A/N: Hi, friends! Found some time so here we are.

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Rêverie - Debussy

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A Sea of Silence

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8: Rêverie

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The door to Cloud's apartment looms before Tifa; the thought of seeing him still embarrasses her a little, but there is no avoiding Cloud forever. She doesn't want to, anyway. With that in mind, Tifa knocks and waits. It doesn't take long for footsteps to be heard and for the door to open. Cloud doesn't appear surprised to see her there, but there is a certain awkwardness surrounding him, as if he's unsure how to act. Tifa figures the same applies to her.

"Hi," she says, "can I come in?"

He moves to let her pass. "Yeah, of course."

She walks into the living room, waiting for him; the door shuts, and she catches on to his pause before he comes to stand before her, leaning against the arm of the couch. Tifa crosses her arms over her chest as they stare at each other for a moment; now that she's here, the words she had meant to say escape her.

"How are you?" His voice is soft, maybe a little hesitant.

"I'm fine." She looks down. "Sorry about how I reacted on Friday."

He sighs. "Tifa, no, don't apologize. Zack was in the wrong, and believe me, he knows."

"Well, that's true…" Tifa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "What did you tell him?"

"That it wasn't any of his business," Cloud says with a frown. "What we have is between us. Isn't that what we agreed on?"

It takes Tifa a few seconds to reply. Something about his lack of explanation to Zack bugs her; it feels both sincere and dishonest. But she can't deny it is what they decided together. "Yes. I was just wondering."

"Tifa…" He fidgets with his watch. "Are we okay?"

"I just needed some time. I mean, I was really embarrassed, and you reminded me too much of what happened." She takes in his terse nod. "What's wrong?"

"I just… You're my friend," he says quietly. "I don't want to lose that."

His words startle her, and she's uncertain why. Maybe it's the honesty she hears in his voice and how it makes her realize Cloud really sees her as a friend despite everything. And then she chastises herself for thinking it could have been different. From the start, they defined what they are, and she knew better than to let her mind wander. But she finds it did wander against her will; the awareness makes her uncomfortable, and she flees his gaze.

"Don't worry about that," she ends up saying.

Cloud doesn't relax at her answer. While she figures she should probably add something to alleviate his worries, right now she can't find the will to. She both wants for things to change and for them to return as they were; it makes standing here in heavy silence unbearable.

"I need to go back to study," she lies. If he sees through it, he keeps it to himself. "I'll speak to Zack when I feel ready to. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Alright."

The flash of disappointment in his eyes is what convinces Tifa to turn around and walk for the door. Once she's back inside her apartment, the music starts; it's nothing more than the echo of a soft rock song, and Tifa wonders if he lowered the volume out of consideration for her even when she's told him it's not a bother.

It's dark and cold in the apartment—Tifa turns on a few lights as she heads for her bedroom. She wants a distraction from her thoughts and putting away laundry will do just that. The mechanical work doesn't keep her busy for long; as she gets to the bottom of the basket, she finds a dark blue men's turtleneck. Tifa blinks in surprise, having forgotten Cloud had left this over once and she'd washed it. She picks it up and debates going back to his place to give it back—but for some reason, she doesn't want to. All the things she hadn't wanted to think about rush back as she sits on the edge of her bed. She has to redefine what her relationship with Cloud means; there's no point in denying she might like him anymore, and lying to herself won't help.

Tifa bites her lip as she runs her hand over the sweater. The part of her that wants things to return to normal longs to act. It's simpler to choose this direction than to wonder and worry about possibilities that won't see the light of day. Maybe she felt too comfortable in her friendship with Cloud; maybe she shouldn't have entered a sexual relationship with someone who saw a deeply buried facet of her soul. She's not sure why she puts on the turtleneck—she takes the easy way out and tells herself the chill of the apartment got too much and it looked cozy. Once it's on, Tifa feels the coveted warmth seep into her. A trickle of embarrassment follows, but she chases it away.

