Tifa waits all weekend for Cloud to text her.

She doesn't realize how anxious she is until she receives texts from her cheerleading troupe, jerking at the buzz of her phone. Disappointment washes over her as she sees the names appear across the screen. She bites the inside of her lip and questions her actions at the game, wondering if Cloud took it the wrong way. Perhaps she was too forward? Perhaps she unknowingly made a mistake? He might not even want to hang out with her.

She'd been so delighted when he showed up at the game. Selfishly, she had first thought he must have come for her. She had invited him, and maybe that was all he needed to be persuaded. She wondered, for a moment as she was standing on the railing and looking up into his face, if he had only come to see her.

It had only lasted a second. He came to watch his cousin play. Of course, it was silly to think that by her invitation alone would make him come to do something he completely disliked doing.

Still, she had been ecstatic, nonetheless.

Continuing to stare at her phone, Tifa sighs and throws it on her bed, compiling her laundry and separating loads to put into the wash.

It isn't until that evening, after Tifa and her father have their usual Sunday dinner, when Tifa's phone gently buzzes on her comforters. Tifa is folding her newly cleaned clothes when she gives it a cursory glance.

An unknown number entitles a text that reads: Hey. This is Cloud.

Tifa drops a t-shirt, grabbing at her phone. She opens up the message immediately and stares at it. She bites the inside of her bottom lip, unable to help her forming grin.

As she contemplates what to say, her phone buzzes again.

How was your weekend?

A flutter runs over her as she reads the message, and she turns to lie on her stomach. She glances out her window, catching a glimpse of Cloud's curtained window across the space of their houses.

Hey! :) It was good. I didn't do much. How was yours?

She looks at it for a second, overanalyzing her smiley face before rolling her eyes and sending it.

He replies not long after.

Mine was good, too. Same old stuff.

Tifa is instantly curious. Same old stuff? What does he normally do? How does Cloud Strife spend his time outside of school?

She thinks about asking. Her fingers hover over the keys, but she types out: What are you doing for lunch, tomorrow?

It takes him a few minutes to respond. Tifa bides her time and folds laundry, heavily distracted to the point where she begins to wish she could take back the question.

I usually eat near the soccer field. Why?

At his response, Tifa feels immediate relief.

I was wondering if we could eat lunch together!

She sends it, then she types out a secondary response.

But only if you want. Or if there's a better day for you, let me know.

Tomorrow is fine, he says. I'm never busy. I hate people, remember?

Tifa smiles. Haha, yeah. I remember. Okay great! I'll text you at lunch tomorrow, and we can meet up?

Sure, he answers.

She thinks about sending him something else. They could continue the conversation. She could ask him what all he did over the weekend, or if he enjoyed spending time with his cousin and the Gongaga football players. Eventually, she decides she'll ask him in person. She'll get to see his face and hear his voice with his answers, and if she's learned anything from spending detention with him, she already knows she likes it better that way.

Tifa watches the clock all throughout that Monday. The closer it gets to 12:05 pm, the more and more she feels her nerves swirl in her stomach. She's anxious and excited, and she isn't sure why she's having such an immense reaction to the thought of eating lunch with Cloud.

As soon as the bell rings, she's picking up her backpack, pulling out her phone, and darting out of the classroom.

Hey. Where do we meet?

She waits beside a bricked-in garden, surrounded by the concrete pathways of the school. She glances around at the other kids spilling out of the buildings before looking at her phone. She doesn't see or hear Cloud before he comes up to her.

"Hey," he says.

She starts, turning around. Her cheeks flush and her heart immediately bungles its rhythm. "Oh, Cloud! Hi."

He's wearing what she now calls his normal attire—black hoodie, baggy jeans, his Midgar Soldiers cap twisted backwards on his head, and his backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder.

"I saw you when I came out of Economics," he says, jutting his thumb behind him. "What's your last class?"

"English," she says, tipping her head toward the building in front of them. "Mrs. King."

"AP, right?"

"Yeah," she answers. "It's not hard, though. Just a lot of reading."

Cloud nods, glancing behind her. "My english class is pretty much a joke. We hardly do anything."

"You should have signed up for AP. I'm sure you would have done well," Tifa says.

He makes a noncommittal noise. "Uh. I don't know. Maybe." He shrugs before he gestures around. "Did you bring your lunch, or do you need something from the cafeteria?"

"I brought mine," she answers.

"Alright. Well, I usually go to the soccer field if you're okay with eating outside."

She beams. "Definitely."

He averts his eyes from her. "Uh, then I'll show you."

They begin walking toward the sports fields, near the tennis courts and the open track field. A few bleachers sit around the fields, giving a place for spectators or non-athletes to watch and support their fellow classmates. Tifa follows Cloud, fully expecting to sit on one of the bleachers, but is surprised when he takes a seat underneath them.

Cloud must notice her bemusement once she takes her seat, because he immediately explains, "I, uh, started to sit here because no one else does. Sometimes the bleachers get busy."

Tifa begins to smile. "This is fine with me." She glances around, settling into the grass. Being behind the bleachers even muffles the clamor of conversation coming from the outside benches and clumps of kids eating together around the campus. It is an isolated place, nice and quiet and calm. "I like it," she says. "It's peaceful. I can see why you enjoy it."

