A/N: Why did I ever think this would be a oneshot…?

Tiny detail, but last chapter it said Cloud would graduate this year. It was meant to be next year (it got corrected). Just letting you all know for continuity's sake.

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Arabesque No.1 - Debussy

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A Sea of Silence

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2: Arabesque No.1

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Monday afternoon, Tifa meets Zack again.

She almost doesn't notice him until he stage-whispers, "Neighbor! Hey!"

Tifa twists his way. He stands around a corner of the hallway, resting against the wall, hands in his pockets; it's the glint of mischief that alerts her.

"What did you do this time?" she asks as a greeting.

Zack grins. "You'll see. Come on." He gestures at her to come closer.

Though part of her wants to walk away, Tifa joins him. "What am I looking—oh, okay." She crosses her arms when she spots Reno hanging out with friends in one of the sitting areas. "Didn't you just prank him?"

"That's the beauty of it," Zack says. "He won't see it coming. Oh, here we go."

Zack pushes them back against the wall until the throng of students conceals them. Across the hall, Reno chats with a guy, a bottle of Diet Coke in hand. He brings it up to twist the cap and—

"You did not," Tifa gasps at the same as the soda erupts from the bottle and all over Reno.

Zack's laughter rises up to mix with Reno's shouts and the noise of the crowd. Reno jumps to his feet, his expression spelling murder as he scans his surroundings for the culprit. It takes seconds for him to spot Zack, who immediately pushes Tifa in the opposite direction as a signal to leave.

Reno's indignant yell follows them, "Yeah, run away, you fucking coward!"

Zack leads them a floor down and into a small cafeteria. His laughter fades into a shit-eating grin as he collapses on a chair. Tifa does the same despite having been on her way to study. She drops her bag on the table.

"You know he's gonna come up with something worse, right?"

"Oh, I'm looking forward to it."

"Does this end when one of you accidentally dies or…?"

Zack chuckles. "It ends when one of us admits defeat."

"So...never?"

"He'll cave at some point," he says with a self-assured nod.

Tifa lets her doubts drip from her voice, "Yeah, I'm sure."

He makes a disappointed noise. "You have no faith in my genius."

"In your—" She rolls her eyes. "All right, tell me. What did you do to his friend's car?"

"It's Reno's car, but his roommate borrows it." Zack falls back into his seat, obviously delighted at her sudden interest. "Every Friday night, he goes to the gym, so we knew the car would be there."

"And?"

"I made a 'for sale' sign with Reno's phone number on it. Put the price really low. People will call him non-stop about his car."

Tifa frowns. "And you don't think they'll just remove the sign?"

Zack's smile turns wolfish. "When they'll be able to get in the car, they will."

Her eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. "How?"

"Fishing line," he says. "I got into the car and placed the sign. Then I lowered the back seat and popped the trunk open. I tied one end of the line to the passenger door's handle, and the other to the driver's side. Did the same for the rear doors. I had to crawl out through the trunk to get out, but it was worth it. At some point, they'll think to do the same to get inside." He smirks. "That's why I put an ad for his car on internet."

Tifa blinks several times as his words process. "This is…more elaborate than I expected."

"I take this very seriously, neighbor."

"It's Tifa," she says drily. "How did you do the Coke prank?"

"I'm glad you asked, neighbor." He emphasizes the last word. "You just tie a string around the Mentos and carefully twist the cap around the leftover string so it stays in place. Cut whatever's dangling outside the cap so he can't see it. Boom." He claps his hands once.

She hums with exaggerated seriousness. "You might have a chance after all."

"Might, she says." He puts a hand over his heart as if wounded. "Why do you think Reno will win, anyway?"

Tifa bends forward like she's sharing a secret; Zack plays along. "Because he's too ambitious and dumb enough not to accept defeat and pull a prank that will go too far."

A genuine laugh escapes Zack. "Oh, neighbor. Is that concern I hear?"

Tifa leans back, amusement tugging her lips into a slight smile. "You'll hear whatever you want to hear."

He shrugs, not denying it. "How was Aerith, by the way?"

