A/N: Here we are! I'll have another A/N at the end, but I have a lot to say. If you'll allow me some emotions, I would like to share a few things:

This story is, in many ways, deeply personal to me. While Tifa's story here is not my own, there are a lot of elements taken from my own experiences with music—from starting the piano at 6 because of my mother to not playing for years to using it as a coping mechanism. I have a long, complicated history with piano—it's many things to me at once, both an anchor to reality and a reminder of lost dreams. But writing this story has given me the chance to sort through these feelings, to make a kind of peace with music. And beyond that, in a way, it let me grant someone dear the farewell I could never give them.

The reason I am sharing this with you guys is that, this peace I can now experience never would have happened without all of you—without the amazing reception to this fic or all of the encouragement you gave me. I've always said I write for myself—that I stick to my guns and tell the story I want to tell. And that much is still true, but I think it's not all there is to it anymore. As an author, writing is only part of the journey; the rest comes from you, and damn if the support for this story hasn't been astounding, if not overwhelming at times. I will never stop being grateful for this.

So, thank you so much for making me want to share this—and thank you for reading it.

SK

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Liebesträume No.3 - Liszt

—

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A Sea of Silence

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16: Liebesträume No.3 in A-flat Major

—

The day Tifa gets back to Midgar, it snows.

She stands outside of Claudia Strife's house, staring off into the woods across the street. The sun is out, but it's a gray kind of sunlight—she loves the way it sparkles off the fresh snow weighing down the trees. There is snow in Midgar, only it's never this snow. In Midgar, it melts as quickly as it falls, and whatever is left becomes a muddy mess. Tifa enjoys the sight while she can.

"Are you sure?"

Zack's voice drifting through the wind catches her attention, and she turns around to find him near the car speaking with Cloud. She walks up to them, hands in her pockets to keep them warm.

"I'm sure," Cloud says with a nod. "Mom needs me for a while."

"Alright, I get that. Hopefully, that asshole will be understanding."

Cloud shrugs one shoulder as if he couldn't care less—and she thinks it must be the case. "If he wants to fail me, he can go ahead. I've got other things to worry about."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Tifa says. She twists her head to look at Cloud. "Text me when you leave for Midgar, please?"

"Yeah, of course. Probably next weekend." He throws a glance at the house. "Maybe longer."

"How are they doing?" Zack asks.

"Not good. I think…since they lived with him, they feel they should have known. Mom doesn't want to see anyone for now."

Tifa drops her hand on his arm. "Give them time." The words give yourself time threaten to leave her, but she holds them down.

"I know. I know, it's just…hard."

Zack steps forward, clapping Cloud on the shoulder. "Just remember we're a phone call away." He waits for Cloud to nod before pulling back. "Alright, we have to get going. You ready?" he asks, turning her way.

"Yeah." She gives him a pointed stare. Zack bites down a smirk as he walks away; once he's climbed into the car and is out of earshot, Tifa says, "Anything I can do other than getting your mail?" He shakes his head. "Please let me know if you do. I'm being serious," she adds when Cloud chuckles.

"I know," he says softly. "Don't worry too much, would you?" Cloud tucks strands of hair behind her ear. "I'll see you soon."

"Alright." She doesn't like the meekness slipping through her voice, but she lets it go. "Please take care of yourself."

When Cloud leans down to kiss her, Tifa closes her eyes; it's a short, sweet kiss, but she prefers it this way—it feels less like a silent farewell and more like a promise to be home soon.

"Be careful on the road," he says as he pulls back.

For a second, she doesn't know what to say. She nods, hoping the right words will come to her; when they don't, she twists on her heels and heads for the car. Zack grumbles something sounding suspiciously like you two are too cute, it's gross as he starts the car, but Tifa makes a show of ignoring him. They drive off, and though it's tempting to look back at Cloud getting smaller and smaller, she doesn't.

"He'll be fine," Zack says once they get on the highway.

Tifa stares out of the window. "Eventually."

There's a pause, one where tension rises then crashes. "Yeah. Eventually."

Her eyes close on their own as she leans her head back against the seat. "I hope so," she whispers.

