Cloud wonders if he's committing insurance fraud.
He doesn't think so—he and Tifa are really together. So, it should be fine. He hasn't really thought this through, but is convinced it's what he needs to do to take care of Tifa.
Later that week, he's brought Zack and Aerith into the living room. They sit at the couch as Cloud drags a chair and places it in front of the TV. It's frilly and pink, because nothing in this apartment can be normal. But it's fine, because he has Tifa sit there, and she looks so pretty as she presses her thighs shut and taps her ankles together. She wears a shirt he bought at a concert a few years ago and a tiny pair of shorts. He stands behind the chair, holding the back of it.
"Is Tifa gonna sing for us?" Zack asks, slumped back against the couch. He takes a wide stance, starts undoing the top buttons of his work shirt as his tie is slung around his shoulders. Aerith is beside him with her legs folded under her. Her jeans fall so low on her hips, Cloud can see her hipbones poke through her skin. She keeps pulling her shirt down, but it rides back up, and her ponytail swings with even the slightest turn of her head.
Cloud ignores Zack's comment. "Okay, I need to tell you guys something. But don't look at me when I tell you. Look at Tifa."
Zack huffs a laugh as he waves his fingers at her. "Hey cutie."
Tifa shifts her feet on the carpet and waves back at him.
As she clutches her chest dramatically, Aerith fawns over her with batted lashes. "Oh, she's so precious."
Zack stretches his arms, rests his hands behind his head. "It's been pretty quiet and peaceful around here lately. What new bombshell do you have to drop on our lives, Cloud?"
Cloud cocks his head back, buries his face in his hands and groans. Zack is already onto him. He rehearsed this a million times in his head, but his throat's gone dry, he lost the words he prepared. He shifts his jaw, pulls on the neck of his hoodie.
"Just—look at Tifa, alright?" As Cloud rubs her shoulders, he feels how tense she is. Zack and Aerith are staring at him, they aren't following directions. It feels like there's a spotlight on him, that he's about to recite a monologue that he knows will go horribly wrong. Taking a deep breath, he clears his throat.
And Cloud just gets it over with. "Tifa and I are getting married so she can get on Shinra's insurance."
It's so dead quiet in the room, Cloud can hear the wind whistling outside. Aerith must have lost feeling in her jaw, because it drops open, he sees her tongue and her teeth as she stares at them blankly. Zack is still working on his expression—brows winding as he searches for a reaction. Cloud holds Tifa's shoulders, feeling her body shake beneath his touch.
Zack rolls his neck, lets his head fall back to the cushion as he rubs his eyes likes he's exhausted of Cloud's bullshit. "Jesus Christ."
"You're—you're getting married?" Aerith says, crumbling her shirt in her hand. Her eyes glow neon green, her pupils shrinking as they get devoured by the intense color. "So Tifa can have insurance?"
Yes, he just fucking said that. Can they just freak out already so he can get on with his life? Cloud's prepared—he already started looking at apartments. He knows the outcome of this. It's fine, it'll be fine. He just needs one thing from them—from Zack.
"I know—you think it's crazy. You're kicking me out. I expected that—" Cloud is rambling, and he doesn't realize he holds Tifa's shoulders a little too hard until she winces. He lets go like he's been burned. "I just need you to not tell mom—At least until after the fact."
Zack laughs—it's unexpected, very pitiful. His arms fold over his chest as he stares at the ceiling. "She's gonna fucking kill you—and me!"
Tifa is quiet. Aerith—surprisingly—is speechless. "I know. I know! But she can't know about this—she'll do whatever she can to stop it."
"Did you even think this over?" Zack says. He rubs his temples like Cloud's given him a splitting headache as his chin dips low. Stubble peppers his jawline, defined and angled. As he looks at Cloud through narrowed eyes, harsh blue deepens and spills with frustration that splatters the walls. "You're really ready to get married? That's a huge responsibility."
"He's doing it to help her, babe," Aerith interjects, gently resting her hand on Zack's shoulder. "It's so selfless."
"It's just—" Zack leans forward and grunts, cradling his head in his palms as he shuffles his hair and pushes it back. "The hole keeps getting deeper and deeper, and Mom's got no idea of any of this. And when she finds out, it'll be a trainwreck."
A sniffle from below catches Cloud off guard. Tifa is crying, though she tries to hide it, quickly dabbing her face to mask the tears. Cloud kneels, searches for her through the shroud of her hair. His jeans are so shredded, he feels the carpet scrape his knees.
Tifa finally speaks, her voice so small it's almost lost to the silence. She slouches, curling into herself as if she's trying to disappear. "I'm really sorry. I bring so much trouble. I don't want to bother you guys anymore."
It's enough for Zack to soften, his jaw relaxing as he looks at her like he's torn.
"Tifa, you don't bother us. No one blames you for any of this. It's just—a lot." He tries to be smug, make a joke out of it. "Do you really wanna marry Cloud? I'm sure we can find you better options."
Cloud gives him an unamused look as he hugs Tifa and gives her his shoulder to lean on. Her body is warm, except for her hand. He feels cold fingertips brush his neck, and a shiver encases his spine. He doesn't care—he likes her cold hand, her freezing feet. He loves everything about Tifa.
There's something weird about this, though—Zack isn't really freaking out. He's not lecturing Cloud, hasn't said the one thing he expected him to—
"And I'm not kicking you guys out. Jeez, you think I'm like a monster or something?"
Aerith coos, leans over to embrace Zack, showering his face with wet kisses. "Babe, you're being so reasonable. This is why I love you!"
"Yea, yea." Zack pets the top of her head, rolls his eyes halfway. "Who the fuck am I to judge? You remember how we got together, babe?"
Aerith squeals, claps her hands together as her ponytail sways with her excitement.
Why does Cloud have a feeling he's about to be forced into an unnecessary flashback?
August 2000, Midgar
At twenty-five, Zack is only a banker at Midgar Commercial Bank.
He helps customers open bank accounts, credit cards, apply for mortgages. He's already worked his way up from teller, so he's going to see this through, until he has a nice fancy position with his very own office, instead of this stuffy cubicle at the corner of the room.
Zack takes a deep breath before he goes back to his seat behind the desk. The luster of the glossy wood reflects the woman sitting across from him. Her scent is potent, lingering in the cubicle like a fresh blend of cucumbers and melon. Zack keeps taking deep breaths just to smell her as her nails tap against the table.
He holds her loan application, shuffling through the pages as he sits and rolls his chair back, crossing an ankle to his knee. His sleeves are pushed to his elbows, and an uneasy look falls over his face. Zack tries to avoid eye contact, but it's impossible. Her eyes are like magnets—green crystals that draw attention to her pretty face. He can't look away.
Long, curly lashes dipped in mascara flutter, a hopeful smile paints her lips. Her nails are long, square. Pink. Clacking on the desk expectantly. A row of shimmery butterfly clips crown her head, long chestnut hair twisted away from her face.
"So—" Her voice is high-pitched, girly. When she tilts her head, a mop of wavy hair tumbles over her shoulder. "Did I get the loan?"
Zack sighs, rolling his shoulders as he puts her application on the desk. He searches for the right expression to give her—one that won't get her hopes up, but won't disappoint her too much.
"I'm real sorry, Miss Gainsborough, but—" Zack tugs the collar of his shirt, his lips squirming uncomfortably as he watches her eyes grow bigger and more confident. "We can't give you the loan."
Her face falls. She looks heartbroken, near devasted. Her fingers curl over her tube top, pulling the fabric and dragging it down her skin. Her glossy lip extends in a pout, like it might work to change the outcome.
"What?" she asks, and he sees her face crumbling, brows angled and twisted. She continues to bat her lashes, fidget on the seat. "Why not?"
Zack gives her a look—tilted head, a coil of black hair loses its grip from the gel and curls over his face. He leans on the desk for discretion, and Aerith takes his direction and presses her chest on the table, moving in so close, her scent floods his nose in a sweet rush.
"You have bad credit." A beat passes. "Like really bad."
She seems perplexed, like she has no idea. "What? I do?"
