February 2008, Midgar
TIFA DANCES AGAIN!
Tifa graces the magazine cover, the loud text scattered over her picture in capital letters. In that perfect shot Cloud remembers, her arm tucked under her breasts, her neck kicked back, lips parted in a sexy pout. The marbled gold background enhances her airbrushed skin. Cloud doesn't care whatever else is on the cover, only focused on Tifa as he lifts the magazine off his desk, crinkling the pages in his grasp.
Cloud shouldn't be surprised, he's been expecting this, but it's still so unreal to see her on the cover of this magazine again, like she's become a celebrity.
Tifa misses her deadline to return to school, caught up in everything that's happened since. The staff at the Dream Girl corporation take her under their wing. They book her shows and shoots, keeping her busy and relevant. Tifa rehearses with Andrea more than ever now. He's gone from disgraced to renowned—Tifa becomes his protégé, and he's involved in everything she does.
Tifa misses the deadline, but it's okay—the school extends it, desperate for her to return. It's truly a shame for them, because they aren't the only school that wants her now. Dance academies, prestigious art colleges in the city—they all throw scholarships at her. There's probably a new offer letter in the mail every other day. Begging for her presence and talent to grace their school, while Nibelheim is long forgotten.
And good—because Tifa is too good for that school—and now she has options, so many options. She takes her time sorting through them.
Yuffie is there—she lunges for the magazine, but Cloud dodges her, rolling his chair back and flipping through the pages. It's her copy, he should give it back to her, but she hasn't given him a chance to find the article about Tifa.
They're alone in the dimly lit IT office as Yuffie hovers over his desk like a feral cat. The buzz of various electronics fills the background, and Cloud is pretty sure he can hear the spark of wires hanging from the ceiling like Christmas lights.
He swivels away from Yuffie as he leans back in his chair. His jeans rip further when he crosses his leg, his pantlegs bunching over his boots. His computer pings with new emails, but he's too invested in finding Tifa in this magazine. He shuffles through the flimsy pages, finally stops when he lands on her image. There's not a lot of time, Yuffie is hanging off his chair and he's spinning around the room trying to scan the text and all the pictures they took of her.
Clawing at his tee shirt, she breathes fire down his neck. "Give it back!"
Cloud tries to avoid looking at her because it's almost physically painful. Through the blur of her motion, he gets a glimpse of the black tank top she wears. Her belt could be considered a weapon, the pointed studs gleaming a metallic silver. Jamming her knee on his seat, she tries to pry the magazine from him.
He nudges her away with his shoulder, feels her army of bracelets smack him in the cheek as she reaches in his space, yanking his purple tee shirt and stretching out the fabric. Cloud speed reads the article as Yuffie nearly strangles him for the magazine. Her hair blinds her eyes, all he sees are flared nostrils and snarled lips, flashing him the piercing on her tongue.
"Yuffie—how many fucking times have we been over this?"
They both nearly jump out of their skin. Cloud's chair slides back, his boots grinding into the carpet. As Yuffie leaps away from him in a squeal, he sees the little doodles she's drawn on her checkered Vans with permanent marker.
They turn towards the door at the same time—Cid walks in the room. A permanent scowl etched on his lips, the corner of his mouth twitches as his brows slant. The fresh stench of cigarette smoke wafts alongside him as he pulls off his jacket, revealing his everyday uniform of a polo shirt and khakis—no, he's wearing corduroys today. His pants swish loudly as he walks straight to his desk at the other side of the room.
"Nobody is watching the front desk," he grumbles. "Quit fooling around with your little boyfriend and get lost."
Yuffie gags as Cloud shudders. He feels the bile creep up his throat at the mere thought of it. He's distracted enough that Yuffie is able to yank the magazine from his grasp. She holds it to her chest like a school girl, and for a terrifying moment, he can see a glimpse of her eyes beneath the chaos of her fringe.
"By the way—"
Cloud is already back in work mode—where he hates his life and waits for the next pointless task until the clock strikes five. Rolling his chair back to his desk, he buries his hand in his hair and starts sorting through his neglected emails. He hears Cid frantically typing away at his keyboard as he mumbles curses under his breath. Yuffie goes to leave, but she stops herself, lingering over Cloud's desk.
Cloud looks at her, giving her permission to continue with whatever dumb shit she wants to say. His elbow rests on the table as he slouches his back and sits on the edge of the seat.
"What," he says dully when she's let the awkward silence hover between them for too long.
"I need you to listen to me, okay?"
Christ, she's being dramatic. Cloud knows she's going to tell him something stupid. He isn't even looking at her now, but plotting how he's going to stop at the magazine rack after work to get a few copies to bring home as he stares at the screen of never-ending emails.
"Whatever you do, I need you to promise me you won't do this."
Cloud pushes his chair back, lets his hands fall to his lap. He takes a wide stance, his knees spread apart. A sigh eases out of his mouth as he gives her a firm look, his lashes fluttering in a series of blinks. And Yuffie stands there, looking at him so seriously as one of her eyes peeks past her bangs.
"Okay," he says through a strained breath.
"No matter what—do not google blue waffle."
She looks at him, he looks at her. A weird silence snakes between them. Cid mutters a curse behind him, demolishing his keyboard. And Cloud clears his throat, looks at the computer screen as he adjusts his posture and gets back to work.
"Sure," he answers her. But it's not enough for Yuffie, she grows nearly frantic in her quest for reverse psychology.
"I mean it—don't do it! I'm begging you!"
"I won't," he tells her, avoiding looking at her again. She doesn't want to leave, looming over him, draping him in her shadow that's traced in devil horns and a spiked tail. The more desperate she gets in trying to prevent him from doing it, the more he knows this is another one of her stupid pranks.
Cid kicks her out after she's stalled too long, and when the silence overtakes them, Cloud can't help but wonder—what the fuck's a blue waffle?
~oOo~
After every early morning workout, Zack always beats Cloud to the bathroom.
Drenched in sweat and forced to wait for Zack's endless shower, Cloud takes a chance. It's risky, he might lose his life for trying. But he uses Aerith's bathroom.
She's still asleep this morning. If he's quick enough, he can get in and out without her ever knowing. He'll mask the sugary smell of her soaps with cologne. It'll be fine, it's better than sitting on the stool at the kitchen island marinating in his own sweat for another twenty minutes.
He grabs a change of clothes and a fresh towel, closes the door behind him in Aerith's bathroom. It's not much different than the one he shares with Zack—Aerith's the one who cleans and decorates everything. It's amped up—a little more pink and girly. The tiles are covered in flowery vinyl with seahorses in the tub. It feels weird being in here, like Aerith's gonna know and eat his head off for bringing his cooties.
But it's a relief when he pulls off his tank top, sees the glisten of sweat caking his stomach and chest as he throws the shirt to the floor. Cloud's too careless, he misaims, knocking over the tiny pink trashcan by the sink. He grumbles, this is gross—now he's gonna catch cooties.
He bends to clean it up, feeling a stiff pressure on his low back fresh from his workout. There isn't much garbage as he shoves it through the flapping lid quickly. Just a small box. And a pregnancy test.
