A/N: I just want to thank all of you for the Tifa's-thigh-highs-appreciation party that went down in the comments. You guys know what's up.
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Étude no.3, Un sospiro - Liszt
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A Sea of Silence
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6: Étude no.3, Un sospiro
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The room Tifa wakes up in is warm and bright like she forgot to close the blinds and the sun flooded the space. She blinks the confusion away, then rubs her eye as she takes in the unfamiliar room; the mess of clothes over a chair and of books piled on the floor jog her memory—this is Cloud's room. Tifa sits up on her knees, yawning, and looks to her right where Cloud lies on his back, still asleep. She watches the even rise and fall of his chest for a moment, noting he discarded his shirt after she fell asleep. He doesn't stir when she gets off the bed and heads for the bathroom.
She goes about her morning routine as best as she can, using the mouthwash since she doesn't have a toothbrush with her. As she unbraids her hair, Tifa goes into the living room, surprised to see their clothes aren't there anymore; only her boots and jacket remain where she left them. Her phone is still in the jacket's pocket, out of battery from not having been charged yesterday. With a sigh, Tifa puts it back into the pocket and goes in search of her clothes.
She finds them messily folded on the dresser in Cloud's bedroom. Her fingers trail the soft velvet of her top as she debates dressing and returning to her apartment. The idea of leaving before Cloud wakes up doesn't sit well with her, even if all she'd be doing is going next door. Tifa throws a glance at him when she hears him shift, but he stays asleep. Her eyes drift back to the dresser and settle on the pile of CDs near her clothes; all of them are old editions of classical piano recordings—she sees Beethoven, Debussy, and Fauré amongst others. On the side as if set apart is a CD for Chopin's Nocturnes. And maybe it's self-centered of her to think Cloud did set it apart because he knew one of the Nocturnes sets her off—but damn it if the thought doesn't cross her mind. It's hard for it not to, really, when she remembers how he handled her breakdown—how he checked up on her that time she played the scales and exercises.
With one last look at the CDs and her clothes, Tifa climbs back on the bed, careful not to jostle him too much. In his sleep, Cloud's features are relaxed, free of that subtle tension he sometimes carries. For some reason, she remembers the moment not long before she fell asleep when he laughed into her skin—and then she recalls him exiting the room as she was falling asleep. As if in answer to her thoughts, Cloud's phone lights up on the nightstand—while she can't see the content of the messages from where she is, she can guess from who they are. She gets confirmation when a call comes through and Seph's photo fills the screen. The phone is on silent, and she considers waking up Cloud so he can answer for a second. But this made her remember he'd been looking at his phone after she'd taken a shower. She had thought nothing of it at the time, but now she wonders if his suggestion to watch a movie—despite being unable to focus on it—and then going down on her had been ways to take his mind off matters with his brother.
When he groans as if about to wake up and the phone lights up from a call again, Tifa finds she doesn't want him to see this first thing in the morning, not if it's what made him agitated last night. She leans down to drop light kisses on his chest—the thought of having him wake up to something good instead of the stress of messages and missed calls is oddly pleasing to her. Her hands drift over his skin in playful touches that get assertive as she moves down to his stomach. Cloud grunts when her lips follow her hands in open-mouthed kisses. Tifa raises her eyes to his face, finding him half-awake and staring at her. She kicks the cover away and lower on the bed so she can kneel in between his legs.
"Is this okay?" she asks softly.
Cloud nods, blinking slowly as if unsure if he's still sleeping. "Yeah," he says, so low she almost misses it.
Tifa keeps her eyes on him as one of her hands comes up to rub him through his briefs, teasing more than anything else at first; she applies more pressure, then tugs the underwear down so she can feel his skin against her fingers. Cloud closes his eyes when she wraps her hand around him, slowly stroking. She presses her mouth along the length in soft, wet kisses, coaxing a groan from him. Tifa does it again, allowing her tongue to peek out this time; his eyes snap open to find hers as she slips him over her tongue and past her lips. His hazy gaze almost makes her laugh; it's like he can't tell if he's dreaming or not, and all she wants is for him to realize that it is real. That's what she's thinking as she closes her lips around him and takes more of him in her mouth, her tongue sliding against the underside.
