Tifa becomes a certified freak.
This is what she labels herself over the course of the next week, after her concert.
Cloud's window is never curtained, anymore. For reasons out of her control, she counts her lucky stars that of all times, he decided he would open up his window now.
She learns his routine from her bed. Sprawled on her stomach, she begins to notice he arrives in his bedroom a few minutes after they both get home from school. He sits at his desk awhile before he goes downstairs. It will be at least an hour before he comes back to his bedroom, either using his bathroom or working on what she guesses is homework. She can't see his own bed from her angle, so she utilizes her imagination and thinks of all the things he could be doing. Does he read? Listen to his music? Get on his laptop?
Does he glance through her window when she isn't looking?
No. He can't. He wouldn't, because he isn't a freak.
Tifa sighs, and presses her face into her hands. She's even gone so far as to turn the lights off in her bedroom so he can't see when he comes out of the shower. So she can watch without fear or increased humiliation.
Tifa doesn't think she'll ever forgive herself for doing this. She tells herself that every day, right before she sees Cloud in a towel, or in sweatpants, or taking off his shirt.
The rest of the night, forgiveness is the furthest thing from her mind.
This is worth it.
It's worth it until she sees Cloud the next day, and all of her organs begin burning up with shame and betrayal.
He smiles at her too easily, now. His gaze lingers, and it occurs more often. He no longer shies away when they sit close to each other. It makes her resolve start to crumble. The least she could do is stop spying on him in the evenings.
But then she gets home, and the temptation is too vibrant and too real. She's addicted to it. It's habit, and if she's completely transparent with herself, she doesn't want to break it.
At least she hasn't started to use binoculars. That fact gives her little consolation.
It's in the middle of one of these evenings, Tifa hiding in the dark, when she sees a half-dressed Cloud grab his phone. Her own phone buzzes not a moment after.
So, thin crust or thick crust?
She blinks at the question.
What? Pizza?
Yeah. I'm having a debate with Zack.
She glances up through her window, seeing Cloud at his desk and leaning back slightly in his chair. He's looking at the phone, tapping his lips with a pencil.
I feel like my answer will determine if we stay friends or not, she sends.
She watches Cloud's profile and is delighted when he smiles as he reads her response.
Nah. If we're still friends after our different music choices, I don't think pizza can do anything.
She stares at the text, contemplating and beginning to smile.
Okay. Honest answer?
Yeah.
You're sure?
Positive.
Tifa looks up at Cloud, typing in her answer. She immediately gauges his reaction when she hits send.
Thin crust.
She sees him begin to smirk. She thinks that might be a good thing.
Really? He responds.
Tifa bites her lip.
Yeah.
Me too.
Tifa smiles. She looks up, and Cloud has stood from his chair, smirking down at the phone as he walks out of her view.
Wow. I thought we'd be at odds for sure.
Same. Zack is team thick crust.
Zack can suck it.
Haha, I'm going to tell him you said that.
Tifa grins, feeling a flutter behind her sternum.
LOL please do.
I guess this redeems you for your musical preferences.
Oh hush, you love the pop songs I give you.
Yeah, yeah. Anyway, what are you doing?
That's the night Tifa and Cloud begin texting on a regular basis.
Tifa, though she holds only the best of intentions, remains a voyeuristic freak.
A week after Tifa's concert, Cloud shows her the band hall "spot". It's nothing extraordinary or extravagant. It's merely a dip of grass, surprisingly quiet for the clatter and ruckus that goes on in the hall behind it.
Tifa begins to invite him to her piano practice sessions a few days after school. It is as busy as ever, with them already cramming to learn holiday pieces for their end of year concert. Sometimes, Tifa plays sections of the holiday songs and Cloud sits against the wall, doodling. Other times, Cloud sits beside her and they get distracted, and Tifa tries to teach him the basics of the notes and how to read music.
"Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb…" Tifa intones, half-singing and half-saying. She hits the black keys in time with the words. "See?" she says normally. "This is the easiest song I can teach you besides Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."
Cloud places his fingers where hers used to be. "Yeah, simple. Except…hm. No. I can't do it. Can you repeat it again?"
Tifa gives him an unamused look. He's asked her once before, and she's now caught on. "Cloud, I'm not going to keep singing."
He can't help but smile at her dry expression.
"Why not?"
"Because," she says, shaking her head. "I'm terrible at singing."
"I don't think so. Your rendition of Mary Had a Little Lamb is one of a kind," he answers, words laced with teasing. He revels in her blush and her pouting.
"Stop," she whines lightly. She places a palm on her forehead before rolling her eyes. "I'm not going to keep teaching you if you make fun of me."
