ADVISORY: chapter contains underage adult situations (17/18) + is stupid long (apologies!)
"Examines various aspects of the human body, and the implications of modern biological research for human beings. Topics include diet, nutrition and associated diseases; circulatory disease, immunity, human genetics, biorhythms, new diseases, genetic engineering and reproductive engineering."
[ : The Curriculum : ]
Chapter 5 | Biology
Cloud glared at the machine.
The machine glared back. Or at least it would have if it had that capability.
Scanning his studio apartment, Cloud ensured that nothing else was out of place. His sheets were still tangled at the end of his bed, the same dirty mug in the kitchenette sink, and his desk, with all its precious contents, tightly closed and undisturbed.
Regardless, that didn't make him any more comfortable with the idea that someone had entered this space without his consent.
"Cloud!" From the opposite end of the building, Zack could be heard sprinting down the hall of their male-only floor and Cloud knew to open the door before he rammed into it. Like a kid on Solstice morning, his friend stumbled over the threshold, bright-eyed and wild-haired. "Did you get one too? Can you believe it?!"
Shamelessly scrambling onto the mattress, Zack poked at the brand new air conditioner mounted above the window like it was some sort of fantasy teleporter.
"Three weeks. It took Lockhart three weeks to whip maintenance into getting their shit together. Wow. This can't be real." Pressing the power button with one hand while pinching himself with the other, the room was soon blasted with an impressively potent, chilling gust of air. Zack groaned as if in the throes of ecstasy. "It's a Godsdamn miracle. Don't judge me if I start crying, kay?"
"So she bullied a few aging, overpaid mechanics to actually do their jobs for once." Cloud reached into his mini-fridge and pulled out a soda. "It's not exactly walking on water."
"Oh, but it is, dear Mr. Strife! This is a victory after a decade-long war. It feels like forever since I've been able to comfortably wear a stitch of clothing to bed."
"Then I thank the Goddess that the fire alarms also don't work," he rebutted, popping the tab and taking a lengthy sip of sugar water. As frigid air enveloped the room and Zack lolled his head back and forth in front of the vent like a puppy out a car window, Cloud was filled with equal parts appreciation and suspicion.
Over the past month, Headmistress Lockhart proved she was as cunning as she was efficient and rarely moved forward with any project or purchase without obvious, widespread benefits. Therefore, this upgrade to their living quarters, though sorely desired, could not help but pique his paranoia.
When he went to bed that night, rolled up in a down comforter he had never before been able to use, Cloud debated seeking her out if only to offer a warning. The parents of Midgar Preparatory paid good money so that their children had access to fine foods, the latest sporting equipment and decorated social events. Not so that the failures who taught them could get a pleasant night's sleep. He wondered how elaborate the accounting gymnastics had been to wrangle such items and what sort of threats had finally lured the maintenance men out of their bunker for the install. He marveled at how she had found the balls for either and if she had moved forward with or without the board's approval.
Smirking at the vision of Tifa staring down Rufus Shinra, cornering him with her sharp debating skills until the man was thoroughly skewered, he once again fell asleep immersed in memories of brighter days.
July 0004
Nibelheim
He had been debating which t-shirt was worthy of taking up the last cubic inch in his duffle bag when there was a knock at the window.
At first, Cloud ignored it, believing it to be just the wind jostling the nearby tree branch, but then it happened again. More distinctly in a sing-song pattern this time. Turning toward the window, both options were dropped as he was hit with what he assumed to be the beginnings of a heart-attack.
"Tifa!"
This girl would be the death of him. At the ripe old age of eighteen.
Dashing to the frame, he yanked it open and pulled her from her precarious perch, balancing on a mere three inches of crumbling cement. As she regained her footing inside his room, he slammed the window shut and pinned her with a glare. "What the hell? What if you had fallen!?"
His concern was waved away like a bad smell. "Unlikely. Gymnastics and Muay Thai champion, remember?" She feigned a right hook inches from his face but Cloud, thoroughly unamused, didn't give her the benefit of a blink let alone a flinch. "Hmm. Guess we're not ready to joke about this yet?"
"I swear to the Goddess…" Cloud rubbed both hands down his cheeks. "Are you seriously trying to kill me, woman?"
"No. Not seriously."
"You do know that this house, though decrepit, still has a front door, right?"
"I know." Traipsing over to his bed, Tifa gingerly sat upon the edge, fanning out the skirt of her teal dress against his faded, rocket-ship sheets. "Just didn't know if your mom was home or not."
"She's not." Turning his back on her, Cloud nabbed any random shirt off the ground and shoved it into his duffle. One final battle with the rusted zipper and it was done. He was officially packed for college. "She has the graveyard shift at the pub."
"Really? She's working on your last night?"
Kicking the bag toward the door, Cloud sighed. He hated having to explain how different their domestic lives were. Like trying to pawn sardine-paste off as caviar. "Part-time waitresses don't get to nitpick the schedule. If hours get offered, she has to take them. I'm used to it."
"Oh. Of course. I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Closing the now mostly empty drawers of his dresser, he relented to exhaustion and joined her on the bed, falling on his back with hands clasped on his stomach. After a few seconds, Tifa did the same so that they were both staring at the dim glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across his ceiling.
The tableau reminded him of their tryst at the water tower, over a month and a lifetime ago. If he were being honest, everything reminded him of it. From a sparkling drop of dew on a flower petal to a dead dove rotting in the gutter. Considering how abruptly she had departed that night, he had expected the Graduates' Dance rendezvous to be the end of...whatever it was they had become during those fervent minutes.
Then, out of nowhere, the following weekend she had stopped by the garage he sometimes helped out at in exchange for space to tinker on personal projects. The conversation was mostly one-sided on her end, especially without the inspiration of alcohol, but her disposition was sunny enough to disband any lingering shadows of awkwardness. She deemed him a good listener and teacher, eagerly inquiring as to the names and functions of tools, playing assistant as he tried to finish assembling the Frankenstein of a motorcycle he hoped to take with him to Midgar.