Now that the topic strays to her friend, Tifa's skepticism surfaces anew. "Fine. I thought Cloud texted you."

"He said you guys got home safe, yeah. But you know that's not what I'm asking."

Tifa crosses her arms. "She didn't feel too good in the morning, but otherwise, she was fine."

Zack's eyes drift to the side, a giveaway of his hesitation, as he says, "Did she say anything about the date?"

"She was looking forward to it." Tifa leaves it at that.

His phone vibrates on the table, and he picks it up, typing away, before focusing on Tifa again. "I didn't want to cancel."

"Then why?" Her exasperation is clear. "Why did you spend the night pranking Reno instead?"

He blows out a breath and ruffles his hair. There's an edge to his movements like she breached a topic she shouldn't have. Zack checks his phone again, then puts it away.

"How well do you know Cloud?"

Tifa frowns. "What does it have to do with this?"

"Cloud has a lot on his mind right now," Zack says, ignoring her question. "He needs a distraction—that's why I drag him along on the pranks. Friday was not a good day for him."

His words bring her back to said Friday night and the somber music that had wandered from Cloud's apartment—to the sudden tension that had taken hold of him, the apprehension she had seen in his expression.

"Oh," she says, her voice quiet, "okay."

Zack gives her a sheepish smile. "I know it was shitty of me to cancel at the last minute. But—" He bites his bottom lip. "Yeah, I couldn't leave him alone like that."

"I get it." Tifa brings the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her knuckles. "After Aerith fell asleep, we were talking when he got a message. His mood changed—it was obvious he wasn't feeling well, and…" She stops herself, not certain if she should share aspects of Cloud's daily life.

"Fuck, not again," Zack whispers. He doesn't elaborate on his frustration, instead encouraging to continue. "And?"

She takes a moment to decide what to say. "This might sound unrelated to you, but… There's always music coming from his place." Seeing Zack's serious nod, like he understands what she means, pushes her to add, "I didn't think much of it at first, just that he didn't like silence. But Friday… The piece he chose… It felt really sad and ominous. I had the impression it reflected his mood too well to be a coincidence."

Tifa hadn't recognized the piece at first; it had been a long time since she'd heard it. For the last four years, she'd make the conscious decision to avoid listening to classical piano. But the next morning, the melody had been stuck in her head, the beginning section playing on loop until it became familiar—Rachmaninoff's Élégie. There had been more music flowing from his apartment throughout the weekend, but nothing as haunting.

Zack rubs his forehead. "Aw, shit. He was playing classical music, wasn't he?"

"I'm guessing that's bad?"

"I mean, no, not necessarily, but it's not great either."

Curiosity tugs at Tifa, but she reins it in; Cloud is her neighbor, not her friend, and being nosy won't do anyone any good.

"Anyway," Zack says as he straightens, "we can speak of that another day. Here he comes."

Tifa turns around, spotting a somewhat puzzled Cloud walking in their direction. Maybe because of her discussion with Zack, she takes in the bags under his eyes and the weariness to his posture, something she wouldn't have noticed before. Cloud stops next to the table.

"Thank you for gracing us with your holy presence." Zack kicks a chair out. "Took your sweet time."

With a shrug, Cloud puts his bag next to Tifa's and sits down. "I go to class."

"Class? What's that?" Zack pretends to be confused. "Never heard of it."

"You're terrible," Tifa mumbles. She waves a Cloud. "Hi."

Cloud nods in return. "What did I miss? You two are hanging out."

Zack grins. "She is now my accomplice."

"I am not." She rolls her eyes, though it's mostly for show.

"She's lying. Your neighbor is very concerned we'll lose."

Before she can protest, Cloud says, "Her name is Tifa."

Zack laughs. "I'm just messing around. And dude, what you missed was Reno getting mad again."

"Already?" A smirk forms on Cloud's lips. "Did he get into his car?"

"Dunno." Zack taps a finger against the table. "I have to figure out the next one."

"Is that your strategy?" Tifa jumps in. "Overwhelm your opponent?"

He winks at her. "She gets it."

With a soft snort, she counts on her fingers. "Let's see. From what I've seen, you vandalized his house, put his car up for sale, and showered him in Coke at school."

