on a stage before."

She laughed lightly, but then the orchestra began anew, this time commencing with the gentle notes struck against the keys of a piano, and the curtain opened.

Sweat was running down the sides of Cloud's face when he turned, seeing the black expanse of the theater beyond. He could just barely make out the dark shapes seated in endless rows that stretched back like a bleak sea, hundreds of pairs of eyes watching them silently and intently. String instruments began to fold into the song, violins weeping while a cello began to hum. He swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed and frozen, but Tifa was pulling gently on his arm, the dancers behind them beginning a synchronized twirl.

"Come on," she whispered over the music, but he could barely hear her, only able to watch and read her lips as they moved. "Just follow my lead."

And he found himself doing just that, stunned but somehow falling in love with her all over again as she began to move.

Cloud tried to hold a rhythm, but he was mesmerized by what Tifa was able to do with her body, pulling one arm back with grace while the other held onto his shoulder, keeping him anchored to her. She leaned back and then in, and he rocked with her, feeling new sensations of heat flood him when the front of her body pressed firmly against his. The song was a slow build of alternating crescendos, oboes soon entering the arrangement to mourn over the gentle thrums of the strings, while the piano continued a ceaseless, hopeful pattern in the background.

Tifa closed her eyes, grimacing slightly as she bent backward, exposing the pale expanse of her throat to the spotlights above. Cloud followed his movements with hers, the wood cool beneath his feet, unable to tear his eyes off of her as they sauntered to and fro with one another, the back of his mind filled with a sudden desire to bite into that tender stretch of flesh. She pulled back up again, this time spinning around him and tugging him along, twirling her leg into the air in a graceful kick, reminding Cloud of what she had said about her training and how fluid and refined it had made her. Her movement sent the frill of her skirt in a billow around her, and at that moment Cloud caught the smooth cream of her upper thigh and a brief stretch of dark fabric between her legs, his vision almost whiting out.

Something about that sight spurred him on, and he found himself suddenly lost in the music and lost in Tifa, dropping his hands to her waist and whirling her around, lifting her off her feet. As soon as he did so, her eyes widened and connected with his, and she looped her arms around his neck, pulling him in close and pressing their bodies together again. He could feel the soft outline of her breasts against his chest, firm but pillowy, and he realized almost too late that she was not wearing a bra and that he could feel the stiffness of her nipples through his shirt which was suddenly a lot thinner than he'd realized.

He'd barely had an opportunity to process this when Tifa pulled back again, and he noticed that the dancers behind them were rolling in tumbles across the floor before seamlessly leaping back up to their feet. She broke contact with him completely, all except for her eyes, which were suddenly lit up with a bright red flame behind them as she stared at him, her lips parted as she carefully inhaled air.

She backed up, crossing her arms slowly over her body in rhythm to the music, dragging her palms slow and flat over her belly and then her breasts, up across her neck before finally raising them in a languid stretch above her head. She tossed her head back again, then snapped back up and stared at him, rolling her hips slowly as she did so.

All of this sent something wicked and dangerous off inside of Cloud, a rocketship of ruthless desire exploding in his brain. His heart was running a nuclear arms race inside of him, fueling the bloodlust that was suddenly becoming completely impossible to control, and before he could think decisively about his next move, he closed in on her, spinning her around and wrapping his arms around her.

It effectively pinned the back of her body against the front of his, and this time, Cloud could feel new curves pressed against him, her fleshy, voluptuous rear right against the erection he was now painfully aware of. He was certain at that moment that he heard her moan, but it was drowned out by the deafening cascade of the music behind them, which had now built to a full, swelling, climax, and he started to doubt whether her sound was real or if he was imagining things. But she leaned and rocked against him, forcing them into a sway that became a grind, and Cloud had completely forgotten that they were being watched by an entire concert theater's worth of people.

The music peaked and then lowered, and Cloud noticed that the dancers behind them had interlocked arms and began to pull back and forth, all moving in the same direction. Tifa turned in his arms, lifting her leg again, only this time wrapping it around his waist, her skirt a messy furl around her thighs as she reached for his neck with both arms. Her eyes locked onto his again, bright and intense, and she began to lean her entire body backward, soon hanging off of him as Cloud gripped her with his hands tight on her hips, holding her close and feeling all of her warmth.

The song ended then, and Tifa dropped her head at the exact moment, her long, dark hair sweeping across the wooden floor of the stage. When the music had evaporated, all Cloud could hear was its ringing reverberations linger in an echo throughout the theater, along with the sound of his own heartbeat and the sound of Tifa's ragged breathing floating up toward him as he stared into her eyes, watching her chest rise and fall like a semi-automatic weapon.

The next sound he heard was the thunder of applause, but he ignored it when saw the sudden, pained expression on Tifa's face, throwing ice water on the arousal that was presently burning him alive. He gently pulled her up toward him, and she lowered her leg, still focusing her eyes on his as she held onto him tight.

"You okay?" he whispered, her lips inches from his.

Tifa dropped her eyes to them, hers slightly parted before she carefully nodded and looked back up into his eyes. He held her closer and tighter, craving the plush warmth of her breasts against his chest and the tautness of her abdomen firm against his. He was so awestruck by how close they were and how tightly they held onto one another, their sweat and body heat melding, that he didn't even realize that the curtain had dropped with a swoosh behind them.

"I -" Tifa began, but Cloud didn't want to hear it, all he wanted to do was taste her, and he dipped his forehead toward hers, crushing her body to his with the full strength of his arms around her, parting his lips, ready to devour.

"Bravo! Magnifique!"

Cloud pulled back, instantly lowering his arms at the deep, expressive voice, and Tifa nearly jumped back a step, adjusting her dress. Subconsciously wiping at the corner of his mouth, almost sure that he was drooling, Cloud looked up to see a small crowd descending upon them from stage left.

They were led by a tall, goateed older man who was dressed in extravagant black and gold robes, his neck and wrists and fingers adorned with jewels that glittered under the oppressive spotlights. His arms were outstretched wide, and his brilliant white teeth were shining in the light as he grinned.

"Such passion," he exuded when he reached them, and Cloud was so caught off guard that he had to take a step back. "Never before have I seen such compelling fervor and emotion from a pair of amateurs on this stage. One can only allude to what your love creates when confined behind your own four walls."

Cloud swallowed his own spit and sent it down the wrong pipe, causing him to cough and choke, his cheeks burning with the fury of a thousand suns.

"And you, my dear," the man said to Tifa, turning his attention fully to her. "Why, you are quite exquisite."

He reached for her chin, turning her face back and forth, and Cloud couldn't deny that he was suddenly filled with a new heat, this time one that was fueled by possessive rage.

"You look familiar," he commented thoughtfully. "I never forget a beautiful face, especially not one so supremely crafted as this. Where have I seen you before?"

"I studied at the Academy, Mr. Rhodea," Tifa replied, her voice unsteady, and Cloud realized that she was completely shaken. "W-when you were Head Chancellor there. And - I performed with the Philharmonic for five years."

"Tifa Lockhart!" Rhodea suddenly declared, dropping Tifa's chin and snapping his fingers into the air with a dramatic flourish, startling Cloud. "How could I forget? Your talent is beyond measure. I knew you were brilliant behind a keyboard, but to be able to move with such grace, such refinement… your abilities know no bounds, it seems."

"Thank you, Mr. Rhodea," Tifa responded, staring down at her feet, striking Cloud with how completely humbled she was.

"Please, call me Andrea," Andrea insisted before turning his attention to Cloud, scrutinizing him from head to toe, folding his arms over his chest. "And I must say I am quite taken by your lover as well. The movements of a man enraptured in amour, enough to make any young lady swoon. I am sure plenty in our audience tonight have fainted."

Cloud looked away and at the ground, his face disintegrating into nothing, wishing the floor would cave and swallow him whole.

Blessedly, though, Andrea had lost interest in him and was turning to Marisol, who was behind him with a small box in hand. "Gifts, Marisol. Please."

She stepped forward, offering the golden box to Tifa. She accepted it, fingers creeping along the edges to open it, but Andrea instantly reached forward and stopped her with a palm to her wrist.

"No, mon chéri," he told her. "You must open this when you and your lover are alone. It is not for others to see."

Tifa started to open her mouth to respond, but she only nodded, clasping her hand in a tight grip around the box as if she were afraid to lose it forever.

