ADVISORY: chapter contains underage adult situations (17/18).

"Focuses on the past and present tenses. Classrooms are highly communicative and use techniques such as role-play conversations and games to support lesson content."

[ : The Curriculum : ]

Chapter 4 | Foreign Languages

June 0004

Nibelheim

The summer Cloud turned eighteen was a whirlwind. Not with the typical parties, studying and bright-eyed, eager planning for the future. No. That summer, the quiet boy - now man, in theory, he supposed - was consumed by the past.

Kicking a crushed soda can off the water tower, Cloud plopped himself down, alone, on the edge of the platform and took a hearty sip from a flask of unidentified amber liquor that his mother of all people had supplied him with.

'A Graduate's Dance is a once in a lifetime event!' she had insisted, straightening the collar of a cerulean dress shirt purchased for the occasion, adamant that it brought out the unique coloring of his eyes and was sure to make all the girls swoon. Matched with a rented navy suit, burgundy tie and boutonniere made from their garden's butter-colored lilies, he still felt very much like a kid wearing the costume of a grown-up. The effect was unaided by loafers she had purposefully bought a size too big.

After slipping the silver canister into his pocket, she had winked. Like it was some sort of bribe. 'Live a little. Have fun! Or else.'

The threat was meant to be in jest but he was cognizant enough to read between the lines.

Have fun, or else she'd feel like she failed as a single parent all these years.

Have fun, or else she'd get even more depressed about his impending departure.

Have fun. BE NORMAL, for the love of the Gods, or else…

He'd be breaking her heart.

Cloud took another hearty gulp and winced as it went down, glaring at the sparkling lights of the gymnasium across the field where his classmates celebrated their impending entry to adulthood via redundant pop medleys, overly sweetened punch and hasty, fumbling encounters in bathroom stalls.

How he disliked them all.

It wasn't that he was jealous. More apathetic with a hint of confusion. For years now he had been trying to pinpoint the exact wires in his brain that had been crossed which rendered a new brake pad delivery more exciting than graduating high school and all the related hoopla, but had yet to detect the fault. At least at Midgar U he would be surrounded by like-minded people in the highly competitive engineering program. Not as friends. He didn't care for or desire the distraction of friends. He merely craved understanding. For someone to see him tinkering with a rusted-out, antique scooter, disassembling and reassembling it relentlessly, with no real goal in mind except to discover, and think 'I get it' instead of 'what a freak'.

Soon.

Whipping out a Car & Driver magazine from the inside pocket of his blazer, Cloud leaned against the water tower barrel and prepared to wait out the clock. Another hour plus half the flask would be sufficient to prove he had given it the ol' college try. All in all, considering no one was trying to shove his head in a toilet, the stage was set to be a relatively pleasant evening. He was midway through an article on innovative materia-based combustion systems, touring the borderlands of drunk, when a sound drew his attention.

It was a girl.

A crying girl.

One whose hiccups and sputters grew louder by the second up until he heard a distinct clicking of heels climbing up the steel ladder.

Panic bloomed in his chest, desperately scanning his surroundings for an alternate escape route. This water tower had been abandoned and deemed hazardous years prior, after the town had proper underground plumbing installed. Most kids avoided the area because it was too public to do anything truly nefarious and access involved battling a barbed wire fence and inevitable splinters. Cloud mostly liked it for the view of the entire village along a backdrop of white-tipped mountains and the infinite stars, paired with a (usually) low probability of being harassed.

Glancing down the three-story drop, he debated how many broken bones his social anxiety was willing to claim, when the girl in question rounded the bend and plopped down without any notice or care. She wore a silky, deep purple halter dress with matching shoes, a black ribbon slashed across her throat, hair a dark, gleaming curtain that draped all the way down to her waist, highlighting the shape of her bare back as it wracked with sobs.

Cloud gulped upon recognizing both the form and the outfit. It was the only dress he had taken note of that night, for it was being worn by her.

Tifa Lockhart.

Involuntarily, he thought back to a couple of years ago when his mom had sat him down for a "special talk", concerned because he hadn't shown the slightest interest in girls. Not even of the magazine-hidden-under-the-bed variety.

It was true. He didn't care about girl(s), plural.

Just one. This very same one.

Something about her presence, even when scolding him for lack of participation, was like a minuscule, missing gear in the engine of his mind. She made everything click into place, converting him into a smooth-running machine capable of typical teenage sentiment if only temporarily. Then she'd always move on to other priorities, other people, and all would tumble into mangled junk once more. How he was both terrified by and craved those moments.

Though a year younger, Cloud knew she had been invited to the Graduate's Dance as someone else's date; one of the typical good-looking, well-spoken jocks that he worked hard not to learn anything more about than strictly necessary. His instinct was to play ignorant, to sneak around the other side and down the ladder with her being none the wiser, but ignoring Tifa proved to be impossible. Always had been.

"Heya," he started oh-so-lamely, wincing at the strange pitch in his voice and clearing his throat to reset it. "You okay?"

The sobbing cut off as she gasped, clearly mortified while struggling to focus on his face. "Cloud Strife? Is-Is that you?"

