Thursday's detention carries on much like Wednesday's. Tifa takes her seat beside Cloud. She smiles at him. He looks at her for a few seconds longer than he has been. She grumbles over the prompt of the day, which is: "Describe when you learned a skill and how you've developed it over time."

It's not nearly as difficult to begin this next one, but grumbling about it somehow makes the action of writing it a little easier.

"What are you going to write?" she whispers.

Cloud tilts his head at the paper. "Uh, I'm going to write about...drawing."

Tifa's curiosity spikes exponentially at his words. "That's so cool. Do you draw very often?"

Cloud shifts in his seat. "When I can."

Tifa glances up at Mrs. Bouchard and catches her eye. She bites her lip and turns to Cloud for a moment. "Can I ask about it after?"

Cloud readjusts his cap, turning it so that the lid hovers over his forehead. "I guess."

His shoulders raise to his ears as he leans over the paper and begins writing. His antics make her smile. He's so uncaring in the hallways when faced with the boys he doesn't like or guys like Mitch, who he can't care to get along with. He's different when he talks to her. When he does, he evades her eyes for extended periods of time. He likes to talk away from her rather than toward her. Nothing like how blunt and cutting he is to Mitch, nearly snarling and growling into his face. He seems almost timid, perhaps shy, and Tifa remembers walking with him the day before. It had been simple and relaxed. It was nothing like she had expected. He kept his hands in his hoodie pocket. He glanced at her then glanced away. It was more than she was hoping.

And today, when she smiled at him, he didn't scowl or grimace. He merely stared at her smile before averting his gaze, and she thought she spied a blush across his cheekbones.

She thinks about how he was when they were children. He had been bashful back then. His voice had been soft and his face serene. He'd frown more than smile, but when he did smile it had always felt like a triumph.

Tifa clicks out lead from her pencil and begins to write about piano. She began at five years old with her lessons, using her mother's grand forte. It had always been expected—she can't even remember having a choice about playing, but it's now been part of her so long, she can't imagine life without it.

She discusses her mother teaching her first, taking her through lessons and grade books, different levels from easy to intermediate before she passed away. Her father, though it had been hard, hired another teacher a year later, but Tifa had been nine. She had been occasionally overwhelmed by the clutches of melancholy and stubbornness. You're not as good as my mama, she had told one teacher, so honestly and bluntly as only children can be. I don't like how you teach me.

They went through a few others, and by the time Tifa was twelve, she thought she could do it on her own. She bought the books to advance her lessons. She was overambitious in some of her endeavors, believing at times that she was better than she was. By fourteen, she'd gone back to one of her old instructors and began to practice for recitals. Eventually, she would be recruited to play for morning mass at the church.

She isn't as good as her mother, and she isn't sure if she ever will be, but she continues to challenge herself when she can. She'll have a lesson or two each month to make sure she is progressing with her musical abilities and staying nuanced. She plays with the orchestra at school, too, and she'll practice after hours when closer to performances. She plays at home, but she's seen how sad it can make her father. He always tells her how beautiful her music is, how lovely and graceful. But she can tell he struggles. He's been struggling ever since Mom passed away.

Tifa writes and writes and writes. She runs out of room on the front, so she continues and finishes on the back, hoping that Mrs. Bouchard doesn't mind.

"That's a novel," Cloud states, sliding back into his seat from turning in his own paper.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess I got carried away," she says, feeling a little shocked at his attention. She flips over her paper, glancing over her words. She suddenly feels unsure about the long-windedness of her answer before she sighs and tells herself not to care.

"What'd you write about?" he asks.

Tifa looks at him. He's slouching in the chair, his hair pushed down along his temples. The rest falls to his chin, his eyes shadowed by his cap.

"Piano," she says, smiling. "Music. I really enjoy music."

He looks at her for a few seconds longer before he glances back at his desk. "I remember that. You took lessons."

"Yes," she says, tilting her head in surprise. "I did. I still do sometimes, but not as often."

Mrs. Bouchard clears her throat. "Are you finished with your assignment, Tifa?"

Tifa straightens in her seat, going to stand. "O-oh, yes, Mrs. Bouchard," she answers, grabbing her paper and walking to the front of the room. "I'm sorry. I wrote a bit more than I was supposed to."

"That is quite alright, dear," she says, taking the assignment from her. "That means you actually liked this prompt, didn't you?" She flicks her gaze over Tifa's shoulder. "And I believe I know you enough, Cloud, to say that you enjoyed this one as well."

Cloud shrugs noncommittally. "Enjoyed is a bit strong. More like tolerated."

"Mm," Mrs. Bouchard hums, shaking her head. "Sure. But yes, this is just fine, Tifa."

For the first time, Tifa feels as though Mrs. Bouchard might, in fact, not hate her guts.

When Tifa sits back in her seat, she's pleased to see that Cloud only has an earbud in his left ear. The right, on her side, is open and available, daring her to ask him one of her questions. He has a slim journal open in front of him, and he seems to be drawing aimless lines.

Her heart thumps, and she takes a settling breath. She reaches into her bag to pull out a notebook, but she doesn't have any intention to do homework. She bites the inside of her lip, glancing at Cloud.

"Um..." she starts, gaining his attention. "How did you remember I took lessons?"

Cloud raises a brow, but he continues to scratch against his paper. "I don't know. You'd always tell me you had to go home to play piano with your dumb teacher."

Tifa blinks, thinking back to when they'd hang out and spend so much time together. Out of all the scenes that flash in her mind, she can't quite come up with that one.

