TIFA: Hard
"Give me something hard."
"Just a minute," she says, reaching for a bottle behind the counter. "I'll make one for you." Ice clatters noisily into a waiting glass.
He isn't looking at her. His eyes are bright but unfocused, always turned inwards. He is no longer the boy she once knew.
"You know," she tries, setting the cold drink before him, "I'm relieved you made it back safely." He brushes away her concern with a careless reply, and she polishes the already-spotless bar between them to hide her flinch.
"You were in SOLDIER," she says.
He sets his drink down and pushes away from the stool in response. Lightly she reminds him to collect his pay, but he's already drifted away. When the crown of his hair disappears beneath the floor, she releases her breath and leans heavily against the bar.
She didn't realize it would be this difficult; his feelings have changed. But her feelings have changed, too.
With a sigh, she reaches for his glass and tosses back its remains.