Cloud is in a panic. He can't find Tifa.

He's at the lecture hall, but she isn't there. Not in any of the seats or the hallway or even lingering outside. There's nothing pointing to her presence, he can't find the source of light that is her sunny smile or the glistening teardrops of her eyes. He panics, feels his heart twisting against his ribs as his chest begins to hurt. She wouldn't have—she couldn't—

Layers of maroon and orange replace the stark blue sky. It's getting darker, gloomier, students are outside walking past him in a hurry—there's laughter and different voices blending as one. And he thinks maybe she went to her dance class—but he doesn't see her in the edgy mess of people at the art building. There's cigarette smoke, skinny jeans, dark eyeliner and skateboards—but no Tifa. Not inside, not in the room where her dance class is held. Tifa is nowhere.

Cloud is on the second floor, the dance department, watching girls walk past him in different directions. He loses his mind with all the scenarios playing in his head. He thinks she couldn't have left him, that she's here on campus somewhere and she'll pop out at any moment, wearing Aerith's coat and Cloud's sweatshirt, in pink leggings and gym shoes. But she isn't anywhere. He's looked twice.

He's hot in his coat, like he's being burned alive. He feels the pressure of his clothes on his skin, aware of every icy breath he takes, and he rubs his head as he tries to think—what can he do? How does he react? She's unreachable. No cell phone, he never got her address. How does he find her?

Cloud flips open his phone and dials Aerith. He stands against the white wall, on marbled tile—near the very spot where he had been hugging and kissing Tifa just a little while ago. When she was freaking out about her things, her dance shoes—

"Hello? Cloud?"

He drags his hand down his face. His nose is still cold and he has to swallow to get enough lubricant his throat to even speak, getting straight to the point. "Aerith, did Tifa call the house phone?"

"No." A beat passes. It feels like an eternity. "She's not with you?"

"No, she's—" He stammers over his words, hears his voice shaking. His eyes are wet. He needs her with him now. He needs to know she's okay and safe. "I don't know where she is. Earlier she said she wanted to go home and get her things—"

He slides his back down the wall until he's sitting, knees bent, his forehead cradled in his palm. It feels like his lungs are being suffocated, each breath a desperate struggle for air.

"Okay, honey—calm down. We'll find her. Let's just think for a second."

Aerith's voice is tranquil. She doesn't freak out or make him feel worse. But his knee is jerking, he can't stop shaking. "Do you know where she lives?"

"Not exactly, I've never dropped her off in front of her place, just nearby—"

"Is there somewhere you can go to get her address? Maybe back to the guidance counselor?"

Cloud checks the time on his watch. It's nearly six, he thinks he still has some time before the office closes. He gets back on his feet and heads over there. It's empty, and the kid working the front desk hardly acknowledges him. But he spots the lady from earlier—blonde, glasses, in a mint pencil skirt. Her purse is draped over her shoulder as she locks the door to her office.

Shit, what the fuck was her name again? He hopes they don't need to waste time with introductions, that she remembers him from earlier—how could she forget him walking in with Tifa, with her head colored black and purple, begging her to take her dad off her file?

Cloud stops her before she can leave. Her eyes squint when she looks up at him, pushing her glasses up her nose. It only takes her a second before clarity washes over her face.

"It's Cloud, right?"

"Yea, listen—" He threads his fingers through his hair, trying to steady his emotions as his pounding heart urges him forward. "I really need your help real quick, do you have a second?"

She gives him a pained look, like she was ready to get the fuck out of here, and she clasps the strap of her slinky black purse, shifting her weight on her heels. "Is it about Tifa?"

"She's missing." He gets to the point, looks her dead in the eye so she can read the gravity of his glare. He doesn't want to cause a scene, here in this nice little quiet office, but he's desperate, his lungs collapsing the harder he breathes. He pleads with his eyes. "I just need a second. Please."

She hesitates, clicking her tongue, looks at him with pity before she turns back to the door and unlocks it. "Okay, come in."

It's weird that earlier today he was here with Tifa, but the seat next to him is empty now. It's just him and—he sees the name plate now—Julia Grover. She drops her purse to the desk, sits on her chair as the wheels slide back from her weight. It takes a second for her computer to boot up. He hears the clock on the wall ticking, and it feels ominous, like he's racing against time to find Tifa before it's too late, before something horrible happens.

"How can I help you, Cloud?" she asks him gently, tapping her fingers on the table. "You said she's missing?"

He leans back against the seat, his knees wide apart, and he holds his head in both hands trying to think straight, but his temples start pulsing as his heart claws its way through bone and flesh. "I think—I think she went home. I don't have her address—"

He sees her lips squirm, hooking her hands together on the desk. "We changed it earlier," she reminds him. "I don't know if the system keeps the previous address on file."

He feels stupid, hopeless—how does he not know Tifa's address? Why didn't he take the time to learn? And she must see the glaze of his eyes, the despondent angle of his brows. She turns back to her computer and sighs. "But I'll see what I can find."

She's typing, letting her screen load. He can see Tifa's name reflected on her glasses. She shakes her head, makes a disappointed face, but she doesn't mention it. She just keeps typing, clicking her mouse, going as fast as she can.

"Why did Tifa go home? Did she say?"

She did, she told him exactly why. And then he left her alone like an idiot. "She—" He clears his throat, feels the guilt seep in his chest as he drowns in it. "She wanted to get her things. She's in the show tomorrow."

Miss Grover nods. And types. And clicks her mouse. It's agonizing watching her, waiting. As the clock ticks and time passes. As Tifa is out there alone, and he has no way of reaching her. She was just right here, in his arms, his lips on her mouth. She told him she loved him and then disappeared inside the building. Cloud doesn't know how he got here, as the walls cave in and his world falls apart. He wants to be hopeful—he has to, but he's overcome by a bad feeling. A really bad, awful feeling.

"Okay—"

He looks up. She's grabbing a pen, a post-it note. She writes something down in cursive. "I was able to find her address on her enrollment application."

Cloud is still shaking when she slips it off the pad and hands it to him. He reads it over and over and over again until he has it memorized. Something resembling relief washes over him, makes him want to start crying—but concern still rattles him, forces him up from the seat abruptly without a proper goodbye as he thanks her.

