Chapter Eight
The Cold Beyond the Snowfields
The Tiny Bronco's wings shuddered as another gale slammed into the aircraft, jostling the tiny and overcrowded cabin. Tifa gripped the edge of her seat, knuckles whitening beneath her gloves. Beyond the scratched plexiglass, the tundra raced past in a blur of white.
Nothing but snow and wind for miles in every direction.
Tifa glanced at the empty seat across from her, pain constricting her chest. On most rides like this, Aerith occupied that seat, her cheerful smiles and joyful quips battering away the seriousness of their journey. Tifa hadn't known the young woman long, and the memories of the formation of their friendship were still elusive beneath the heavy weight of her amnesia. Even so, the last week or so since she'd woken in Gongaga let her know just how close they were and had become, and despite her confusion of aspects of their relationship, she realized that she had come to rely on her presence. Her sudden loss draped like a cloak of desolation around her shoulder.
"How much longer 'til we land?" Barret grumbled, his breath misting in the frigid air inside the cabin.
"Couple hours if this storm doesn't worsen," Cloud replied flatly. "Need to push past it."
Tifa sighed, turning back to the window. Snowflakes swirled hypnotically past, as elusive as Cloud's rough words and Aerith's distant smile, now only a memory. Guilt and regret pulled her into herself.
If only she could have stopped all of this.
The Tiny Bronco shuddered again, groaning under the strain of the gales beyond and the strengthening storm's fury. She glanced at Cloud again, taking in his rigid posture and clenched jaw. Behind that stoic facade, she sensed a maelstrom - anger, guilt, grief, but perhaps most disturbingly, denial. He seemed beyond the events of the Forgotten City as if they had not occurred at all. He was singularly focused on their goal of reaching Sephiroth.
Tifa longed to reach him. She longed to say something, to have one moment alone with him where they could navigate this devastating loss together. Yet the gulf between them seemed insurmountable. Since the Temple of the Ancients, it seemed he had withdrawn further into himself, cold and distant as the tundra they now soared above.
"Hey, Tifa, you got any snacks back there?" Yuffie called from her seat. "I'm starving!"
Tifa shook her head apologetically. "We're all low on supplies. We'll stock up once we land."
Yuffie groaned dramatically. "Ugh, this trip is for the birds!"
"Pipe down!" Cid hollered from the yoke. "Your yapping ain't making things go any faster!
Tifa sighed, turning to gaze back at the hazy white sky, her breath fogging the icy windowpane. She drew her knees to her chest, seeking what little warmth she could find. The Tiny Bronco's interior was frigid, barely shielding them from the realities beyond its steel frame. The shiver that ran along her spine reminded her of the chill she'd felt as she'd approached the altar, and she closed her eyes again, a fresh wave of sorrow consuming her and filling her bones with new dread.
The Bronco shuddered then, buffeted by a fierce crosswind. Cid wrestled with the controls, cursing under his breath.
"We can't stay airborne much longer in this mess," he called over his shoulder. "I'm taking her down at Icicle Inn."
Cloud groaned audibly, his eyes narrowing as he approached the helm and stared out of the windshield as if he were looking for a reason to argue with Cid. But the turbulent skies and the wicked skyline below were enough to give even him pause.
The landing was rough. They were jostled amongst the winds and Yuffie's motion sickness was so bad that she retched as soon as she stepped into the snow. Tifa felt her heart weaken at the site, and she immediately ran up beside her, rubbing her hand along her back until the younger girl was able to find her equilibrium again.
Aerith had one evening, at the inn in Cosmo Canyon, declared that without Tifa, their group would be lost. The memory rushed back to her as Yuffie thanked her, messily wiping her mouth. She didn't know why, but these fiercely nurturing urges came from somewhere. She couldn't much remember what she had been like before Gongaga, but there was something natural about taking care of others that she couldn't avoid. Even others that she did not know well.
Glancing at Cloud, who marched determinedly ahead of their group without so much as a glance backward, Tifa longed to take care of him more than anything.
But it seemed he was out of her reach.
Tifa peered out at the snow-cloaked town nestled ahead as they approached Icicle Inn. Warm light glowed from frosted windows, smoke twisting from chimneys into the grey sky. It looked like a refuge from the storm, the cheerful hum of the village jarringly out of place after the tense silence that had followed in their travels from the Forgotten City. Laughter drifted from the inn where travelers gathered to escape the cold, the scent of woodsmoke mingled with roasting meat wafting into the icy air.
After securing rooms, the group filed silently into the inn. Tifa glanced at her companions, taking in their haggard appearance. The arduous journey had taken its toll, their faces gaunt, their eyes haunted.
Tifa followed the group inside, her eyes on Cloud's rigid back as they shuffled into the warm foyer, Vincent shutting the heavy doors behind them. She was immediately grateful to be inside; trudging through ice and snow in tank tops and a tennis skirt had left her bones brittle beneath her skin.