It's already late, but she keeps busy with chores and studying until fatigue settles in. As she takes off her pants to change into her pajamas, Tifa remembers she's still wearing Cloud's sweater; she catches her reflection in her standing mirror. She finds herself liking the way the turtleneck hugs her chest and is baggy around her waist; the way the hem skims the top of her thighs and the sleeves fall over her fingers. Her bare legs transform the look into something a bit indecent, a bit provocative. She likes it, though—and she bites her lip as she realizes she wants Cloud to see her like this. A blush spreads over her cheeks, the latent embarrassment surfacing. But it doesn't deter her as she picks up her phone.

She takes a few photos of herself in the mirror, getting different angles, lifting up the sweater teasingly at times. When she scrolls through them, her face heats even more. There's nothing blatantly explicit about most of the pictures, but they still make her shy. Tifa throws her phone on the bed before putting on her pajamas. She goes about her routine, doing her best to shove the pictures out of her mind. But as she plugs the phone to charge and sees her unread message from Cloud, panic overtakes her—she didn't send the photos by accident, did she? But Cloud's message is a simple i have something on tuesday so go on without me. It takes Tifa a second to understand what he means and then remember she usually drives them to school. She types a quick reply telling him it's fine, but something about it doesn't feel fine. And she thinks maybe Cloud doesn't know where they stand either—maybe he is avoiding her. She wouldn't be surprised if it was the case. This, more than anything else, is what decides for her—before she can think of possibilities, she has to fall back into what they have for now.

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The message comes in on a Thursday morning as Tifa gets ready. When she sees the name of the sender, she can't help her grimace.

Zack: can we meet to talk later?

With a sigh, Tifa sits down on her bed, debating her answer. While she knows she can't run away from Zack forever—though it is tempting—it still isn't easy for her to meet him. She reminds herself it's like a band-aid—better to rip it off as quickly as possible.

Tifa:what time? i have an exam at 12h. ends at 15h

Zack: right after your exam? the student lounge in the computer science wing.

Tifa: alright

The thought of going to the Computer Science wing makes her think she hasn't seen or heard from Cloud since Sunday almost two weeks back, which only solidified her suspicions that he might be avoiding her. With a huff, Tifa walks to her closet to get her clothes for the day; as she grabs a skirt and tights, she sees Cloud's turtleneck still folded on the top of her dresser. She'd meant to give it back to him, but something had stopped her—if he wanted his sweater back, the least he could do is talk to her. Tifa glances between the turtleneck and the skirt in her hand; if she wants to regain her footing with Cloud, she has to make the first step, that much is obvious.

The sweater fits better once tucked into her skirt, the cinched waist preventing it from looking too big. As she goes to put her tights, she hesitates and then grabs black thigh highs; there's no doubt those are the best way to incite a reaction out of him. She braids her hair, grabs her bag and her jacket, puts on her boots, and leaves for school. Staying in any longer will make her overthink and change her mind.

The rest of her morning goes by quickly; by the time her last exam of the semester is over, Tifa has almost forgotten about Zack until she glances at her phone and sees another message from him. Her resolve to meet him wavers, but she sends a brief reply saying she's on her way. Rip off the band-aid, she reminds herself.

The student lounge is easy to find, and Zack even easier to spot; he gets up as soon as he spots her and hands her a coffee without a word. Tifa takes it with a strained smile as they sit; she shoves her jacket into her bag and puts it on the floor.

"I didn't know what you wanted for the coffee, so I brought a bit of everything," he says. He rummages through his backpack to find a small paper bag filled with cream singles and sugar packets.

"Thanks." Tifa picks what she needs from the bag.

As she dumps the cream and sugar into her coffee, he says, "I'm really, really, really sorry."

Though his apology brings her back to that Friday, she focuses on the present; still, she finds it hard to meet his eyes. "I know you didn't do it on purpose."

"No, but I still shouldn't have come in." He gives her a sheepish smile. "I don't always think before I act."

Tifa takes a sip of the coffee. Her silence makes Zack fidget, and she lets him stew for a minute.

"What did Cloud tell you?" The question leaves her before she can swallow it down.

"Mostly how much of a dumb fuck I am," Zack says with a wince. "But if you mean about you and him, he didn't say anything." He plays with the cardboard sleeve around his coffee cup.

She recognizes the nervous gesture for what it is and sighs. "What is it you want to say?"

"Cloud doesn't really date." The way he speaks is careful, as if he's afraid to hurt her.