"Seriously?" A burst of laughter comes from Cloud. It erases the tiredness from his features.

"Coke and Mentos." Zack clicks his tongue. "Never fails."

Tifa shakes head. "What's next?"

"You see, neighbor, we have to build to the final blow. I have a list of small pranks right here." Zack waves his phone around. "Wanna help me choose?"

Without meaning to, Tifa peeks at Cloud to judge his reaction, noting his relaxed stance. No sign of agitation or unease. And there's something about helping him stay in this easygoing state that feels right. When she looks at Zack again, the shrewd sparkle in his eyes tells her he knows what she is thinking. Tifa clears her throat.

"Yeah, I don't mind," she says.

An eager Zack unlocks the phone's screen, places it on the table and turns it around so both Tifa and Cloud can read his list. For a while, they throw ideas left and right, building from what Zack had already thought of. Tifa doesn't take part seriously at first, but as the conversation goes on, she finds herself invested in this a little too much. Zack doesn't bother hiding how pleased he is by her involvement, smiling and seeking her opinion. Next to her, Cloud isn't as overt, but there's no denying the slight, amused smirk that doesn't go away.

"What about that final blow?" she asks. "Have you thought of anything?"

Zack whispers conspiratorially, "You know all this means you're on our team now, right?"

"I don't—" Tifa swallows down her reflexive opposition and sighs. "Yeah, I guess that's true."

"Congratulations, you've leveled up from accomplice to partner." Zack extends his hand to be shaken. "Welcome to the winning team."

Tifa chuckles as she returns the handshake. "So?"

"We have some options," Cloud says. He gives her a friendly smile, and she counts that as a small victory. "But so far nothing seems enough to get him to capitulate."

An idea pops up in her head. "What about—" She takes a second to think this through. "Could you get into his car again?"

"Yeah, but it probably won't be as easy."

Tifa rests her chin on her fist. "But if you already did something to his car, he might not expect you to do another prank on it."

"She has a point," Cloud says. Next to his hand, his phone lights up.

Both guys freeze. Cloud makes no move to check it, but uneasiness replaces his lightheartedness from before. Though the mood change is difficult to dismiss, Tifa acts as if nothing happened, figuring appearing oblivious is a better move than meddling.

"What if you could and you put glitter into the vents?" At this, both guys stare at her. "Turn it up to the max, and when he starts the car—surprise."

"Yes." Zack lets out a whoop, attracting people's attention their way. "You're evil, neighbor, and I love it."

Tifa glances at Cloud; he laughs and his eyes clear. His phone lays untouched. She smiles.

"It'll be everywhere for months," Cloud says.

Zack snickers. "That's the best part."

Their discussion goes on easily for a while until Tifa checks the time and realizes she has to head home if she wants to have enough time to finish an assignment due the next day. She takes her time gathering her things, not wanting to go.

"Leaving already? Give me your phone." Zack reaches out to take it before she can answer. "We can't just part like this."

She sighs and gets to her feet, waiting for him to finish programming his number. When he gives her phone back, he winks.

"I'll send Cloud your number. He's too shy to ask."

At this, Cloud chokes on the water he'd been drinking; he puts the bottle on the table and thumps on his chest, coughing up whatever went down the wrong way. Tifa bites her lip, concern for him warring with amusement at his reaction.

"That's not true," Cloud rasps once he can speak again.

Zack waves a hand around like he doesn't believe a word. "Yeah, sure, whatever you say."

It seems Cloud knows better than to argue with Zack. Instead, he stands up and shoulders his backpack. "I have to head back too. Don't forget we have the exam on—"

"I know." Zack rolls his eyes. "Man, you're worse than my mother."

"Do you want a lift?" Tifa cuts in before Cloud can reply.

He looks at her with some hesitation, but then says, "If you're offering, yeah."

"She just did, dumbass."

Cloud grunts. "Why am I friends with you?"

Tifa waves goodbye at Zack and walks away; Cloud falls in step with her, shaking his head as Zack's voice trails behind them. "You love me!"

"He's a handful," Tifa says as they exit the cafeteria and head for the parking lot.