"I hope Tifa is okay," she tells him. And he hopes so, too.

He's driving. Wearing the helmet he always makes Tifa put on, the cold air slips into the crevices of his coat and slices him with its chill. He drives and he can't do it fast enough. He's quick, reckless—there's so much fucking traffic on the highway. The sun is falling, getting darker, violet rays blending into amber and gold.

The engine grumbles as he weaves through lanes. He can't stop, can't stand still with the flow of traffic as the clock keeps ticking, tapping in his chest. It's a countdown. And the moment it ends, so does his heart. So, he drives as fast as he can, against the wind and the dying light. Through the tarry streets of the slums in Midgar. He drives and doesn't let himself think of anything but Tifa and her eyes and her smile, of the way she felt curled against him on his bed. The warmth of her body, the soft sighs that eased from her mouth as she slept. Her cold feet touching him, arches curved and toes pointed.

When he gets to her apartment complex, there are police outside.

He wedges his bike between cars on the street, pulls his helmet off as he parks. The police cars flash, igniting the purple sky. They stand outside interviewing neighbors. And Cloud doesn't know what's going on, in a wild frenzy as he dismounts the motorcycle, throws the helmet on the handle. His boots clap on the pavement. He hears talking, police radios buzzing in and out.

"I was sitting in my living room when I heard the gunshot—"

An older lady with grey hair holds her coat close, shivering into herself as she talks to a cop, inhaling a cigarette. She's covered in blood, it's smeared all over her jacket. The officer writes when she speaks, while she shakes her head and shifts her weight onto one leg.

"I go to check what's wrong, and Brian is holding Tsveta. He says there was an accident. I help him take her to the car. She won't stop bleeding—"

Everything is loud. The radio, the bodies surrounding him. It doesn't feel real, like he's walking through a mirage. The night devours what's left of the daylight, swallowing it whole until he's left in the navy of darkness. The street lights come on, the police lights shine directly in his eyes.

He can't breathe. And the ticking stops.

"I don't know what happened, but I know that girl has been giving him trouble—" Her face is covered in wrinkles, lining her forehead, the skin below her chin drooping. She blows out ringlets of smoke as she taps ashes from her cigarette. "Just yesterday, I saw her kissing a boy on a motorcycle while I was walking my dog."

Cloud is over there in an instant, can't control the pull of his legs, the force of his body. He's delirious and angry, his chest burning from panting in this cold air. He doesn't know what he'll do or what he wants to say—he just needs to know where Tifa is. Everyone has failed her. Her dad, her neighbors, and even Cloud. He left her alone. He should have insisted, gone to class with her, done something but just leave her there—

Police officers stop him, hold him back. And he's almost hysterical, wants to scream and resist, but he settles his emotions. He can't risk getting cuffed when he needs to get to Tifa.

"This is a scene of an incident." The cop stands at his height, wears a black winter uniform. The police radio he holds goes off, chirping voices buzzing from the speaker.

Another officer is beside him, a woman not much shorter. "We aren't letting civilians through."

Cloud shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes as his face contorts in his desperation. He cradles his head, tries not to lose his mind or his temper or just self-destruct right there. The lady officer sees his distress, touches his shoulder, trying to steady him.

"Are you alright?"

"The girl, who was shot—" He tastes the acid on his tongue from the vile mix of words. He can't believe this is happening. If Tifa is dead or alive, what the hell even happened to her—he just needs to get to her, wherever she is. He needs to be with her. "—she's my girlfriend—"

Cloud is stammering, struggling to release a cohesive thought. It feels like the world is ending, that the darkness that swallowed the light has come to take him, too. There's no moon or stars, there's nothing that reminds him of her. Her smile is lost in the bleakness of the night. He's terrified it has now become a memory. The sun has descended, and Cloud knows its hiding spot. It dwells in Tifa's eyes, and once he finds her, he will discover the sun.

"I need to know where she is—" He gasps for breath, and the officers try to help him, even as he loses his grip and everything caves in. He doesn't want Tifa's smile to only exist in his dreams. He needs to see her, he has to find her. "Please—"

"We got word she was taken to the hospital on 12th street—"

Cloud is already leaving. "Do you need someone to take you there?"

He shakes his head at the feminine voice. He just has to get out of here. He needs to fucking go, now. And he prays to whatever god will listen to him, have pity on his soul even though he doesn't deserve it. But Tifa does. She is sweet and kind, the purest person he's ever known. Everyone has failed her, and he hates himself for not doing better.

He's drained but energized at the same time, eager to keep moving, sprinting past the cops and onlookers, the gleaming spiral of light from the tops of police cars. Until he's back on his bike, helmet on and secure. He grips the handles and spurs the motor to life. It revitalizes him, and he has a memory—one of many. Of Tifa sitting behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her head on his shoulder. Of when he sat here and she kissed him goodbye only last night.

The moon was out then, and the stars twinkled in a stream around her, residing in her eyes. But there's nothing now, as he drives down the road still filled with traffic. As he's only able to survive through the purr of the ignition, bringing him back to life. Stirred by a single purpose. There's nothing but the darkness.

Cloud gets to the hospital. He doesn't know what to do, where to go. He doesn't even fucking know where to park. He leaves his bike on the street, in a tiny spot he sees between two cars. And he's running against the wind, against time. His heart has been reactivated, and he's hopeful, yearning—that Tifa is okay, she is alive. Everything will be okay as long as he finds her.

He's in the emergency room, and everything is so bright that it stuns his vision. From the drabness of the city evening into the lurid white enclosure of the hospital. He has to blink a few times to adjust to it, and he pushes past a horde of people, gets to the front desk, holding onto the edges of the wood to support himself because he feels like he's going to pass out.

"A girl was brought here, she was shot—"

They're asking him questions, and he doesn't know the answers. Where was she shot? When was she brought in?

"I—I don't know—" He shakes his head, shovels his hands through ruffled hair. "It shouldn't have been that long ago—I need to see her. Her name's Tsvetelina."