"Fuck." The curse is a drawn-out hiss. One hand reaches out, his fingers brushing along her jaw as she begins moving her head; the touch makes her look up, and the awareness she spies in his eyes elicits a wave of pleasure and satisfaction in her. "Tifa?" His voice is hoarse, a little disbelieving.
She hums in answer, drawing more noises from him. Her hair falls forward, and she goes to tuck it behind her ears, but Cloud already has his hands in the strands, gathering them away from her face.
"Fuck, look at you," he mumbles.
She's a little surprised at the delight she feels at his words; at how warm her body becomes at his every sigh and moan. Tifa lets him slip out of her mouth, one hand still stroking him while the other rests on his thigh. She lays kisses along his hips and his stomach; Cloud gives her hair a gentle tug so she glances up at him.
"If you're getting tired, you don't—" His voice trails off into a loud moan when she cuts him off by taking him into her mouth again, going as deep as she can. "Fuck, Tifa," he rasps as she keeps him there and swallows. His hips lift in a sharp, shallow thrust at the sensation, and she backs away, taking the time to breathe in. He groans, "Do that again," and Tifa can't deny the excitement she's feeling anymore.
She doesn't comply immediately, instead leaning forward to lick and suck along his length, absorbing his muttered curses. Her legs rub together as if to ease the discomfort of her own arousal, but it does nothing to help. It's too much to bear all of a sudden—his hands in her hair, his soft praise and breathy moans echoing in her ears, the salt of his skin against her tongue; Tifa steadies herself on an elbow as her other hand glides down her body to find herself wet and waiting. She pulls away from Cloud a moment, sighing as the slight relief she allows herself, before sliding him into her mouth again. Her sudden movements and pause don't escape Cloud, whose hands clench in her hair.
"Oh, fuck." His voice is almost pained. "Are you touching yourself?"
Tifa drags the flat of her tongue against his length. "Uh-uh," she breathes out, eyes closing for a moment.
"That's—fuck, you're hot." He notices the low whine she lets out at this. "You like me telling you that?" he asks in a mumble. A hand leaves her hair to brush against her jaw, and Tifa looks at him as he runs his thumb against her bottom lip, slipping the tip of it into her mouth. "You like hearing what you do to me?" Her fingers graze her clit as he says this, and she moans out something that might have been yes or just a strangled noise of pleasure, but it's enough of a confirmation for Cloud. "Fuck, you do."
Tifa drags the hand between her legs away, dropping it on his thigh; she bites his thumb, a gentle request for him to pull back. Cloud laughs, quiet and strained, as he listens to her wordless demand and instead drops his hand to his leg, brushing his fingers against her wet ones. Whatever he was going to say transforms into a husky moan when she wraps her lips around him; his hand finds its way back into her hair, pushing back the locks that had escaped his grip. Tifa takes him deep and swallows again, loving the reactions she coaxes out of him—the low groans he emits, the way he throws his head back and closes his eyes, the involuntary tug on her hair as she doesn't ease up her rhythm.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispers. "Tifa, fuck—come here."
She releases him, and he pulls her up against his body by the grasp he has on her head. Tifa keeps a hand around him as he brings her head down to kiss her, harsh and gasping as he comes. His hips lift, and he moans into her mouth as she keeps stroking him. She finds herself pressed awkwardly against his chest, so Tifa lets go of her hold on him and shifts to steady herself by placing a knee on either side of his leg. Cloud moves at the same time, and his thigh rubs against her; Tifa feels how slick she is against his skin, and a whimper escapes her at the contact. Cloud lets his head fall back against the pillow as he pants and stares at her with a pleased gleam in his eyes; he smirks a little as he feels her against his thigh, and his hands slide down her body and under the shirt to find her skin.
