"Okay, this is getting ridiculous—"
As Zack opens the refrigerator, he shakes his head, abandoning fixing his tie halfway. "There's three cartons of orange juice in here with Cloud's name on them!"
He's pissed, and he shoots his glare over at the kitchen island, where Cloud is sitting next to Aerith as he looks at his phone. She's rolling a lint roller over the back of his sweatshirt, and Cloud's given up trying to stop her, just leans on the table and lets her do whatever she wants. A cheerful melody hums in her throat while she tidies him up.
"It's okay, babe. Cloud will finish them all. Right, Cloud?"
"Sure." He's not paying attention. It's another weekday morning where Zack's mad about something Cloud did, and Aerith defends him like she's his mom. He hardly reacts when Zack drops a carton of juice in front of him. The silver ink of his name is smudged. The condensation on the cardboard makes it slippery, glistening in a wet sheen.
Cloud decides he won't be a total dick today. He won't open a new bottle of juice and just drink out of one he's already tainted. Closing his phone, his fingers get wet as he slides the carton toward him, leaving a shimmering trail on the counter. Aerith is still fussing over him, cleaning lint off his sleeve now. She wears her pajamas, looks like she's about to go to a third-grade sleepover.
He twists the cap open, cranking his head back as he takes a few swigs. The cool splash of juice glides down his throat, and Aerith tugs his arm, crossing her legs on the stool, wavy hair diving over her shoulders. When Cloud stops for a breath, he notices Zack leaning against the door of the fridge and watching him. It's weird, but he doesn't say anything, just lets the morning play out before he heads to campus.
"Pretty quiet today, buddy." Zack's behind him now, rubbing Cloud's shoulders aggressively. Between him and Aerith and the lint roller, Cloud feels claustrophobic. He uses the juice as an excuse to keep from talking, savoring the sting of acid in his mouth as he gulps.
"I guess you're just not that innocent!" Zack's voice rings out as he sings the last few words, his grip on Cloud's shoulders overbearingly tight.
Cloud's eyes glaze over as he starts choking, his throat tightening as he shoves the juice away and coughs in the pit of his elbow. Aerith pulls back, but Zack keeps his hands on him, his laughter echoing in the room as if he's just told the funniest joke in the world.
"Aerith." Cloud wipes the drool from his chin, still trying to catch his breath as he shrugs Zack off him. There's a firm iciness to his glare, and Aerith looks so guilty, her hands clasped together, fingers interlocked like she's ready to repent to him when she drops the lint roller.
"I'm sorry, honey. But—I had to tell him," she pleads with quaking jade eyes. "It was the sweetest thing I've ever seen. The way you were looking at each other!"
Cloud groans, compresses his cheek to the table as he pulls his beanie over his eyes. The pink of the room bleeds through the darkness. There's no escape from it. He's not even mad. At Aerith, Zack's teasing. He feels like a lovesick puppy. And he'd do anything for Tifa—play her any song she wants on his guitar. Or something bolder, crazier. Anything she'd ask, he'd be willing. And he knows why. But he doesn't want to say it out loud.
"When are you guys gonna start dating?" Zack is at the coffee maker at the other side of kitchen, filling his mug. "The tension is killing me."
The warm aroma swirls through the kitchen as Zack claims a stool across from them. Cloud feels the weight of his gaze, sitting there with his face smushed to the island as he wallows in his misery. He knows he looks pathetic, and Aerith tries to make it all better by massaging his shoulder blade, working out the tension from a stiff muscle.
"Babe, have you not been keeping up?" she says, like she's talking about her favorite soap opera and not Cloud's miserable life. "Cloud can't date Tifa because she lives with her dad. And he won't let her date."
Cloud lets his chest expand as he takes a deep breath, the air settling in his lungs. He doesn't add to the conversation, because Aerith is right. Cloud doesn't know anything about Tifa's dad, except that he's a major dick. And she hates being home. He can't stand a person he's never met, hates that the mere idea of him is an obstacle between him and Tifa.
"Jeez," Zack says. Cloud slumps forward, throws his arms over the table in defeat, his chin resting there as he watches Zack spoon sugar in his coffee. "Why doesn't she just live here then?"
Cloud waits for Zack to finish the joke. Even though it's not fucking funny. But, to his surprise, he doesn't. He looks at Cloud and Aerith expectantly, like he's waiting for them to add to his thought. Cloud's head feels as heavy as he drags it off the table, his brows slanting in confusion.
"What?"
"Have her move in." Zack says it so easily, shrugging his shoulders as he starts stirring the contents of his mug. He pushes the sleeves of his dress shirt to his forearms, flicks the collar that still has several buttons undone. "She's already here all the fucking time anyway."
He lifts the spoon, droplets of coffee trickling down the handle as he points it at Cloud. Dark bushy brows angle when he narrows his eyes. They're brightened from the sunlight, revealing flecks of green shimmering against sky blue. "Just don't get her pregnant."
"Babe!" Aerith's shriek rings in Cloud's ear. When he dares glance at her, she's clutching her chest, her fist strangling the fabric of her silky shirt. Her eyes bloom into large glittering saucers. "Are you serious? Tifa can live here with us?"
Zack looks down at his coffee and shrugs like it's something that will not completely change the dynamic of the household. "Sure, why not? If it'll get Cloud to quit moping."
Even as Aerith squeals and claps as if the decision is made and set in stone, there's just one fucking problem—it's not up to them. How in the world would he even suggest that to Tifa? That they transition from friends to her being his live-in girlfriend who sleeps in the same bed as him? She'd be fucking horrified.
His vision is blurred as he grinds the edge of his palms into his eye sockets so hard that he sees the burst of firecrackers and stars. "She'd never agree to it."
But he'd love to whisk her away—take her to his bed and protect her from anything and everything that threatens her, strip away the defensive barrier she actively keeps around herself. She must be exhausted always being so alert, computing the consequences of every move she makes.
Tifa must be so tired. Cloud wishes he could help her rest.
Late November 2005
Tifa's recital is the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.
It's…ballet. Cloud doesn't fucking know. Performed in the black box theatre in the basement of the arts building, he surmises it's a production they put on every semester. There are a lot of dancers, and Cloud has to focus to spot Tifa most of the time, because they move around so much. She doesn't have a solo, they don't give her the spotlight. It's a fucking sin—a tragedy. Tifa is clearly the best dancer of them all.
It's so dark in here, every inch of the room enveloped in blackness. The walls, the floor, even the cushions of the seats. Yet the lights are white and blinding, illuminating the stage and burning on each body traversing the floor.
He sits on the very top row, trying to camouflage himself, because he knows Tifa's dad is here. Somewhere in this audience—sitting on one of these seats. He's here, and Cloud can feel his presence. He doesn't know who he is, what he looks like. His eyes scan the bodies populating the theatre. It's too dark, too crowded, he can't see. He doesn't know who or where, but he's here. And it makes him feel sick to his stomach.
Aerith sits next to him, Zack beside her. He didn't expect them to come, but they're here. Aerith gasps and clutches Cloud's arm every time Tifa is on stage. He sinks into his seat, gripping the armrest. In his dress shirt and slacks, he feels out of place, not like himself. His heart becomes a drumbeat, drowning out everything else as his gaze focuses on Tifa—follows her and only her.
They are wearing short, flowy black dresses. It wasn't what he was expecting—more like frilly tutus or something more extravagant. He sees the length of her legs, every hill of muscle and each individual pore on her skin as the light cradles her.
Her hair is up and away from her face. Her waist is so tiny, her hips dip out. The other dancers are distracting—trying to pull his attention away from Tifa. When she is much more captivating and breathtaking, because she is a star, lighting up the room, setting fire to the stage with her radiance. Cloud can't stop looking at her. He never wants to stop looking at her.
And he keeps sinking, slouching into the backrest. Her limber reflection dances in his eyes—heavy-lidded, dreamy, enamored. Her body is music—an instrument, he hears the piano in the glide of her toes, her leg as she curves it behind her. Higher and higher and higher, and she's almost a contortionist—the way she bends her spine, points her foot, twists her ankle.
Cloud can't talk to her once it's over.
It sucks—because as every other dancer is hugged by a loved one, Tifa is dragged by her dad. She wipes the makeup off her face with a wet towel, hurriedly as coal smears under her eyes. With baggy sweatpants covering her legs, her coat draped over her shoulders. Tifa is hiding herself, looking to the floor as she cleans her face.