A thrill shot through him that she remembered his full name, considering how typical it was for him to blend into the wallpaper and they'd probably exchanged fewer than ten sentences over the same number of years. Logic urged him not to read too much into it. Tifa was a highly decorated student council member. She probably had the entire village's names memorized.

"Umm. Do you need..." At a loss for what else to do, Cloud dug into his pocket for the pack of tissues he always had on hand due to frequent nosebleeds; yet another example of how nature slotted him from birth into the pathetic loser category.

"Thanks." Accepting one, she pressed it to her reddened nose and shamelessly blew. The sound, much like that of a throttled goose, made his stomach balloon with affection. So she was human. This revelation infused him with such a rare but acute bout of confidence that he dared to shuffle a few inches closer.

"Do you...want to talk about it?"

Tifa shook her head between sniffles. "No. Maybe? I suppose the summary of events is that my boyfriend's an asshole."

"Oh. I could have told you that a long time ago," Cloud quipped with his chest puffed out. Then, after being flashed a disapproving glare, he shrank back. "Sorry."

"No, you're right. I forgot that you tend to be more blunt than most people." She smirked as she said this, which he could not resist mirroring. "I could use some more bluntness in my life, I think."

"Hmm." Swallowing, he glanced around the empty field and glowing blanket of stars before them. Even he could tell that this was as romantic as a setting could get and wondered why the much-desired girl sought comfort in such a location alone. "Anyway, I'm listening. If you want. It's not like I have anything better to do, so…"

"You sure know how to make a girl feel special, huh Strife?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Stop saying sorry!" She commanded, fixing him with those intense carmine eyes that never failed to ignite his veins. "Apologies mean nothing without action. They're just stupid, empty words! Two sips of bathtub moonshine and then he's up on stage, in front of everyone, making out with another girl and I'm supposed to forget because he's sorry!? Ha!"

"Whoa. Shit." Apparently, he had missed the scandal of the event - nay - the year. Though that wasn't the part that shocked him. "He really is an asshole. And an idiot."

If he were with a girl like Tifa, then…

Shaking his head to rid himself of the notion, Cloud tried to diagnose her state of mind from her posture, eager for a glimpse under the hood. She was staring at the sky with tears trailing down her cheeks, gripping the edge of the platform, clearly more frustrated than anything. On top of it all, she was shivering, the material of her wispy dress doing nothing to shield against Nibelheim's brisk twilight.

"Here." Not even thinking twice about it, Cloud stripped off his navy blazer and held it out in offering.

"You really don't have to-"

"Please." He dared to lean a little closer. Close enough that he could smell a hint of spiced-satsuma on her skin. "It's fine. I'm too warm anyway."

"Oh. Okay then. Thank you."

As she draped the jacket over her shoulders, Cloud was surprised to find her lithe form practically engulfed by the thing. His mom often complained that he was growing too fast lately but this was the first real evidence he had noticed. If that wasn't enough to boost his ego, something about seeing Tifa wearing his clothes made him feel especially...valiant. Enough so that he bent one knee, planting a foot on the edge of the platform and leaned upon it in a way he hoped appeared suavely nonchalant.

"If you don't mind me saying," he began, inspired to initiate conversation for what was probably only the second time in his life. "You seem more embarrassed than hurt."

Tifa glanced over with brows furrowed, wrapping the blazer more tightly around herself. "So?"

"Soooo did you really love the guy then? If you're more worried about what people are thinking than sad about it being over, isn't that not a great sign?"

Steamrolled by epiphany, her forehead smoothed as she stared at him, dark eyes wide and doe-like, threatening to drown him in their depths. "I guess not." Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Tifa also dared to shuffle a little closer. Close enough that their thighs brushed, triggering a shockwave down his leg that made his toes curl inside his shoes. "I suppose I'm mostly upset because I expected tonight to be special. You know?"

He really didn't.

"Then make it special," Cloud asserted, grabbing a nearby pebble and whipping it toward the unseen ground below. "You don't need him. Honestly, the guy's IQ rivals his shoe size."

Tifa chuckled heartily. As if it were the first time she had genuinely laughed in years. "You're pretty funny, Cloud."

That was the last adjective anyone would usually attribute to him, but he decided to absorb any compliments he could. Glancing down at her, he noticed the yellow boutonniere pinned to the jacket pocket was already half-wilted; a grim reminder that this moment, including any fragments of youth and optimism, would not last forever.

Their eyes met and he swore, for a fraction of a second, some sort of spark flash between them. Like a lighthouse in an endless storm of inky blackness. Drawing him in. Beckoning him.

But it wasn't real. It couldn't be. After all, he was only-

Before he could finish the thought, it happened.

Tifa Lockhart grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt, yanked him sideways and mashed her lips onto his in a kiss that bordered on violent.

A much-too-slow heartbeat later, he found himself kissing her back. Because what red-blooded, straight teenage male wouldn't?