Cloud glances at her before turning his eyes away again, taking out his lunch from his backpack. "Yeah."

"Is this where you go every day?" she asks.

"Not every day," he says. "I have a few different places I like."

Tifa pulls out her lunch as well, and she takes a bite of her sandwich. "Where?"

Cloud shifts, and he looks a little uncomfortable. "I, uh, go to the hill, sometimes. The one with the poplar tree. Other people like that spot, so I only go when no one is around."

Tifa grins. "I love that spot. I don't go very often, but it has a great view."

Cloud gives a slight nod. "There's, uh, a spot behind the band hall."

Tifa blinks. She's at the band hall every day and has never heard about a "spot". "Really?"

He reaches a hand up, taking off his cap. He runs a hand through his hair, and Tifa eyes the messiness of his golden spikes. "I guess it's not really a spot. I just go there, sometimes."

"You'll have to show me," she smiles. "I'm at the band hall all the time."

"Yeah, sure," he says softly.

They eat in silence for a while. Whenever Tifa is on the verge of a question, her nerves stop her and she shoves another bite in her mouth.

"What do you usually do for lunch?" Cloud eventually asks.

"Oh," Tifa says, immediately smiling. "I'll eat lunch with some of the other cheerleaders, or sometimes someone will ask during my morning classes. I use it as study hall sometimes, too, and I'll get together with some classmates for a project or we'll help each other with homework."

Cloud leans back, resting his head against the seat of a bleacher. "You're pretty busy."

"Not all the time," she says, pulling out an apple from her pack. "I kind of like it when I am busy, though. There's always something to do or work on or finish. I've gotten so used to that feeling." She shrugs, looking at him. "What about you? Are you very busy?"

"Not as much as you," he says, catching her eye. "I'm in cross country, and I'm in track during the season." He turns his head away, busying himself with his lunch. "I work part-time at the pizza parlor. Uh, you know I draw. I listen to music and go to concerts. I—"

"You go to concerts?" Tifa asks, her interest swelling up again. "What kinds?"

"Whatever comes through town," he says, palming the back of his neck. "I don't know. Rock. Some alternative independent bands. Heavy metal."

Tifa begins grinning. "Wow, Cloud. I had no idea. What's your favorite?" She points to his hoodie. "Is it the band on your shirt? Thrice? "

"Uh, they're one of them," he says, glancing down at the jagged lines of the band name. "I'm not sure if I have a real favorite."

"What other ones do you listen to?" she asks, pulling out her phone. "I love music, too. I'd love to listen to some of the bands you know."

"Er…" he stutters, looking at her. His cheeks begin to flush, and his eyes widen. He's very cute, she thinks, suddenly smacked in the face with the realization. He's cute and quiet and apathetic, but his interests—drawing and music and running and what else?— has her scooting a little bit closer to him.

"Just a few," she says. "I'll give you some of mine. It can be a trade-off, like we used to do with our food when we were younger."

Cloud shakes his head, but she spies the beginning of an amused smile. "Okay. I'll give you some, you give me some, and we can tell each other how much we like or dislike our taste in music."

Tifa laughs before she narrows her eyes at him. "Serious question. Do you like pop music?"

At his silence, Tifa giggles, venturing, "You hate it, don't you?"

Cloud can't hide his grimace. "I mean…I don't hate it, but…"

Tifa shakes her head, smiling. "Okay, so at least I know I won't give you my favorite pop songs."

"You can," he says. "I'll just make fun of you."

Tifa lightly shoves him.

"Well, if you give me screamo, my ears will probably bleed."

Cloud raises a brow. "Hey, there are some good ones."

"I dunno. I've yet to hear one," she states.

"Okay. I'll change your mind."

He says it so matter-of-fact that Tifa blinks, sitting up straighter.

"And I'll find at least one pop song that you'll actually love."

"Love to hate, you mean?"

She wrinkles her nose. "Just wait. You'll love the ones I give you. But you have to be honest. No lying."

"Okay. No lying. I'll fess up," he smirks. "Same goes for you."

"Challenge accepted, Cloud."

They spend the rest of the lunch hour choosing their music and giving each other calculated and deeply thought out lists of artists and songs. By the time the first bell rings, Tifa has migrated closer and closer to Cloud, showing him different album covers and songs on her phone. Cloud is looking over her shoulder at the screen, his shoulder briefly touching hers when she shifts or glances up at him.

They stand up from their seats underneath the bleachers, walking back toward campus. Cloud is going to his Pre-Calculus class. Tifa is going to Economics. Before their split on the sidewalk, Tifa says, "You wanna hang out at lunch on Friday?" she asks, her nerves much lighter than they had been before.

"Yeah, I do," he answers, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. "Meet at the same place? In front of the English building?"

Tifa smiles. "Yeah, sounds great."

That's the beginning of Tifa spending her senior year with Cloud Strife.

There are few things in life in which Cloud takes much joy and pleasure.

There are his normal few—running, art, and music.

Spending time with Tifa suddenly takes over all three.