But the entire time as they slowly made their way off of the stage in wake of Andrea Rhodea's adoration and praise, all Cloud could think about was how Tifa had been pressed up against him, how he had almost kissed her, and how Andrea had twice referred to him as her lover, despairing over the fact that at the present moment, nothing could be further from the truth.

It was not much later when they had retrieved their shoes and made their way out of the theater, descending on Midgar's streets outside. It was late now, and Cloud glanced at his watch, knowing that he would have to get back soon before his babysitter started to overcharge him.

The streets were quiet after the theater emptied, and he and Tifa walked in silence, electrical impulses charging the air between them with so much intensity that Cloud was surprised the nearby streetlights didn't burst open and shatter as they passed them. Tifa continued to hold onto the box, her fingers gripping it so tightly that he could see the strain in her hands, and she was walking slowly, forcing him to lighten his pace.

He glanced at her through his peripheral, seeing the heavy look on her face, one that seemed to be a blend of pain and exhaustion. He thought back to those moments on stage, wondering if maybe she had overdone it, if they had both gotten carried away. He tried to push it down, feeling it tear at feelings and thoughts that had been nagging at him for the last few weeks, and he fumbled through his thoughts, trying to summon the right words to say to her.

Nothing came, and eventually, they reached his bike. They stopped, and before Tifa could climb onto its seat, Cloud was overcome by compulsion, and he stepped close to her again until she was backed up against the leather and steel of Fenrir.

"Tifa," he ventured, unable to stop his voice from growing throaty and low. "Are you sure you're alright? That was a lot."

She exhaled heavily, and even though it was a warm night, Cloud could feel her breath as it traveled toward him, they were standing so close. She kept her eyes trained downward, her fingers clutching the little golden parcel tightly.

"I'm fine," she assured him again. "Just… I usually stretch before doing things like that. Zangan would yell at me."

Cloud wasn't sure he bought this, especially with the way that her eyes remained downcast. But he focused his gaze on the softness of her lips, feeling his own stretch into a slight smile.

"You were really good at that," he whispered. "I didn't know you could dance."

Tifa shrugged, finally looking up at him. "I took a few electives at the Academy," she told him. "Besides, remember what I told you about Zangan-Ryu? And you weren't bad yourself, y'know."

"I was terrible," Cloud deprecated, and Tifa laughed deeply in response. "But that song was beautiful."

"It's called If You Should Fall," Tifa responded. "By Armstrong and Weston."

Cloud simply hummed, always amazed by her musical knowledge and talent, by all of her talents, really.

"Cloud?" she trilled up at him after a tense stretch of seconds passed, holding up the golden gift. "Do you want to open this now? Andrea said we should wait until we are alone."

Cloud looked up and glanced around, scanning the street and finding it abandoned, the darkness fully descended aside from the starlight and the mako that surrounded them. "Go ahead," he responded, dropping his eyes to her face.

That pouty red mouth turned up into the smallest of smiles, teasing him with a smirk, and Cloud felt flames engulf him, his groin painful and tight against his pants again. He tried to get himself under control, holding onto what was left of his wits as she watched Tifa carefully pull open the box.

He saw the glitter immediately in the glow of the streetlight that hovered right above them. Embedded in soft velvet padding were a pair of golden rings, each etched with a pattern of stars carved into the precious metal. A tiny card was tipped against the back of the box, and Tifa lifted it, slowly reading silently, Cloud watching her eyes mist over before she turned and handed it to him to read.

Unnerved but captivated by the look on her face, he carefully took it from her fingers and read.

Star-crossed or star-bound?

The question may remain.

Whichever way;

True love still burns eternal.

Cloud read it twice in rapid succession, then a third time, very slowly, before he looked back up at Tifa. He carefully replaced the card, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from hers.

"Tifa…"

"How did he know?" she choked out, almost in a sob.

Cloud couldn't answer that question. It didn't make sense, and even if he could have worked out an answer, his brain was currently too disordered and torn to process a coherent response.

All he could do was stare at her lips until they begged for his, and he could no longer hold back, and he leaned in and kissed her.

The burn was brilliant and bright, an instant sear against his lips where they were suddenly joined to hers. She was plush and soft, a feeling he hadn't felt in so, so long but that he could never forget. He stayed pressed against her mouth, his tongue just at the seam of her lips, but then she moaned under him, and he felt his control slip completely away.

He dropped his hands to both sides of her face and held her cheeks tight in the expanse of his palms, drawing himself closer to her when he felt her hand latch onto his forearm as if she were afraid he might evaporate, as if she needed him to keep her tethered and steady. Her cheeks were warm and soft beneath his bare palms, and without a second thought, his tongue was seeking, diving into her mouth to find hers, deepening their kiss into something that was wild and lusty.

She squeezed his arm and granted him entry, and their mouths opened against one another's as fireworks blew across his skull and left him seeing nothing but a haze of color and feeling nothing but her. She tasted sweet, like the icing on cupcakes, and he was leaning forward until their bodies pressed close the way they had been on that stage, his hands slipping lower and lower until they were wrapping around her throat.

"Excuse me. Sir? Ma'am?"

Cloud tore away from Tifa with a poorly concealed swear at the intrusion of the stiff voice, his brain a garbled, befuddled mess and his lips on fire. Tifa gasped for air as soon as they separated, her hand that was holding Andrea's box now trembling.

He looked up to find a Shinra Public Security officer standing in the street across from them, his rifle at rest, clearly on beat patrol. Even from beneath his helmet, Cloud could tell the grunt was no more than nineteen or twenty years old.

"What?" Cloud couldn't help but demand, his voice ragged, Tifa's sweetness still on his tongue.

"It's after eleven PM, sir," the grunt responded, his voice quaking. "You have to move your vehicle. The street-sweepers will be coming through this area soon."

Cloud nodded, waving his hand in dismissal before turning away from him to focus back on Tifa, noticing how colored her cheeks were.

"Come on," he whispered to her. "I'll take you home."

"Put your ring on first," she demanded in response.

Cloud glanced up at the officer, who still stood there nervously, waiting. He looked back at her and nodded, and he held his right hand out.

Tifa caught on, and she lifted the larger of the rings and slipped it onto his ring finger. When it was in place, she held out her own hand, and he grasped it, feeling her soft skin beneath his fingers, the firm lines of her bones running in a trail toward her wrist. Gently, he lifted it and slipped the ring onto her finger, then squeezed her hand beneath his.

"Come over tomorrow night," he crooned when her fingers threaded through his and both of their hands were clasped together, impulse now taking reign over him. "Denzel is going to the movies with a friend from school. We can have a few hours alone."

Tifa's face darkened again, and she turned away from him, the corners of her mouth bending into a shy but amused smile, even as she fully displayed her embarrassment at his suggestive choice of words. Instead of answering, she started to turn the ring over her finger, admiring the etchings of the stars.

"Please, Tifa," he heard himself beg, unable to stop the way that she reduced him to liquid, his deepest desires and needs now fully escalated to the surface, urging him to care for her and love her the way that she deserved. "We can do whatever you want… watch a movie, listen to music, drink wine… we can even dance."

"Sir?" the grunt called from behind them.

Cloud ignored him, lifting a finger to the side of Tifa's face, drawing a slow, hesitant line from her temple to her chin, unable to stop the thrill he felt when she shivered beneath his touch.

"Okay," Tifa purred, further melting him away into nothing.

They finally separated, Cloud mourning the loss of her body heat when he stepped away. And the entire time he drove her home with her pressed warm against his back, holding onto him tight, he thought about the scald of her lips against his, and already he was planning for their next kiss, imagining how the next time, his hands would drop lower and hold her tight.

Tifa Lockhart was never going to slip through his fingers again.

—

[ ν ] - εγλ - 2007 |May 8th

Never Got Over You

Late the next evening, that Saturday, Tifa was riding the train into Sector5, twirling her fingers nervously around one another, her heart scaling her throat. The sound of iron scraping along the tracks was thunderously loud in her ears, but it wasn't enough to pull her out of the mystified distraction of her thoughts that were leaving her in a complete state of taut, nervous energy and liquified limbs.

She pulled nervously on the hem of her skirt, finally folding her hands over her purse in hopes that she would calm down enough to still the way that her hands were shaking. Her heart was already beating too loud, thoughts about the evening that lie ahead running horseraces through her mind.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since her second real date with Cloud, less than a day since they had danced together in front of a crowd of hundreds, the illustrious and mysterious artistic benefactor Andrea Rhodea bestowing his blessings upon them.