Moving to the front of the group, Barret ran a hand over his face wearily. Several patrons around the lobby and bar had already begun to stare at their oddly assembled group. "Good as time as any to regroup," he muttered. "Supplies are runnin' low."
Before Tifa could respond, Cloud's sharp voice cut in. "We're not here to rest," he said impatiently, sweeping his gaze across the entire inn, eyes glowing and brow furrowed more than usual. "We stock up and keep moving. We have a job to finish."
He started to turn on his heel, but Barret rounded his way in front of him, his imposing figure towering over Cloud. Even with his sunglasses still on, Tifa could see the weariness and frustration etch in his features.
"Now hold it right there, SOLDIER boy," he put a massive palm up in front of Cloud's face. "We've been going straight by air for almost seven hours, and ain't had a proper meal in two days. We're chilled down to the bone and ain't even had a chance to take a shit since we left the Gold Saucer. We got a child with us, for Gaia's sake!"
He gestured with a thick finger in Yuffie's direction, who immediately whirled backward on both feet. "I'm no child!" she protested vigorously. "I am THE White Rose of Wutai!"
This earned a gruff laugh from Cid, who had lit up a cigarette right in the center of the lobby, despite a few dirty looks from nearby patrons who stared. He made his way around to the front of the group, standing beside Barret for backup.
"The hothead's right," he insisted to Cloud. "And I for one need a respite after flying through that bitch of the storm. I ain't going nowhere til mornin'."
He walked off towards the bar, a plume of smoke in his wake. Tifa watched as Barret continued to stare Cloud down, unerring. She warred within herself to step between them before the tension snapped into something dangerous, but she found herself unable to move.
Cloud's eyes narrowed impossibly further, but Tifa saw his shoulders ease, and he stepped back, seemingly relenting. He glanced back at her, then the rest of the party, before he reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of gil that he shoved roughly at Barret.
"Fine," he conceded. "Make yourself useful and book the rooms. I'm going to plan our next steps."
With that, he shouldered past Barret, the taller man grunting at his disregard. Before he ventured to the back of the inn, he glanced back at them.
"But we leave at dawn. No questions asked."
With that, he was gone, disappearing down a candlelit corridor. Tifa watched him until he was gone, feeling every tiny crack that formed across her heart when he was gone.
She found herself at a loss. There was too much pain weighing her down for her to even decide how to respond. Part of her wanted to go after Cloud, to gently touch his shoulder and try to bring him back to reality, to ground him in the here and now and really figure out how they could proceed after the horrors of what they had just witnessed hours ago. But she was frozen by her own fear, her own doubts, her own gaps in her understanding of what was happening and had happened for so long.
A heavy hand fell gently on her shoulder, pulling her out of her despairing thoughts. She turned to see Barret looking down at her, dangling a room key in front of her, his craggy features creased with concern.
"You okay?" he asked gruffly.
Tifa did her best to manage a faint smile, brushing off his worry. She knew that it was important she maintain a sense of calm for the others, including him, especially with how volatile he could become when things seemed uncertain. "I'm fine," she said lightly, hoping her voice didn't betray her. Barret's gaze remained steady, as if seeing through her facade. Still, he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
"Get some rest," he rumbled, dropping the key into her palm. "Long road ahead tomorrow, and doesn't look like it's gonna get any easier."
Tifa nodded mutely. Barret moved past her, heading towards the bar to join Cid and Vincent who had already parked there. Yuffie and Nakaki were quietly on their way up the stairs with Cait Sith not even a pace behind them.
Tifa sighed, glancing down at the key in her hand, and wordlessly made her way behind them.
Tifa lay back on the plush, oversized bed in her room, her hair fanning out around her shoulders like spilled ink. She stared up at the wooden rafters above, her mind adrift.
Despite the plush comfort of the rustic room, she was completely unable to sleep. Her thoughts were torn between two viciously opposing directions - Cloud and Aerith. She could see nothing but the vivid wildness and coldness in Cloud's dazzling blue eyes, and nothing but the extinguished emptiness in Aerith's green, the blood that splattered her face and pooled around her pink dress.
Tossing and turning on her sides and snapping her eyes shut did nothing to alleviate the anguish Tifa felt in her heart. This was the very first night since Aerith's death and her first serious attempt at any sleep. It eluded her, leaving her instead with the guilt of her fleeting memories, her inability to save Cloud, and her helplessness in helping Aerith.
What was she even good for?
That thought died in the back of her mind when she heard a soft, familiar clink echo through the wall. Stiffening where she lay with her knees pulled up to her chest, Tifa squinted, listening intently. There was no mistaking the source, especially when it was followed by the heavy thud of footsteps against wooden floorboards.