Kissing Tifa - or, he supposed, technically he was 'making out' with Tifa - proved to be elementary, despite never having participated in such activity. Probably thanks to the hundreds of hours he had spent imagining it. He knew to thread his fingers into the back of her hair because he had always wanted to. He bit the plush pillow of her bottom lip because he had seen her do it so often when concentrating and it never failed to make him sweat. She retaliated via a tongue slipping past his teeth and, though unexpected, it felt good, infusing him with heat.

This was a fantasy come to life, heavy and warm in his hands like newly soldered metal. When she swung one leg over his hips and pressed their upper bodies together, he was barely surprised, for she must have been reading his mind.

It took a full two - or was it five? Ten maybe? - minutes before reality reared its ugly head and all that heat started to burn. They were close. Too close. Certain parts of her were shifting against certain parts of him and it was too much. He pulled away, the sudden lack like ripping off a limb.

"Gods. Sorry. Sorry for saying sorry!" The machine of his mind was melting down upon seeing her flushed cheeks paired with tousled hair and smeared lipstick.

Mayday.

S.O.S..

Holy fuck, was she beautiful.

Closing his eyes, Cloud tried to lean away, hands grasping her hips to ensure she didn't get too close and discover his shameful reaction. "I didn't- We shouldn't-"

"You're nice, Cloud," she interrupted with a strangely innocent smile considering their positions. After brushing a few wayward blonde locks out of his eyes, her nails raked over his scalp before settling on the leather band that held his hair back. "And cute. Your eyes. They're so..." She trailed off in a sigh, toying with the buttons of his cerulean dress shirt, unable to invoke a suitable adjective.

"Thank you?" Cloud responded through a staggered breath. Guess he owed Mom an apology.

"Do you remember when I was pushed off the playground swing in second grade?" she inquired, summoning a memory so old and dusty it belonged in a museum. "You stood up to three way bigger kids to defend me. I never forgot that. Even though it ended with your face shoved into the mud."

"I, uhh- I remember. They were jerks." Automatically, he sat up straighter, as if to remind them both that he wasn't so small anymore. "It was worth it."

He would have done much more, back then, had he the strength. Tifa inspired that sort of daring.

"Hmm. My hero," she murmured into his skin.

Those were the exact words necessary to ensure a complete and thorough seduction of one Cloud Strife.

When she kissed him again it was more fierce, more deep than before. When she leaned closer and his jacket fell from her shoulders, their bodies swaying and melding, seeking any sort of friction, he let her. Before he knew it, she was reaching behind her neck for the tie of her halter.

After the straps and top fluttered down, he was faced with a strapless red bra and the edge of matching panties. It was the first live underwear he'd ever seen and it was on Tifa Lockhart of all people, generously proportioned even at her age. The sight alone was nearly enough to make him explode right there in his pants.

"R-red?" he stuttered pathetically.

"Umm, yeah. Seems like we're a match! Heh. Red is for good luck, you know? " she giggled while gently tugging on his burgundy tie. Her grin was sinful, breath erratic, hooded ruby eyes pulling him in deeper like a mythical siren. She seemed to be debating something. Then, with a nod of her chin, she seemed to have decided. "Speaking of...getting lucky…?"

He had no idea where she had stored the foil packet being offered and it took him a mortifyingly long time to recognize what it was and all it implied. Tifa Lockhart, true to her mountain-scout roots, was prepared for everything.

Before he could even begin to process the silent request, she was kissing him again, pressing into him again, and Cloud felt like a man wandering a desert his entire life had stumbled upon water at long last. He couldn't stop himself from greedily drinking it all in, nor could he stop her it seemed, even if he wanted to.

In her haste to get his shirt open, Tifa ripped off most of the buttons which scattered and fell between wooden planks. All except the topmost one which had been saved by his tie. "Sorry," she mumbled against his mouth, chilly palms sliding up over his pectorals.

"It's...Umph. Fine. D-Don't worry about it."

Funny how just a few minutes ago, he thought getting away from this town and everything it encompassed would make him a real man. That ridiculous concept would forever be categorized in the other segment of his life. BKT: Before Kissing Tifa.

"Can I-" Four fingers began delicately tracing up his thigh. Cloud nearly swallowed his tongue in a gulp, needing her hands on him like he needed oxygen.

Regardless, like the idiot scaredy-cat virgin he was, he felt compelled to remind her. Just in case she forgot. "You, umm...You don't really know me? How...I don't get why-"

"I know you, Cloud Strife." Beneath her fiery gaze, it felt as though he were being judged by the all-mighty Goddess herself; heat melting all doubts like a candle facing a flamethrower. "I know you're gentle and discreet and brave. I just want you. Help me forget. Promise me you'll help?" Her forehead leaned against his and hands slithered to either side of his neck, clawing desperately at his skin, hips already undulating against his thigh. "You and me. No one else has to know. Promise? Please?"

Holy.

Of all the potential incidents this evening could have included, Tifa Lockhart begging him to be inside her was not on even the most fantastical, optimistic of lists. There was no other answer to give. He was officially besotted. "Alright. I promise."

It did occur to him, briefly, that Fate had never been so kind to the Strifes.