"Who says I'm making fun?" he says.
"Strife, I'm warning you…"
"I like when you sing," he says. It's an easy confession, especially when she rewards him with an even deeper blush.
"Um…" she tries.
"So, Mary Had a Little Lamb," he continues, trying not to stare at her. She's not only pretty. She's cute, too. She's a girl with a variety of talents, and he never thought being two different kinds of attractive at once could be a real thing. When he places his hands on the keys again, his elbow bumps her arm. The zap he feels is all in his head. He knows it is, but that doesn't keep him from pressing down on the keys, the sound ugly and discordant.
"Uh…so…" he trails, attempting it again. He says the words as he plays the keys. "Mary had a little lamb…"
Tifa's blush begins to fade, and she smiles at him. "Wow, look at you. A natural."
"Now who's teasing…" he mumbles, and she laughs. "It's only three notes."
"And if you add your other hand…" Tifa says, reaching across the piano. Her forearm brushes against his chest, and Cloud nearly jumps at the sensation. "Place your fingers on these three, and practice playing them both together." She settles back a little, but their shoulders remain touching, and Cloud thinks if he doesn't stop noticing these tiny touches, he is going to go insane.
"Y-yeah…okay," he says, placing his left hand on the other three black keys.
"It feels weird at first, and a little unnatural, but you get used to it," she continues.
"Right," he says. He plays them together, and they do feel weird. His left hand is definitely less coordinated and has no fine motor control whatsoever.
Tifa praises him unnecessarily, but he accepts it because she's beaming at him. It's silly how happy she gets about the smallest triumphs.
"I have no idea how you do this with actual songs," he says. "When your hands have to follow two different beats and timing."
Tifa simply shrugs. "Like I said, I've been doing it forever. If I hadn't learned when I was young, I'm sure it would be much harder to play."
Eventually, Tifa deems he levels up to Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, and while it isn't hard to play, the white keys all look the same. Tifa is too patient with him, but eventually she giggles when he messes up purposefully.
"No, no," she laughs. "That's G, not F. Twinkle, twin-kle, see?" she says as she plays it, the second note higher than the one he hit.
"Tifa, I have no idea what that means," he says. "So, this is G?"
He hits the note, and Tifa nods. "Yes. And then A, for the little part." She plays them together and tells him to repeat it. He does but misses the note.
"Cloud, you did that on purpose!" she laughs again, reaching for his hand. "Look, let me show you this way."
She settles his hand in a starting position she's showed him before, and she places her hand on top of his. How they're sitting makes her chest graze against his shoulder. He inhales a breath.
"So, it starts with C, here," she says, pressing her thumb into his thumb. "Twin-kle," she plays, then presses his pinky finger. "Twin-kle. And then you reach for the A…"
She extends her pinky to hit the note, and her hand shifts enough so that her fingers slot into the spaces between Cloud's for a moment before she settles it on his and taps his pinky down again.
She continues to play. "How I won-der what you are," she says, in time with pressing against each of his fingers.
Cloud is too distracted by the feel of her palm to notice the song, much less to tease her about her half-singing. It is warm and mostly smooth, but he notices the grips of callouses, and he watches how her fingers curl against his like a hug.
"Up a-bove a sky so high, like a dia-mond in the sky…"
Cloud swallows as she finishes, leaving her hand atop his.
"See?" she says, grinning. "Easy."
When he looks up at her, her grin begins to fade, and Cloud senses a shift in the air between them. They are close enough to create a line of warmth where they touch. Her hair prickles his cheek.
Unable to place what type of shift, he croaks, "Says you."
"Yeah," she says, and the word comes out heavier. It is almost breathy, and low, with an edge of a husk, and Cloud's never heard her voice sound like that before.
Cloud turns his head away, looking at their hands layered on top of each other, like a glass filled with water and oil.
Without thinking too hard, and mostly to distract himself from the chemical reactions happening inside of his body at how she said yeah, Cloud gently flips his hand underneath hers, grabbing her hand and turning it over.
"Uh, you can't get callouses from playing piano, can you?"
He runs his thumb across the pad of her palm, where her fingers connect to her hand. Belatedly, he realizes this action might not be any smarter than staring at her face.
She doesn't pull away. Instead, she says quietly, "Um, no. They're probably from cheerleading."
"Oh, right. Cheerleading."
He begins to let go of her hand, only for her to grab his. His heart leaps into his throat, and he glances up at her. She's looking at their hands.
"What about you? You have a few callouses, here." She runs a few of her fingertips over his palm, and he tries to keep still. Her touch is light and barely there. "Probably not from drawing, right?"