After he admitted a proficiency in calculus and she in languages, each other's weakest subjects, she suggested they study for final exams together. Many late night sessions ended with them chuckling over coffees in a hidden corner of his mom's pub. When summer vacation officially began, they met up almost every morning at either the creek or the library or the garage to whittle away the hours. This had happened every single day for four weeks straight.
Despite all the one-on-one time, they didn't have sex again. Or kiss. Or even touch in any way that could be deemed inappropriate. Such activities seemed to have been swept not only off the table but under the rug with a hefty trunk dropped on top. Cloud didn't mind. It made things simpler. Nor did he mind that the bike project, which had once been the center of his universe, had since been essentially abandoned.
Wasting time with Tifa proved to be fun and relaxing while simultaneously akin to having nails hammered through his feet. As much as she praised his bravery in chasing his dreams, encouraging him to take total advantage of the scholarship he had been blessed with up to a PhD if possible, she also made him want to throw it all away; to burn the once cherished acceptance letter from Midgar U and use its ashes to fertilize the garden of that small cottage by the creek she had deemed 'cute' and he could probably afford a downpayment on after a year or two working full-time at the garage.
Dreams were funny, malleable things.
Apparently.
"You didn't tell me you were gonna cut your hair." Tifa interrupted his musing with a poke to the shoulder.
Reaching behind his neck, Cloud frowned as his fingers wove through soft spikes instead of hitting the usual leather band. "Yeah. Mom suggested a trim before leaving and I realized I had never seen guys in pictures of Midgar with long hair, so I figured…" he cut himself off with a gruff breath. "Never mind. It was random and stupid."
"On the contrary!" Sensing him about to fold-in on himself again, Tifa propped up onto an elbow. "I think it looks great. Especially paired with these." She tapped on the bridge of his glasses and Cloud immediately flushed with shame. In the chaos of her arrival, he had forgotten he had them on. "You're like a real, grown up, college guy now."
"I don't really need them," he insisted, fighting against the urge to rip them off his face and out the window. "They're just for traffic signs. And fast-moving cars. Only things that are, like, more than fifteen feet away."
"So you only need them to see?" she teased and Cloud groaned in defeat, cursing and loving her ability to see right through his bullshit.
"Fine. I'll admit it: I'm blind. Happy now?"
"I'd be happier if you'd stop being so weird about other people's opinions. Think of how much easier high school could have been if you'd been able to read the blackboard?!"
"Says the girl who obviously has never been stuffed in a locker. Not to mention…" He raised his other arm to cup the back of his head, looking up at her with a cocky smirk. "I never had to read the blackboard anyway. My notes were better."
"So were mine," she countered, sticking out her tongue. "And legible too!"
A chuckle tried to escape but he swallowed it midway, forcing his mouth into an exaggerated pout. "Attacking my penmanship? That's low, Lockhart. Here I thought we were becoming friends."
"Of course we're friends, Cloud." Something in her voice brought the jibes to a screeching halt. She appeared sad all of sudden. Sad and confused. He was about to ask her what was wrong but then one of her hands reached up and settled, gently, upon the center of his chest, just above his heart. Words were not possible once she touched him like that.
"I can't believe you're leaving tomorrow," she whispered, fingers clenching into the fabric of his grease-stained, white t-shirt. "Just when we started...just after…" A stuttered breath escaped and when she looked at him again there was a thick shine to her carmine eyes. "Do you ever feel like Fate's timing is a bit off? Like, if one little thing were different, you could be in a completely different place, wanting completely different things?"
Cloud gulped, fearing yet again that she had been reading his mind somehow.
Of course he felt that way.
Maybe if he had been a bit taller, a little stronger, if that day in third grade when he had attempted to rescue Tifa from bullies, if he had been the one with his foot on their backs and their faces in the mud, maybe this would have been a whole other sort of goodbye. Or maybe leaving home and traveling across the world for a higher education wouldn't have even been a tempting option.
Sensing in him the inability to answer, Tifa pushed on, though with clear apprehension. "I wanted to say, before you go, that...that I was surprised you didn't tell anyone what happened between us. At the Graduates' Dance, I mean."
He almost laughed at the implication that he had anyone in his life he'd want to share such intimate knowledge with, but kept it reined in. This conversation, if they were indeed having it, demanded the same gentle treading as late-spring river ice. "Of course I didn't. I promised. Promises are serious things."
"Hmm. Agreed."
Shifting down the mattress until she had the space to lay down fully, she rested her head on his chest. He thought his nerves would implode upon contact but, strangely, the pose felt natural once she settled in. Comfortable even. By instinct, his arms knew to fold around her back to bring her closer, cheek pressed against her hair. One would think he had grown accustomed to the spiced-satsuma scented oil she used, but he wasn't. It never failed to intoxicate him.
"You'll write to me, won't you?" she asked, both voice and body trembling like a wine glass hit with too shrill a note.
Cloud tightened his hold. "Of course I will. I promise."
That got her smiling. "Good. It's set to be a rough Senior year. Student council is already gearing up, AVALANCHE is holding a slew of protests I committed to help organize, and half my classes are advanced placement. That and all the stuff with my mom..." She trailed off again. This time, instead of being unable to find the words, she seemed to have realized a mistake and shrank away a little in his arms.
"What about your mom?" he automatically asked, needing her to continue, needing her to remain close.
"It's nothing. Forget about it." Titling her neck, she peered up at him with a smile so radiant he swore he felt it's warmth on his cheeks. "Did I mention I like your glasses?"
"It's been implied, yes." He matched her smile, though his was surely much goofier. "I believe the words 'real, grown-up college guy' were used?"
"Did I say 'real'? I meant 'handsome'." Reaching up, she pushed the frames further up the bridge of his nose and then bopped him on the tip. "Handsome, grown-up college guy."
"If I didn't know any better, Ms. Lockhart, I'd think you were flirting with me." His smile widened when she blushed. Something about her compliment and closeness infused him with even greater confidence than the alcohol had that night on the water tower.