"Understatement," Cloud mumbles. "You don't actually have to get involved, you know."

"Oh, you mean with the pranks? It's fine." Redness creeps up her cheeks when she remembers that she accepted as an impulse to help him.

Silence falls until they get in her car and take off towards their apartment building. At first, the quietness doesn't feel heavy, but then Cloud finally checks his phone, and his features twist into a scowl. Though she's not one to pry, Tifa can't pretend not to notice now that they're alone.

"Everything all right?"

Her question snaps Cloud out of his musing. He shoves the phone away in his backpack. "Uh, yeah. Yeah."

"You sure?" The words get out without her meaning to. When Cloud says nothing, she adds, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed."

Cloud's loud sigh fills the air between them. "It's okay. I just have a lot on my mind." He clears his throat. "I'm also failing a class, so it's not helping."

The deflection is nowhere near subtle, but Tifa doesn't call him out on it. "That sucks. A required class?"

"No, it's an elective." He runs his hand through his hair, messing it up. "I took whatever fit in my schedule, but sociology isn't my strength. Or any kind of social science, to be honest."

Her interest stirs at the mention of sociology. "Which class is it?"

"Sociology of the environment."

"Oh."

Cloud hums. "Yeah. It's interesting, but I'm not cut out for that."

Tifa parks the car in her designed spot and cuts the engine. They get out, head inside the building and up the stairs. It's only once they stand in front of their respective doors that Tifa brings herself to speak again.

"I can tutor you if you want."

He freezes as he ruffles through his bag for his keys, and stares at her. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, I took that last year. Sociology's my major." She gives him a knowing smile. "Professor Wallace is a mean but fair grader. You just have to know what to expect."

"Are you really offering?" Cloud at last takes out his keys but makes no move to unlock his door. "Because I'm saying yes."

Tifa laughs softly. "Then we can check that tomorrow or another day if that's okay with you? I have an assignment to finish tonight."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. That's perfect." His shoulders sag as if some tension evaporated at once. "Thank you."

"No worries. Did you get my number from Zack?"

"Yeah, he sent it after we left." Cloud looks like he wants to add something but keeps silent.

"Text me so we can set up something, then. I'll talk to you later, all right?"

Tifa is halfway inside her apartment when Cloud calls out to her. "Tifa, thank you."

She pokes her head beyond the threshold and smiles. "No problem."

Her door shuts behind her, muffling the sounds of the hallway; she drops her bag on the floor and takes off her shoes. She's finished changing into comfy clothes when her phone indicates new messages, and she bursts out laughing as she takes in the series of notifications.

Zack Fair created the group.

Zack Fair named the group Winning Team

Zack Fair set the nickname for Tifa Lockhart to Neighbor

Zack Fair set the nickname for Cloud Strife to Second in Command

Zack Fair set the nickname for Zack Fair to Mastermind

Mastermind: btw where the fuck am I supposed to find enough glitter?

"Oh, boy," Tifa wonders aloud as she watches the little dots jump on the screen next to Zack's photo. "What have I gotten myself into?"

—

As the days go by, Tifa does her best to ignore Cloud's sudden taste for classical piano. She tells herself it's fine—it's fine for him to enjoy it. He can listen to whatever he wants. The pieces don't all have the same sadness as Rachmaninoff's Élégie; she guesses it means he doesn't only play it when his mood sinks. But despite her efforts, the music digs up memories and emotions she thought long-buried.

She has no class on Thursdays, and she uses the day to shop for a new coffee table. Hers is nearing the end of its life, so she finds a classified ads website. Twenty minutes into her research, music from Cloud's side once again fills the silence. This time, the piano hits differently, a wave of nostalgia lashing at her. The dreamy quality, the airiness of the melody, the whimsical polyrhythms—she remembers playing this piece as one would recite a poem, blanketing the audience with serenity and a touch of magic. Tifa stops scrolling through the website; the notes drift over her, each one an arrow of pain and delight. She grants herself a moment to enjoy something she never wanted to miss.