He knew that if he went forward, if he stole this experience, then destiny would re-balance the scales somewhere down the line. Regardless, as the vast majority of blood pooled around his groin, all tendencies for rational thought short-circuited like a toaster dropped into a bath.

He didn't care that he and Tifa were mere acquaintances whose most frequent communication involved butting heads over silly rules. Any potential consequences of them doing this while exposed to frigid temperatures and countless lit windows were similarly tossed to the wind. It didn't matter that she was an idol, the most gorgeous, kind, intelligent girl in the whole village, let alone school, while his reputation was closer to that of a rusted old buggy. In essence, an expired piece of trash. He had always known, or at least hoped, some gleaming potential existed beneath the surface with a little polish and attention. Her attention.

"Cloud," she whispered his name huskily, grinding against him, revealing a whole new level to the heavens. "Touch me."

He didn't hesitate. With trembling hands, Cloud reached up and traced the swell of her cleavage until Tifa grew impatient and directed his hand to the bra cup. Soon he was shimmying fingers under the red, silky fabric, palming her bare breast, and she was murmuring to not be afraid to pinch the peaks. She said she liked it when he pinched.

He did.

He did everything she told him to and more.

Once he got the hang of it, she initiated her own venture by palming the front of his increasingly tight suit pants, evaporating any concept he had of denying her for honor's sake. To perhaps only give and not recieve. In a moment of clarity, as her lips slid down his neck, it grossed him out to think of how many other guys may have gotten off wearing these rented slacks and it gave him extra incentive to unbuckle the belt and kick them off as though they were on fire, causing one of his too large shoes to fall off the platform edge.

Not that he cared.

He vowed to never forget her softness under his lips and fingers. And he didn't. Never ever ever. In what seemed like a blink, after dutifully rolling on the condom when instructed, he sunk inside of her with astonishing ease. It was as if they had been made to fit together; a bolt with its matching nut. She began rocking in his lap and he knew within ten seconds that he wouldn't - couldn't - last very long. She felt so good he was fighting back tears and struggling to summon each breath, believing that if he died at that very moment, he'd consider his life fulfilled.

Nevertheless, he still tried so very hard to please her. As humiliating as "the talk" with his mom had been and the subsequent book she had encouraged him to read, a few tips did come in handy. He knew to keep slow, dictating the rhythm of her hips with his hands when she tried to speed up, so as not to get overwhelmed and ensure her comfort, to follow the cues of her involuntary expletives to know where to concentrate his touch.

A few heavenly minutes later, after she had sunk her teeth into his shoulder to the point of drawing blood, he attempted to touch base and ensure it was a happy attack. When he leaned back she simply followed, refusing to look at his face which, even in the throes of ecstasy with the girl of his dreams, summoned a familiar swell of distress.

"H-Heyy," he stuttered into her ear, pressing a hand firmly on her lower back to tamper her writhing. "You okay?"

She nodded against his shoulder, fighting the restraint, but that wasn't enough to quell the confusion which threatened to ruin everything.

"Please, Tifa…Talk to me. I need-"

"I'm...good, Cloud. I'm-" She cut off with a gasp and shudder and only then did he realize she wasn't hiding from him.

She was preoccupied.

"Please don't- don't stop."

He didn't need to be told again. The very notion of her enjoying this to the point where sentences disintegrated made everything so much more intense somehow. He could feel her tightening and it almost made him lose it. But not yet. Please, Goddess, not yet!

One arm curled around her back, bracing her against his chest as he lifted and rolled her over, wrangling the lead. She gasped when her head fell back against the wood, possibly about to protest the switch, but then his thrusts increased in both pace and depth. Any objections tumbled somewhere between the boards, consumed by shadows.

"Yes," she said so softly he almost didn't hear, hands threading into his hair and pulling to the point of pain. "This- this is better. Just. Like-" His other hand dove between their bodies, thumb tapping on that spot he remembered from a female anatomy diagram and she again lost grip on words, eyelids pinched shut and back arched. Fully concentrated. So deliciously close.

Gods, did he want it to happen. He wanted it to happen more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. More than he'd wanted to get accepted into Midgar U. More than he wanted to get out of this forsaken town. He wanted Tifa Lockhart to come for him.

She did.

At least, he assumed she did. He supposed a guy could never truly be certain.

She did shake and curse and clench. All the signs were there, and the very notion that he made her forfeit her renowned control was more of a turn-on than the sensation of her tight, wet walls fluttering along his length.

A few more fevered thrusts and he erupted seconds after. The sensation was euphoria; a tsunami of physical and emotional release after years of being ostracised and not believing he was good enough to deserve such an experience, especially with her. He buried his face into her clavicle and fought off a humiliating burn beneath his eyelids, which he won. Barely.

Just like that, it was over.

Both breathing as though through a straw, he slid away to fall flat beside her on the wood platform. While he stripped off and discarded the latex evidence in one of his pocket tissues, she straightened her dress and re-tied the halter ribbons.

Sitting up in tandem, their eyes met again, both wide with disbelief that that had truly just happened. Then, simultaneously, they both erupted into breathy chuckles.