"Come up here to straddle me," he murmurs.
Though she listens, Tifa gives him a half-hearted objection. "I can just—"
"A little higher," he cuts off as he pushes against her back so she scoots up on his stomach. "You can just what? Get yourself off?" His voice turns rough when he adds, "You were doing a pretty good job earlier."
Her hands clench where they lie over his chest, her nails digging into his skin. She figures she should be more embarrassed than she is right now, but it's her built-up excitement that triumphs.
Cloud reads her pause as hesitancy, and his hands glide down her hips to grip her thighs. "Don't get shy on me now." He gives her a warm, encouraging smile.
"I'm not," she breathes out, a little surprised by her own words and the truth they contain. For a second, she does hesitate, but it dissipates quickly enough as Cloud smooths his thumbs over her inner thighs. The moment her fingers brush against herself, she sighs; the sound has Cloud tighten his grasp on her legs. Her fingers stroke, hard and fast, but there's something about the intensity of Cloud's gaze on her that makes this both too much and not enough.
"You need more?" he asks, still in that hoarse voice as she pulls away and grabs his hand.
"Yes." The word comes out breathy, needy.
He shoves back the fabric of the shirt covering her hips. "Take it off. As much as you look great in my shirt, I'd rather look at you." Tifa pulls the shirt over her head, dropping it on the bed next to them. She bites her lip when he runs his hand over her with the lightest touch. "Lift up."
Tifa listens, raising up on her knees a little, and a loud whine leaves her when he easily slides two fingers into her.
"Fuck yeah," Cloud groans, "you really got off on this, didn't you? You're so wet."
His fingers curl inside her, finding a spot that sends a sharp wave of pleasure through her, making her gasp. As he thrusts into her, Tifa soon feels her legs weaken from having to hold herself up over him. "Cloud—I can't—" She leans forward, resting her hands on his chest. "Fuck," she moans when he hits that spot again and again. Her hips move on their own, seeking more.
Cloud's chuckle makes her open her eyes. He reaches up, running his free hand over her breasts, grasping and teasing and tugging. "Feels good?"
"You know—it does," she pants. He presses his thumb against her clit, and the friction caused by her swaying hips and the hard thrusts of his fingers tips her over. Her body grows taut only for all the tension to release at once in a long, acute swell. "Oh, fuck, Cloud."
His mouth parts slightly as he watches her come, and he grunts when her nails dig into his chest. "That's it, Tifa. You look so fucking good like this."
She feels herself clenching down harder over his fingers at his words; gasps and moans escape her, her climax carrying on as Cloud slows down the thrusts of his hand, only stopping when she sags against his chest. When his fingers slip out of her, she holds in a whine. His hands run up and down her back in a lazy caress; Tifa can sense the wet trail one of his hands leaves behind, and she bites her lip as she also realizes how slick the skin of his stomach is where she straddles him.
"You good?" he murmurs.
Tifa nods then sits up to roll off him; Cloud's hands tighten on her for a second before he lets go. She runs a hand through her hair, her breathing a little heavy. Next to her, Cloud shifts, and the bed dips when he sits on the edge. A long silence settles between them before he gets to his feet, going to his dresser and rummaging through it for clean clothes. Tifa stays where she is on the bed, only putting on his shirt again to cover herself; despite what just happened—or maybe because of it—a certain vulnerability takes hold of her. Cloud takes out another shirt and some gym shorts, putting them on the dresser next to her clothes.
"I'm gonna take a shower." His voice holds a note of hesitation. "If you want, you can wear those." He points at the clothes he left.
Tifa clears her throat. "You sure?" She's not sure she wants to put her skirt and tight top—and damn it, the thigh-highs—back on just to walk a few meters down the hall.
"Yeah, it's fine. It's not like you're going far," he says with a brief laugh.