"If you're not sure, perhaps I'm being too subtle."
In a maneuver too quick for him to react, she swung a leg over his hips and was suddenly straddling him. It was the Graduates' Dance all over again. He could not suppress the groan that fell from his mouth at the pressure and direct heat. Her choice to wear a dress for the first time all month seemed especially evil, as there was very little between her core and his thin cotton sweatpants.
She must have planned for this. Right? Tifa planned everything.
Scrunching his eyes shut, he concentrated on that time he had stumbled upon the village elders enjoying the hot springs, praying to every ethereal being he could think of not to get riled up. At least not until he was sure of her intentions.
"Tifa...what are you-"
"I'm sorry." She giggled breathlessly, though her sliding against him did very little to prove the apology genuine. Even the Gods, had they been listening, wouldn't have been able to stop most of the blood from clambering down to his pelvis while the remainder burned in his cheeks. "I didn't- I swear I didn't expect anything to...I don't even have a-" After a deep breath, she leaned forward and touched her forehead to his, closing her eyes for this confession. "It just hit me how much I'm going to miss you. That we're out of time. That I wasted so much of it. That's all. You don't have to-"
"I get it," he interrupted, frantically nodding. "I so get it."
If she was feeling even one quarter as attached as he was, then of course he understood. Tifa had become his oxygen. The idea of not seeing her for one day, let alone a whole year, made his lungs burn and his brain to get stuck in an infinite, impotent loop, like a gear that wouldn't catch.
None of this he could say. Words had never been his forte. Instead, he tried to show her.
Both thumbs rose to her cheeks, brushing away errant hairs and tears still unshed. Then, as slowly and gently as he could manage, breath held, he somehow summoned the gutsto coax her down and meet his lips in a searing kiss.
It was different from what they had roughly practiced at the water tower, and yet somehow more desperate. Hotter. As if the entire month leading up to this had been some sort of snail-paced foreplay. When her hands traveled up his chest to press onto the relatively innocent area of his shoulders, it made him feel downright feverish. When she moaned against his mouth, he embraced her becoming the death of him. For what a sweet end it would be.
Bracing a hand to her lower back, he rolled them over so that she ended up pressed into the mattress with him hovering above, their breaths growing erratic as they nipped at and re-explored one another. The always decisive Tifa left no question as to where she hoped this would lead, one calf snaking around his waist to force his full weight upon her, muttering a semi unintelligible "yes...right there" as she swiveled her hips against his now blatant erection. Such lack of patience almost made him laugh, as did seeing her clutch at the cartoon, space-themed sheets above her head. This may have been his childhood bed, but he was about to do very not-child-friendly things in it.
Something for her to remember him by.
As his lips slid along her jaw, fingers reached up to the ties of her bodice, clawing the ribbons loose like they were the wrapping on a much anticipated birthday present. He didn't know why, but he wasn't afraid this time. Perhaps because he had imagined being with her like this again often enough that it had become second nature. Much like discovering that the final exam was a carbon-copy of a practice version already memorized.
He kissed down her chest slowly. Wasn't that what the book Mom had bought said? He had read it again recently and it had filled him with ideas and instructions should this opportunity arise. Don't rush. Make her the center of the universe. It was her turn to feel as utterly overloaded as he did every second in her presence.
From the night of the dance, he remembered her confessing that she liked it when he pinched those perfect, pink tips. Judging by the agonized sounds she was soon making, teeth and tongue proved to be much more effective tools than cold fingers had been.
After a couple of minutes of such sweet torture, she grew desperate. A second leg hooked around his waist, forcing him closer, the grinding of her hips increasing in speed and force. And the noises she made?...dear Goddess. Gasps and hisses and full-throated moans, fingers digging into the back of his scalp so hard he swore she'd leave scars. Scars which he welcomed, for they would reanimate this memory.
For a mere second, he debated removing his glasses, having always thought they obscured what little masculinity he had in stock. But something about watching her lose herself in such perfect definition, even through the thin mist that had accumulated on the lenses, made him drop the notion. Tifa liked his glasses. Tifa thought he looked 'grown-up' with them.
He'd show her how grown-up he truly was.
"Tifa...I want you to feel..." Swallowing any remnants of trepidation, inspired by the way she couldn't stop writhing against his hardness, he forced himself to spit it out. "I want to make you come, Tifa."
Succeeding for sure had become an essential item on his to-do list prior to moving on: Trim hair. Pack clothes. Tifa explode and to never, ever forget him.
Somewhere beyond his head as he kissed the valley between her bare breasts, he sensed her frantic nodding. "Yes. Please. But I don't exactly know how-"
"I could always try-"
"Your mouth might...I trust-"
"Anything."
In a blink, he was on his knees by the bed frame with her thighs hooked over his shoulders. Beneath the curtain of skirt, he discovered that her underwear was but a damp piece of red lace and it almost made him burst into giggles.
Red for good luck, she had explained that fateful night. She may not have prepared for this to happen, but he was pulling the proof that she hoped it would down her legs.
Slowly, he reminded himself while freeing her toes from the scrap of fabric.
Go slowly.
This was all about Tifa.
When he pressed his tongue against her, firmly dragging it bottom to top and in between, she almost cracked his skull between her thighs as her back involuntarily arched off the mattress.
Okay. Slower than that.
It took a few tries to find the best angle and rhythm, to discover that the addition of a finger was what made it truly intense. He was thrilled to learn that he enjoyed pleasuring her even more than being pleasured. It was less stressful, not having to worry about erupting prematurely, and just concentrate on Tifa's softness beneath his hands, the taste of this most intimate seam plus all those encouraging expletives falling from her lips.
She was too far gone to instruct him this time, so he had to go by feel. Which, though less straightforward than having a set map, was much more of an adventure. It reminded him of the first time he had dismantled an appliance, piece by piece, discovering exactly what made the whole system tick before rebuilding it even sturdier than before. Eventually, she was grasping at but unable to get a grip on his short hair. It encouraged him to push his tongue in as deep as it could go, lapping up the extent of her wetness, nose nudging that key spot. She spasmed and cried out when he did that.