The receptionist is wearing scrubs, and she types rapidly on a keyboard. There's commotion everywhere. Phones ringing, babies crying, so much fucking talking. And the uproar in his head—screaming, wailing, as he stands there and tries to keep his composure, maintain his fucking patience. But he has none. He's completely shattered. Cloud doesn't know how he is able to hold himself up, but he pushes through it, past the voices in his head convincing him of the worst, against the agony of his fears, the pain in his heart.

He loves Tifa. He loves her so much. And this uncertainty is the worst pain he's ever felt in his life.

She makes a call, it's quick and she barely says a word before she hangs up the phone and looks at Cloud. "You can take a seat in the waiting area. A nurse will come get you when we know more."

He does as he's told, because there's nothing else he can do. There's so much confusion, everything is moving and happening so fast. He almost can't wrap his head around it. So, he sits in the emptiest area he can find, blends into the backdrop of noise, of others waiting for their turn to be seen, doctors and nurses scouring the halls.

Cloud wants to say he's never been through this before, that this experience is brand new to him. But it isn't. He relives the pain and disorientation. He's pleaded with these same gods before, and they ignored his cries. He hopes they will listen now, because he can't live if they don't. He won't be able to live with himself.

His cell rings, and he jerks at the sudden noise. Flipping it open, he sees Aerith's name as he answers.

"Cloud, what happened? Where are you?"

Leaning back against the seat, he scrubs his thumb over his temple so hard that he nearly indents his skull. He shuts his eyes tight in his suffering. "I'm—I'm at the hospital in Midgar."

"What—why?"

Her frantic tone isn't helping, just makes his head spin faster, his stomach hollower. "Something happened to Tifa, I think she was shot—but nobody's telling me anything—"

It's hard for him to talk, to get the words out. He doesn't realize how fast he's breathing, how it cuts off his sentences, shuffles his words. He grips his chest because it's so tight, he's still wearing his coat, and it's cold in here, because the sliding doors keep opening with more people. It doesn't end.

"Okay, honey, it's okay—" He can tell Aerith is pacing herself, trying to be strong for him as her maternal instincts kick in. "Zack just got home, and we're coming right now. Just hang tight, okay?"

Cloud gulps, his throat so painfully dry that even swallowing hurts. His whole body encases in a shiver that shakes the chair. "Okay."

"We'll be there soon. I love you."

He waits. For something, anything. For a nurse to find him, for Zack and Aerith to get here. He feels alone despite the clamor of the hospital around him. When something finally does happen, it's the receptionist from earlier. She takes a seat next to him, tells him Tifa is in surgery right now, and someone will come get him when it's over.

And back to nothing. No answers, no certainties. Cloud just waits.

~oOo~

Aerith gets to him first.

She pulls him up from his seat to embrace him. Her hair is down, almost disheveled around her face. Flared jeans, sneakers, a pink puffer jacket. She's not done up, no make-up. She's as bare as he saw her this morning. Cloud doesn't have the strength to return her hug, letting her support his weight. She kneels beside him on the floor as he melts back onto the chair.

Zack is there, in a black coat, and Cloud can tell he's still in his work clothes. He sits beside him, rests a heavy hand on his shoulder. And Cloud is overwhelmed, he feels suffocated. He wants them there, but at the same time, he wants to be left alone, to fucking disappear. He sinks in the seat, his neck buried in his coat. He just wants to know if Tifa is okay.

"I don't understand. What happened?" Zack asks. It's an innocent enough question. And Cloud wants to know the same thing. Because he's still so confused, so fucking bewildered.

"I—I don't know." Cloud shakes his head, gathers his thoughts, while Aerith hugs him, rocking him gently. Her scent drifts around him, it smells like home. Like cinnamon and candy and everyone he used to hate, but now he wants to go back there, with Tifa. Because all those things make her so happy.

"She wanted to go to class, and when I went to get her, she was gone." His voice is breaking, and it's getting more difficult to see. Tears gloss over his eyes and Cloud is losing it. He can't be so collected anymore. He wants to fall apart. "And now she's here, and I don't know what happened to her."

"Buddy, hey—it'll be fine." Zack tries to comfort him the best he can, rubbing Cloud's shoulder, a nervous smile easing on his lips. When Cloud looks at him, he sees the blue in his eyes is duller, tamer. Not bright like the sky, missing the rim of green that makes them bold and vivid. He doesn't know what it means. If it's a sign from the gods he keeps praying to, if Zack lacks faith that everything will turn out okay.

"Tifa's a strong girl, she'll get through this." Zack says this with no knowledge of what even happened to her. He speaks with a straight face, with certainty. His jaw unclenched, his brows relaxed. At that moment, he's the epitome of hope, even if Cloud isn't sure he believes him.

It feels like they are in that waiting room forever. People come and go, and the noise doesn't end. Aerith is off the floor and on the other side of him, and Cloud should feel very loved and supported, but he's lonely. Empty. He feels miserable.

Finally, a nurse comes to them. She's short, dark hair tied back, wearing blue scrubs. Her face is neutral, showing no indication of anything—no emotion, remorse, gloom or some semblance of good news. She's an empty vessel sent to fetch them.

"Are you here for Miss Lukhartov?" she asks, standing before them with her hands clasped. Cloud cradles his head in his hand, elbow on the armrest as he nods weakly. He doesn't have the energy to get excited or upset, angry or agitated. He just wants some news, any news.

"Are you her family?"

"Yes." Aerith blurts it out firmly, holds Cloud's arm and doesn't say anything more. He's never seen her look so stern, her jaw gritted, nostrils flared.

"Okay, you can come with me," the nurse instructs them. She's very curt, doesn't introduce herself or ask any other questions, even begins walking away expecting them to follow her. "We'll put you in a room so the doctor can speak with you."

Cloud doesn't know what this means, if it implies good or bad news. Why can't they take him to see Tifa? Why do they need to talk to a doctor? The room is small and smells like bleach. A golden light flickers from the ceiling, and the smell and brightness combined makes him feel sick. There are only two chairs, and Aerith takes one, dragging Cloud down to sit next to her. Zack stands beside his wife, crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against the wall. The nurse is gone, they are alone again. But at least it's quiet now.