Less than a day had passed since their bodies had been pressed impossibly close to one another's, and less than a day since Cloud had kissed her, his mouth hot but gentle, his tongue probing but sweet.

She hadn't been able to stop thinking about every moment of their date from the moment that his lips left hers and he drove them home, the burn of Andrea's bizarre but somehow prescient gift searing her fingers. She still hadn't figured it out, but for whatever reason she cherished the phantasmal sanctity of it, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, despite how odd it may seem.

The electricity of the evening had lasted well into the night and carried on into the very next day. Tifa had been unable to pull herself out of the memories that had torn fire across her limbs, even after she shimmied out of her dress and underwear and pulled on an old t-shirt before falling into bed. Cloud's worn leather jacket was still at her bedside, a secret that she kept hidden beneath her sheets and buried among so many others, and as soon as she fell onto her pillow, she pulled it around her, inhaling his masculine scent of mako and fresh cedar that lingered as she dreamt over and over again of his lips on hers, wishing for his hands to travel her body.

The entire next day, Tifa felt like she was in a fog or lost in daydream, heavy hands pulling on her waist, strong arms wrapping around her and lifting her into the air, bright blue eyes that shined like sapphires drowning her as her breath was stolen, her fingers tangled in golden tufts. She'd had lessons with a few clients early that morning, an older divorcee who was looking for a new hobby and a teenaged girl from Sector2, and it had taken everything in her power to shove Cloud Strife from her headspace so that she could concentrate on instructing her clients as they moved their fingers across the keys. That afternoon, when she'd come downstairs to help out around the bar, Jessie had her eyes on her from the moment she stepped into the kitchen.

"I see Lover Boy has you all lost inside the clouds already," Jessie had guffawed, unable to keep from tossing her dishrag dramatically into the sink as she laughed aloud. "Or has the Cloud already been inside you? You have that look on your face that says you've gotten it good."

Jessie's joke was terrible, but her implications had thrown ice on Tifa, snapping her out of her daze.

"We are only just beginning to see each other again, Jessie," Tifa immediately shot back. "It isn't like that. We have to get to know each other again, and a lot has changed over the years. It's going to take some time, and I still don't know what is going to happen between us."

But Jessie was already ignoring her, staring at where Tifa had dropped her hand on the counter. "Where did you get that ring?" she instantly demanded. "You need to tell Baby Blues he put it on the wrong hand."

Tifa had quickly pulled her hand out of sight, hating the burn that flushed her cheeks. "It was a gift from Andrea. We danced at The Beat last night. It doesn't… it's just a token of friendship, or goodwill, or whatever."

Jessie was roaring with laughter at this point. "Token of friendship? Andrea Rhodea? Tifa, that man doesn't give gifts like that to just anyone, and they're almost always infected with magic. And he certainly doesn't give them to couples who are just friends. You should know that better than anyone."

She did, but that didn't make it any easier for her to believe that all of this was actually happening.

And it was all further complicated by the pain she woke up with that morning, the soreness from the night before still deep in her bones. She had lost herself completely in that dance and had overexerted herself, more so than she often did when even sparring with Zangan, and the toll was revealing itself, forcing her to stuff back handfuls of painkillers to stop the bright, smarting aches in her lower back and in her knees.

When Barret had come in sometime around seven that evening, Tifa quickly hung up her apron and departed Seventh Heaven, heading across the sector to her apartment to shower and dress for her third date with Cloud.

It wasn't a date per say, they weren't going anywhere, but he had invited her to spend a few hours with him at his apartment, alone, and the fact that his invitation had come after his lips had been melded to hers was not lost on her. Since they were spending the night in, she decided to dress casually but cutely, pulling on a denim mini-skirt and a short-sleeved white peasant blouse that was cinched tight at the waist with a ruched detail.

A cold front had moved into Midgar that morning, and unlike the night before, it no longer was quite so warm out. She had been looking for her matching denim jacket when a thought occurred to her, and instead, she picked up Cloud's leather jacket from her bed and pulled her arms through the sleeves. It was big and loose on her, but it clung to her form nicely nonetheless, and she couldn't help but grin at her reflection in the mirror, pulling her brush through her hair a final time before he left her apartment, anticipation building with tiny electrical impulses that carried through her veins.

She was clutching her purse and daydreaming about Cloud and being alone with him inside of his apartment when she heard the drone of the robotic voice above announce arrival in Sector5. Swallowing thickly, she pulled herself to her feet, holding onto to a stanchion as the lights flickered a half a dozen colors above her before the train pulled to a stop with a groan.

She departed, holding her purse close to her body. She stole a quick glance at her PHS, memorizing Cloud's address for the fiftieth time that evening. She was used to taking the trains everywhere - had never bothered buying a car, and was familiar with most of the sectors, could navigate their streets without much assistance.

Already she could feel the slight chills nip at her arms through Cloud's jacket as the Topside breezes gently blew, the train departing with a screech behind her. She made her way for the exit ramp to the sidewalk above, only to find her path suddenly blocked, a dark figure standing in front of her.

"Tifa."

Cloud was standing in front of her, wearing another leather jacket, his golden hair disrupted by the wind, his hands in his pockets. She jumped slightly at his sudden appearance, but as soon as his bright, royal blue eyes set their blaze on her, she settled down, even though her heart was still thundering with drum beats.

"Cloud!" she exclaimed, taking a slight step back, already finding herself grow dizzy from the way his crisp aftershave floated around her. "What are you doing here? I have the directions to your apartment."

He turned one corner of his lips up in an almost mocking smirk, before he sidled up next her and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her in close, almost possessively.

"I wasn't going to let you walk through the Sector alone at this time of night," he asserted lightly. "You're wearing my jacket," he then added.

She looked down at herself, blushing slightly, finding that she was suddenly frustratingly at a loss for words, especially when Cloud's smirk widened into a smug simper.

"You look cute," he added, tightening his grip on her body. "Come on, my bike is right outside the station, we'll be at my apartment in just a little bit."

She found herself nodding, unable to stop the way a pulse beat its way down her spine and across the space between her thighs when he gently pulled her along, his arm tight and firm around her waist.

The ride through the sector was quick, and they soon stopped in the narrow driveway of a two-family unit in Sector5, a beautiful cherry-wood house with rust-colored shuttered and brick-laid shingles. The home was lined with a small lawn out front, rose bushes leaning against the wooden fence that guarded the property.

"We live on the second floor," he informed her once they'd dismounted the bike, sliding his key into the front door and leading her up the stairs.

It was her first time at his place, and she had to admit she was surprised to find him living in an actual house and not a studio apartment, the way she imagined a bachelor like him might live. But then she remembered Denzel, and it only made sense to her that they would have a large and decent enough living space to account for both of them.

He led her inside, clicking on the lights and then gesturing for her jacket to hang it up. She slid his heavy leather off her arms and handed it to him, rubbing her arms as she glanced around his living room. It was spacious and nicely decorated, just a little bit larger than her own in Sector7. Two large bay windows let in the filters of moon and starlight from beyond, and the room was decorated in warm brown and creams, the furniture and wood rustic and still looking new.

In fact, the apartment seemed almost too nice, as if it came out of the pages of one of the home and garden magazines Tifa sometimes liked to peruse when she had nothing better to do. She noticed the pots of yellow lilies that bordered the windowsills, reminding her of the flower that Cloud had given her on their first date, that still sat by the window in her kitchen. She stared at them for a long time, startled when Cloud returned and gently tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hey," his voice was low and soft, and she glanced at him, realizing he had shed his jacket and was standing in front of her in a snug-fitting dark blue t-shirt and jeans. He was holding a wine glass with a light, bubbly liquid. "You want some wine? It's prosecco. I wasn't sure what you'd like, but the old man at the liquor store suggested it."

"It's perfect," she replied, reaching for the chalice, her heartbeat beginning to stomp at how close he was standing.

He gestured at the couch for her to sit, then placed his own glass on the coffee table and poured into it from the bottle. She took a seat, still looking around, while Cloud made his way across the room to the entertainment center that was at one side of the fireplace, fumbling with a few controls.

"You have a really nice place, Cloud," she told him, her eyes drifting to a huge broad sword that was mounted above the mantle, just below the television. It distracted her from the way that his shoulder blades pulled and shifted beneath the soft, tight material of his shirt as he arranged a vinyl into the record player. "Did you decorate it yourself?"

A calming rift of piano began to spill from the stereo, and Cloud turned to her, making his way to the couch. He settled in beside her, sitting close, and Tifa was once again attacked by his fresh scent, so deep and lulling, just a subtle note of spice in its undertones. He reached over for his glass and then leaned back next to her, holding it up.