Cloud thinks it occurs quickly, but perhaps it is only because he doesn't hang out with other people. He's never quite cared about being around other kids his age, and when he is, he doesn't feel as though he gets anything out of it. He doesn't enjoy it. It isn't fun. It tends to feel like a chore, and he used to do it to appease his mother. She always seemed a bit worried about him. Now that he's older, she has seemed to let him off the hook.

It's a very anomalous happenstance. Cloud looks forward to seeing Tifa. He begins to smile at the thought of having her around. He doesn't even mind her invading his silence and solitude. She starts to rejuvenate the drab, dull aspects of his life that he hadn't noticed were becoming drab and dull.

He questions it at first. He is suspicious of it. Why would Tifa want to spend time with him, other than just to spend time with him? Anyone else, he'd hypothesize an ulterior motive, but with Tifa…that wouldn't be true or in character.

He chances the conclusion that she may be spending time with him because she wants to. He tries not to look at that too closely.

"Okay, I only need a few more. Seven letter word for dumb."

"Uh…" Cloud thinks, counting on his fingers. "Foolish."

"Oh, that's a good one. Ugh. No. It ends with an E."

"Im…becile… does that end with E?"

"Aw, that's eight, not seven."

"…hang on," Cloud mutters. "This is stupid."

Tifa laughs. "Stupid is only six letters."

Cloud rolls his eyes. "Idiotic."

"If only."

"Witless."

"You're really good at coming up with words that mean dumb, Cloud."

He smirks, looking up at the sky. They're beside the poplar tree, Cloud lying completely in the grass and Tifa sitting upright, school having ended ten minutes ago. Tifa is attempting to finish a crossword assignment for her English class. Extra credit, she had told him. Of course you'd do extra credit, he had ribbed her.

"I have to have good comebacks for Mitch," Cloud says. "Half the time, he doesn't know what I'm talking about."

He hears her sigh at him. He glances at her, seeing a small smile at the corner of her mouth.

"You and Mitch…two peas in a pod."

He pushes up onto his elbows. "Two peas in a pod?"

"Oh, you know," she says, innocently shrugging. "They say if you go out of your way to be mean to someone, it means you like them."

Cloud gives her a dry look. "Tifa."

"Listen, Cloud, if you have a crush on Mitch, you can tell me." She winks. "I don't judge."

"I take great offense to this."

Tifa curls her lip under her teeth, trying not to laugh. "You do?"

"I like girls, thank you."

"Oh, okay. That's good to know."

He can hear the thick teasing behind her voice. He almost breaks into a smile but he retains a minimal expression.

Giving up on the crossword, she tosses it to the side and lies back beside him.

"I was hoping that would be obvious," he states.

Tifa shakes her head. "You know I was only joking." She turns her head to look up at him. "Some of the girls wonder about you, you know."

Cloud feels his eyebrows raise, and he catches her eye.

"About my gender preferences?"

This makes Tifa laugh. Cloud enjoys it tremendously when he can pull one out of her.

"No, no. Just about…being such a loner and going against the rules…" she pauses, and she reaches for a few threads of her hair, turning them over a finger. "Some of my friends are scared of you—"

At that, Cloud scoffs.

"And others are, um, interested."

That piece of information almost has Cloud choking on thin air.

"Er…what?"

Tifa gives him a funny look. "Does that surprise you? It shouldn't."

She turns away quickly after she says it, and Cloud is struck by the implication of her words.

"I don't…know why they would…" he trails off, not finishing his line of thought.

"Why haven't you dated, Cloud?" she asks softly, and Cloud gives a little start. His cheeks immediately flood with heat.

"Uh, I don't know. I mean…I guess because it's high school." He shrugs. "Never seemed to matter much, and I've never been interested."

"Ah. Yeah." She frowns. "I guess it doesn't really matter."

"You've dated," he says. "Haven't you?"

He poses it as a question to save face. He has an idea about her relationships. He'd always hear about it from troupes of boys or football players. It seemed the athletes would always spend more time with one another, having practices and friends in common. One thing always led to more and more, and Tifa was just as susceptible to this as any other girl. She went out with a few football and basketball players throughout high school. They didn't last long, but Cloud had heard about them through the grapevine, and he had listened to them unfold. A few months in, and they would break up or amicably drift apart. Cloud didn't think anyone could hold bad blood with Tifa, even if the boys were heartbroken in the end.

"I have," she allows, her voice lilting. "Nothing serious."

Cloud's stomach starts to twist at the subject. How did they go from synonyms for dumb to dating?

He'll never understand the flow of conversation.

Cloud runs his hand over the short, dry grass surrounding him. "Some of the football guys, right?"

"Yeah," she answers. "John. Mason. And Richard. They were really nice, I just…" she pauses, glancing up to the leaves on the poplar tree. "It's like you said, I think. I wasn't very interested. But they gave me attention, and that was…great receiving attention from boys who cared." She continues to twirl at her hair. "Felt a lot like my friendship with them, except we'd hold hands and go to dinner by ourselves. I don't know if there was or is anything different."

In the moment, Cloud has a wild streak to tell her that it is supposed to feel different. She's supposed to feel her heart plummet into her gut, just like when they'd jump off the swings all those years ago. It's supposed to be terrifying but exhilarating. It's supposed to make her palms sweaty and her tongue stutter.