"I don't remember that," she admits.

Cloud smirks, looking up at her. "Just one of those things. I'd...stay on the swing and you'd stomp home."

Tifa sighs, frowning. "I can't believe I don't remember that."

Cloud shrugs, turning away. "Some things we forget."

At that, Tifa furrows her brow, going through all the other snapshots of time. She remembers eating dinners at his house. She remembers Claudia Strife cleaning up a scrape on her elbow when she fell during an aggressive game of tag, dragging Cloud along with her and the other neighborhood kids. She even remembers bringing Cloud to her room and playing with her action figures and board games.

She doesn't remember complaining about piano to him. Then again, the years after her mother passed have become a heavy blur in her mind. Cloud was right in the middle of that blur, his body crystal clear against the superficial details in the background. Sometimes, she can't even remember how her father interacted with her during her later elementary days.

It makes her wonder what memories Cloud keeps in comparison to hers. Looking at the profile of his face, she is too intimidated to ask something so personal.

"I remember when we climbed the oak tree in my backyard," she says. "I slipped and fell and thought I had to have died."

Cloud taps his pencil. "Yeah. I remember that."

"My dad got so mad at us. He wanted to kill me after he made sure I was okay," she says faintly, smiling and shaking her head.

"Yeah..." Cloud says. "That was when he told me to never come back or he'd skin me alive."

Tifa rolls her eyes. "As if you had anything to do with me missing the branch."

Cloud shrugs a little. "He had reason to be angry. It could have been a lot worse."

"Sure, but it wasn't. He overreacts all the time," Tifa says, and she feels instantly antsy talking about her father. "But anyway, um, drawing," she continues, changing topics. "I didn't know you liked drawing."

Under his breath, he says, "Well, we haven't talked in years. You wouldn't know that."

His words claw at her stomach. "Yeah...you're right." Her eyebrows pinch and she twists her pencil around her fingers. "I...you know, I wish that didn't happen. How we...drifted." She feels the pulse in her neck, and she swallows. She stares at the page of her notebook, opened to a random, insignificant lesson dated back a few days ago. "I'm sorry about not keeping up with you and...not talking to you. We're still neighbors, but it didn't help us keep contact over the years, did it?"

Cloud's pencil stills on his paper. "It...happens," he says, his voice soft. "We did different things. We got busy. You couldn't help that."

Tifa turns to look at him, but she can't catch his eye. "That doesn't matter, though. You make time for your friends."

At that, Cloud swivels his head up. "It was me, too, Tifa. I didn't keep up with you."

She takes a breath. "I'm still sorry, Cloud."

He simply shrugs, his lips quirking. "We're here, now, right?"

Tifa maintains his stare, and she takes in fully what he looks like, now. His eyes are overshadowed by the cap, but they are lively. She remembers that from the previous day, glinting in the waning sunlight. His jaw is precise, as if created by an algebraic formula. Gone is the softness of preadolescence that she remembers most prominently. His lips are thin and pink, and his mouth is in a thoughtful frown. His body is hidden underneath his hoodie and his jeans, beat up sneakers encasing his feet. He is a mystery wrapped up in baggy clothes.

He still intimidates her, and her heart races agitatedly as they sit here and look at each other. She feels the heat from her blood disperse into her face and around her skull, but she is not as fearful as she had been a mere five days ago. She continues to long for what was lost, but she feels the bright, iridescent burn of potential, on the cusp of forming something again.

He is not ignoring her or evading her words and questions, and she is encouraged by it. She smiles.

"Yeah. We're here."

His eyes lower to her lips. He turns away from her and flicks his pencil for a second. He opens his mouth before closing it, clearing his throat lightly. "So, uh, drawing. I've…been drawing since eighth grade, I think."

Tifa blinks, her mouth parting. "Really? That long?"

"...yeah," he says. "Gave me something to do."

Tifa glances at his paper, but she can't see much of anything. She inches a little forward.

"You must be so good at it, now," she says. "What kinds of things do you draw?"

His cheeks begin to darken, and he shifts. "Anything, really."

"Anything?" she asks. "So, people? Animals?"

"Yeah, I draw those," he says.

She tilts her head. She can't tell if he's uncomfortable or embarrassed or neither or both.

"Landscapes?"

"...sometimes."

"People from school? Those still life portraits you always see those famous artists drawing?"

"Uh…I stage things for practice, but not all the time."

"Wow," she says before she brightens, thinking of something. "Do you draw comics?"

Cloud blinks at her. "Uh...no, I haven't tried those before."

She shakes her head. "Oh, that's okay, I was just curious. What's your favorite thing to draw?"

Cloud seems to be taken aback by her interest. Tifa readjusts in her seat, edging slightly away from him. She smiles sheepishly. "Uh, sorry, I just think it's so…"

She wants to say intriguing and exciting. She's never been able to draw anything, and she doesn't know anyone else who cares much for art except for doodling on shoes or the corners of notebooks.

"…cool," she finishes, repeating herself from before.

Cloud's blush deepens. "Er...I don't really have a favorite thing."

Tifa raises her brows. "You don't?"

He shrugs a little. "I just...draw what I feel like."

"Oh," she says, nodding. "I see. I know what you mean. Sometimes with piano, I only want to play certain songs that I feel like, too."

Cloud palms the back of his neck. "Yeah...it's like that."

Mrs. Bouchard interrupts them, signaling the end of detention. Tifa is so surprised at the passing of the hour that she exclaims.