Zack thinks she might be pretending, but she's serious. This chick doesn't know that he's seen bankrupt junkies with better credit than her. "Yea. Sorry…"
She hesitates, tapping her finger to her mouth. Her gloss smudges, paints her skin pink. Zack's eyes shift—from her eyes to her lips. She still keeps her pout.
"What about my mom? She cosigned it."
Zack gives her the same look—but worse. His brows pinch, tension squeezing his face. He tries to smile, but it comes out distorted as his hands clasp together, elbows on the desk. "Her credit's even worse."
She sits back against the chair. Her legs are crossed. She wears a denim mini skirt that showcases the milky expanse of her thighs, her skin creasing as they rub together. Zack tries not to look, just clears his throat and shoots his gaze back to her eyes, where he knows it's safe.
"Really?" she asks. Her lips squirm, smearing her gloss. She tosses her hair behind her shoulder with a flick of her wrist. She wears layers of beaded bracelets, large silver hoops for earrings that get caught in her hair. "That's bogus. There's nothing we can do?"
Zack wants to help her—she seemed so excited for this loan. He looks down at the application and sees her bubbly, curly handwriting. She applied for ten thousand dollars for a jewelry business. He's curious, wants to question her about it. But she's already rejected, there's no chance she's getting a dime from this bank.
She curls her foot in platform sandal, tapping the sole to her heel. A shimmery sheen coats her skin—she's covered in glitter, sparkling as the sun's rays dance off the long glass wall behind her. She's straight out of a magazine for teenaged girls. But he sees on her application, this girl—Aerith Gainsborough—she's twenty-two. How the hell is her credit already demolished? What the fuck did she do?
"Sorry," Zack apologizes again. He's trying not to stare too hard, darting his eyes between her and the desk. "Unfortunately, the decision's final."
Aerith sits there for a while. She's very quiet as she smacks her lips together. Zack is entranced watching her do nothing. She's very beautiful—and pretty fucking hot. He noticed her the second she walked in the building. Every head turned like she had a target on her. And right now, she's thinking, a dimple dotted between her brows. She looks at him hard, real hard. It almost makes him uncomfortable.
Aerith clears her throat, grabs the bottom of the chair and pushes it as close as she can to the desk, scraping the legs against the tile. Her melony scent immerses him. It's overpowering and sweet, and Zack can't get enough of it. He loves how hyper feminine she is, like the textbook definition of a girl.
She leans on the desk, gets close to him. It's only natural that he edges closer. Her butt pokes out, her hair spills all over the desk—it shimmers, there's glitter embedded in wavy tendrils. Aerith smiles at him, he smiles back. He doesn't know what's going on. He hears the chatter of the bank around him—phones ringing, registers opening. But he's locked in on her, a wall closing them off from the rest of the world.
"I don't do this sort of thing, but you're real cute. So…" She drifts off, drags her fingers on the surface of the table, sliding closer to his arm. Zack hangs on her every word like a lovesick puppy. He's known this girl for ten minutes, but he's already captivated by her and her horrible credit score.
Aerith trickles over his forearm, traces the vein that bulges from his skin with the tip of her nail. "I give the best hand jobs."
It takes a second for Zack to process what she just said. He pulls back, straightens his posture, batting his eyes in a series of bewildered blinks. "Uh, what?"
Aerith doesn't retreat—she's still going with it. "I'll give you one of my A plus hand jobs, and you can give me the loan."
She does not understand how banks work. And Zack could be a douchebag—play along and accept the hand job. But in a whirlwind decision, he decides against it.
"I—uh—" He's flustered. He's been with his fair share of girls, but none have ever been this forward. He doesn't know what to do with himself—pushes his sleeves even higher until they strangle his biceps, flips the collar of his dress shirt. He feels himself beginning to sweat.
"Even if I, uh, did accept—" He tries to chuckle to lighten the mood. "I'm afraid it's not up to me. I don't make the decision."
Aerith narrows her eyes. Her sexy demeanor vanishes, replaced by a wrinkled nose and knit lips. She takes a moment to adjust herself, stand up straight, pull down her skirt. Her navel is exposed, and even there her skin sparkles. When she bends to pick her purse from the floor, her skirt rides back up. She leaves it.
"Okay, well—" Trying to conceal her defeat, she whips her hair with a swift flick of her neck. "I guess I should go. Thank you."
Zack watches her leave helplessly. It's a fucking vision. Her thighs rub together, her bag bounces off her hip. He's entranced—doesn't even notice his coworker coming up behind him, bending over his chair. They both watch her through the glass wall as she walks towards her car.
"That the chick with the shit credit?"
Zack looks at him briefly, sees olive skin and brown hair before he shoots his gaze back out to the sunny abyss. Aerith struts out to the parking lot, showered in the embrace of sunlight as she moves like a radiant pixie. He's letting her get away. Shit, shit—
"Yea," he mutters, still pulling on his collar as he feels the room get hotter and hotter. "That's her."
His colleague chuckles against his ear, his palms flat on Zack's desk. "She's flat as a board. But she's got a nice ass though."
She does—Zack sees her side profile as she approaches her car—a green bug—shuffling through her purse for her keys. Her ass is round, perky, generously dips from her thighs, hugged by her little skirt. Zack doesn't care about tits—he's an ass man. He'll take a nice jiggly butt over tits any day.
He feels the tremor of his heartbeat tick like a bomb about to go off. The seconds are counting down. He's running out of time.
"Fuck," he curses, shoots up from his seat and stammers towards the door.
Aerith is in her car, she's about to slip the key in the ignition when he runs up to her, tapping her window almost frantically. She jolts, her neck snaps towards him. When she sees Zack, her shoulders drop as she tilts her head. She grabs the lever at the door, rolling her window down.
He hunches over her tiny little car, his elbow bracing the hood. The sun blazes in an unrelenting assault, scorching his body, and he's already sweating—from the heat, the adrenaline, his nerves. Aerith gives him a weird look, squinting against the glare of sunlight.
"Did I forget something?" she asks.
"Uh, no—" Zack doesn't know what's wrong with him. He's usually smoother than this. He feels like he's thirteen asking out his crush. Aerith is over a foot shorter than him, but she's intimidating, eight feet tall in her attitude and confidence. She looks at him like he's wasting her time.
"I—" He chucks a laugh, tries to play it cool as he slides his hand through his hair. "I was wondering if I could get your number."
Aerith blinks, she seems confused. "Why? It should be on the application."
"No, it's—" Shit, he's fucking this up. He tries the chuckling thing again, but it comes out panicky as sweat pools behind his neck. "I wanted to take you out sometime."
Aerith doesn't say anything for a really long time. She just stares at him with a blank expression, tapping her nails against the steering wheel. A pink tree air freshener dangles from the rearview mirror.
"Do I get the loan?" she asks.
Zack is ready to admit defeat. "No."
When Aerith narrows her eyes, her expression turns suspicious. "You're not getting the hand job."
"That's—that's fine."
Her lips squirm, and she scans him carefully, like she's considering it. In the sunlight, her eyes transform into vivid emeralds, bright jewels perched on her face. She radiates—she's so pretty and sparkly.
"Do you have a six pack?" she suddenly asks him in a tone that's dead serious.
Zack stutters, his back beginning to hurt from crouching so long. "Uh, do I have a six pack?" He angles his head. "Why?"
"I need to know. I can't date you if you don't." She flips her palm out for emphasis. "I'm extremely shallow."
He nods. It's fair, he supposes. He's pretty shallow, too. "I do."
"Show me."
"What?" He thinks he's not hearing her right, or that she's joking. But that deadpan look doesn't leave her face. She crosses her arms over her chest, sits back and waits.
"Show me your six pack."
He wants this to be a joke. He thinks it's obvious he does—anyone should be able to tell he's in good shape by the dress shirt and dark slacks he wears. He isn't hiding anything. His sleeves are rolled up, he's jacked. But Aerith doesn't assume, she's asking for evidence.