They are in the hallway, where it's busy and loud, laughter and chatter rumbling in the background. The blackness is replaced by creamy walls and white marbled tile. Cloud lingers, watching Tifa in the distance as subtly as he can. Zack and Aerith loiter with him, mirroring his curiosity.
He's tall, much taller than Tifa. Lean and intimidating, with a full head of salt and pepper hair and a thick mustache on his upper lip. His brown eyes are framed by crow's feet that crease when he scowls. Cloud can't hear what he's saying, but he can tell by the way he moves his mouth that it's a different language. And Tifa nods, her gaze low. Strands of hair slip free from her bun as it grows looser.
"So that's her dad, huh?"
Zack helps Aerith into her coat, concealing the sweeping pink dress she wears. Her hair is done up, her fringe framing her face as long, curly tendrils bounce past her shoulders. She is quiet, her eyes pained as she watches Tifa, and she slides her lips together, shifting the rosy lipstick on her mouth.
"He looks like a dick," Zack adds with a huff, throwing on his own blazer. There's an intense gleam in his eyes, burning a sterling sapphire as he narrows his brows. "He's just over there manhandling her."
Cloud leans against the wall, rubs his forehead between two fingers. The cologne Aerith made him wear is thick and mildly sweet. He can smell himself, and the scent irritates his nose. His throat feels scratchy. And he sees Tifa's dad take hold of her wrist, pulling her forward. He's still talking to her. It's hushed, too far away for Cloud to hear. Dressed like a mobster almost, a white dress shirt tucked in grey slacks, suspenders snug around his shoulders. Tifa's hand goes limp in his grasp.
She wasn't supposed to look at Cloud. He promised her he wouldn't talk to her, but he's been staring at her since she leaped to the stage. And his eyes are still stuck on her now. She wasn't supposed to look at him, but ignore him. Pretend they never met, that they're lives hadn't become so connected.
But Tifa lifts her gaze from the floor, and their eyes lock.
It's brief, so brief—but intense, like they're both scrambling to hold onto each other, eyes clashing so horrifically and beautifully in a lustful panic. Cloud feels his throat constricting, closing off the passageway to his lungs. He can't breathe the second she looks at him, seeing the wine soaking in her eyes, trembling around blown-out pupils. Even when she jerks her gaze away just as quickly, he holds his breath.
And Tifa's dad looks at him—right at him. He's noticed, caught his daughter's fumble and finds the source of her fascination. He looks at Cloud with fury brewing in beige, and it feels like a hit has been put on him. That he's now a target.
"Yoooo dude!"
It's as if Cloud is suddenly pulled back from another dimension. He can hear the noise in the hall again, the clicking of heels on the tile, the assault of the lights. Reno is here—and he hardly has a second to process the shock of it, because he grabs Cloud in an assertive side huge, ruffling his hair. Reno is doused in cologne, Cloud's surprised he couldn't smell him coming a mile away. And he's dressed like a fucking douchebag. His dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, holding a black blazer tucked in his elbow.
"What are you doing here?" Cloud says, trying to squirm away from his hold, but Reno is persistent.
"When I got your text saying you were coming to this thing tonight, I had to see for myself." Reno pulls on his collar, exposes a chunk of his clavicle.
Cloud furrows his brows. "See what?"
"The girl you've obviously been shacking up with while you were ignoring me all semester!" A strand of red hair falls over his forehead, and Reno's cheeks are hollow when he smirks. "And let me tell you, this was the most boring hour and half I've ever spent of my life. The least you could do is point her out."
Cloud gives him a look. His eyes are hard, brows bowed toward his nose. But Reno doesn't even give him a chance to answer. He suddenly becomes aware that Cloud didn't come here alone, and he releases him so swiftly, Cloud almost stumbles to the floor.
"Mrs. Fair—" He's all over Aerith, because he's a degenerate, like Cloud. Reno takes her hand, kisses her knuckles, admires her long nails. "You are looking so lovely tonight."
When Zack grabs his wrist, he doesn't let go until Reno drops her hand. "Paws off the wife."
Aerith's giggle wavers as she taps her chin, tilting her head. "Hey Reno. Long time no see."
"Yea—" he agrees, shoving his hands in his pockets while leaning his weight on one leg. He cocks his head over to Cloud, and his glare feels lethal. "Looks like Cloud's been busy."
And Reno's back at him again, elbowing his ribs. "So real talk, man—Who is she?"
Tifa is leaving, her dad leading the way. She doesn't look back. Doesn't steal a glance. She disappears in the crowd until he's lost track of her, until she's gone. Cloud feels his heart his heart sink to the depths of his stomach. His chest feels empty and hollow. He knew this would happen, but he still wasn't prepared for it.
Aerith is wearing high heels—silver stilettos, but she still props herself to her toes to whisper in Reno's ear. She cups her mouth, keeping discreet. Cloud can't hear what she's saying, but Reno nods slowly, absorbing the information she hurriedly reveals to him.
And he looks at Cloud, his posture lax, light eyes scanning him as he runs his hand through red hair. "Sounds like we have a lot of catching up to do."
He's right. But Cloud doesn't even know where to begin.
December 2005
Cloud sees Tifa a lot. Almost all the time. But he hates that even though he spends a lot of time with her, his access to her is limited.
He can't text or call her. He can't tell her that he misses her, express how badly he wants her. He had hoped that the longer they hung out, this intense desire would slowly quell. That she could really grow to be his friend. But it's only gotten worse. It's now out of control. Cloud feels like he would do anything to be with Tifa. Even if they have to go on this way indefinitely, even if he dies from the pain of it. He'll endure just to experience her. For the tiny moments where his heart feels full and his chest swells from the powerful euphoria of her presence.
It's Tuesday night, and Cloud is drinking.
He's with Reno, in his bleak apartment full of dog hair, spilling his guts as he drinks on the couch. There's no loud music this time, just the sound of his whiny voice, his panting breath. Cloud leans forward, cradling his head. He's wearing a baggy sweatshirt and joggers tucked into his sneakers. The room is spinning, and all he sees is Tifa. Her image is beautiful and haunting, and he finds the pain in her eyes, the sadness in her gaze, and it breaks his heart.
He tells Reno everything. Everything. Drinking straight out of the bottle of tequila, relishing in the burn of his throat, the sting of tears in his eyes, and the instant warmth that spills into his belly. He tells him about meeting her, about the girls cutting her hair, how she comes over almost every day. He confesses every stupid detail, like how he's too dumb to pronounce her real name, the dimple that dots her chin whenever she smiles at him. That when she said her mom was from North Siberia, Cloud went to the school library the next day and looked that shit up, learning about all the different cultures and races in Russia.
Reno doesn't tease him. He doesn't have anything smart to say, like his usual catchphrase the best way to get over somebody is to get under someone else. He doesn't try to give Cloud advice or offer to be his wingman to find another girl less complicated. He just sits there on the couch next to him—petting his sleeping dog that's curled up by his thigh, thumbing the collar of his tee shirt once he's put down the bottle of beer he's been sipping. He huffs a breath, but it's not amused. He smiles, but not really. He seems sorry for Cloud. Like he genuinely pities him.
"Jeez," he mutters, crossing his leg over his knee and shifting his weight on the couch. As Reno scratches his head, his stare drops to his dog, his palm grazing over a furry belly. "It kinda sounds like you're in love with her."
Cloud's head is pounding. His ears are ringing, and he's plagued in glorious torment by the sound of Tifa's laughter. He rubs his temples, closes his eyes to ease the tension, but then all he sees is her. The soft angles of her face, her heart shaped lips, her ample, bloody eyes. Bleeding and bleeding in beauty and agony. Long dark hair, ivory skin. A strap of a dress she wears slips down her shoulder.
"I am." Cloud doesn't know whether he's laughing or crying. He's fucked up, surrendered to the low of the liquor. "I'm so fucking in love with her."
Cloud is drunk. His hearing is hazy, his sight blurred. His thoughts are a scrambled mess in his head. Reno is helping him up. He doesn't know what time it is, how many hours have gone by of him just pouring the contents of his heart. He can hardly walk, the room won't stop spinning, and he feels sick to his stomach, nausea creeping up his chest.
He's shoved into a car, everything dark as he drifts in and out of consciousness. Tifa is there, in the back of his thoughts, in the forefront of his mind. She is everywhere. She is the sun and the moon, in the stars that blanket the sky. She is the shadow and the light.
Reno talks to him, and Cloud only catches glimpses of what he says. "You gotta tell her how you feel, man. You have to put yourself out there."