"Nah," he answered softly, his voice low and ridgy with cracks. "This was Zack and Aerith's place. I just moved in when I took in Denzel."

He turned away from her then, bringing his glass up and swallowing back a full sip. Tifa did the same, feeling goosebumps line her arms at the mention of Denzel's parents.

She glanced across the room at the flowers again, admiring the way they leaned into one another and toward the glass. She recalled how Denzel told her about his mother's gardening and her flower shop, and the pieces began to fit together.

"That flower you gave me the other day," she asked softly, "That was Aerith's, wasn't it?"

Cloud looked away from his wine glass, glancing up at the windows. He was silent for a long moment, not saying anything, the cobalt suns of his irises losing some of their luster. Tifa felt the sadness grow thick around them, and she couldn't stop the way that she slid closer to him on the couch, her body aching to provide him with any sort of comfort.

"Yeah," he finally answered. "She used to have them everywhere, and in the garden too. Those were the only ones I've been able to keep alive this past year. Don't have much of a green thumb."

Tifa glanced up at the rusted weapon above the fireplace. "And that sword… did it belong to Zack?"

He sighed lightly, looking down again and giving his head a little toss. His breathing seemed to have picked up speed, and Tifa worried that maybe she was pushing him too hard.

"Yeah. I need to have it polished and cleaned."

His voice was shaky, and something about the lost, lonely tenor of it had Tifa curling up beside him on the couch, drawing closer to him and dropping her hand to his arm. He shifted and turned to her, opening up his body so that he could accept her warmth.

"Tell me about them," she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder after taking another sip of her wine. "Only good, happy things."

He was silent for another eternal pause, but slowly, he began to whisper back to her, his breath falling over her hair as he talked to her about his best friend and his wife. He told her how he had met Zack shortly after he had been drafted into the infantry, how they had bonded during their tour in Wutai, despite the fact that Zack was two years older than he was and was already in the ranks of SOLDIER. He shared how Zack had always encouraged him to keep fighting and to keep training, to hold onto his honor and to never give up, despite the depression and self-pity Cloud found himself wallowing in all those times he failed the SOLDIER exam. He told her that, if it weren't for Zack, he might not have succeeded at the one goal he had ever set for himself in life.

Tifa closed her eyes and basked in his warmth when he told her how Zack had met Aerith and how they had been dating even before Cloud met him, how they had gotten married when they were so young that he thought Zack was losing his mind. Tifa laughed at this, squeezing Cloud's bicep playfully, and by then her wine glass was empty, and he filled it again for her. He told her how much Aerith got on his nerves, how she used to tease him and try to set him up with her friends, and his voice trailed off when he started to explain why her efforts always failed.

"I never got over you, Tifa," he finally confessed.

Tifa looked up at him, her eyes wide, but Cloud had already turned away, his cheeks the color of carnations. The music shifted from the stereo, and Tifa instantly recognized it, Carmona's Plié dripping its pretty, piercing notes into the air.

"I never got over you either, Cloud," Tifa admitted in response, watching as his eyes widened, and he finally turned back to her, star beams coloring the blue behind his eyes with a twinkling light. She set her glass down on the coffee table. "I think you owe me a dance, and I really like this song."

He smirked at her words, placing his own glass down and then getting to his feet. He held out a hand to her, and Tifa accepted it, letting him pull her to her feet in front of him.

He stepped away from the couch, bringing her with him in front of the fireplace where they had a little more room to move. Plié was a slow, gentle harmony, and already Tifa was swaying her hips to its rhythm, letting Cloud draw her in close to him. His arms came to wrap around her waist, holding her tight and melding the heat of both their bodies. She lifted her arms, looping them around his neck, and their eyes connected, Cloud holding her gaze with his as he fell into step with her lazy rock back and forth.

The melody was infecting her deep, losing itself in the threads of her heart as it beat and ricocheted against Cloud's firm chest. She could feel every line of him, his muscles tight and solid, and her mind began to unravel, imagining their layers of clothing peeled away so that they could join together, skin to skin.

As if he were reading her thoughts as he looked down into her eyes, his hands began to wander, his large palms heavy as they traveled up the plains of her lower back and her shoulders, feeling every muscle and tendon through her blouse. She closed her eyes at his touch, feeling him soothe away the sharp aches that had lived with her for so long now they had become one and the same with her, as much a part of her as her own beating heart. Her fingers reached up and found his hair, curling through the soft strands at the back of his neck, running through them and feeling their silk again, the first time in so, so long.

The sensations were driving her mad, her breath quickening as her body began to feel suddenly too hot and too responsive, her thighs warm and her most sensitive parts awakening. Cloud seemed attuned to the way she reacted, because he grew handsier and rougher, his palms now dropping to her waist, his hands so large he could almost wrap them fully around her as he squeezed. She gasped as the sensation, angling her hips up toward his, and she heard him growl before he leaned in and dropped his lips to hers.

It was nothing like the way he had kissed her the night before. No, last night he had taken his time, the heat of his lips searing hers before he gently prodded them apart, only to be interrupted by that stupid security officer before he could fully wrap his tongue around hers. Tonight, though, he was wasting no time in demanding what he wanted from her, kissing her as if they stood on the precipice of the end of the world.

She was far too happy to relent, parting her lips eagerly to let him in, and the subservience kicked something inside of both of them into overdrive. His mouth was rough and commanding on hers, his tongue seeking as his lips opened and closed over hers again and again, driving her completely wild. She mewled as his body overpowered hers, and she found herself pulling at his hair before dragging her hands to the sides of his face, clutching him tight to her as she nipped at his lower lip, trapping it between hers and refusing to let go.

His erection was a steel rod against her leg, and the desire behind it was matched by his sudden urgency as his hands grew violent and seeking on her body. She felt her hips roll and her back arch as he began to run his hands up and down the smooth length of her form, disrupting her top and pushing it askew. He dropped one hand to her rear, squeezing its curve tight and rough beneath his palm, causing Tifa to yelp and release his bottom lip as his other hand drifted under her shirt, rising over the heated skin of her belly and leaving her shaking and unsteady on her feet.

He was backing her up toward the sofa, his mouth still connected with hers in intermittent loops, one hand glued to her bottom and the other now clutching her right breast, squeezing it until she tossed her head back in desperation. She felt the back of her knees slam against the couch just as he dragged his fingertip over the lace material of her bra, circling over her nipple until she was leaking and her clit was throbbing. As soon as Cloud pushed her to a seat on the couch, she spread her legs, her skirt riding up high along her thighs. She moaned with complete abandon when he finally tore his mouth from hers and then fell to his knees in front of her, centering himself right between her legs, biting into the flesh of her thigh before he leaned forward to run hot kisses against her tummy, both hands now pushing her blouse and then her bra up and out of the way.

He was palming her breasts and teasing her nipples with such pointed accuracy and agonizing slowness that Tifa was moaning, unable to cope with the sensations of pleasure that tumbled in fury throughout her body, feelings she had not experienced with this level of intensity in so, so long. His lips were flames that licked and flickered along her belly, and he dropped one hand to the button of her skirt, working it open as he kissed lower and lower. Her clit began to ache as she felt herself burn and disintegrate, tossing her head back and staring up at the ceiling as she forced her back into a wicked arch that strained every sore muscle and vertebrae.

Cloud thumbed and brushed across her sore nipple a few more times before he pulled his hand away and brought it to her waist, now beginning to tug at her skirt, nimble fingers working at her zipper. The anticipation had built to a fiery pinnacle inside of her, and Tifa lifted her hips, her mouth parting wide as her breath escaped in rough, ragged puffs.

"Cloud…" she whimpered, dismayed and disbelieving in the broken plea behind her voice. "I want you so bad…"

"I want you too, Tifa," he hummed against the soft, sensitive space beneath her belly button, one hand pausing to drop beneath her skirt and creep along her inner thighs, forcing her to widen them as his long, graceful fingers drew closer to her soaked underwear, her desperate bundle of nerves aching for his touch, throbbing as the tip of his finger barely grazed beneath it, drawing a short line across her seam.

"Cloud!"

Tifa froze, feeling her heart plummet and crash at the sound of the high-pitched, youthful voice, footsteps echoing in the foyer beyond the front door. While her brain tried to process what she had just heard, caught between the hazy blur of stinging pleasure he had injected into her brain and the sudden, piercing shock, Cloud was instantly at his feet and moving quickly, pulling on her blouse and skirt and trying to fix everything as he swore.