He looks back towards the bank—a crowd of his coworkers have gathered at his desk, watching their exchange. There's no way to do this without them witnessing the whole thing. And if he refuses, Aerith drives away, never to bring her cute butt and shit credit here again.
Zack swallows the lump in his throat, stands up straight and rolls his shoulders back as he shifts his weight between legs. Aerith smiles at him. It's tiny, coy. Leaning her elbow on the steering wheel, she rests her cheek against her palm, her eyes fixed on him.
"Okay," he says, then stretches his neck as he dips past his belt and the waist of his pants, grabs his shirt and pulls up, scrunching the fabric in his fists. He stops at his chest, puts his entire stomach on display for her. His belly tightens from his nerves, and it only enhances the firm muscle carved deeply into his flesh.
Aerith looks directly at him, reaches out the window to touch his abs. The sudden contact makes him shiver, how small her hand is, the scrape of her nails against his skin. Her complexion is paler, clashing against his sunnier tone. She counts them, she's looking for six. She counts up to eight.
"Very nice," she coos. She seems satisfied with the outcome. And Zack is ready to roll his shirt back down, put an end to this humiliating situation. But Aerith delves in her bag, drawing out a lipstick. As she uncaps it, a hot pink, shimmering tip emerges that looks heavily used. When she leans out the window, she begins writing on his skin. It stutters through the divots and ridges of muscle.
She dabs her finger against a painted section of his stomach, locks in on his gaze as she smears the residue over her mouth. Sliding her lips together, she gifts him a teasing wink, curly black eyelashes pinched together. "Careful. It's smudges."
Zack is a fucking idiot. But it's okay—he's succeeded. Even as she drives away and he's left standing there in the parking lot holding his shirt up, her phone number written in pink lipstick all over his stomach—even as he sees the expanding crowd of bankers at his desk watching and howling at the sight of him. He's totally fine with it, because he gets to see Aerith again. And all of the insanity was worth it.
He picks her up Saturday night. Aerith lives in the slums of the city, in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood. It's a bit jarring—he expects a girl who looks like her to be from the burbs, but as he double parks on a treelined street crammed with cars, he notices Aerith's green bug jammed with them a block away.
He sees her waiting outside, talking to a neighbor. She stands at the bottom step of a stoop, clutching the strap of a pink purse as she twists her hips. The streetlamps light up the neighborhood, clashing with the moon and the glimmer of starlight. Aerith wears a little pink dress with a flowy skirt. Her hair falls past her shoulders, pushed back with a zigzag headband and framing her heart-shaped face. She's in the same white sandals she wore at the bank.
Her neighbor is another girl in low rise jeans and a tee shirt, with dark hair and tanned skin. Zack feels the engine rumble as he loiters in his car, cool air rushing through the vents and brushing his neck. Rolling down the window, he watches for a second. Aerith looks so happy, laughter bubbling out of her as they talk. He doesn't know what they say—they speak in Spanish.
Zack is…really confused. When Aerith notices him, she waves goodbye to her friend before she gets into the passenger seat. The scent of her perfume immediately floods the car. She smells just like he remembered when she was at the bank. Shit—he's already getting addicted to it, can imagine himself waking up every morning engrossed in that smell, falling asleep with her scent wedged in his nose.
Pull it together, Fair—he just met her. He sees glitter fall off her skin, her hair. It gets on the dashboard. . She twinkles like a star he caught from the sky and holds captive. Shit—she's pretty. She smells amazing. She looks so good in that little dress.
"Hello, blue eyes," she greets him, leaning in to give him a hug. He smells whatever hairspray is in her hair, blending with her melony perfume. He returns her embrace as modestly as he can, even though he wants to reel her in and make-out with her. When she pulls back, he sees remnants of glitter sprinkle his dark tee shirt.
"Hey." Zack takes a moment to soak her in, feels his teeth unclench and jaw unwind as he looks her up and down. He has one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gearshift ready to put it in drive. "You look really nice."
Aerith smiles. It's not flirty or coy, but real genuine and sweet. Sitting with her legs pressed together, a lock of hair slips over her shoulder and bounces on her chest. "Thank you."
The tension between them is stretched to its limit—he feels it ready to snap. There's a strong attraction that comes from them, merging together and making the car so hot, Zack has to crank up the AC.
He drives to the main streets, taking them downtown. The radio station murmurs a pop song through the speakers, and Zack feels the silver links of his watch scratch his skin as it slips down his wrist.
"So…you speak Spanish?"
Aerith has been looking out the window, and her hair swishes as she turns to face him. Zack glances between her and the road ahead of him. Aerith nods like it's common knowledge.
"Yea. Why wouldn't I?"
Zack pauses. He's contemplating the right way to answer. He thinks he's going to fuck it up either way. "Are you…Mexican?"
"Yea. My mom is."
"And your dad?"
"He's just a white guy."
"Okay." He thinks that conversation is over, but Aerith still looks at him, lifting the arch of her thinly plucked brow.
"Is there a problem?"
Christ. Now what does he say? Zack taps the steering wheel as he eases to a stop at a red light. He sees the streets come to life, sidewalks filled with people walking, dining outside restaurants.
"No, no problem. Just—" He needs to end it there, but he looks at Aerith from the corner of his eye and adds, "Didn't expect it. That's all."
As her eyes narrow, her expression hasn't transitioned to entirely pissed off yet. But he's tipping the scale, if he says one more wrong thing, he'll totally screw up his chance with her.
"You think I don't look Mexican?"
No—not really. She's white as snow, dresses like a preppy suburban teenager. Her name is fucking Aerith Gainsborough. There were no clues. How was he supposed to figure it out?
"I—don't think that at all." Zack thinks that's the safest way to answer. But Aerith huffs huffs an amused breath through her nose as she leans back against the seat. Her side profile is so pretty, he almost gets into an accident staring at her.
"I'm just fucking with you." Shoving his arm rather aggressively, he feels her nails dig into his skin. "My mom's not Mexican. She's from Poland. I speak Spanish because I grew up here."
Zack doesn't know why Aerith put him through that extremely uncomfortable exchange. He was beginning to sweat it out. Was she trying to test him? What the fuck was that?
"What are you, like Italian or something?" As she lifts her leg to cross over the other, her skirt hikes up her thigh. Zack shoots her a clever look as a smile plays on his lips.
"I'm just a white guy."
Aerith's asking him questions, picking apart the details of his life like he's being interviewed. He tells her the basics—he lives with his mom and half-brother in the burbs, he's about to buy a condo out there. He went to the city college in Midgar, was in a fraternity that had him almost die from alcohol poisoning every weekend.
"You live with both your parents?" he asks her.
Aerith shakes her head, hair bouncing with the motion. "No. They're divorced. I live with my mom."
They're nearing the movie theater, and Zack starts feeling disappointed that they're going to have to cut their conversation short. "What does your mom do?"
"She's a florist, owns a flower shop in the city."
"And your dad?"
"He's a scientist."
Zack…was not expecting that answer. He turns his neck to give her an odd look, his brows digging into his nose as his grip on the steering wheel tightens. "Really?"
Aerith nods like it's no big deal. "Yea. He makes toothpaste."
"Okay." His lips fidget. He has so many questions now. "So, your dad has money?"
She shrugs. "Yea, I guess so."
"He buy you that little lovebug you drive?" When she nods, he adds, "Why won't he give you the money for your jewelry business?"
Aerith laughs—it's really sweet, the way her face scrunches, the dimples that press into her cheek. It's contagious, a smile catches on his lips, but its gentler, softer. Aerith is like a ray of sunlight, and it drips from her smile, her laughter. He thinks she might be perfect.
"He wants me to go back to school. But I make really great jewelry, I really wanna start my own business."
Shit. Zack wants to give her the loan. Fuck, he'll throw his own money at her. He's getting so delusional, he'd do anything to make her happy, to see that smile on her face all the time.
When they get to the movie theater, he parks in the lot. He wants to open the car door for her, but Aerith's out before him, swinging her purse and waiting for him to join her. Zack takes a deep breath as he turns off the ignition. It's already blistering hot in the car the moment the AC is gone.