But Cloud is terrified. He's never been in love before, has never felt the fragility of his life with this constant distress in his heart. It's the most wonderful, horrible feeling in the world.
He gets home somehow—Reno hauls him to the front door, gets him into the elevator. And Cloud is hanging off him, holding his shoulders, his feet dragging against the floor. He shuts his eyes to evade the light. It sears, overwhelming—but the darkness offers no relief. The taste of tequila lingers in his mouth, its tingle lurking on the edge of his tongue.
Aerith answers the door—and she appears to him almost as his liberator. She'll know how to make this right. She always does, as she wears her pink robe and slippers, chestnut hair damp and tangled, sticking to the silk covering her. Aerith and Reno make the exchange, and suddenly Cloud is holding her, gripping her robe, desperate to fall to his knees and pray to her—beg for redemption and for his sins to be wiped clean, so he could be deserving of Tifa. Because Aerith can fix this. She has to.
"Jesus Christ, is he wasted?"
He hears Zack's voice, catches a glimpse of him—he sounds like he's pissed, but his face says otherwise. He looks concerned, his brows knit together as he chews his bottom lip. He's ready for bed, in a tee shirt that shows the outline of his chest and stomach, loose sweatpants slung low on his hips. Aerith struggles under Cloud's weight. Zack helps, leading them to the bathroom they share.
He's throwing up. Curled over the toilet on his knees, feeling the chill of the porcelain as he clutches it desperately. Pure bile retches from his mouth, scorching his throat, seething his chest as it climbs and climbs and doesn't end. Like pouring water—but it burns, it fucking hurts so bad. Tears stream down his face, and the light from the ceiling beats down on him, relentless and unforgiving.
Aerith stays, kneels beside him as she massages his shoulders. She smells like sugar and cinnamon and all the things that used to annoy him about her—now bringing him peace and hope. Because Tifa loves all those things, and Tifa loves Aerith. Aerith is the reason he can bring Tifa here. Aerith is the reason why Cloud isn't sitting here suffering alone.
"Oh sweetie, you really shouldn't drink on an empty stomach." Her voice is soothing. It echoes against the walls of the bathroom, cradling his ears. Cloud is still throwing up and still crying. He feels so stupid and pathetic. So fucking nauseous. He doesn't remember the last time he got this fucked up. Or he does—but he blocks the memory out. He doesn't want to think about it. He's already in so much physical and emotional pain.
Sweat beads his forehead, dripping in a slow, fiery trek along his skin. Zack brings a wash cloth, hands it to Aerith. It's damp and cold when she dabs it against him, gathering perspiration and sticky tears. Cloud feels weak and gross, but he's puking less. There's time in between where he's just panting and trying to catch his breath before he starts choking again.
Aerith rubs circles on his back, while Zack leans against the sink, his arms flexing and bulging when he folds them over his chest.
"You're coddling him, babe." There's a gentle humor in his voice, and Aerith smiles as she hugs Cloud, pressing the washcloth against his cheek. "Let him suffer a little. It's a school night."
"He's just a poor little baby," she coos, and he feels the satiny material of her robe graze his neck. "You wanna tell us what's wrong Cloud?"
When she cups his cheeks, she directs his gaze to her. Everything is moving, nothing stands still—nothing except the image of Aerith's face. It's a vision of angelic beauty, bright and blinding. Her eyes shine, vivid and reflective like emeralds. Her pink lips curve tenderly. He sees the flare of her nostrils when she sighs. "Do you wanna talk about it?"
He repents to her, to this saint willing to forgive him and show him such compassion. Cloud's out of his mind. He breaks into a sob as he submerges himself into Aerith's chest, bowing to her, pressing his cheek against the soft tautness of her sternum.
"I don't know what to do—" His voice is distorted from his tears, he can barely understand himself. But he needs her to listen—she has to help him. "I'm in love with her. I love her."
Aerith gasps—and it echoes and repeats. She holds him, rocking him back and forth with the nurturing touch of a mother. Maybe she can fix this—she can fix anything.
"Cloud, oh my god!" She squeezes him tighter, crushing him against her, and he's starting to feel sick again. "I knew it! You finally said it!" A beat passes. "Babe, Cloud loves Tifa!"
"Yea. No shit. Thought that was pretty obvious."
When she releases him, he falls back on his bum. He presses his cheek to toilet seat, and Aerith is still trying to wipe the mess of sweat and tears from his face. The light reflects in her eyes. But they're not like Tifa's—deep and dark and bleeding. He doesn't drown in them, doesn't fall in the abyss of her pupils.
"Babe, can you run to the store and get Cloud some Pedialyte? He's probably dehydrated."
Zack sighs, and Cloud can't see him, but he can hear him shuffling as he walks out of the bathroom. "Yea, sure."
Cloud doesn't know how he gets to the couch, how he ends up sprawled on the sofa with his head on Aerith's lap. She threads her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp as she combs flaxen strands. He doesn't fight her affection or resent her tenderness. He feels so small, like he's regressed to a child, and all he wants to feel is loved.
"Are you going to tell Tifa how you feel about her?"
His eyes are closed, and Cloud shifts to lie on his side. Her thumb trickles by his ear as she continues to caress him. "I don't know. I don't know how she'll react."
"I think she'd feel really happy if you told her. It feels good to hear someone tell you they love you."
He considers her point, even as his temples throb and he's still in agony, he lets Aerith's words replay in his head. "I guess it does."
"Like, I love you, Cloud." He hears her smile in the perk of her voice. "Isn't that nice to hear?"
He feels himself begin to fall asleep, ready to chase images of Tifa in his dreams, to endure this endless torment of her night and day. "It is." He sighs, bending his knees to his chest. "I love you, too."
"Huh." Aerith's voice quavers, like she's biting back tears. "I think that's the first time you ever said that to me."
"I know. I'm sorry."
They speak nothing more of it. Cloud will probably forget this moment of weakness in the morning, trying to get back his hard edge as he battles the impending hangover. But at this moment, he lets himself be vulnerable. He lets Aerith take care of him. He's tired of trying to be so tough all the time.
Cloud's eyes flutter open to the creak of the front door. His vision is heavy and blurred, but he sees the dark shadow of Zack's looming figure as he tosses a bottle that lands heavily on Cloud's chest. He heaves a strangled breath from the impact.
"Babe!" Aerith screeches, and all of a sudden, she's off the couch, and Cloud grunts as his cheek buries in the cushion, still warm from her body heat.
"This is Gatorade! I told you to get Pedialyte!"
"He's a twenty-two-year-old man," Zack interjects. "I'm not getting him some baby drink. Gatorade works just fine."
Cloud watches them, as Zack takes off his jacket and sets a few different colored bottles on the kitchen island. Aerith's hands are on her hips, she barely reaches Zack's shoulder, but her stance makes her look taller.
"I told you—Pedialyte's gentler on the stomach!"
"I was in a fraternity, Aerith!" Zack's voice grows nasally, his arms gesturing in the air emphatically. "I wouldn't be alive today if it wasn't for Gatorade!"
As he watches them go back and forth, Cloud thinks he wants what they have. He wants to be like Zack and Aerith. Another moment of weakness—one he will walk back when he isn't so drunk.
He wants a lot of things. He wants to be with Tifa. And maybe tomorrow, he'll finally do something about it.
~oOo~
Cloud does it. He tells her. It backfires.
He doesn't do it right, he fucks it up. He waits until the very last second, as the crickets serenade the moon and the sky is painted as a black canvas. As Tifa climbs off his motorcycle, holding the straps of her bookbag to adjust them on her shoulders.
"Thank you, Cloud." She smiles—shows her teeth with squelched eyes, and that beautiful dimple presses on her chin. The moonlight soaks in her skin—her face, her neck, her hands, what little of herself is exposed. It devours her, and she glows with the starlight merging in her eyes. The darkness immerses itself in her hair. She gives him a hug, and it's quick, over before it's even begun.
And this is the end, until tomorrow. Until the next time. The universe keeps throwing him opportunities, and he lets them go by. Allows them to slip away. Waiting for tomorrow, or for circumstances to change, for a better moment to tell her how he feels.
But he's sure. He knows. There is no better moment except for now. He can't wait anymore.
Cloud takes Tifa's hand before she can leave. His hold is gentle, careful. He doesn't want to be forceful. And it's enough to stop her in her tracks, to see the swish of her hair as she turns to look at him with wide, quaking eyes. The moon is behind her, the stars trace the curves of her body. He doesn't even notice the backdrop of cars and city lights, of rundown apartment buildings stacked on top of each other. Potholes on the pavement, cracks in the sidewalk—Cloud sees nothing but Tifa and the moon.