There is a forced lightness in her tone, and Cloud can't determine if she's struggling as much as he is. Probably not. Boys hover around her like bees to honey.
"Uh…weight lifting," he admits.
She blinks up at him. "Weight lifting?"
"Strength training helps avoid injuries with cross country," he says, parroting his coach. "Uh…it also helps with punching people."
At that, Tifa breaks out into a laugh. The shift between them lightens, and Cloud sighs. The fist in his chest loosens.
"I see," she says, and she smirks a little. "That makes sense."
"Yeah. I used to be really scrawny, too, so weight lifting has helped with that," he continues, her touch pulling out all these words from some hidden place deep inside of him. She does it so easily. He bites the inside of his cheek.
"You were scrawny?" she asks, quirking up a brow.
"Y-yeah. Very," he admits. Horrified, he realizes he's beginning to blush underneath her scrutiny. Her fingertips are driving him crazy.
"Oh. Hm. Not so scrawny now, then?" she asks, her eyes falling to his hoodie.
"I've…been working on it," he mutters.
"I guess I couldn't tell with you wearing all that baggy clothing," she says, and there's a little smirk forming on her face, again. She's always so kind and gentle that the smirk makes her seem devious. At the sight of it, something starts coming to life inside of Cloud's stomach, clawing at his skin.
It's this feeling and her fingers—it must be, both of them driving him into a state of lunacy, that makes him blurt, "Maybe I could show you, sometime."
His eyes widen after he says it. She stares at him, her mouth parting ever so slightly—it's not even enough to see her teeth, just a slither of a shadow in between her lips. Cloud's eyes hook on it, seeing the shine from the inside warmth of her mouth. If touching her lips feels anything like the warmth created by the barest touch of her fingers, Cloud thinks he'd give up part of his life to experience it.
He really, really likes her.
The band hall door slams shut a moment later, and they both scuttle away from one another on the piano bench. Cloud's chest heaves as though he hasn't taken a breath in ten minutes. In retrospect, he probably hasn't.
Tifa glances at the door, and he can tell that she might be embarrassed. He comes back to his senses immediately now that she's not touching him and he isn't imagining kissing her.
"Uh—I—I mean, one of my meets. Cross country. You could—come to one of those, if you wanted," he stumbles and stutters, trying to find a secondary meaning to telling her she could see him—undressed? Is that really what he meant?
"O-oh," she says, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Y-yeah. Sure. I'd love to come watch you."
"Great," he states.
"Just, uh, let me know when."
"Sure."
They look at each other then look away. Cloud goes to stand.
"Well, uh, I should probably…"
Tifa stands, too, jumping up and gathering her bag. "Yeah, same. I should…go home."
"Do you…still want to walk together, or…" he trails, suddenly feeling like the shift has returned—now that it has shifted, he's not sure if he can turn it back. He admits that he hates it. It feels so awkward, now. So suddenly irreparable.
That can't be right, he thinks. He's probably just being dramatic.
Tifa bites her lip and hesitates.
Okay, maybe he isn't being dramatic.
"I…yeah. Let's go," she says, but she avoids his eyes. She shrugs her backpack over her shoulders and begins walking toward the exit.
Cloud follows behind her, lifting up his cap and running a hand through his hair.
The entire way, he wishes he had simply said nothing.
Later that evening, Tifa can't sleep.
Maybe I could show you, sometime.
Tifa brings her hands up to her face, covering her eyes. She's under the cover of darkness, already, but she thinks her cheeks are bright enough to light up her entire bedroom.
She imagines Cloud standing there, in his stupid baseball cap, twisted backwards, smirking at her knowingly, topless and wearing his sweats.
She thinks about how he looked in his white t-shirt at her concert. His sleeves cutting into the juncture between his shoulder and his bicep. The vein running down the line of that bicep. How his veins protruded along the inside of his forearm.
Man arms, she thinks, sinking deeper into her mattress. Strong arms.
Her shame makes her body boil. She shouldn't be thinking of Cloud this way. He's her friend. It's not—it's not exactly wrong to admire him, but she feels like she's still betraying him, somehow. But she shouldn't be. No. There's really nothing wrong with being attracted to a friend who is a boy. Her past history is filled with instances of this—though it's never felt this way. She's never felt so entrenched in the desire or the lingering want of an extra touch or smile or gaze from anybody.
She sighs. She cherishes their suddenly budding friendship too much for this stupid attraction to get in the way. She thinks she can keep it separate. She can joke around and tease and text him during the days. Then, she can get her fill of her attraction at night, here in her bed, staring up at her ceiling.
She'll imagine how his hand felt underneath hers on the piano keys. The strong, rough texture of his palms. The long, enduring length of his fingers.
