A/N: Wow, we are nearing the end, can't believe it. I always say that, but honestly, this time it feels very surreal, and that's all thanks to all of you wonderful people.

As a precaution, this chapter still deals with the trigger warning from last chapter (referenced/implied suicide), though there are no direct references. I prefer to warn just in case.

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Nocturne Op.72 no.1 - Chopin

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A Sea of Silence

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15: Nocturne Op.72 no.1 in E Minor

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The drive to Kalm feels like forever. Tifa isn't certain if it's because of the darkness that seems to never end, or if it's because of the silence between Zack and her. Ever since they left Midgard at around 20:00, they've barely said a word to each other. It's not that they have nothing to say, but rather that there's nothing they want to discuss—the reason behind their drive is too fresh and too awful. She's thankful for the music drifting through the car, though; it's a pop station she's never heard of, and most of the songs aren't to her taste, but she doesn't care. What matters is that it breaks the quiet.

She leans her forehead against the cold glass of the window, watching the blurred shapes pass her by. A forest lines this section of the highway, and Tifa likes to imagine she sees glowing eyes and legendary creatures—because then she could pretend all of this is a bad dream.

As she spots Kalm in the distance, she hopes to wake up, over and over, until Zack parks in front of the small hotel they've rented rooms in. Still, she hesitates; her hold on the door handle tightens, and she can't say if she wants to let go and remain in the car, or open the door and step out into reality. But the choice is made for her when Zack exits the car, and she has no choice but to follow.

"Did you text Cloud we arrived?" Tifa asks while they take out their belongings from the trunk.

Zack glances down at his phone as he slings his bursting backpack over his shoulder. "He's waiting inside."

"Oh, okay. I didn't know he was meeting us here."

"Neither did I." Zack lets out a long exhale. "I don't think he can stand staying in the house."

Her hand clenches around the strap of her bag; she goes to answer but holds it down. There's no point in saying anything, she thinks, because nothing will seem appropriate or enough.

They walk into the hotel, and Tifa's eyes find Cloud immediately; he waits, sprawled into an armchair facing an electrical fireplace. Cloud doesn't notice them at first, his attention held by the flicker of the flames—but he jumps to his feet once he does.

"Thanks for coming," he says as he stops before them. An attempt at a smile twists his features into something weary and dejected—something that can't quite be named, the hurt too deep and too absolute.

"Of course we'd come." Zack mock-punches Cloud in the arm. "Don't thank us for that."

"Yeah, but still… It means a lot to me."

Unsaid words choke Tifa—or maybe not words, but rather something more cruel. Something that scratches at her insides on its way out, digging its claws in the crevices of her throat; something that mauls her heart and punctures her lungs. It makes it too hard to speak, like she'll be torn apart if she does. So, she nods at Cloud and drops her hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze before following Zack to check-in.

Tifa lets Zack do the honors as the two rooms are under his name; he'd already booked them before she had contacted him on Friday morning, having gotten a text from Cloud. And, really, right now it suits her just fine. If she opens her mouth, she'll vomit her shredded heart and her mangled soul.

"Are you alright?"

Zack's question is quiet, for her ears only; the clerk gracefully pretends not to listen as he concludes the registration and prepares their room keys. Tifa shakes her head, and she notices the hand holding the strap of her bag is still clenching it too tightly; it hurts as she loosens her grasp.

"Yeah, stupid question," Zack mumbles as he grabs the room keys. He thanks the clerk and whirls around. "Let's go."

But Tifa can't move; she can't bring herself to turn around and walk towards Cloud—it just hurts too much to see him like this. And beyond that, it hurts to remember. It's a different kind of pain, one that is rooted in memories and has spread so far and wide through her body that she can never escape it.

Zack wraps an arm around her shoulders, gently steering her in Cloud's direction. "Tifa, come on."

She doesn't budge at first; the prospect of carrying on with tonight and tomorrow is too heavy. But then she allows him to guide her, and once Zack realizes she's following, he lets his arm fall back to his side. He says nothing about her silent freak out; he doesn't tell her to be strong or to put aside her pain to support Cloud's, and for that, Tifa is grateful. While Zack isn't aware of her mother's death, it's obvious he can tell something beyond Cloud's grief is bothering her. And it's that more than anything else that finally prompts her to speak.