But the silence allows Cloud to think—and his head is louder, angrier, deafening. He wants all the noise to stop. He imagines every possible outcome, and he holds on to the few good scenarios that his brain can come up with.

Aerith is holding his hand, and he feels like a baby who needs his mom. But his grip on her is tight—he's strangling her, turning her skin blue. She doesn't complain, lets him squeeze her with a shaky fist. Several deep, fluid breaths release from his nose. They are back to waiting again, like an eternal form of torment. Cloud still doesn't understand how he got here. Not much time has passed since he last saw Tifa, and now everything has changed.

There's a brisk knock on the door before it opens. A doctor enters alone. His hair is speckled with grey, wearing a lab coat and holding a chart in his hands. His demeanor mirrors that of the nurse, like he's avoiding looking any of them in the eyes. His skin is tanned, stubble covering the expanse of his face. And this is fucking torture, waiting for this—wishing he could just blurt out the news and get it the fuck over with.

"Good evening, I'm Dr. Abad," he says, reaching to shake each of their hands. Cloud doesn't want to let go of Aerith, but he does and appeases him. The doctor leans against the exam table almost casually as the paper barrier crinkles behind him. "So, this is in regards to Tsvetelina Lukhartov. She—"

"Is Tifa okay?"

Aerith's voice is loud, quavering. She sits on the edge of her seat, grasping the armrest as if restraining herself from doing something rash. Zack kneels beside her on the floor, his arm around her shoulders to steady her. He whispers in her ear, but her knee continues to bounce erratically. She's upset, she doesn't hide her agitation as well as Cloud.

"She's going to be okay. Everything went very well."

It feels like an anchor dropped in Cloud's stomach. It's a sense of release that feels too heavy to be relief. But at least now he knows that Tifa is okay—she's alive. He cocks his neck back as he slides down the seat, his palms shrouding his face. Aerith wails—when he looks to her, she's hugging Zack, her arms flung around his neck, her hair thrown forward.

"Oh, thank God! Can we see her?"

But Dr. Abad clears his throat, chews his lip. There's a sudden shift in the room, the tension lifted back up, but higher now. That the miracle of Tifa being alright has a catch to it. A price needed to be paid for the exchange of her life.

"Not yet," he says, his eyes tinted beige, glinting forebodingly in the yellow light. He chooses to look directly at Cloud, and he feels singled out. Hit breath hitches, held high in his chest towards his throat.

"I—" A pause. The doctor shifts his weight, holds the chart into his elbow. "I need to inform you. What happened to her is very shocking. You need to be prepared when you're in the room with her."

Cloud finds his voice, sits up straighter, braces himself for the impact. "What is it? What happened?"

"There was an altercation between Miss Lukhartov and her father." It sounds like he's reading a police report, and he keeps stalling, watching them, drinking in their reactions. "She was shot in the arm. It was barely attached to her body when she was brought into the emergency room."

The sound of Aerith's gasp is piercing, hacking in his ear. And Cloud blinks. He blinks once, doesn't again for a long while. He just stares, eyes ample and dry as he finds himself holding his breath.

"We were able to salvage part of the arm. But there was too much nerve and tissue damage. We had to amputate from the elbow down."

Cloud is quiet, even as Aerith freaks out next to him, he just sits there and stares. His mouth is parched, his eyes start to water. He's blistering in his coat in this tiny little room. Replaying what he's just heard, over and over again. The words are engraved in his brain, submerged in his consciousness. His lips move, but it takes him a while to speak, to form an intelligible thought.

He looks at his hands, they won't stop shaking, palms stiff and creased. His face crushes in distress when he finally says the single word his mouth can actually deliver. "What?"

"I know this news is unsettling," Dr. Abad says, and he's leaving, making his way to the door, like he's had enough of the conversation. "I can give you some time to process this—"

"When can I see her?" Cloud can't believe this, they want to leave him alone again, to wait indefinitely after dropping such a massive bomb on his life. He doesn't realize he's crying until he dabs his knuckles to his face, feels the tears creep on his skin. He's still trying to be collected, not to cause a scene, but his world is collapsing, and he needs something, some kind of reassurance. He wants to see Tifa's face.

"It would probably be best to wait a little bit," the doctor explains, standing by the door. "She's awake but very weak, and we'd like to give her some time to adjust to what has happened to her. She might be overwhelmed with having guests."

"We're her family." Aerith is crying. It doesn't sound like her voice. It's muddled and distorted, thick with mucus as tears crowd her face. Cloud has never seen her like this. Aerith, usually a bubbly burst of sunshine, is absolutely distraught. Her eyes shimmer in the film of her tears, their hue dimmed to a dark forest. The life is gone from them. And Zack is still holding her, hoping to calm her down as she fidgets on the seat like she wants to get up and get in the doctor's face.

"You haven't told us anything! What altercation? How she even got here? Where her dad who did this horrible thing to her is?"

And now Aerith is angry, fuming, clear mucus drips from flared nostrils. Her brows bow into her nose, pressing a dimple between them. "Tifa needs to be kept safe! What are you doing to keep her safe? Besides keeping us away from her?"

Dr. Abad tilts his head, wrinkles crease by his eyes when he gives them a tense look. "Her father brought her in. He—"

"He's here?" Cloud wants to know where he is, wants to fucking murder him. If he's here being pampered in a hospital bed, he'll fucking lose it. Everyone is failing Tifa. Why are they calling it an altercation? As if Tifa had any fault in what happened to her?

"He's with authorities." His hand is on the lever of the door as his lab coat swishes behind him. He's leaving, he's really fucking leaving. "You'll have to speak with them, I don't have any more information as to what exactly happened. But feel free to stay in here as long as you need. A nurse will come get you to see her."

The door closes with a click. It's only been minutes since they were dragged into this room, and now everything's changed. Life is different. Tifa is okay, but she's not. Cloud's with Zack and Aerith, and she won't stop crying. She's gotten up, pacies the room, throws her hands in aggravation as Zack is with her, trying to calm her down.