She's not sure what compelled her to do that only a few hours ago. She's tried to teach other friends piano songs, but she's never gotten so close or placed her palms onto someone else's so intimately like that. Someone who wasn't her boyfriend.
Still, she didn't think much of it until she glanced up at him, realizing how close they had become. How still and stiff Cloud's reaction had been. How her heart backstabbed her, it's beat pounding in her fingertips when he turned it over in his palm.
She'll relive this day for a while, she thinks, because her physical reaction had been so…involuntary. Uncontrolled. Visceral. When she imagines his smiles and his stuttering, the tilt of his head and the endless blue of his eyes, every muscle in her constricts. It's hard to ignore in the dead of night, all alone with the feeling. She is wound up like a coil, tight like a french braid. She can't get comfortable. She's restless. She tosses and turns, huffing. She gets so frustrated that she turns her head in her pillow, expelling a muffled scream.
She's not sure how to relieve herself. Actually, no, scratch that. She does know. She's had enough sleepovers with her girlfriends, had enough curiosity to talk about and blush profusely when describing the intimate moments with boyfriends, how far they would go, how terrifying but how good it feels, too.
She knows what she can do, but she doesn't dare. She can't allow herself to do something so…taboo as she thinks about Cloud this way, in the secret confines of her mind. She curls in on herself, willing the feeling to go away.
The only thing she can feel semi-comfortable doing is closing her eyes and fantasizing about Cloud's proficient fingers touching her skin. Where? She thinks. Anywhere. Starting with her hands, then trailing up her wrist and forearm, her shoulder, her collarbone, grazing against her neck.
Then she envisions his lips, leaning into him and kissing him. Just kissing him. Wondering how his sarcastic, smart, teasing, clever mouth would feel like, meshing against hers. How would his breath feel? How warm and agonizing? Where would his hands go?
Tifa falls asleep that way, that night and the next nights following it, dreaming of Cloud kissing her.
The day after the piano lesson, Tifa and Cloud settle back into their burgeoning friendship. Tifa acts as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, and Cloud shrugs and grunts and retains a little more reticence than usual. They continue to go to lunch over the course of the next days, and by the time a week passes, it seems the shift—whatever it had been—is suppressed and erased. It's a small blip on their radar. Something simple and silly and shrugged off as nothing.
Tifa broaches the topic of Cloud's cross country meet at one of their lunches, once she gains enough courage to bring it up. Cloud invites her to the one that coming Saturday
"It starts at 8:00 am," he tells her apologetically. "Sorry. They're usually pretty early, but that's because of the temperature and the distance we run."
She smiles easily. "Oh, that's okay. I like waking up early on the weekends."
He smiles back. "Alright. I'll text you the information."
When Saturday comes around, Tifa stands on the sidelines at the meet. She's bundled up in a light jacket, thermal tights, a scarf and beanie. The late November chill cuts through the air. The coldness is dry and sharp, and Tifa admires all the runners for committing themselves to this specific brand of suffering.
She's about to pull out her phone to text Cloud before she notices someone running up to her. Clad in a blue tank, matching shorts and tights underneath, a blaze of golden messy hair, Tifa realizes that it's Cloud.
She's never seen so much of his skin so up close. She stares at his arms. Then his neck. Then at his tank top and how she might be able to see the outline of his chest if she squints.
Isn't this what he meant? Her mind says, betraying her. Blood floods into her cheeks as he stops in front of her, smiling.
"Hey," he says, huffing. "You made it."
"Yeah," she says, smiling distractedly. "I wouldn't miss it."
"Sorry, you'll have to stand around in the cold," he says. "And it's kind of boring. You'll be able to see us run in some of the spots where there aren't many trees, but…" he trails, and he suddenly turns sheepish. "Not the best thing to ask you to come see."
Tifa eyes the muscular curve of his shoulders. No, she thinks. It is the best thing to see.
Her cheeks heat even further. She shakes her head at him, laughing to hide her embarrassment. "I don't mind it. I've never been to a cross country meet."
"Uh, good," he says, shifting his weight. "You could cheerlead. It might inspire me to beat my time."
Tifa grins at that. "You should have told me. I would have brought my pom-poms."
Cloud eyes her smile, raising his gaze to her head. "Nah. You being here is inspiration enough." He reaches up and flicks the fuzzy ball on top of her beanie. "Besides, you brought one pom-pom."
Something about the way he looks at her as he talks to her, his cheeks flushed from the chill and the smirk gracing his lips, makes her blood perfuse enough to warm her once very cold hands.
"Yeah…you're right," she says.