"I'm glad you're here, Zack." Her voice is little more than a rasp. "I know you're here for Cloud. But—"

"You're my friend, too, Tifa. Neither of you need to do this alone."

Tears sting her eyes, but Tifa wills them not to fall—not now. "Thank you," she whispers.

They stop next to Cloud, who stands before the electric fireplace.

"We're gonna head up," Zack says. He raises his hand to show the room keys. "What about you?"

Cloud blinks, his eyes still on the fire. "I'm staying with you guys."

"Alright, then let's go."

It takes Cloud a moment to react. "Okay." He twists around to walk towards the elevators.

The urge to catch up to him is strong, and Tifa sees no reason to resist it; anxiety still swirls through her, and so does sorrow and memories, but there is something about helping Cloud get through this that feels right. It doesn't feel like she has to push aside her own pain to do it; instead, it feels like they can understand each other—like his heartache calls to hers in a language of their own.

Tifa grabs his hand as they all wait for the elevator, and relief spreads through her when he grips it back tightly. It's Zack who chats while they go up to their floor and find the rooms. It's mindless talk about school and how one of their teachers is a dick; about how Reno is acting like he won the prank war and Zack now has no choice but to retaliate when he comes back; about normal things and normal lives. Tifa knows what he's doing—distracting Cloud, of course, but also reminding him that there is something waiting for him back in Midgar. That even if life changes irrevocably, the world doesn't stop spinning. And she can't tell if Cloud realizes it yet, but the seeds have been sowed, and she can only hope he will come to understand it in time.

Zack slips into his room to drop his backpack before coming in Tifa's with Cloud. She takes a quick look at the room, appreciating the simplicity of it as the guys speak in hushed voices. It's tempting to eavesdrop, but instead, she walks deeper into the room to give them privacy. As she drops her bag on a chair in the corner, a soft laugh resounds, a sound that's almost too quiet to be real, and it tugs at her heartstrings. Tifa glances back at Cloud, whose lips are curled in the shadow of a smile as Zack tells him something she can't hear.

Zack is the one who notices her gaze on them; he sends her knowing a look as he asks, "You guys want to eat something?"

"I'm good," Cloud says. He steps out of his boots and jacket, putting them away in the entrance closet. "But feel free to order something."

"I'm okay as well." Tifa takes a seat on the edge of the bed, ignoring Zack's eyes fixed on her; he's aware she hasn't eaten since 19:00, when they had a quick supper before leaving. Five hours later, and she's still not hungry—or rather, she feels a slight hunger, but the thought of eating makes her nauseous.

Zack walks to the bedside table with the phone. "Well, I'm getting room service. And I'm ordering you something."

"Zack…" She sighs, the determined set of his jaw letting her know he won't let this one go. "Fine."

As he orders, Tifa motions at Cloud to come sit with her. He doesn't hesitate, not exactly, but there is a certain lag to his movements that makes her unsure of her next actions. But it all vanishes when he climbs on the bed to sit against the headboard and tugs at her to follow; she settles in between his legs, sliding down a little against his chest to get comfortable.

"Thank you for coming," he whispers in her ear.

"It's not—" Tifa stops herself from saying it's not a big deal, the words tasting sour in her mouth. "You know I'm here for you," she says instead.

"Yeah." His arms tighten around her—just a little, but it's enough for her to feel the weight of his gratitude. "I know."

They eat and chat for the next hour—it's a semblance of normalcy Tifa desperately needs, to have Zack ramble on about mindless topics; to sense Cloud's rare laughs against her back, his breath ruffling her hair. But like any illusion, it must shatter, and it's once the silence falls between them, a brief lull in the conversation, that it does. It's a little jarring, a little surprising—but Tifa had figured Cloud would speak of the next day at some point.

"I'm making a speech tomorrow," he says, his voice louder than it'd ought to be.

Tifa meets Zack's gaze, blinking out of shock—she hadn't expected this of all things.

Zack leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees; his foot jumps in an anxious rhythm, but the sound is muffled by the carpet. "Are you sure?"

"Mom won't make it. She can't. And I won't ask Denzel to do it." Behind her, Tifa feels the way Cloud's breath hitches, like he's running out of air, the words drawing it all from his lungs. "I have to do it."

When Zack stays silent, so does Tifa. There's nothing right to say here, nothing that will make reality better—but there are so many things to be said that would make it worse, and that's why they keep quiet.