Who needed muscles and height when a man of any size could discover this power? With Tifa's shaking thighs clenched against his ears, he felt damn invincible.
"Shit. Holy shit!...Cloud! I'm close. I'm-"
"Cloud?"
Out of the haze, a voice came drifting up the stairs. It took several seconds and the repeat of his name before it occurred to him to relent.
Claudia was home and, according to that telltale squeaking of the floorboards, was headed straight for his room.
Holy shit indeed.
Cloud flipped the skirt over his head and tried his best to smooth out its wrinkles. Meanwhile, Tifa, shaking like a newborn lamb, sat up and frantically re-tied her dress laces, face glowing as though sunburnt and bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat.
"Cloud, sweetie?" A gentle knock rapped upon the door.
"Just a sec!" Cloud called, grabbing a pillow to shield the tenting in his lap with one hand and wiping the shine off his chin with the other.
"I heard yelling. Is everything- Oh!" Judging by her reaction, clearly finding a girl in her son's room was one of the last things she expected. A fully made-up mime would have been less of a surprise. "Tifa, dear. Hi! Welcome!"
"H-Hi, Ms. Strife," the teen managed to sputter, finalizing a lopsided bow at her chest that skipped more than half the loops. "I was, umm, just leaving."
"Please, you don't have to! I was only-" She tried to meet her son's eyes to glean a hint, but his gaze was glued to the pillow, clenched in his lap like a lifesaver. "I'll just go listen to the radio. Loud radio. In the kitchen. Far away."
"Mom." Cloud winced, silently begging her not to make things any worse than they already were.
"No, that's not necessary. It's late. My parents will be worried." Standing up, praying that Claudia didn't read too much into how long it took her, a champion gymnast, to find her balance, Tifa cleared her throat, held her head up high and strode forward. "Good luck, Cloud" she called over her shoulder before passing the threshold. "Maybe I'll see you at Midgar U next year?"
"Yeah. Maybe." He swallowed an obscenely large lump in his throat. "Goodbye, Tifa."
"...Goodbye."
Long after the front door closed, Mother and son remained stewing in agonized silence up until he felt calm enough to release the pillow. As much as he wished she would leave and pretend nothing happened, he also knew very well that it wasn't possible. Not for his mother.
"Sorry," she said after a few beats, sporting a sympathetic but amused grin. "If you had given me a heads up that you were...entertaining, I'd of-"
"Eww, Mom. Don't even-" He tossed the pillow aside and unfurled his spine to sit up properly. "We were just...saying goodbye."
"Oh, I have no doubts that you were. All month long I suspect, after you abandoned that bike project. As long as you've been saying goodbye prudently, right?"
Goddess forbid the woman let him have some shred of dignity.
"It really isn't...of course we'd never...Why are you back so early anyway?" he barked and, upon seeing her crestfallen expression, instantly regretted it.
"Well, if you must know: I may have bribed a colleague with yesterday's tips to switch shifts. It being a special night and all."
Guilt settled upon his shoulders like a wet fur coat. In the glory of a blossoming something with Tifa, he has completely forgotten about the plans his mother had made for his final weeks in Nibleheim. They were supposed to get shaved ice and eat it up in the highest branches of their oak tree, to hit the garden center for some new lily seeds to sprout, to catch salmon in the creek and cook it over an open fire; a country-boy's 'greatest hits' of leisure activities he had adored prior to his attraction to shiny metal and speed.
"But if you'd rather be alone," she added, completely and heartbreakingly sincere, "I understand."
"No. It's okay, Mom. I'm-"
He didn't know what he was. Before Tifa's invasion, he had been in an entirely different state of mind. He had been obsessing over two shirts, torn over which one would make him look cooler, smarter, less likely to be harassed by a whole new group of city-slicker peers.
Feeling abruptly frail and child-like again, he shuffled down the bed and patted the sheets next to him in invitation. After Claudia settled, he tried to lean an ear on her shoulder like he used to when he was little, but he was a whole head above her's nowadays. So, instead, this time she leaned upon him.
"I don't know if I'm ready," he confessed into her butter-colored locks.
"Hmm? Ready for what, dear?"
Cloud shrugged. "Growing up, I guess? Not being the smartest person in the room? Not having you or this house to hide behind? I don't know."
"Oh, my sweet, sweet boy." Pulling away to look up at him, she placed a calloused hand to his cheek. Her eyes - the same aquamarine shade as his which, he supposed, were kinda unique and beautiful - started to shimmer. "Scratch that. My brilliant young man. You'll always have me. No matter how far apart we are."
She bopped him on the nose, just like Tifa had done earlier, and he was reminded that he, technically, still had a choice. He wasn't on the train yet. Hadn't signed his apartment lease or registered for classes. He could work full-time at the garage and help with the bills. He could support Tifa during her sure-to-be chaotic Senior year and get to know her more thoroughly. In all possible ways.
The calculations roared in his head again, attempting to impose an exact, numerical value upon respect and glory. As if any machine, no matter how sleekly designed, could compare to the curves of Tifa's body or any engine roar overshadow those enthralling little gasps still echoing in his ears?
In that moment, he realized that he was, maybe, falling in love. Or perhaps he always had been in love. Long before the events of the Graduates' Dance. It was the only explanation for him considering something so foolish, for denying his firmly sound logic.
That's what love, famously, did to a person. It made you stupid. Stupid and oh so very happy.
Fuck. Fuuuucck.
The timing was off, the clock broken. Again. It always would be. But he could fix it. Make it right. That was his primary if not only skill: fixing things.
"Mom." Cloud's fists clenched on his knees, striving to get a sure grip on his future. "Mom, I think...I'm wondering if maybe I shouldn't-"
"You should get some rest, dear," she interrupted, as if knowing exactly what he was about to suggest and nipping it in the bud. Slapping his cheek affectionately, she stood. "I'm very proud of you, you know? Getting out of this town. Making something of yourself. It's an amazing opportunity, isn't it?"