"I'm aware," she says.

Zack looks away from her. "Okay, I just wanted you to know."

"Do you know why?"

"He tried when he was younger." He shrugs. "Never worked out, I guess. Then he fell into the habit of these, uh, relationships."

Tifa nods before drinking more coffee. Zack runs a hand through his hair as her silence stretches. She's not trying to make him uncomfortable this time—it's more that she doesn't know what to say.

"You know," he says softly, "that doesn't mean he doesn't care."

The statement doesn't surprise her, but it still twists her heart. "Oh. Yeah, I guess I knew that."

"He cares about you."

She sighs, not wanting to go down that road. Not now. "Zack—"

"I could see it." At this, she glares at him, making him flinch. "I promise this is the only time I'll bring it up!" More quietly, he adds, "Cloud is a big softie inside, but he likes to act tough."

His phone beeps, startling them both out of the conversation, and Tifa is glad it gives her a reprieve from answering. Zack looks at the message before turning to her.

"Aerith says she's on her way with your other friend. Yuffie?" He waits for her nod to continue. "And Cloud was supposed to meet me in about thirty minutes, but he says he's already done with his exam. You wanna stay?"

Tifa takes a big gulp of coffee; she had planned on seeing Cloud anyway, but the public setting discourages her a bit. Still, she says, "Yeah, sure."

"Hey. We okay?"

Zack's voice lacks his usual confidence, and though she had already planned on forgiving him, it sways her in his favor. "We are only if you never speak of what happened again."

"I swear it," he says, solemn.

His seriousness, though genuine, makes her chuckle. "I'll give you one more chance."

"One more chance for what?"

Tifa jumps at Aerith's voice behind her, almost spilling coffee on her lap. Zack grins and scoots to make space for Aerith. Thankfully, she doesn't push her questioning.

"Have you seen Reno?" Yuffie plops down on another couch. She waves her hand around. "You two are so obsessed with the other, I figure you might have an idea."

"Uh, I don't," Zack says. His smirk lets Tifa know he isn't telling the truth, but she doesn't comment on it.

From the corner of her eyes, Tifa spots Cloud walking into the lounge. He halts when he spots them but then resumes walking towards the occupied couches. With a greeting nod, he takes a place on the same couch as Yuffie. Tifa tries to catch his gaze as he focuses on taking out his water bottle and staring at anything but her. He's a little too far for her to speak with him without directing all the attention on them. Annoyance builds within her—he could at least make an effort at being normal. She tries to reason with herself, remembering how awkward he can be.

As the conversation flows between the group, Cloud grabs his phone, and Tifa sees this as an opportunity. She had never sent the pictures she took that night, alternating between feeling too shy about it and being too irritated with his avoidance to consider it seriously. But his lack of acknowledgment today is the push she needed, and Tifa takes out her phone, placing the coffee cup on a nearby table. She runs her tongue over her lip as she chooses which photos to send. Her blush stays under control, maybe because of her determination. She picks two pictures—a simple shot from the front to showcase the turtleneck, and one from a side angle where the hem of the sweater is up just enough to be teasing. As she goes to send them, Tifa decides to add a third, more provocative one where she holds the turtleneck at midriff level. Before she can hesitate, she types you forgot something the other day and hits 'send'.

Tifa has to hide her forming smirk behind her hand as she watches Cloud frown as he gets a new message; he opens it while he brings his bottle up to drink. She bites her lip to hold in the laughter as he chokes on his gulp of water.

"You okay, man?"

Everyone turns to Cloud as he taps on his chest and coughs up whatever went down the wrong way. "Yeah, I'm fine," he rasps.

"Are you sure?" Tifa asks with concern and innocent eyes.

Cloud gives a terse nod but at last looks at her; she takes the opportunity to cross her legs, putting on display the thigh highs she's wearing. The smile that threatens to spread as his eyes stray to her legs can barely be held back. When his gaze goes up to find her in his sweater, Cloud rubs his cheek with his hand and turns his head away. Tifa isn't even pretending to listen to the ongoing conversation between the others as she observes Cloud—maybe she finds a little too much satisfaction in seeing him react like this.

