Chapter IV: Childhood Reunion
The AVALANCHE hideout was a humble affair—a dimly lit bar nestled in the heart of the Sector 7 slums. The sign above the door read "7th Heaven," the faint glow of its neon letters offering a warm contrast to the dreary surroundings. Inside, the atmosphere was cozy, if a bit worn, with scuffed wooden floors and a faint smell of old alcohol lingering in the air.
Cloud entered last, the door creaking shut behind him. His gaze swept over the bar, taking in the sight of a few scattered patrons nursing their drinks in silence. Behind the counter, a familiar figure worked, her brown hair tied back in a neat ponytail.
"Tifa," Cloud muttered under his breath.
She looked up at the sound of the door, her dark eyes lighting up with recognition. A smile spread across her face, genuine and warm, as she wiped her hands on her apron and stepped around the counter. "Cloud! You made it."
He nodded, his face betraying none of the emotions swirling beneath the surface. "Yeah. I'm here."
Tifa hesitated for a moment before closing the distance between them and pulling him into a quick hug. Cloud stiffened slightly, unaccustomed to the gesture, but he didn't pull away. "It's been so long," she said, her voice tinged with both relief and surprise. "I almost didn't believe it when Barret said you'd joined us."
"I'm just here for the job," Cloud replied, his tone cool. "That's all."
Her smile faltered slightly, but she recovered quickly, stepping back and crossing her arms. "Same old Cloud, huh? Always keeping people at arm's length."
Before he could respond, Barret's booming voice cut through the room. "Tifa! We've got a lot to talk about. Pull us some drinks, would ya?"
Tifa gave Cloud a small shrug and moved back to the bar, her steps light but purposeful. Cloud followed the others to a table in the corner, where Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge had already begun dissecting the night's events.
As the conversation buzzed around him, Cloud leaned back in his chair, his mind wandering. He hadn't seen Tifa in years—not since they were kids in Nibelheim. The memories of their hometown felt distant now, like fragments of a dream. He remembered her as the girl with boundless energy and an easy smile, always climbing trees and daring him to keep up.
But tonight, she looked different. Older, of course, but also… sadder. There was a weight in her eyes that hadn't been there before, though she masked it well with her cheerful demeanor.
A little while later, after Barret had stomped upstairs to his room, muttering about strategy meetings and Shinra scum, the rest of the team began to disperse. Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge left with promises of early starts, leaving Cloud and Tifa alone in the bar.
She walked over to his table, carrying two glasses of something amber-colored. "Mind if I join you?"
Cloud shook his head, and she slid into the seat across from him, placing one of the glasses in front of him. He took a sip, the burn of the alcohol grounding him slightly.
"So," she began, her voice soft, "how have you been? Really?"
Cloud shrugged. "I've been getting by. Doing mercenary work. It pays the bills."
Tifa tilted her head, studying him. "You've changed," she said after a moment.
"Everyone changes," Cloud replied.
She nodded, but there was something wistful in her expression. "I guess you're right. Still, it's good to see you again. I missed you."
He glanced at her, unsure how to respond. The words caught in his throat, so he just nodded.
Her eyes fell to the table, where his hands rested. She noticed something peeking out of his pocket—a flash of yellow. "What's that?" she asked, her tone curious.
Cloud followed her gaze and frowned slightly before pulling the object from his pocket. It was the flower the girl had given him earlier, its petals still bright despite the chaos it had endured.
"It's… just a flower," he said, setting it on the table.
Tifa picked it up gently, her fingers brushing the delicate petals. "A flower? In the slums?" She looked up at him, her brow furrowed. "Where did you get this?"
"Some girl," Cloud said, his voice carefully neutral. "I ran into her in Sector 8. She gave it to me."
"A girl?" Tifa's lips quirked into a small smile. "That's not like you."
"She was… different," Cloud admitted, surprising himself. He hadn't meant to say that much, but the memory of the flower girl lingered in his mind. "She said it was for luck."
Tifa's expression softened, and she set the flower back down. "Maybe you needed it."
Cloud didn't respond, but her words stirred something in him. He wasn't sure if it was luck he needed or something else entirely. The visions of Sephiroth, the weight of Barret's words about the Lifestream, the strange calmness of the flower girl—it all felt tangled, like threads of a web he couldn't yet see.
Tifa leaned forward slightly, her voice quieter now. "You've been through a lot, haven't you?"
Cloud hesitated, his hand tightening around his glass. "Everyone's been through a lot."
She reached out, resting her hand lightly on his. "Cloud, I know we've been apart for a long time, but you don't have to keep everything bottled up. You can talk to me."
For a moment, the walls he'd built around himself threatened to crumble. The warmth of her hand, the sincerity in her voice—it was almost enough to break through. But then he thought of Sephiroth, of the fire, of the weight of his own failures, and he pulled back.
"I'm fine," he said, his tone firmer than before. "Don't worry about me."
Tifa's hand fell away, and she nodded, though her expression betrayed her concern. "Alright. But if you ever want to talk… I'm here."
They sat in silence for a while, the flower resting between them like a fragile symbol of something unspoken. The bar grew quieter, the last of the patrons shuffling out into the night. The faint hum of the city filled the empty space, a reminder of the world still turning beyond their small corner of it.
Finally, Tifa stood, stretching her arms above her head. "It's late. I should probably close up."
Cloud nodded, standing as well. "I'll head upstairs."
As he turned to leave, she called after him. "Cloud?"
He paused, looking back.
"I'm glad you're here," she said, her smile soft but genuine.
For the first time that night, he let a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. "Me too."
Upstairs, in the quiet of his small room, Cloud lay on the narrow bed, staring up at the ceiling. The flower sat on the nightstand beside him, its petals glowing faintly in the dim light. He reached out, brushing a finger against it, and thought of the girl who had given it to him.
Her words echoed in his mind. "It's for luck."
He didn't know if he believed in luck. But as he closed his eyes, the image of Sephiroth loomed in the darkness behind his eyelids, and he knew one thing for certain: he would need more than luck to face what was coming.
Somewhere deep in the city, the hum of the reactors continued, a constant reminder of the struggle ahead.