She's thirteen again, going up the stairs leading to the stage. As she walks across it to the piano, the room is a cage; its size intimidates her enough for her heart to drag itself up her throat. She wipes her damp hands on her red velvet dress, the same one she's been wearing for every recital this year. But the moment she sits down, her body positioning itself on its own, her mind blanks. She breathes in—and plays. Tranquility she only finds in these moments guides her hands, her mind, and she forgets the audience. Her world shrinks until there is only the beauty of Debussy's Arabesque No.1 knocking on the door to her soul, asking to be let in, imploring to mend the mosaic she has become. As the music ends, so does the illusion of peace—the thunderous applause brings her back to reality, and part of her wishes she'd stayed forever in that fantasy.

The impulse to get to her feet and pad into her bedroom is too strong. Once she stands in front of her wardrobe, she hesitates. The Arabesque keeps on playing, entering its second section as if it has lost its way into the woods and is seeking a path home. The sentiment, Tifa realizes, is hers more than the music's, and it has her open the wardrobe and take out the box she'd hidden at the bottom. She kneels on the floor, removes the lid, and stares at the many piano partitions she never found the will to leave behind.

The sight is enough to make her throat clog up. She wants to riffle through all of them, seeking the ones she learned and the ones she wanted to play one day. This urge is strong, and Tifa almost gives in—but the phantom of the past and the regret it drags behind overpower anything else. Tifa puts the lid back on. She goes back into the kitchen to continue browsing for a coffee table. It doesn't matter, she tells herself, none of that matters anymore. The music fades out, signaling the end of the piece, and she sighs in relief.

But then it plays again. Tifa drops her head in her hands. She doesn't want to be reminded of everything she regrets, of the loss deep inside her. The music that used to bring calm now stirs a whirlpool of negativity, and it's hard to remember the joy it brought her. With a long inhale, Tifa goes back to shopping online. She ignores the notes of the Arabesque dancing with unseen grace around her. Her search gives no result; as she scrolls the drop-down menu to go check in another category, the section Musical Instruments catch her eye. Before she knows what she's doing, Tifa hovers over the words and clicks on the adjoining Piano and Keyboards link.

She's not looking for anything, not really. Inside her chest, her heart contracts on beat with the last notes of Arabesque. At the bottom of the first page, she stumbles upon an ad for an upright piano listed at $500, with the mention negotiable. The mouse hovers the image. She's just checking—nothing has to come out of this.

The page loads, showing four photos of a black apartment piano and a matching bench. As she examines the photo, it surprises Tifa to find the piano in excellent condition; a quick glance at the description reveals the seller has to move out urgently and cannot bring the piano. It's a 88 keys piano with three pedals, amongst them a practice one. Tifa stares at the ad, the thought of it being perfect appearing unsolicited. Her fingers go rigid over the keyboard. Mindlessly browsing is one thing, inquiring is another, and yet—

It feels right. It feels like hollowing out herself to find buried treasures she forgot lay there. It feels like honoring the dead and connecting to the past. It feels like crying tears made of glass, the sharp edge of memories cutting her cheeks, but it's music that bleeds from the wounds, a reminder it has always been a part of her. Debussy's Arabesque No.1 has ended and something else has come along, but the hope and the sorrow imparted by the dreamlike melody have taken root. There is no refusing the idea, the possibility, not anymore.

The seller replies to her email within the hour—Tifa wrote to him and closed the laptop, going out to run errands. There was no way she could stay in the apartment doing nothing but dwell on what she did. When her phone vibrates with an email, she holds her breath. The seller is moving in less than three days so can she please swing by within 24 hours, he'll even help her move it if she doesn't live far; can she call him ASAP at the number below? Tifa checks the address—it's ten minutes away from her place.

Two phone calls and three hours later, Tifa and Yuffie help the seller—Benjamin—move the piano into his van and then into Tifa's apartment. She pays him and wishes him good luck on the move; he thanks her with a relieved smile and exits the apartment. Once her door is closed, the extent of what she just did hits Tifa.

She bought a fucking piano.

From the living room, she can hear Yuffie pressing a key with too much force, the A-flat resounding in the apartment.