But…how would he know that? He can't tell her any of this without confessing that he once had a crush on her. And the most pitiful thing might be that he is already starting to develop another one. Brighter. Bolder and brilliant. Lying beside her on the school hill should not be giving him these old, nostalgic sensations. It shouldn't be making him feel anything.

But he does feel. He feels a lot. His fingers itch with the need to create something. His stomach is cradled with warmth just being around her. They lie in a blanket of silence, but it's the most comfortable he's ever been around anyone else, and it's sickening—sickening and unfair, because she's Tifa Lockhart, and how can he dare to feel this way for someone so pretty and profound?

"Maybe it is supposed to be different," he manages after a few minutes. "Maybe that's how you know when it matters."

She shifts in the grass, turning on her side to fully face him. He turns his head, and they lock eyes with each other.

Pretty and profound. He'll draw that later, he decides. Her looking up at the poplar tree or her looking at him this way, smiling and thinking on his words.

"Yeah," she says. "I bet you're right."

They leave a few minutes later, and once they say their goodbyes at their designated crossroads, Cloud watches her back for a moment longer.

In the middle of drawing his picture at his desk, listening to yet another pop song Tifa had declared the one for him, Cloud is hit with an epiphany. The seven letter word for dumb.

Asinine. Completely, utterly asinine.

Cloud stares at his second drawing of Tifa within a month— a month —and laughs.

He likes her. He likes her a lot.

Tifa receives a text later that evening. She's lying on her stomach, sprawled on her bed, school notes scattered around her and a three-ring binder open and displaying all its contents. She puffs out a breath and reaches for her phone, immediately pushing herself up when she sees it's from Cloud.

Asinine, it reads. For your crossword.

Grinning, Tifa pulls out the assignment from her backpack, plugging in the word.

Bingo, she texts back. Thank you. You're a genius.

Hardly.

You should have taken AP English.

No way. I would have sucked, then you would have had to tutor me, he responds.

I wouldn't have minded. Tutors get a bump in their average.

Oh, I get it. You would have used me.

Maybe just a little.

Smiling, Tifa glances up through her window. At her angle, she can glimpse at Cloud's house. She has a view of his bedroom window, too, though the curtains are always drawn.

Except.

Except tonight, they aren't drawn. This must be the first time in years that she's noticed. His bedroom light is on, and she can see directly into his room. She sees part of a chest at the end of his bed. She sees a desk and a door to what might be the hallway or a closet.

A moment later, her jaw drops to her mattress. Cloud walks by the window. He's wearing only a towel around his hips. From the distance, Tifa can't tell if he's damp from a shower, but his hair is droopy, and he's holding his phone. She is too far away to see his expression, but she can see him typing.

Honestly, if it would have helped you, I'd have done it, he says.

Tifa's heart crawls into her throat. She quickly glances from her phone back to the window.

For a boy whose main workout is running, he is certainly…defined.

Tifa feels her face heat up like a tea kettle. Her mouth quickly becomes dry. She sinks deeper into her mattress, trying to hide but unable to look away. She prays he doesn't look up and see her through the window—well, she can always act like she's not looking and pull her hair across her face. He'd never know, but—

He walks out of her line of sight, and she regrets it almost instantaneously. Then she scolds herself for feeling that way. She is invading his privacy, even if she had been innocently glancing out of her window. But he…he looks…well…

He comes back into view a moment later, sweatpants now in place of the towel. She ogles his abs for a few more daring, thrilling seconds, then she turns away, trying to bury her face in her papers.

The image of him is burned behind her eyelids. The magnitude of his torso decorates the margins of her paper, and he probably was damp, his skin wet and smooth and rigid. And he texted her as soon as he'd come out of a shower.

She swallows. She'd admitted to herself he was cute before.

She thinks that might have been a horrible understatement.

The next day, she meets Cloud under the bleachers.

As soon as she sees him, her mind conjures him up half-naked. Gone is the hoodie and the t-shirt underneath, leftover with the backwards cap and ripped jeans. In a ridiculous twist, she thought about him all night. She stared up at her ceiling and kept thinking of Cloud Strife, clad in a towel, smirking with his normally spiked hair floppy around his ears, framing his face.

She presses her fingernails into her palms, making lightly taut fists. She squeezes her eyes shut and blinks a few times, scattering the image.

She will be the only who knows. She will never tell him, and she'll never tell any of her girlfriends. It will be strictly imprisoned in her mind never to see the light of day, because it's so embarrassing. And it—it—

Her heart races at the thought. Her palms become slick between her fingers. A boy has never made her body react this way. Warm, simple affection? Of course. Friendly, sweet touches and hugs? Absolutely.

Sweating and a tight stomach and a heart revving like an engine?

Not in her whole seventeen years of existence.

He glances up from his notebook as she takes a seat. She makes sure there is at least half a foot of space in between them.

"Hey," he says, smiling a little before he turns his attention back to the page in his lap.

"Hi," she says, her voice raspy. She swallows to help wet her throat. "What are you working on?"

He's been doing that more and more often lately when they're together. The first time he started to draw, he seemed very hesitant, as if he wasn't comfortable. Slowly, he's become more at ease. Now, half the time they're together, he's doodling or drawing or tapping his pencil against a sketch pad, contemplating an angle or a scene.