At this, Cloud offered a timid grin as his fingers unfurled. "Yeah. It is."
Logic won. It always did with him.
He was getting on that train no matter what, if only to become the type of man they both deserved. He and Tifa's paths would cross again soon. He'd write to her as often as possible to ensure it. When they did reunite, he would be stronger, smarter, richer and at-long-last worthy.
"I'm glad you remember." Claudia bopped him on the nose one final time. "Oh! And don't forget to pack your trophy."
"Huh? What troph-"
Reaching down, she plucked a pair of red lace panties from the floor and smacked them to his chest so that he had no choice but to catch them.
Chuckling unabashedly, Claudia left her wide-eyed, crimson-cheeked son alone and headed to the kitchen to bake his favorite cookies for the long road ahead.
Present Day
Midgar
Cloud woke up choking again.
This time, instead of air, it was on the tangy, metallic taste of blood.
As coughs wracked his chest and throat, trembling fingers rose to his upper lip only to come away coated red and sticky. The brand-new comforter was similarly decorated like some distasteful abstract painting. He had just come to the conclusion that there wasn't any less pleasant way to greet the day when Fate-the-asshole had to prove otherwise.
The curtains by his side lit up for a fraction of a second, drawing his attention to the window. He would have thought it was a trick of the light but then it happened again.
And again.
And again.
Yanking the fabric aside, Cloud inched closer and squinted, half expecting to be awed by some freak, soundless storm. Instead, the lawn of the faculty residence building was revealed to be a whole other phenomenon.
Blindly slapping around the nightstand, he found and shoved his glasses onto his face before scrambling back to the sill on all fours.
The usually empty road which divided campus was packed bumper to bumper with cars and media vans. Tens if not over one hundred bodies wielding microphones, cameras or sound booms scurried about and barked at each other. He watched, horrified, as Barret and Marlene ran the gauntlet of the fern-lined, front path, the tank of a man shielding his daughter's face with one beefy arm while using the other to shove anyone to the ground who dared get too close.
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty! We've got company!" Zack was banging on his door despite Cloud having frequently told him not to bother him in the mornings. Today, he supposed, boundaries were on sabbatical.
Groaning, Cloud stumbled over to the door and flipped the lock.
"Cripes, it's like a-ahh-Holy shit! What happened to you!?"
Having forgotten about his face in all the hoopla, Cloud winced before turning his back on the uninvited guest. "Just a nosebleed. It'll stop."
"Goddess almighty, looks like you hit someone in the frying pan with your face."
"It's not that bad."
Once in the bathroom, Cloud glanced at his reflection and had to bite back a whimper. Sometime during his sleep, he must have messed with his face and the blood completely covered his chin, neck and was splattered all over his grey, v-neck t-shirt. It looked as though he had spent the night feasting on a carcass like a rabid wolf.
Great.
Flipping on the water, he tossed his glasses onto the vanity and began scrubbing. "Dare I ask what's going on out there?"
"That's what I'm here for! At first, I figured Lockhart sold us out as a reality show to cover the cost of the air conditioners. Perhaps with a brilliant title along the lines of 'Professors of Love'." Zack sighed, as if they had missed the most golden of opportunities, while flicking through messages on his PHS. "As you are notoriously hopeless with keeping on top of your memos, I figured I should warn you that the school's official stance is 'no comment'."
"No comment on what? I can provide commentary on things," he joked, picking at a particularly stubborn, crusty droplet sticking to his chin.
"Yeah, on the oiliest brand of motor oil, fine. Give them all the sound bytes your greasy little heart desires. But on Ruvie Tuesti's pregnancy, you need to shut up."
Cloud paused his cleansing, leaning back to get a look at Zack's face beyond the door frame. The guy's expression was uncharacteristically somber and he instantly knew this was no ruse.
So it was true. Officially.
Now aware of the media circus' theme, Cloud tried to wipe all related knowledge from his brain. He repeated it like a mantra: No comment. No comment. No fucking comment.
Perhaps just one comment. A question, actually. Just to Zack.
"Why are they here?" he could not help but inquire, reaching for a hand towel to dry off. "Why not the Tuesti mansion or the student residence?"
Zack scratched at the back of his neck. "There's a...theory floating around. I suppose, by this point, you can call it a widely accepted assumption. You won't like it but you gotta know."
"Do I, though? You know I don't believe in gossip."
"Believe whatever you want, Cloud, but gossip is real and it can hurt people if not handled delicately. Rumors are bombs that can destroy lives." Ignoring his need for personal space, Zack stepped past the threshold of the already cramped bathroom and met his friend's stare in the mirror. "I only got one minute before I gotta escort Aerith out of here, so here it goes."
"Zack...please don't-"
"Shut up and deal, K? It's been implied that someone on staff is...responsible for the girl's predicament."
Cloud's toothbrush clattered to the tile, his brain growing fuzzy as the words settled in like a fungus.
That couldn't be true.
His most recent memory of Ruvie Tuesti was from just before the solstice break, a little over a month ago. She had brought a batch of chocolate-mint (his favorite) cupcakes to class to celebrate her birthday. The whole group had sung the obligatory tune and giggled by the light of the blowtorches which they later used to roast marshmallows.
She had just turned sixteen years old. A child by law and logic.
It couldn't be real.
Sure, two kids could make the odd, curious mistake, but adults knew better. Adults, teachers especially, were meant to protect these youths, not...
A sudden need to retch seized hold and he had to lean over the sink to spit out a mouthful of bile. Zack merely looked on in sympathy, waiting until he got a handle on himself after a couple more dry heaves.
"I'm just repeating what I've heard," he explained quietly after the worst was over. "The admins are going to be looking very closely at all us guys, especially the younger, single ones, and likely dissect our interactions with her, so...be ready and try not to freak out, okay? That's all. No comment, remember?" He patted him on the back twice before backing out of the bathroom, across the kitchenette and out the door. "No comment!" he yelled one final time before slamming it shut.