His throat gets dry, his eyeballs shriveling in their sockets as he holds it in his fist. His spine cracks when he shoots straight up, juggling the pink stick in his hands. Cloud tries to decode it, he's never seen a pregnancy test before—he doesn't know how to read one. He squints his eyes, holds it with both hands. There are two straight lines bleeding red. What does it mean? It falls to the sink as he scrambles to get the box from the trash, reading through the text on the back frantically.
One line is not pregnant, two lines mean—
"Shit—" Cloud rids the crime scene of the evidence, throwing everything back in the trash. He's a frazzled mess, like he's discovered a dark family secret. Because someone is pregnant, and he doesn't know who—no one has said anything.
Shit shit shit shit shit. Clutching the edge of the sink, the glossy porcelain is
cool and slick against his palms. He stares at himself in the mirror, at the frantic image of sweaty blonde hair and flushed skin. Wide cerulean eyes, pupils constricting until the blue consumes them and turns his stare vacant. Seeing himself in an endless loop of a million panicked Clouds.
Somebody's pregnant—but who? Aerith or Tifa? It has to be Aerith—right? It can't be Tifa. She gets those shots in her arm. But he's come inside her probably like five hundred times by now. What if one of them stuck?
Why hasn't anyone said anything? Maybe he read the test wrong? He saw two lines, they were clear as day. He's intent to find out who it is in the slyest way possible.
"Hey, Aerith—"
Later that afternoon, Cloud sits on the couch unsuspiciously. Aerith is on the floor, her knees overlapping as she messes with a string of beads. The TV is turned on way too loud, a series of commercials flashing on the screen.
Her velvety pink robe bunches around her thighs, her ponytail swinging behind her. He sees her curl her toes, rolling her ankles against the carpet. When he takes a seat, he spreads his knees apart, sinking in his sweatshirt as he pulls the baggy hood over his head and stares down at her suspiciously.
He's beat Zack home, Tifa is out rehearsing. It's just the two of them. And Aerith hums her acknowledgement, using tweezers to thread jewels to an elastic string. She keeps her back to him, so pink and fluffy and blending into her rosy surroundings. "What is it, honey?"
Cloud twists his lips as he looks down at her, fumbling with his hands. "You wanna get fucked up later?"
When Aerith turns to face him, she gives him a weird look, her brows knitting together as she squints. Her ponytail sways with the tilt of her head. Batting curly black lashes as she taps her finger to her chin, the polish shimmers on her long, oval nail.
"You want me to drink with you?"
Crossing his arms over his chest, Cloud nods. "Yea."
Her smile is vivid, and she gets on her knees to get close enough to pinch his cheek. Cloud stumbles through the sudden affection, weakly accepting the hug that follows.
"That's so sweet!" she tells him, her scent bleeding in his nose and making him dizzy from the rush of vanilla he breathes in. "But maybe some other time. I have an early morning tomorrow."
She gets back to her project, dropping the subject as if it never happened. Hmm…Okay, that didn't really reveal anything. She didn't deny or accept—he can't rule Aerith out yet. Cloud tries the same approach with Tifa before bed.
She's frisky tonight, and she's been hornier than usual—shit, is that a sign? Does it mean something? They roll around underneath the sheets, wrestling for dominance to determine who's going to be on top. Cloud likes it when Tifa rides him—it's his favorite. But he likes it even more when she forces him down beneath her to have her way with him.
This is hot this is hot this is hot this is hot—but in the back of his mind he wonders, is Tifa the one who's pregnant? Is he poking the baby?
Her sweaty palm slips on his stomach, petite fingers spread over his skin as she grounds herself. She's saturated in her perspiration, and it shimmers over her body like she's sprinkled in glitter. Dropping her hips over his pelvis, fucking him enthusiastically as her mouth falls open, her eyes nearly squinted shut. Her tits swing with the motion, her nipples rotating through the manic jiggle of her breasts.
Each moan stutters from her throat as she tries to keep quiet. A sweaty, sticky mess that engulfs him in her warmth with every plunge of her hips. An erotic image that makes him spiral the longer he looks at her, his heels digging in the sheets, his grip on her waist so tight he presses marks on her skin.
This is hot this is so fucking hot—shit, is Tifa pregnant? Is he holding her stomach too hard? Cloud loosens his grip, his hands sliding up her ribs to cradle her breasts. He plays with her nipples, watches her cock her neck back in ecstasy—her hair is damp, clumped in wet knots that spill over her shoulders.
Her tits are in his hands and his dick nestled inside her tight little cunt—a whirlwind of thoughts rattle his brain, and he tries to push them aside through a clenched jaw, his teeth grating together as he zones in on the scene of moonlit skin, her perfect body fucking him as her thighs spread open and her back curves, bruised knees bolted to his hips.
It's watching the snap of her pelvis that does it for him—seeing her pussy swollen and pulled apart, her folds unraveling as she squeezes his dick from her delicious depth. Cloud's lost in a haze, he almost forgets the thing that's been bugging him all day as he's swept away in lust.
He's coming he's coming—he pulls out the moment he feels the spurt of his release. Tifa gasps as his dick smacks against her navel, twitching through a shattering orgasm that paints her in sloppy cream brushstrokes. It only makes him come harder, strangling her waist in his grasp. Seeing his cum ooze between her breasts, tainting her belly as it slithers down her skin. He grunts through his climax, his gaze locking on her hers, drawing her in as his knees bend to her back. Her eyes are big—trembling amber gemstones that soak up all the remaining light, burning him in their glare as he staggers through the remnants of his orgasm.
They're left a heaping mess of cum and shuddering breaths. Cloud was so freaked out about the pregnancy thing that he pulled out. He knows Tifa doesn't like when he comes all over her. She thinks it's gross. And even though it's initially really fucking hot seeing her ruined by him, the cleanup kind of sucks. He's already reaching for the tissue box, pulling clumps out as she sits idly beside him, looking to her lap.
"Sorry."
Tifa doesn't reply, refusing to make eye contact. Cloud wipes her clean, but her skin is still tacky. He needs to get the cum rag again.
After his sweatpants are slung on his hips and he's back with the wet rag, he sees Tifa with her knees curled to her chest, the stump of her arm swaying beside her as she clicks the remote. When Cloud gets on the bed beside her, Tifa lengthens herself for him so he can clean her body.
Her toes point, the front of her thighs flexed. Her breasts fall to the sides when she lies down, nestling her head against the pillow. The rag smears water on her belly when he brushes it against her. And he stares at her, at the firm, flat plane of her stomach, his brows narrowing as he wonders—Is it Tifa? Is it her?
She's so cute as she looks up at him those ample brown eyes he adores. He's still out of breath from the high of sex, but he swallows it back to lean in and peck a kiss on her mouth. She puckers against his touch, and the affection is enough to soothe his racing thoughts.
When he kisses her again, Tifa's sigh bleeds out of her nose, warming his face in a gust of her breath. She hooks her arm around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair as she leans into the kiss and deepens it.