Zack doesn't answer, and she drifts off, lulled by the faint sound of the radio.

—

The café Aerith chose is quiet, almost empty; Tifa spots her friends sitting at a table against the wall. She orders a latte for herself and goes to join them. Yuffie raises a hand in a wave, her attention held by her phone.

"Good morning," Aerith says with a smile.

"Hey."

"How was the trip?"

At this, Yuffie puts the phone down. Tifa takes a sip of her drink. It feels strange to admit to being with Cloud to them—not because it's something she wants to hide, but because she did hide it for so long.

"It was hard," she says. Her hands wrap around the cup, seeking warmth. "But I'm glad I went."

Aerith crosses her arms, leaning on the table. "Yeah, Zack said the same."

"Cloud really needed the support." Tifa clears her throat once, twice. "Uh, we're dating, by the way."

The lack of reaction on Aerith's end tells Tifa she already knew, and it's not surprising considering who her boyfriend is. But it's Yuffie's confused frown that puzzles Tifa.

Yuffie lifts a hand as if to say wait a second. "You mean you weren't dating?"

Laughter erupts from Aerith; she does her best to hold it in, but her shaking shoulders betray her efforts. Tifa can only blink at her friends, surprise overtaking her.

"Uh," she says, "We started dating less than a month ago."

"Seriously?" Yuffie bends forward, chuckling. "I thought you were dating back in what, November? When we went to the bar?" At Tifa's shocked expression, Yuffie slaps a hand on the table. "You went home together!" She doesn't try very hard to contain her mirth. "He was feeling you up under the table!"

Tifa senses her cheek warm as embarrassment spreads through her lightning-fast. "Yuffie! How the fuck do you know?" she hisses.

"You mean it's true?" Aerith's gasp echoes in Tifa's ears, and she hides her face behind her hands. "Oh, my."

Yuffie lets out a loud cackle. "Reno noticed, he just had the decency to shut up about it while we were there." At Tifa's self-conscious silence, she adds, "I just figured you didn't want to talk about it when you never mentioned it. Come on, lighten up." She tugs Tifa's hands away from her face. "Wanna hear what Reno and I did in at the library in exchange?"

"No!" Tifa yelps.

"Aw, you sure?"

"I'm sure!"

Aerith elbows Yuffie, leaning in to mock-whisper. "Tell me later."

"I hate you," Tifa groans.

Her friends laugh at her dismayed tone, and it makes it hard to suppress her smile. Thankfully, the topic switches, but Tifa can't let the talk of the previous weekend go. Part of her longs to let them know what she did, what she accomplished—even if they might not understand the scope of it.

"So, uh," she says as soon as there's a pause, "I just want to say that…" She trails off, her resolve weakening under their curious and worried stares. But Tifa takes a deep breath and says, "Next time we hang out at my place, I'd like to play the piano for the two of you."

"Oh." The word escapes Aerith. "Tifa, you…" She closes her mouth, swallowing down whatever she was about to say, but there's no missing the sudden misting of her eyes.

"Awesome. Do I get to choose my piece?"

Yuffie's casual reaction is a welcome one, and Tifa had expected it—she'd never explained her history with the piano to her. And she's glad for it right now, because she's not sure how she would have handled the two of them reacting the way Aerith does, hands clenched and gulping down rising tears.

"No, you don't," Tifa says, laughing. "I can't magically learn what you want." She glances at Aerith, her heart constricting as she spies her friend wiping a stray tear away. "But you can always tell me. I might consider it."

"'Consider it' she says." Yuffie drums her fingers on the table in a show of irritation. "Better than nothing, I guess. Then I want that one really fast and difficult piece. The one that looks insane."

"I have no clue what that is supposed to be."

Yuffie mimics playing the piano. "You know the one you always see people playing on the internet. The dude's name was, like, Licht or something."

"Liszt?"

"Maybe?" Yuffie waves a hand around in dismissal. "It looks cool."

"I'm refusing in advance."

"You suck, Lockhart. Giving me false hope."