Aerith is tiny when she's next to him, barely reaches his shoulders even in her heels. Zack thinks he likes looking at her in parking lots. He wants to see her in more of them. She sticks out like a sparkly little fairy, the glitter she wears glints like specs of diamonds against her skin, her hair. She looks ethereal.
Zack's already covered in it just from being in close proximity to her. He wears baggy bleached jeans, a dark tee shirt and sneakers—a shimmery sheen coats them. She's sprinkled her pixie dust all over him and he's been cast under her spell.
A gentle smile graces Aerith's lips as she cranes her neck to look up at him. He can't tell her eyes apart from the stars, they merge into the night sky. Their intensity is softened by the darkness, the green more subdued. Suddenly, she's less intimidating when she's not writing on his stomach or offering him hand jobs or trying to mess with him. She's just a cute girl with a beautiful smile.
Zack offers her his hand, she takes it, lacing her fingers with his. Their wrists crisscross. They hold hands like they've known each other for an eternity. She's petite, her hand is much smaller than his, her nails pressing crescents on his knuckles. He feels a rush of something—it swarms his chest, collides in his gut. He's not sure what this feeling is.
Aerith picks out about five different candies, holds them to her chest like she's Michael Jackson juggling Grammies in 1984.
"You've got a sweet tooth, huh?" Zack watches her bend over to pick out more chocolates. As her skirt climbs, he sees her underwear hug the curve of her butt.
"I do. I've had two root canals." She says it so casually that he wonders if she's fucking with him again. Her shoes are bright against the dark carpet colored in neon swirls, her hair falling in front of her, blocking her view.
"Your dad must make pretty shitty toothpaste."
Aerith looks at him, still bent over with her back arched and hair thrown everywhere. He likes the sight of it, adds it to the list of views he wants to see from her as she holds the boxes of candy protectively. She laughs. It's cute and bubbly, makes her shoulders bounce from the vibration.
They watch a girly chick flick Aerith picks out. It's pretty dumb, and the two hours are uneventful. But it's fine, because she leans her head on his shoulder. Zack is pretty sure she falls asleep through part of it. Her perfume is intense, mixed with the scents of her hairspray and body lotion. It makes him feel warm inside, like he's drawn into another world.
Zack really doesn't want to take her home afterwards. He delays starting the car, trying to think of an excuse to keep her out later. Aerith reapplies her lip gloss, stares into the visor as she puckers her lips, opening her mouth to get the corners. He likes this view, too—her lips separated and shiny, chin lifted, lashes curled and fanning her eyes. She glitters in stardust, it's hard not to stare at her.
"Can we go to the beach?" she asks abruptly, snapping her neck to him as her hair swishes behind her. "There's a full moon tonight."
Zack doesn't know what those two things have to do with each other. And it's past eleven PM, the beach is closed. But she cups her cheek as she looks at him, gives him that smile that's already got him hooked. And Zack wants to give her anything she asks for. He'll let her do anything she wants.
There's sand everywhere, it gets everywhere. Aerith drags him out the moment he parks, doesn't even let them take off their shoes. Sand and glitter and Aerith's melony scent. Zack gazes at the moon. The sky is painted black, glowing in the effulgence of twilight. Aerith is one of the stars—but brighter. She twinkles and lights up the night, and Zack makes a wish on her, so convinced it might come true.
Aerith smiles, takes both his hands, weaves their fingers together like they're about to make a pact. He's not sure what's going on, but he rolls with it. He likes the serenity that softens her face, the way the sticky breeze shuffles her hair. She glistens like a reflection in a pool of water.
"The moon is a powerful force," she says. Her voice is peaceful, quiet, a near whisper against the trembling waters. And oh god, she's one of those. But, it's fine. It's fine. He nods along, lets her strangle his hands in her grip.
"The moon symbolizes rebellion and inspires creativity and love. Promotes peace in the world."
Zack doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about. Aerith is just rambling, saying weird shit about the moon. He's not sure what the point of this is, but he rolls with it, because he's already sprung. He'll do any stupid thing she tells him, join whatever cult she's apart of to get closer to her.
Her eyes drift close, and she takes a deep breath that swells her chest, holding it before she releases it as a whistle through her mouth. "Let's become one with the moon, allow its energy to wash over us."
Zack looks down, tries to do as she instructs. A good minute of silence passes, it's extremely weird and uncomfortable. But he's not plotting his getaway. He doesn't mind standing on the beach with her, holding her hands, doing hippie moon worshipping shit.
The stillness is interrupted by a giggle. Fluttery and girly, it pries his gaze away from the sand that dips into his pantleg. Aerith's grin takes over her face, exposing her teeth and gums as her lips spread. Zack is infected by her charm, unable to control his own smile.
"Hey," she says, the shrill tone returning to her voice and replacing the serenity of her prayer. "I'm fucking with you."
Zack should feel relief or embarrassment or something—but he's still entranced, has that dopey, dreamy look on his face. He feels his chuckle thunder in his belly. He doesn't let go of her hands.
"Hey, I was down—" His words are interrupted by his own laughter, watching her skirt twirl around her as she sways her hips. "I'm down for whatever you're into. Moon gazing, star chasing, whatever the fuck you wanna do."
Aerith's expression changes, it's a subtle transition. Her smile softens, her eyes are weighed down. She looks at him just as dreamily, under the same spell she's cast him under. She moves closer to him, lengthens her neck as he curves his. Trying to reach for him, but even as she balances herself on the toes of her sandals, she sinks further in the sand. Zack meets her most of the way, leans in and feels the pressure of his spine when she kisses him.
She tastes as good as she smells. As her lip gloss trickles in his mouth, he swipes his tongue over her lip. Aerith sighs, her breath spills from her nose and fans him in a warm gust. She leads the kiss, and it starts out slow, hypnotic, their tongues grazing gently as they get swept away by the beautiful stillness of the night.
But she kisses him harder, bites his lip, lets go of his hands to grapple his shoulders. Zack grunts into the hostility of her movement, braces his grip on her waist as he lets her kiss him however she wants. She's assertive and rough, tugging on the neck of his shirt to drag him down, like she's trying to rip it off his back.
He feels her tongue tickle the roof of his mouth, the slip of her wet lips staining him with shimmery pink. Aerith pulls him down—he lets her. Drags him on his back to the sand. It's fucking everywhere, he feels it grate his spine, irritate his neck. It's in his hair, under his clothes. And Aerith is on top of him.
She straddles him, locks her knees to his hips as she anchors him to the sand. They're still kissing, he shifts beneath her, trying to hold onto a kiss and slow it down, but she's moving too fast, kissing him choppily and messily as her hair tumbles in front of her and shrouds his face. He thinks there's glitter in his eyes, he's almost blinded—all he sees are the stars and glimmery specks and Aerith's panting mouth.
"Hey—take it easy," he mutters, grabs her waist so taut he almost crushes her in his fists.
Aerith throws her hair over one shoulder, the strap of her pretty pink dress slips down her arm. Her skin glows ivory, dusted in glitter. She's so turned on, her eyes are nearly shut, her jaw relaxed and slipped open.
"I wanna fuck your abs," she groans.
Zack takes back what he just said. "Okay."
Aerith moves quickly, lifts his shirt to his chest to reveal the expanse of his stomach. The humidity pools on his skin, makes the sand stick to rims of muscle, and he feels the abrasion poke him. He's drowning in his desire watching her, nearly choking on the lust that fills his chest—hiking her little skirt, moving her underwear to the side. She's hairless, as pink as the rest of her. She scoots on his belly, balances herself as she braces stiff palms on his chest. He feels her pulsing heat, the drip of her slick sheath his skin.
He's covered in sand and glitter, her lip gloss smeared on his chin. His body tenses, his jaw taut. He digs his fingers into her waist, wrinkling her dress. And Aerith wastes no time—she grinds on him, scrubs her pelvis against his stomach almost angrily.
Flailing moans disrupt her rough grunts. Gone is her smile, replaced by the longing that shapes her expression. He's getting a thrill out of watching her get off on him, likes the way she rolls her hips, grasps his shirt, heaves through her mouth.