Cloud almost forgets his plan—he's so wrapped up in her, dizzy from her body heat, the lingering smell of her arousal. Tifa parts from him first, rolling to her side as she shuffles under the covers.
Sitting at the edge of the bed, his shoulders slouch. He strains his neck to look at her, watching her get comfortable as she takes her side of the bed, giving him her back. The rag fumbles in his hands, wetting his skin as he hesitates.
"I'm getting a drink," he tells her, hears her hum softly at the sound of his voice. He quirks a brow. "You want one?"
"No thank you." Her voice is muted, muddled against the pillow as she stretches on the bed. "I can't drink."
A pause for her to clarify—she doesn't. Cloud feels the tension in his face when he narrows his eyes, shifting slightly as he brings his knee to the bed to lean closer to her. "You can't drink?"
"No," she says, and she leaves it at that before adding, "Can you bring me a glass of water?"
He glares at her suspiciously, opening his mouth to speak—to question her—but he's speechless. He has no idea what to say except—"Yea."
Cloud wakes up with a new resolve, realizing he might be overreacting. All Tifa said was that she couldn't drink, she never mentioned being pregnant. Maybe there's another reason. She didn't tell him because he never asked.
But as he puts on his riding boots the next morning, Cloud sees Tifa storm out of their room in nothing but his tee shirt, racing to the bathroom with a hand clamped over her mouth. She barely makes it inside, leaving the door open as he hears her choking before she starts throwing up. He stands there, stunned, watching Aerith in her pink nightie leave the kitchen and rush to the bathroom to comfort Tifa.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit—this can't be happening. In this pink apartment with its pink carpet, couch, fucking pink coffee table—the sunlight trying to creep in through the pink curtains. Cloud, standing there at twenty-four years old with a wedding ring on his finger, listening to his wife throwing up in the bathroom before eight AM.
The blow of the sudden realization nearly knocks him out. He's disoriented, can't balance himself, his thoughts are scrambled. He feels the pressure of his beanie squeezing his temples, as if his brain might leak out of his ears. He leans against the door, forgetting his jacket, leaving in just his pullover and dark, baggy jeans.
And Cloud sits at his desk, alone in the dark office with the door shut. His computer pings, but he ignores it. His elbows slide on the table as he pulls the beanie past his brows to shield his eyes. The world caves in, everything gets smaller and smaller. His chest tightens, restricting his breath as he tries to organize his thoughts, but there's too many of them. All cluttered and jumbled in his head. Screaming at him in tides—he's ruined Tifa's life.
She's pregnant. He got her pregnant—right when her life was starting again, when she has all these offers lined up for her. Now she's pregnant, and everything's majorly fucked.
As Cloud buries his head in his arms, he weighs his options. There's no way in hell Zack will let him stay in the condo with a baby. There's no room for it. He's been thinking about moving out for the past few months now that he's saved enough money. He hasn't brought it up because he knows how happy Tifa is living there and how much she still relies on Aerith's help for a lot of things. Cloud doesn't mind it—they live in a harmonious chaos that he's grown comfortable in.
But shit—okay. They move out, and Tifa has the baby. Who's going to watch it? He doesn't expect her to stay at home all the time. Cloud wants her to dance, go to school, resume her life. Maybe Aerith? Or his mom? No—not her, it'll turn into a little racist asshole. Shit shit shit shit shit.
Cloud ignores the knock at the door, hoping whoever it is will go away. But they don't. He cringes as he sees the knob turn before the door opens. Blinded by the sudden light from the hallway, he squints and blocks his vision with his beanie, but it bleeds through, it's too fucking bright. When he rolls his chair back, the wheels bump into a box of cords on the floor.
It's Reno—half his dress shirt tucked in his pants, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He walks in the room carrying a foam cup of coffee, flicking on the light switch. Even worse, he keeps the door open behind him.
"Yo, why you moping around in the dark?" Reno takes his usual seat on top of Cloud's desk. The warm scent of coffee swirls around him when Reno places the cup down. But his body spray overpowers it, so potent that Cloud's gagging reflexes activate the moment he smells it. He rubs the heel of his palms in his eyes so hard his vision is colored in stars.
"My life is over," he says plainly. He can't see anything, he's blinded himself, but he can feel Reno scuffle beside him.
"Again?" he teases, knocking the wind out of Cloud's lungs when he smacks his upper back with a firm hand. Cloud tenses, his shoulder blades pinching together. "What you do this time?"
Silence. Cloud lips are stitched shut. His computer keeps going off, alerting him to more neglected emails as he feels the weight of Reno's expectant stare. The world is caving in again, there's no escape. His heart twists, wringing out blood, the lightheadedness returning to him in a sudden rush.
"I think Tifa's pregnant."
Reno must have been mid-sip of his coffee, because he dramatically spits it out. Cloud gets caught in the shower, and he pulls his chair back as Reno starts choking and seizing on top of the desk. He strangles his cup, struggles to breathe, trying to clear his throat to speak, and Cloud just sits there and watches him suffer.
Reno's brows lift so high that lines press on his forehead. When he grips the collar of his shirt, a few more rows of buttons pop open.
"Say what?"
His voice bounces off the walls, nearly starts a fire in the heat of constantly running computers. Cloud hates this. He really fucking hates this. His head hurts, he rubs his temples to ease the ache, but it's pointless. What else can he say? Tifa's pregnant, and everything's fucked.
"Dude, what the hell—weren't you pulling out?"
Cloud doesn't want to have the conversation, but as he stares down at his desk and traces the patterns of timber, he finds himself answering anyway. "Not really."
Reno reacts very passionately, slamming the cup to the table and splaying his palms over his face as he kicks his legs. "Jesus fucking Christ—"
Cloud turns defensive, straightening his back and cocking his head to his shoulder. "It's not my fault! She's on birth control—"
"You're still supposed to pull out!" Reno argues, using vigorous hand gestures for emphasis. "Birth control just means you don't have to wear a condom. The only reason to ever come inside a chick is to get her pregnant—it's like you did it on purpose!"
"No, I didn't want this to happen." Cloud groans into his palms, about to fall out of his seat and melt in the carpet. "Fuck—what am I supposed to do? I can't be a fucking dad."
There's no knock for the next interruption. Yuffie just barges in. There's a blue streak in her hair now, replacing the pink or whatever color she had before. A graphic of a skeletal ribcage bombards her tee shirt, and it's probably the most normal thing Cloud's ever seen her wear. Her jeans are so tight, skin squeezes and spills over her waistband in a muffin top, even though Yuffie is the skinniest person alive. Her thighs swish against the denim as she gets between them, pushing Cloud away so she can take over his computer.
The momentum of his spinning chair is broken when he hits a wall, and he sighs a heavy breath, rolling back over to his desk. Yuffie is typing frantically like a little computer wizard. She chews her bottom lip, brings her face close to the screen.
"I can't believe you guys are just sitting here!" she screeches, and Reno leans in to get a better look at what she's searching. "Tifa's performance is on any minute!"