It's the stomping coming towards the lounge that alerts Tifa; she twists her head to see an angry Reno heading straight for them. She gasps as she spots all the fine glitter stuck to his clothes and hair.

"Zack, I think you should run," she says loudly.

On cue, Reno shouts, "I'll fucking kill you!"

"Oh, this is good." Zack grabs Aerith's hand and stands up before Reno can be upon them. "Someone please immortalize this for me!" He runs in the opposite direction from Reno, dragging Aerith with him, who waves at Tifa with a huge smile.

"You look cute," Yuffie coos as she takes pictures of Reno once he's close enough. "Turn a little to catch the light, would you?"

The glare he sends her only makes her snicker. "You're such a fucking traitor."

Yuffie shrugs and twirls her finger in a signal to turn for a better angle.

"You," Reno hisses at Cloud, "I know you helped him."

Cloud's eyes dart between the nearest exit and Reno, and he springs up, picking up his bag and indicating at Tifa to do the same. She reacts in time to follow him; Cloud turns on his heels before they leave the lounge and gives Reno a mocking salute.

"You're all cowards!"

Cloud laughs as they retreat, the sound loud and warm, and Tifa thinks this might be the first time she hears such freedom from him. He leads them around the Computer Science wing until they reach a corridor giving way to a staircase.

"I think we lost him a long time ago," Tifa says, a little amused. "Are you that afraid of him?"

"No way." He opens the door to an empty classroom; the wall of windows brightens the room, and Cloud doesn't turn on the lights. Tifa's pulse accelerates as she walks in and the door shuts behind her.

"What is it you want to talk about?" she asks, having an idea and playing innocent.

"Who says I want to talk?" He grabs her hand and pulls them deeper into the room, away from the door.

Tifa isn't surprised when he kisses her and pushes into her until she's backed against the nearest desk. Her bag drops to the floor, and she grips the lapels of his jacket. Cloud tilts her head back as he breaks away so she has no choice but to look at him.

"So we're really okay?"

She's not sure if the breathiness of his voice is from having run around or from the kiss—probably both, but she likes to think it's from the latter. "I already said we were."

"You didn't seem sure," he says, the hesitancy in his tone obvious.

"Well, I am." Tifa pulls back to sit on top of the desk behind her. "You do know avoiding me wasn't going to solve anything, right?"

He's unable to meet her eyes as he says, "I didn't know what to do."

"You could have just talked to me." Despite wanting to sound firm, her voice comes out too quiet, too unsure. "That's what friends do."

With a loud sigh, Cloud rests his forehead on her shoulder. "You're right." He stays like this for a moment, and Tifa lets him. When he raises his head, there is still a trace of indecisiveness on his face.

"Did you like my pictures?" Tifa asks, hoping to shift the mood towards something more light-hearted.

He stares at her, blinking a few times, then shakes his head. "You planned this." Tifa widens her eyes on purpose, holding in her smile. Cloud tugs the turtleneck out from her skirt. "My sweater," he says, sliding his hands along her ribcage, stopping below her bra. "The thigh highs," he adds as he then runs his hands over the exposed skin of her legs. "When you sent those pictures, all I could think about was fucking you while that's all you're wearing."

"Well…" She smiles, warm and inviting. Part of her is grateful she managed to bring them back to known territory; she prefers not to dwell on the other part.

Cloud lets out a short groan. "Not here, yeah."

"Uh-uh."

He kisses her again, harder this time and with a want she found herself missing; the way her heartbeat escalates at the contact scares her, but Tifa focuses on the heat of his skin and the bite of his kiss. The ringtone echoing in the room doesn't register at first—even as Cloud pulls back and the ringing becomes too loud, she makes a noise of protest.

"It's your phone," he says with a chuckle.

She grips his jacket to bring him back to her. "I don't care."

"Tifa—" Her name dies on his lips, buried by her kiss. "Tifa," he tries again, "you're making this very hard."

"Hm? This?" She rubs him over his jeans, eliciting a curse from him. A little amused, Tifa pulls her hand back and hops down the desk. Cloud stares at her as she fishes her cellphone out of her bag. To her surprise, the call was from Vincent; he sent her a text saying he won't be at the practice room tomorrow and he'd like her to call him back.

"You're terrible," Cloud huffs as she continues to ignore him.