"It can't be anyone else," Cloud says. The determined quality of his voice mixed with the unfocused way he says it, like he's repeating words to convince himself more than anyone else, betrays his hesitancy. "I need to…" He gently pushes Tifa forward so he can get off the bed; she moves without a word. "I need to work on that," he mumbles.

Cloud picks up a notepad and a pen with the hotel's insignia, then sits at the small desk, hunching forward to scribble something. After a few minutes, Zack shakes his head and stands up; he drops a hand over Cloud's shoulder on his way to the door.

"Goodnight, you two," he calls out as he leaves. His eyes seek hers, the wordless plea in them impossible to avoid, but then the door closes, and he's gone.

Tifa doesn't move at first, waiting to see if Cloud will stay absorbed in his scribbling now that they're alone. When his attention doesn't shift, she takes out her phone to let Aerith they got here safely. The message sent, she falls back against the cushions with a sigh and stares at the ceiling. It's the oppressing quiet that gets to her again, and she hates how she can't tolerate it anymore. Tifa scrolls through her music application, not looking for anything in particular—until she sees her saved album for Chopin's Nocturnes. She has all of them except the one in C Minor; it's still too difficult for her to listen to it. Her eyes flick to Cloud, then back to her phone. The first one calls to her, and without overthinking it, she taps on it and raises the volume.

The first notes sound too loud, as is usually the case when the silence breaks; Cloud tenses but doesn't look at her. Tifa gets to her feet and places her cellphone on the dresser before walking up to him. He doesn't hide what the notepad, and her heart crumbles when she sees he's started several times and crossed everything out.

"I don't know what to say," he says as he throws the pen on the desk. His frustration seeps from his every movement.

She puts her hand on his shoulder. "It doesn't have to be long."

"I know. It's just that… You know I'm not great with words. I'm…" He shakes his head. "I can't think of anything to say right now."

"That's okay, Cloud." At his disbelieving expression, she adds, "Let the words come to you."

He goes to protest but then frowns as if considering what she said. "We'll see," he says after a pause. "I'll try later. Right now, I'm—tired." Cloud rubs his face.

"Get some rest." She gives his shoulder a squeeze. "You need it."

Tifa leaves him to get ready for bed; she combs through her hair with her hands as she exits the bathroom, stopping short when she realizes Cloud dimmed the lights. He stands before the window, staring outside through the slight gap in between the heavy drapes that allow for a sliver of moonlight to illuminate the room. The music makes the moment almost surreal to Tifa, like she stepped into a dream, and she suddenly wishes to never wake up.

Cloud doesn't startle when she comes to his side; the moonlight sharpens his features, shadowing the angles of his face—Tifa can only think of how sad and weary he looks this way.

"Is it terrible if I say I don't want to attend tomorrow?" he asks softly.

Tifa thinks back to her mother's funeral, to how part of had wanted to attend and say goodbye—and how another part had wanted to run away because then it wouldn't really end. "I think it's normal, in a way." She crosses her arms.

"I've never been to a funeral." His confession hangs between them, loud and heavy.

"Cloud—"

He lets out a low chuckle, and the near manic tone of it has Tifa close her eyes. "Never thought it'd be for my brother. Do you think—" He cuts off as if rethinking his words, then carries on, "When he came by, I thought it was a goodbye, but…"

"But what?" Her pulse drums in her throat as apprehension builds within her.

"I keep thinking—keep thinking it was a call for help, you know?" The hushed way he speaks makes her think he fears his own words—his thoughts. "That it was one last attempt to ask for my help, and I didn't…listen."

Her instinct is to deny it—to her, as the outsider, it felt like a farewell. But then, she thinks of the words that can never be spoken, of the unsaid Seph took with him across the shore. Again, she finds nothing to say that feels true and right. Cloud isn't done, though, and speaks again before she can.

"I knew I wasn't doing enough." His voice breaks on the last word, and so does her heart. "Even if it wouldn't have changed anything—I could have done more."

Tears well up in Tifa's eyes, both from the present and the past. "You'll always feel like you could have done more, Cloud," she says, quiet.