He leaves the room, and the sound of the shower starts soon after. Now that she's alone, Tifa exhales loudly, then stands up. She puts on the clothes Cloud left her, rolling the waist of the shorts so they hold over her hips. Her hair goes back into a braid; she's not up to detangle it yet. By the time Cloud is done with his shower, Tifa has gathered all of her belongings. She hears him approach and feels his presence behind her as he stops and leans forward over the couch so he can look at her face.
"What's up?" His tone is so soft that she can't help but twist to glance at him.
Tifa can't really answer him, so she says nothing. It's hard for her to say what it is she's feeling at the moment—there's certainly a good amount of self-consciousness, though she's not sure where it comes from considering what they've done together. But she thinks maybe it's because she's unsteady on her feet right now, having no idea what to expect or where they stand. Or rather, she has no idea what to expect of herself—she just knows she wants something defined, without confusion. The rest can wait.
"Hey, you can tell me," he adds when she stays silent.
She twists the tail of her braid around a finger. "This wasn't supposed to be anything beyond one night," she says at last. "I just need to know where we're headed. I know you said you don't have girlfriends." At his blank look, she goes on, "That's fine, Cloud. But I can't do this without knowing what I'm getting into. It's just not…me."
Cloud's features soften as she finishes speaking. "That's okay, we can talk about it." He straightens up and comes to sit next to her. "There doesn't have to be any obligations." Her fidgeting doesn't go past him, and he pulls her hand away from her braid. "I think having sex with you is fucking great," Cloud says with a knowing smile. "What if we agree on staying as we are? But with boundaries?"
"You mean friends with benefits?"
He shrugs. "If that's what you want to call it. I like being your friend, that matters to me. So if you're comfortable, we can do that."
Tifa turns so she faces him. "And the boundaries?"
"If either of us wants to be with someone else, we tell the other."
"So no sleeping around? Just to be clear." She frowns a little. "I'm not doing this otherwise."
A slight smirk curls his lips as he realizes she's considering it. "Yeah, exactly. You ever tell me if you want to be with anyone else, and we can end this. I'll do the same."
She gives him a nod after a few seconds of silence. "But we're keeping this to ourselves."
"That's fine. I like my privacy."
"Okay, then."
Cloud bites his bottom lip as if to stop a smile from spreading. "Perfect," he says as he stands up. "You wanna eat something?"
Though Tifa is hungry, she a need for distance grows within her—a need to digest what happened and her decision. "It's okay, thank you. I need to head back."
She doesn't miss the flash of disappointment in his expression, but he keeps it to himself. "Alright, I'll see you soon, then."
Tifa bids him a quick goodbye and walks back to her apartment, her belongings in her arms. The moment the door locks behind her, she can finally breathe. She puts away her things and takes another shower—washing her hair properly; the whole time, her mind is a jumble of thoughts, and putting them in order appears impossible for now. Tifa lets these thoughts flow and run into each other; it's only after she gets dressed and is brushing her hair that she goes back over them.
She sees nothing wrong with her decision to keep on sleeping with Cloud. But perhaps she's a little scared it isn't the best one. Still, she shakes the doubts away—if it doesn't work out, she'll tell him. As she makes herself a quick breakfast, the music drifts over from Cloud's side. It's not classical this time, but it still conjures an image of the set-apart CD case for Chopin's Nocturnes. It feels wrong to assume he did it with her in mind, and Tifa almost wishes she'd asked him—maybe then she would understand what the sting in her chest means.
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It takes Tifa three weeks to muster the courage to go back to the Music pavilion. When she nears the piano practice room Vincent was in last time, tension grips her body, and she almost turns back. There's no music coming from the room, so she peeks inside through the small window, only to find him flipping through partitions. She hesitates for a second before knocking on the door. Vincent looks up, curiosity etched in his features; when he notices who it is, he waves her in. Tifa wavers, hand on the doorknob—she could just turn back and everything would continue as usual. But she knows she wouldn't have come here if she didn't want to take that next step. The door creaks as she opens it.