Aerith's prolonged silence doesn't go unnoticed, but both Tifa and Yuffie carry on like there's nothing wrong. It's not a dismissal, and Aerith must know it, or at least Tifa hopes she does. It's their way of giving her time, distracting her with jokes and silliness until she feels ready to speak again. When she does, the conservation has moved on, and she doesn't bring it back to piano, and Tifa is glad for that. It's only as Tifa gets up to leave and hugs her friends goodbye that Aerith mentions it.

"I'm so happy for you," she whispers in Tifa's ear.

"Thank you. Me too." Tifa leans back and gives her friend a smile.

Aerith shakes her head, her own answering smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I love you, you know that, right?" Aerith wraps an arm around Yuffie, bringing her into the fold. "Both of you."

While Yuffie rolls her eyes, they all know it's for appearance's sakes. "I love you too, Short Stuff. On most days, anyway."

"Oh, you fucking gremlin. Just had to ruin the moment, didn't you?"

Tifa lets out a soft laugh that gets drowned in their bickering. "I love you as well," she says, too quietly to be heard. But that's okay, she thinks, because she has other ways to tell them.

As she leaves the café and heads for the university, Tifa checks her phone for new messages, finding none. The last one she got from Cloud was last night, telling her he'll be coming back Sunday early afternoon. All throughout her classes, she types a message, then erases it, then starts another one—by the time her day is over, she hasn't sent anything. It's not that she's scared, but something about sending him messages feels intrusive, especially knowing he stayed behind to spend time with his family.

Tifa is still debating with herself when she hears the screaming. Her head snaps up, the voice familiar—and she rolls her eyes as she spots Zack three tables down. He jumped out of his seat, his expression one of disgust. The mostly empty cafeteria makes it easy to hear Reno's laughter further away.

"I fucking hate spiders!" Zack shouts, whirling around to find the culprit. His glare settles on Reno quickly enough. "You ruined my fucking food!"

To Tifa's surprise, Reno stands and walks away from his snickering friends; he makes his way over to Zack, and she finds herself following. She gets there at the same time as Reno and, as she glances at Zack's lunch, holds in her own burst of laughter. Dozens of tiny fake spiders fill a plastic container with pasta in it.

"That's…a little gross," she says out of consideration for Zack's feelings.

"No, that's payback," Reno drawls as he takes a seat. "I had glitter stuck in unmentionable places for weeks."

Zack sits down and puts the lid down on the container with too much force, hiding the spiders from sight. "Wasn't even my fucking idea."

Tifa's eyes widen at this. "Zack—"

"No? That's disappointing. Was it Cloud's?" Reno frowns. "Wait—where is Cloud, anyway? You two are usually glued together."

"Cloud had to go back home for family reasons," Zack snaps.

Though most of his irritation has to be due to the prank, Tifa can tell the topic isn't something Zack wants to discuss. "He'll be back soon." At Reno's inquisitive glance, she adds, "He needed to spend some time with his family."

"Okay, I didn't know. Sorry about the comment." Reno rubs the back of his head as if embarrassed. "Is there anything I can do for him?"

Zack blinks as he stares at Reno, his shock obvious. "Repeat that."

"You heard me, you dick. Tifa can tell me anyway."

Yuffie's words from before come back to Tifa, and she looks away from Reno. "I'll let you know."

The faint buzz of the cafeteria fills in the silence for a moment. Right as Tifa is about to get up, Reno asks, "So, if it wasn't Cloud, who was it?"

The question shatters Zack's annoyance, and he bursts out laughing, gesturing at Tifa in a sweeping gesture.

"Zack!" Tifa hisses, smacking his arm away.

"For real? It was Tifa? Tifa? Yo…" Reno shakes his head. "How much to have you on my team?"

"Bribery, Reno? That's low. And anyway, Tifa is my partner in crime. Right, neighbor?"

"I—" Tifa sighs at Zack's expectant look. "Yeah."

"So this whole time it was two against one? Fuck that! We need a rematch."

"You're just a sore loser."

"And you're a fucking cheater."

"Bye," Tifa says dryly.