"Fuck, fuck," he cursed, over and over again, and Tifa managed to pull it together, straightening up on the couch and running her hands over her clothes, fixing her bra, twisting it until it was back in its proper place beneath her top, just before Denzel opened the door.

Mercifully, the couch was facing away from the door, so Tifa didn't have to face him as soon as he walked in. She tried to regulate her breathing, knowing that she was completely flushed and flustered. She glanced up at Cloud, catching him red-faced, pulling his hand through his hair repeatedly in nervous bursts.

"Hey Denzel," he croaked, and Tifa's eyes dropped to the thick outline of his erection against the front of his pants, setting off new torpedos between her legs. "You're back early. Did you have a good time?"

"I did," he responded. "The movie was great. Tifa?"

Tifa winced, but she slowly exhaled, turning on the couch to find Denzel standing across the room, shrugging out of his coat. "Hi, Denzel," she greeted. "It's nice to see you. I'm glad you had fun with your friends."

Denzel smiled at her, and to her great relief, he seemed completely oblivious as to what had just been occurring, only moments ago.

Cloud was wiping her saliva off of his lips with the back of his hand, and she noticed that they were bright red and bruised, punctured by teeth marks in one spot from all of her assaults. "That's good Denzel," he was saying, clearly trying to keep his own breathing in check. "But it's getting late. You gotta get ready for bed."

"That's right," Tifa added on, deploying the usual cheer she used with Denzel into her voice and abandoning the sultry depths that Cloud had inspired in her tone. "We have piano tomorrow, and I need you to be well-rested."

"Okay," Denzel agreed, and as if to prove it, he yawned. He smiled again at them both. "Good night, Cloud. Goodnight, Tifa."

"Goodnight."

At their farewell, he turned and headed into his bedroom down the hall, none the wiser.

When his door shut, Cloud was shaking his head in dismay, wiping the lines of sweat from his forehead. Tifa inhaled and then exhaled deeply, wishing there was anything she could do to cease the race of her heart, feeling it about to leap from her chest.

"I'm sorry about that," Cloud intoned, falling next to her on the couch, his voice a whisper. "I lost track of time. You have that effect on me."

He was smirking, despite the dangerous nature of what had just occurred. But Tifa only smiled in return.

"It's okay," she laughed lightly. "I should probably get going. It's getting late."

"I'll drive you home," Cloud insisted immediately.

She shook her head. "And what? Leave Denzel here alone?" She reached for her purse, pulling out her PHS. "It's fine, Cloud. I can call a cab."

But he was stopping her, first dropping a hand to her wrist before he gently pulled her device out of her hand. "No," he scolded gently. "Just crash here tonight, Teef. I'll make sure to get you back to your apartment early in the morning before you have to open for the day."

She glanced at him, still feeling the warmth of his fingers on her skin and the blaze of his lips and touch all over the rest of her. Their eyes met, but his were no longer bright and virulent and raging with mako, but were calm, tranquil waters of blue, watching her carefully with concern behind them.

"Okay," she found herself giving in. "I can sleep on the couch."

He was shaking his head. "Nah, I'll stay here. You can have my room."

"You don't have to do that, Cloud."

He was at his feet anyway, rising and pulling her along, his hand now clasped around her wrist. He didn't voice his protest, only led her to the back of the house, showing her to the master bedroom.

It was quiet and dark, painted in indigoes and blues. In the back of her mind, Tifa wondered if this had once been Zack and Aerith's room, but she didn't dare ask.

Cloud was turning away from her, rummaging through one of his drawers for something. While she stood there, looking around the room and then out of the window, he came back up to her.

"Here," he said, handing her a folded pair of sweats and a faded t-shirt. "You can wear those to sleep. I'll… see you in the morning."

And then he kissed her on the cheek, much like had in the park, too hot and too close to her lips that were still burning from his earlier ravishment.

She watched, somewhat fascinated, as he quickly vacated his room before she could respond, closing the door and leaving her alone. Her emotions running like wild chocobos in her chest, Tifa tried to get every part of her body under control, desperately working to ignore the lingering pulse that was sending lighting over her wet center before she dropped her purse to the bed and quietly changed into his oversized clothes.

She sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, now completely enveloped in his scent, the moonlight pouring in through the blinds above and leaving pale, highlighted lines in her skin. Yet her mind was elsewhere, her heart still pounding as she thought about Cloud in the other room and her sitting alone in here, and the loneliness and the longing became too much to bear.

Rising to her feet, she carefully opened his bedroom door, peering into the rest of the apartment and finding it dark. Inhaling deeply, she tiptoed into the living room, finding Cloud stretched out on the couch with his eyes closed, his hands behind his head and his breathing gentle. At some point, he had swapped his jeans for a pair of sweatpants.

She took a deep breath, then reached forward and gently pulled on his wrist.

"Cloud."

"Hm?"

"I… I don't want to be alone," she admitted, her voice tiny, as if she were seventeen years old again. "Will you at least come lay next to me in the bedroom?"

He sat up then, leveling his gaze with hers, the mako in his eyes glowing in the darkness of the room. She felt her heartbeat quicken under the intensity of the look he gave her.

"Are you sure, Tifa?" he asked. "I don't want - "

"Shhh," she hushed him. "Just… lay next to me. I can't bear to know you're under the same roof but not even in the same room as I am."

He nodded as if he understood this completely, and he rose to his feet, coming up so close behind her that she could feel all over his warmth run over her like the sudden crash of a river, just barely able to feel the lines of his body against hers.

"Okay, Tifa," was all he said, his voice low and breathy, and Tifa turned away as she flushed, taking his hand and leading him back the way she came, into his own bedroom.

He closed the door behind him, and Tifa pulled the sheets back, crawling into the bed. He stood watching her as she settled, curling up to one of his pillows and leaving plenty of space for him. She stared back at him, catching that verdant glow soften, and finally, he approached, sinking into the bed next to her and keeping a safe distance, not even bothering to pull the covers over himself.

"Goodnight, Tifa."

"Goodnight, Cloud."

Tifa wasn't sure when it had happened, but at some point , they had come to face each other, and when she woke the next morning, her body was tangled fully with his, her arms around his waist and her leg slung over his hip, his arms wrapped around her tight and his forehead tucked into he shoulder, his grip on her body so secure it was as if he were afraid she might disappear in the middle of the night.

—

[ μ ] - εγλ - 1996 | 17th December

O Ye Faithful to the Goddess

Tifa stood in front of her mirror, staring at the white Confirmation dress she was wearing, running her hands over the intricate, embellished details of the corseted bodice, fine beading that sparkled with iridescent shimmers under the sunlight that streamed in her bedroom window everytime she turned and angled her body in front of the mirror. The skirt fanned out full and long around her legs in shining streaks of taffeta, a more silvery hue than the bodice of the dress but still a pearlescent, virginal shade of wide.

She exhaled heavily, feeling her throat constrict, pressing her hand to her belly, feeling the dread that was caged inside spin and tumble. Her heart was growing heavy and sluggish inside of her chest, wrapped in a thick film of despair, the next few hours of her life filling her with new anxieties that were more complex and in some ways, more despairing with the ones she had been living with in recent months.

She picked up her brush and ran it through her hair, still staring at her reflection, her strokes moving in a slow, deliberate path from her roots to the ends. She could see the glassiness in her own eyes, and as her fingers grew cold around their grip of her hairbrush, she closed her eyes and shuddered, thinking about how this moment had come to be.

It had begun last Saturday morning, when she confronted her father in his study, just as he was making his way for work. It was the day after Jody had stopped her on the sidewalk in front of school, startling her by informing her that they were to attend his Goddess Confirmation together.

Tifa's family had only been somewhat religious, her mother more interested in the New Age philosophies that derived from the Humanist schools of thought that were taught in Cosmo Canyon, where she had attended University as a young girl. But Tifa's father, who had lived in Nibelheim his entire life and was one of its senior officials, had forced them to the temple nearly every Sunday in worship of Minerva and her lesser deities, one of the oldest and most orthodox religious sects on the Planet. It was the most widely practiced religion in Nibelheim, and Brian kept up good airs about his and his family's commitment to the Goddess.

Despite this, Tifa had always considered religion to be a mild interference, background noise that had no real bearing or impact on her life. Aside from attending temple on Sundays - a ritual that became more sporadic after her mother had become sick - she had largely ceased to pay it any attention, focusing on her studies and preparing for college.