Her lips part, she waits for him.
"Wait," he says.
He doesn't let go of her hand, she doesn't pull away. He's still on the bike, the roar of the engine rumbling between them. A cold breeze snakes past them, thick and biting, and Tifa huddles in her coat as he sinks further in his own.
Her hand is cold, he lets his warmth sweep over her.
"I—I have to tell you something."
His heart is a hammer, driving nails to his ribs. His nerves try to hold him back, and he battles them, forces himself to tell her—he has to tell her. Tifa's eyes change shape, shifting with fear as she nods.
"I—I really care about you, Tifa."
It's a fraction of what he feels, and it's too vague, he can see the mental gymnastics she does in her head. He's still holding her hand.
"I care about you, too," she says, and her voice grows so soft, so tiny, almost mournful. "You're my best friend."
Something happens to him, he lets a sliver of the darkness escape, his desire carving the features of his face. His eyes are heavy, his jaw stiff. He weaves his fingers through hers, feels the delicate texture of her skin as their hands bond into a single fist. Cloud pulls her closer, only a little bit. A heavy breath heaves through his nose, the heat of his exhale firing a mist in the cold air.
"I don't wanna be your friend."
They stay like this for an instant, for an eternity. Until the beginning and end of time. His thoughts are racing, but at the same time, he thinks nothing. His head crowded and blank. The only constant is the beating of his heart—and the moon and Tifa.
She breathes through an open mouth, her chest lifts and drops with each scattered breath. He feels like he's panting, he might be—he's breathing so fast. He wants her so bad. She's so close, he could bring her against him with the flick of his wrist. He could kiss her, and she might let him. His desire for her radiates between them. She must feel it, and he senses it from her, too.
He's in heat, sweating in his coat—he wants her, he wants her. He needs her.
"I—" It catches on her tongue, she struggles to speak. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
The union of their hands is broken. Tifa pulls away, and she's walking. She's walking so fast, doesn't turn to look back at him. He watches her disappear into the horizon, and he just sits there and thinks.
He's fucked this up.
It's Thursday. Cloud doesn't know what to expect when he gets on campus around noon. It's snowing today, and he's run out of time. Finals are in two weeks, and then the semester is over. He starts his job at Shinra. He can't see Tifa anymore, can't sneak her away to the condo. He's told her how he feels, and she rejected him. He expects some sort of farewell from her today. He hates it—he feels sick, like he's going to throw up. He doesn't want this to end.
Cloud pulls the beanie over his ears that have grown numb. His nose is cold, his lips frozen stiff and tinted blue. His boots leave footprints in the light blanket of snow as he walks down the quad. The messenger bag hangs snug on his shoulder, and he shoves his hands in his coat pockets for a semblance of warmth.
He doesn't know what to expect when he gets to the arts building. He's a little early today, wants to give himself enough time to confront her before he goes to class. Angry gusts of wind blow toward him, as if ushering him away. But Cloud walks against it, pushing through the cruel bitter air.
And he sees her there. Tifa is standing outside.
Kids huddle on the bench smoking cigarettes, while others loiter around the entrance. Tifa stands against the brick, gripping the straps to her backpack firmly. She wears a blue beanie with a pom, her sneakers wet from the snow. Her hair is caked in a layer of glittering white flakes, like tiny crystals against raven tresses. She must be cold today in her leggings, but she doesn't show it. And when she spots him, something changes in her.
Tifa doesn't let Cloud meet her—she goes to him. Runs with chattering teeth and gaping eyes. She stops him before he can take another step. And he feels the impending sense of doom as he thinks this is it, this is where it ends.
She stands close to him, closer than she needs to be. Her breath colors the air white. Cloud doesn't know how it's possible that she grows more beautiful every day, but she manages to defy logic.
He waits for her, hoping she'll let him down easy.
"I—" Just like last night, she's going to crush him. He braces himself for the impact. Her face squeezes in torment, and he hates seeing her like this. He doesn't ever want to be the reason for her pain.
Tifa takes a deep breath, briefly closes her eyes. When she opens them, they're brighter. Amber—finding the remnants of the forgotten sun and showcasing its beauty to him. Her lips tug upwards, she's panting—
"I don't wanna be your friend, either."
Frozen in time, lost in the vision that is Tifa. A snowflake tumbles, floats in the sky before landing on her cheek. It's a perfect snowflake, untainted and holding its shape. Cloud pulls his hand from his pocket, warmed by the heat trapped within. As he gently touches her face, his thumb sweeps away the snowflake from the apple of her cheek. He lingers as the world is drowned out by the furious pounding of his heart—wild drums wreaking havoc within his chest. Tifa places her hand over his. She's cold to the touch, but he doesn't care. He doesn't fucking care.
"You wanna get out of here?" he asks.
Their hands join, fingers interlaced, sealed in prayer. And he takes her away.
They leave campus. They're cutting class, playing hooky, and he's trying to figure out where to take her even as they mount his motorcycle. He feels Tifa fidget behind him, putting on the helmet. Cloud is thinking—he doesn't want to take her to the condo. He wants to be alone with her, he needs to talk to her.
"Wanna go to a movie?" he asks, feeling the pressure of her hands as she slides her arms around his waist. The engine rumbles when the bike comes to life, and Tifa hugs him, pressing her weight on his back. The tension is gone, she's comfortable and rests easy against him.
"Okay."
He takes her to the only movie theater in Nibelheim, and it's dead. They are literally the only ones there. Cloud lets her pick the movie, and she chooses Pride and Prejudice, because she's a girl. Of course she does. They have a half hour to kill.
They sit together in the quiet, empty theater near the back row. The darkness is interrupted by the slideshow of advertisements flashing on the screen. Tifa is next to him, eating from a box of Skittles. Her coat discarded, her backpack on the seat beside her. She wears a baggy knit sweater, has to constantly push up her sleeves as she reaches for the candy.
He likes to watch her chew, the way her lips pucker and purse as her cheeks hollow with each bite. She's still wearing the hat, the fuzzy pom bounces with every little tilt of her head. Tifa is cute even when she tries not to be, as she looks to her lap and shifts in her seat. And even Cloud feels restless, his knees spread wide, the holes in his jeans stretching and tearing further as he sinks deeper in the seat. He feels hot in his dark pullover, tugs on the collar so that some crisp air can slip in the crevice.
Cloud makes a move, flicks the pom of her beanie, getting her attention. Tifa bats her lashes, her nervousness clearly etched on her face. He sees the bob of her throat as she swallows a mouthful of candy.
"Wanna talk?" he asks, and she nods slowly, extending her lip into a light pout.
She doesn't say anything, so he continues, finding the courage to touch her. His fingers skim her face, drifting along the edge of her jaw as his thumb glides over the curve of her lip. "I wanna keep seeing you after the semester ends."
His voice is soft. He's never heard himself talk like this before. And as he grazes her lip, he lightly dips in her mouth, enough to feel the warmth of a droplet of spit and the scrape of her teeth.
Tifa puckers her lips and softly kisses his thumb, and it feels like he's been set on fire, his body burning in flames. He doesn't know how much longer he can control himself until he breaks, before his desire rushes her and he completely loses his mind.
"I wanna see you, too."
It's sexy the way she talks to him, shy but filled with longing. He wants to reach over and kiss her, slip his tongue in her mouth and steal her candy, swipe the remnants of it from her teeth. But he restrains himself, releases her face. Instead, he takes her hand and slides his fingers through the hollows of hers, laying them against the armrest as he prepares her for the blow of his next words.
"You ever thought of moving out? Away from your dad?"
Tifa bats her lashes, squeezing his hand in a tight grip. "I was thinking after I graduate, when I can get a job. I can't afford it now."
That's four years away. Cloud can't wait that long, can't bear to watch her suffer and feel powerless to help her. "You know, you can stay with us."
She's quiet, stares at him with eager eyes, but that pained look returns to them, like she fights the urge to give in, held back by her fear, calculating every possible scenario in her head. "I—I don't know."
"We'd love to have you." He tries to insist without pushing her. He wants her to at least consider it.
"My dad would get very mad." It slips out, it seems she didn't mean to say it. Tifa lowers her head, breaking their eye contact. He's surprised when she keeps talking, and she starts shaking so much, the skittles rattle in her hand. "I think about leaving all the time. I just need to find a way to do it. Where he won't get too mad."