"A little payback never hurt anyone." She picks up her bag and gives him a sly smile. "I'll see you back home." His grumbled goodbye trails after her as she exits the classroom.

As she walks towards the parking, Tifa tries to put aside the mess of emotions whirling in her chest, deciding now isn't the time—she doesn't want to face the way her heart jumped and twisted, or the hurt she felt as Cloud's avoidance. Instead, she calls back Vincent in hopes it will take her mind off other matters.

"Hey," he answers on the third ring.

"Hey yourself." Tifa avoids the noisy crowd of students celebrating the end of their semester. "What's up?"

She isn't surprised when he gets straight to the point. "The date for the event moved," he says, annoyance clear in his voice. "It's on February 11th now."

"Oh, that's a month less to practice."

He hums his agreement. "And I needed that month. I'm sorry, but I'll need all my practice time now."

Tifa lets out a soft laugh; she walks outs of the main building and into the darkness of the evening. "That's fine, I understand."

"Yeah, I knew you would." His matter-of-fact tone is a reminder that music is what binds them. "Have you chosen a piece yet?"

His question startles her, and she almost drops her car keys as she pulls them out of her bag. "Uh, not really."

Vincent takes it in stride as if he had expected her answer. "Okay, that's fine. You know you can text me if—"

"But I was thinking—" Tifa cuts him off but then shuts her mouth. Her pulse pounds in her throat.

"Yeah?"

She takes a deep breath. "I was thinking maybe Rêverie." At his silence, she adds, "I have it at home. I played it before, so I think this might make it easier."

"That's good," Vincent says, not giving her the time to backtrack. "As long as it's something you want to learn. Try sight-reading the right hand just to get a feel of it."

Tifa sits in her car. "I'm not sure when I'll play it, though."

"Whenever you feel like it." She hears the shuffling of papers and figures he must be in the practice room again. "Tifa, there's no rush and no deadline on this. Don't force it."

She sags against her seat, eyes closed. "You're right. Again," she says dryly. He chuckles at this. "Thanks, Vincent. I'll let you know how it goes."

"Anytime. I'll see you next year, then?"

"Yeah, of course. See you, Vincent."

He hangs up, and Tifa puts the phone in the cupholder. As she goes to start the car, her hand freezes as what she said to Vincent catches up to her; she sighs and drops her head on the steering wheel. While she doesn't feel fully ready, there is an itch in her fingers that longs for the music to flow again. Maybe tonight she could at least take out the partition—just glance at it, read the music in her head and discern the rhythm. But at the same time, this idea of preparation appears even worse than sitting at the piano and sight-reading the piece. This is a decision for later, she thinks as she pulls out of the parking and drives home—no point in dwelling on it for the moment.

Her evening goes by fast as she cleans up her apartment a little and then eats a quick supper. When Cloud texts her, it's twenty past seven. His simple are you back yet makes her snort; there's no way he didn't hear the noise she was making, but she appreciates him asking rather than just knocking on her door. She types back yes, door is unlocked and throws the phone on the couch. Cloud walks in five minutes later as she is sorting through her box of partitions. She took it out earlier to motivate herself, but only ended up looking through it as a distraction from her heart beating too fast at the thought of Cloud showing up.

She looks up from where she is on the piano bench, a greeting on her lips, but it fizzles out at the sight of his downhearted expression. Tifa stands up, almost toppling the box to the ground. "What happened?"

Cloud ruffles his hair, the gesture frustrated and filled with tension. He falls down on the couch and keeps his eyes on the ceiling. "I told Mom about Seph."

"Oh." At his silence, Tifa sits on the bench again, getting the impression that Cloud needs distance right now. "About him not being okay?"

"Yeah, I don't know." He exhales loudly. "He wanted me to keep it to myself, but I can't do that, not when he's—" Cloud takes a deep breath. "He's not doing better."

"Is it worse?" Tifa asks.

"I don't know about worse, but it's not better."

"Cloud." She waits for him to look at her, but his stare stays on the ceiling. "Cloud," she says again, more firmly. This time, his eyes meet hers. "If you told your mom it's because you thought it was bad enough to warrant it."