She certainly had no expectation to participate in a Goddess Confirmation.

Having grown up in the Church, she was familiar enough with the practice to know that it was a rite of passage for adolescent boys on the cusp of manhood, in preparation to leave their families. The ritual was intended to confirm the young man's dual betrothals before he ventured out into the world on his own - first, to the Goddess Minerva, and second, to the girl he was intended to eventually marry.

Tifa had attended a few Confirmations in her life growing up, always watching in awe as a pair of teenagers stood before the altar of the highest Goddess, the boy receiving the blessings of Minerva after professing to honor both her and their families. The girl who accompanied him was usually silent - the ceremony was about the boy, and not the girl, of course - and by the end of it, as far as the Church was concerned, the two were bound to one another.

Tifa knew that there had been plenty of times where those ties had been severed, but still, when Jody had dropped his bomb on her that afternoon, that thought did not help her feel any less disturbed.

She had found her father scrambling through papers on his desk in a mad rush, clearly in a hurry to be somewhere else. When she entered the room, he had looked up at her for a brief moment and then instantly ignored her.

"Dad? Did you agree for me to participate in Jody's Goddess Confirmation?"

"I don't have time for this right now, Tifa."

She watched her father as he pulled his arms through the sleeves of his coat, rummaging around on his desk in his study for some papers, stuffing them into his suitcase with a severe glower on his face.

"But Dad," Tifa protested, standing in front of his desk, her hands beginning to shake as she stared up at him. She tried to catch his eyes, but he was purposefully looking away from her as he focused on gathering his ledgers and materials. She studied his face, noting the thick layer of rough stubble along his cheeks and chin, his mustache growing out over his upper lip, his hair disheveled and askew. It was clear from the bags under his eyes that he had not slept in days.

There was a deeper question lingering behind Tifa's lips, and her chest had been heavy and weighted as she swallowed with great difficulty, trying to muster the courage to voice it. Her father stepped from behind his desk with a manic flourish, gathering his suitcase and then tapping his pockets as he searched for his keys.

"Dad," she had finally spoken up. "Do you expect me to marry Jody Hartley?"

Her father paused, finally taking the moment to look over at her, his dark brown eyes meeting her deep crimson. He exhaled with frustration, shaking his head.

"Tifa, with everything that is going on, I need to make sure you are taken care of. You've been with Jody for sometime now, and we all agreed it was for the best. This Confirmation will make certain that you have the blessings of both his family and the Church, and believe me when I say, we are all going to need it."

Tifa narrowed her eyes, trying to read between the lines of his words. She shook her head vigorously, disbelieving in what she was hearing.

"But Dad, I never agreed to any of this," she protested. "And Jody and I broke up months ago."

At this, her father stopped, now his turn to sharpen his gaze as he stared back at her. "What do you mean?" he demanded, dropping his briefcase back on his desk in frustration. "Why?"

Tifa chewed the inside of her lip, considering her next words carefully, not daring to say anything about Cloud. "It was not working out, Dad," she replied in a quiet, firm tone, trying to ignore the pestilent wasps that crowded her throat with stinging pain. "I don't want to be with him."

"Nonsense," Brian declared, picking up his suitcase again. "I don't want to hear another word of this. You will attend that Confirmation and do your part. We will discuss the particulars of your future at a later date. I have business that I need to attend to at Town Hall, Tifa. Misanti at the tailor's shop is already working on your dress. You can pick it up by the end of the day. And please get started on dinner a little earlier tonight, Tifa. I want to be able to eat as soon as I get home."

She started to interject, but he had moved so quickly around her that she was left with nothing but the faint, sweet smell of whiskey in the air, blended with his heavy aftershave and the stiff, ashen odor of cigar smoke that permeated the air of his study.

That had been a week ago, and at present, Tifa was standing on the precipice of Jody's Confirmation, less than an hour away, still in disbelief that any of this was happening.

"Tifa!" her father called from downstairs, his voice echoing through the floorboards. "It's time to go."

She closed her eyes, fighting back tears, before she opened them and took one final glance at her reflection in the mirror. She did not recognize herself; she looked foreign, as if she had stepped outside of her body and was watching someone else's life unfold from afar. With desperation climbing along her insides like thorny, violent vines, she turned away and made to leave her room.

Before she departed, she glanced out of her window, seeing Cloud's across from her own, and her heart sank even deeper, the back of her mind spinning, trying to determine how she was going to get out of this entire mess.

If only she and Cloud could just run away together and leave all of this behind, never to be dealt with again, somewhere they could both be themselves and never have to worry about the obligations that others forced upon them.

If only.

She made her way down the hall, stopping at her mother's room before she headed downstairs. A Goddess Confirmation - her father promising her to the Hartley's without her consent - and her mother had not been aware for any of this. Tifa knew that if Mama was lucid, she would not have agreed to this, would have shut her father's ideas down immediately.

Pressing her palm to the door, Tifa began to recall her mother's screaming accusations on Harvestfest Eve, wondering now if there had not been some ugly truths laden behind those claims.

The door creaked open as she palmed it, and Tifa stepped inside, keeping her footsteps light as she entered her parent's bedroom. The curtains were still shuttered, leaving the room encased in darkness despite the early morning hour.

Her mother was lying on her back in the center of the bed, her head tipped to one side, her hair a dark spill that covered the thick white sheets as if an ink jar had tipped over. It was long and wavy, and Tifa realized that it had grown even longer in recent months, longer than even her own hair.

The room was shrouded in a stillness that was unsettling and left chills along the skin of Tifa's arms, raising their hairs, as if she had just entered a tomb. She stepped inside slowly, approaching the bed, sitting on its edge and staring down at her mother as she slept.

Her arms were limp at her sides, and her skin was deathly pale, so sallow and pitted that it inspired a sudden rise of bile in the center of Tifa's gut, curdling upwards with a burn that leveled itself in the back of her throat. The sensation was quickly accompanied by the sudden sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. She leaned forward, brushing her fingers over her mother's cheek, feeling the firm line of her cheekbones poke through skin that was far too unnaturally cool.

"Mama," Tifa called quietly, feeling a tear escape and blaze a trail down her the side of her face. "I wish you would get better, Mama. There's so much I need to tell you."

Her eyes began to blur with tears, but even through the haze, she could see her mother's stunning beauty, however marred by sickness and depletion her features were. They were sharp and aristocratic, carrying the hints of her Far-West lineage deep in the almond shapes of her eyes and the full, dark flush of her lashes against her cheeks.

Wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, Tifa began to wish that someday, she might be even half as beautiful as her mother was.

She couldn't stop the way that she sobbed then, confessing her deepest fears and miseries to Lorelai, who lay against the mattress like a disinterested rag doll. She wept about Jody and her father, how he committed her to something she wanted no parts of, how in just a little while, she would be standing before the crystallized altar of a Goddess who had abandoned humanity millenia ago and who Tifa still did not understand why they worshiped any longer. She shook her head as she cried, sharing with her mother how she did not love Jody, how she felt nothing for him, and how he treated her as if she were an accessory, even in the moments when they had been on their best terms.

She wept about school and about college and about never having time for any of it, about the piano and the clutch of her dreams and a future that seemed to be slipping away. And she confessed her love for a boy who nobody liked and who hated everybody in return, except for her, and the way that he made her feel so alive and loved, as if she were the only person on the face of the earth.

And then she begged and begged, sobbing for her mother to be there, to get better, to live so that she wouldn't have to face any of this alone.

The sheets were stained with her tears when she felt a cool softness wrap around her wrist. She opened her eyes and wiped the tears away, sniffling as she looked down, finding her mother's eyes opened, dark maroon pools that were swirling with confusion, her pupils dilated and wide. She was squeezing her wrist, staring at Tifa, and slowly, her hand lifted to cup her cheek.

"Tifa…" she whispered.

"Mama?" Tifa gawped, sitting up straighter and trying to calm the way her sobbing had bubbled hiccups into her lungs. "Mama, please. Tell me you're going to be okay."

Lorelai only smiled, faint and weak, her thumb brushing across Tifa's cheek. "Tifa, my love. You look so beautiful."

Tifa gasped, another sob escaping, fresh tears flowing into her collarbone.

"Everything is going to be okay, Tifa. You were always stronger than me, sweetheart."

"That's not true," Tifa sniffed.

Her mother held her smile, rocking her head back and forth across her pillow, her hair sliding in every direction. She dropped her hand from Tifa's face, and it fell lifeless again into the sheets.