"Does this sound out of tune to you?" Yuffie calls out. "Sounds out of tune to me."

Tifa smiles despite herself. "You have no musical knowledge of any kind," she says as she goes to join her friend. "But yes, it's out of tune."

Yuffie sits on the bench, facing towards Tifa. "I had no idea you were looking to buy a piano."

"It was—a last-minute decision." Tifa keeps the fact that she had meant to buy a coffee table to herself.

"Are you going to play something to try it out more?"

While at Benjamin's place, Tifa had done a few scales to test the feel of the keys. It had been the only thing she could think of playing at the moment. Now that she could grab a partition and play—she can't bring herself to, even less so in front of someone else.

"I'll have it tuned first," Tifa says, truth and lie twisted together. "There's no point in playing something that's going to sound terrible."

If Yuffie is skeptical, she doesn't show it. They chat a little and eat an early dinner before Yuffie has to leave. Alone, Tifa approaches the piano; she sits at the bench and lifts her hands—but can't bring herself to lower them to touch the keys. She stays frozen until it becomes clear she won't be able to play—not tonight. Disappointed but not surprised, she stands and pushes the bench under the piano.

It was stupid, she thinks, stupid of her to go through with this. She wanted so badly to find the will to play again while knowing she might not be able to bring herself to—warning bells should have gone off. Tifa grabs her phone as a distraction from her chastising mind; she has three new messages, so she plops down on the couch and checks the first one.

Aerith: You bought a piano?

With a shake of her head, Tifa types a quick reply explaining that, yes, she got a secondhand piano and that, yes, they will discuss this another day. The other message is from her father, asking for news. She debates calling him, but with all the emotions today has brought up, she texts him back instead, with a promise to call this weekend. The last message is from Cloud, sent an hour ago, wondering if she was free to tutor him tonight.

Tifa hesitates—she's not really up for that, but it might prove to be the distraction she needs from her thoughts. Without overthinking this, she sends him a quick reply saying she's free. He writes back seconds later.

what time?

Something about the rapidity of his answer strikes her as funny until she remembers how his mood seems to shift whenever he looks at his phone.

right now? bring your stuff.

ok give me 5 minutes

Cloud knocks on her door too soon for Tifa's taste—she wishes she could have cleaned a bit, a mechanical habit when having guests over. She lets him with a quick smile.

"Hey," he says as he enters her apartment. "Thanks a lot."

"No problem."

She waits until he removes his shoes before leading him further into the living room. Tifa sits, legs crossed, balancing her laptop on her knees. Across her, on the opposite end of the couch, Cloud takes out his materials.

"Which topic are you at right now?"

For the next hour and a half, they discuss liberal and neo-liberal theories; Tifa pulls out her notes for the class and does her best to help Cloud understand. He didn't lie when he said it wasn't his strength. She discovers he's definitely more at ease with his computer than with the concept of New Public Management, but she guesses it might be more a lack of basis in sociology than a capacity shortfall. Once he grasps the essence of the notions, the pieces of the puzzle appear to fall into place for him.

It's as they take a break and Tifa goes into the kitchen to get coffee and snacks that he mentions the recent addition to her living room.

"You play the piano?"

The question is innocent, she can tell. But the mass of emotions uncovered today coupled with his constant music being the trigger—it puts Tifa on the defensive. She brings back the food and coffee, and doesn't look at him when she hands him his mug.

"I did, yeah."

"It wasn't there—" He cuts himself off like he realized her words clash with the appearance of the instrument.

That he might be unto something has Tifa panic, and she says, "It was a good deal and I've been meaning to get back at it." Again, not a full truth, but neither is it a full lie.

Cloud doesn't look for hidden meaning into her words. "That's nice. Did you play classical?"

The hint of curiosity that flares up in his voice doesn't escape her. "Yeah, mostly. I don't want to pry, but…" She gives him a sheepish smile. "You've been putting on a lot of classical piano. Do you have an interest?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah." Cloud clears his throat. A flush darkens his cheeks. "I didn't realize you could hear my music. Sorry about that."

She shrugs. "The walls are thin, it's not your fault. And I don't mind." She reins in the not really, not until today.