"Babe, please, you know they're doing the best they can. They can't sit around holding our hands, they have other people to help." Zack grasps her shoulders, holds her so she stops moving so much. She looks up at him, stretching her neck to meet his gaze. He's being so rational, but Aerith isn't having it. Her tiny hands ball into fists as another tear escapes her eye and sails along her skin.

"He was still fucking rude!" she shrieks, her pitch lifting until it's shrill and domineering. "He won't even take us to see her! Aren't doctors supposed to have some sort of bedside manner?"

"I know, baby. I know it sucks." He holds her, curves his back so he can nestle her in his arms, as Aerith stands on the balls of her feet, gripping the front of his coat so fiercely it's ready to rip off his body. "But we'll get to see her soon. You heard what he said—Tifa's okay. She's going to be okay."

He pets her hair, keeps her quaking body stable. But Aerith won't relent, she's too passionate, too furious and forlorn. "What happened to her isn't fair. It's fucked, it's so fucked up."

Aerith doesn't swear a lot, but right now she barks like a sailor, drops her façade of blissful homemaker. And she's just so purely human. She's not Cloud's savior, or liberator, or mother. Even his sister. She's a person broken by pain. Aerith really loves Tifa, true unbridled love that almost rivals his own. And he wants more people to love Tifa—everyone on this earth to be enamored and protective of her, instead of the shit she was given in this life.

Cloud's brought a foot on the seat, his knee blocking his face as he sits back. He can't get comfortable, the chairs are too stiff. He rests his forearm on his knee, looks up towards the light and lets it burn into his retinas. He's been very quiet, hasn't said much, because all the talking is going on in his head.

His heart beats slow now, too slow. Thick, violent pumps that feel painful, like there's something lodged in his chest. He's dizzy, exhausted. His face is sticky from the remnants of his tears. He slopes his forehead, feels his eyes begin to drift. But he's too anxious to sleep, too uncomfortable, too horrified as he tries to process everything that's happened in such a short amount of time.

Aerith is beside him again. Reluctantly, as Zacks guides her to the chair, holding her so she sits down. He helps her out of her coat so she's more comfortable. She wears a fitted pink shirt with long sleeves. And then Zack's in front of them—losing his cool, he's on edge. His lips squirm as he maps out what he will say next. He runs his hand through slick black hair, takes a deep breath.

"We should talk about what happens next."

An anvil sinks into Cloud's gut. Zack is past the shock of the news. He's thinking further ahead, because he has to. He's the most rational one in this room, and this affects him, too. But Aerith doesn't let him finish his thought, she's already frantic, ready to jump up from her seat as she grips Cloud's arm for leverage.

"What do you mean, what happens next?"

He hesitates, like he knows she's not going to like what he has to say. Cloud is curious, because he's been so stuck in the moment, he hasn't thought this through, either. This is bigger than just him. This involves Zack and Aerith, too, and it's not fair that they have to be so wrapped up in this.

"This thing with Tifa—this is some serious shit. Dangerous fucking shit." He's being careful with his words, starts rubbing his temples as his eyes stagger to the floor. "And we really need to think about the reality of the situation. Cloud—"

He looks directly at him. Blue collides with blue, and Zack's stare cuts deep, piercing. It's pleading, heartbreaking—"Your life's just starting. Are you really ready to take all this on?"

He's not fucking ready. But he'll do it. He knows where the conversation is going, and he'll figure it out. He'll start working next month, he can get a place with Tifa. He can take care of her. It won't be easy, but he can do it. But Cloud doesn't get a chance to answer him, because Aerith is up—she launches from the chair, confronting her husband with rigid hands on her hips.

"Where are you going with this? Tifa is staying with us!"

Zack embraces her cheeks, tries to soften the hostility of her glare. But her eyes are bright and alert, gleaming at him with a ferocity that ignites the room. "Baby, what happened to Tifa is insane. Fucking deranged. What if something like that happens again? I can't have anything happen to you. I love you more than anything in this world—"

"No! She's staying with us! She's staying with us!" She's crying, but she lets Zack hold her anyway, sobbing on his chest as he lulls her against him with a tenderness Cloud rarely sees from him.

"I know you love her. I love her, too. It's hard not to—"

"She's staying!" When she pushes off him, she snarls, reveals the pink of her gums as she tosses her hair behind her back. Her head is shaking, tears dripping in streaks down her cheeks. "You leave me alone all day! I'm all alone. I won't let her leave. I'm putting my foot down."

Zack slides his hand through her hair, gently stroking her temple. His expression is conflicted, torn between wanting to agree and his concern holding him back from fully relenting. "This shit is dangerous, Aerith—"

"There's no fucking danger! Her dad is gone, the problem is eliminated! He'll go to jail, there's no danger!" She shoves him, but it's weak, he doesn't budge. He lets her lose her temper, and it's the first time Cloud has ever seen them argue like this. "So, what's the fucking problem?"

"I'm just trying to think of the bigger picture." Zack is ready to snap, holds his hands out like he's about to touch her again, his elbows strained against the tightness of his coat, but he defers. "I don't think you realize the kind of burden we're about to take on."

"What burden?" Fumes spill from her nostrils, shoot from her ears. Her face is nearly deformed from the mess of tears, squeezed in her agony, dimples dotted all over her skin. Aerith holds herself for some form of comfort, shaking her head violently. "You talk like she's some kind of animal! I'm home all day, I can take care of her. Whatever she needs, I can help her!"

But Zack is right, this is a burden, and not Aerith's responsibility to take. Cloud drops his leg to the floor, leans forward as he sighs into his palms. He's had enough of this. They don't need to be arguing over Tifa. She's his girlfriend, he needs to step up and take care of her. He has some money saved up, he starts working soon. He'll handle this.

"It's fine—" he interjects, and Aerith stops screaming, he hears the squeal of her shoes when she turns to face him. "I was planning to move out anyway. You don't have to worry about Tifa. We'll be fine."

"No!"

Aerith kneels before him, like she's praying to him. Sobbing as she holds him. Her tears stain his coat, and even as she presents as small and weak, she's persistent. Unbreakable. "I don't want you to leave. I don't want my family to break apart."