"I'm tired, Tifa," she finally said, and she rolled to her side, facing the window and away from her, pulling the covers high over her shoulders, and Tifa stared at her, realizing soon that she was knocked out cold again, her back rising and falling as she breathed deep in her sleep.

Tifa watched her for a moment longer before she heard her father's voice again, calling her frantically. She closed her eyes a final time, wiping again at her face to be sure that all of her tears were gone from her cheeks before she rose to her feet, not knowing then that that would be the last time she would ever speak to her mother again.

She was caught in blur as she rode with her father across town to the temple, and soon, she found herself surrounded by villagers seated in pews, her father making his rounds as he greeted them, shaking hands with the town's officials and its most prominent business owners. She saw Jody at the front of the room with his parents, Jonathan and MaryAnn Hartley. Her father greeted them next, Jody's father looking smug as he shook Brian's hand, and MaryAnn was dropping her hand to Tifa's shoulder, her hand so icy cold it nearly sent her bones out of her skin.

"You look beautiful, Tifa," MaryAnn Hartley complimented, but her voice was so syrupy that her words dripped with inauthenticity. "I'm so sorry that your mother is ill and that she could not be here. She would be so proud."

Tifa could not muster the words to respond appropriately to that, her throat was so filled with the venom of snakes.

The regular services began, and Tifa sat beside her father in a pew, her shoulders curled forward as she tried to shrink away from the intruding eyes of every other congregant who seemed to have their eyes glued to her in appraisal and judgment. Jody turned to her a few times, questions hanging in his powder-blue eyes, but Tifa avoided his gaze, refusing to offer him anything more than she had already been forced to give.

With that thought burning in the back of her mind, Tifa glanced around the temple, looking for Cloud and his mother, Claudia, unsurprised when she saw neither of them seated in the rows.

It soon came time for the ceremony, and Tifa put up another mental block, going through the motions as if she were suspended in the toxic mist that hung in the air above the Northern Crater. She was vaguely aware of the way that Jody took her hand, his palm clammy and too soft and uncomfortably cool, a sharp contrast to the feel of Cloud's, whose hands were always firm and strong and rough with scars and callouses, warming her hand whenever he wrapped his around hers.

She tried to keep Cloud at the forefront of her mind, memories of his image and his scent and his touch keeping her tethered to reality when Jody was asked to kneel before Minerva.

The Goddess' statue was carved from a glowing slab of crystalline gray rock that was painted with silver dust and positioned over a thick, black velvet dais, long locks of pale hair sculpted into a river around her shoulders, her perfectly formed face staring ahead with a look of vengeance and violence. Her forehead was wreathed by a pointed crown and a circular band, embedded with rocks of pure materia, looped around her waist, her long robes reaching into a spill on the floor around her feet. She was fully armored with a heavy breast plate, a threatening staff in one hand that climbed high above her height and nearly reached the ceiling.

Tifa was asked to stand at Jody's side, silently, as the sacraments of wine and freshly slaughtered raw dragon meat were brought forth for his consumption. Tifa kept her eyes trained on the Goddess, staring into her dead, marble eyes, wondering what had happened to Minerva when she had walked among man and Cetra that had left her to become such a spiteful and hateful diety.

She tried to distract herself, but her attention was recaptured when the High Priest began to chant in an ancient tongue, waving a golden thurible suspended from chains that burned a potent, spiced incense into the hair as he held one hand up and spoke. At her side, Jody began to repeat his words back to him, his voice suddenly sounding boyish and small and uncertain, and with her hands folded in front of her, she peered down at him.

He was kneeling on a scarlet-hued velvet pillow, plush golden fringe and tassels fanning out in every direction beneath him. His ash-brown hair had tumbled into his forehead when he lowered his head in reverence, and Tifa could see from where she stood that he was beginning to tremble. Feeling deeply disconcerted at the sight of him here in his black and white suit, she turned abruptly away, closing her eyes as the sound of the repetitious chanting and the fragrance of the incense made her dizzy and burned the inside of her nostrils.

Eventually the High Priest ceased, passing the thurible to another clergy. He was handed the sacraments, and he ordered Jody to partake.

Tifa watched in mild horror as Jody chewed the small piece of raw dragon meat before swallowing it back with wine. When he had finished, clearly trying to suppress the disgusted look on his face, the Priest demanded he rise to his feet.

Jody stood, falling in step beside Tifa. She refused to look at him, feeling the nausea turn over in her stomach, her throat clogged. She stared straight ahead, her eyes connecting again with Minerva's lifeless ones, wondering about the secrets and mysteries that stretched on eons into the annals of history.

"The Blood of the Companions," the High Priest was saying, whipping his crimson and gold robe to one side as he was handed a thin dagger by another clergy. "Children, present your hands."

Tifa glanced up at him sharply, her eyes falling to the shining silver blade in his hand, glimmering under the candlelight that surrounded the temple's nave. Her eyes widened in horror as she watched Jody lift his left index finger, presenting it to the priest, his entire arm shaking before the priest seized his wrist and ran the blade across the pad of his finger in one swift motion, leaving a fine red line in its wake.

Jody began to tremble, but he held his finger up steady as a fat droplet of blood ran down its side. But before she could react, the Priest had set his attention on her.

"Your finger, child," he commanded, his voice filled with mild irritation when she did not immediately comply.

She stared up at the elder, his eyes watery and gray, time etched across them. Idly, she wondered how many of these ceremonies had he performed in his years as Nibelheim's High Priest. How many young men had he forced to commit their lives to a deity who was as cold and malevolent as Minerva? How many young girls had he overseen offering their hearts to boys that they would never love?

She distinctly heard her father clear his throat from the pew behind her, gruff and an obvious signal, tearing her from her thoughts. Jody was now staring at her, his finger leaking to his wrist. The Priest leaned forward, those glassy eyes narrowing.

"Child."

Caught up in a miserable hurricane of despair and feeling trapped as the eyes of the congregation burned like lasers into her back, Tifa reluctantly lifted her left index finger. She wanted to turn away, despising witnessing this moment, but her horror turned to a grotesque, macabre fascination, and she watched the blade run across her flesh, splitting it open and sending a trail of her blood in an immediate spill across her skin with a sudden but bright singe of pain.

Her heart had bottomed out to the pit of her stomach when she felt the priest take her wrist, and she was suddenly sure that she was no longer breathing. She could no longer hear or see beyond a blur, could no longer feel, not when the priest lifted her arm high into the air and not when he pressed her open wound against Jody's, melding their blood for all to see.

An otherworldly hum was dulling her senses when he finally let go of her, and she felt as if she were being pierced by magic, as if she might have ventured beyond the sound barrier and was now crashing through noises that scrambled her brain and left her weighted to the floor, ready to fall to her knees. But the priest broke through her thoughts, his voice suddenly loud and penetrating.

"O ye faithful to the Goddess," he declared, "Let us rejoice. For the boy is now a man, and he is Confirmed."

The congregation clapped, but it was a muted, dull sound, doing nothing to alleviate the pressure on Tifa's chest but only leaving her feeling further crushed. She blinked and looked up, trying to capture her mental faculties, and only when she caught Jody staring at her expectantly and maybe even a little hopefully, did she return to her senses.

"This means nothing," she whispered to him over the voices that crashed around her, before she turned and picked up her skirts, fleeing the nave, leaving bright red splotches of blood all across the fine white taffeta of her dress.

—

[ μ ] - εγλ - 1996 | 23rd December

Bloody and Gold

The following Saturday, Tifa woke up to a gut wrenching, guttural scream.

In the week following Jody's Confirmation, Tifa had been unable to concentrate on anything, the hollowness in her chest expanding, her pulse slow and her vision hazy around the borders. She avoided Jody at all costs, refusing to acknowledge his presence when he passed her in the halls at school or when he tried to tail her outside of her classes. Thankfully, school broke for the Yule break the following Wednesday, and she did not have to have any excuse to see him after that, at least not for the rest of the holiday.

Whenever she could, she spent time with Cloud. He picked her up from school when he could, and late at night, often after midnight when the rest of the village was deep in slumber, he climbed into her room, sitting next to her on her piano's bench, listening to her mourn her humiliation as her fingers floated across the keys. Her index finger still bled and pulsed with pain beneath her bandage, and every time she struck a note, she winced, the mortification and the horror returning with a fresh, new wave.