He lets out that laugh again, the one that spells how close he is to unraveling. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No. But it's the truth." Tifa turns her head to stare out of the window; there's nothing interesting to see, only the empty street below, but in a way it's soothing. It feels even more dreamlike, like walls closed around them, trapping them in a box where they're alone together—there's no one and nothing to worry about but their own souls and their heartache. "You just can't let it consume you."

"That's easier said than done."

"Yeah." Tifa inhales deeply. "It is."

In the background, the music sings, filling the emptiness surrounding them. Tifa takes a step back, feeling suffocated, but he grabs her hand before she can go far; Cloud pulls at it until she stands in front of him.

"About the piano—don't feel like you have to."

Tifa wills her body not to tense at his words, not to betray her hesitancy. She hasn't made her decision yet, though she brought partitions with her—just in case is what she told herself; deep down, she knows part of her wants to play. But she's missing the courage to say yes; the word keeps catching in her throat and stumbling back down into her stomach, weighing her down.

"I haven't decided yet." His grip on her hand tightens; she spies the way his eyes seem to flash a deeper blue from the moonlight. It makes her think of stormy skies and endless seas—like he's filled with turmoil and wrath that threaten to overflow. It scares Tifa, but not for herself—she knows it's all directed at himself. "Cloud, I really think you should rest."

He shakes his head. "I don't want to sleep yet."

"Cloud—"

"I don't want to wake up, Tifa." His plea resonates in her ears despite its quietness. Cloud tugs her closer and rests his forehead on hers; his free hand cups her cheek, his fingers tangling in her hair. "Please," he whispers.

Maybe it's the softness of his voice—the fragility that reverberates from it—but it breaks whatever composure she had been holding on for both of their sakes. When he kisses her, there's no denying the desperation of his every move, and Tifa is certain he must feel hers as well. Cloud slides a hand below her shirt and up her back, applying pressure so she comes closer and closer to him.

Cloud cradles the back of her head, tilting it back, and leans forward to hide his face in her neck; his lips press against the skin there. The world stops for a moment, a lull in the tempest, and Tifa clings to his shirt, right over his heart; the beat of it is wild beyond measure, but hers must be the same, she thinks, because it bursts as he mouths, "I need you, please, I need you," into her skin.

There is no more to be said as their world syncs back with reality and the frenzy escalates, only sighed names and drawn-out whimpers, begging and moaning. His skin burns hers as they get lost in harsh kisses and forceful caresses. Cloud backs up her against the window, lifting one of her legs to wrap around him; she had expected the blazing cold of the glass, but instead, she feels the smooth fabric of the drapes, and Tifa reflexively grabs on to them not to stumble. Her other arm stays around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he enters her.

He moans her name once, quietly, then once more, loudly this time, like he's thrown away any self-control. His grip on her draws taunt, bordering on painful, but there is something about it that's exhilarating to Tifa; the impetuous nature of the moment maybe, but she finds the reason doesn't matter, not right now. One of her hands slips into his hair, grasping as the strands and tugging without meaning to when he thrusts hard into her. Cloud grunts and bites her shoulder in answer, soothing the mark with wet kisses.

For a moment, as her body tenses, Tifa believes she will shatter apart, because there is no other explanation for the intensity of what she feels. Everything amalgamates until it's too much to bear—the faint chill of the glass behind the velvet of the drapes burns her skin, adding to the mix. She shouts as she comes, the sound fading into a whimper; Cloud gasps into her neck, his body pinning hers against the window, and he comes with a drawn-out moan.

Tifa hears the music first, then their panting. She groans as she lets go of the drapes, her fingers stiff from holding on so tightly. Cloud raises his head to look at her, and relief spears through her heart as she notices the pain misting his gaze lessened. She cradles his face, pushing back the hair that had fallen before his eyes.

"Hey," she murmurs.

Cloud puts her leg down but doesn't step back; he says nothing, but when his eyes stray from hers, Tifa knows the prospect of tomorrow slammed into him again. She pushes him a little, just enough to take his hand and guide him to the bed. The dimmed lights flood the room with warmth, shading his skin golden and darkening his eyes.

"Tifa," he says as she has him sit on the edge, "I'm not ready to sleep."

She straddles his lap, and his arms come to encircle her waist on their own. "I know."

"I should finish my spee—" The last word is swallowed by her kiss; his fingers dig into her back as she leans forward, forcing him to lie on his back.