"Huh, that went so quickly today." She turns to Cloud. "You want to, um, walk home together again?"

Cloud slings his backpack over his shoulder. "That's fine, Tifa."

His voice, she thinks. That's something she's still taking in, too. His voice is deeper—of course it's deeper. He's older. But it still takes her getting used to it, as quiet and unobtrusive as it is. It's still boyish, but it is much more masculine, and as her name rolls off his tongue, her shoulder blades pinch together as though a hand grazes her back.

They walk out of school, finding the same sidewalk path they had the day prior. Silence settles over them for a block of walking, their feet padding over concrete. Tifa selects one of her questions, trying to tell herself that Cloud is just another boy from school—because he is.

"So," she says, smiling. "Midgar Soldiers, huh?"

Cloud looks at her. "What?"

"Your cap," she points. "You wear it every day."

He reaches up, tipping it enough so that she can admire the vibrancy of his eyes.

"Oh, yeah," he says. "They're my favorite team—they were my favorite team," he corrects. "I, uh, like Sephiroth."

"Sephiroth?" Tifa says. "He's a quarterback, right?"

"Yeah. He's one of the best in the league," Cloud says. "But he wanted too much money. They traded him to Northern Crater a few weeks ago."

His tone does not sound pleased. "Oh, that's a bummer."

"It's stupid," he mutters. "They knew what would happen if they lost him. Midgar is probably the greediest organization in the league, so it doesn't make sense that they didn't pay him. They must be having some kind of financial problems."

Tifa blinks before laughing lightly. "I didn't know you liked football. As much as you hate the players at school…"

He stares at the sidewalk, shrugging. "Uh, yeah. I like it. It's fun to watch."

"Why don't you come to our games? They're fun to watch, too," she says.

"I tend to root for the other team if I go," Cloud says.

Tifa laughs again. "I can see you doing that, Cloud." She looks at him. "So you have gone to our games before."

"A few times," he says, and he hesitates. His hand grips harder on his backpack strap. "I don't...uh, I don't really like crowds."

"Oh," Tifa says, nodding. "Are they too...overwhelming?"

Cloud seems to struggle with his answer. "Something like that. I've never liked being around...a lot of people."

"That's okay," she says. "It's not for everyone."

Cloud catches her eye, and his face slackens with surprise. "Uh...yeah. Right. Thanks."

Tifa gives him a bemused look. "Why are you thanking me?"

He frowns, pinching his lips together. His shoulders round a little more. "I dunno. Just, uh...it's nice that you understand."

"Oh. Of course, Cloud," she says. "You shouldn't feel like it's a bad thing. I don't even know if I would go to the games if I didn't have to be there."

Cloud looks at her with a skeptical glance. "You don't think so?"

She never admits it aloud, but some evenings she would love to stay home. She would love to read a book she would like rather than a school assignment. She would love to play her favorite songs on the piano instead of trudging through the ones she must.

There is always someone to please—her father, her friends, her teachers.

"I don't know," she begins. "I've been to so many. The energy is fun, and I love performing our cheers and the flips, but..." she shrugs. "I don't know what it's like to just…stay home. I'm not even sure what it's like to just watch the game." She smiles at a thought. "Half the time, I think everyone goes to gossip and doesn't care about if we win or lose."

Cloud smirks at that. "I bet that's true. That or—" he cuts himself off.

"What?"

"Uh, they don't pay attention. Sometimes they sneak in liquor."

"That's true?" Tifa asks, her mouth gaping a little. "I always heard it was a rumor but I never knew for sure."

"Some of the delinquents are creative," he mumbles.

Tifa tilts her head to drill him with a stare. "Are you one of those delinquents?"

He scoffs. "I only get into fights and detention. My mom would kill me if I was caught with alcohol."

This, for whatever reason, pleases Tifa. She smiles, lightly saying, "There are rumors about you, too, you know."

Cloud grimaces. "Of course there are."

"Any guesses about them?"

Cloud turns his head away. "I dunno. Am I a drug dealer?"

"You only sell the occasional cigarette," she answers. "And a minute ago, you had secret access to alcohol."

It takes a few seconds for Cloud to respond. "How'd it get out that I sell cigarettes?"

Tifa's eyes widen before Cloud glances at her again, a ghost of a smirk on his face. She blinks three times before she realizes he's being sarcastic. She grins at him.

"It must have been the time you were caught on the slab," Tifa says, teasing.

"Oh, yeah, the slab," he says. "I hung out there for a week. It's nothing interesting."

Curiosity piqued again, Tifa tugs at the end of her hair. "So, what do you do there?"

Cloud's lips quirk. "Eat lunch. Some kids even talk to each other. Some brought chalk or did homework."

Tifa purses her lips but tries not to smile. "Oh, like normal kids. Weird."

"You should go one day and see for yourself," he tells her. "It isn't very…interesting, but it's different."

Tifa hates how everything in her body immediately refuses the notion. She is biased against the slab beyond repair, but the simple way Cloud explains it makes her want to relearn what she thought about it before.

"Maybe one day," she relents.

"They might wonder what you're doing there, but that's about it," he says. "It gets a bad rap, but it's just another place. Not everyone smokes."

Tifa hums. "I'll have to remember that," she says, and she's disappointed that they are coming up to their houses. Time has suddenly started to move too quickly.

As they find the dividing sidewalk pathway that leads to her house, Tifa takes a breath and glances up at him. He's already looking at her, and she loses her words for a moment.