Cloud sighs, and she hates how tired he sounds. "I know. I figured she could help him, but now he's shutting her out even more. And he's mad at me, too." He rests his elbow on the arm of the couch and hides his face in his hand. It takes a couple of minutes for him to speak again; Tifa allows him the time to collect his thoughts. "I feel so—" He breathes in and out a few times. "I feel fucking useless right now. I'm not helping, I'm just fucking things up even more."

Tifa closes her hands into fists; her nails dig into her palms, but she barely registers the slight pain. "Cloud… you know that's not true."

"No, it is." The way he says the words—simple and quiet—tells her he believes them. "I didn't realize what was happening, and I didn't offer support until recently. And now I made everything worse."

"But did you?" Cloud doesn't look up at her question; it doesn't deter Tifa. "It's a little early to tell, no? I'm sure your mother will help, and hopefully it will get through to Seph. You should keep trying, Cloud."

"Yeah?" He speaks in little more than a rasp, and it hits her how deeply this is affecting him. "What if I just…keep on fucking up? What am I even supposed to do?" Frustration laces his words. "I'm being selfish, but this whole thing is—haunting me, Tifa. I'm scared." His voice breaks at the confession. "I'm scared of not doing enough, of not listening enough, of not—fucking being enough. I just want him to be okay. Is that too much to ask?" he whispers.

The weight of his admission settles over Tifa; it's heavy in its defeat and guilt, and her chest aches as she watches Cloud drown in his regret and anger. "No," she says, "it's not."

Cloud takes a deep breath again, but this time he stays quiet as if he's exhausted all he has to say. The silence suffocates them—and Tifa knows Cloud can't stand it any more than she can. That's what she tells herself as she grabs the partition for Rêverie and places the box on the floor. Cloud doesn't react as she moves, too lost in his own head. Tifa sets the partition on the stand, opens it on the first page, and positions her right hand over the piano; her foot finds the pedal on its own. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she marvels at how effortless this all is—at how right it feels, almost. But all she can truly think of right now is how to ease the harshness of the silence.

Her finger bears down on the first note, the clearness of it ringing out in the room. Tifa counts the beat—one, two—and then plays the second note, a softer-sounding one. In her head, the accompaniment plays of its own accord, a memory brought to life by her impulse to play. As she follows along the score—slower than the desired rhythm at first, then settling into a comfortable one—Tifa cannot absorb what she is doing or what it means. She can only play as best as she can, making mistakes along the way but ignoring them to push forward; if she stops to contemplate, this will be over, and she doesn't want this to be over. She wants this to go on and on and on—she wants this to help.

She gets to what she remembers being her favorite part; without realizing it, she hums along. The chords, played lightly and maybe even playfully, give way to twinkling triplets which heralds the return of the main theme. The anticipation of the end builds within her; the chords return, sounding more somber this time around. She thinks of that moment when you are lost in a daydream; when you know you have to fall back to reality, and yet the prospect has never looked more terrible—and still you wake up.

This is how she feels as her hand lifts away from the keys, the last note echoing in the room from her hold on the pedal—like she's opening her eyes from a dream; perhaps these years without the music were the dream and she finally woke up. At once, anxiety catches up with her and she pulls her hands back from the piano. Her breathing speeds up, but she keeps it under control, not wanting to alert Cloud. She twists on the bench to glance at him; though he hasn't moved, she can see the tension in his shoulders has lessened. It gives her the courage to stay at the piano.

"Do you want me to keep playing?" she asks, a little shy. "I know it's not great, but—"

"It's perfect, Tifa." She hears the weariness and the gratefulness warring in his voice. "If you don't mind…" He trails off, but she understands his meaning.

She nods, even if he can't see her. As Tifa turns back to the piano and flips the pages back to the beginning, a certain tranquility blankets her. It's almost unearthly, she thinks, like she's not really here as she plays, but rather locked away in her own mind, lulled by the music she creates. In a way, it is not her who is playing—it's the ghost of a rejected past that reads the notes and controls her fingers. Once Tifa has gone through Rêverie twice, she moves on to something else, picking partitions out of memory. They're early intermediate pieces that she played a long time ago, but they are the ones she can handle at the moment; their easy nature allows her not to overthink each note. Tifa can't tell how long she plays. When she finally turns around to face Cloud, he rests his head on the back of the couch, eyes closed and arms crossed as if lost in thought, or even sleeping. But he sits up when the silence stretches; he stares at her for a beat too long before giving her a slight smile.