"Later," Tifa mouths against his skin, the sound lost to the music. He must still hear her, or he knows what she would say, because he doesn't bring it up again. "Focus on this, Cloud." She kisses him again, slow and indolent, like they have all the time in the world and not a few stolen hours in the night. "Focus on me."

The way he stares at her as kneels over him, the cascade of her hair cutting them off from reality, makes her heart swell—this time, she knows better than to close her eyes. It takes Cloud a moment to react, and she lets him have the time he needs. He moves so his body is fully on the bed, keeping an arm around her to make sure she stays close. Tifa slants forward so her chest presses against his as she kisses him over and over, stealing his sighs and murmurs away. There's still that wildness from before flowing between them, but it's also slower, sweeter; it's both real and unearthly, fleeting and everlasting. Or maybe it's that it's honest, like they've both bared soul and mind, laid them open for the other to pass judgment on.

Cloud grabs a handful of her hair and tugs gently, exposing her neck so he can kiss a trail there; the slight pain makes her tighten her hold on him, her nails digging deeper into his back, and she figures he'll have marks in the morning—hidden from the world by his clothes, a secret reminder of the night he lost himself in her. A sigh escapes her when his teeth graze her skin, when his hand palms her ass and pushes her closer into him. But there's something about him being his usual assertive self that doesn't sit well with her—tonight, she wants him to feel her.

"Cloud," she gasps, lightly pushing at his shoulders. "Cloud, wait."

His hand tightens in her hair for a quick moment, enough to make her moan, but he raises his head. "What's wrong?" The huskiness of his voice is marred with confusion.

Tifa applies pressure on his arm, forcing him to release his grasp on her hair. "Nothing's wrong, I promise." He frowns, his disbelief lifting away the haze of desire; it deepens as she pushes him to lay back on the bed. "I just want you to look at me," she says before sinking down on him.

Cloud's hands twitch where they rest around her waist. "Fuck," he moans. He throws his head back and fixes his heavy-lidded stare on her. "I am looking at you."

"Good." Tifa takes his hands in hers, intertwining their fingers. "Don't look away," she whispers.

His fingers tighten around hers, and he curses as she uses their joined hands as leverage to sway in his lap. "I can't. Tifa, fuck—I can't."

Her eyes flutter closed as something builds within her, something fierce and steady. "Good," she says again. "I don't want you to."

"Tifa—let me touch you. Please." He groans the last word, and his request only fuels her.

"No," she breathes out. Tifa opens her eyes to find him staring at her, mouth hanging open slightly like he can't believe what he sees.

"I just want to make you feel good." His gaze strays for a second, trailing along her body. "The way you make me feel good. So fucking good, Tifa."

Her hands flex at his words, and she clenches around him, eliciting a strained laugh from him. "You don't play fair."

But it's like he didn't hear her. "It's because of you. It's only with you that—oh, fuck, fuck. That I feel this."

Warmth spreads through her body, a slow-burning fire that threatens to consume her. "Feel what?" she asks in a sigh.

"So many things. So many fucking things, Tifa." Cloud lets out a pleased noise that makes her breath hitch. "Only with you," he says again, the words uttered through pants. "Now let me touch you."

It's tempting to refuse, to keep driving him wild, but Tifa finds that doesn't matter—what does is the way his eyes glaze over with want; the way his hands shake from his shattering restraint; the way he moans in relief when she unlaces their hands and leans down to kiss him, telling him, "It's only you, too,". Cloud cups the back of her head, his fingers grasping at her hair again to keep her anchored to him. She whimpers his name as he slides his other hand in between their body to find where they're joined; he strokes her, adding to the overflow of sensations. His name leaves her in a gasp, but it's drowned out by her harsh breathing. She hides her face in the side of his neck, letting out a muted shout as her release washes over her, drawn-out and vicious. Cloud stills with a harsh moan and whispered fuck, fuck, the weight of his arm around her back pressing her into him so she can't escape as he comes.

Neither of them move for a while—Tifa doesn't want to, doesn't want to lose the heat of his skin against her or the illusion of better days they built in this room. But she does eventually, pulling away to look at him, and she's glad to see the tiredness glaze his eyes over. She gives him a kiss, then another on the corner of his lips.

"Go to sleep, alright?"

"Don't leave," he mumbles.

"Yeah, okay." Her voice is barely a whisper. "I'll stay."