"I, um," she stutters. "Thanks. Again. For walking with me."

"Yeah. Sure," he says. They stand facing each other. Tifa runs a thumb along the inside of her forearm, hesitating.

"So—I know you hate the football games, but we have another home game tomorrow night if…if you're at all interested," she says. "No pressure, obviously. I just…wanted to invite you. The next week we have a bye, and the next we're out of town."

"Uh…alright," he answers. "I'll think about it."

It's as good an answer as she could have possibly hoped for. She feels that flare of potential in her throat from earlier, and she beams up at him.

"We play one of the best teams in the region. Gongaga. We'll probably lose," she says.

Cloud raises a brow at her. He seems amused. "Tempting."

"Who knows? It might inspire you to draw something. I mean, if you get inspired by that kind of thing," she says, her nerves getting the best of her. She always blurts words when she's anxious or excited. She bites her tongue but is encouraged when he doesn't look away.

"If Mitch misses a tackle, I'd have to journal it," he says.

Tifa laughs. "You should draw him with a broken eye. I'm sure you could find someone who'd pay good money for it."

"Yeah. Or make a ton of copies and fill up his locker with them," he says, and he sounds serious.

"Cloud!" she exclaims. "That would be so mean!"

He only shrugs, but half of his mouth is turned up in a smile. She can't remember the last time she's seen it.

"Only a little mean."

She shakes her head, but she can't help her growing amusement. "I guess you could title it moron."

Cloud's half-smile remains. Tifa stares at it.

"Good idea. I'll have to remember that," he says.

She feels an untimely blush begin to heat her face. She quickly shakes her head in a vain attempt to get rid of it.

"Anyway, I'm gonna head home. Only one more day of torture, right?" she asks.

His smile fades. "Yeah. One more day. See you," he says.

She immediately feels like she made a mistake with her words. "See you tomorrow," she says in farewell, slowly turning and heading up the incline. She glances back when she's halfway, but Cloud is already gone.

She sighs, feeling the beginnings of a knot twist in her stomach.

He makes her feel so nervous, as if one word from her will ruin everything. But he also makes her feel a strange calm, as if the words don't matter one way or another.

A nervous calm.

It doesn't make sense.

As she greets her dad with a kiss on the cheek and climbs up her stairs to her bedroom, Tifa finally realizes the meaning of a contradiction. It's the way that the images of her interaction with Cloud replay in a rapid succession of scenes, sprinting across her eyes.

And how, unrelentingly, that nervous calm wages war in her heart.

Cloud finds himself drawing a lot of lines.

The lines turn out to be hair.

The hair becomes attached to a skull, and it flows over shoulders and down a back. Halfway into drawing Tifa, Cloud pauses. He scoffs at himself. What the hell is he doing?

He hasn't drawn her in years. He's talked to her all of, what? Forty-five minutes? Sixty? Is that really the length of time it had taken for the wonder to come back?

He glances up at the closed blinds over his bedroom window.

Not even that, he thinks. He rolls his eyes and shoves himself away from his desk. He goes downstairs to eat dinner, but it does nothing to clear his mind. When he comes back to his room with the paper and the silhouette of her face staring back at him, he feels undeniably frustrated.

Only one more day of torture, right?

One more day, he thinks, and then what?

It might turn out to be a blip in their regularly scheduled lives. It might not be a beginning and merely an interlude—a walk down memory lane and nothing more. It's all up to him, and it's up to Tifa, too. Once detention is over, they will travel out of its bubble and back to their own respective circles. Cloud's stomach twists at the thought, the disappointment already creeping into him. He sighs and sits in his desk chair, hand hovering above the different pencils. He chooses one with heavier, darker graphite, and while he hangs onto the potential disappointment tugging inside of him, he outlines the thick rim of Tifa's eyes. He thinks about how her gaze looked when she asked him to the game tomorrow evening. They were wide and shy and hopeful, shining like they always are, and bordered with a smile.

As he finishes the rest of her face, trying his best to recreate her how he envisions, he contemplates his answer to her question. The longer he stares at the Tifa Lockhart on his desk, memorialized on the once pristine, white sheet of drawing paper, the more and more he begins to waver.

The next day, as Cloud sits in his self-designated seat in detention, he has a strange, increasingly amplified bout of nerves. He has to adjust his cap more than strictly necessary. He begins to feel a bit hotter underneath his trusty hoodie.

He can't stop staring at the prompt. He sighs at it.

It reads: "Describe a promise you made and how you have either kept it or broken it."

Cloud glances up and glares at Mrs. Bouchard until she catches his eye. She merely smiles at him, as if she knows the turmoil she's created.

Because it's not like she could know. There's no way she could possibly know how much this stupid, tiny, ridiculous prompt itches at his skin like a dozen mosquito bites. She can't know how much it bothers him.

And it's not like the promise was anything special. It wasn't even serious. It's just…stayed with him, that's all.

We'll be friends forever, right? Pinky promise!

They had been on the swing set, again. It was at least five years ago, and he didn't think anything of it at the time. It had merely made him happy. He remembers the childlike joy, in the moment, thinking nothing could tear them apart. It was as simple as that. She was his best friend, and his only friend in the town, and they'd be together forever.

Until, of course, they weren't.

It will be his second prompt about her. This also makes him nervous. Mrs. Bouchard reads all of these things—he knows she does. Mrs. Bouchard isn't the kind to give papers a passing glance, especially the ones from detention.

