Tifa fidgeted with the neckline of the dress. She'd been a little more than impulsive all day long, and the dress was just another part of the mix. Though the restaurant did call for a notch above casual, she couldn't help but wear it simply for the fact that it had made Vincent smile. She liked when he smiled.
She was tip-toeing into the living room, eyes searching for the pair of shoes she'd snagged to go with the dress when he'd noticed her. He'd changed before she had, long sleeves and black slacks. His hair was drawn back, tied, with bangs loose and frayed around his jaw. She found his eyes, watched the corner of his lips curve just enough to hint a smile, and turned her attention back to the heels, sliding them on.
"Ready?"
"Of course."
- - -
Tifa gave a contented sigh, leaning back in the chair. Dinner had been breathtaking, but the conversation had been scarce. Ever since she'd grilled him in the car on what his thoughts were of the phone call, what she should do, he'd been avoiding her eyes. She was biting her lip when he brought out his wallet, apparently lost in silent deliberation.
Their eyes met for a moment, and she reached across the table to put a hand over his. "Put that away."
"You're not paying, Tifa."
"That's not why I'm asking. Come on," she stood from the table, smoothing the skirt of the dress back into place.
"What are we doing?"
"We're having a drink."
His brows rose ever so slightly when she tilted her head in the direction of the lounge. He glanced toward the room beyond twin panels of thin glass. The area was significantly darker than the rest of the building, and the music was thumping faintly. If she'd wanted a more seductive environment, she would have been hard pressed to find one. He ignored the buzz in his ears and pushed back from the table.
"I'm not going to waste the evening dissecting phone calls and slicing through silence."
Finally. "Dissection finished." He rose to his feet, following her to the lounge, receipt in hand.
The music was low, with rhythm to spare. The bass was just enough to bother the hairs on the back of his neck without giving him a headache. Tifa wound through the crowd and chose a rounded booth in the darkest corner of the room, strategically close to the bar.
"I'll get those drinks."
She was at the counter, ordering drinks with a polite smile. He studied her face in the dim, orange light, focusing on her lips as she spoke. She'd started with gloss, but it had rubbed thin since they'd left his apartment. He couldn't help but notice the delicate curve her bottom lip took, or the small indentation spilling to her lips from beneath her pert nose.
He was silently hoping the maroon drink in her right hand wasn't his when she left the bar. Thankfully, the tumbler in her left was a little more inviting.
"Scotch." She was setting the glass down skillfully while sliding into the seat across from him. She knew him well.
"And what, pray tell, is that?" He eyed the dark liquid curiously, watching her sip the iced drink through a tiny straw.
"This-" she slid it toward him "-is a mix of raspberry, vodka, and mango liqueur."
"I'll pass."
"Suit yourself." She went back to sipping the drink, watching the few couples on the dance floor sway methodically with the music.
The scotch gave the warmth of familiarity he didn't mind in the least. He could tell she'd zoned out. Her fingers were gathered beneath her chin, her lips drawn together. She was still thinking about the call, despite her best effort to make light of the evening. That frustrated him beyond anything he could recall in recent years.
"Tifa…"
"Hmm?" She lazily craned her neck, gazing at him through another sip of her drink.
"You're dissecting."
"Oh! Right. Sometimes I forget you're a mind reader."
He thought he detected a slight amount of sarcasm in her voice, but he let it roll over his shoulders. Did she forget how transparent she could be at times? "Are you sure you don't want-"
"Don't. Leave the last part out. I know where it's going." She polished off the drink, grimacing and setting the glass down a little too firmly for his peace of mind. "Can we dance?"
He was still feeling rusty from the dance in the rain, unsure of anything beyond that, but he could tell she needed it. "Sure."
She rose carefully, leading him through the mingled bodies until she found a spot to her liking. She turned to him, dark eyes full of tiny lights and shadow. He felt out of place, but she pulled him into a rhythm that matched the pulse of the music and dusty memories came flooding back to him. In all his years since awakening, he'd never imagined he'd be calling up long forgotten talents for the sake of one woman.
He tried to ignore the way her hips moved, tried not to imagine the way the muscles of her abdomen would flex with each sultry motion, tried to forget about the way a sheen of sweat misted her chest, and the fragrance that drifted from her pores, but in the end he simply couldn't keep his imagination from toying with his thoughts. Then, seemingly by accident, she brushed her hip against the inside of his thigh. He couldn't figure out how their movement had allowed it, but the heat that flashed through his skull told him he didn't care. He could feel the crest of the bone, solid and prominent beneath the sheer fabric. Though the moment was fleeting, it played in such slow motion that he found himself wondering what else he'd be able to feel through the dress.
"Sorry," she murmured, moving a couple of inches from him.
Several minutes later and not a moment too soon, the music shifted gears. The pace slowed, pushing the other couples into each other's arms. Tifa paused, looking to him with curious eyes. For a moment, he thought she'd coax him into a slow dance, but she sighed and pushed her hair back from her shoulders.