"Hey," Vincent says with a tentative smile, "I was wondering if you would come."
Tifa drops her bag on the small table in the corner. "Uh, yeah, sorry. Maybe I should have texted you."
"Oh, it's fine, don't worry." He picks one of the partitions he was going through, setting the others down on the top of the piano.
"What are you practicing?" she asks as she sits on the only chair. He turns the partition around so she can see the title; her eyebrows go up a little when she sees the title and the composer—Trois Études de Concert. "Liszt?"
"Yeah, the third one. Un sospiro."
Tifa leans back in her seat, bringing her sleeves over her hands and crossing her arms; she watches as Vincent flips to the right page. "That's not an easy one."
He glances up, and she notes the amusement in his eyes. "That's why it's fun." He tilts his head to the side as if to beckon her. "Since you're here, you wanna turn the pages for me?"
She freezes, then forces herself to breathe in and out; there's nothing scary about turning pages, really, but part of her isn't even sure she can read the music well enough anymore to be of any help.
"I can try," Tifa says after a pause, "but it's been a long time."
Vincent shrugs and places the partition on the stand. "You don't have to."
His matter-of-fact tone lets her know it's not a big deal to him, and yet Tifa can't help but be disappointed with her reaction. The courage she had gathered before coming seems to ebb away by the minute—a nervous energy seized her, and she is controlled by it, strung along a path she does not like. It's too strong for her to fight at the moment, though, and she stays where she is.
"Sorry. Maybe another time," she adds softly.
Vincent goes to say something, but he closes his mouth after turning to look at her. Tifa can guess her anxiety must be palpable—it grows under his scrutiny, and she only exhales once he turns to face the piano and positions his hands.
"No warm-up?"
He stays focused on the partition, but she catches his small, fleeting smile. "I've been at this for two hours already. You got here while I was taking a break."
Before she can answer, Vincent starts playing. Tifa holds her breath as the notes fill the air, light and clear, flowing harmoniously into each other. Vincent's left hand seamlessly crosses over his right one to play the melody; Tifa closes her eyes as he goes on, hoping the music will take her nervousness away. She faintly registers her phone buzzing on the table, but soon forgets about it. Vincent makes the occasional misstep but never stops to correct it, allowing the piece to run its course as it should.
Tifa can't say why the emotions that build up within her do. Some of it must be Vincent's interpretation of the piece, the sentiment he puts into it, giving the music its soul—there's nothing mechanical about his playing, and it only allows the already beautiful music to ascend. Tifa feels each delicate note pierce her armor; soon, there is too much space for the music to flow in and spread through her. It smears her insides with both dread and exultation, digging its claws into every crevice it finds, making a home deep within her body and her mind. Vincent keeps on playing, oblivious to her rising anxiety; it overflows as the music glides around her, and soon Tifa's breathing morphs into short, quiet gasps. That's when the vague memory echoes in her ears, overlapping with reality. Her mother sitting at the piano, playing this same étude; Tifa sitting on the rug next to her, enticed by the speed at which her Mom's hands move, and just listening, listening to the beauty her mother creates—and then wishing and hoping so hard to be able to do the same, to be like her mother who smiles at her, who stops playing to lift Tifa on the bench—her mother who is gone and will never create something beautiful ever again—
Tifa doesn't realize the music has stopped—she still hears it, the memory having overtaken everything. She notices Vincent kneeling before her, hands outstretched like he doesn't know what to do, but it's nothing more than a faint observation in the periphery of her mind. He says something—her name, she thinks—and it breaks through the fog, a disjointed sound that reminds her of where she is. Tifa hears her loud breathing, and at last her eyes focus on a worried Vincent. What happened hits her at once; she registers her body trembling as she stands up abruptly, forcing Vincent to step back. Her phone buzzes again, but she ignores it as she gathers her jacket—in her hurry, she drops her bag. It's too much—such a little thing, but it's enough to make her want to run. Her bag reappears in front of her as if by magic, and she blinks, not having seen Vincent pick it up.