He maintains eye contact with her, doesn't let his hands wander because he's not sure if he'd be pushing it—even though she masturbates herself against him. Aerith is not at it for very long before she starts moving faster, growing out of breath. She's frantic—panting and rubbing her clit on his stomach enthusiastically.
"Oh my god—" Her voice is sharp, comes out as a shriek. "I'm gonna come!"
Zack thinks this is fucking awesome. And he adds watching her come to the list of sights he always wants to see from Aerith. She spirals, jerks violently as her pelvis stutters, bucking against his ribs. She gasps once, and it's jammed in her throat like she's choking, the air compressed from her lungs as if someone's strangling her. It's the most beautiful, chaotic thing he's ever seen. And the first time he's ever made a girl come this quickly—by doing absolutely nothing.
She's stretched out his shirt by how hard she yanks it. And he thinks she'll collapse on top of him once she rides the waves of her orgasm, because it looked fucking exhausting. But Aerith isn't done. She's kissing him again, shifts her hips down to align with his and rubs herself against the bulge of his jeans.
"Can we go in your car?" she asks, breathless and manic.
Shit—shit. This is going way too fast, but Zack's high off Aerith, he can't stop himself, following her lead as they stumble to his car, getting in the back seat. Sand spills all over the leather, the floor, between the seats. Saturating their bodies and clothes, blending with the shards of glitter. What a fucking mess.
But who cares—not when Aerith's on her back with her legs spread open and he's on top of her. The smell of her arousal melts into her perfume and lotion, and it's spellbinding, he's gone fucking insane, wants to give her everything she wants.
They're crammed in the back, Zack is too tall to be doing this. But he figures it out, reaches for his wallet and hopes he has a condom tucked in there somewhere—he does. Aerith squirms beneath him, curving her back as her hair veils her. He's taken a star from the sky and brought it to his car—she glows, glitters, she's so fucking pretty. And he likes this slutty shift in her, the droopiness of her gaze, how she pants through her mouth.
Zack moves through the motions while keeping her engaged—kisses her neck as she elongates it for him, unzips his jeans, fidgets with the condom. It's hot in here, the windows fog, their clothes stick to their bodies. He reaches between her legs, pushes her underwear to the side, glides his finger down her slit. And she's so fucking wet—her cunt drips, stains her thighs, gets on the leather.
Her arms curl over his neck as he eases into her, inch by inch, delving in her warmth. Her spine twists, she gasps in his ear. He's finally able to grab her ass, and fuck, it's amazing—soft, almost pure fat he can sink his fingers into.
"Oh my god—" she wails before he's even had a chance to start moving.
His palm is on her cheek, trying to force their eye contact, but she looks possessed, her gaze blank and wide. "You okay?"
"Yes—Yes!" Aerith bucks her hips, urging him to keep going. "I want it, I want it!"
He loves how slutty she is, wishes he would have let her be on top like she was on the sand. And the car is filled with the sound of her piercing moans when he fucks her, pushes her down to the seat so she stops fidgeting so much, but nothing stops her.
She feels amazing, tight and wet, squeezing him from inside her. This sight makes it to the top of his list—watching Aerith get fucked by him. Her heat radiates, and she's so wet he hears the sloshing as their bodies join.
Her nails slice his skin as she winces. "Fuck me harder!" she demands.
He'll give Aerith whatever she wants—she can have him. His heart, his sanity, his money. Whatever she asks for, he'll give to her. So beyond whipped, he'll bow to his knees and worship her or the moon, get sand in his car and his mouth. Glitter in his eyes.
He curls over her, their bodies moving in sync. Pulling the straps of her dress, he releases her breasts so he can watch them bounce as he fucks her. They're small, her nipples stiff and pink. More glitter glazes her skin. Her tits tremble from each jerk of his hips as he pushes into her and it's the prettiest thing he's ever fucking seen.
He's too turned on—he can't last much longer, especially as she screams and curses, repeats every dirty thing he does to her. Her knees are bent, her ankles hook around his back. She's so far gone, the delirium still in her eyes. His skin gathers beneath her nails, it stings as the hot air sticks to him. He's done—fucking done, burying his nose to her neck so he can die with her sweet scent wedged in his lungs as he comes.
Aerith holds him—nurturing, threading her fingers through his hair, petting him affectionately as he crashes down from his high. He's spent, can barely move or pull himself out of her. He likes lying with her like this, the way she seems to cradle him in her arms like she wants to take care of him.
"Holy shit," he mumbles against her skin, and Aerith hums, rubbing her cheek to his hair.
"That was so nice," she says dreamily. Zack is ready to pass out. This is perfect, even though he's uncomfortable, he'd be okay with staying like this with her forever. "I'm so sad we're never gonna see each other again."
Zack tenses, lifts his head to look down at her as he quirks a brow. "What? Why wouldn't we see each other again?"
Her face is a mess of smudged glitter and mascara running in streaks down her skin. Her lip gloss is wiped clean off her mouth and probably all over him. She looks so sad now, her lip extended in a pout. Her eyes twinkle in their angst as she continues to caress him fondly, patting his cheek.
"Because I let you have sex with me on the first date. Our love was doomed from the start."
He wants to interject, but Aerith crushes his head to her chest, smothering him as she sighs deeply and miserably. Zack struggles against her grip, but she's strong and insistent.
"But I can't help it. I'm a really sexual person."
He manages to break free, his elbow braced beside her. His expression crumples, he really hopes she's fucking with him again. "Don't I get a say in this?"
"You're a guy, it's in your nature. I could never be your girlfriend now."
"But I wanna see you again," he argues gently, trying to lean in for a kiss, but she turns her neck and he's left with a mouthful of her hair, choking on sand and glitter.
"I want a boyfriend, not a hook-up."
God, this is frustrating. They fight for dominance cramped up in his car. Aerith tries to slip away from him, but he holds her down, desperate to reason with her. He doesn't understand why she's so put off by him now, like he's the worst for agreeing to sleep with her. It was her idea, he would have been just fine going home after the kiss. And now that she's hooked him in and made him completely delirious and obsessed with her, he won't let her get away.
"I'll be your fucking boyfriend," he tells her through gritted teeth. Aerith stops squirming, looks at him with ample eyes, clumps of mascara sticking to her lashes.
"Stop lying."
"I'm not lying." He swipes his thumb over the black stains on her cheek. She's so vulnerable, her gaze heavy and frantic. She wants him to be sincere, and he is. This is the craziest fucking thing he's ever done, and he avoids relationships like the plague. But now that she's trying to get away, he's ready to do whatever is necessary to stop her.
"Come over this week. I'll introduce you to my mom as my girlfriend."
~oOo~
Cloud didn't need to hear any of this.
He doesn't see how this parallels his own situation, didn't need to know about the rescinded hand job, the stomach humping, the explicit details of how they had sex. What was the point of all this? Is this Zack's way of punishing him?
Aerith is coddling Zack, smothering his face in kisses as if he just told the most romantic story. Her belt catches a thread on the couch as she shifts to his lap, and her shirt lifts higher, climbing up to her ribs.
"Babe! I love when you tell the story of when we met."
Zack pets her hair, catches some of her kisses on his mouth. They are so fucking nasty. Cloud would've preferred for Zack to lose his shit and yell at him, get thrown out that very night. Sitting on the floor, his head falls back on Tifa's lap. He cuts himself off from the gross display of affection as he covers his face with his palms, allowing the peaceful darkness to envelope him.
"Babe, I have an idea!" Cloud hears Aerith yell. Tifa rests her hand over his, small and cold and perfect. He lets their fingers weave together, introducing the light back to his vision. Aerith is ready to jump off the couch, her hands balled in ecstatic fists.
"Your dad's a judge—He can marry them in Gongaga."
Jesus Christ. Not the fucking cornfields. Why are they trying to plan his wedding now? They're supposed to be furious. Cloud rehearsed for this, readied himself for the blowout. Why isn't it happening?
Zack isn't entirely convinced of the idea. "Babe, when my mom finds out he got married and her ex was there and she wasn't—she's gonna fucking flip."