"It's warm. I'm gonna grab another drink."
It did not go unnoticed to him that she was flustered. Her cheeks were ruddy, and her arms were shaking. The temperature had risen considerably, but he doubted that had anything to do with her behavior. Idly, he shook his head and returned to the table, catching a nervous glance from the bar.
"Sorry, I was getting thirsty." She'd seated herself across from him again, sipping a refill of that raspberry concoction.
"Alcohol won't quench your thirst."
"It's cold and it tastes like candy. That's good enough for me."
Again, she seemed to be short with him, and he was wondering what had gotten into her. The answer was obvious, but he chose to ignore it for as long as she'd let him.
"I just can't bring myself to leave it alone, Vincent."
Apparently, not long at all.
The air of her statement was similar to that of a confession. He'd seen it coming, despite his hope that she'd been distracted by the friction of the dance floor. It was beginning to annoy him, as much as he tried not to let it.
"I know, Tifa."
"I'm sorry…"
"You keep apologizing."
"Well, I feel terrible. I keep trying to make the night enjoyable, but my mind just won't let me."
"What do you want?"
She looked at him as though he'd just proposed skydiving from Sierra in the middle of the Northern Crater. "What?"
"What would you consider the best outcome for your current situation?"
"I… I guess I'd really like to get on with my life. Forget about having any kind of romance with him, all the stupid ways he's made me feel like nothing."
The truth was ugly, and she was frowning. She'd never quite said it in those words, and he thought it was a step forward. "What would it take for you to get to that point?"
"I've never thought about that..."
"In order to get to a point of progress, you need to know what helps and what doesn't."
"What does not help? That's easy. The mixed signals. One day he doesn't seem to care. The next he's calling to check on me."
There would be no going back after the comment he was considering, but it was the honest truth. "Tifa, did you ever consider that he does care, hence the calls, but that he doesn't care in the way that you expect?"
The words came out wrong. He could see it in her eyes.
"I never expected anything from him." The color had drained from her face, and her voice was edgy.
"That's not what I meant to say. I was saying that perhaps he cares the way Barret or Cid care. Not in a romantic sense, despite your efforts together."
"As in… he's always been that way and he was forcing the situation?"
There was no delicate way to put it. "Maybe he confused his emotions following the Meteor."
She obviously hated to hear what he was saying, but he was tired of the deception. "And now I'm left feeling cheated, sitting in a bar drinking fruity alcohol, trying to dream up ways to make it all go away?"
The tone she used startled him, "Tifa, calm down."
She huffed indignantly. "Calm down? I never thought of this explanation to things. In ways, it's easier to believe, less painful than some of the other explanations. But it hurts all the same."
"You really hadn't thought of it that way?"
Her expression told him that she had, but was simply lashing out at the way it had sounded coming from him. "I just want to forget."
"Then you need to move past it, find what helps and use that to your advantage."
"And what if it isn't 'what helps,' but who?"
He could feel the blood rush to his face, his controlled pulse moving more quickly. "Then you let them help."
The words seemed to register, soothing her down from the tension he could sense in her lips and eyes. However, he was feeling tenser by the minute. The compound of frustrations he'd felt since she'd come to him were boiling with all the little moments of contact they'd shared since her arrival. The tension on the dance floor and her inability to leave the call alone hadn't helped. He didn't blame her, and he wasn't necessarily frustrated with her, but rather with the situation as a whole.
- - -
Tifa could feel the slight hum of the alcohol she'd all but inhaled. She could feel a lot more than that from where she was sitting. His shoulders were rigid and his jaw was squared. She'd hurt him, even if he'd probably never admit it. She'd been blind, or perhaps more accurately, in denial about the way he treated her. She was sure now, that he cared about her far more than he was letting on. And she'd hurt him.
"Vincent, you arehelping. More than you know… I just don't make that very clear. I need to face this head on, rather than let it get the best of me like it has for so long."
"That is a start."
It was hard not to notice that he was no longer talking without being prompted by her questions or statements. She briefly settled her forehead into her hands, feeling low and trying to find a way to fix it. She certainly wouldn't be able to in this noisy lounge, where they'd been just shy of shouting through the entire conversation.
"Can we get out of here?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
He hastily went to the bar, paying off the tab and the receipt for dinner while she made her way to the door. He was making a quick exit, proof enough of the way he was feeling. It wasn't long before they were back in his car, his eyes glued to the road ahead while she sat in silence. The night wasn't going as she'd wanted it to. Not at all. And it was her chance to return a few favors.
"What's wrong?" She hesitated, but reached across the car to put her hand on his shoulder soothingly.
"Hm?" He was focused, but he glanced at her for a moment, scanning her eyes.
"Just wondering why you're so quiet."
"No reason in particular. I am tired."
"Why didn't you say something?"
He gave a short laugh, "Didn't want to ruin your night."
"I did that all on my own."