"Wow," was all Cloud could think to say, wiping away a line of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "That was...wow. Right?"

"Yeah. Wow indeed. I never thought-" Another giggle escaped while she gathered her disheveled hair over one shoulder to comb her fingers through, eyes diverting to fix upon the jewel toned sky. "I'll, umm- I'll never forget this."

"Me neither." Unable to tame the moronic, satisfied grin blooming on his mouth, he pulled on his pants. A mere minute had passed since they finished and the world already appeared painted in different colors, brighter and more saturated than before, though still a little blurry due to the lack of glasses he refused to wear in public. There was, however, one dark shadow looming on the horizon, threatening to render his world black and white once more.

They sat in silence for another couple of minutes, adjusting clothing, wiping away fluids, as gradually the post-orgasmic haze grew tepid and somewhat bittersweet. Like a cup of green tea left steeping too long.

"I'm supposed to move to Midgar this summer," he announced quietly, buckling his belt and feeling like it was extra tight, roping him to this tower.

"I know," Tifa acknowledged, fiddling with the ribbon at her throat.

"But." He stared down at the ground again, considering his calculations from earlier. How many broken bones were worth securing his solitude? How many broken dreams were worth not? "Maybe we can try...I don't have to-"

"It's getting late," she interrupted brusquely, jumping to her feet and brushing bits of sawdust from her dress. Cloud glanced up in an attempt to meet her eyes again, knowing it would ease the tension, but hers were still firmly glued to the sky. "I should get back."

"Oh. Okay."

It was indeed getting later and colder by the second. He was extra aware of this as Tifa handed him back his blazer with shaking hands. "Goodnight Cloud."

She was climbing down the tower ladder before he even had a chance to jump start the famously logical side of his brain.

Pros and cons.

Benefits versus consequences.

The exact probability of true happiness.

For a long while after her departure, Cloud sat there in his buttonless dress shirt and single shoe, staring into the sky's abyss and feeling overwhelmingly...empty. Only the cacophony of other students coming to explore the field forced him to snap out of it, grab his discarded magazine and flask and head for more solid ground.

He definitely wouldn't tell anyone about this.

He had promised.

Besides, not only was he leaving for college in a few weeks but, seriously, who in this town would ever believe it?

Only upon arriving home did he notice that his lily boutonniere had ripped off, leaving a gaping hole on the breast of his rented suit jacket.

January | Present Day

Midgar

Cloud awoke gasping.

It wasn't exactly a new occurrence, considering his body's refusal to acclimatize to the heat plus all its other failings, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant.

This was different though. As he struggled to draw oxygen into his overwhelmed lung and his legs shifted beneath the sheets, he became aware of a strange, excess stickiness between his skin and the fabric of his shorts.

No way. It wasn't possible.

Lifting the sheets timidly, half expecting a monster to emerge from beneath, Cloud confirmed the issue and fell back against the mattress with a groan, palms pressed into his eye sockets.

How ridiculous.

He hadn't known nocturnal emissions were possible for a man his age, as they certainly hadn't been a concern since he was a teen. A fluke, he decided as he ripped off the stained bedding and headed to the shower. Perhaps an unlisted side effect.

Certainly, it had nothing to do with him having fallen asleep while revisiting the memory of the Graduate's Dance.

Roughly scrubbing the residue from his thighs as if it were an embedded stain, Cloud shifted focus onto work. It was midway through the second week of term and he had a lecture period with the Sophomores to continue training them in safety basics, including using the bandsaw. This would be a test of sorts, to determine if any were as eager to move onto metal and engines as his current band of Junior/Senior misfits, and perhaps apply to take his advanced course the following semester.

At the thought of next year, Cloud froze under the spray. He hadn't yet written one word of that syllabus Headmistress Lockhart had insisted he yank out of his ass. It was difficult to summon the required enthusiasm when a) it was unnecessary to his teaching and b) blatantly pointless as she had already labelled Industrial Arts a dead-class-walking. Still, the threat of cutting his benefits was a legitimate concern and he knew he'd have to cough the thing up eventually.

Whatever. He had another couple of weeks until spring break to figure it out and today he wasn't in the mood to think about it. Or her.

Dressing in a cobalt button-down, grey slacks and usual thin black tie, Cloud scanned the various surfaces for his glasses. His need for them was a reminder that it had been a while since he had disturbed the collection of vials hidden in his desk, which he supposed was a good sign. That being said, if another spell hit, it would very much suck to be without stock and the stuff tended to expire quickly. Stepping to the desk, he noticed his glasses half hidden beneath a pile of papers and hastily shoved the thick, black frames onto his face prior to diving in. The drawer was a mess of course, littered with receipts, crumpled sketches, dried up pens, yellowing letters and…

Letters…

Quest abandoned, Cloud's fingers hovered over the pile tied with red twine before gingerly lifting it from it's tomb, flicking away a curl of pencil shavings. He had moved onto campus with a single duffle bag of possessions, having recycled or sold most personal effects as it made more financial sense than paying for storage or movers. Only the most essential clothing, toiletries and a few reference books made the cut. Plus these letters. This stupid pile of reminders.