"Tifa—"
She grabs the bag from him, throwing it over her shoulder. "I have to go." Her words leave her in pants, and she almost chokes on them.
Though he makes no move to stop her, there's no denying the concern in his eyes. "I don't think you should. Sit down, take a moment—"
"I can't be here—I have to go," she rushes out, stumbling over the syllables. She snatches her phone off the table and when the screen lights up, she sees the messages are from Cloud. With shaky hands, she unlocks the phone as she walks past Vincent. "I'm sorry, I can't—I can't—"
"Tifa, wait—"
But she's out in the corridor before he can say more. Everything is upside-down, her sense of direction vanishing—she just walks as far away as she can, wanting to find somewhere quiet, isolated. She ends up outside in a deserted courtyard; it's cold and dark out, but she sits on the steps leading to the door anyway. Her phone is still unlocked in her hands, Cloud's messages staring back at her, asking her if she's still at school. Maybe the sudden silence that is so oppressing is what makes her call him—Tifa doesn't care, she only needs for this stillness to break.
Cloud answers on the fourth ring, his voice muted by the noise of what seems to be a cafeteria. "Hey, what's up?"
The simple greeting shatters something inside her, preventing her from speaking. Her uneven breaths are his only answer. She leans forward, resting her head on her knees.
"Tifa?" Worry creeps into his voice. "What's going on?" The background noise fades away as if he walked out. "Where are you?"
"—again," she gasps after a pause. "It happened—again."
There's no hesitation when he says, "The music? Tell me where you are."
Tifa doesn't know if it's his understanding or his urgent tone that breaks the final restraint she had over herself—the tears fall, and a soft sob escapes her. "I'm not sure. I was—I was in the Music department." She inhales in hopes of keeping calm, but it does nothing. "I'm outside, there's a courtyard, but I—I don't—"
"It's fine, I know where that is. Give me a few minutes." He speaks over her noise of protest, "Just focus on breathing for now, okay?"
The line goes dead, and Tifa puts the phone down next to her. She covers her face with her hands as the tears come faster; there's no one around to witness her, but she needs the illusive protection. Regulating her breathing proves hard; she has no clue how many times she inhales and exhales, trying to fall into a steady rhythm. Footsteps make her look up to see Cloud jogging her way. He sits down next to her, and his presence has the tears escalate. Cloud wraps his arm around her, his hand cupping the back of her head to tuck her face into his shoulder. For a while, there is only the sound of her hushed sobs—Tifa clutches his shirt, needing to hold on to something, anything.
"What happened?" he asks in a gentle murmur once her crying eases.
Unlike last time, Tifa finds herself wanting to explain—but not about everything, and especially not about her mother. She doesn't want to leave him in the dark, not when he came to help her without hesitation.
"I was in the Music department with a Master's student," she says once she feels sure she can speak. She moves her head so her voice isn't muted by his shirt. "He was playing something that—that—"
"Yeah, I know." Cloud's voice still holds its previous softness. "Was it the same piece?" When she shakes her head, he asks, "Which one was it?"
"It doesn't matter," she mumbles.
"No, Tifa, it does." He pulls back, and she has no choice but to sit straight. "Just tell me."
The reality of what happened earlier crashes into her—Liszt's Un sospiro has never been a piece she associated with her mother, not consciously. And now she understands that all the music from her childhood might be a latent trigger.
"It doesn't matter," Tifa says again as she wipes the remains of her tears away. "I didn't even know that piece would make me react like this." She lets out a short, cutting laugh. "Can we just leave it?"
Cloud says nothing for a minute, then sighs and gets up. "Alright. You wanna go back?"
She nods and leads him towards the parking lot, wordlessly offering him a lift. Cloud follows in silence. As they pass before the main entrance to the Music pavilion, Tifa hears her name; she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and turns around to face Vincent. She senses Cloud hovering behind her.