"And they sell hot chocolate over there, if you want," he says, pointing off to the kiosk. Other classmates and parents hover around it, some already holding cups or thermoses filled with coffee or tea.
"I'm set, then," she says, still staring at him.
One of his teammates calls him back, and he tips his head at her. "Gotta go."
"Good luck," she says.
"Thanks," he smiles, turning and jogging away.
They set up their marks at the beginning of the route, the umpire blowing a whistle for the start. As soon as it sounds, the boys take off in a flurry of different paces.
Cloud's right. She can catch glimpses of him on the path, watching his stride between the trees. He's fast. The boy's circuit is a four mile race. The girl's is three. Cloud admitted he'd been averaging five and a half minute miles when she asked.
"I could go to state if I can shave off fifteen seconds," he had told her. "But if our team can average five minutes, twenty seconds, that's all we'd need."
Tifa enjoys running, too. She enjoys a lot of exercise, but the time he told her continues to shock her. Seeing it in real time is even more impressive and exhausting. There is a large, digital clock that has been set up at the finish line. He told her he wants to try to hit twenty-one minutes and twenty seconds. Tifa had teased him about being so specific. He had merely blushed and shook his head at her.
"I like trying to outdo myself," he had answered.
As the time inches closer to his goal, the more and more Tifa notices her nerves. She holds her second cup of hot chocolate close to her chest, scouting the trails for Cloud's head while glancing back at the clock.
She sees him round the corner right at the twenty-one minute mark. He has twenty seconds to run what looks to be a distance that is too long to finish in such a short amount of time. Tifa tightens her grip on her cup.
"Go Cloud!" she shouts, eyeing how quickly the clock is ticking. His feet eat the ground underneath him, hitting three strides every passing second.
When Cloud crosses the threshold, his time is clocked at twenty-one minutes and eighteen seconds. Tifa sighs, grinning and watching Cloud recover. He places his hands on top of his head, and he walks around for a few seconds before glancing up at the board with the times. She sees him begin to smile as she runs up to him.
"You did it!" she cries. "I knew you'd do it!"
She can see the thin, sheen of sweat lining his arms, his cheeks ruddy from effort. His chest continues heaving, but it slows as he lowers his hands from his head and places them on his hips.
"Yeah. Shit, that was hard."
Tifa laughs. "I can't believe you could keep that pace for that long."
"I haven't before," he says, grinning. "You brought me luck."
His smile wider than normal, his lips splitting over his teeth. It feels as though she's smacked in the stomach with a sledgehammer. She's never seen him smile that way, his eyes on fire from the runner's high, the beads of sweat sliding down his neck, and his man arms on full display.
"I—I wouldn't say that," she says, shaking her head. Her eyes keep hooking on his smile. "You've been practicing for this."
He shrugs, still beaming. "Sure, but I think it was the power of your pom-pom ball." He reaches up and flicks it again. "We should celebrate."
"Celebrate?" she asks, her eyes fastened to his lips. She knows how she would like to reward him. She imagines all of her kissing fantasies with him in the depths of nighttime, hidden underneath her bed covers. She wonders what it would be like right now, to reach up and lock her fingers behind his neck, all sweaty and damp, pulling him down into a chilly, late November kiss. She wonders if it would taste like his run—all wind-whipped and full with the tang of autumn.
"Yeah," he huffs, his grin calming down to his normal smile. "I dunno what, but something."
A few of his teammates finish soon after, and they fist bump and congratulate one another, some having received their own records.
The girls run next, and the boys are herded to the sidelines, the coach talking with them before they allow them to roam free, encouraged to stay and support the girl's running.
Cloud slips on a school-issued jacket, grabbing his water bottle and taking a few pulls from it. Tifa berates herself for immediately missing the view of his arms.
He comes to stand beside her once he's released from the group huddle.
"You okay with staying for the girl's run? I was gonna stay for support."
This makes Tifa smile. "Of course." She elbows him. "Are you always this sweet to your fellow runners?"
He scoffs. "I've really been volun-told," he says, pointing toward his coach.
Tifa laughs. "I still think it's nice of you to stay."
He merely shrugs, glancing away from her and shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. He points at her cup.
"You enjoy the hot chocolate?"
"Yes. It was delicious," she says. "You want one?"
"Nah," he says. "Maybe later."
"So, you said celebrate," she ventures. "Think of anything?"
His eyes dart to her face. Hers fall to his lips inadvertently.
"Uh…" he says, his gaze flicking off to the side. "Not really. Actually, I'm sure my mom will just cook me something I like."
"Oh…okay," she says, abruptly disappointed. What had she hoped he'd say? Something bold and daring, like asking for a kiss?
No. She doesn't know. That's silly.