Cloud doesn't touch her, only watches. His hands are by his side, he feels like an empty shell of himself. The room is spinning, and the slow beat of his heart only grows more lethargic, dawdling—heaving weighted steps that halt his breath. He hates seeing Aerith like this, and Zack is so protective of her, doesn't want any harm to come to her.

"Please don't take my family away," she pleads, and Cloud doesn't know to whom. Maybe she is praying to the same gods, the ones who decided Tifa would live today. Who took her arm as a sacrifice. Cloud prays with her. Don't take his family away. Even though he's prepared to leave, he needs them. He really fucking needs them now.

It doesn't take long for Zack to break, before he goes to her, helps her up from the floor, brushing the dust off her clothes. And he hugs her, absorbs the trembling of her body. They mold against each other, like two pieces of a heart. The golden light embraces them, highlighting their love, their devotion, and it's heartbreakingly stunning.

"Okay, sweetheart, okay—" Zack grasps her hair, crushes silky tendrils in his hand as he presses kisses to the top of her head. And Aerith hugs him tighter, cries a little harder. "Tifa will stay with us."

Aerith nods against his chest, an elated sob choking from her throat. "Thank you—" She struggles to speak, her voice is distorted, and if Zack wasn't holding her, she would probably melt to the floor. "Thank you."

Cloud says it, too, in the catastrophe of his mind. Thank you. Because he knows he can't do this alone. He needs his family. And he realizes he's lucky that so many people love him.

~oOo~

Cloud is nervous, fucking petrified.

They finally let them see Tifa. He doesn't know what time it is, he hasn't checked his watch or his phone. But he knows it's late. The hospital is less frantic, emptier, quieter. They stand outside a patient room, and another nurse gives them a pep talk, prepping them before they go inside. Cloud feels like he can see through the wall, envisions Tifa in there, the state she's in. The image horrifies him, and it's hard to hear the nurse over the clamor of his heart. It's not slow and dreadful anymore. It's fast—so fast. Like a hammer to his ribs. He must be shaking, because Zack's hand falls to his shoulder.

"She's still pretty loopy," the nurse explains as she lingers at the door. Her skin is pale against her dark blue scrubs. Several strands of light brown hair fall from her ponytail. "But she understands what's happened to her, and she's a lot calmer now. We're about to change her dressing, so maybe you can distract her."

She opens the door, gestures to let them inside. And Cloud doesn't move, frozen in place. His limbs are stiff and inflexible. A lump lodges in his throat, and nothing he does relieves it. Aerith is ready to push through, but Zack stops her, taking her hand.

"We should let Cloud see her first," he says, "so she doesn't get overwhelmed."

Cloud expects her to argue, to break down like she did earlier. But Aerith bites her lip, sighs through her nose as she nods, taking a step back to nestle herself against Zack. Cloud looks at them like he's helpless, he can't do this without them. He sees the reassuring gleam in Zack's eyes, urging him forward, and he draws in a deep breath before he steps into the room.

He hears his own footsteps, and the ticking starts again. He doesn't know where it's coming from. If there's another clock here, or if the noise emerges from within him. Because he walks in, and all he sees is Tifa. Her figure radiates. She's beautiful in every horrible and wonderful way. And his heart collapses.

She lies in a hospital bed, propped on a pillow. She's awake, but not really looking anywhere. Her eyes focus downward, her neck tilted. Wrapped in a blanket, a hospital gown covers her chest. The room surrounds her with white tile and creamy textured walls, medical equipment. Her pulse draws a picture of steady squiggles on a screen. His eyes trace the patterned fabric of the gown and blanket, the outline of the mattress. An IV is hooked to her arm. Her right arm—her only full arm.

A part of her is missing. It doesn't click right away, because when he first looks at her, he sees just Tifa. Beautiful, sweet Tifa. He sees messy dark hair and moonlit skin. Droopy almond eyes and heart shaped lips. It takes a while for it to register, for his brain to conceptualize—for him to see the tape and bandages, that half of her left arm is gone.

Cloud stands by the door, he's not all the way in yet. He's suspended mid step, isolated in place as he gawks at her. He can't freak out, he needs to be strong. But he's already losing it, feeling his pulse flicker on his neck, his wrists, stampeding in his chest. His teeth start chattering, he tightens the muscles in his stomach to brace himself.

His knuckles are unsteady as he taps them to the door. It gets her attention, and of another nurse in there with her. She smiles, she had been talking to Tifa as she organizes a cart of medication and bandages. Dark brown skin, her hair twisted up as she wears similar blue scrubs.

Tifa looks with only her eyes, sees Cloud and nearly gets up, lifting her weight even though she is weak—and he's over to her in quick strides. Thankfully, there's a chair already next to her to her right.

"Cloud!" Her voice is feeble and strained. Her eyes squint as she cries to him, and he sits beside her, taking her hand as she reaches for him. He lets his warmth sweep over her, and the first thing he does is kiss her. Almost frantically, like he'll die if he doesn't drink the life from her lips. He kisses her once, twice, and then again, feels the tackiness of her tears wet his skin. He squeezes her hand, weaves their fingers together.

"I'm sorry," she says, and her voice is small and shaky. He interrupts her, trying to kiss the apology off her mouth, but she doesn't stop. Tifa keeps talking, crying harder, he feels the tremble that rattles her body. "I broke my promise. I made everything worse."

"It's okay. It's okay." He speaks to her gently, in almost a whisper, mutters the words against her lips. As he goes to caress her face, he sees how battered she is, worse than earlier. She's bruised on her cheek, her lip is split open. He skims his fingers over a fresh scab on her skin. Cloud feels his heart shatter like glass, the fragments get everywhere, cutting his body from deep within.

He kisses her to ease her, lulling her back against her pillow. Slowly, tenderly. He whispers sweet nothings against her mouth, promises of how much he loves her, that nothing can keep him away from her. Tifa relaxes, sighs into his kiss. He feels her pucker her lips against his.

He cups her face, holds her hand. Kisses her mouth, shares her spit. Drinking, he's drinking her—honey trickles down her bottom lip and he catches it between his teeth in a gentle nip. His fingers fan through her hair, and his eyes lift open to watch her as he kisses her. She's in a place more serene, her hysteria slowly withering.