"Uh, a cat," he answers. "One of the strays around campus."

Tifa peeks over his shoulder, then she settles away from him, pulling out her lunch bag. "That looks really good so far."

"Thanks," he says, continuing to add lines. "I don't draw animals very often."

Tifa pulls out one of her binders, hoping to distract herself. The more she watches him draw, the more she notices how slender his fingers are. It takes a lot of grace and control to create the pictures he does, and Tifa's mind thinks about them interlaced with her own. How warm would they be? What would it be like to touch them?

She immediately begins to blush. She shakes her head, glancing out toward the campus and finding someone else to watch.

"Your teacher give you the extra credit?" he asks after a few minutes, beginning to shade in the outline of his cat.

Tifa holds in her sigh. Cloud in a towel. Asinine.

"Y-yeah, she did," she says. "Thanks again for that."

"Sure," he says, giving her a small smile. "Can't promise I'll be able to help all the time."

"I'll still appreciate it," Tifa says, smiling back. She swears he glances at her lips before he looks away, and Tifa's heart gallops at a concerning pace.

She picks at her sandwich, feeling unable to eat it. While she has grown accustomed to their silence, and she revels in it when it occurs, today is not the day for it. If they do, she will marinate in the image from last night.

This is why she tries to think of anything else to talk about. Tests coming up, drama between classmates, different sports games…

"Hey," she starts after a moment, peering up at him. "Next week, we have our fall orchestra concert. You want to come?" She pauses briefly before continuing on. "Um, I know not everyone cares about orchestra, so if it's not your thing, don't worry about it."

He's halted in his drawing, and she can see him thinking. She barrels on before he has a chance to answer.

"Since you have okay taste in music, I thought there might be a chance you'd enjoy orchestra, too," she says.

At that, Cloud's eyebrows raise. He looks over at her. "Okay taste in music?"

"It's alright," she says, shrugging and smiling lightly. "My ears haven't started to bleed, yet."

"Oh, sure, says the girl who enjoys mainstream pop music," Cloud says.

"It is not bad!" she rebukes, beginning to laugh. "You have to find the good ones. Once you do, it opens up a whole different world of music."

Cloud shakes his head, but he relents. "I, uh, actually liked one of the songs you gave me to listen to. I listened to it last night."

Did he listen to it half-dressed, sitting at his desk and inspired to draw? Or did he listen to it in his shower, where he was fully naked?

Both instances of thought tie up her stomach, but Tifa pushes through her embarrassment with the help of her excitement. This is the first time Cloud has ever mentioned he likes one of the pop songs.

"Really?" She inches forward. "Which one?"

Cloud opens his mouth, but she interrupts.

"Wait! Don't tell me!"

She pulls out her phone and scrolls, finding the one she believes it to be. She points when it appears.

"This one?"

Cloud blinks. "Yeah. Good guess."

Tifa smiles. "I was hoping you'd finally like that one. The lyrics and the beat are good." She nudges him. "I thought you would appreciate the, "you're on your own," part."

He scoffs, amused. "You got me. I could probably run to that song."

Tifa stares at him. "What? Honestly?"

He blushes. "Uh…yeah."

"High praise, Cloud," she grins, admiring the pink in his cheeks. "I knew I'd find one. Only took…a whole month."

He laughs briefly, and she realizes that she's gotten too close to him. She's broken her internal, personal rule. She needs to move away.

"You should try out her other stuff. You might like some of the other songs she's made."

"I'll take a listen," he says.

She should move away. Their faces are close. He's looking at her with bright eyes, and her heart begins to race as if it's competing with itself.

"I wanna go to the concert," he says as they stare at each other. His blush lingers, but their proximity doesn't seem to be bothering him. "You said it was next week?"

Tifa begins to swell. Her insides begin to feel three times too big.

"Y-yeah," she says. "Next Tuesday. It'll be in the auditorium in the music building."

He nods, finally turning his head toward the school. Tifa takes in a full breath, shifting a few inches away from him.

"What, uh, songs are you going to play?" he asks.

Tifa messes with her lunch bag, but she has completely lost any appetite. "Oh, just an adagio and concertos. Classicals that you're probably unfamiliar with." She pauses. "They're pretty, though."

"I've never been to one of the orchestra concerts before," he says.

"Don't get too excited. They aren't like the heavy metal concerts you go to on the weekends," she says, her tone light.

"I'll try to keep low expectations, then," he says, smirking.

Eventually, Cloud continues his drawing, and Tifa sits beside him in silence until the bell rings. As they walk to their classes, Tifa has the urge to ask him when he started opening the curtains surrounding his bedroom window.

But she doesn't, because she can't.

The rest of the week, she keeps her secret, hoping and watching and being an utterly creepy peeping tom, all for the desire to see Cloud damp and topless and divine.

The next Monday, Tifa is unable to walk home with Cloud.

"I'm going to stay to rehearse songs for the concert, tomorrow," she tells him at lunch. She practices at home most of the time, but she tries to do it when her father is still at work. The piano makes him sad, she's told him, and she doesn't like to invoke those feelings in him any more than she has to.