Cloud moves so they lie on their sides, their legs tangled, her face hidden in the crook of his neck. She thinks she hears him sigh, "Please,", his breath ruffling her hair, but she says nothing in return, willing him to rest.

Tifa can't, though—not for a while. Her heart beats too fast for sleep as the music still plays in the background and she remembers the partition in her bag—but the hurt in her chest isn't the bad sort, isn't one that makes her hand tremble and her eyes close in order to tune out the world. It's the sort where her fingers itch to run over the keys and her eyes to close to fully feel what she creates with her touch, with her soul.

It's sometime late in the night, between the dusk and the dawn, as the last of the Nocturnes play, that Tifa finally feels at peace with what she wants to do.

—

Tifa isn't sure why the crowd at the funeral surprises her so much—perhaps because of how soon it was scheduled, something Cloud had mentioned was because of his mother being unable to wait. At her side, Zack shoves his hands in his pants' pockets as he surveys the room.

"He's with his brother," he says.

But Tifa shakes her head. "Let him have this time."

Zack hesitates for a second, biting his lip and sighing. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"C'mon." She links their elbows and leads them towards a secluded part of the room. "He knows we're here for him. Let's just keep an eye out."

"You never told me what's in the bag," Zack says after a long pause. He keeps staring ahead, as if aware the topic might be sensitive.

And, really, Tifa realizes that it might have been just yesterday—but it's not the case now. She had thought she would feel anxiety and fear at the sight of the piano at the front when she had arrived; instead, a twinge of nervousness had gone through her, and memories had flooded her mind for a moment—still, she had pushed through, had taken a step and then another until she had entered the room. There will forever be something terrifying, something so deeply painful about the idea of playing, but now there is also something like hopefulness and rightness—something bittersweet and soothing.

"I brought partitions." At Zack's silence, she turns to look at him. "Cloud asked me to play the piano. I'll need you to turn the pages, by the way."

He blinks as if taken aback. "I can't read music for shit."

"I'll nod when you need to turn."

"I—uh, alright. Alright." Zack shakes his head. "When are you supposed to play?"

"After the ceremony." From the corner of her eyes, she spots Cloud detaching himself from his family and heading their way. "He's coming."

Cloud stops before them but keeps a certain distance, and she gets the impression he's afraid of them—afraid of being comforted because then he'll break.

"Thank you for coming," he says softly. This time, neither Tifa nor Zack protest the show of gratefulness, aware now is not the time. Cloud inhales and adds, "The ceremony is about to start."

"Did you finish your speech?" Tifa asks.

He looks down at the floor, then away to the side, and finally back to them. "I have an idea what to say. Tifa," he continues before they can ask more, "did you decide if…" He trails off as he takes in the bag she carries. "Is that—"

"Yeah," she says, emotion choking her for a second. She clears her throat, ignoring Zack's curious stare. "I'll play."

Noise rises all of a sudden, and they all turn to witness people taking their seats. Cloud freezes, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "That's it, uh."

"Cloud—"

Zack's voice is barely heard over the noise, and if Cloud heard it, he ignores it. "Let's go."

Tifa is silent as she walks to the front of the room and pulls out the piano bench. Her heartbeat is loud, and the stress of performing at last slams into her—it's been years since she played in front of a crowd, and her heart does its best to crawl up her throat, reminding her she might not be ready. But Tifa takes a deep breath, then another and another, and the anxiety ebbs as the ceremony begins; it distracts her whirring mind enough to allow her to regulate her breathing.

Though she wouldn't admit it, Tifa doesn't really retain a word of what is said. She hates that it happens, but the assailing emotions don't let her concentrate on the words themselves, only the sounds they create. By the time Cloud walks to the front, she's calmed down enough to listen—and as she sees Cloud's hands shake as they grip the podium, her focus narrows down on him as if it would be of any comfort to his own nervousness.

A hush falls over the room, an accompaniment to Cloud's own quietness as he steels himself. After what feels like an eternity, he straightens, inhales, exhales, and begins.

"I thought I knew what I was going to say today, but…in the end, I don't think there's anything I truly want to say." Cloud pauses, and Tifa holds her breath. "I never thought I'd have to—do this. I wish I didn't have to say anything. But what I want—that's something the world doesn't always listen to. The only thing I really wanted when it came to Seph… I just wanted him to be okay." His voice breaks on the last word, and he clears his throat. "But he wasn't and—we didn't listen."