"Oh Tifa, you didn't tell me you had such a cute boyfriend."

On the other side of the bed, the nurse stands with liquid and bandages. Cloud knows what's coming, what he has to do. She's friendly, much more than the others he spoke to tonight, and she's nice to Tifa, trying to ease the tension as there's a teasing timbre to her voice.

Tifa smiles. It's weak, barely there. But a wave of relief floods over him, because he didn't know only a short while ago if he'd ever see Tifa smile again. It's beautiful, perfect—he's revitalized by the curl of her lips, and his grip on her hand grows tight as he scoots the chair closer to her.

"Cloud is the cutest boy in the world," Tifa says in a tired slur, her face sticky with drying tears. He cracks a smile, huffs a breath though his nose. The nurse adjusts her pillow, lowers the blanket, gently handling her left arm.

"I'm going to change the dressing now, okay?"

Tifa's expression grows stiff, her eyes are open and big, her pupils have washed over all traces of color. They're almost purely black, stunning deep voids, and Cloud feels himself falling in them. He caresses her cheekbone, looks at her intently, lets the love spill from his gaze to immerse her in it.

"Okay," she says.

Tifa doesn't look at what's happening. She tenses, shuts her eyes so tight that wrinkles bury in the bridge of her nose. She squeezes Cloud's hand. And he doesn't let go, keeps his fingers woven in a pact with hers. With gentle strokes, he continues to brush her hair, his palm against her cheek. Tifa doesn't look. But Cloud does.

He steers his gaze, transfixed. Horrified. As the bandages unravel, exposing the brutality of her arm. Puss and blood coating bruised flesh, thick dark stitches close her skin together. He chokes on his breath because he can smell the blood from the other side of the bed. It's soaked into the bandages, stains the tape. The nurse pours some liquid over her skin, and Tifa flinches, keeps her whimpers muffled as she strangles his hand.

Cloud needs to do something—he has to comfort her, but he's almost mesmerized. From the beauty of her shoulder, the ivory complexion of her skin until it dips down and then there's nothing—she's mutilated. Nothing but raw basted flesh and the smear of blood. The coppery stench coats the air. He tastes it in his mouth.

Cloud finally looks away, snaps his gaze from the chilling sight and leans down, presses his lips to Tifa's forehead, her cheek, massages her scalp as he continues to play with her hair. She sobs quietly, a fresh current of tears wets her skin. They travel low, down the curve of her jaw, the slope of her neck, dispersing on her collar bone. He still hears the beeping of her pulse. It's fluid, stable—he's helping her through it.

His mouth touches each knuckle on her hand. He cherishes it, it's sacred. Her only hand, and it's beautiful. Cloud will treasure this hand for the rest of his life. Right now, he never wants to let go, enfolds his fingers through hers so they can be forever connected. The nurse finishes changing the dressing, and she delicately pats Tifa's shoulder to let her know it's done.

Slowly, Tifa opens her eyes. They're dark, glittering. The sun still hides, but the stars have found her in its place, and there they reside, where they belong, in the depths of wine. Their gazes blend, blue seeps into brown, and he feels the warmth of her stare. Even as she cries, her cheeks pasty and wet, her beautiful face battered—they find comfort in each other. And there's hope—still so much hope.

"I'm sorry," Tifa says again. It's frail, defeated. "I ruined everything."

"You didn't," he tells her. "None of this is your fault."

"I didn't listen. I broke my promise." She twists her head, cries against the pillow. "Please don't hate me."

"I love you—" Cloud lays his elbows on the bed, plunges so he can share her pillow. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too." She croaks her devotion, and he's kissing her again. He can't get enough. He's scared and relieved, hopeful yet overwhelmed with dread. Overjoyed but mourning. He feels like none of this would have happened if he hadn't come into her life.

He kisses her choppily, sloppy, hears the pop of their lips as her spit coats his mouth. He holds her cheek, feels her heat transfer to his palm. He breathes her in and it ignites his lungs. She smells clean, she smells like Tifa. But the scent of blood still remains, loiters in the air. It's there to remind him of the horrible thing that happened to her.

There's a low knock at the door. "Tifa, be careful. Cloud has cooties."

Zack is teasing, it's almost funny. Cloud pulls away from her, doesn't wipe his mouth, leaves it smeared and wet. Zack and Aerith are in the room, he's holding her pink coat. And she's at Tifa's side, kneeling by Cloud. Aerith's not crying anymore, but her eyes are swollen, her bottom lip shivers.

"Hey Tifa," she says, her voice taking on a soft, unfamiliar tone that Cloud has never heard from her before. Leaning against the bed, she twirls a lock of Tifa's hair. "How are you feeling?"

Tifa sighs, she looks tired, like she's about to fall asleep. "I…I feel so weird."

Cloud can't decipher her tone, what she means. He wonders how much pain medication they have her on, if she can feel any of it. He's still holding her hand.

"Hey kid—" Zack stands over the bed, resting his hand on her leg. "You're pretty tough, you know that? I should teach you how to fight someday."

Tifa tries to smile, and she manages a subtle curve of her mouth. But she looks so sad, so out of it. They are trying not to look at her arm, but it's like there's a big arrow pointing at it. Now wrapped in fresh bandages, only a fragment of what used to be there. The nurse is at the other side of the room, organizing the cart. She opens a few prescription bottles, gathering pills from them. A foam cup filled with water sits at Tifa's bedside.

"I think it's time for Tifa to get some more rest now," the nurse says as gently as she can. She smiles, it's sincere. Cloud reluctantly lets go of her hand so she can take her medicine, his palm warm and clammy with their shared sweat. He's eager to hold her again, but he knows he needs to leave, they won't let him stay the night.

"Please, can Cloud stay with me?" Tifa practically begs, her eyes heavy and wet with leftover tears. She takes the cup, her hand trembling so much that the water inside ripples in swirls. "Until I fall asleep?"

The nurse places the pills in her mouth as Tifa extends her tongue. She helps her sit up, holding her shoulders, and Tifa takes several gulps. Cloud sees her throat bob as she swallows her medication, and her chin is wet when the gives the cup back to her.