For concerts, she likes to practice more on the school piano. It has a different texture, she's tried explaining to him. Slightly more tension in the keys than the keyboard she has at home, and there is a change in her rhythm.

"It's hard to describe," she had said, sheepishly.

"Nah, I get it," he answered. "It's like when I use the school's art equipment versus mine at home. Definitely not as good or the same."

"Exactly," she had smiled.

It's strange walking home without her, and it's funny how things have changed so quickly, when once it would have been out of his scope of imagination to ever think he'd make it a regular occurrence.

The concert starts at 7:30 pm that Tuesday evening.

Cloud takes a seat, as usual, away from the students and parents. He tries to find the unfavorable areas, but he's mildly surprised to find that most of the auditorium fills up. It is not large at about only 150 seats in total. Cloud sits nearer to the uppermost corner, on the side where the grand piano is most visible. From his angle, he'll be able to see Tifa's form. He might be able to witness her hands curving over the keys and pressing into them.

He takes out his phone and sends her a text.

Hey. I'm here. You'll do great.

She responds a few moments later.

Thank you, Cloud! :)

By 7:25, all the players file out and take their places. They begin tuning their instruments, the resounding lilt and swell of the notes. They are singular and poignant, echoing against the walls of the room.

He sees Tifa take her seat at the piano bench. She is wearing a black dress, matching the uniform of the other players. The boys wear white dress shirts and black slacks, all donning a black jacket. Some wear ties or bow ties. Most of the girls wear dresses or skirts, their hair in proud updos or curled and flowing down their backs.

Tifa wears a simple black and silver beret a over her left ear, holding back the sheaf of her hair. The view of her entire profile is on display, from her temple to the line and point of her nose, the dive of her neck and the fine edge of her shoulder.

She wears a stud in the lobe of her ear. A simple chain hangs from her neck, falling across her chest and reaching the middle of her torso.

She turns her head when the conductor takes his place at the podium. Her cheeks and lips shimmer under the lighting, her eyes a deep, blazing red.

All the players still, placing their bows upon the strings. The audience immediately quiets, and the hush is a force all its own. It curls around Cloud's throat like a hand, like the height of a rollercoaster at the precipice, about to fall.

The conductor lifts his wand, and in a flick of his hand, the concert begins in a flurry. There is no introduction or waiting. The free fall happens in a rush, and Cloud expels a breath, not realizing he had been holding it.

The first song is a frenzy. The notes punch the air. The bows fly and jump across the strings, the tempo high and vivacious. Tifa's hands blur above her keys, her hair shifting across her back with her movements.

There are crescendos and sudden softness, and then there is a slow build, the sound getting greater and greater, manic and wild and nearly frightening. One of Cloud's hands grip the armrest of his seat while it happens, and once the notes hit their peak, the conductor finishes with one sweep of his hand. The bows lift off the strings. Tifa's hands still above the keys. The ending note lingers in the air and presses into Cloud's skin like fingers—so alive and charged and electric.

The conductor, Mr. Bugenhagen, lowers his hand, and the players lower their instruments. The audience erupts into a roaring applause, a few daring to shout whoops.

Mr. Bugenhagen finally turns, smiling broadly at the mass of people.

"Good evening, everyone. I am very pleased to have all of you with us, tonight, listening to this talented group of young adults. They have been working hard on these pieces, to express the journey and the emotion the composers meant for these songs, and I am most certain it will show through.

"So, without further ado, here is the Nibelheim Varsity Orchestra."

Mr. Bugenhagen turns back to the orchestra, everyone coming to attention and settling into their playing positions. In one big breath and a tip of his wand, the music begins again.

Cloud watches the different players, from the violins, violas, cellos, and basses, but his eyes remain the most on Tifa, watching her face pinch in concentration, glancing up occasionally at Mr. Bugenhagen, her hair spilling across her shoulders with the quick and deliberate movements of her wrist and fingers.

By the last song, which is slower and sweeter—it does feel like an ending, Cloud thinks—she begins to softly smile, and her eyes close for a few moments between the longer, sustained notes.

She seems to be at peace, and Cloud's hands begin to itch again, wanting to recreate this scene on paper. It is too beautiful to be forgotten, and it doesn't last long enough.

The ending notes come in a flourish, and the concert is over too soon. Cloud is shocked to see it has lasted forty-five minutes of nearly endless music, but it hasn't felt that long, not in the slightest.

The clamor of the audience is deafening. Some of the parents begin standing, and the ovation is generous as everyone else follows their lead.

Mr. Bugenhagen brings his hands up in a gesture, allowing the students to stand and receive their adoration. As Tifa stands, her eyes rove over the audience as she smiles at everyone. There are too many people for her to see him, and he admires how she looks—completely shining, her skin gleaming under the lights, her eyes sparkling from the performance.

Mr. Bugenhagen finally turns to give a short bow, and everyone begins to sit back down, disperse, and the players begin to shuttle back into the band hall behind the auditorium.

Tifa picks up her music, placing the papers back into her folder. An older man, who Cloud almost immediately determines is her father, comes up to her and hugs her. He kisses her cheek, and she squeezes his arm. He says a few words, she nods, and he departs.

Two other girls come up to her once he's gone, and they chat and grin with one another before following behind the others to the back room.