The topmost one still inspired a cocky, crooked grin whenever he saw it. It was his scholarship acceptance to Midgar U. Proof that his social disinterest and strange hobbies could be worth something in the future. There were three others in the pile that he didn't have the time or desire to revisit, so he tossed them back, shoved the drawer closed with his hip and grabbed his satchel off the chairback.

Emotional baggage inventory could wait.

When the windows of the west wing hallway flooded with orange light, Cloud was already sitting at the bandsaw of his workshop. He was in the midst of calculating exactly how many boards were necessary per student when pitched voices yanked his attention elsewhere.

Encountering anyone on campus at this early hour was strange enough, but especially around this low-traffic corner of the building. That they were loud enough to be heard above a power tool implied that, as a staff member, he had no choice but to intervene.

Groaning, Cloud stopped the blade, yanked off his safety goggles and gloves with every intention of telling the young lovers to battle elsewhere, when the perpetrators rounded the bend and entered the glass-walled hallway.

It was Aerith.

Aerith, who he labelled the personification of spring, wearing a peach floral sundress and cardigan, was stomping across the tile with absolute fury marring her features, turning back long enough to throw two middle fingers in the air. A few feet behind her appeared a man with hair as long and dark as Tifa's, dressed in a sleek black suit and earpiece, jogging to keep up. The medic was halfway down the hall when he caught her elbow and yanked, forcing her to stop in her tracks and nearly lose her balance while another suited man, bald this time, raced over to join the attack, muttering into his earpiece.

Cloud moved so fast that he toppled over several stools.

"Hey!" Kicking open the workshop door, he stalked up to the trio with clenched fists and gritted teeth. "Get away from her!"

"Cloud?" Aerith twisted free and took a step away from the long-haired guy, fearfully glancing between them all. "Wha-What are you doing here so early?"

"Apparently teaching some manners." Whipping his PHS out of his pocket he began dialing, not allowing his gaze to wander away from the group for more than half a second at a time. "I'm calling security."

"Cloud. Don't." She closed the gap between them and snapped the device shut before he got three numbers in. "That isn't necessary. This is Tseng and Rude." She introduced them cordially, like they were all old friends or something. Both the suits offered shallow bows to which Cloud only glowered in response. "They were only asking me a few questions. You can leave us."

"But he-" Cloud gestured to the skin of her forearm which still bore red finger markings. "No. No way am I leaving you alone with these guys."

"I'm fineeeee." Her tone was determined with a peppering of annoyance, which was a strange shade for her to wear. Like a sheep in a leather jacket. "Now go."

"Aerith. You seriously can't expect me to just-"

"This is none of your business, Mr. Strife."

Damn, was she good at knowing exactly which thread to pull to unravel his defenses. The words he often used to escape conversation were dished out in his face and, he had to admit, being on the receiving end proved to not be very pleasant. Especially because, if there was to be any chance of hanging out with Zack ever again, he knew he had to respect her wishes.

"Fine." Glaring at the black-suited men in silent warning, he strode passed and towards the atrium. As soon as he turned the corner however, he broke into a run.

If Aerith didn't want him butting in, perhaps her soon-to-be-fiancé had a shot.

"Heya buddy!" Zack greeted from over his breakfast plate as Cloud, out of breath and sweating, skidded over to their usual, wonky-legged staff room table.

"Aerith," he panted, gesturing frantically toward the west wing which was oh-so-stupidly far away. "Couple of guys in black suits...chasing her. She said she was fine, but-"

"Yeah, I know." Zack interrupted through a sloppy, butter shined grin. "Tseng and Rude, right? She can handle them."

"You know?" Cloud repeated, flabbergasted.

"Course I do. They're private Shinra security. Chairman Rufus sends in his goons every once in a while as a reminder."

"A reminder? Of what?"

"That he holds the cards, he calls the shots, we're mere puppets at his command. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Can you pass the salt?"

Dropping into the nearest chair, Cloud attempted to get a grip on such a loose stew of revelations while obediently handing over the shaker. "It doesn't make any sense. Why are they bothering her of all people? What makes Aerith so-"

Zack merely raised an eyebrow between bites, displaying a rare reluctance to elaborate. It didn't take Cloud long to put two and two together, as they had already, frequently discussed Aerith's true superpower in this place.

As the school medic, Ms. Gainsborough was exposed to the student body's ugliest sides. Kids from the most prominent, wealthy families on the continent, if not the world, bled and wept and had their genital warts diagnosed in her med bay. Of course such intel was of especially high value to some.

Thankfully the law was on her side, Aerith always having been a champion of patient confidentiality and frequently reminded the students of such. With their secrets, she was an impenetrable steel trap. That didn't mean someone like Shinra wouldn't stoop to fighting dirty, using the sharpest and meanest of tools to get in, if deemed necessary.

"We should at least check on her," Cloud insisted, moving to get up.

"No, we shouldn't," Zack grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him down into the chair again. "She said she was fine. I said she was fine. Let it go, man."