Cloud knew intuitively that she was hurting, but he never forced her to talk too much about her pain, never pushed her too much for anything. He was a rock, gently combing his fingers through her hair as she played, leaning forward to press the lightest of kisses to her temple as he brushed her hair out of her eyes, her notes still spilling across the keyboard. Eventually, this would lead to him gathering her into his arm, whispering over and over again that things would be okay.

"Fuck a blood pact," he said to her one night, pulling her into his lap where he sat on her bed, his arms wrapped tight around her. "These people are sick, Teef. You don't belong to that punk. If he tries something, I'll kick his ass from here to Rocket Town."

She had instantly laughed, and then they were kissing until their lips were sore and they were passing out side by side on her checkered mattress.

Somehow, her father grew more incorrigible and irritated as the days wore on following Jody's Confirmation, his drinking starting earlier in the evenings and lasting later into the nights. He was frequently on the phone in his study, screaming and swearing, and Tifa avoided him on those evenings, cooking dinner early and leaving it on the stove to warm, taking her meal in her bedroom so that they would not have to eat together.

He never said anything about this, just ate his dinner quietly alone and left the mess for her to clean, taking his whiskey into his study and locking the door.

And the entire time, her mother stayed locked in her room, venturing out of bed only for her most basic needs.

It was two days before Yule when Tifa heard the harsh, sepurchal shout, and it was so loud and raw that it startled her right out of her sleep. She sat up in bed, rubbing her fists against her eyes, and she glanced out of the window, seeing a fresh, light snowfall descend on the village beyond, the sky still dim.

She glanced at the clock above her piano. It was only six AM, and dawn had not yet fully risen. Trying to blink her way out of sleep, her senses flared even sharper when she thought she heard the distinct echoes of sobs, and as she strained her hearing, she realized that it sounded like her father was weeping.

Feeling a swell of panic rising up in her chest like the first wave of a tsunami, Tifa kicked her feet out of bed and slid them into her slippers, quickly quitting her room and making her way into the hallway.

Time began to slow for Tifa as she raced down the hall toward her parent's bedroom, her muscles feeling as if she were pulling herself through a body of water, even as her feet raced in that direction. She reached their door and latched her palm onto the doorknob, and in one swift motion, tore it open, the sudden momentum of her speed sending it swinging forward and her stumbling into the room.

She found her father on his knees on the floor by the side of the bed, a half-full whiskey bottle leaking into the soft, cream-colored carpet. But its stain was nothing compared to the bright red and gilt just a few inches from where he crouched, pooling by the bedside table in a leak from the mattress above.

Petrified, Tifa looked up to find her mother lying on her side, facing the door. Her skin was as white as the bedsheets, a ghastly hue that made her appear as if she were carved from chalk. Her full lips hung open in a frozen shout of terror, and her eyes were wide, her dark red irises staring into space at nothing and everything at once, unseeing.

But most horrifying about the scene were the thick streaks of dark red blood that ran in endless rivers from the corners of Lorelai's eyes, as dense as maple syrup, still leaking in globs that ran over the sheets and stained the carpet. And blended within was liquified stardust, the color of bars of gold, streaking through the blood and reminding Tifa of the Minervian priest's robes.

The dust had flown everywhere, and was scattered in wet streaks across the sheets and her mother's hair and the front of her nightgown, had splattered with her blood against the headboard and even dripped onto the bedside table. And it was all over her father's hands, coating his pajamas and the bottle of rye that he had dropped, the entire room a crime scene of her mother's disease and his hands in its deterioration.

"Mama?" Tifa cried, unable to process any of this.

Her mother did not move or respond, and although she was already actively entering a phase of denial, Tifa's subconscious knew that she was dead. The only sound was the continual weep of her father, his own tears streaking his face, his body folded into a ball, the stark, sickly sweet smell of booze clinging to the air.

She crossed the room quietly and went to her mother first, stepping in the puddles of blood and stars, not caring how they soiled her slippers. She tried in vain to wake her, but no amount of shaking or screaming or crying made any difference at all, and Tifa turned away with her hands covered in blood and and the dust of the heavens, and she turned to her father, finding him now sitting up with the bottle at his lips.

"Daddy!" Tifa sobbed. "Mama is…"

She trailed off, her voice broken in its plea, but her father said nothing even as she began to beg him, pulling at his shoulder. Eventually, he knocked her away with a rough shove, and Tifa fell back into the bedside table, knocking her mother's lamp and all of her prescription pills to the floor.

Her hip was instantly assaulted with a sharp pain from the impact, and Tifa reached and held the sore spot, wincing, fresh new tears springing from her eyes. She glanced at her father, but he was ignoring her and weeping again, alternating his choked sobs with sips of his drink.

Her mind and her heart both torn asunder, Tifa gnashed her teeth and fled the bedroom, leaving a trail of blood and sparkling tears in her way, finding the phone in her room and calling the only person who could help her.

She called Cloud.

—

It was hours later when Tifa sat on Claudia Strife's couch, curled up in a ball, piles of blankets wrapped around her and an untouched cup of hot chocolate in front of her. Cloud had been sitting beside her all night, his arm wrapped around her, but Tifa had not spoken a word to him or anyone else, not since she had screamed at him through the phone that her mother was dead.

Claudia and Cloud had come over right away, Cloud dragging Tifa to her feet where she had collapsed by her mother's bedside and pulling her out of the room. By then, Brian had passed out at the foot of the bed from his drunkenness, and Claudia had clasped her hand over her mouth, before she quickly gathered her composure and got on the phone, calling for emergency.

At some point that day, Tifa had gathered a few personal items and stuffed them in a bag, following Cloud next door while Claudia dealt with the arrival of the authorities and the coroner. She had showered in a mindless state, washing the blood and stardust down Claudia's drain, before changing her clothes and venturing into the living room, Cloud sitting beside her and offering her everything but the moon and stars to try and comfort her.

But she was muted, unable to speak, her voice severed from her brain as she stared blankly ahead at the black and white television in Cloud's living room. And eventually he stopped talking, content with sitting beside her, his arm around her as he held onto her tight.

Claudia returned to the house later that evening, bringing in a draft of flurries from the snowfall outside, the cold air a sudden blast that disrupted the quietly raging flames in the hearth. She turned to the two teenagers on the couch, pulling off her gloves and then her coat, wiping her boots clean on the floor mat at the door before she entered the living room, holding her petticoats.

"Tifa, sweetheart?"

Tifa looked up at Cloud's mother, seeing her but not really registering her. Her blonde ponytail was wet from the snow, her cheeks blood-rushed from the cold. She nodded in response, unable to form words, and she felt Cloud's warmth shift at her side.

"… I just left the hospital," Claudia continued, grimacing before moving on. "Your father will have to handle the rest, once he comes to. He's at home, sleeping, but he's still in very bad shape. I think you should stay here tonight, Tifa, until he sleeps it off."

Tifa said nothing, and she felt Cloud gently nudge her side, his breath by her hair.

"Teef?"

"Okay," Tifa finally managed to whisper.

Claudia nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she sighed. "Tifa, you really need to eat something tonight. I'm going to work on dinner. Cloud, Tifa can sleep in your room tonight. You take the couch. Please go upstairs and make sure your room is clean, and change the sheets."

"Okay, mom," he responded, and he pushed to his feet, but not before he pressed a kiss to Tifa's forehead. If she had been coherent, she might have been embarrassed by his simple show of affection in front of his mother, but she barely even had awareness that it occurred.

Cloud disappeared upstairs, while Claudia continued to stand there for a moment, folding her hands in front of her.

"You'll get through this, Tifa," she said softly to her. "We will make sure of it."

And then she went into the kitchen, leaving Tifa alone.

For a long time, Tifa stared at the television, watching the images dance across the screen, but her vision was filled with the sight of her pale, languid finger, meant for tapping melodies into the keys of a piano, instead leaking a spool of blood onto her fine white dress, pallid blue eyes petrifying her into ice until she cracked and shattered into a million pieces.

And when she dropped her eyes down to the flames that licked at the grates inside of the brick of the hearth, all she could see was her mother, bloody and gold and leaking all over their pristine carpet, her father drowning in amber-hued rivers that smelled like death before he shoved her aside, sending her against the crags.

The images all burned, and suddenly Tifa was suffocating, and she was rising to her feet, stuffing her feet back into her sneakers and quietly walking through the front door of the Strife household, making her way through the streets and heading Northwest.

She was headed for the mountains, and she knew she would not stop until she reached them.

What she did not know was that Cloud had followed her.