"Well, if you think of something," she says. "Let me know."
"I will," he says, smiling softly.
They remain standing close to one another, and Tifa thinks his warmth helps ward off the morning chill.
His mom had dropped him off at his meet on her way to work that morning. Tifa generously offers to drive him home instead of him taking a ride share.
He instantly accepts, taking his seat on the passenger's side. They drive in silence for most of the way, Tifa fiddling with the radio station and giving him a look, saying not to even think about making fun of her station choice. He only smiles.
Once she pulls up to his house, he fidgets and takes a deep breath.
"Hey, I—" he starts, cutting himself off.
"What?" she asks.
Cloud feels very awkward all of a sudden.
"I, uh, work for a few hours today. But when I get home…" He runs a hand along the back of his neck. "What I mean is, my mom will probably make a huge dinner when I tell her about my time. Would you, uh, want to come over to eat? For old times' sake," he mumbles hurriedly.
He's not sure why this makes him feel so embarrassed. He can't quite catch her eye.
She's silent for only a moment. "Oh, I would love to."
"Uh, okay, great," he nods. He goes to open the door. "I'll text you, then. See you later."
He jumps out of the car before he can feel any more disconcerted.
"Cloud!" she says before he closes the door behind him. He finally glances up to see her smiling. "Good job, today. I'll see you later."
He can't quite answer her smile. His anxiety rams up his throat.
It's not like he asked her on a date.
When he gets to his room, he shakes the nervous energy out of himself, blasting them down with a hot shower.
Nope. Not a date at all.
When Cloud gets home from the pizza parlor, he takes his second shower of the day, ridding himself of the yeasty fumes and stink of tomato sauce and Cid Highwind's cigarette smoke.
He texts Tifa when his mother tells him it'll be ready in half an hour. Her response is almost immediate.
Be there soon!
His mother is almost too delighted at the prospect of Tifa joining them for dinner.
"Oh, it will be so nice to see her. It's been too long," she says, smiling at him. "I'm so glad you two are spending time together, again. Tifa has always been such a lovely girl."
Cloud tugs at the collar of his t-shirt. "Yeah. We're friends."
"Mm. Well, I am happy to hear it," his mother tells him, smiling warmly. As she begins to place a few used dishes into the sink, her tone changes slightly.
"Now, Cloud..." she broaches. "I know you're smart, and you are usually responsible."
Cloud's eyebrows begin to fall over his eyes. "Mom, what are you..."
"But you are at that age, and have been for a while. I've had this talk with you before, but if you decide to pursue Tifa, or any other young lady for that matter, please make good choices."
Cloud reddens. "Mom."
"You're a handsome boy, Cloud. It is easy to get carried away," she persists. "I just want you to be careful."
Cloud runs a hand over his face, the bright burn of embarrassment unavoidable. "Mom, please. I know."
She eyes him. "And if you need anything..."
"Mom!" He ducks his head. "I'm—I'm not...fine. Yeah. Okay, thanks."
She smiles at him, seemingly appeased, and dries off her hands on a towel. She grabs a few clean plates. "Good. Now, help me fix the table?"
It doesn't take long for the doorbell to ring. Cloud jolts up before his mother can, going to answer it.
When he opens the door, he's greeted by Tifa and a dazzling smile.
"Hey," he says.
"Hi." She holds up the tray in her hand. "Um...I brought cookies."
Cloud raises a brow, stepping back from the door to allow her entry. She steps in, taking off her boots. She's wearing the same tights from earlier that day, along with the same light jacket.
"Cookies?" he says. "You didn't have to bring anything."
"I know, I just thought..." she says, shaking her head. "I remember your mom would always have chocolate chip cookies for us after we played with the neighborhood kids. So I brought some. For old times' sake."
Cloud blinks at her before he begins smiling. "Yeah. We did use to do that, didn't we?" He offers to take the tray, and she hands it to him. "Thanks, Tifa."
"Of course," she says, following him into the living and dining rooms. Cloud's mother greets her with limitless amounts of warmth and affection, giving Tifa a hug before they settle into seats around the dining table. She chats with Tifa more than Cloud does, asking about how she's been, her schooling, her hobbies, what she does for fun. She learns more about Tifa during the passing dinner hour than Cloud had learned in the past month and a half. Cloud eats his food quietly, amused by his mother and listening to Tifa's responses, knowing most of the answers to his mother's questions. He secretly prides himself over it.
"Cloud told me he loved the orchestra concert," his mother says during their conversation. She eyes him. "He wouldn't stop talking about it."
Cloud blushes furiously, opening his mouth before looking at Tifa. She's giving him a heavily amused glance.