Cloud slumps in his seat as he flicks his wrist to look at his watch. Right—Tifa is dancing on the morning news today. And she was throwing up only an hour ago because he can't control where he aims his dick.
He knows Aerith is taping it—but he sees Yuffie pull up the website of the channel, showing the footage live. And her timing is perfect, Tifa starts dancing literally a moment later. Yuffie squeals, bouncing at the knee as she kneels over the desk. When she rubs her shoes on the carpet, Cloud sees she's destroyed another pair of Converse sneakers with sharpie scribbles.
Tifa wears her nude leotard, her signature look. It's what she's known for now, always requested for her shows. Her hair is swept back in a high ponytail, swaying behind her as she performs a new dance to a different song, using a chair as a prop.
She's mesmerizing, moves slowly and sensuously with the music. The chair is her partner, there to help her and dance with her in an intimate duet. It plays the part of her lover as she straddles it, moves around it, never takes her hand off the firm wood as her fingers trickle across the backrest in an erotic tease.
"She's so beautiful," Yuffie gushes with a shaky voice, her eyes wide and glittering as the video reflects in her gaze. Clearing her throat, she restlessly rubs the tops of her thighs. "No homo."
Tifa holds the back of the chair as she lowers in a center split, her back turned to the audience. Her legs are stretched, toes pointed, muscles engaged. Her ass curved and plump—it's the perfect fucking view.
The melody comes to life through her body. Cloud can hear the music through the stretch of her legs, the extension of her arms as they glide in different positions. She's assertive and sexy in the way she moves, against the backdrop of bright walls doused in sunlight and a creamy carpet. It's so hot, Cloud has to wipe his mouth with his sleeve because he starts drooling watching her.
Another view of Tifa's perfect ass has Reno blow a low whistle, propping his foot on the desk and drawing his knee to his chest. His gaze is fixed on the screen, and he must lose a screw in his jaw because it drops to the floor.
"Damn. No wonder you got her pregnant."
Another wave of silence. It's so uncomfortable, Cloud's heart tries to dig its way out of his body and gets stuck in his throat. Yuffie stares at the screen and blinks before she snaps her neck to Cloud. When she claws at the desk, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard as she destroys the wood with frantic scratches. She looks fucking possessed, her neck twisted unnaturally far, her eyes taken in an eclipse that turns them completely black.
"Oh. My. God." A beat passes. Cloud pushes his beanie over his ears hoping it will block out some of the noise she's about to make. "Tifa's pregnant?"
Yuffie recoils—a look of disgust plagues her face, her brows crinkling as she slouches her back. "Ew—she actually has sex with you?"
When Reno laughs, Cloud shoots him a look that promises he's going to fucking kill him later for running his mouth. Cloud tries to reason with her, but it's too late—Yuffie is already up, pacing the room frantically, torn between staying and rushing out to spread the gossip to everyone. She runs into Cid on her way out the door.
And great—perfect—Cid's in the middle of yelling at everyone to get out when Yuffie screams, "Cloud got Tifa pregnant!"
It's weird whenever Cid smiles. Cloud is so used to his scowl and knit brows that it feels uncanny. Approaching the desk, he slams his hand behind Cloud's back so hard Cloud nearly coughs out his own heart. Coat over a polo shirt, khakis, dirty blonde hair dried solid from the gel caked on—Cid brings with him the cold air and the stench of cigarette smoke embedded on his coat. His cheeks are covered in the stubble of a five o'clock shadow as he does that weird smiling thing again.
"Atta boy!"
And by the end of the day, everybody knows, because Yuffie tells them.
~oOo~
Cloud googles blue waffle.
He knows he shouldn't—that Yuffie is trying to trick him into doing it. She won't shut up with her stupid ominous warnings. And Cloud's curious, he thinks it can't be that bad, certainly not worse than the video she had Wedge look up at work.
It's Valentine's Day, Tifa just got home a little while ago, and it's late. He didn't get to spend the evening with her—but it's fine, they'll make time this weekend. She's busy doing interviews with Andrea, putting him on the map again. Cloud knows she must be exhausted with her hectic schedule.
He lies on the bed with his back propped to the headboard, wearing a wifebeater and sweatpants. His ankles cross as he adjusts himself against the pillows stacked behind him. His laptop warming his thighs, he swipes his fingers over the touchpad as he looks up something he knows he's going to regret.
When he finds the website, Cloud hesitates, his fingers hovering over the mouse. He feels Tifa settle beside him as she climbs into bed, immersing him in her sweet nighttime smell. She cuddles him, water trickling from her damp hair and splashing his arm. It's when he clicks on the link that she leans her head against his shoulder, and the website opens in a single photo that slowly loads on the screen.
God fucking damn it.
Cloud is so stunned that it takes him a second to shut the laptop. Tifa gasps in horror, scooting away from him and covering her mouth with her hand. The computer crashes to the floor in the pandemonium, and this time he's convinced that it's broken as it tumbles and smashes against the carpet. Shit—now she thinks he's a fucking sicko.
"What—what happened to her?" Tifa cries out, shaking her head as she regresses to the far end of the bed.
Cloud is so disturbed by what he saw that his heart is in a frenzy. He feels like a monster exposing Tifa to such filth, and he's cautious in the way he tries to crawl over to her to lure her back in his arms. "I'm…pretty sure it's fake."
"Why are you looking at that?" Tifa is repulsed, shrinking in her oversized tee shirt as she grabs the blanket and holds it to her chin.
"I wasn't trying to—" Cloud struggles wrapping his arms around her, pulling her to his side of the bed. Tifa kicks her legs, trying to fight his advances as she playful scrambles against him. But she gives in and lets him have his way.
Flattening the pillows, he lies on his back, dragging her on top of him. A silence fills the room, disrupted by the murmur of the TV and the whimper of her little sighs fanning his face.
Cloud doesn't see much, he's drenched in her shadow. But he can feel—the press of her body against him, the way her knees buckle at his hips as she smushes her breasts to his chest, creating friction between their shirts. Her hair cascades around him, draping him in dark silk. Cloud is immersed in everything Tifa, and it's beautiful, it's perfect.
She pulls back a little, enough for a sliver of light to pass between them. He cups her face, the warmth of her skin transferring to his palm. He sees the remnants of make-up from earlier today that she missed when washing her face. When he swipes the high point of her cheekbone, Tifa smiles, her eyes squinting fondly.
"Thank you for my flowers." Her voice is sweet, she sounds like a little mouse. Leaning closer, she presses her lips to his in a quick kiss. Cloud feels her grip his shirt, her palm firm on his chest. And he lets his hands wander, crawling on her back, bunching the fabric in his fists as he's thirsty for a taste of her.
Tifa kisses him again, and again, little swift pecks that wet his mouth. Their lips smack gently as one ends and weaves into another. And slowly they linger, moving through a languid glide that has her tilting her head, her body writhing on top of him.