He holds back a groan. He should just make something up. It's easy. He could write something about his mother.

Once, I promised my mom I'd do my best in school. I broke it. I'll never live up to it because I don't want to. School is stupid. The end.

Yeah, Mrs. Bouchard would enjoy that one.

Cloud hears Tifa's pencil scribbling across her page. He watches her for a moment. She writes quickly, now. The first two days, she struggled, but now she begins without much pause. She's already halfway down the page. Cloud stares at his, not having started.

Sitting beside Tifa makes it hard to ignore everything about their past life together. Cloud thinks about a lot of bullshit he can write on his paper, discussing how he's let his mother down time and again by being a delinquent and by never showing her that he can get along with others.

Cloud doesn't like thinking about this, either.

Has he ever made a promise he's kept? With the prompt staring back up at him, he can't think of one.

Fuck it, he thinks, clicking out more lead from his pencil. It's the last day of torture. Might as well go out with an incredibly torturous bang, too.

The first promise I can remember making was when I was thirteen. I'm sure I've made more than that, but this one sticks in my mind because it mattered a little more to me.

Tifa and I used to be good friends back then. We played on the swing sets and ate dinner at each other's houses. We'd play board games and try to be on each other's teams during recess.

She always dragged me into the things I'd never do myself, like jumping into pick up soccer games or playing tag or hanging out with the other kids. I've never been very good at talking or making friends, and she tried to help me with that. I don't know why. I always thought she just wanted me to have more friends besides her. Sometimes, I wonder if I had been a burden to her. She had other friends, and I only had her. Did she feel bad for me? Honestly, I wouldn't blame her. I would have wanted me to stop following me around, too.

If not, I wonder why else she tried. I'm sure this would be a great time to analyze this like one of those literature reviews for English class. Maybe I could tie this in with Tifa, at twelve years old, wanting me to grow. I could make this essay really good by saying that true friends push your limits and make you want to chase that growth. But life isn't a book. I was not thinking about character growth when I was thirteen. I was not thinking about changing my ways. I'm mostly writing this for you, Mrs. Bouchard. I know you enjoy this kind of stuff.

Anyway, back to the promise. I broke it less than a year after we made it. Once middle school started, we saw each other a few times. It didn't last. We got distracted by other things—sports, classes, whatever else. I can't remember how it really happened, just that it did. Maybe it takes both people to break a promise, but I certainly didn't even try to keep it.

The last thing I remember was asking her if she wanted to get ice cream after school with me. She said she already had plans that afternoon, but we could go some other time. After that, it was over. I felt it happen. I saw her hang out with her other friends, and I knew I had nothing I could offer her that she didn't already get from them.

So, yeah. I broke it. It wasn't her. I stayed away. I regret it, sometimes, and I wonder if school would have been better with her in it. Probably more tolerable. I don't know. Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything.

Regardless,

Cloud pauses, glancing over what he wrote. He grimaces and sighs, knowing it sounds like the sissiest thing he's ever written. Grumbling he decides to finish it. Torture, he thinks.

Regardless, thanks for the trip down memory lane, Mrs. Bouchard. I really love doing these prompts, and I can't wait for the next detention. I'm sure the next prompts will be just as brilliant as these.

Cloud stands up and walks the front of the room, handing over his essay to Mrs. Bouchard. He gives her a false grin. She raises her eyebrow at him, her bun looking more severe than usual. Then he turns on his heel and walks back to his seat. Tifa is still writing, and Cloud leans forward to rummage around his backpack, pulling out his earbuds. He's beginning to feel a little bit prickly, again. The nerves have dulled after writing, but now he's thinking about the time he asked her to get ice cream with him, and the image won't leave his mind. He remembers the disappointment he felt, and he remembers the hope he still had. It was before he started drawing and before the bullying—potentially, he guesses, before the point of no return.

He pops an earbud in and scrolls through his music. He chooses one at random but continues to scroll. Soon, Tifa finishes her entry, and she turns it in. As she walks back down the aisle, Cloud makes the mistake of looking up at her. She catches his eye and beams at him. He swallows and glances back at his phone.

"What did you end up writing about?" Tifa asks as she takes her seat.

Cloud immediately feels the heat build in his cheeks.

"Er…" he stumbles, thinking of anything, anything, but the truth. "I, uh, wrote about something from…a long time ago."

His evasion is weak, but Tifa doesn't seem to mind it. She only frowns slightly, opening her mouth to reply. Cloud quickly takes the initiative to ask, "What about you?"

"Oh, I, um," she starts, glancing back to her desk and pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "I actually…well, this is going to sound very silly, but…"

She peeks up at him, and her hands begin to tug at the hem of her shirt.

"Do you…do you remember when he made a promise? A long time ago?" she asks.

Cloud's throat immediately turns into a desert. "Uh…y-yeah," he croaks.

"We said we'd be friends forever?" she says. "I…well, I wrote about that."

"You did?" his says, and he cringes at how his voice keeps cracking.

"I think I was inspired by us being together again in here," she says, shrugging a little. She smiles. "Brought back the memories, you know?"

Cloud feels like his insides are all tying into several thousand knots. His hand tightens on his phone.

"Uh…yeah. Yeah, it has," he mumbles. He takes off his cap and runs his other hand through his hair. Now or never, he thinks. "I…uh, I wrote about the same thing."

"You did?" Tifa says, her voice astonished. "Seriously?"

He smirks at her reaction. "Yeah. Weird, right?"