"What the- Don't you, supposedly, love this girl? How can you just sit there and-"

"Hey!" Slamming his fist onto the table, Zack sat up straight, letting Cloud know damn well that he had crossed a line. Again. "Not everyone who says they're fine is lying about it!"

An eye for an eye, Cloud immediately went rigid, like one of those goats who fell paralyzed after a scare. Zack was still staring daggers at him but it wasn't complete fury. A notable portion, around fifteen percent at least, was pity. It was the fifteen percent that had Cloud wrestling an urge to vomit.

His fingers on his lap started to tremble so he hid them beneath his thighs, but then they started to shake too. For the first time, Zack didn't pretend not to notice. He took his time glancing down, focusing on the tremors, and then up again with a watery-eyed, sad little smile. By that point, it was more like ten percent anger, ten percent frustration and eighty percent pity. Whatever ratio, it was more than Cloud could handle.

"I gotta go," the younger man announced, jumping to his feet.

Zack nodded solemnly. "I know."

Stalking out of the staff room, Cloud had barely made it out the door and into the back hallway before it hit.

The sensation was so akin to a jackhammer upon his skull that both hands gripped his hair and pulled, trying to extract invisible needles. It was so bad that for a few seconds, he seriously thought this may be the end. His brain was about to leak out of his ears and drip onto the marble flooring. His vials were too far away at the residence, buried under piles of twine-wrapped memories, punishing him for daring to forget...for believing he could get by a few days without them.

No.

Today was not gonna be the day he succumbed. Later, fine, but not here, not now.

With his forehead pressed into a bulletin board so firmly that it left an impression in the cork, Cloud took deep breaths until it boiled over, hitting an ear-splitting climax that made him whimper out loud, before finally dissolving and slithering away like butter on a hot skillet.

When the finale was deemed complete and he dared open his eyes, the first thing he noticed out of his peripheral version was Doctor Hojo at the end of the hallway. The man's arms were crossed over his chest, observing the scene with a curious and slimy grin.

Cloud ignored him. There was no other choice.

Adjusting his glasses that had titled in the onslaught, he merely spun on his heels and headed in the opposite direction, conveniently towards his woodshed. He didn't have class till late afternoon and he swore he didn't need those vials.

He was fine.

Cloud had been chopping wood for forty minutes straight when he paused to catch his breath. By that point in the semester, it was instinct for him to glance up at the Headmistress' terrace every once in a while, though she seemed to frequent it less and less as her various documents, events and renovation projects picked up steam.

Today however, he was lucky. Or unlucky, depending on how one interpreted things.

Tifa was seated at a new wrought-iron bistro set that was, oddly, positioned closer to the west corner of the terrace with the clearest view to and from his shed. Not that he dared read too much into its placement. There was a steaming mug of green tea set on the table surface and a notebook on her lap in which she was frantically scribbling. However, as if sensing his eyes upon her, she glanced up from her work soon after he did.

Their stare held for a few, agonizing seconds. Unsure what else to do, he offered a small wave which, for unfathomable reasons, made her mouth twist into a frown. She then raised a finger in instruction to wait before slapping her notebook shut and heading towards her private back staircase.

And he had thought this morning couldn't get any more dramatic.

A few minutes later, he heard shuffling footsteps among the trees, encouraging him to remove his glasses and rub a rag over his face to wipe off the worst of the sweat shine. It was pretty pointless, considering the rest of his exposed upper body was equally glossy and dirt- streaked, but he didn't dare stop or redress yet. Not after what had almost happened outside the staff room in front of Doctor Hojo of all people.

Exercise was important.

"Good morning, Headmistress," he hollered as she emerged from the shadows of the treeline.

"Morning, Mr. Strife," she called back, tiptoeing over roots and rocks in her bare feet, heels pinched in one hand. The sight made him smile a little, amused that she kept some part of her country girl origins despite the wardrobe upgrades. Currently, she wore a beige, high-waisted wrap-skirt cinched by a black belt, paired with a tucked-in, white, peasant blouse. Her ash-brown hair was gathered in a low but tight ponytail and the gold halo was, as always, pinned to her chest.

If the boring, flat colors and loose fabric were meant to be an attempt at conservativeness, she utterly failed again. Not that it was her fault.

Tifa could have worn a potato sack and she'd still be cursedly attractive.

It was still strange to compare this elegant woman to the girl from high school who was never out of a stretch tank-top and short-shorts (barring special occasions), always at the ready to swivel-kick someone in the jaw if necessary.

They were different people now, he had to remind himself.

So much had changed.

Arriving at the clearing, Tifa surveyed the area with her free hand on her hip. "So this is what you do during your free periods instead of writing your syllabus? Play out some Man of the Forest fantasy?"

Her tone was more teasing than mocking, thus Cloud felt it appropriate to chuckle as he readied another log on the chopping block. "I'm gathering course materials," he explained while raising his axe and swinging it down with all his might. Tifa jumped when the two halves flew in opposite directions. "Kinda hard to build a birdhouse or whatever with just glue, nails and imagination."