Cloud is painfully hard, his dick pushing through his pants and poking between her legs. Tifa rolls against it, rubbing his bulge as she moans softly in his mouth. She feels good, she feels like heaven. Nothing's happened yet, but Cloud is already on the verge of ecstasy just being near her, experiencing her, his lungs set aflame by the fire of her scent.
But his mind drifts from the heat of the moment, circles back to the glaring issue that's been plaguing his thoughts. And he holds her a little tighter, kisses her a little harder.
"I love you—" he breaks their kiss, mouths the words against her lips in a gravelly whisper. "I love you so much."
"I love you, too." She kisses him to seal their promise, her lips slipping over his from the slick of her spit. "So much."
Writhing on the bed, their bodies sink in the mattress. She's svelte and firm but still so impossibly soft. He's rough on the backs of her thighs, grabbing her skin as he reaches higher, dips in her shirt and searches for what she's wearing—because he knows it's something special. It's her thing, Tifa likes putting on lingerie and hiding it from him. And it's like Christmas every fucking time he unwraps her.
Her ass is naked, all he feels is the smoothness of bare flesh as he skates his knuckles over her skin. When he finds her thong, he snaps the strap against her hip. Tifa startles, whining into his neck.
"You're everything to me—" Cloud groans when she kneads herself against his erection, and he starts palming her ass, grabbing fistfuls of her flesh. "I'd do anything for you, I'll change my life for you."
"Don't do that," she tells him in her tiny voice. He exhales shakily through an open mouth as she plants kisses on his throat. Lengthening his neck for her, he grants her access to nick her teeth along his Adam's apple, dragging her tongue and leaving a trail of her spit. "I like our life."
"But I would—if I needed to." He wants to make his point, fighting the call of desire to let her know that's he's there for her. "You don't ever have to be afraid to tell me anything."
One hand snakes out of her shirt, finding her arm—he cups her, nurtures her in a tender embrace as his fingers curl over the stub. Tifa shivers against his touch, diving her nose to the hollow of his neck. The moment is so raw, so intimate—whenever he touches her arm, it's like he's traveled deep inside her. So close—he feels so close to her. And their bond is so strong, nothing can sever it. He means everything he says.
"I know."
They trade positions. He flips Tifa on her back, kneeling between her legs. She looks so beautiful lying on the bed, her thighs split open, her wrist falling to her forehead as she stares up at him with dreamy eyes. Half-lidded, heavy, her lip shivering in a pout he wants to bite off her mouth.
Cloud pulls the shirt off her body. His sight is burned from the glow of her skin. He traces every curve with darting eyes, engraves the image of her into his memory. She wears pink and lace. It's see-through, but her nipples are concealed by pink hearts. He sees the slit of her cunt peeking through the fabric, and his thumb runs along the center seam, teasing her to open further, spread her legs so wide that her knees press to the sheets.
He likes it when she whines, when she fidgets. Her hair fans out around her, spilling ink on her pillow. She's so perfect, so beautiful—it feels like sin looking at her, his body gradually turning to stone the longer he lays his gaze on her.
Getting impatient, he moves her underwear to the side. She burns his hand, but he doesn't pull back. Sopping folds glisten in their dew. Coarse skin tinted beige, it's such a pretty color for such a pretty little pussy. Her slit spread and blossomed—his mouth waters looking at her. He gently tugs her lip, feels her dribble on his thumb. And Tifa whimpers, rolling her hips against his hand, letting him fondle her as his touch travels.
Her thong gets in the way, so he grabs the straps, drags it off her. She lifts her hips to help him, reaching for the pillow behind her. Tifa grunts when he pushes down her thighs. He's curved over her body, shifts lower so he can get closer. His face between her legs, he breathes her in, turns drowsy in the smell of her musk. Her clit pokes through her folds, twitches in anticipation. Swollen and bloodshot.
She's dripping, the sheets darken in the stains she leaves behind. Bowed before her, praying between her legs. Because Cloud loves this pussy—he goes crazy for it. He'll do anything to make her happy. And he kisses her clit so gently it's almost chaste. Again just to hear her whine, sweeping his tongue over his lips to gather her flavor. She's sweet and tangy, and he wants more—
He laps her clit in light flicks of his tongue. Tifa wants to strangle him with her thighs, but he keeps her grounded. His knees sink in the bed as he buries himself deeper between her legs, immerses in her heat, her scent, her taste. She drips in his mouth, drips on the sheets. His chin is doused, it's peppered on his nose.
Her knees bend towards her ribs, she's so stretched. Her skin turns puffy the more aroused she gets, the longer he kisses between her thighs. Her moans drift in the air, his arms hurt from how hard he has to flex to hold her down. She won't stop moving. Swathed in streaks of moonlight, it blends in her skin—when he pulls back, he looks at her, watches the rhythm of her chest, the shimmer on her cheeks from quiet tears. He wipes his mouth with his wrist, smears the wetness on his face.
He pulls her breasts out of her bra, the straps slipping over her shoulders. They wobble when she moves, and her nipples are already hard. Little bumps dot her areolas as they pucker, blood swelled at the tips. Spilling at her sides, following the natural path of her body.
Cloud keeps looking for something different about her—anything that will prove her condition to him. But she remains the same, the same Tifa who shares his bed every night. Just as shy and provocative. Her body reacting the same way. Cloud strips his shirt, lets curious fingers trickle in the embossed skin of his abs, over the curved plane of his chest.
And he leans in, skin against skin. Their heat melding, sweat slipping together. He brings her nipple in his mouth, hearing the sharp gasp she swallows as her back lifts off the bed. Churning through pursed lips, she reacts wildly when he plays with her nipples, it's so hot how much it turns her on. He sucks until she's raw, spits her out and gives attention to the neglected one. Coating her in his spit, drawing circles with his tongue.
His hand glides between their bodies, slipping to her core. She's soaked, so slippery that his fingers slide out of place before he finds the source of her pleasure. And he stimulates her erogenous zones so she's writhing, clumping the blanket beneath her, her legs furling around his waist and pulling him in.
He feels the thrum of her heartbeat, each pulse pounding against her chest as if it longs to escape and reach him. He handles her body with a heated tenderness, his hand swirling between her thighs, splashing against the thick dampness that veils her. Tifa hugs him tight in the embrace of her legs, her hand clamped around his neck, delving in the hollow of his shoulder blade. She tenses, her body so rigid that he fears maybe she's the one who's turned to stone. But he knows she's ascending, sitting at the top of the rollercoaster, looking down with trembling eyes before she takes the plunge.
And Tifa falls.
Her legs shiver. His hair fills her fist as she tugs, spasming below him. Her moans leave her throat in rasping cries, and he silences her with a kiss, feels her melt against his mouth as he's flooded by the hot breath spilling from her nose.
Cloud is so horny—he's impatient. He doesn't want to be slow and gentle anymore. He wants to fuck her.
Tifa is still coming when he gets naked, lugging off his pants, his boxers, shuffling out of all his clothes before he grabs both her legs. Tifa straightens them, curling her toes robotically. Her legs are long, endless, he throws them both over one shoulder, but she keeps them straight, her shins flexed against his deltoid.