Staring wide-eyed at his reflection, Cloud tried to morph his features into something less shellshocked. Beyond the drawn curtains, the camera flashes renewed their assault, voices rising in volume as his colleagues rushed to make it to homeroom on time. All of it made his anxiety spike to levels where his lungs seemed to shrivel, surely leading to an episode if he didn't find a way to tame it. With so many paparazzi roaming the campus, getting to his woodshed un-harassed was probably a fever dream.
He needed help.
Minus the usual hesitation, Cloud strode over to his desk and yanked open the drawer, hands already trembling as he dug up a vial. Empty, he realized upon shaking it. He found another. Also empty.
Shit. Shit!
A fourth and a final fifth. All empty. Not one drop left.
How could he have been so careless?
The flashes were relentless by then, triggering a migraine but thankfully nothing worse. He needed to get out of there. At least at his classroom workshop, he had a chance at being distracted. He'd get more vials on the weekend. In the city. He just had to make it through two more days.
Slamming the drawer closed so hard he heard something crack, Cloud returned to the bathroom to shower, turning the water on as cold as possible.
The staffroom was disconcertingly courtroom-like that afternoon. The usual hubbub of conversations dotted with laughter had been reduced to whispers and suspicious glares. Cloud could only take so much of it, practically inhaling his waffles prior to returning to his workshop. Sanding planks - a task he usually reserved for dog-housed students - proved to be redundant and physically demanding enough work that it kept most of the effects at bay.
Most, but not all.
Passing through the temple atrium which connected both wings, Cloud's eye happened to be caught by that new Goddess statue; the open-hearted one he had first noticed after his initial assessment meeting with the Headmistress. It reeled him in, as always, and he decided to take a moment to admire it, pushing up his glasses as he stepped closer to the temple doors.
As macabre as ever, he had come to appreciate the artistry of the splintered ribs and placement of teardrop cut, red jewels trickling from the wound, her expression only slightly pained but mostly loving. Unbidden, that same scripture passage popped into his head as it always did:
'Upon request, she will loan you her protection, her comforts, her still-beating heart ripped from her chest for you to feast upon and ease your pangs of hunger and thirst. All she asks in return is for you to love others the same as you love her…'
Such a selfless gesture, fantastical or not, reminded him that nothing worth fighting for was ever won without sacrifice. Maybe, just maybe, he could understand why some bought into all this "Goddess" bullshit. The concept of an omnipotent being having a plan for each individual soul on earth...that nothing, not even the flapping of a butterfly's wings, happened without reason…
How he wished he could be that irrational.
"Because it looks bad, that's why!"
"With all due respect, I don't give a damn how it looks to you, Scarlet. And I cannot believe you invited those vultures past the gates!"
The voices were coming from the inner temple and, based on the frantic clicking of heels down the stairs, he assumed they had just left the Headmistress's office on the upper balcony. Sure enough, Lockhart's voice soon followed.
"Let's be civil, please!" he heard her shout over the din. "Mr. Tuesti, I assure you that I am doing everything in my power to-"
"He's being a selfish brat, as usual," sneered Mrs. Saber with her infamous condescension. "If he'd just go out there and make the damn announcement, this would all be over. Shinra agrees. Your useless morals are threatening-"
"If Ruvie chooses not to, I cannot force her."
"Like hell you can't!"
"This is my family, Scarlet! You, of all people, have no right-"
Cloud didn't hear any more. He ran out of that atrium and into the west wing corridor as though being chased by the blade-like sharpness of their words.
It was happening again. He could feel the burn in his veins like they were being injected with acid.
He had just made it around the corner near his classroom when his legs refused to support him any longer and buckled, forcing him to stumble against the nearest wall. Rolling so that his back was against it, he then slid to the floor, pressing his palms into his eyelids beneath his glasses while praying for it to pass.
Several minutes later, when a white-coated figure emerged from the shadows, he was still seated there. Still praying. Still unable to just get up.
"Dear oh dear…" came that slimy voice that, if anything, exacerbated the pain. "Mako can do both delightful and terrible things to the body, can it not?"
"Go away, Hojo," Cloud mumbled through staggered breaths. "I'm fi-fine."
"Of course you are, my boy." The doctor chuckled, as if they were trading friendly, casual jibes down by the watercooler. "I expect you are aware that the famed euphoric effects are achieved through consuming grey matter? It's the equivalent to paying for an evening at the Honeybee Inn with one's ability to tie shoelaces or taste citrus. Sad, is it not?"
"Do you need something?" Though he hadn't the ability to stand, by sheer force of will Cloud managed to drop his hands to his lap and glare upwards. "Cause, as you can see, I'm kinda busy here, so..."
Hojo's smile widened, revealing a line of yellowed teeth. "You...you're smarter than that. Aren't you, Mr. Strife?"
Besides narrowing his eyes, Cloud chose not to give the benefit of a response.
"You need to adjust your dosage," the doctor pressed on, one gnarled finger tapping upon his chin as he examined his colleague like a specimen in a petri dish. "Yes. A point five milliliter increase and dedicated, daily consumption. Obviously, continuing to restricting your calorie intake to pure sugars and carbohydrates will slow degradation, but we can also attempt-"
"I don't remember asking for your opi-" A hot poker's worth of pain shot through his right arm, making him fumble and drop all coherent words. The opposite hand reached across his torso to quell the spasms but he still ended up writhing, one foot kicking out sporadically, the back of his head hitting the wall so hard that the plaster cracked.
Hojo watched. He always watched. Worst of all, he never stopped smiling the entire time, as if he were being presented with the shiniest of new toys.
"You know," he began again after the episode had reduced an odd twitch or two. "I am looking for...discreet subjects for a new mako therapy agent. According to animal trials, it has the potential to vastly improve your quality of-"
"N-nottt...I'm definitely not interested in- in being... lab rat," Cloud somehow managed to sputter between gulps of air. He had come across enough mutated rodent corpses when dumpster diving for scrap metal to know to stay far, far away from Hojo's definition of 'potential'.