Some of the classmates come out of their seats and find their friends, rubbing them or patting their shoulders, laughing as they go to the back room.

Cloud hesitates, wanting to stand and enter the band hall. Some of the audience lingers, parents chatting and a few coming up to Conductor Bugenhagen, asking questions or discussing the pieces of music.

Cloud waits a few minutes, deliberating on what he should do. As more and more of the audience leaves, he makes up his mind, standing from his seat and walking down the steps of the aisle. He turns down the hallway to the band hall door, entering to find a handful of players placing their instruments in their cases and into their lockers, the conversation filling up the room. Some leave with their parents and others leave in groups of friends.

Tifa is near the back, placing her folder of music into a small tote bag, talking to a cellist and a violinist—the two she had left the concert hall with. She laughs at something one of them says, and she turns her head. Her eyes catch on Cloud, and she beams even more, waving him over.

The two girls look up and see him, too. One raises a brow and one grins, giving the other an elbow to her ribs. The one with the raised brow says something to Tifa, and Tifa rolls her eyes, standing up and shifting her tote on her shoulder. She shakes her head and says something, instead beginning to walk over to where Cloud is loitering.

"See you guys tomorrow!" she calls, turning to face Cloud as she gets closer to him. He sees her dress is belted along her waist, a shiny, thick black belt with a black buckle in the front. The skirt flows over her hips and ends at her knees, fluttering around her legs as she walks. It has short sleeves and a scoop neck, and it is very simple but elegant. Face to face with her, he can tell she's wearing eye makeup—either mascara or eyeliner or both, making her thick eyelashes thicker and bolder, and her cheeks are more flushed than normal. Gloss shines on her lips, bordering her teeth with her smile.

Her hair is pin straight and shining, looking like fine silk across her shoulders.

"Hey," she says. "I'm so glad you came. Did you like it?"

Cloud has to swallow to help get his words out. "Y-yeah, it was great. You were...you were great."

She grins. "Thank you. I'm happy you enjoyed it." She gestures to some of the kids lingering in the band hall. "They played really well, tonight. Better than practice, which is always a good thing."

"Yeah, I thought the songs were…intense. And pretty. You were right. I've...it was different. A different type of concert," he says, unable to express the feeling. How his heart was pounding during the tension filled stanzas, how his stomach curled during the immaculate crescendos. He feels a bit ridiculous at the thought of saying anything like that.

She places her hands on her hips, seemingly triumphant. "I told you. It isn't like other performances."

He starts to smile, nodding at her tote.

"The way you played the piano was really...great," he says. Lamely. He keeps repeating himself. Great. It was great. What other words can he say than great?

"Oh," she says, shifting and ducking her head. "Thanks. I loved the songs that Mr. Bugenhagen chose." Glancing up at him, she says, "I can show you the music sheets if you'd like."

Cloud blinks. "Uh, yeah. Sure. I'd like to see it."

Tifa smiles, and Cloud can't get over how thick her eyelashes are. The way they border her eyes makes their redness so rich and loud and bubbling, and he knows he could stare at her for hours on end.

"Okay! C'mon, let's go to the concert hall."

Cloud shoves his hands in his jean pocket, walking beside her.

"I'm surprised. You're wearing nice clothes," she says, glancing at him.

"Uh...figured I should wear something that wasn't ripped," he says. His attire is nothing special. He's wearing a clean, white t-shirt and dark wash jeans that do not have any broken threads or holes. He's forgone his hoodie, and he misses the shelter it provides, covering up his entire upper body.

Tifa's glance lingers for a moment. "I like it," she says.

"I like your dress," he blurts, wanting to bite his tongue. "Uh, it's nice, too."

"I always wear this for the concerts," she says, but she avoids his gaze. "It's a tradition for me."

It's pretty, he wants to say. You're really, really pretty.

They come up to the piano, and she sits on the edge of the bench, pulling out the music. Cloud remains standing, taking his place behind the bench.

Few people remain in the concert hall. Some are kids, chatting with one another or on their phones. Mr. Bugenhagen is talking to one last pair of parents. The hall is otherwise empty.

Once Tifa places the sheets on the piano stand, she glances at him. "Sit beside me," she says. "It's easier."

"Oh," he says, easing himself on the opposite edge of the bench. He can smell a bright, fresh perfume and realizes he's close enough to smell her. His body begins to tense.

"Better, right? Now you can see," she says, smiling. "This was the first piece. Which was your favorite?"

"I liked all of them," he says, eyeing the confusing mass of black lines and dots on the sheet. "But I really liked the last one."

At that, Tifa nods. "That was my favorite, too."

Cloud imagines the soft serenity that had come over her during the performance. As she shuffles the pages around, he notices that same, soft look begin to appear on her face.

"I think it's just...so calming to me," she admits quietly, tapping some of the keys with her right hand. "I found myself playing it at home without even meaning to practice."

Cloud stares at the sheet, slowly becoming cross eyed at the foreign language of music notes.

"That you can read this is...incredible, Tifa."

Tifa straightens a little, the softness in her face disappearing. Cloud isn't sure if he said the wrong thing, only to see that Tifa starts to smile.