She whimpers as he maneuvers her, spreading his knees to align their centers. Tifa is folded in a ninety-degree angle, her toes pointed to the ceiling, legs clamped together. Her arm falls to her side, her gaze begging him in that heavy-lidded stare when they make eye contact. With one hand he holds her legs as the other presses on her belly.
Fingers spread, feeling her warmth absorb in his skin. His tendons flex, jutting out of his knuckles as he holds her down with a delicate force. His dick is straining, twitching as he pokes her thigh, searching for her cunt.
He slips inside her with such ease, so effortless. He fits her so perfectly because she's molded to the shape of him, taking him so well. She doesn't even flinch when he fills her. Tifa takes a sharp breath, wiggles her butt on the mattress.
And Cloud is losing his fucking mind—he doesn't wait, doesn't go slow. He's already fucking her. The headboard slams against the wall, and Tifa grunts through every shove of his hips. Her expression contorts as she bares her teeth, shuts her eyes so hard crinkles crease the corners. Her tits shake as he fucks her, her nipples still wet and swollen. She's a lewd, nasty sight, and he feels his eyes turn vacant watching her getting fucked by him.
Because she feels so good and she's so tight and wet, drenching him in her juices that he sees his dick shimmer as he dives inside her. Her titties bounce from his thrusts, her bra hugging her ribcage as the straps dangle at her arms. Getting fucked so hard that her body reacts, sweat caked all over her skin. Her slick smeared all over her cunt.
And the way she whimpers and bites her lip when he goes a little faster and a little harder because he knows she's coming. He feels it in the way she clenches him inside her, her walls caving in, squeezing his dick. She grabs a fistful of bedsheet, and fuck—he wants to come, too. It's too soon, but he's so worked up. Looking at her, feeling her—
Cloud pulls out so fast, she gasps. And before Tifa can comprehend what's happening, he tosses her to her knees, grabbing her waist in a rough grasp as he drags her back against his hips. She knows—she arches her back for him. A deep, ivory curve, her spine sucked into her muscles, her shoulder blades touching as she lengthens her neck.
He's back in her in one sweeping motion. She's even tighter now, squeezing him in an angle that has heat bubbling low in his belly. And he fucks her and fucks her and rams the headboard and squeaks the mattress as he grits his teeth.
Her hair looks so pretty falling over her shoulder that he takes a clump of it and pulls—her neck arches, something between a moan and a gasp staggers out of her mouth. Balancing herself on her hand, anchored to the bed, he knows they're making way too much noise—and what if he's hurting the baby? Maybe he should stop.
Tifa keeps talking and muttering gibberish, or maybe speaks her language, but she might be saying, "I'mcomingI'mcomingI'mcomingI'mcoming—"
And he's found heaven between her legs, in the curve of her ass when she falls and her cheek is squished to the bed. Bent over, legs spread. The perfect view—except he can't see her tits, so he reaches for them. They're heavy and too big for him to carry, he lets them spill out of his palms, pinching her nipples to get a reaction out of her—he does.
"Oh my god oh my god—" He understands her now, the way she speaks between her sobs. She sounds like she's crying, like she thinks it's too much, but at the same time she can't get enough.
He fucks her and it's dirty and almost unhuman—but it's okay, he can hold her and tell her he loves her after. So hot for her body right now, he loses his mind, abandons control—he feels something fill his chest, stopping his heart, blocking his lungs. Lights flash in his retinas, and at first, he thinks he's dying, seeking the light that chases him—but it bursts. He combusts from the pleasure and comes with a heavy grunt.
And a curse—"Shit—"
He spills himself inside her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he curls over her body, his chest adhered to her back by the glue of their sweat. Succumbed to the ecstasy that sweeps over him, blinding his vision and clouding his ears. While Tifa whimpers below him and bears the brunt of it until they're left as a messy heap in the aftermath.
Cloud feels delusional. He forgets where he is, the day, the year. He shrouds his face in his hands as he rolls off her. His head falls to the pillow, feeling the chill of drying sweat clinging to his skin.
Trying to catch up to his breath, he stares at the ceiling, his eyes fooled by the blending darkness. His heartbeat lodges in his throat, thuds like a drum pounding against his ribcage. Cloud is absolutely fucking spent.
He aimlessly reaches beside him, his arm landing on her back, patting her down to make sure she's still alive.
"Tifa."
It takes her a minute to respond, before she jerks her shoulder against his touch. "Yea."
When he turns his head to her, he sees her tousled hair, her long pearly back. He helps unhook her bra, throws it to the floor with the rest of their clothes.
He cuddles up behind her, scuffling to get them under the blanket as he lulls her against him. She's still so warm, her body running hot. This is the part after sex where he showers her in affection. His arm furls over her belly, his palm taut on her navel. They've traded sides of the bed, and it feels strange. She lies on her left arm, hidden from him so he can't embrace it.
"Are you okay?" he asks her after a long pause.
Tifa nods against the pillow. "Yea."
They drift in a comforting wave of silence. He listens to the pattern of her breathing, begins to fall asleep as he holds her. Forgetting what he wanted to say, what's on his mind. Too drowsy in the aftershock of sex that he pushes all his thoughts to the back of his head.
Until Tifa speaks. "Today, when I was meeting with the people at the magazine. They asked me if I can sing."
When Tifa sits up, Cloud joins her, the blanket bunching at their thighs. He rubs his fists in his eyes as his back takes a slouch. His vision is spotted in black, and it takes a moment for his focus to return. She sits with the same curve to her spine, her hand on her lap as she wiggles her fingers.
"If you can sing?" he repeats, lifting a brow. "They wanna make you a pop star or something?"
Cloud is kind of joking, but Tifa shrugs at his comment, puckering her lips as she avoids his gaze. Her hair tumbles over her shoulders, covering her breasts. He traces her side profile, the darkness soaking in her skin and making her shine with the brilliance of the moon.
"Shit," he mutters, and finishes the thought in his head. Tifa really does have a full plate. So many options to choose from, and more keeps getting added to it. Rubbing the back of his neck, he scoots a little closer to her. "Is that something you wanna do?"
"I—I don't know." She seems so conflicted, glaring at him with quaking eyes as if she begs him to give her the answer.
"It sounds so exciting. And they tell me I have to decide now before it's too late. But I don't know. It sounds scary. And I still have the dance company waiting—and all the schools that want me to go there."
She gets emotional as she speaks, and Cloud tries to settle her nerves as he starts rubbing her shoulders. She's stiff, knots buried deep in tissue. There's one right by her neck that he tries to loosen, digging his fingers in tight muscle that has her whimpering as she sways against him.
"You don't have to decide tonight," he says, trying to gift her a smile through clenched teeth. The knot is stubborn, and he doesn't want to be too rough with her. "We can talk it out. Figure it out."