"That's...an exaggeration," he says. "My mom wishes she went."
"Now, that's true, I do wish I had gone. Perhaps your holiday concert?" She asks, winking. "I know Cloud's already planning on going."
Cloud hides his face in his food, grumbling. He's starved his mother of this kind of stuff. Never again is he inviting anyone over, ever.
Tifa perks up. "I would love it if you came, Mrs. Strife!"
"Oh, please call me Claudia," she says. "And certainly. I'll make sure this one tells me the date and time."
Cloud rolls his eyes, shoving a big bite in his mouth to keep from responding.
They move onto the cookies for dessert, to which Claudia exclaims about Tifa's baking skills.
"A young woman of many talents, aren't you, Tifa?"
At her words, Tifa finally turns bashful, dipping her chin towards her chest. "Oh, no, not really. This recipe was very simple."
"Nonsense. Baking is it's own kind of skill. Do you like cooking?"
Tifa glances up, smiling. "I do. I tend to do most of it, because my dad is terrible."
Claudia laughs. "I see. If you ever need new recipes, I will be happy to lend them to you."
Tifa's eyes brighten. "That would be amazing. Thank you, Claudia."
"Of course, sweetheart."
They eventually clean up, depositing the dishes in the sink and wiping down the dining table. In the middle of it, Cloud gains the nerve to mutter a question to Tifa. His heart is already beginning to fluctuate with its rhythm, but he shrugs it off.
"Do you, uh, wanna hang out upstairs?"
She looks at him, and he can't tell the look she gives him. "I...yeah. Sure."
He tells himself not to care. He tries to don the apathy he could hide behind so easily a mere month before.
"We'll be upstairs, Mom," he calls across the kitchen. Claudia is putting leftovers in the fridge, glancing up at them.
"Alright, have fun," she says. Before they can escape, she says, "Oh, and Cloud?"
He stops, Tifa halting beside him. "Yeah?"
"Not that I don't trust you two darlings, but would you mind leaving your door open?"
Cloud groans. He notices that Tifa covers her mouth with a hand, stifling a giggle.
"Mom..." Cloud moans before sighing. "Yes. I'll leave the door open."
"Thank you!" she trills behind them, and he can hear more than see her smile.
"Sorry," Cloud mumbles to Tifa as they climb the stairs.
She shakes her head. "Oh, it's okay. I don't care."
"She's embarrassing."
"No, she's not! She's great," she says. "I like her."
"She's alright when she wants to be."
Tifa chuckles at him. "You only say that because she's your mom."
As they enter his room, he tries to maintain his nerves. He hasn't had anyone in his room other thanZack in a long time. He made sure to hide anything revealing before dinner, including his more personal drawings. He tidied up, putting away all his dirty clothes. He made up his bed. His room doesn't look half like it normally would had he not had a girl coming over.
Tifa glances around the room, her eyes alighting on his posters and different photos clipped to the walls. She eyes some of his medals, her stare lingering on his desk for a moment before she turns to him.
"I like this space," she says. "It is very...you."
"It is my bedroom," he states.
She laughs. "Oh, you know what I mean." She turns to the desk. "Is this where you draw?"
"Yeah," he says, scratching his neck.
She taps her finger against the wood. He's left most of his tools out in the open, including his pencils, both graphite and colored, along with reference pictures and erasers.
"This is very cool," she says. "You have so much stuff."
He shrugs, feeling overly exposed. "Uh, yeah."
She glances over to his photos, walking up to them and examining them. "Hey, I know him. That's Zack, right?"
"That's him," Cloud says. "The others are my aunt and uncle. There are a few pictures from track and cross country."
Tifa looks at all of them, and Cloud finds himself at a loss, merely letting her absorb his entire life in his small room. He takes a careful seat on his bed, which is a full size. Big enough to hold them. Small enough to hardly give any personal space.
As if he wants it, he thinks, sighing out a puff of air. He pinches the bridge of his nose while she has her back facing him.
She hums, eventually turning to him. She sees him sitting on the bed, and she finally shows signs of hesitation, her eyebrows pinching.
"Uh, we don't have to sit up here," he says, going to stand. "We can...sit on the ground."
"No, that's okay," she says, walking forward and taking a seat. The bed dips slightly in his direction, and she smiles. "This is just fine. Besides," she says jokingly. "The door's open."
Cloud scoffs, laughing and feeling the tension begin to unravel.
"Yeah. Don't worry, I won't pull any moves on you," he says.
Tifa grins, placing a hand on her forehead. "Phew. I was nervous."
Smirking, Cloud pushes himself back toward his headboard, reaching over the side of the bed and grabbing his laptop.