She pushes the chair back to stand, rolling her eyes when she notices they aren't paying attention. It's only as she steps away from the table that they realize she's leaving; their goodbye shouts mix in with their arguing and the ambient noise. Tifa waves over her shoulder, walking towards the exit. But as she nears the parking lot, she stops in her tracks. Across of her, about to get into his car, is Vincent. He spots her jogging his way before closing the door. Tifa gestures at the passenger door, asking for silent permission to get in, and he nods.

"What's up?" he asks as she settles in the seat.

"Sorry, I won't keep you long."

"That's fine, I don't have much planned for the night."

Tifa digs into her bag until she finds what she'd been looking for. "Here," she says, handing him a wrinkled piece of paper.

He frowns as he takes it; he smoothes the paper to read it and stills. "That's from…my ad for lessons."

"Yeah." Tifa smiles. "It is."

"You—" Vincent raises his head to stare at her, and she pretends not to see the relief etched in his features. "What happened?"

"I—finally got to say goodbye," she says, a note of wistfulness in her voice. "I'm ready now."

Vincent says nothing at first; he exhales and nods a few times as if lost in his thoughts, then takes out his phone, pulling out the calendar app. "When do you want your first lesson?"

There's something about his lack of intrusive questions that makes Tifa glad—out of all people, it would have felt normal for Vincent to ask for more explanation. But she's not sure she would have wanted to tell him what happened exactly—not because of him, but because some things are just meant to be yours alone.

"Next Wednesday, if that's possible? Around five?"

They hammer out a quick schedule, and Tifa notes it. It's a little strange to think about piano lessons, but it's the exhilaration that wins over; the prospect twists her stomach in anticipation.

"Maybe one day I'll play the Ballade," she says as she puts away the phone.

Vincent gives her his usual slight smile. "Yeah, maybe you will."

"You know…" Tifa takes a deep breath. "I've said this before—but thank you, Vincent."

He opens his mouth to say something but stops himself as if thinking better of it. Silence falls—not for long, but enough to let Tifa know he's debating his next words.

"I want to thank you, too," he finally says. "You helped me in your own way," he adds at her surprised expression.

"Did I?" He nods but doesn't elaborate—and that's fine with her, she thinks, because it's like her not wanting to elaborate on saying farewell to her mother. He can keep his secrets and she can keep hers. "Then that's good."

"I'm glad you were weird and sat by my door," Vincent says. His smile morphing into a smirk tells her he's teasing. She punches him in the arm with little force, and he laughs; it's a soft sound she realizes she hasn't heard very often. "I'll see you next week, then?"

"You will." Tifa exits the car, leaning back inside before closing the door. "Thanks, Vincent."

"No problem," he says with a wave.

She shuts the door and stands aside as he starts the car; by the time he's driven off, she's made it to her own car. Her shoulders seem lighter, and though she's aware it's just an illusion, Tifa enjoys the moment of levity while she can; once she gets back home, she'll be unwittingly reminded of reality.

But as she walks into her building and heads for the mailboxes, Tifa realizes that the day she had today—that fun, pleasant, normal day—is also part of reality. All that happened recently made her forget that the world still spins, and she has to keep on living, too, and not just dwell into the dark. Still, as she grabs Cloud's mail and notices a letter meant for Tifa under his address, she finds it hard not to be swallowed by those shadows.

Tifa doesn't open it until she's reached her apartment; all the other letters are for Cloud—bills she's tried to convince him don't need to be sent by mail anymore. Her hands are surprisingly steady as she opens the letter—maybe it's that part of her knows what to expect, even if another wants nothing more than to deny the possibility. She takes out the folded papers from the envelope, sitting on the couch before looking at the content of the letters.

The top paper is addressed to her. As she reads the first line, her heart constricts, the unexpected pain cutting off her breath for a second, and she hates that she was right—the letter is from Seph.

Tifa,

I want to start by saying thank you for taking care of my brother.

This letter is an unfair one, and I'm aware of it. But the truth is that there is no one else I could ask this of. Or in any case, you're who I think is the best person for this. We didn't meet for long, but it was enough for me to know I can trust you. The moment I got back to Kalm, I sat down to write this. I'm sorry for putting this weight on you.