"I've done it for several years," she says, as an explanation. "It's just like reading a book, or naming colors. It's so...natural to me, now."

"Tell me about it," Cloud says, intrigued by all of the artistry on the page. "What do the symbols in the margins mean? And the notes..."

Tifa seems to perk up at his questions, easily answering his curiosity. "Oh, of course. I'd love to tell you. So these," she points to the beginning left hand side of the song. "Are the symbols for treble clef and bass clef. Usually, you play treble with your right and bass with your left. These are sharps or flats, this is the time signature, meaning how to count the different notes..."

Tifa carries on and on, pointing out all the different symbols, including crescendos and decrescendos, the p's and f's for softness and loudness, the changing of the key signatures, trills, repeats, and everything in between. Cloud loses her halfway through her descriptions. She talks so quickly and succinctly, saying things as though Cloud knows the meaning behind them. Cloud focuses on Tifa, instead, her mouth moving a mile a minute, twisting over the words. Her eyes are vivid with knowledge, sparkling to the brim with the passion of delivering her experience and history over the subject of piano and music.

Cloud begins to smile as he watches her, the words flowing through one ear and out the other. When she pauses to take a breath, she glances up at him and the rest of her words falter.

"And I...um...oh, I'm sorry," she says, turning away from him and glancing at the keys. "I've been talking so much."

"That's okay," he says. "I like listening to you."

She starts to curl in on herself, her shoulders rolling forward. "Well, I...think that was everything I wanted to tell you."

"There's a lot to learn," he says, his voice coming out as a whisper. He tears his eyes away from her and looks over the song. "What's your favorite part to play? Like, which three or four lines?"

She softens again, automatically turning the pages. She lands in the fifth.

"This part," she says. "The rhythm and the tone...there's something about it."

Cloud glances over the lines, the notes connected like hills and valleys, the symbols she talked about sprinkled around every other stanza.

"Want me to play it?" she asks. "You'll know it once you hear it again."

Cloud slowly nods. "Yeah. Only if you want to play it."

"I always want to play," she smiles, already placing her hands on the keys. "I'm starting right here," she says, reaching up and tapping a finger against the beginning of a line.

"Okay," Cloud says.

Tifa takes in a small breath, then she presses her fingers into the notes. Her fingers melt into the instrument, and her hands are fluid and sure. Cloud watches in amazement as they slip around the black slivers of keys and the thick, creamy ivory rectangles, her pressure changing, the angle of her wrists bending and relaxing with how she says the notes and how she brings them into the world of the concert hall, reverberating against the walls.

She only plays a page. It ends too soon.

Always too soon, Cloud thinks.

"That's it," she says, placing her hands in her lap.

"That was beautiful," Cloud confesses, the words easier to say right after watching her.

This time, he can see her blush underneath her makeup. "I—yes. This song is beautiful."

Cloud opens his mouth, trying to tell her that isn't what he meant. You're beautiful, is what he wants to say. He wants her to know. Surely she knows it, already, and it doesn't matter if he says it, but it's suddenly different because he wants to say it. He wants to tell her he's never met anyone like her. He wants...

"Oh, Tifa."

They both jerk, looking up over the piano. Mr. Bugenhagen stands at the entrance before the door to the band hall.

"Make sure you leave before the custodians lock the doors. No later than 9 pm, okay, dear?"

Tifa nods hastily. "Oh, yes, of course Mr, Bugenhagen. We'll be gone before then."

He bows his head. When he stands tall, there is a smile on his face as he looks over them.

"Wonderful job, tonight, Tifa. You play splendidly."

"T-thank you, Mr. Bugenhagen," Tifa answers, her cheeks still burning brightly.

With that, Mr. Bugenhagen leaves them, the door clicking shut behind him.

Tifa glances up at the clock hanging above the seats in the room. It reads 8:40 pm. "I guess we should go home. It's getting late."

"Yeah..." Cloud says, finding it difficult to hide his disappointment. "I guess we should."

They stand from the piano, Tifa gathering her music and slipping it back into her tote. Cloud slips his hands into his pockets, and Tifa steps in time with Cloud as they make their way to the exit. They begin walking to the parking lot.

"I drove here, tonight," Tifa says. "Did you walk?"

"Nah," he answers. "I rode my bike. I parked it right over there, but I'll walk you to your car."

It's only a few paces away from the main lot.

"Oh," Tifa says. "Thank you, Cloud."

He shrugs. "It's the least I could do for you teaching me so much about music tonight."

"You ever wanna know more, just ask," she smiles.

"I will," he answers. They stop beside her sedan. It is small and compact and an older, used model. She had told him her dad got it for her as a practice car, just in case she ended up totaling it. He really believes in me, she had said sarcastically. But I am lucky I was able to get a car.

"Thanks for inviting me," he tells her.

"I'm happy you came," she says.

As they stand before one another, Cloud feels that deep, terrible urge to tell her something meaningful. But as she stares at him with her big, round, dark eyes, it's impossible to say anything at all.

"I'll…see you tomorrow?" she asks, posing the farewell as a question.

"Yeah. Of course. See you tomorrow."

Cloud rides home on his bike in the black silence of night, but all he can hear is the notes Tifa played for him in the empty concert hall.

They ring in his mind as he falls asleep.