"Hey."
Tifa takes a moment to look at him. Her eyes shimmer in a glassy sheen, pupils swallowing her irises. As Cloud lifts their hands to his lips, he places a kiss on her knuckle. She is melting, liquefying into the seat, but she stops shaking. "Are you okay?"
Tifa nods, and Cloud kisses her hand again, goes lower towards her wrist, watching her reaction, ready to stop the instant she gives him a cue. But she doesn't.
"I'll think about it, okay?" she says, her voice low as she pleads with her eyes. Cloud doesn't argue, he doesn't push, and Tifa leans over, resting her head against his shoulder as the lights dim and they are enveloped in darkness.
Cloud…really hates this movie. He read the book in high school, and he thought it was lame then. He thinks Attacks of the Clones told a better love story than this. But he sits there and watches it, holds Tifa's hand, likes the feeling of her weight on him. It's the only thing that gets him through the next two hours.
But even then, it's daylight. They still have hours to spare before Tifa has to go home. Cloud is trying to cram as many dates as he can in one day, making up for all the time he wasted. He's not sure if Tifa realizes she kind of agreed to be his girlfriend. He wants to steal her, take her away. He never wants the daylight to end, despite how beautiful she looks caressed by the moon.
It snows even more now, but the flakes look more threatening in the sky than they do on the ground. They leave behind a thin and watery residue. Cloud's ears have gone numb, and his fingers are almost too stiff to move as he grips the cold handles of his motorcycle.
Tifa is behind him, holding him, tautly pressing her body into his back—he has an idea where to go.
"There's an arcade, downtown in the city." Cloud places his palm over her hand on his abdomen, feels the flex of her knuckles, the stiff lines of her tendons as she grips him tighter. "The food's pretty good. Do you wanna go?"
As she jitters behind him, he feels the pressure of the helmet she wears crack against his shoulder. "It sounds expensive."
"It's fine," he says. "Let me take you."
The engine shudders with a deep rumble as Cloud drives away, and the snowflakes pepper his face, sprinkling like white glitter that swirls around them dreamily. It's a longer drive, slowed by afternoon traffic even as he weaves between lanes. Tifa clings to him, squeezing his belly tight.
It's pretty busy for a Thursday afternoon in the winter. It's different from the movie theater. They aren't alone, people can see them—it's clear he's holding her hand, that they're together.
Tifa is laughing, raw and unbridled, and he lives for the sound of the beautiful flutter that spills from her throat, the smile that captures her as she stands beside him facing the arcade cabinet. She's button mashing, has no strategy whatsoever, just frantically moving her fingers, sliding the joystick—and she's still beating him. The venue is noisy and loud, but all he hears is Tifa, only sees the squint of her eyes and the curve of her lips, and she looks so happy, so carefree. He wants to always see her this way, he's desperate for it—how can he make sure her life is only filled with joy? That he never has to see that sad look on her face ever again?
"Jesus, I suck," Cloud grumbles, shoves his palm down his cheek the instant he loses another round of Street Fighter. A current of giggles rolls off her tongue, and Tifa pushes him playfully, pulling the sleeves of her sweater to cover her hands.
"You don't suck."
"I do, I'm the fucking worst."
She tugs his sweatshirt, bunching the fabric in her fists. If lifts and exposes a patch of his skin—firm and sunny, muscle plated to his ribs, dipping to the v-line of his hip bones where his boxers grip. The strap is dark and blends in the waist of his jeans. And Tifa looks. She looks down before her eyes trail up, lips parted, gaze heavy. She doesn't let go of his shirt.
"Don't say that." Her voice is different. Flirty, a little whiny. Her smile is shy and caked in dimples.
His jaw clenches, teeth squeezed together. The pom on her beanie jiggles, and her hair is still wet from the snow. Cloud feels the pull of desire low in his belly, pulling down and pushing up—hollow in his chest, tight in his throat.
He grabs her waist—gently, carefully, as unforcefully as he possibly can. She's tiny, and it feels like he's holding a pillow. Tifa is closer to him now, her breath fans his face. It's warm and sweet, a faint mist on his skin. Her back arches, her chest lifting higher.
The noise of the arcade is muddled, a murmur against his quaking heart. Cloud feels a spotlight on them, casting the rest of the world in darkness. Everything else vanishes, and all that matters is what they are feeling right in this moment. And he doesn't mean to do it, he had planned on waiting till later in the evening, anxious for the ambience of the moonlight and stars, but he can't help himself.
He kisses her. Sees her eyes close first before he succumbs to his own darkness, pressing his mouth to hers. Her lips pucker, and they feel like velvet, supple and warm, and he feels her lay her palms on his chest, hears the gentle sigh that eases from her nose and warms his face, the hum that moans in the back of her throat.
Their eyes seem to open at the same time, and his mouth is still so close to her. They share the same breath, and she's almost gasping as she leans on him with her eyes half opened, her lashes fluttering whimsically.
"That was my first kiss." Her confession is breathless, airy, and he curls his fingers against the small of her back, holds the air in his lungs when her breasts press low on his chest. He feels the brush of her lips when she speaks. He wants to feel it again.
"Well—" He huffs a laugh, a smile breaking on his face. It makes her smile, too. "How was it?"
As she clasps his sweatshirt, her nails scrape through the layer of fabric concealing him from her. His nipples pebble, chafed against his shirt. The smile doesn't leave her face.
"Magical."
And he kisses her again. A little longer, a little harder. Forgets where they are, what they were doing. All he feels is the swerve of her lips, the clamor of their teeth as she's clumsy, she doesn't know how to kiss. But she learns, he teaches her. Tifa catches on quickly. She's crumbling in his grasp, and he holds her so she doesn't melt to a puddle of longing on the glossy wood floor.
He kisses her slowly, and it's agonizing, the way he has to tuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop himself from seeking hers. His kisses are choppy, short. He ends one just so he can abruptly start another, likes to hear her panting breath, urged by the delicate gasp of her sighs, the pop of their lips. He tilts his head, glides his mouth before he takes her bottom lip between his teeth and gently pulls. He's overwhelmed, all his senses immersed in her. He's high off her scent, the natural smell of her body. Addicted to the taste of her spit, the sound of her breath.
He wants her. In his room, on his bed, on his lap. On his dick. He wants her in the dirtiest and purest ways. He wants her in every way. And he can't stop kissing her, waits for her to end it, but she doesn't.
After a while, he forces himself to—he doesn't know if they're causing a scene, if people are staring. He forgets they're in public, it's the middle of the day. He can kiss her later, like he planned to, and so he talks against her mouth, breaking the kiss, breathing in her exhale.
"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that." His chuckle is low, his forehead tipping to touch hers. Her breath warms his face as she huffs an amused laugh.
"Me, too," she says.
His phone buzzes in his pocket, and its torture to separate himself from Tifa. She peels off him, clearing her throat, suddenly aware of their surroundings. The back of her hand wipes his spit off her mouth, and she plays with her hair, rubbing the ball of her shoe on the floor anxiously as she watches him.
Cloud flips his phone open, thumbing the buttons on his cell to find the text message. It's from Aerith.
r u ok?
He never showed up to the condo with Tifa. She's probably worried, and sad. Cloud is hogging Tifa for himself today, he doesn't want to share her with anyone.
Its dark outside, and still snowing. Christmas is everywhere, in the lights embellishing the trees, the decorations at every storefront. The sidewalks are busy, traffic is at a stop on the street. Christmas music from a coffee shop carries all the way outside. Tifa stands in the cold, huddled in her black coat. Her skin is radiant in the white lights and the navy glow of the sky. She drinks hot cocoa from a coffee cup, sips carefully through the small crevice on the lid. Steam wafts from the hole, misting over her face.
Cloud drinks his cup, holding everything on heavy shoulders—his messenger bag, Tifa's backpack. And he watches her, wonders if this would have been a better moment to kiss her for the first time. There's still a lot of people, but no one pays attention. He decides to test the theory, takes her by surprise when he holds her chin and twists her face to him.
They kiss on the street, as the world passes them. To the sound of chatter and Christmas music, footsteps sloshing past them on the snow. She tastes like chocolate, sugary and sweet, and he fucks up—she tastes so good, his tongue slips in her mouth to savor more of her. Tifa holds the wrist that touches her face, and she doesn't retreat or recoil. Her lips part, her teeth relax. A hum sings and stays trapped in her mouth, and he feels the tender graze of her tongue slowly massaging his, revels in the waves of her taste buds, the thickness of her spit. Her lips are warm, despite the chill that encases them.