"Very," she says, slowly shaking her head. Her eyes begin to shine with excitement. "I can't believe you remember that."

Cloud blinks. "I can't believe you remember that."

"Of course I do, Cloud," she says. "You were my best friend."

She says it so easily. Cloud feels like he's been punched by Mitch's meaty fist, right in his solar plexus. He hadn't thought it mattered to her. At all. How could it have meant anything?

He stares at her. Her brows pinch, and her mouth quirks in an uncertain smile.

"I mean, I know it was a long time ago, but…that's what I think about," she says.

He continues to stare at her before he realizes he's staring, then he begins blushing before he turns his gaze away to his desk. There is a deeply embedded pen scratch in the top right corner. He concentrates on that.

"Yeah, I, uh…" he tries. He clears his throat. " I remember we made that promise on the swing sets," Cloud says.

Tifa nods. "Yes! We used our pinkies and everything."

Cloud rubs the back of his neck. "Didn't last very long, though."

Tifa bites her lip. "No...but it was a good memory. Most things don't last when you're young, anyway."

"Nah," Cloud says wryly. "They don't."

They are silent for a while. Tifa turns in her seat eventually, looking at him.

"How did you say we broke it?" she asks. "In your essay."

Cloud is surprised so much by the question that he blurts, "I broke it. Not you."

Tifa frowns before she smiles. "Of course you'd say that." She laughs a little. "I said I broke it."

Cloud raises a brow. "But you didn't."

"I did!" Tifa shakes her head. "I just... lost track of everything."

Cloud shrugs. "Yeah, well, so did I."

"Guess we'll have to agree to disagree, won't we?" she asks. He glances up at her, and she smiles at him.

"Guess so," he answers.

Loud footsteps in the hall cut off their conversation. Cloud looks up at the doorway to see Coach Wallace hunkering down to enter the classroom. His figure has always been so bulky, as though he's too big for normal human proportions.

"Yo, Marle," he starts, but upon seeing Cloud and Tifa, he clears his throat. "Uh, I mean, Mrs. Bouchard. I need to discuss a matter with ya."

Mrs. Bouchard slips her glasses off her nose, setting them on her desk. "Yes, Coach Wallace?"

"Can I speak to ya in private?" he asks, eyeing Cloud and Tifa.

Mrs. Bouchard sighs. "If this is about Mr. Alexander, I believe both of his classmates deserve to know. They are here because of his actions, as well."

Coach Wallace grumbles for a moment. "Yeah, yeah, alright. We've got a bye next week. We'll still have practice, but I think Mitch would benefit a lot more from having detention. I've done what I can with his sorry ass. Uh, I mean, butt." He glances at Cloud and Tifa again. Cloud smirks. Tifa bites her lip and tries not to smile. "Think he needs a woman's touch, now."

"They tend to need one," Mrs. Bouchard says, voice rich in knowing. "Thank you, Coach Wallace. I will be happy to discipline him here."

Coach Wallace nods and pats a hand on the top of his head, looking awkward.

"Great. Uh, y'all have a good day, kids."

With that, he shows himself out. Mrs. Bouchard quirks her mouth. She glances over to both of them across the room.

"Well, Cloud, it seems you will have your wish. And you don't even have to spend time with him."

Cloud matches her amused smile. "Maybe there's justice after all."

Tifa chuckles beside him. "I guess you were right, Cloud. The push-ups weren't enough."

"Yeah, I guess not," he says, still smiling.

Tifa's eyes linger on him before she glances away, and Cloud realizes he's not as nervous as he had been before.

Once they're dismissed, Mrs. Bouchard asks to speak with Cloud before he leaves. Tifa hesitates by the doorway.

"I have to head to the field to warm up with the team," she says. "Will I see you at the game?"

Cloud can feel Mrs. Bouchard staring at the side of this face. He burns up underneath their attention. His tongue twists, and he still doesn't have an answer.

"Uh...you might," he states, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. "Good luck."

Tifa's shoulders settle. She curls her fingers around the straps of her backpack.

"Okay. Thanks. Bye, Cloud."

She turns and makes her way out of the room. Cloud regrets his words immediately. He's reminded of the ice cream, again, but it's not the same. He wouldn't be hanging out with her at the game, anyway.

He directs his gaze to Mrs. Bouchard, who is giving him a look with pursed lips and pinched eyes. It's the same look his mother gives him when he doesn't finish his chores.

"Uh, what did you want to speak to me about?" he asks.

"First, you should have told her yes," she says, pointing at the door. Cloud fidgets under the forceful bluntness of her words.

"Er..."

"And secondly," she says, holding up his paper. She taps it against her desk. "This essay. It's the second one in which you wrote about Tifa. I would argue they were the most refreshing and honest answers you've given me in quite a while."

Cloud shifts his weight. "Okay. So?"

"So," she states. "If rekindled friendship is what you want, you'll have to do better than that." She gestures widely toward the door.

Cloud scowls. "What if I was lying on my paper?"

Mrs. Bouchard levels him with a dry stare. Cloud sighs.

"Fine."

"Listen to me, Cloud," she says, placing his paper in the bin at the corner of her desk. "If I may burden you with a word of advice, it will be this. Emotions are the catalyst of change. If what you feel matches what you write, you'll have to try."

"Yeah..." he mutters. "I know."

"It's a safari out there in those halls. Relationships are fickle. Don't let this opening pass you by. You want another beginning, don't you?"

Cloud feels a heavy pressure on his chest. He doesn't like this emphasis she's giving him. The words chafe.

