In the end, the flowers became a way for Tifa to express her feelings. They did not start as such – at first nothing more than a way to brighten up the still fledgling Eighth Heaven. Transplanting flowers from Aeris's church to a small pot in the back of the new bar took some time and attempts, but she succeeded in the end. Should be more flowers around the world now – and flowers growing in Midgar should not be as significant as it once was. Assuming they could get enough light under the plate. And assuming the ground could recover.
A gentle reminder of a lost friend, a touch of colour and an indication of the forward progress. Life changed irrevocably after the destruction of Meteor – in some ways set back by decades if not more; in others, advancing, forced to re-examine abandoned, too expensive, too radical notions for powering the world. Ones not debilitating the world they lived upon.
Other areas advanced; her relationship with Cloud grew, intensified and yet-
Her idea on what might have been their last night alive, Meteor looming, their only recourse to banish it lying at the bottom of the North Crater. Avalanche had scattered, each seeking out a loved one, or someone of significance (and to this day, with who or what Reeve spent the night with remained a mystery). She and Cloud had no one but each other. Fading twilight, time running out spurred her to be more forward.
Inexperience on Cloud's part should have been expected; too much of an outsider, too shy, locked in the agonised throes of experimentation. Overlooked at the time; the need for closeness, proximity, intimacy, to bond and be with someone for a last time- It overrode other concerns, Cloud's insecurity and lack of initiative. The mood broken in some ways; her need to explain, to guide to help him fulfil her the way she did with him. Contraception was the last thing on her mind. The encounter did not lead to pregnancy.
Many repeated encounters in the years following meant the situation was better now, the experience more fulfilling. But still not what she sought.
Cloud rarely – if ever – initiated their encounters. No surprises, no spark of spontaneity. His reactions seemingly so much slower than hers, always a risk he would lose interest, get distracted, the moment lost and opportunities for another attempt delayed.
Outside of the sex, there remained other issues. Any form of public affection left him uncomfortable. Understandable to a point, but a touch on the shoulder, an arm, a peck of a kiss would leave him nervous. He tended to sit separate from her when they were alone; would all too often prefer to sleep alone unless she got ready for bed with him. It fell to her to arrange events, to make suggestions of activities and occasions. Not like he did not enjoy any of the circumstances; as with sex, Cloud found enjoyment in her suggestions and was quick to desire a repeat – more so in these activities requiring less intimacy.
Recriminations and complaints died on her tongue whenever she came close to voicing them. He seemed better but remained damaged from his time in the Shinra infantry, to say nothing of Hojo's designs. Certain deaths still haunted him. The memories of one remained fogged; the other he experienced far too close at hand. Circumstances and events had shaped Cloud into his present incarnation; she had decided to pair with him. But not in the way she expected.
Unable to voice her frustrations, complaints and anger, Tifa sought to other outlets. A diary might work well enough, but while Cloud was not one to snoop, who could be sure whatever she penned would remain between the covers? Gossip was dangerous.
An off-hand comment inspired seeking a book on the language of flowers. Curious. Did Aeris know of this? Hard to imagine a flower girl like her would be ignorant of these secret meanings, but- She never saw Aeris as a flower girl, never witnessed if she her arranged flowers or sold them singly when plying her trade. Did she subtly critique her customers, the city? Did she insult her obnoxious clients or play at innocence to the extent of a bland insistence in the cluster of flowers she sold?
An answer beyond anyone's to answer. Obtaining sufficient numbers of each flower took time to arrange. And at first it felt strange; compliments on the beauty of her flowers, clustered together in the pot. Tifa would thank them, wondering what they would say if they knew the particular arrangement took inspiration from Cloud's disinterest in sex yesterday.
Or another display taking a long time to create and was perhaps a more generous interpretation of the combinations: emotional parasitism.
To change her situation to the degree needed would take a toll and cause so much disruption. And it might not happen – she was, if not exactly happy, at least comfortable here. Moving away was not something she wanted. But she knew if the need arose, she was ready to produce another arrangement with a simple meaning: Goodbye, Cloud.