"Yes, sweetie, he can stay," she assures Tifa, her smile warm and fond as she gently pats her head and helps her settle back down to the bed.

The lights are dimmed, they are alone. Cloud has shed his coat, leans his chest on the mattress. They hold hands again, fingers woven in prayer, in unity. Finally, he can catch his breath in this serene moment he shares with her. Even his mind shows mercy, quelling its turmoil, leaving him in peaceful stillness with Tifa.

"What's your favorite color?" he asks. Tifa is still awake. Even though she closes her eyes, there's tension in her face. He strums his thumb over her knuckles, tries talking to her, hopes to make her feel even a little normal.

She feigns being asleep for only a second before she answers, her eyes still closed. "Purple."

Cloud huffs a laugh, swipes her bangs to the side as they stick to her forehead. "A girly color."

"You?" she asks, her voice getting lower.

"Blue," he says.

"Like your eyes."

He presses his cheek to the pillow, senses her drift away as she surrenders to her exhaustion. "Yea."

"They're so pretty. I love them." Tifa hums, her chest falls as she releases a deep breath. "I love you."

Tifa is asleep. He doesn't want to leave her. He'll come back in the morning, stay with her the whole day until they kick him out. He hopes she doesn't think about the dance show, that maybe she'll forget and he won't have to bear witness to her heartbreak.

But Tifa remembers. She knows. She cries and cries, and then apologizes for crying, for leaving to get her things. They have her drugged up, barely conscious most of the time. She's on a ton of medication.

The cops come to question her, asking him to step out of the room during the interview. Time drags on as Cloud paces the hallway, watching doctors and nurses pass him. He wears Converse sneakers today, and they squeak against the tile. His jeans hang low on his hips, his sweater just as baggy. Impatient, he pulls his beanie down over his ears.

Aerith comes back from the waiting room holding candy. She has her hair down again, still no makeup, wears flared yoga pants and a zip-up hoodie.

"Got you a chocolate bar," she says.

Tifa's dad is in jail. And that's it. There's no trial, no lawyers, no court dates. He just goes to jail, accepts his fate. It's almost insulting, the atomic bomb he set off before he decided to set Tifa free once and for all. Cloud wishes he had a chance to confront him, to actually meet him and fuck him up for what he did to her. But it's resolved, it goes away. The story shifts, it's not about her dad anymore. It's about something much bigger. That man doesn't even matter now. And it's jarring, fucking mind blowing. Tifa's dad can't hurt her anymore, but he's already done so much damage, inflicted so much pain.

Cloud struggles to attend his classes during the last full week of school before finals. He goes to Tifa, and when he's not there, Aerith is. Most of the time, they overlap, and Tifa is never really alone.

It's the Wednesday morning before finals, and Cloud sits at the chair next to Tifa. Aerith is there, she's decorated the room with flowers. Several vases adorned with different roses, and she keeps bringing more every day, buying them from the giftshop. The TV is on, Tifa watches old cartoons, nestled against her pillow, and she's a little more lucid today. The bruise on her temple is healing, still patched with purple but faded and less swollen. The cut on her lip has scabbed over. Aerith is on her left brushing her hair, and Tifa has her neck turned to Cloud as she looks up at the blocky TV.

"The toothpaste here tastes weird," she says.

Cloud squeezes her hand. "Want me to bring you something else?"

Aerith is already getting up, dropping the hairbrush in her purse and smoothing out the wrinkles from her dress. "I'll run home and get it."

But Tifa shakes her head, rubs her nose on the pillow as she begins to dose off. "No. Sorry, it's a stupid thing to complain about."

Cloud pulls on the drawstring of his pullover, sharing an unsure glance with Aerith. Even now, Tifa tries to disappear. She doesn't want to be a burden, shields herself from the extra attention. But the sun beats through the window, bathing her in its adoring rays. It hasn't forgotten her, still drawn to her beauty, emerging from its hiding spot. Because Tifa is special, even if she doesn't know it. And nothing will change that.

Cloud comes at the start of visiting hours the next Monday, but Tifa turns him away.

She's tired, still woozy from the drugs. It's been over a week, they still keep her here, and she doesn't seem to be getting much better. Aerith is around here somewhere, probably getting her snacks. But Tifa hasn't been eating much, it's hard when she's asleep most of the time, or puking if she has a bite of anything.

"Go to school," she tells him. "You have to take finals."

He's surprised she kept track of the date. He has a final project in one class, an exam for the other. He's kept up, barely. Enough to pass. He knows he should go, he doesn't want to have to repeat the semester.

"You start your job next month. You have to go to school, Cloud."

She's right. He needs to work, he has to take care of her. He can't depend on Zack and Aerith forever. But he hates to leave her, wanting to stay by her side, sitting with her quietly as she watches TV and drifts in and out of sleep, when she wakes up from a nightmare and becomes inconsolable.

Her voice is tiny, she struggles to talk. Her eyes squelch, she looks like she's in pain, but she won't tell anyone. He holds her hand—her one single, beautiful hand. And he looks to her left arm. It sits at her side, she refuses to move it. Bandaged, the horror beneath concealed. She puts on a brave face for him, tries to smile even though she fails.

Cloud feels sick, sweat dampening his tee shirt, the fabric chafing against his nipples. He doesn't want to leave, but he forces himself to do so. He waits for Aerith to come back as she prances around the hospital in brown leggings and a denim skirt, her ponytail swinging behind her before she comes back carrying a piece of cake tucked into a foam container. Her objective is to get Tifa to eat and keep it down, and she tries something different every day.

When he kisses Tifa goodbye, Aerith pretends not to look. He lingers, kisses her again, hears the gentle wet smack of their lips. He misses her already. It's torture being apart. He never wants to be away from her ever again.

Cloud leaves, attends the last of his classes. He finishes school. He doesn't know if he's relieved, he always thought he'd be. It's a new chapter of his life, and now Tifa is there, and she's not whole. She's not well. She's an amputee. Her future is unclear, and so is his along with her.

But whatever happens, they will be together. The thing that kept them apart is no longer there to hurt them. Tifa is free—she is finally free. But at what cost? At what fucking cost?