But Tifa shakes her head, curling her arm over her ribs as her stare plummets to her lap. "I don't know—I really don't. Because I'm so tired. And everything hurts—and I don't have a chance to think—"
She cuts herself off, and Cloud pauses his ministrations on her body, lingering on her shoulders. He turns her to face him properly, coaxing her gaze back to him as he holds her chin. Her eyes are wet, glittering in tears she keeps locked away. He feels so helpless looking at her, so desperate to heal her pain.
When he cradles her cheek, Tifa leans against his touch. "It still hurts that bad?"
She nods, looking at him through her lashes. "I know the doctor says there's nothing wrong—but it hurts every day. And I'm so tired."
Her voice fades as she curls into herself. He catches the first tear, preventing it from scalding her cheek. But more follow, too many for him to stop.
"I don't—I don't know what to do. Wherever I go, whatever I choose. If I say I'm in pain, they won't believe me. They'll say I'm undisciplined, I'm making it up. They won't care—"
"I care." Cloud holds her face, stroking his thumbs over her cheekbones to swipe the tears that violate her skin. He hates seeing her like this, he wants to make it better, but he doesn't know how. All he can do it tell her that he's here, he's listening. "I care if you're in pain. We can figure it out together, we'll find something that you want to do that your body can handle."
"I want to dance." Tifa says it so adamantly, yet he still feels a but coming. She takes a deep breath, holding it high in her chest before it eases out of her nose. "But—it's exhausting. How hard I have to work, so much more than anyone else. And my body's telling me to stop, but I don't wanna listen."
Cloud knows they won't reach a solution tonight. Even as Tifa is desperate for one, he doesn't hold the answer for her. Not here, not now. But they'll discover it together. Tifa will dance, he'll make sure she'll have everything she ever wanted. For tonight, all he can do is reassure her that everything will be okay.
He takes her hand, weaving their fingers together in a silent pact. Tifa is drenched in tears. It glistens like shards of glitter splattered on her cheeks, her neck, sprinkled on her collarbone. Doused in a shimmer that's beautiful yet heartbreaking—but hopeful. Because they are together, they are here. Tifa is alive. And everything will sort itself out as long as they have each other.
"Whatever you decide to do, I'll be here," he tells her. "I'll support any decision you make. Whether it's going back to school. Joining that dance company. Becoming the next Madonna—" She cracks a smile, and he feels like he's succeeded at something.
Cloud brings her hand to his mouth, dabbing a kiss on each joint of her knuckles. And her gaze softens, the smile still stitched as a heart on her lips. "Even if it's staying home and making jewelry with Aerith."
And shit—motherfucker. Cloud remembers. It all dawns on him. He's rattled by a series of blinks as he squeezes her hand, stammering through the tender moment. Something is off about this conversation—because Tifa is pregnant.
"I can take care of you—" he adds abruptly, bringing her in a brisk hug. "And it's probably time we move out, get our own place. And you can take a break for a while, until—"
Tifa shuffles against him, breaking free from his hold. A look of confusion contorts her face, her eyes narrowing as she tilts her head at him. "I don't wanna move. I love Zack and Aerith. I like it here."
Cloud likes it here, too—but where are they gonna put the baby?! Tifa tries to let go of his hand, but he squeezes her in a grip that's unbreakable.
"And why would I take a break? I told you, I have to decide soon—"
"But you have to." Cloud shakes his head, hoping to unjumble his thoughts. "You can't do all that dancing when you're pregnant—"
"What?"
She manages to free her hand, clutching the stump of her arm defensively as she scoots away from him. A look of horror distorts her face. Her brows crumble, her nose wrinkles in dismay.
"I'm not pregnant!"
Cloud just looks at her for a second, feeling his watch slide down his arm as he pulls his ear. "You're not?"
"No!" She's so freaked out by the mention of it that her body withdraws. "I told you, I get the shot in my arm. I can't get pregnant."
No—no. Cloud was one hundred percent sure she was definitely pregnant. "But you said you can't drink—and you were throwing up in the morning—"
Tifa looks at him like he's a fucking idiot. And he probably is. "The doctor gave me new medicine for nerve pain. The bottle says I shouldn't drink when I take it, and the doctor says it's normal if I feel sick at first."
"Huh." He sits there totally dumbstruck, as if the world that had been turned upside down was suddenly set right again, only for everything to come crashing down. But then another realization hits him, one that has his eyes growing wide, his jaw losing feeling as it falls open.
"If you're not pregnant, then that means—" Oh, fuck.
And he suddenly feels an impending horribly timed interruption.
The door bursts open not even a second later—the same door he was sure he locked. Cloud reacts quickly, grabbing Tifa, bringing her in a firm hug to hide her nakedness.
"Guess WHAT!"
The light switches on, casting a harsh glare that nearly blinds them. "We have big news!"
One moment, Cloud's having an intimate conversation with Tifa, the next, Aerith's jumping on top of his bed, wearing tiny drawstring shorts and a tank top like they're about to have a slumber party.
"Babe, come on—we can wait until tomorrow. It's late now—"
Zack stumbles in behind her, leaning against the doorframe, dressed in his usual tee shirt and sweatpants combo. His face betrays his exhaustion—dark circles under his eyes, disheveled hair swept back. As he folds his arms over his chest, his muscles bulge, strangled by his shirt. And he takes one look at Cloud and Tifa on the bed before he panics and spins around.
"Annnnnd they're naked."
But Aerith doesn't care, she has no shame. She bounces on the bed, giddy with excitement, her hair flopping around her as she reaches between their bodies to grab Tifa's hand.
"I can't wait anymore, I have to tell you now!" And Cloud knows the news before she even says it. "I'm pregnant!"
Tifa gasps as she pries herself away from Cloud—her tits out and bouncing like it's nothing—so she can hug Aerith. This moment is surreal, straight out of a dark comedy. What the fuck is happening right now?
"Oh my god!" As Tifa hugs her tight, crushing her tits to Aerith's chest, the old Cloud would think this is pretty hot—but the new Cloud just wants Aerith and Zack to get the fuck out of his room so they can at least put some clothes on.
"And guess WHAT ELSE?" Aerith is practically screaming, shaking the bed, her voice bouncing off the walls. And Cloud tries to pull the blanket higher over his hips, tries not to make a sudden move that'll have him flashing her.
"Babe, it's not set in stone yet—" Zack tries to intervene, his back still facing them. But Aerith blurts it out anyway.
"We're gonna buy a big house so we can all live together!"
Cloud doesn't know if this is good news or the worst idea he's ever heard in his life. He needs a second to process it—it's a lot of information at once. But he sees how happy Tifa gets, holding Aerith's hand and bouncing on the bed. And he thinks maybe this isn't the worst thing that could happen.
Because if Tifa is happy, Cloud is happy.
May 2008, Midgar
When Tifa turns twenty-one, she doesn't want to go out drinking. She doesn't want to party or do anything that should be a rite of passage for her.
She goes to see her dad.
Working up the courage for over two years, it leads her to this moment. Where she schedules the meeting and gets thoroughly searched the day of. It's a pain getting to the prison, and it almost isn't worth it. But Tifa stands firm in her decision. She needs to do this. And she finally goes through with it.