It would have been a good moment, he decides.
Tifa has to go home. Her classes are all over now, and she can't be late. He's crowded so many dates in one today. They went to a movie, to lunch, she kicked his ass at video games, and they had hot chocolate together. But it still doesn't feel enough. He wants more, to spend more time with her. He doesn't want her to leave. And the drive is solemn, still snowing, making the roads slippery as he rides with caution.
Cloud is lost in a daze watching Tifa. He stalls the bike a short distance from her place. The streetlights are on, and the neighborhood is unnervingly quiet. Tifa climbs off the bike, fixes the straps of her backpack, pulls off the helmet. Her hat is crooked, but she leaves it. As her gaze finds him, she hugs the helmet to her chest, slowly slinking up to him.
He doesn't know what to do, if he should get up, grab her, start kissing her again. The stars make their presence known, sparkling against the pollution in the sky. They twinkle in an ode to her, swirling in the depths of her eyes, the crease of her smile. She's close to him, meeting his height when he's sitting like this. The engine rumbles, and he feels the vibration bring the butterflies in his stomach back to life. Her nose brushes against his.
"Thank you, Cloud." He closes his eyes at the press of her lips, sighs into her kiss. She's delicate and tender, slow and intentional, leading him with a gentle confidence. "Today was the best day."
He touches her cheek, and her skin is warm against his icy fingertips. "Yea?" he breathes between kisses.
"It was perfect." She speaks in a whisper that caresses his ears. Tifa knows how to kiss now, puckers her lips, dips her tongue to his gums. He's memorized every inch of her mouth, has traced her teeth, danced with her tongue. His lips swerve and he deepens it, he doesn't want this to end, holding on for as long as he can.
His thumb swipes the high point of her cheek bone. She must read his mind, because she says almost desperately, "I wanna kiss you forever."
But forever doesn't come. It has to end. The reluctance hangs between them as they pull away, like a fragile thread stretched to its breaking point. He leans forward to steal another nip of her lips—just one more so he can survive the rest of the night without her. But Tifa laughs—a quivering giggle that sways around him impishly as she puts the helmet on his head.
"See you tomorrow, Cloud."
He's in a dream. Hallucinating Tifa everywhere he looks, seeing her image when he closes his eyes. Her skin in the gleam of the moon, her eyes in the stars. It feels like he's floating, walking on feathers, he's never felt this good before. He's so in love with her, his heart ready to burst like fireworks, he doesn't know if his body can handle the impact.
The feeling carries with him all the way home. He hugs Aerith, doesn't mind that he can smell cleaning products when he stumbles in his room. He doesn't care that she was in here, dusting, changing his sheets, making it smell like girly perfume. He showers and wears a tee shirt and sweat pants to bed. His hair darkens a wet stain on his pillow. The lights stay off as he lies there, earphones in, the iPod on his stomach. He's in a daze, finding himself in the music as he starts to drift away.
It's Tifa, all he sees and wants and needs is Tifa. And she said it herself, today was perfect.
He hears the house phone ring. It's weird, nobody ever calls the landline besides telemarketers. And they don't call this late into the night. A minute passes, he catches murmurs on the other side of the wall. Cloud is half asleep when the door opens.
Aerith—usually a sunny, bubbly presence, seems ominous as she stands in his doorway. Her figure is basked in shadows, her eyes glowing a foreboding green. Her brows scrunch, losing their shape, and she wears a baby pink nightgown that ends high up at her thighs. She's upset, something's wrong. Cloud sits up, shielding his eyes from the light creeping in. Aerith didn't knock, doesn't ask for permission to come inside.
"Cloud—" her voice shakes, a lock of wavy hair tumbles over her shoulder. "You need to go get Tifa. Now."
~oOo~
Cloud wonders why the worst things happen to the least deserving people.
Monsters find the most innocent prey, those they can overpower, who won't fight back. Tifa is the kindest person, she doesn't deserve the life she's forced to live. She is everything good in the world, and he can't understand why. Just why? How can someone look at her and hurt her?
It's finally stopped snowing, and the quad is dead this time of night. The last of the evening classes ended a while ago, and the campus looks abandoned, like a wasteland. Nothing but the dark sky and the whistling of the bitter wind along a setting of lifeless structures. And Cloud moves quickly, his boots tracking in the snow. He's trying to find where Tifa is—Aerith said she called from campus, but he checks and all the doors are locked. It's past eleven at night, the buildings have closed. Even the art building is deserted.
A panic sets in him as he searches for her—and anticipatory fear in the state he'll find her in once he does. There's a phone booth, one nobody really uses anymore, tucked near the science building. She's in there, crouched to the floor hugging herself—Cloud can see her through the glass, her hair thrown in front of her face.
He doesn't know how he gets there so fast, but he opens the door and finds Tifa. She's not wearing a coat, in the same sweater and leggings he last saw her in. Shivering, her knees quaking as she holds herself for warmth. He's breathless, eyes expanding—he kneels to her and takes off his coat, wrapping it around her.
"Shit, Tifa—" Cloud sits beside her, holding her in a protective embrace. She's frozen, trembling. He brushes her hair away from her face so he can look at her. "What happened—?"
Tears trickle down the planes of her cheeks. They're heartbreakingly beautiful, shimmering like liquid diamonds. Her temple pulses in a violent blue and purple bruise by her eye, clashing against the milky tone of her skin. Cloud's face contorts—he reaches out to touch her, but stops.
Tifa squints, but she isn't smiling. She chokes on her own tears, clear mucus dripping from her nostrils. She keeps wiping her face with the back of her hand, but it's still so wet, and she keeps crying and crying. He notices she's holding her keys and coin pouch, the only possessions she has on her.
"I'm sorry."
Cloud doesn't know why she apologizes. He hates the sadness in her voice. He wants to take it away, make everything better. With a heavy breath that he gathers from the deepest part of his lungs, he tries to control his reaction, to be strong for her, show her he can be the one to protect her. He holds her in his arms, kisses her brow, helps her up from the floor carefully like she's forgotten how to walk.
"We have to go right now before he finds me—" She's hysterical as she clings to his shirt. Cloud's arms are bare, he's fucking freezing, and he lulls Tifa against him, leading her away from the phone booth.
"It's okay, we're leaving right now." He tries to ease her, his voice strained as his teeth chatter from the cold. "It's okay."
He finds Zack's car, svelte and a glossy black, camouflaged into the night. It vibrates in a discreet buzz, a stream of smoke forming a grey mist in the air from the back of the car. Cloud knocks on the window, gets Zack's attention and hears the mechanism unlocking. He gets Tifa in the backseat, stays there next to her. The smell of clean leather embraces his nose as they slide in, the rigid air replaced by the heat blowing towards his face.
As Zack places his arm on the seat, he twists his body to face them. Cloud knows the exact moment he sees Tifa's bruised face. His eyes are a source of light in the car, blue jewels that cut into them with his stare. He doesn't say anything. He just drives them back to the condo in heavy silence.
Not even the radio plays to drown out the noise of his heart. Cloud feels each profound beat, clogging his ears, blocking his throat. He holds Tifa, cradles her shivering body as she sniffles into his ear. This is fucked. This is so fucked.
Tifa is sitting on the couch.
She's wrapped in a blanket holding an ice pack to her head. Aerith is beside her, pressing another one against her wrist. It's bruised and swollen, and Cloud hadn't even noticed it until after she'd taken off his coat. Aerith is close, her bare thigh touching Tifa's, petting her hair, massaging her shoulder.
"Do you wanna tell us what happened, honey?" Aerith says to her softly.
Tifa remains silent for a while, she hasn't said much since arriving. Her eyes are puffy and swollen, her lip quivers as she keeps her gaze low, her back slouched.
On the other side of her, Zack sits forward, rubbing his head and looking between Tifa and Aerith. Cloud stays on the floor, his elbow propped on the coffee table. He's trying to give her space, to collect her thoughts, calm down from whatever just happened to her.
As Aerith combs through Tifa's hair, her fingers get stuck in a knot, and when she pulls, a clump of matted hair slides off her scalp.
Tifa opens her mouth, tries to speak, croaks out a garbled word. She clenches her teeth and tries again. "Someone…saw us."
Cloud feels the guilt wash over him the moment she confesses. He purses his lips, straightens his back on the floor. He thinks he caused this, it's his fault. He was reckless, he wasn't careful.