"Are you feeling better?" Vincent asks. He hides his hands in his pockets, the casual gesture betrayed by the shuffling of his feet.
Tifa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear; her throat closes up for a moment, but she finds her voice quickly enough. "I'm fine, thank you."
"You know…" Vincent hesitates, then says, "I think you should come back next week." His gaze doesn't waver at her silence. "I'm sure that it'd help in the long run."
Her grip tightens around the strap of her bag. "I'll, uh, think about it. I promise."
"Yeah, whenever you want. It can be another day. Just text me, okay?" He waits for her to nod before he asks, "Are you okay to get home?"
The warmth of Cloud's hand on the middle of her back seeps through Tifa, a reassuring touch. "I can drive," he tells her.
"Okay." She twists to glance at him, gratitude warming her. "Thank you."
"Perfect," Vincent says, bringing her attention back to him. "I'll see you around, right?"
"Yeah, of course." Tifa isn't sure if she's lying, but she figures it's the right answer to give. "Bye, Vincent."
"Have a good night." He waves before heading in the opposite direction from the parking lot.
Cloud's hand slides away from her back. "Come on, let's head back."
Once they get to her car, Tifa hands him the keys, glad he offered; the drive to their building is silent. When they reach their floor, nervousness at being alone trickles through her—the thought of being alone in her apartment and seeing the piano paralyzes her. Still, she keeps it to herself, not wanting to ask for too much. To her, it's already more than enough that he came to help. But Cloud speaks before she can.
"Want me to stay with you?"
Tifa gulps back the rising emotions warring inside her and nods. "Can we go at yours?"
In answer, Cloud grabs her hand and goes down the corridor towards his door. Something loosens inside Tifa once she steps inside his apartment—it's a safe place for her to be away from the piano that could spark more memories she doesn't want to relive.
Tifa takes off her boots and her jacket before going to lie on the couch. She hears Cloud walk in his room and then come back into the living room. He stops before the couch, staring down at her in a silent question. With a sigh, Tifa sits up; he chuckles and takes a seat next to her.
"Are you hungry? I already ate, but I'm sure I have something edible around."
"It's fine. Maybe later," she amends when she remembers how long it has been since she last ate.
"Sure." Cloud digs his phone out of his pocket, frowning at the screen before putting it on the coffee table.
"Your brother again?"
He falls back against the cushions, twisting to face her and throwing an arm over the back of the sofa; his hand rests near her neck, and he plays with the loose strands of hair that escaped her ponytail.
"Not exactly," he says. "Seph's been really silent these days." Cloud sighs and pulls his hand back to his side.
For the last three weeks, Cloud and her have fallen into a rhythm that suits them. But this also means they spend more time together, and as such, Tifa has come to know some of his tells.
"Are you worried?" she asks, keeping her voice gentle.
The look he sends her makes her think he is both relieved and wary that she can read him well enough now. "Yeah, kinda." He runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it into an even bigger mess. "It's just…he's so weird sometimes. He'll call and text non-stop for weeks and then go radio silent for days. Or he'll give me shitty one-word replies." Cloud grabs his phone. "I'll show you."
Tifa holds in her surprise—Cloud has never been reluctant to speak about his brother, but he's never been fully open about it. He searches for something in the messages, his frown deepening as he scrolls.
"It's like he has these mood swings," Cloud says suddenly. "I never noticed before, but looking through everything again…" He trails off, blinking in puzzlement at his screen. "He went back to live with our Mom in Kalm three months ago because he lost his job."
Tifa hums, encouraging him to continue.
"Denzel says he's been irritable when they interact, and most of the time they don't."
"Denzel?"
Cloud puts the phone down. "My little brother. He's sixteen." She nods so he can carry on. "I just realized… If I miss Seph's calls, he's never up to talk when I call back. Like if we talk it has to be on his terms." He falls silent, staring at the black screen of his phone.