Included with this letter is one for Cloud. I can't bring myself to leave it for him. I wish I knew my brother more, because maybe then I could make the decision on my own. But I know enough to tell Cloud will feel guilty no matter what. It's my fault for reaching out to him, for making him feel this way. And I suppose part of me wants to ease this guilt the only way I still can. I'm afraid the letter will make it worse, but I also think the silence won't help.

Tifa, I'm selfishly asking you to decide for me.

Because you love Cloud, I know you will do what is best for him and only him.

Again, I'm sorry for this. And as a last request: please continue helping him. Don't let him lose his way like me.

Thank you,

Sephiroth

Tifa reads the letter once, twice. By the third time, she can't hold back the tears; they fall, silently and slowly, and she doesn't wipe them away. She doesn't care about the stains they create on the letter—her letter. If anything, she almost wishes she could drown the letter in tears so its content would be forever illegible.

With a trembling hand, she drops the first letter on the coffee table; the second one stares back at her, Cloud's name scrawled on top. It feels intrusive to read it, and she hesitates—after all, maybe she could just give it to Cloud as is, without reading it. But something about the idea doesn't sit right with her; Seph wasn't wrong when he said this could make Cloud's guilt worse. Tifa takes a moment to compose herself as best as she can, then starts reading.

Cloud,

You should know I'm proud of you. I think I should have been more open with that. You work hard, Cloud, and you don't like giving up. I've always admired that about you. But you should also know how to let go of things. You're only one person, you can't be everyone's hero all the time. You need to live for yourself too.

I wish I'd have been a better brother to you. I wish I'd told you you helped because it's true. But what I wish the most is that I'd told you how grateful I am to have you as my brother. I wish I had said all that to you, but I was too afraid to or I didn't think it mattered until now.

I know you might not believe me now, but I hope that, one day, you understand I was lucky to have you. All three of you.

Thank you, Cloud.

Seph

It takes a while for Tifa to move; she doesn't read through the letter again, not like she did with hers. The noise from the city drifts in despite the closed windows, or maybe it's that she's trying to focus on something else than her torn heart and the paper in her hand. A car's honk is what syncs her back with the world again. Tifa folds the letter, careful to follow the creases that had already formed. Finding a new envelope isn't easy—it's not often that she sends mail—but she does at the bottom of a drawer full of junk. She grabs another sheet and a pen and sits at her kitchen table.

Mimicking Seph's handwriting doesn't prove to be too hard. After writing out Cloud's address a dozen times, she feels it looks similar enough that he won't notice without something to compare it to. With a long inhale, Tifa puts the letter addressed to him in the new envelope, seals it, and puts a stamp she spent an eternity searching for. She stands up and drops the new envelope in the pile of mail destined for Cloud.

Tifa picks up her own letter and folds it before going to the piano. The bench is the kind with a hidden compartment; she lifts the top, as well as the partitions stored in there, and puts the letter at the bottom. The partitions back in place and the bench closed, Tifa goes to sit on the couch again.

It's a sort of lie to pretend the letter was mailed to Cloud, but Tifa doesn't think it's the bad sort of lie. It's one that warrants being told and believed. If it will bring Cloud any peace of mind, any comfort, then she will carry the secret as long as is needed. Part of her does want to keep her letter a secret, make it something between Seph and her only. And it feels right for the letter to be with the piano, though she isn't sure why.

As Tifa loses herself in the ambient noise of the TV and her eyelids grow heavy, she thinks of sweet dreams and farewells—and that it feels right to have her only tangible souvenir of Seph rest with the ones she has of her mother.

—

Cloud returns while she's out on an errand. As she walks inside her apartment, she hears a noise coming from his side. Tifa freezes in her entrance for a moment, debating if she should go see him or not. But then, she remembers having left the mail on his counter; Zack hadn't asked her why she'd wanted the key to Cloud's place, and she hadn't explained. At first, she'd thought she was being cowardly by not wanting to be present when Cloud would find the letter—but she'd realized it was more about giving him the space needed to absorb its content, its meaning.

Tifa puts away the items she bought, does some laundry, and sits down to study before Cloud knocks on her door. A glance at the time tells her it's been two hours since she got back.