"One of the neighbors. They called my dad." Tifa gulps, tears dotting the corners of her eyes. She squints against the icepack, taking a slow breath. "He was drinking a lot. He got so mad at me."
A tear makes its harrowing trek down her cheek. Her eyes grow blank, distant, like she's reliving the moment. A tremor shakes her body, and Aerith hugs her, tries to anchor her to the couch. "He wouldn't stop yelling—for hours. He just wouldn't stop. And I told him I was leaving, and he grabbed my hair—"
Her teeth clench, she uses her uninjured arm to demonstrate the violent motion. "He threw me to the floor. He hit my face with the back of his hand, hit me with his ring. I tried to get up, but he grabbed my wrist. I had my keys—"
She's crying, swallowing tears as she recounts the fresh memory, unbandages it while it's still raw and bleeding. But a painful smile graces her lips, and she looks up from her lap to settle her gaze on Aerith.
"And I saw the pepper spray you gave me."
She struggles to wipe her tears, and Zack hands her a tissue. "I took it, and used it like you showed me. It burned his eyes, and then I got up and ran—ran out the apartment, down the stairs. All the way to the train station. And I—I didn't know where else to go. I just remembered the phone number you made me memorize…"
It's disturbing, and yet at the same time, it sounds sugarcoated, like she's hiding parts of the story. That it's more twisted than she's letting on. And Cloud hates watching Tifa cry, despises seeing her bruised and her hair falling out. He can't stand to see her in so much pain.
"Stay here, don't go back there," Aerith says, her voice wavering as she bites back her own tears. "We'll figure it out, Tifa. I promise."
Zack wants to say something, and he hesitates, his gaze fixed on the dark bruise on Tifa's wrist—a blotchy blend of black and blue that persists even as Aerith ices it. Cloud can only imagine what it'll look like tomorrow. Zack sighs, thumbs the impending stubble along his jaw. He looks exhausted, dressed and ready for bed.
"Shouldn't we report this? To the cops?"
It's a logical idea. It's what should be done, what Cloud expects would happen next. But Tifa freaks out, shakes her head, drops the ice pack from her temple. "No—he'll get so mad—"
Aerith tries to calm her, and Zack remains patient as he explains to her, "Tifa, there are things we can do to protect you. But it's going to be a lot harder to do that if you don't report it."
Zack reaches out, touches her shoulder, and it seems to stop her restless squirming. Their eyes meet, and Tifa is breathing hard, her chest lifts and drops sporadically, her brows crumble in her suffering.
"And I'm guessing this isn't the first time this happened," he adds with a narrowed gaze, giving her a knowing look as he squeezes her shoulder.
Tifa doesn't answer, she doesn't have to.
Aerith gets Tifa a tee shirt and shorts to wear to bed, and as Tifa showers, Aerith helps Cloud prepare his room for her. She brings an extra blanket, and she starts setting up the couch for him. They go back and forth with some ideas now that Tifa isn't in the room. They'd get her in to see the guidance counselor tomorrow, change her address and contact information, and then hopefully convince Tifa to go to the police.
And—Cloud is overwhelmed. So much has happened today, he can't think straight. He doesn't know what to do, how to help keep her safe. She's terrified, and no solution to the problem satisfies her, like this is unsolvable to her. As long as her dad is alive, Tifa thinks she has to be miserable. Like he's a poltergeist, he'll follow her no matter how far she runs away.
He's there in the room with her, and the lights are off. She's cloaked in the moonlight, a beautiful silhouette as the shadows etch the lines and curves of her face. Her eyes are so dark, they turn black, a deep abyss of beauty and pain, and Cloud holds on so he doesn't slip into them the longer he stares at her. Her hair is wet, the shirt she wears hugs the curve of her breasts, her nipples pinching the fabric.
She sits beside him on the bed, facing him. Tifa is quiet, and the skin beneath her eyes is irritated, puffy. Cloud touches her—cautiously, gently. Reaches to tuck a coil of hair behind her ear.
"What do you need?" He's not specific, he doesn't even know what she could tell him that he'd be able to give her. But he asks her anyway, in case there is something—anything—he can do.
Tifa sighs, sliding her hand on the blanket to clasp his. "I don't know."
Her fingers are cold as they weave through his. He should let her sleep, excuse himself so she can finally rest. But he delays, lingers in the room with her. They are alone, the door is closed. No one can hear them, she's safe to say whatever is on her mind.
"Why are you so scared of your dad, Tifa?"
She stutters, swallows the lump in her throat. Her neck bobs as her eyes narrow, and she fidgets on the bed, presses her knees together, looking to her lap. "Because—he hits me."
"What else?" He holds her chin, returns her gaze to him. And he looks at her with tenderness, compassion. With all the love bleeding from the open wound in his body. "Is that it?"
Her eyes turn glassy as she restrains her tears. Her hair spills in front of her shoulders, each tendril separated as a heavy, damp clump. With a delicate touch, he caresses her face, cups her jaw, strokes her cheek. And she leans into his embrace, sighing against his hand, her fingers coiling around his wrist.
"I'm afraid he'll touch me."
Her voice grows unsettling. Cloud holds his breath, controls his reaction, tries not to look horrified or make her feel worse. He clears his throat, doesn't stop his gentle graze on her skin. "Has he touched you before?"
Tifa shakes her head—and it's a momentary instant flood of relief. "No—but I always think he will. After my mama died, he'd drink more. Start saying weird things to me. Get so mad at me. When he drinks, he says I look like mama."
He doesn't know what he should say, he just knows Tifa is never going back there. Cloud hesitates, scoots closer to her, feels the mist of her breath heat his neck. "When did your mom die?"
"When I was nine years old."
That's a long time to live this way—constantly on edge, in fear of the worst happening. His own life has been so easy, so comfortable. He can't imagine what it must be like for her, and he finally understands why she is so guarded, why she hides herself from the world.
"But I learned how to stop him—" she continues, almost eagerly, resting her hand over his as he holds her cheek. "I don't let him see me. I don't make him mad. I'm very careful. If he's drunk, I leave him alone. And if I do everything the right way, nothing happens. He doesn't say those things. He doesn't hit me."
"Tifa…" He wonders if she can hear herself, how delusional and terrifying the things she says sound. The way she tries to rationalize the situation, prove that she can take care of herself. She can handle it. But he sees the cracks in her façade, watching her breaking apart the longer she tries to hold it together.
"That's a lot of pressure to put on yourself," he tells her. His thumb brushes her cheekbone, catching a stray tear before it taints her skin. "To make sure someone doesn't hurt you."
Another tear falls. They are dripping too fast for him to stop them all, but Cloud tries anyway, holding both sides of her face, wiping the wetness with his palms.
"I know."
He hugs her, brings her close to him, lets her cry and smear her face against his shoulder. Her arms drape around his neck as his hands rest low on her back. Tifa smells like vanilla, and he wonders if the flavor coats her skin, if she tastes as good as she smells. He doesn't want to upset her, he doesn't want to overstep. She lets him touch her, presses her breasts to his body, allows his fingers to graze the piece of naked flesh that's uncovered when she leans over. Her back is warm, he feels the fuzz of goosebumps on her skin. His shirt grows damp as she cries against him.
"You don't have to live like that anymore, Tifa. You can leave—"
He tries to comfort her, but she squeezes him, shaking her head. "He'll get mad. He'll find me—"
"He won't find you. You're safe here."
"He'll hurt Aerith, or Zack. He'll hurt you. He's so mad that you kissed me."
"That won't happen." He crushes her to him, buries his nose in her hair and breathes her into his lungs. He feels like he's filled with a new sense of purpose in his life. "You don't have to worry about that. Everything will be okay."
His hand eases on her shoulder, and he gently pushes her so he can look at her. They're so close, their breaths blend in a steamy mist. Her soft pants escape through parted lips, her eyes dropping from his stare to his inviting mouth. And his heart is racing, urging him forward, to tilt his head and press his lips to hers.
Tifa sighs as he kisses her, her hands sliding down his chest to rest on his lap. His palm glides to her neck, where he holds her, rolls his mouth and sucks in her lips. Kissing her the way he wants to fuck her—undulating and languid, hearing the separation of their lips each time he starts a new kiss.
And she moans—breathy and airy, her voice muffled from the seduction of his kiss, the intrusion of his tongue. He dips inside, grazes the roof of her mouth, searches for her tongue lazily until she offers it to him.