"Thank you," he says, so soft she barely hears it.

"Don't worry about it." She does her best to keep her voice from shaking as the significance of what she did slams into her.

She played piano—and she played it for Cloud.

"You look tired," she blurts out. "It's not late, but maybe you should sleep?"

Cloud hesitates before nodding and standing up, a blank expression in place. "You're right. Thanks for playing, Tifa."

"Oh, no—" He freezes at this. "Hm, I didn't mean you had to leave," she carries on. Once the words are out, she almost regrets them, but it's too late to take them back.

The way his shoulders sag confirms she made the right choice. "Okay, thank you. Are you staying up?"

Tifa nods, attempting to hold his stare even if all she wants is to hide from it. Inside her chest, her heart threatens to burst.

"Alright," he says with another small smile, "good night."

"Good night," she whispers back as he walks for the back of the apartment and towards the bedroom.

She waits until he's done with his routine and the door to the bedroom has shut before letting the tears fall. They're few and silent, but each one expels a darkness she carried for too long. Tifa doesn't wipe them away; they remind her of what she accomplished tonight. At some point, she realizes they dried off, and only then can she breathe freely again. It's strange at first, like she hadn't know something had spread in her lungs, making a home that festered and seeped poison. Tifa turns back to the piano and locks the practice pedal; there is something in her that can't be sated right now, an energy that prevents her from doing anything else but play. It's clumsy as she starts Rêverie again and adds the left hand, but it doesn't matter. Nothing else matters, she finds as she plays until her fingers dance with more ease over the keys—until the notes sound right.

Nothing else matters until Tifa pauses to check the time and discovers it's past ten. Only then does she become aware that the ache in her chest didn't dissipate, and she hides her face in her hands as if she could hide from the truth. Even if she tried to convince herself all she wanted was for her friend to feel better, she'd know she'd be lying. Ever since she met Cloud as he moved in months ago, she's been aware that music is the way he copes. It would have been much easier for her to get up and play music from her computer. It would have been the way she would have comforted any of her friends in this situation. But it hadn't felt right to do so—it hadn't felt honest. If she had denied the impulse, she would have lied to herself—and to him, in a way.

"Tifa?"

She jumps at Cloud's voice and takes a moment to steady herself before twisting on the bench, surprised she didn't notice him before. He leans against the couch, his stance so much more relaxed compared to earlier, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt; his hair is its usual mess, and he rubs the sleepiness away from his eyes. Tifa gulps as the reality of her feelings shapes itself in her mind—there is no more closing her eyes, she thinks.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," she says, her voice cracking on the last word. She clears her throat.

"You didn't. I mean, the piano didn't."

"But you heard it?"

He shrugs. "Once I woke up, yeah. It was faint, though, so don't worry."

She can't find her words, so she keeps silent, only nodding to tell him she heard.

"You wanna come sleep?" he asks.

With another nod, Tifa gets to her feet, pushing the bench under the piano and moving the box of partitions out of the way and unto the coffee table. As she brushes her teeth, she tries not to overthink or to let her emotions overwhelm her, but her efforts shatter once she walks into the bedroom and sees Cloud sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes on his phone.

"Hey," she says as she comes closer, "that's enough for tonight."

He doesn't protest when she takes the phone from his hand and places it on the nightstand. When she pads back in front of him, Cloud tilts his head back to look at her face.

"Are you okay?"

The way he asks is curious, with little worry. And Tifa knows then that Cloud didn't understand the implication of her playing the piano. As far as he knows, she's been playing for a while now, at least ever since that time he came to check up on her. She can't blame him—she's the one who kept him in the dark despite his constant presence and thoughtfulness when she had her panic attacks. But the knowledge that Cloud can't comprehend this soothes her for now; it's already enough to absorb the realization that she likes him a little too much on her own. She doesn't need his reaction adding to it.