Aerith shrugs, her ponytail swings as she plays with the tie around his neck. "She'll be pissed anyway. And your stepmom has that really beautiful garden. It'll be so romantic."
Cloud figured they would get married at the courthouse and get it over with. He's not keen on the idea of Aerith planning a wedding. It's overwhelming, makes it feel more real, like they're really doing this and not just as a means to help Tifa. He's in way over his head—tries to convince himself it's not a big deal, nothing will change once they get married. Life will stay the same, and he's committed to her, wants to protect her and take care of her.
But it's still fucking terrifying, like he's being bound to shackles. Once it happens, there's no going back. He's with Tifa for life, there's no more getting plastered in the middle of the week and head from random girls. His life has purpose now, he needs to take it seriously.
"Okay—why don't we ask Tifa what she thinks?"
Zack's voice cuts through Aerith's commotion, and now all eyes are on Tifa. She's so quiet, like she's not in the room, as everyone decides her fate for her. Innocent and reserved, looking down to her lap as Cloud shifts on the floor to kneel beside her. He sees the tremble of her lip, like she wants to say something, but doesn't know how to raise her voice, express what she really wants. Maybe he's pushing her into this, maybe Tifa doesn't want to get married.
She takes a lock of hair that and slips it behind her ear. Her eyes lift timidly, darting between Zack and Aerith before landing on Cloud. A mahogany gaze, churning and glistening—the bleeding eyes that captivated him the first moment he saw her. Glassy, because she's ready to start crying again. He watches her gulp to swallow her nerves before a smile stammers on her mouth.
"I'd like to get married in the garden," she says.
Aerith squeals in victory because Tifa has basically given her permission to take the reins. And Cloud will drive three hours to the cornfields, let Zack's dad marry them—he'll do anything Tifa wants. Just to see her smile, to see her happy. He doesn't care if he's confined to chains for her, he'll give up every stupid thing that used to make life more tolerable so he can be alive with her.
April 2006, Midgar
Cloud takes Tifa to a jeweler in the city, owned by one of Aerith's friends.
He's surprised he convinced her to come out, she usually doesn't go outside unless she has a doctor's appointment or physical therapy. But she stands at the counter, looking at the display.
Her reflection shines on the glass as her hair plummets and splatters over the surface, painting it dark brown. She wears one of her large grey sweaters that covers her thighs, black leggings and sneakers. The sling Aerith made for her is snug at her left arm. The store is small and clean, jewelry sparkling at every angle—but Tifa is still the prettiest thing in the room. He almost mistakes her eyes for rubies in the display. She rubs the toe of her shoe in the blue carpet, rests her hand on the glass and peaks inside.
"They're all so expensive," she says jadedly.
Cloud leans his weight on the glass, elbows down, the sleeves of his hoodie falling to his knuckles. She seems tense, so unsure—her gaze flickers through the assortment of rings. She brings her fingers to her lip, her teeth nipping her nail.
"It's fine, just pick the one you like," he tells her, pulling on his beanie to cover his brows. Neither look like they belong here. Tifa's so young and Cloud's dressed like a bum, his jeans hanging on by his belt and covered in bleach stains and tears.
Tifa hesitates, he sees the shift in her eyes, the uncertain tilt of her brows as doubt swims in her pupils. He nudges her shoulder, tries to get her to relax. The girl behind the counter sits on a stool, reading a magazine. Red hair tied into a ponytail, she looks over at them once in a while as Tifa remains indecisive.
"I don't really need a ring," Tifa says, looking up at him with quaking eyes. "You don't have to get me one."
But Cloud does—because it's the right thing to do, and if he does get audited, it'd be really helpful if Tifa has a ring. It's not a big deal, and he knows it'll make her happy. He sees the way she stares at them, transfixed by the sparkles and shards of gemstones and metal.
"I want to." As he palms her neck, his expression softens. "Just let me do this for you."
She finally picks one, points it out to the girl behind the counter. It's modest, Tifa probably chooses it because she thinks it's the least expensive option. The band is crafted from white gold and has a simple, elegant stone in the center. Tifa extends her hand to try it on.
"The right hand?"
Tifa stammers, chews her bottom lip as her eyes glaze over. Cloud cuts in, moves his hand from her neck to her hair, combing through the strands.
"She's Orthodox."
The lady asks no further questions, helps Tifa slide it on her ring finger. It's too big on her, she has to grip her fingers together so it doesn't slip. She admires it, lengthens her arm so she can flick her hand in different directions and see the shimmery dimensions of the diamond. She bites back a smile, Tifa is happy. And Cloud is happy if Tifa is happy.
~oOo~
Tifa gets the resized ring about a week later. She lies in bed staring at her hand, ignores the TV playing in the background.
Cloud is next to her, propped up on two pillows as he taps the mouse on his laptop. He feels like he waits for this moment every single day, when it's time to sleep and he can be like this with Tifa—lazy and warm, cuddled up beside her. Sleepy Tifa is his favorite, she's so cute, yawning and curling herself beneath the sheets. Especially now as she smiles and looks at her new ring, tangled hair knotted behind her, exuding her sleepy smell that gets him riled up.
Cloud is logged into Myspace. He hates this is what has become of him. He was doing so good avoiding this website, but now he checks it every other day. He doesn't post much, just looks at what his friends are up to. Most of it is pictures of Aerith's jewelry and Reno's dog. Cloud doesn't know why he does this to himself.
He sees he has a new friend request. When he clicks on the link, he nearly jumps out of the bed. How the fuck did Yuffie the receptionist find him? He makes it a point every morning not to make eye contact with her when he walks in the building. Her picture is super creepy, it looks like she took it on her phone at a very weird angle. He dares to click on her profile. It's public.
It's the most chaotic, visually painful thing he's ever seen. Simultaneously girly and demonic. A song by My Chemical Romance starts playing almost immediately, and Cloud quickly closes the browser as it gets Tifa's attention.
"Sorry," he says, shuts the laptop and slides it under the bed as Tifa leans over and smiles at him. She wears a tee shirt so baggy, it slips down her shoulder. Her skin is smooth, tinted blue in the glare of the TV. He likes the way her hair sways to the side, spreading over the pillow below her. Just like that, Cloud's turned on. He shifts under the sheets, gets close to her, hauls her in. Tifa giggles, it's the prettiest sound he's ever heard, sweet and harmonic, murmuring against his throat as he holds her.
She moans in his mouth when he kisses her. It's light and sensual, makes him move restlessly, pressing up against her. His hands are already under her shirt, he snaps the elastic of her underwear, dips inside and palms her ass. She's firm, but soft enough that he's able to press in her skin with his fingertips. Pushing her to his pelvis, he grinds his bulge between her legs. He's extremely horny, every cute little thing she does makes him want to ravage her.
And she puts him to work. Cloud only has one mouth, two hands. They all strive to pleasure her—fondle her nipples, circle her clit, kiss her mouth. He wishes he had another pair of arms, eager to stimulate every erogenous zone. He likes the sharp gasp she stifles when he touches her breast, flicks the pointed tip. Her legs tangle with his, her toes curl as she pushes up his pantleg. And shit—she's fucking freezing. Her feet are carved from ice.
Tifa moans and writhes on her side, she's already halfway there. Her nipples are so sensitive, they only need the lightest touch to get her going. Her tip wrinkles, puckering in his caress. Cloud sits up, drags her with him, has her crawl on his lap as her legs wrap around him.
He goes to pull off her shirt, but Tifa tugs on the end of his tee, gives him a pleading look that's almost too bashful to be sexy. He does what she implies—takes off his shirt. Her hand is on him, her breath flares his neck. He holds her waist, groaning into her touch, feeling her hips stutter like she wants to rub herself against him. He doesn't know how far they'll go—he wants to fuck her so bad. He's never wanted anything more in his life.
Tifa touches him carefully like she's studying him, desperate to know every ridge and curve of his body by heart and sketch him into her memory. Every swipe of her palm is intentional. She slices her lip between her teeth, her eyes plunging to his chest, lower to his belly. When her thumb skims his nipple, an electric current shoots through him. He's revived, reborn into a monster.