Her skin is hot, her neck burning. He feels her pulse flutter on his thumb. When he drifts away from her mouth, he struggles to open his eyes. His breath whistles past his teeth, his mouth wet and sticky with her spit. It takes her a second to free her gaze, to reveal eyes as deep and dark as midnight. She looks at him with an aching longing, desire bleeding from the depths of her stare.
"I love you," she whispers.
His heart is stuck in his throat, it prevents him from speaking. He's parched—desperate for relief. The lust drops from her eyes and is replaced with fear, regret. She tries to pull away from him. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that—"
He finds his voice, clasps her arms, refuses to let her go. He wills her gaze back to him. "No, it's okay." His lips brush against hers as he speaks, sharing her breath, inhaling when she exhales. "I love you, too."
Cloud kisses her again. Tifa falls to the bed. And he fights against himself, doesn't lay his weight on top of her. He braces a knee between her legs so he isn't leaning on her, but Tifa traps him in her thighs, squeezing and rubbing as she writhes against the sheets. He's going crazy— doesn't know how to stop what's happening. She throws her arms around his neck, crumples his shirt in her fists.
They're moving too fast, he tries to control the pace—one hand on her cheek, the other on her hip. He won't let himself move them, even as Tifa moans in his mouth and lifts her back off the bed. As her hair splays on his pillow and haloes her face, melting into the dark blue sheets. And he's kissing her, trying to maintain the passionate slowness, but his mouth swerves, he starts sucking on her bottom lip.
Tifa is panting, gasping, grasping his leg with her thighs. When her shirt lifts, he sees her navel. The smooth skin of her belly is painted grey in the absence of light. He wants to touch her, sees her breasts fall to the sides through her shirt. The sound of her moans fuel him, and he's overcharged. He wants her. He's so hard, thick and straining in his pants. He wants to touch her breasts, stroke his fingers between her legs. He wants to fuck her.
His hands don't move. But his mouth does. He kisses past her chin, drags his tongue along her jaw, nips his teeth down her neck. He kisses her pulse, feeling her heart racing on his lips. She pants, her moan a shivering song of pleasure as he sucks her skin, savoring the sugar of her flesh. She tastes so good, she feels so warm. Sweat has pooled in the hollow of her throat, and he drinks it, swipes his tongue to gather the sticky honey.
Her breaths grow erratic. He's about to lose control, ready to give into his lust. Her thighs rub his leg, her shorts lifted to her groin. Her bare legs shimmer in a pearlescent glow. She's sketched in greyscale, the moonlight embracing her body.
He moves so slowly, even though his heart beats fast and it feels like they are moving at the speed of light. Everything is lazy, intentional. Every kiss on her neck, the way his tongue dances on her skin. She lifts her chin so he can devour more of her as she strangles his knee with her thighs, kneading and needing. They move so slow, but their breaths are frantic. The room is filled with the noise of their panting—of Tifa's gasps and gentle moans.
And then she's breathing faster. And faster—
"Cloud—"
His hand is still on her cheek, and he moves back to her face, kisses her, sees the petrified look in her eyes. He's ready to stop—she dips her hands through the neck of his shirt, her nails slicing his skin.
But Tifa's doesn't stop. She is shaking. She can't breathe—she's hyperventilating. He doesn't know what's happening. If she's having an orgasm, or a panic attack. A panic attack from having an orgasm.
Her body convulses as she takes in sharp breaths, her thighs smothering his leg. He tries to work her through it, calm her down, make it more comfortable for her. He cradles her face, holds onto her gaze. She jerks against him, pushes her hips into his knee. He understands what's happening now. But he's not sure if Tifa does.
It's a while before she relaxes. She breathes through an open mouth, almost lifeless on the bed. Cloud lies next to her, and he's quiet. He's kind of impressed, he barely touched her. But he doesn't bring it up. He doesn't want to make it weird.
He turns his head to her, sees the rise and fall of her chest as she stares at the ceiling. "Are you okay?"
Her hand rests on her belly as Tifa nods. Her skin is flushed, and she seems dazed, on the verge of falling asleep. Cloud checks the digital alarm clock on his nightstand and sees it's past one in the morning. Leaning on his elbow, he reaches over to brush the swoop of her bangs away from her face. Her forehead is damp, and he sees that she's closed her eyes.
"You should go to sleep."
Cloud feels her breath spill out of her nose. "I don't have my books. Or my leotard. How will I go to school tomorrow?"
"Don't worry about that."
Tifa opens her eyes, finding his. It's as if she's draining the color from his eyes, filling her own with life. The darkness in her gaze regresses, replaced by a gentle brown that swims around her pupils.
"Will you stay with me?" Her voice is low, hopeful. Pleading. "Please don't leave me. I trust you."
Cloud settles beside her, and when he does, they turn to each other at the same time. His arm wraps around her, bringing her close, tucking her into his chest. She molds against his body, using his breast as a pillow. Her warmth radiates, melds with his heat. He feels her foot touch his—and its freezing. Smaller, curvier, she reflexively points her toes.
This feels right. Safe. When he's holding her like this, he thinks no harm can ever come to her ever again.
With heavy eyes, he gently weaves his fingers through her hair, looping through silken strands. He's uncertain of what will happen tomorrow. He doesn't want this night to end.
~oOo~
Groggy eyes lift as she bats her lashes.
The tawny rays of the sunrise spill in the room through the window. Her vision is hazy as she adjusts to the light. Her wrist hurts, her head is pounding. Her scalp stings and feels sore. The skin by her eyes is raw, and for a moment, she forgets what happened. Blissfully naïve to the events of the previous night.
But in her confusion, she realizes she is not in her bed. She's wrapped in sheets that smell like cologne. And when she looks down, she sees strong arms swathed around her, holding her below her breasts as she lies on her side.
Tifa's thoughts are spinning, she wakes in a panic. She assumes the worst has happened, and she's gasping as she scrambles out of the embrace. She can't breathe, she's backing away, sitting up and scooting her butt on the bed, holding herself protectively, crouching and holding herself protectively.
"No—no no no no!"
"Hey, Tifa—Tifa!"
A hushed voice grounds her. Hands on her shoulders stabilize her. But she's too afraid to open her eyes, doesn't want to face the reality of where she is, what has happened to her. Those same hands cradle her face, dabbing the tears that assault her.
"Tifa, it's okay. You're okay."
She knows this voice. It's warm and safe, gentle and kind. It doesn't hurt her, she doesn't feel so scared anymore. She lifts her eyes open with caution, her pupils constricting to adjust to the light.
Green and blue veins line strong wrists, tendons raised on the tops of his hands. Cloud sits next to her, cupping her face, his skin warm on her cheeks. She's transfixed on his gaze, the iciness of his stare. His eyes are vivid jewels, glimmering sapphires. They're the bluest eyes she's ever seen. Ample and hypnotic, easing away her pain as he looks deep, so deep inside her.
She calms down, taking in his face. The pink of his lips, the sharp lines of his jaw. The shimmer of the jewel pierced to his left ear. The sunniness in his skin. He has bed hair, it's messy, feathery, golden in the rising of the sun. He presents to her as an angel, cherubic—beautiful and holy, and she wants to believe that he is her savior.
She is so relieved—that she is here, with him, in his bed that smells like him—that she falls into his arms, exasperated. He holds her, kisses the top of her head, handles her tenderly as if she is a porcelain doll. His arms are warm and strong, curves of solid muscle plate them, protecting her as he embraces her. And she inhales, fills her chest with his scent—he smells clean, remnants of day-old cologne peppering his skin. She grips his shirt, puckering her lips to peck his collar bone.
"I'm sorry," she says.
He eases her back down to the bed. They are entangled limbs, melding breaths. Her breasts press against his chest and their heart beats align. It's beautiful the rhythm they create, pounding together as he tries to lull her back to sleep.
She lifts her chin, puckers her lips, inviting him to kiss her, and her eyes drift close when he does. They kiss lazily, messily. Wet as drool dribbles down her lip. They kiss sinking in the bed, and it feels like they're married. Its euphoric, how good she suddenly feels. Tifa never knew she could feel this good, afraid of her body for so long, that now she's eager for Cloud to help her discover it.
She tries to drown out the bad thoughts in the warmth of his mouth, as he brings her closer and kisses her deeper. Their legs entwined, hearts synched as one. She buries it deep in the back of her mind, lets herself be in the moment, wanting to feel safe and loved.
But a sense of dread stays with her, following her. Taunting her. It doesn't go away. It tells her something bad will happen today.