"…yes."

"Then go to the game," she says, and she smiles at him. "It's your last year, here. You don't have anything to lose except for regret."

Cloud swallows. "Yeah. Right." He readjusts his backpack strap on his shoulder. "Thanks, Mrs. Bouchard."

"You're welcome, dear."

Cloud trudges out of the classroom, knowing what his near future is going to look like with building dread.

He's going to the football game.

When Cloud arrives in the stands, having secured an inconspicuous space in the family section and far from the students and the crowds that he detests, Cloud texts his cousin.

Hey, I'm here. Good luck.

He had called him earlier to tell him he was coming—actually coming—to the game. Zack reacted just like Cloud knew he would, with whoops and obnoxious hollers.

"Yes! You mean I don't have to come find you after the game and drag you to get pizza before we drive back to Gongaga? Is it my birthday or what?"

Cloud had scoffed. "Shut up, Zack. It's our last year. Figured I should watch you kill us."

Zack laughed. "I'll take it! Let me know when you get there, because I still don't know if I believe you."

Thus, Cloud texts him. Zack immediately texts back a thumbs up.

Zack is more than likely the only reason Cloud kept his sanity during high school. While Cloud and his mother would travel to Gongaga during the summers for a week or two when Zack wasn't busy with camps, they would also share correspondence when they could, be it with phone calls or texts once they were older and both received their own cell phones for their fifteenth birthdays. Zack was always so good about checking up on him. If anything, Zack was more his brother than a cousin. They used to whine all the time for both of their families to move to Nibelheim or Gongaga, but job securities and finances as they were, this was an impossibility.

It wasn't a surprise when Zack became a sports star. He's Gongaga's quarterback this year, and at a very tall six foot two inches, he has the ability to see far downfield and thread the ball like a needle.

A few minutes before kickoff, Cloud sees the cheerleaders come out onto the field, taking their places on the sideline. He spies Tifa nearer to the middle of the stands. Cloud is further down the rows on her right, sitting on one of the uppermost bleachers. He can see her perfectly, but he doubts she can see him. He contemplates, for one mad moment, if he should make his presence known. She doesn't know he's there, but he feels strange thinking about walking down the stairs of the bleachers just to wave at her. The image is so absurd, he nearly laughs.

Instead, Cloud takes out his journal and aimlessly begins to doodle. Occasionally, he'll glance up to watch Tifa. She has face paint on her left cheek, covered in their blue and white wolf logo. She has alternating blue and white ribbons in her hair, pulled back into a pony tail that reaches her mid back. It spins like a whip with her movements, snapping around her.

Cloud watches the crowds of the other kids off to his left. He observes as they talk and laugh and push at each other. He hears them shout and yell as the Nibel Wolves get absolutely crushed in the first quarter. Several begin to turn to their phones, and clumps of girls scatter and cluster, talking about things Cloud couldn't give a shit about.

He sees a guy chat up a girl, secluded on the bleachers and a few feet away from everyone else. They hover around one another, but they don't kiss. A few of the class clowns have painted their chest and go shirtless, screaming and twirling their shirts over their heads. Cloud can feel the thrumming energy of all of it from where he sits, twenty yards away at the very least. The family section is much calmer, still filled with chatter and murmurs, but nothing as wild and raucous as the teenagers.

By the fourth quarter, Cloud has polished off a soda and divested his hoodie, using it as a pillow behind his back. He has made himself comfortable in his little corner, and he watches as Zack continues to make deep throws and wild, scrambling plays. Sometimes, he'll have the unfortunate circumstance of being sacked. Mitch is able to get one of them, and Cloud grimaces, sighing as Mitch celebrates with the team. Mitch doesn't achieve many tackles, and Cloud takes it as a small victory.

Some people begin to leave early when it becomes quite clear that Nibelheim has no chance of winning. The family section thins first before the student's section, the families wanting to get home at a decent hour. Most of the students leave due to boredom or wanting to do other things elsewhere.

As the teams begin their handshake line, patting each other for a good game, Cloud stands and makes his way down closer to the railing on the bleachers. His heart begins to thud with a thundering rhythm when his eyes find Tifa talking to the other cheerleaders, most packing up their gear. Cloud glances down over the field and sees Zack continuing to talk to a few players, laughing and clapping a guy on the back.

Cloud leans on the railing. He feels a little ridiculous and a lot out of place. He glances back at Tifa and hesitates, wondering if he should call out to her. He doesn't have to think about it for long, because Tifa turns a moment later. Her eyes catch on his figure, and an immediate grin spreads across her face.

"Cloud!" she exclaims, running up to where he stands against the railing. "You came!"

Cloud blushes furiously. She's so excited. "Uh...yeah."

"I'm so glad!" Still grinning, she reaches up to the railing and hauls herself up, standing on the ledge and holding onto the railing. Cloud straightens as she comes face to face with him so suddenly. "I told you we were going to lose."

Cloud's eyebrow quirks. "Is that what a cheerleader should be saying?"

She gives a quick little shrug. "Game's over. Now I can say what I think." She laughs.

It's so infectious. Cloud is rammed with the fact of how simple she makes it to talk to her. How easy. She merely smiles and welcomes him. Cloud swallows, attempting to smile back.

"Mitch only made a few tackles," he says.

"I knew you'd be watching for that," she says. "I heard he was very mad today. He doesn't want to go to detention."

"Poor guy. If only he played better, maybe he wouldn't have to use his brain," Cloud says.