Her hand is small and pretty, her ring shimmers like broken glass. She holds his arm, tries to press her fingers into his skin like he did her ass, but she can't. The muscle is too rough, too solid. Her palm dips along the curves of his biceps. He sees how hot she is for him. Her lips part, her lashes become too heavy for her eyes.
He loves sleepy, horny Tifa. He loves messy hair Tifa. When he cups her arm, it startles her. It's the first time he's ever grabbed it this way—forceful, in the heat of the moment. He can feel the puckered skin of her scar, and she's smooth and round. He doesn't let go, even when her gaze darts to him and her eyes are big, her irises darkening like oxidized blood.
She's scared. Cloud wants her to know it's okay, presses a kiss to her mouth to ease her trembling, feeling the shiver of her body resonate on his tongue. Her eyes drift close, Tifa rolls her hips as he kisses her, gives into the temptation of her wanting cunt. She feels so good. Her mouth drips with sweetness and he swallows all of it, licks the sugar on her tongue, wets and puckers his lips as he pecks her.
He lifts the shirt off her body. Her arm curls around his neck. He wants to see her tits shake—and they do, as she rolls her hips and her hair falls forward and covers her breasts like a mermaid. Cloud grabs her hair, resists the urge to pull, throws it behind her and drags her nipple in his mouth.
Her heart is pressed to his cheek. He expects it to be frantic, but it's steady, a thumping drum that lulls him to the beat of her longing. His hands are everywhere. On her breast, the other dips into her underwear as he searches through the quaver of her hips. His fingers are wet, her curls stick to his skin. He finds her clit, stiff and warm, he can feel her pulse. But when Tifa winces like she's in pain, he stops.
He spits her nipple out of his mouth, starts to drag his hand out of her panties, but she stops him. She breathes through parted lips, he sees the rise and fall of her chest, the tip of her breast wet and stained with his spit. Tifa holds his wrist with a weak hand. Cloud angles his neck, kisses her mouth, lets her melt in his touch. Her body sinks, molding against him.
"You okay?" He mouths the words on her cheek, when he moves his hand and grazes her clit again, she winces as she did before.
"Mmm…" is all she says. It's amorous, he feels her hum when she lengthens her neck. Accepting her offering, he glides his tongue on her throat. His mouth on her skin, his hand between her legs, the other twists her nipple. She grinds against his fingers, her thighs split open. The waistband of her underwear digs into his wrist. Tifa grows restless, grits her teeth. Her heartbeat isn't so steady anymore, it spikes like she's under distress. She's flatlining.
He feels her climax on his fingertips. She throws back her neck, cries out—Cloud lets go of her breast to clamp his hand over her mouth. She jerks, thrusts her hips. Her knees squeeze his ribs as she shoves her heels against the sheets.
Before she's even finished descending her high, he lays her down on the pillow. He kneels between her legs, drags her panties off her body. Her toes point, her thighs fall open. She's spread and weeping, dark curls misted in her slick. Tifa's eyes are wide, their gazes connected. He's lost in the depth of her stare, the frantic way she looks at him. He wanted to go down on her, but now that he sees her naked on her back, her thighs split apart, he wants to do something else.
He knows she'll let him. She asks all the time if they can go all the way. And she looks so good right now, she's so beautiful. Her body presses creases on the sheets. Her skin glows, bare and uncovered. Pink tipped breasts and a swollen core. Neck long, her hair tousled and fanned out. Her face is scrunched, she bares her teeth, her eyes nearly squinted shut. He likes this look—it's his favorite. He wonders what face she'll make when he fucks her.
Cloud reaches for the drawer at the side of his bed, shuffles for a condom. But he stops. Tifa covers her face with her forearm. She's shaking, he feels the vibration travel through him. She's scared. It's not the time. There is nothing special about this night, nothing he can say to ease her of her fears.
He closes the drawer, lies down and draws her to him. Skin to skin, her breasts press against the hard plane of his chest. Tifa is still shaking,
"I want to." She speaks the words against his shoulder.
"It's fine. We can wait a little while."
Tifa pauses, nuzzles her cheek to his neck like she's thinking about something. "Like when we get married?"
Cloud feels his heart stop. He's reached the end of a countdown. He's made his choice, he can't act like he's facing his doom anymore. He pulls back so he can look at her. They share one pillow, one breath, one heartbeat. One life. His hair is messy, it tickles his cheek as it frames his face. Tifa looks at him like she's so in love with him, a way no one else has before. He grazes her jaw with his knuckles, likes the gentle smile she gives him as he caresses her face.
"Yea," he answers her.
Tifa smiles sweetly, cuddling her head against the pillow. "Okay."
Cloud isn't on his side of the bed, it feels weird, but it's fine. They can face each other and Tifa doesn't have to lie on her left arm. Cloud lifts the blanket over them so they can fall asleep, but Tifa stays awake. A commercial mumbles from the TV, their bodies highlighted in random flashes of light. Tifa lies still, looks down at nothing. He takes her hand, clenches his teeth from the chill of her skin. Squeezing her hand with both of his, he rubs them to get her fingers warm. The stone on her ring grates his palm.
"You wanna talk?" he asks her, his tone delicate like he's talking to a baby.
Tifa looks at him, batting her lashes as she shrugs. "About what?"
"Whatever's on your mind."
She's quiet for a while, her gaze straying from him. There's something on the tip of her tongue, she bites it back, holds it in like she's ashamed. He urges her to release what bothers her.
"I think about my dad a lot," she admits.
Cloud nods, feels the friction of the pillow against his cheek. "Tell me."
Her throat clicks as a sigh eases out of her nose, the warm air tickling his face. She holds back tears, he sees it in the way her eyes water, how she compresses her lips. He doesn't let go of her hand.
"It makes me so sad." Her voice quavers, her body sinks in the bed the more she unveils her turmoil. "I'm supposed to hate him. But I don't. I love him. And it makes me sad what happened. How we couldn't be a family. Maybe if I did something sooner—"
"Tifa." He hates when this happens, how she tries to rationalize what happened to her, pin it all on herself. He's told her a million times, and he says it again, "It's not your fault."
"Is—is it stupid that I love him? Am I stupid?" As a tear slips down her face, she wipes her cheek on the pillow. "That when I think of where he is now, I don't feel justified. All I feel is grief."
Cloud takes a moment to soak in what she's said. It's hard for him to grasp such a complex emotion. He's never loved someone who hurt him in this capacity before. Tifa is a good person, she loves deeply. She's too good for this world.
"It's not stupid. You're not stupid," he assures her, lifts her hand and brings it to his chest so she can feel his heartbeat. "Love is complicated. People do horrible things, but we don't automatically stop loving them."
"But I wanna stop. How do I stop?" Tifa is crying, her tears leave a wet stain on the pillow. Her face is a mess, her eyes misted and churning in their despair. "It hurts too much to love him. I don't wanna feel this pain anymore. I wanna hate him—"
"Hate and love are almost the same thing," he says, huffing a breath through his nose. "If you hate him, you'll feel the same kind of pain."
"What do I do?" She begs him for a solution, he sees how desperate she is. Tifa is hurting, and Cloud wants to take her pain away, but he knows he can't do that. He doesn't have the answer for her. He's only known one thing that makes grief feel less excruciating.
"You need to give it time. It'll feel less intense with time."
Tifa nods, accepts that there is no fix-it answer. "Okay."
Cloud leans in to dab his mouth on her forehead, kissing a mix of her hair and sweat. He has an idea, but he's not sure if he should voice it, if it might upset her more than it would solve anything. He thinks about it, forms the right words to express it delicately.
"You don't owe him anything, you know." He releases her hand, slips his arms to her naked waist as he flattens his palm against the small of her back to pull her close. "You don't owe him your love, your hatred. You don't even have to see him again. But you can."
Tifa's eyes grow ample, quaking in the wake of her anguish. He moves his hand to her cheek, cradles her face because she is precious to him. "If you ever want to, I'll take you to see him. Not that I think it's a good idea. But it's up to you."