Tifa winces as she realizes her nails had been digging into her palms, and she opens them, laying them flat on her lap. Her eyes stay on Cloud, watching him gulp and blow out a breath. When he carries on, she feels her heart crack.

"I didn't listen," Cloud says, his voice shaking. "Seph was—my brother. He taught me Algebra when I was a teen. I didn't understand anything, but he sat with me for hours and days until I aced it. He was always the first to help Mom." He moves as if to lift his head but then thinks better of it, as if he can't look at his mother or he'll break. "He took care of Denzel when our father left. I never told him that, but…Seph was amazing. I looked up to him in a way I've never looked up to anyone else. In all the ways that matter, despite the fact that we didn't always get along—Seph was my hero."

Someone in the crowd lets out a muted sob, and Tifa turns her head, her gaze settling on Cloud's mother as she hunches forward, a hand over her chest, the other holding Denzel's. Cloud flinches, and his grasp on the podium grows taut again—but he doesn't raise his head still.

"Seph was a lot of things, but he was also unhappy," Cloud says, voice wavering for a second. "I think he didn't want us to know. Not until it was too much for him to bear alone, for him to—carry on. And Seph, he…asked for help." He stops short, taking a second to regulate his breathing. "He asked for help so many times, and we didn't answer. Not in time, and maybe not in the way we should have. I know I didn't."

It's Tifa's turn to wince, the weight of his guilt slamming into her as if it was hers.

"I guess I should talk more about what kind of person Seph was. But the truth is that it is how he was—and putting aside those parts of him, even if they're hard to accept… It's putting aside who the real Seph was. They made him up just as much as everything else, and we didn't—we didn't want to see it. We didn't want to listen. We didn't want to answer. In the end, my brother—" Cloud gulps, closes his eyes, and then, his voice too soft, says, "My brother drowned in a sea of silence. So, please—please, don't close your eyes. Don't choose not to listen. Don't—" Cloud bites his lip, holding his words down, but Tifa hears them anyway—don't be like me. "Please remember this as you remember my brother," he says instead before walking away from the podium.

A moment of quiet falls on the room, and then the ceremony carries on, but Tifa isn't listening again. She watches Cloud take a seat next to his mother, watches the way he tries to control the shaking of his body—she looks away then, feeling like she is intruding, and opens her partition to focus on something else and steady her heartbeat.

As the ceremony closes and people get up to mingle, all she can see is the partition before her. The Nocturne in E Minor stares back, unflinching, and she gets lost in memories for a moment. Her mother smiling at her and singing—then as she plays the piano, her body swinging from side to side as she is lost to the music—and finally, her mother giving her one last smile as she listens to what she cherished most. And she remembers the funeral—that feeling of dread and disappointment and failure. But it doesn't scare her, not this time.

"You don't have to do it, you know."

Tifa looks up to see Zack standing to her right, his solemn expression a harsh contrast to his usual self.

"No, I don't have to," Tifa says softly. Her hands raise, positioning themselves over the keys. "But I want to."

She doesn't wait for Zack to answer—her left hand bears down on the first note, and she forgets the world around her.

To her, there's always been something sad about this piece, a kind of nostalgia she can't quite name. Like wishing for days gone, maybe, or for days that will never come—and she can't help but think of how apt it is. For Cloud and Seph, but also for her mother and her. Tifa isn't here anymore, playing the piano—instead, she is back in that funeral parlor, the one from four years ago, and she lets her soul sing a farewell. She nods at Zack to turn the pages, not realizing what she is doing, only feeling and reliving a moment the way she had wanted it to go. It's surreal, like she is far away from this place, from this present; in her mind, she is at her old piano, her mother on one side and her father on the other, and she plays them something, her six-year-old's hands too small and too excited for precision and grace—but they smile and congratulate her. Never forget the music is part of who you are because you want it to be, her mother says as her father wipes away a tear that escaped, and you can bring it with you wherever you go, just like I will bring you with me wherever I go.

Tifa knows this isn't a memory—it's how she makes peace with herself and her regrets—but she still allows the illusion to take over her, to bask in its wishfulness. It's only once the last note of the piece fades that she blinks and recognizes her surroundings—for a moment, she is disoriented, but Zack's familiar face syncs her back with the present. She pulls her hands back and into her lap, giving herself a second to regain her composure—until she realizes it's not needed. There's a sting of sorrow that needles her heart, but for the first time in what seems like forever, it doesn't make her want to run away.