"Hmm. Suit yourself." Digging into his white-coat pocket, the rotten jack-o-lantern of a man extracted a glass tube filled with six little green spheres that emitted a barely discernible light. "I was going to offer you a sample of my latest venture: a condensed, pure formula to be consumed orally. Injections are ancient technology, horrendously expensive and the side effects...Ouf! Very intense, are they not?"
Except for the increased speed of his breathing and the bead of sweat running down the side of his face, Cloud didn't react. He couldn't even if he wanted to. None of his muscles were obeying.
"As for becoming a - what did you call it? - lab rat? No one is forcing your hand here. I have piles of applicants clambering to participate in my official trials. I merely considered that a man in your ill-fitted shoes would prefer exploring solutions that did not involve lawyers, reports, placebos, and oh-so-many other tedious precautions." He sighed wistfully, glancing over his shoulder towards his fancy new, grant-funded lab like it was a relative not living up to their potential. Then he knelt to the floor so that he and Cloud were eye to eye, somehow aware and keen to take advantage of his temporary paralysis.
"You do whatever makes you comfortable, boy," he whispered with barely contained excitement, shimmying the tube into the breast pocket of Cloud's dress shirt. "Consider this a friendly gesture from a colleague. If you want more, then I'm always open to discussing...an arrangement."
After patting the pocket, Hojo stood up, knees cracking from the effort. From Cloud's low vantage point, with the hallway fluorescent lights glowing around the doctor's shadowed face, he felt like he was being judged by the proprietor of Hell himself.
"And may the Goddess have mercy on your soul."
He told himself there was no other choice.
Five agonizing minutes passed and he had barely regained control of one arm. Class was about to start. The hallway would soon be flooded with students who would surely drag him through the length of the building to the med bay and then Aerith would know and Zack would somehow find out through the grapevine and everything, his entire life, would crumble to dust.
There was no choice.
On the firefly-glow's worth of a bright-side, Hojo's sample worked exceedingly well.
Not only was it more portable and subtle to consume in pill form, but the effects were also more even than the punches of energy that used to inundate his muscles, forcing him to accidentally break forks or pens or his own fingers which would heal too fast and crookedly. In contrast, this version felt like a smooth wave blossoming from his stomach and gently spreading to his fingers, toes and crown of his skull. Within a few seconds, he felt light and powerful and his eyesight sharpened to such a degree that he swore he was seeing shades of the spectrum that didn't exist for humans.
Not that it mattered. Because this was going to be the one and only time he used it. On the weekend he'd return to the city for his own, usual stock and those spherical little freaks were going straight in the trash.
Until the weekend, however, the tube was slipped into his pants pocket.
Just in case.
Nudging the vending machine in the secret 'freebie' spot, Cloud then returned to his workshop-classroom, swung his feet up on the desk and perused his overflowing PHS inbox. There were no fewer than four urgent memos regarding Ruvie Tuesti and how to handle the grazing herd of press, most of which were reminders that they had all signed non-disclosure agreements in addition to the "no comment" policy Zack had already informed him of. Another direct message from Yuffie announced that the materials budget for his class had been raised thirty-two percent plus an additional twenty thousand specifically to bring the workshop up to code.
At this revelation, Cloud nearly choked on his soda.
He had no idea how or why Tifa had pulled it off and decided to simply be grateful, already making plans to replace the ancient air-filtration system which, in its current state, merely relocated sawdust from one end of the room to the other.
When class began, Denzel, Marlene, Andrea, Ruper, Wymer, Kyrie, and even Septina were thrilled by the news as he unfurled each of their annotated blueprints and pointed out where they could now afford to order upgraded materials. The seven of them were gathered around the central conference table doing a round-robin suggesting improvements on one another's projects, when they were interrupted by a knock on the glass.
Glancing up, they saw Headmistress Lockhart, wearing a grey pinstripe dress and green silk scarf pinned at the shoulder with the usual halo, beckoning Cloud over like he was some sort of pet.
Trying really hard not to groan in frustration, Cloud addressed the class. "I'll be back in a few. First one to figure out an alternative to Septina's overloaded track that doesn't explode the rest of her design gets my respect."
"And your cookie?" suggested Denzel, nodding toward a plastic-wrapped, chocolate chip monstrosity waiting at his desk.
"And half my cookie," Cloud conceded with a chuckle.
Once outside, Tifa led him away from the glass hall and around the bend for some wisp of privacy, close to the outer doors he most often used to escape to the woodshed.
"I assume you've heard the rumors regarding Ruvie Tuesti?" she began bluntly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Cloud swallowed an instinctual rise of stomach acids. "No comment. Right?"
"Hmm. Right." The toe of her slingback shoe started tapping as she scanned him head to foot and back again, as though searching for a concealed weapon. Or worse. Cloud shrunk under her scrutiny, feeling exposed and completely at her mercy, but not in a good way like at the Graduate's Dance.
Raising a hand to his cheek, thinking she may be distracted by some remnant smear of grease, he was reminded that he had forgone his glasses as he temporarily didn't need them thanks to Hojo's sample. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe his eyes were glowing like some kind of alien monster and she knew exactly why.
Damn you, Hojo.
As he waited for his boss to label him a junkie and toss him to the curb, her expression morphed from one of suspicion to concern. The deeply furrowed brow and bloodshot eyes made her appear much older and tired than her twenty-six years should allow.
"I've spent the entire morning talking to the Board and reviewing old security footage," she began quietly, as if in confession. "They've all been saying the same thing. You were Ruvie's favorite teacher. She bought you expensive presents; those saplings I've seen you tending to. She made your favorite cupcakes on her birthday. You…" she paused to take a stuttered breath, "used to escort her out to that woodshed of yours. After school hours. Past sunset a couple of times. Right?"
Cloud felt the blood drain from his face. There was no point or need in denying. "Yes, I did. Are you implying something, Headmistress?"