Tifa struggles, her lips stutter through a response, but she can't get out comprehensible words. "I—I don't know. If, or when I'll be ready. I don't know."
"Hey. It's okay." Cloud hugs her, lets her head rest on his shoulder. "If you decide to, just tell me. And if you don't, that's okay, too."
He feels her nostrils flare on his skin, breathing him into her chest the same way he likes to smell her. "Okay."
They lie together in the stillness, their bodies melded together like they were made for each other. Her nipples are soft, pressed to his chest. Her belly is warm, her cheek wet and tacky against his shoulder. Cloud is so in love with Tifa, sometimes he thinks he might die because his heart will explode. He never knew he could feel like this for another person. It terrifies him how far he'll go to make her happy.
"Cloud." Tifa speaks gently as she squirms against him. "I miss my mama."
His heart sinks, he feels the painful drop as it cascades to his gut. His hand delves in her hair, threads satiny strands as he lets her continue. "Do you wanna talk about her?"
"It hurts to talk about what happened."
"You don't have to talk about how she died. You can tell me your favorite memory." As he sighs into the pillow, several strands of her hair rustle from the gust of his breath. "After my dad died, I learned that I still liked to talk about him because it helped me remember that he was alive."
Tifa joins him on the pillow again. Her expression is soft, she looks at him so tenderly as he plays with her hair, tucks stubborn strands behind her ear.
"What happened to your dad?" she asks.
He's never told her the whole story. And there's not much to it. "He died when I was sixteen. He left for work one morning and got into an accident." The words taste weird, bitter on his tongue. Cloud shifts his jaw, tries to get the flavor out of his mouth. He just says it so casually, in so little words. Because that's how fast his dad suddenly vanished from his life. "He was here one second, and then he was just…gone."
Tifa is ready to cry again, and he also feels the threat of tears swell in his nose. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," he tells her, trying to give an encouraging smile even though he feels just as broken as her. He cups her cheek, leans in and presses a chaste kiss to her mouth. "Whenever you wanna tell me about your mom, I'll tell you about my dad. Deal?"
Tifa returns his smile, her forehead brushing his as she nods. "Deal."
~oOo~
Cloud does the same thing he does every morning when he walks into the Shinra building—looks down and avoids Yuffie at all costs.
Usually, she leaves him alone. She'll be listening to music or doing something on the computer. One time he saw her dragging the tip of a safety pin on her arm, which was pretty fucking weird. As long as she leaves him alone, he doesn't care what she does. But this morning, she stops him, snaps her neck from the computer as she slams her hands on the desk.
"Hey, Abercrombie!"
Cloud fucking hates this. She's trying to get under his skin, and he won't let her get to him. He takes a careful breath, it hurts to force a smile in her direction.
"Morning, Yuffie."
She doesn't smile, but gives him her most angsty, self-deprecating glower. Her hair is teased, blinding her entire right eye. She's cut holes on the ends of the sleeves for her thumbs on her black and white striped hoodie. The pink strip in her hair's turned orange. She looks like she put on black eyeliner a week ago and just never washed it off.
Every time he takes a good look at her, he gets more and more confused. He feels like he's eighty years old and needs to get with the times. Cloud waits for her to say something, but she just stares like she's trying to put a curse on him. And she just might be.
"I added you on Myspace," she tells him, her voice nasally and whiny. Leaning back in her chair, she folds her arms over her chest. "Why didn't you accept?"
Jesus fucking Christ—Cloud rubs his knuckles to his temples. He sees his reflection stare back at him on the glossy sheen of the tile. He looks like a fucking stoner. His sweatshirt is halfway tucked into his jeans, which look like he tossed them in the washer with a tub of bleach before running them over with a lawnmower. And she has the gall to call him Abercrombie? This is going to be a long fucking day. "My bad. I haven't logged on in a while."
"It says you were logged in last night!" She fires back, pointing to her computer screen as she tilts it to him. And there he is, his profile is right fucking there. Thankfully it's private, she can't snoop on him. But it's extremely unsettling that she's looking him up.
Cloud rubs the back of his neck, lets his grunt marinate in his throat. "Okay. I'll do it tonight. Chill out."
"Whatever." Yuffie swivels the chair, no longer interested in his presence.
After that excruciating exchange, Cloud gets to the corridor and is almost tempted to turn around and deal with Yuffie instead. Barret, the fucking CIO, is in the office today. He can hear him in the IT room, engaging in a yelling match with Cid.
Cloud hates this, contemplates how he can delay the inevitable. Barret is one of those guys who talks to the women employees like they're his precious daughters and yells at the men. Unfortunately, Cloud is not a girl. Barret hates the way Cloud dresses. Every time he's in, he grabs a Shinra sweater from the marketing department and makes Cloud change into it. Cloud's racked up about thirteen of those sweaters.
He dallies outside the office for five minutes, and when the yelling only intensifies, he realizes it isn't going to end anytime soon. Bracing himself, he does a cross with his left hand that Aerith taught him and enters the room.
It's so fucking loud in here. What are they even yelling about? Cid is standing, waving his arms dramatically as he wears the same polo shirt and khakis combo he's always in. Barret towers over him. He's tall, dark skin with his hair cut short, wearing a short sleeve dress shirt with a tie, grey slacks pressed in deep lines down the center. They're not long enough, Cloud sees the black socks that dip into his Oxfords. He wears glasses because he's the CIO, he's supposed to be a nerd.
Cloud ducks his head, sneaks his way over to his desk. It doesn't work, the yelling stops until they focus their attention on him and Cloud becomes the center of it.
"This—what the fuck is this?"
Barret's on him again, his voice deep and gravelly and he talks like a sailor, pretty similar to Cid. He points at Cloud with one hand, slams the other on Cid's desk. "How many motherfucking times have we been over this, Highwind? This isn't the discount rack at Hot Topic, we are running a respectable business here!"
Cloud…really hates this. He's already getting up from his seat, he knows what happens now.
"You—Let's go." Barret is ushering him out the door. "Marketing department."
This is the longest day ever. Cloud really wants to go home.
Barret finally leaves in the afternoon. Cloud sits at his desk with the biggest headache of his life. Last month, Barret made them switch all the operating systems from Windows XP to Vista. It turned out to be a complete disaster. Now they have to revert everyone back to the old system and he's given them a very stupid deadline.
As Cloud looks at the thick, uncomfortable grey cotton of his Shinra hoodie, he feels like he's a high school girl wearing spaghetti straps or showing too much cleavage. Maybe he should just wear this every day, avoid the potential blow out. He owns enough of them now.
When Cid walks in the office, Cloud slightly improves his posture, lifts his lifeless head from the desk. Cid looks less angry, probably because he just came back from smoking. He carries the suffocating smell in the room, taking off his jacket and hanging it behind his chair. His hair is disheveled like he just got out of a fight. Maybe he and Barret finally duked it out.
Cloud is dreading asking him for time off. Cid can never just approve it, he needs to know all the details, like a little office gossip. Especially since he knows about Tifa—he's always so curious whenever Cloud has to take a day off work.
Cloud clears his throat, spins his chair as Cid takes a seat. "I need a couple days off next month."
Cid stretches his arms, links his fingers together and loudly cracks the joints as he shoots Cloud a suspicious glare. "Why?"
Jesus Christ. Cloud groans, resting his elbow on the table as he rubs his head. "I'm getting married."
"What?" Cid scoffs like he's absolutely offended, does a complete three-sixty swivel in his chair. "And you didn't think to invite us, you jackass?"
"It's…really private." He hopes Cid will drop this. But he doesn't get to find out. Reno erupts at the door like a firecracker, in the room he's been banished from. His hair gel creates a barrier on his scalp, and he grins like a douchebag with his shirt skipping buttons and his blazer wide open.
"Yo Cloud, got the time off approved! See you at the wedding!"
Cloud knows the source of this—fucking Aerith. And as Cid gets fucking pissed for Reno receiving an invitation and not him, Cloud really can't wait for this day to be over.