At her side, Zack stays quiet as if waiting for her signal still, and she turns to smile at him. "Thanks."

"Are you okay?"

The way he asks doesn't make her think he knows her history with the piano—he's only perceptive enough to tell something happened. And it makes her glad.

"I'm okay," she says as she stands. "And you know, Zack…"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really happy you're my friend. You're a handful, for sure," she chuckles when he rolls his eyes, "but I think I can deal with that."

Zack gulps, and she pretends not to notice the display of emotion. "It's not like you have a choice. You're stuck with me. We're partners in crime, after all."

"You're right." Tifa gives him another smile, a gentler one. "We still have to smash Reno."

"Hell yeah. He's not giving up," he grumbles. "And I'm happy you're my friend, too, Tifa."

She gathers her partition, putting it in her bag. "I know," she says with a slight smirk. "Hold on to this for me, would you?"

"The things I do for friendship." Zack sighs but takes the bag. "He just went outside, by the way. Through that door." He points at a side door she hadn't even noticed.

Tifa takes a deep breath and nods. "Alright, thank you."

The chill of the outside air makes her regret not having brought a warmer coat—but it doesn't seem to bother Cloud as he sits against the building, his jacket open.

"You'll get cold," she says as a greeting. Tifa takes a seat to his right. "Couldn't stand the crowd?"

He blinks slowly, as if coming out of a dream, then shakes his head. "I don't know most of these people. Seph was pretty popular, you know. Made a lot of friends everywhere, but they were never really his friends to him." Cloud rubs his eyes, and she takes in the way his shoulders droop. "Thank you for playing," he says, quiet. "It was beautiful."

"I'm glad I did." Tifa twists a little so she can face him. "I didn't think I could do it at first."

He flinches, and she almost takes back her words. "Sorry for asking that of you, I should have been more considerate."

"No, it's alright." His surprised glance makes her hesitate for a second, but then she shakes the doubts away. "I wanted to play at my mother's funeral," she confesses, "and I wasn't able to do it." Cloud's breath hitches, the only reaction he allows himself, and she carries on, "I always regretted it. Like I betrayed her by not saying goodbye our way."

"And I asked that of you," Cloud whispers. "I asked—fuck, Tifa, you should have told me."

It's her turn to shake her head. "But I'm glad you did, Cloud. I was happy to get that second chance. And to do this for you."

"That's why you stopped, isn't it?" The rising pitch of his voice betrays his agitation. "Because you regretted…"

She nods. "Yeah."

"Fucking hell. Fuck, I didn't…I didn't think—"

"Cloud, you're wrong." The firmness of her voice has him glance at her again, and she can't ignore the tears in his eyes. "You gave me this chance. I could have said no. But I wanted to do it. For me—and for you."

The sob that racks through Cloud is violent, and the noise he lets out would have scared her if she hadn't known he would break one day. Tifa doesn't touch him at first—the way he hides behind his hands and tries to hold in the tears tells her he needs a moment to allow himself this. It's only once he's realized he can't contain the grief tearing through him that Tifa scoots closer and rests her head on his shoulder. He doesn't react, but she doesn't mind—he's too lost within himself for now, and she knows that kind of loss, the kind that tilts the world on its axis until it feels like you'll never make it home. As Cloud's sobs ease into softer cries and then quiet, Tifa doesn't move.

"Do you want to go back inside?" she asks, keeping her voice gentle.

Cloud blows out a breath, then another; he leans his head against hers. "No."

"That's alright. I'll stay with you if you want."

"Yeah," he whispers, his voice hoarse, "I'd like that."

A true silence settles between them, one where there's nothing to say and that's alright. The howling wind speaks for them, filling in the blanks.

For now, for both of them—it's enough.

—

A/N: It's believed, but not proven, that Chopin wrote this Nocturne (his first one chronologically) after his sister's passing. That is one of the reasons I chose this piece, beyond just being very fitting. The other is that it's actually the one that got me back into playing piano after a 8 years hiatus. So, in a way, this is my dedication to it.

Also, it's 2:30AM and I didn't edit, please have mercy on me.

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