Tifa chuckled humorlessly. "Please don't- Look, we both know what this looks like and that there must be a perfectly reasonable explanation. So before I hand over any footage to the Board, as I must, I wanted to give you the chance to give it to me."
"Give you what?"
"Your perfectly reasonable explanation. Please." Those wide carmine eyes of her started to shimmer, allowing a glimpse of the girl he had kissed beneath the plastic stars. One who had been blindsided by the depths of her attraction to such a simple, country-boy which she had spent so many years not even noticing. Clearly, this was not a leniency she would have offered to just anyone.
Not trusting his own mouth, not even for a repeat of "no comment", he remained stubbornly silent.
"Come on, Cloud," she pushed, daring to use his first name, guard officially worn down. "We're on the same team, okay? I can...protect you, to a point. Now would be the time to confess anything unsavory people may dig up so the legal team can prepare adequate defense."
That set something off. His vision turned red once she admitted she had a plan. It implied that some part of her genuinely worried it could be true and another, darker part, perhaps for nostalgia or (more likely) the school reputation's sake, was willing to help him weasel out of punishment.
"You think I've been fucking around with a student?" he growled through clenched teeth. "Seriously?"
At that, her jaw dropped, frantically glancing about to ensure no one was within earshot. "Language, Mr. Strife!"
"Accusations, Headmistress Lockhart!" He took a step forward and she held her ground, lips and brows pinched together like a statue representation of persistence. "I haven't looked at, let alone touched anyone since-" He caught himself before confessing something truly unsavory, swallowing it like the most bitter of pills. Such a revelation would not help his case. "The point is: no. I had nothing and want nothing to do with it."
And screw you for ever thinking that I would.
"But the woodshed-"
"Had you bothered to ask anyone who actually spends time around here, you'd know that Ruvie recently acquired an antique buggy which she drove to and from school. I helped her duct tape it back together every couple of days when some part or another failed. Recordings from the parking lot will confirm."
"Oh. Okay then." Tifa took another faltering breath, straightening her silk scarf as if that would untangle the building pressure. "After spending so much one-on-one time together, surely you must know a little of her personal life? Who she was seeing?"
"Right." Cloud scoffed, falling back against the wall opposite. "Cause who we're sleeping with comes up so organically when putting out engine flames alongside a kid."
"Mr. Strife, can you do me a favor and just answer one, damn question minus the sarcasm?" she spat with a frustrated little head shake, causing few tendrils of hair to fall loose from her clip. "Certain Board members are suggesting that I clean-house to be safe and I don't want- I know you're mostly good people and I- I'm...I feel trapped, ya know?"
Cloud did know and, for a moment, took pity.
As much as he tried to dodge it, the mystery of Ruvie Tuesti had morphed into a flaming arrow shot straight and true towards his straw house of a life. If the executives and press didn't find a good reason to divert from the faculty-at-fault headline…
Barret had been saving for weeks to afford Marlene's dream Winter Ball dress. Zack had finished designing his engagement ring for Aerith and was haggling with an emerald vendor. Cloud was desperate for many reasons.
None of them could afford to lose their jobs. Not now.
"All I know is that sometime mid-November," he began, already tasting bile on his tongue, mixing with someone else's secrets, "she requested my help replacing the buggy's fuel tank. She needed something with greater capacity. Paid for parts in cash."
"The Tuestis live in Sector 8, a mere few minutes drive from campus. Why would she need-"
Tifa's forehead smoothed as the implication became clear. The famously sheltered girl probably didn't want her family finding out she was venturing any further than that pathetic little car should reasonably be able to take her. Somewhere far off campus, maybe even outside the city.
"Don't let the Board punish the entire staff for this," Cloud pressed, trying to summon some remnant of the social-justice-warrior she used to be back in the day. "Not only is it not fair, it's digging in the wrong direction."
Tifa nodded. "How do you know?"
"I don't." It was one of the many reasons he hated rumors. They were so malleable and unpredictable. The opposite of fact. Two plus two equals forty-two. "All this wouldn't even be a discussion if those suits agreed to join this century and teach these kids safe-"
"Cloud..." she interjected before he could get going, stepping into his space with a stern glare. "We're not in Nibelheim anymore."
That, of all things, he didn't need to be reminded of.
"I know that. But why the hell is this apparently 'modern' city letting this happen out here? Ruvie is a smart girl."
Tifa automatically huffed in disbelief. It made Cloud's blood turn hot once again.
"Don't you dare judge," he cut off her unvoiced implication. "Our parents cared more about us than outdated, dangerous traditions. Being smart doesn't mean shit if no one teaches you."
After that, they stood in silence, staring at each other for a minute brimming with all levels of tension.
"I'll...interrogate her friends then," Tifa soon whispered, tone heavy with shame.
Knowing it was pointless, Cloud still pleadingly shook his head. "If Ruvie doesn't want the world knowing her business, people should respect that. Let her be."
"Her parents are...I-I can't." Her eyes, those sunset-on-the-lake eyes, similarly begged for understanding. "I simply can't. I'm sorry."
As if on cue, the bell rang signaling the end of class. Stomping footsteps and boisterous laughter burst out of the surrounding labs and put a kibosh on the conversation. Tifa gave him one last, piteous glance before straightening her dress and heading down the hall with her chin held high. Cloud could not help but notice the tremors in her clenched fists, even while she chastised a cluster of students for rolling their kilts into miniskirts.
Soon as she was out of sight, Cloud felt a twinge in the side of his head that made him suck his breath in through his teeth. Without daring to deliberate, he dug into his pocket for Hojo's vial, shook another sphere into his palm and swallowed it dry.
*Author's Note*: Goddamit, that was stupid long. Sorry everyone. I'm trying to stick to an outline with specific plot points to hit in each chapter, but that flashback scene took on a life of its own and somehow became 6 pages where it was once a couple of paragraphs. It exists just to show they have REASONsTM for being so awkward in the present day but then the smut-fairies hit me, I guess lol. If anyone made it to the end, thank you for following along my first AU experiment. Praise be to my obsession, glasses!Cloud.