Tifa shakes her head, amusement on her face. "He had his chance."

"Yeah," Cloud says. Their words come to an abrupt end, fizzling, and Cloud's nerves come back. "Well, uh..."

"Are you doing anything after the game?" Tifa asks, pushing into the railing. "Most of us tend to go grab dinner at one of the diners or the pizza parlor."

Cloud immediately feels the need to retreat. He wouldn't exactly mind going with Tifa. If he paused to think about it more clearly, he thinks he would love to go with Tifa. Mostly. Half of him thinks he would chicken out midway through eating and bolt.

Then he remembers Zack. "Uh, actually, yeah, I'm going to—"

"Cloud!"

Cloud and Tifa both glance up, watching as Zack jogs up to the bleachers. Grinning from ear to ear, his eyes settle on Cloud before hooking on Tifa.

"Oh, hi," he says. "I'm Zack."

"Tifa," she answers. "Good game. You played great."

"Thank you!" he beams. He juts his head at Cloud. "You still wanna grab some pizza? I bet old man Cid will give it to us on the house. Or a discount, at least, since you still work there," He waggles his brows. "Don't say no, Cloud."

"Er, yeah," Cloud says, uncomfortable underneath the dual attention from both Tifa and Zack. "Pizza is fine."

Zack whoops. "Man, what has gotten into you? I don't have to kidnap you to get out of the house?" He turns, whispering loudly toward Tifa. "He hates people."

Tifa smiles. "Yeah, I know."

Zack winks at Tifa. Tifa chuckles.

Cloud's cheeks burn. "I'm...right here, you know."

"Haha! Just teasing, Cloud. I didn't realize you had a girlfriend. You never told me! Shock of the year. Hey, you wanna come with us?" Zack says, bulldozing through his words, looking over Tifa. Cloud has to grip the railing to keep from falling over.

"Zack, she's not—" Cloud stutters.

"Oh, I'm, thank you, but," Tifa says, shaking her head vehemently. "We're just—friends." She quickly looks at Cloud, as if for confirmation. "I'm going out to eat with some classmates."

"Ah...okay," Zack says, shrugging. "No worries." He turns to Cloud, grinning again. "Alright, you ready, then? The bus is gonna take us over there. Wanna ride or meet us?"

Cloud sighs, trying to recover from the whiplash. "I'll meet you."

Zack gives him a look. "You better be there in fifteen or I'm gonna call Claudia."

Cloud groans. "Yeah, yeah, shut up. I'm going."

Zack belts out a hearty laugh and steps back, waving. "Nice meeting you, Tifa! You should still come if you wanna!"

"Thank you!" she calls. She glances back at Cloud, tilting her head. "So, you're close with the star quarterback of Gongaga?"

"Not by choice," Cloud says, scowling at Zack's retreating back. "He's my cousin."

Tifa blinks, the information dawning on her. "Oh! That makes sense. Since you…"hate people.""

Cloud scoffs, but his stomach flips at her teasing. "Yeah. Right. I do. He always drags me out with his friends when they're in town."

Tifa nods, grinning. "Well, it's against the rules for the home team and the opposing team to be near each other the rest of the night, but..."

Cloud swallows. Unsure of what to say, he tries, "Well, uh, you're not part of the football team."

Tifa leans up against the railing, a soft smile curving around her face.

"Do you want me to go?" she asks.

Cloud thinks his heart has been living in his throat for this entire conversation.

"I, uh, well, I mean, uh, if you..."

"Tifa! What are you doing? We're about to leave!"

Cloud glances over Tifa's shoulder. Tifa looks up at her name.

It's Ashley. Her hair is a fluorescent blonde under the stadium lights. They are pulled up into pigtails, curled and bouncing while she shakes her pompoms wildly at them. Cloud grimaces.

"Um, yeah, I'll be there in a sec!" Tifa waves.

"Hurry up!" she moans. "I'm starving!" When she sees Cloud, she pouts. "Ugh, Strife, what are you doing here? Go away!"

Cloud crosses his arms over his chest. "It's always a pleasure to hear your whining, Ashley."

"Oh my god, don't even start!" she says, stomping her foot. "Tifa, I'm going to be in the locker rooms. If you're not there in twenty seconds, I'm leaving you!"

As she stalks off, Tifa giggles. Cloud raises his brows at her, but Tifa responds with, "She's dramatic, but she means well."

"She's never meant well," Cloud states.

"Cloud!" Tifa protests. "She's really nice once you get to know her."

Cloud merely rolls his eyes, but he says, "So, I guess we'll agree to disagree again, huh?"

Tifa smiles at that. "I guess we'll have to." She bites her lip. "Um, well, I have to go or else they'll leave me behind."

Cloud nods, stepping back from the rail. "Sure."

Tifa remains on the ledge, hesitating. "Hey, uh, do you have your phone?"

Cloud blinks. "Yeah."

She holds out her hand. "Can I see it for a second?"

Cloud blinks again. "W-why?"

She shakes her head. "I just want to do something real quick."

Cloud relents, mystified, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He hands it to her. Tifa smiles and hurriedly types something in.

"There we go," she says, handing it back. "Text me? We should hang out now that we're not in detention!"

She jumps off the railing and quickly runs away toward the lockers, not waiting for his reply. She simply waves. He stares at her back then stares at his phone. He has to blink a few times before it settles into him, the warmth blazing through his bloodstream. He sees her name decorating a new slot in his contact information.

That's how Cloud receives Tifa Lockhart's number.