"But yeah, I like classical."

"Any favorites?"

The question gets out unbidden, and she curses herself for carrying on this conversation. Wasn't piano a topic she wanted to avoid?

"Some, but honestly, I'll listen to whatever sounds good to me." He chuckles as if a little embarrassed by his own admission. "What about you?"

There it is, Tifa realizes, this is what she doesn't want to talk about—not so much the piano itself, but the piano and her.

"I like Debussy," she says, holding in a wince at the shortness of her answer.

It doesn't go past Cloud, and the brightness of his eyes dim. She bites her tongue, angry at herself, but doesn't bring the subject back. Silence takes over, not the good kind that settles between friends; there's a certain tension in the air Tifa can't hide from. Right as she goes to speak, Cloud's phone lights up. Like clockwork, he checks it, only to scowl. This time, however, he types an answer.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her quiet voice exposing some of her worry. "Every time you get a message, you look…" She trails off when his head snaps up.

Cloud inhales, exhales, finishes his message, and then puts the phone down. His legs sprawled before him; his laptop forgotten on the coffee table; one arm thrown over the back of the sofa—if she wasn't starting to know better, she'd think him at ease.

"I look angry?"

"Not exactly." Tifa brings her knees up and rests her chin on them. "More like…frustrated and troubled."

He rubs his eyes and keeps his hand up, hiding from her gaze. "You're not wrong."

Tifa doesn't push, feeling like he's just taking a break; he continues after a moment.

"My brother… he's been acting differently these days. I'm not—" He removes his hand only to mess with his hair. "I don't know what's going on now."

"Now?" She keeps her voice soft. "It's not the first time it happens?"

"I'm not sure, that's the problem. He's always been very private. We never got along that well as teens, so when he started sending me messages all the time, I knew something was off. And I guess…it's frustrating because I have no fucking clue what to do. He almost never picks up when I call, so forget having proper conversations." Cloud halts, his irritation fizzling out. "Sorry, I'm sure you don't want to hear all that."

"It's fine." At his surprise, she adds, "I wouldn't ask otherwise. You can talk about it whenever you want."

Cloud blinks several times as if taken aback by her words. It makes Tifa self-conscious, but she doesn't shy away from his stare.

"Okay. Thank you," he says at last. The gentleness of his voice isn't what she had anticipated, but she's happy to hear it.

Tifa smiles. "That's good. So, want to carry on studying or…?"

"Honestly?" Cloud slides down further into the couch. "Fuck sociology."

"Watch what you're saying," she mock-gasps.

He laughs, the deep, hushed sound rolling over her. If only he laughed more, she thinks.

"All right, I didn't mean that." Cloud throws his hands up in defense. "Sociology is the shit."

Tifa shakes her head. "What an apology."

"Come on, you know I was being sincere."

"Uh-uh."

Cloud sits up straight; his lips tilt up in a smile. "What can I do to earn your forgiveness, then?"

The flirty undertone of his question startles Tifa; unsure if she read the atmosphere right and not wanting to make him uncomfortable, she recovers with the first thing that comes to mind.

"You could start by opening the door to your food deliveries."

"I've been making efforts." His smile evolves into a smirk. "Nothing else?"

Struck speechless for a few seconds, Tifa can only stare at him. Once she recovers, her eyebrows shoot up, expressing her disbelief. "What can I ask?"

He lets out another brief laugh. "Up to you."

The happy glint in his eyes warms her; still, her mind blanks. Everything that comes to mind seems too much or not enough, and the anxiety at being wrong in her interpretation ties her tongue.

Finally, she grabs the closest notebook lying on the couch and brings it up to read, too high for it to be natural, so he can only see her eyes. "I'll think about it."

If her goal had been to deter him, she would have failed. Cloud grins. "I'll be waiting."

Tifa hums a noncommittal answer, grateful for the notebook hiding her blush. When Cloud's phone brightens up with a message again and he doesn't notice, Tifa keeps silent, not wanting the light in his eyes to go out.

As Cloud asks her about ecological questions and capitalism, and her heart beats a little faster, she wonders what the hell she got herself into—again.

—