"You wanna watch a movie or something?" he asks.
Tifa follows suit, sitting beside him. "Sounds good to me."
Her proximity is distracting, but he tries to ignore it, acting as if his heart isn't beginning to ram against his chest.
He pulls up a few streaming services, and they take a while to choose a movie, both indecisive or uncaring, and Cloud is content enough to just lie with her there.
A few minutes into the movie, he hears Tifa whisper, "Hey, Cloud?"
He glances at her. "Yeah?"
She's quiet for a moment, staring at the laptop screen. "I'm, um...thanks. For inviting me to celebrate with you," she says, her eyes drifting up to catch his. "It was a good day."
Cloud's heart begins to thud at her tone. It's gentle and soft. "You're welcome. Thanks for saying yes."
Satisfied, she curls deeper into his pillow. He turns his head, shifting to watch the screen but hardly interested in the show. The laptop sits in between them, but their heads are close.
Eventually, Cloud is being gently pushed. He grunts and opens his eyes, bleary and foggy with sleep.
"Cloud, sweetie," his mother says. "It's time for Tifa to go home."
"...oh," he mumbles, pushing himself up. "What time is it?"
"Eleven thirty," she whispers. "Her curfew is midnight, but I wanted to give you two some time to wake up."
Cloud groans lightly, rubbing at his eyes. He glances over to his side to see Tifa curled up on his pillow, breathing deeply.
She's pretty, even in sleep. He stares at her for a moment before nodding, looking at his mom.
"Yeah. Thanks. I'll wake her."
Claudia smiles and takes her leave. Cloud sighs, placing his palm on her shoulder. She's soft, he thinks. Soft and warm.
"Hey, Tifa," he says, quiet. "Hey."
She makes a little noise, furrowing her brows. She burrows her head further into his pillow.
"Tifa," he says, chuckling lightly. "It's time to wake up. It's almost your curfew."
"Mm...Cloud," she sighs. "No."
"It's eleven-thirty," he tries.
"Five more minutes," she mumbles.
Cloud hesitates, taking his palm away from her shoulder. He finds a few of his fingers become tangled in her hair as she shifts, and he carefully extricates them. Well, that's what he means to do. What he actually does is run his fingers through the waterfall of her hair—but just once.
It's as silky as it looks.
"Alright," he yields. "Five minutes. But that's it."
"Mm," she sighs. "Good."
He watches her for those next five minutes, wanting to tell himself to stop. Isn't it weird to watch someone sleep? Isn't it creepy and bizarre? If she woke up and caught him, would she be completely mortified?
Would she smile?
When he shakes her the second time, she finally relents and opens her eyes.
"Your bed is really comfy," she says, her voice husky and thick with sleep. His stomach bolts to his knees at the tone, so similar to the one she gave him in the band hall.
"Yeah, it is," he says.
She rolls and pushes herself up, running a hand through her hair much like he had before. It's still straight, if only sticking to the side of her face with the static from his sheets. Her t-shirt has risen above her tights, wrinkled and disheveled, and he can see a brief flash of her flat stomach. When she looks at him, she smiles, rubbing at her eyes.
"Okay," she says, stretching her arms above her head. Cloud watches all the lines and curves she makes, her back arching and her chest round and generous. The lighting from the moon only caresses and enhances the dips and shadows. She licks her lips, wetting them, and leans back on her hands.
Cloud stares. The image brands itself in his mind. His palms begin sweating. His stomach tightens.
Oh.
She looks like...a poster.
Fuck.
"I'll grab my things and head out," she says, pushing herself up and off the bed, stretching one more time as she stands.
Not again, he thinks, forcing his eyes away from her. He sighs roughly, attempting to ignore the quiet noise she makes.
"Yeah. I'll—walk you out," he says, rubbing at his eyes and feigning sleep when really, he's doing his best not to grimace.
He ends up walking her across the path to her home. The neighborhood is one of the friendliest in town, but Cloud doesn't care about that, feeling much more comfortable seeing her safely inside. Once they stop in front of her door, Tifa smiles softly, face still tender with sleep even against the sharp coldness of the nighttime.
"Thanks for walking me, Cloud."
"Sure. Get some sleep," he says, trying to avoid any lingering goodbyes. He'll go mad. He'll do something regretful if he stays any longer, because now he's seen her in his bedroom, rumpled with sleep, hair splayed across his pillow and...
What's he supposed to do, now?
"You too," she says, turning to her door. "Goodnight."
"Night," he says, stiffly, and immediately treks home.
He's nearly distraught as he falls asleep. His mind is filled with the scent of her hair on his pillow, dreaming of her lying beside him and covered in the white blanket of the moonlight.