"Build a birdhouse?" she cocked an eyebrow as he positioned a new log. "In my previous school, shop class provided kits of pre-cut boards. How are the students supposed to-" she trailed off, wrist rotating in circles. To his surprise, she seemed genuinely curious.

"How do you think the people who make the kits do it?" He gestured to the pile of splits. "They draw, they measure, they cut, sand, treat, varnish and paint. Honestly, those stupid kits take all the fun out of building something with your own two hands with only what nature provides."

Another hit from his axe and it was her turn to laugh. "Did nature provide you with the axe, the saw, the measuring tape?"

"Ha." Breathing a little heavily from the labor, he threw her a lopsided grin. "Touché, Headmistress. Is there a reason you're here?"

"Yes, actually." He expected her to gripe about his lack of detailed lesson plans again. However, something in her stance, more nervous than bossy, made him reconsider. The axe was dropped to prove his attention. Tifa, in solidarity, placed her heels down in the grass.

"I heard you had a run in with Shinra's private security today," she explained. Cloud instinctively tensed.

"Yeah. What of it?"

"Well," she took a tentative step closer, glancing over her shoulder to ensure no eavesdropper. "I wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Really?"

The sarcasm must have been laid on a bit too thick for she immediately looked exasperated. "Of course, really! Rufus Shinra may be Chairman of the Board but, for all intents and purposes, this is my school. I was voted in by a majority of administrators, parents and alumnae based on nothing but hard work and-and reputation." Bare feet sliding against the grass, she came even closer. Close enough that Cloud had to fight an urge to back away into the shed and barricade the doors. "No parent has the authority to direct strange thugs into the building to harass my staff or students. I told him that next time it happens, I'm not just calling security, I'm calling the independent police!"

Listening to her vent, he felt as inspired as he had been back in high school during her pep rally speeches. Though of course, exactly like high school, he didn't dare show it.

"Bet Shinra loved hearing that," he merely quipped, bending down to gather the newly split logs for the pile.

"Yeah, well, I've dealt with more entitled parents, believe it or not."

"I don't believe it."

They shared a snigger at that.

As the tension eased for the first time since the semester began, Cloud was bombarded by a wave of guilt. He needed to address the elephant in the room. This time to pacify it rather than goad.

"I'm sorry," he said, one foot mindlessly toeing the grass. Tifa remained silent, allowing him the space to expand on his own terms. "About what I said in your office last week? My comment about your..." He gestured to her shoulder that once displayed the fallen bra strap and she instinctively slapped a hand to her bicep even though she wore long sleeves. Gods, why was talking to her always akin to skating on paper-thin ice? "The red...thing. It wasn't professional and I had no intention of-"

"All in the past, Mr. Strife," she interrupted cordially. However, all the softness in her face and voice had vanished, a new, overly-tight smile screwed in place as though her jaw hung on hinges. Cloud finally understood why Yuffie so often claimed that she was a cyborg. That ability to switch gears and shut off emotion was downright uncanny.

"How about we make a deal?" Reaching down, she swiped her heels from the grass and shoved them back onto her feet. "You put just a little more effort into your written course outline than you did during your high school glory minute, and maybe, just maybe, I can get a satisfying performance out of you yet, hmm?"

With those extra five inches, she was eye to eye with him and seemed to have gained a similar level of arrogance. "And will you please put on a shirt? This is the esteemed Midgar Preparatory, not the Honeybee Inn."

As she walked away, clearly a little unsteady as the spike of her shoes sank into the grass every couple of steps but trying her damndest not to show it, Cloud could only gape after her. Thoroughly and completely stunned.

He supposed the mystery of their first encounter was now solved. It shouldn't have been surprising considering their ages and inexperience but he was starting to realize how much of his adult confidence hinged on the decade-old belief that she had enjoyed herself that night on the water tower.

Growling, he picked up the axe and slammed it into the chopping block, perfectly aware of acting like a testosterone-fueled idiot. That didn't stop his punctured pride from deflating into a flaccid tire.

Only after she climbed the back staircase, across the terrace and vanished into her office, did he turn towards the woodshed. Over the weekend and thanks to Rupert Shinra's free-period detention assistance, he had got further than he thought he could with his project.

Ripping off the protective tarp, Cloud let his frustration release as he ran his hand over the metal casing, imagining the wind stinging his cheeks and whipping away all petty problems.

Steel and fuel and engines. These things he could read and knew how to handle. These things made sense to him. Specific actions caused expected reactions. One plus one equals two. Always. Without fail.

He suspected that the language of people, of women especially, where the rules and expectations were constantly shifting like quicksand, would forever remain alien.

**Author's Note**: Some slight smut at last! Muahaha. Thank you all for keeping up with my "slow roast" of a story and for the kind comments. Thank you to Dr Waffle for being my awesome beta (even though he made me revisit/rewrite a chunk of the entire flashback scene to make Tifa less bossy! :P) and Perlmuttt for the fabulous cover art, this time with glasses! I'm glad to be done with the character set-up portion of this tale and segue into the meat. Probably gonna slow down from weekly updates to bi-weekly now since I'm running out of pre-written material. Looking forward to continuing this adventure with you all!