She brushed her fingers down his bicep, feeling the muscle flex in reaction to her touch. He really was extraordinary, from the way he was put together to the depth of his personality. And he had so much to give.
"It was not a complete failure."
"Well aren't you the optimist."
"Honestly."
"And why do you say that?"
"You've realized some important points."
"Oh, that," she paused. "They've always been there. It's just taken forever to see them for what they are."
And that was a simple truth she'd finally found a shred of comfort in. There was nothing left to hang onto with Cloud. They'd tried, and they'd tried hard. He really had put effort in, because the truth was that he did care for her, but it wasn't in a way that made her feel complete. She considered the idea of his friendship alongside the likes of Cid and Barret, as Vincent had compared, and she found the similarities startling. They'd both be worried about her absence, protective of her, and they'd all come to her rescue if she were to get into trouble. She realized then that it really was love. The kind of love one gave to a family member, and they were all family.
The engine died down and she recognized the garage. She hadn't even registered the last part of the drive. The apartment was warm, and she felt at home walking through the door. She slipped her heels off by the entry and watched as Vincent sat sideways on the corner of the bed. She'd never seen him quite so withdrawn, at least not since they began to see each other often.
"Vincent?"
His eyes met hers. "Do you remember the first time I came to see you?"
"Of course."
"A little more than a year ago…" This meant that her significant problems with Cloud had been ongoing for at least that long, an admission she felt strangely about. "You were so reserved about your opinions on my problems."
"I was trying to be supportive."
"And you've been the most stable part of my life for a year. Now you've been honest about your thoughts, and I have to tell you…" She crossed the room and sat beside him, preserving eye contact. "I really appreciate that even if it hurts. I'm not sure if I could've found my head without you."
He was focused on her, but she could still feel the tension in his posture. He was struggling to put it aside, as she had been earlier. He'd helped her, and it was time she helped him.
"Relax," she soothed, tucking her calves beneath her seat to level with him. Before he could move, she placed her fingers on either side of his face, brushing pitch-dark bangs aside to gain access to the delicate skin of his temples. She moved her fingers slowly, kneading the skin gently. He'd gone rigid at first, but with each circle he seemed to relax, shoulders slumping and sinking while his eyes closed.
- - -
The effort she was making to help him relax had been hypnotizing him, draining the rigidity from his posture and taking it elsewhere. He finally found the courage to open his eyes, and he studied her neck since it was now even with his line of sight. He traveled the curvature of her skin to her exposed collar bone. It was then he noticed the tiniest of imperfections, a dark freckle standing out against her fair skin that he wanted to kiss.
"Much better." Her voice had been thick when her fingers left his temples.
There was something about the way she'd taken such care to help him relax that just put things into perspective. And there it was; the opportunity he'd been waiting for since he'd first recognized his feelings months ago.
His hands joined hers, cupping over her fingers for a moment before trailing up her arms. He could see her shudder beneath the contact as his fingers climbed her neck and rested at the base of her ears. The room seemed degrees hotter, and he could hear his heart hammering in his ears, feel the blood coursing through his veins. There was so much pent up in the moment that it felt as though the air had become charged with explosives. He held her there a moment, nervous and working up the nerve as her eyes traced his lips.
Her position was just so that he had to rise carefully to align with her, but it felt clumsy and disoriented. Gently, he pulled her closer until the breadth of an inch separated their lips. The warmth of her moist exhalation caught when he finally pushed his lips against hers. The timing wasn't perfect, perhaps not even the moment, but he couldn't have cared less when she pressed herself against him and accepted his kiss.
He wanted to devour her lips, to feel every inch of her. He could taste the sweet combination of raspberry and mango, tinged by the harshness of vodka, on her lips as they parted, offering more than he'd ever expected. Her hands were roaming, blazing a path down his spine, one settling while the other climbed again to tangle with his ponytail. His hands left her neck, brushing down the curve of her torso to grip her hips, faintly recalling the way she had felt against his thigh. The electric need that arched her back and forced a soft cry pushed him to the edge of his control, threatening to take him down.
What had began as hesitant had turned to scorching, and he could barely find the strength to divide their connection. He pulled back, breathless and aching and knowing that everything had just changed.
How could I not end there? I tried to justify carrying on, but it seemed like such the perfect end to a difficult chapter even if the consequence is a thousand words shorter than I'd planned. Things will indeed change from this point, and the story will shift gears. I have much in mind, and we haven't seen the last of Cloud.
I struggled and agonized over where to place the kiss, and how to work it in. That's mostly the reason I have delayed this chapter as much as I have. I apologize for that, and I hope I did their first kiss justice. It was hesitant and clumsy, but that was intentional.
I'm coming to a point in life where things are shifting and I can finally feel like myself again. Just a few weeks to go and I my husband will be home, and you will certainly be seeing more of me. He seems to hold a lot more power over my ability to focus than I'd first guessed ;)
This is why I need to dedicate the hours of this chapter to him. I have drawn so much inspiration from his encouragement and love. Thank you darling!