Tifa debates her next words, not wanting to interrupt him; when it's clear he's done talking for now, she says, "This is just what I think, but it sounds like he's trying to reach out to you." His head snaps up at her words. "He wants your help. Perhaps he just doesn't know how to ask."
"Fuck," Cloud whispers. He ruffles his hair again. "I think you're right. Seph's always been…withdrawn, I guess. We never got along that well, so we aren't close. I don't know if—"
"Cloud." Tifa leans forward, covering his hand with hers. "Just ask him. If he wants your help and you make that step, I'm sure he'll appreciate. Ask him what is happening, what he needs, even if it's just listening to him."
He exhales loudly, then nods. "Yeah, you're right. I've just been focusing on how it affects me, I haven't given what is going on proper thought." Cloud tugs on her hand so she falls against him; he cups the back of her neck and tilts her head back. His kiss is hard at first, surprising her, but it melts into indolence. "Thanks," he says once he pulls back.
Tifa smiles, content to see him feel better. "You're welcome."
Cloud releases his hold on her neck but stays where he is and keeps her close. "Tifa, about what happened earlier—" He shakes his head as she goes to cut him off. "Please, just tell me."
"Fine," she breathes out, a little annoyed that he brought the topic back up. She quells the emotion, knowing it's unfair of her to think this way. "It was Liszt's Un sospiro. But Cloud, you can't keep a list of everything that does—this to me." She rolls her eyes at the just watch me look he gives her. "You know I'm right."
"I don't, actually." He reaches out behind her to undo her ponytail, being careful while tugging the elastic away to avoid tangling the strands. "Are you gonna go back there?"
Tifa closes her eyes as the tension from having her hair tied up eases. "You mean the Music department?"
"Yeah."
"I think so." She opens her eyes once his hands leave her hair. "I think I owe to myself to try at least another time."
"You don't have to, you know?" At her inquisitive glance, he adds, "Whatever happened, it left a huge impact on you. Don't force yourself to see past it if you're not ready."
"I don't think I'll ever be ready," she admits, her voice low and reticent. "But it has to end at some point."
Though Cloud's uncertainty is written all over his face, he doesn't object. "That was the Master's student who played for you?"
"Yeah, Vincent. He's practicing for an event and invited me to come listen when he caught me outside his practice room." She chuckles at the memory. "I looked like an idiot, but he took it in stride."
"When you—" Cloud stops, searching for the right word. "When you panicked earlier, he was okay with you?"
"Uh-uh. I think he understood what was happening a little. Since he plays," she goes on at his silence. "But he didn't push if that's what you're asking."
Cloud gives a sharp nod. "That's good." He gets to his feet and gestures at her to do the same. "C'mon, you gotta eat now. No objections."
"Fine," Tifa sighs, doing what she can to mask her slight smile.
Cloud heats leftovers for her, and she gulps the food down, her hunger rearing its head. Once she's finished washing her dishes, Tifa walks back into the living room to find Cloud staring at his phone again. She can tell their previous conversation about his brother weighs on him, and she knows it's for the best if he calls Seph tonight before he changes his mind. Tifa drops a hand over Cloud's shoulder and squeezes.
"I'm gonna go back, okay?"
He twists around. "You don't have to," he says, sounding a little perplexed.
She points at his phone. "You should call your brother, no?"
"Yeah, but it's fine, you can stay."
Her hand slides away from his shoulder. "I'd like to be alone for a while," she says gently to soften the blow.
Tifa notices the way Cloud winces even though the movement is subtle. "Sorry, I didn't think of that." He clears his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Text me if there's anything, though, alright?"
"Yeah, don't worry." She pecks his cheek. "Good night."
"You, too."
The way he sighs the words fractures her heart a little, but Tifa still gathers her things and walks down the hall to her place. It's only once she's inside that she admits to herself that she wanted to stay.
—
A/N: Are those...feelings I hear coming in the distance...?