"Hey," she says as she opens the door. She moves to let him pass.

Cloud walks in, and she ignores the puffiness and redness of his eyes, sure signs he cried. "Hi." Before she can say anything else, he adds, "For today—I just want to hang out with you. No ghosts. Just me and you."

She blinks, a little surprised, then nods. "We can do that."

His shoulders sag in relief at her answer. "Thanks."

As the afternoon advances and they chat and eat lunch and study, Cloud never mentions Seph's letter. And perhaps he never will, Tifa realizes, and that's fine—by now, she knows he will if he wants to.

When she gets up to grab a glass of water, Cloud asks, "Wanna listen to some music?"

"Okay. You can choose."

It's silent while she fills her glass and takes a few sips; as she gets back to the living room, the first notes of Liszt's Liebesträume No.3 sound, and Tifa allows herself a little smile as she sees Cloud near the window, staring at the street below.

"That's a beautiful one," she says, putting down her glass on the coffee table and joining him. "Always liked it."

"Yeah, it is."

She holds in a yelp of surprise when Cloud grabs her hand and pulls her towards him as if they would dance—one of his arms around her waist, his other hand in hers. Tifa tilts her head back to look at him, finding his eyes already on her.

"I thought you didn't like dancing," she says softly.

"I told you it'd depend on if you were asking me," he replies, his voice just as gentle.

Though she wouldn't call their slow swaying dancing, Tifa finds she prefers this anyway—the quietness of it is what speaks beyond words.

"You know what the title for this piece means?" Cloud asks after a beat.

"Uh-uh. Means 'Love Dream'."

Another pause, and the piano slows down as the music nears its end.

"What you did for me at the funeral… Playing the piano."

Tifa goes to lift her head from his shoulder, but he leans his against it before she can—and she understands he can't look at her to say what comes next. "Yeah?"

"I understand why you did it." His voice is barely above a whisper, yet he still sounds clear and steady. "That part of you that did it for me, I get it."

In her chest, her heart beats a little faster, but not so much that it hurts—instead, it feels warm, happy, like it knows there are good times to come.

"I can't play, but…"

"It's okay, Cloud." Tifa raises her head, forcing him to move so she can look at him—really look at him. "I understand."

"Yeah?"

She smiles. "Yeah."

Cloud rests his forehead against her, and she realizes this—unsaid words and meaningful choices—this is better. This is true, this is enough—to her and to him—and it's what really matters.

Cloud and her—their entwined lives open in A-flat Major, with a dreamlike theme that sings of promises. It will change with time—maybe it will cascade in a cadenza or it will soar through hopeful octaves, or maybe it will be both and so much more.

But that's alright, she thinks, they don't have to know right now.

They have time to find out.

—

(She's back in the house she grew up in, in the house she shared with her mother; the piano stands before her. In the back, she hears voices, both real and unreal—his voice and her father's, loud and teasing; but also her voice, soft and lilting as it always was. It whispers words she's heard before, words she never forgot but wants to hear again—I love it most when you play for me and I can see how happy that makes you. Will you play for me, sweetheart? I want to hear you again. I want to see you happy again.

The cover of the piano feels heavy, but she smiles as she lifts it, revealing the keys; her hands move on their own, as if guided by invisible ones, and—

She plays.)

—

A/N: I am, once again, so grateful for the support this fic received. It went beyond anything I could have ever imagined, and if anything, I'm glad it happened to this story.

Because it's so special to me. What started as a oneshot (yeah, yeah) evolved into something personal and more complex than I had expected—it's the kind of surprise you welcome, maybe grudgingly at first because why make this so much more complicated than it has to be, right? But once you do welcome it, it's so fulfilling and you feel accomplished in having seen it through. That's how I feel at least—proud of myself and so happy to have done this with all of you.

And I hope that, whatever this story made you feel, whatever it might have brought you, it's something good. Something real. Something that made you smile. And yeah, maybe, once in a while, something that made you cry ;)

That's it, guys. I'll see you in the next one! In the meantime, I'll be on twitter under sk_evans; come scream at me!

P.S.: I told y'all to trust me ;)

S.K. Evans (08.23.2020)