Tifa tries to dress modestly. In a white blouse and black skinny jeans, her favorite pair of high-top sneakers. Her arm pokes through the short flowy sleeve, because she wants him to see it, she wants him to confront the consequence of the day that changed her life.
And they sit together at a table in a big empty room, surrounded by impassive prison guards blocking the doors. With quavering eyes, Tifa stares. She doesn't speak.
Tatko doesn't look so well.
His eyes are sunken, his face shadowed by patchy hair. He watches her with a mixture of fear and uncertainty, as if he doesn't recognize her as his daughter. Tifa feels the same way—that she might be looking at a stranger. But she's not immune to the sudden downpour of emotions that immerse her. When she looks at him, all that hate and anger and confusion go away. She sees him in his orange shirt and pants, so tired and worn out, and all she feels is pity.
"Tsveta." She hasn't heard his voice in so long, she's almost forgotten what it sounds like. But this—this sad, gentle tone. It's unfamiliar to her. Her dad doesn't speak like this. It sounds like somebody else, and for a minute, Tifa is fooled that it might be.
"Hi Tatko," she says, keeping her response curt. Her hand fidgeting on her lap, she sits with her legs crossed, her posture lifted. He's so close to her, his wrists unbound, she wonders if he would try to hurt her. But he looks so defeated, he doesn't even try to hug her. Not that she would let him—but he doesn't even try.
The tension pulls between them like a string stretched to its limit. Tifa hates this—she regrets coming here. Alone, without anyone to help her through it. Not Cloud—because this is her business between her and her dad. She never wants them to meet, there's no reason to. Tifa didn't come here to make amends. She came to set herself free from the burden of loving and hating him.
"I saw you on the TV."
She holds her breath at his words, sees the weak attempt at a smile he tries to give her. "You were so beautiful."
Tatko stares at her, at her arm—he sees what he's done. He's not apologizing. And Tifa feels all the emotions she promised herself she would bury. Fury, resentment—pity. He looks so sad, so broken. She can't forget it, how much he's taken from her. Continues to take even now, just by existing.
Her lip trembles as she tries to maintain her composure, but she breaks. Giving into the pain that's been slowly killing her for years. Releasing it in the air so it can disperse and finally die. A cold breeze snakes between them, chilling her and raising goosebumps on her skin. Maybe this is her sign to let go, to free herself from this agony.
"I came to say goodbye."
Her tone comes out as unsteady. But she speaks the words, relinquishes them to the void. There's more she can say, but she doesn't want to. And maybe he's confused or startled, but he doesn't show it in his face. He's so sad, it breaks her heart. Because Tifa loves her dad, clings to tiny memories where she finds the humanity in him. Even now—how pathetic he looks. It makes her sad. She doesn't find joy in his suffering. It hurts, it hurts so much.
"I don't understand," he tells her. She takes a deep breath, lets it swell in her lungs before it expels.
"I want to go on with my life, and I can't if I hold on to the memory of you."
He listens, doesn't argue or interrupt the point she wants to make, the one she's rehearsed countless times before coming here. Her knee bobs as a physical manifestation of her fear. But she carries on, forces the words out of her mouth.
"You haven't been around to hurt me anymore. But I spent the last two years terrified of you. Mourning you. Wishing you died but hoping you're okay."
Tifa falls silent, pursing her lips to keep them from shaking. Her eyes glitter, she feels the threat of tears and leaves them free to escape at their own will.
"Look at what you've done to me, tatko. Look."
She splays her arm on the table with a loud clunk, displays the stitches that have healed as a line on her skin. She's misshapen when she poses like this. It isn't a smooth curve, but riddled in bumps. She makes him look, because it's the first time he really gets to see her like this, and she promises it will be the last.
His eyes are heavy staring at her, lines creased in his forehead as he leans his elbows on the table like he wants to reach out and touch her. But he doesn't, he won't. Tifa is shaking, she can't stop the shiver of her body. So scared, because this is terrifying for her. She's still afraid of him, that he has the power to hurt her even though he can't.
She needs to tell him, he needs to know.
"You can't hurt me anymore." She keeps her voice firm despite the fluctuation of her emotions. She doesn't break eye contact, stiffening her jaw. "I told the whole world about you, what you did to me. Everyone knows. And now you can never touch me again."
Her statement seems to break him, she sees him falling apart in a tiny twitch of his lip. "I don't want to hurt you, Tsveta—"
"But you did."
As she swallows to relieve the lump in her throat, she finds it doesn't help. But she persists, because when Tifa decided she was going to choose happiness, she knew she would need to keep walking. Through every bumpy path, past each obstacle. Tifa walks. And now—she runs towards the finish line, beaten and bloodied as she chases the gleam of the sun. She's here, she made it. And it hurts, it hurts so much.
She brings her fist to the table so he can see her ring and wedding band. She doesn't have to explain, she sees it in his darting eyes, that he lays no claim on her anymore, she belongs to another. Someone who has taken his place as her protector. Because Tifa is free—she is finally free.
"It hurts to hate you. It hurts even more to love you."
Her cheeks are flooded in a sudden warmth as tears drip down her skin. She doesn't wipe them away, but sets them free, lets them mark their path. This needs to be said, everything needs to be felt. Tifa stumbles on the road ahead of her, she almost doesn't want to get up. But happiness is so close, it's around the corner. So close within reach—all she needs to do is get up.
"I can't live with all this hatred and regret in my heart. I have to let you go. I want to be happy."
A beat passes. The string pulls and pulls until it breaks in half. There is no tension anymore, just pure emotion. It pours between them. She feels his pain as she relinquishes her own to him. Her tears travel down her face, dipping over the curve of her chin, flowing down her neck. She's a sobbing mess, but Tifa doesn't fight it. And the first tear slips from his eye in a tragic moment that has her heart twisting, collapsing in her lungs. She can't breathe—because she thinks—
Maybe things could be different. He gets out in a few months. Maybe he can change. They can start anew. Tifa doesn't hate her dad, she loves him. She can't help it, tiny fleeting moments constantly replaying in her mind. Even now—she recalls them sitting at a table like this, in their kitchen the night mama died. Eating mama's favorite Russian wafers as tatko pours her a glass of milk. And Tifa cries harder. It hurts to make the right choice. She doesn't want to, she almost changes her mind.
Tatko doesn't fight her decision. He knows this is the end. Maybe things could be different, but Tifa doesn't want to risk the pain to find out. There's been too much pain already for so long.
He makes his only attempt to touch her. Reaching for her hand, his palm rests over hers. He's warm, his skin a little darker, encompassing her whole hand. Tifa doesn't move or pull away, she lets him have this moment. Not just for his sake, but for her own as well.
"I will always love you," he says, and soon, his face is just as wet as hers, just as crumpled.
"Me, too." She speaks the words so softly, but she knows he hears her, because his fingers curl over her hand, and they stay like this for a while, lingering in their goodbye.
And it's here, in the most painful moment of her life, that Tifa finally finds happiness.
A/N: Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the story, please leave a review, I'd really appreciate it. Thank you!