Maybe it's the budding peace she makes with her feelings and with their strength that makes her smile—but really, she doesn't care enough to dig deeper. For tonight, she's had her fill. "I'm fine," she says. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah, a little." Cloud reaches out and tugs on the turtleneck she's still wearing. "You should keep it. Looks better on you."

Tifa holds her breath for a second—then leans down to kiss him. He makes a sound of surprise but recovers, taking the insistence of her touches in stride. Her hands frame his face as she deepens her kiss, only pulling back to unzip her skirt and slide her underwear off. Cloud groans as she crawls on the bed; he turns to stare at her wearing his sweater and her thigh highs, and Tifa bites her lip in delight as he runs a hand over his face.

"Isn't that what you wanted earlier?" she asks with a teasing lilt to her voice.

He sends her a half-hearted glare. "You know the answer to that."

"Well..." She raises her eyebrow in a silent challenge.

Cloud takes off his shirt and climbs on the bed until he leans over her; his hand slides under the turtleneck, pushing the hem up. The corner of his lips lift. "What do you want?"

His question is purely sexual, and Tifa knows it. Still, in the wake of her realization tonight, it feels too charged for her to answer, so she says, "What you want," only to find that it's closer to the truth than she would like.

But he doesn't seem to be aware of this; Cloud simply kisses her, full of need and a little unrestrained. The sliver of wildness fits Tifa just fine as her longing gets lost in it. He shoves the sweater all the way up over her breasts, giving her a playful smile when he sees she's not wearing a bra.

Tifa rolls her eyes. "I don't know one girl who wears her bra in the house."

"You don't hear me complaining," he says with a short laugh. Cloud bends forward to drop kisses over her chest, licking and nipping; his hands glide along her sides, up and down, and then over her thighs. His lips find hers again, and Tifa sighs in his mouth.

It becomes almost surreal to her at once—the way his hands are almost rough as he turns her around so she lies on her stomach; the slide of his skin on hers as he leans to cover her back in gentle bites and wet kisses; the overload of sensations as he sinks into her, his hands on her hips gripping her tightly. Tifa moans as he begins to thrust into her—there is no teasing, no playfulness, not anymore. She rests her forehead on the bed and grips the covers, glad she doesn't have to look at him right now; she knows there would be no masking what she feels.

"Fuck, Tifa," he breathes out, running a hand over her back and then to her midriff. He pulls her up against his chest, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Tifa's head rests on his shoulder, and she closes her eyes; her breathing turns erratic and her body tenses. It feels like her heart is about to explode, or maybe shatter—she can't really say. Her hand seeks his, gripping it so tight her nails dig into his skin. Cloud's lips find her neck as he frees his hand only to grab hers and guide them down along her belly. She whimpers as their joined hands brush against her, softly at first but then firmly.

"Look at me," Cloud whispers in her ear, his uneven breaths warming her skin.

Tifa shakes her head and keeps her eyes closed. Her free hand finds his in a desperate attempt to hold unto something, and he intertwines their fingers, folding their arms across her chest. As the tautness of her body builds faster and harder, Tifa whines and turns her head to hide her face in his neck. His soft, repeated swears mix with her breathy sighs of his name. Tifa cries out as she comes, the grip she has on his hand tightening to the point of pain. Cloud rasps more curses in her ear as he comes, too, and then she can only hear their pants resonating in the dark room. Eyes still closed, Tifa doesn't move away and doesn't let go of his hand. He releases the hold he has on hers where they're still joined; she senses the caress of his touch over her stomach, then up along her chest until he reaches her head where he tangles his fingers in the mess of her hair.

"Tifa," he says gently, "look at me."

The pressure he has on her head isn't forcing her to move, but she does anyway, aware she can't hide from him forever. Still, she takes her time, loosening her grip on his hand and breaking away from him. She doesn't go far, but the lack of contact grounds her; only then is she ready to glance at him. Cloud says nothing at first and when he opens his mouth, Tifa understands she doesn't want to hear what's coming. She kisses him before he can speak, and if Cloud minds, he keeps silent about it. The feeling of his skin on hers she was dreading seconds ago now fills her with more want.

It's not enough, she thinks as they trade kisses and touches and sighs into the night.

She doesn't know if it will ever be enough.

—

A/N: Turtleneck, thigh highs...what's next, I wonder.