She knew those footfalls anywhere.
Tifa sat up on the bed, tucking her legs beneath them. The clinking and the thudding continued. He's pacing, she thought. His steps were harried and swift, like a caged tiger, ready to unleash its fury on whoever had imprisoned it.
Only in Cloud's case, Tifa wasn't quite sure who that fury was exactly aimed at.
She fretted over what to do. She desperately wanted to go to him, to wrap her arms around him and let him know that everything would be alright,
Her mind reeled so badly that she found herself sitting upright in agitation, the compulsion to pull her own hair out of her head dangerously strong. Instead, she recoiled deeper into herself. Cloud had hardly looked her way since the moment they left the flower field outside of the Forgotten City. None of her words seemed to faze him in even the slightest. It was as if the boy who had kissed her and held her close under a sky of golden sparks in the Forgotten City had never even existed, as if the memory itself was only a fabrication of her imagination.
The clinking of Cloud's armor only grew more discordant alongside the violence of his pacing. Anxiety began to cripple Tifa, her heart palpitating in her chest. Pushing her way to her feet, Tifa reached for the room phone, calling down to the inn's lobby.
"How may I help you?"
"May I please have a bottle of your strongest local spirit?" she asked, surprised by the way her voice trembled.
The concierge cleared his throat. "Of course, miss. Our local import is a vodka that is purified by waters straight from the northernmost peaks. It is quite strong, though, I must warn. Would two hundred-fifty milliliters suffice?"
Tifa swallowed. That was probably more than enough. As a bartender, she was well acquainted with the world's liquors and could easily identify appropriate quantities. And while she herself was not much of a drinker, she knew how much it would take to quiet her mind and block out the insidious sounds coming from the man she loved in the next room over.
"That's fine," she agreed.
After hanging up, she sat at the edge of the bed and waited, holding her head in her hands to block out the sounds next door. She would have left to drink at the bar, she didn't want to deal with Barret or the others right now. She didn't want to deal with anyone, right now.
All she wanted was quiet and peace. To fall into the darkness of sleep that was dreamless and empty, where neither bad memories nor the amnesia left behind by those that were missing could haunt her. Perhaps, if she were lucky, she could stay in such darkness forever.
That morbid thought was dissipated when a soft knock came at the door. Quietly, Tifa opened the door to find the delivery of her packaged goods. After paying the courier for her drinks, Tifa brought the bottle and the little bucket of ice that it came with to the small dresser in her room and poured.
The first drink went down like icy fire, burning through her throat even as it sent chills down her spine. Tifa shuddered, feeling her skin heat and her head swim as the alcohol warmed her blood. She leaned back against the headboard, sipping quietly, closing her eyes and doing her best to block out the sounds of Cloud's relentless pacing next door.
It was so unfair. Tifa tried but could not think back to a moment of pure happiness that had not been ruined by some cruel twist of fate. Most of her memories still escaped her. Those she had recalled, like the night of her promise with Cloud or the night of her village burning, hung between a precarious balance of precious and traumatizing. Friends had been murdered, including one she now realized had probably been the closest girlfriend she'd yet to have.
And now, the man she loved more than anything was fracturing before her very eyes, refusing to face the brutality that lay not even a day in their wake and leaving behind all of the tenderness she now realized she'd been seeking her entire life.
It hurt. It tore shreds through her soul, lighting fire to moments over the last few weeks that she had naively thought were signs of the light at the end of the tunnel, of the dawn at the edge of the horizon. Aerith's bright smiles and teasing jaunts. Cloud's soft words of encouragement and the gentleness and patience behind his every touch and look. The bonds the party had all begun to form, fortifying them as a unit that could take down any form of corruption or evil.
It had all been dashed away now. Aerith was dead and Cloud no longer seemed to care about anything, least of all her. The party was fracturing, barely holding on as their leader crumbled, dissension and distrust beginning to fester with each hour that passed as they left the flower girl behind in the ancient city.
Tifa's head was spinning. She hadn't realized it, but her vision was blurred, and it wasn't because she had nearly consumed the entire bottle of vodka, taking sip after cold, harsh sip. It was because tears had flooded her eyes, pooling above her lashes and raining down her cheeks.
Sniffling, she drained the last few sips straight from the bottle, not even bothering to pour it over her eyes. The world spun, heat swelling in her belly and flushing throughout every cell. Canting pitifully, she set the bottle down and rolled back to lay on the bed, her hands tucked under her cheek as she stared at the wall.
Despite the steadily rising onset of inebriation, Tifa could still hear Cloud pacing. Back and forth, the thump of his boots and the clang of his armor. And perhaps she was imagining things, but she was almost sure that she could hear his voice, too.
Tears staining her face, Tifa planted herself face down into the sheets, pulling the pillow over her head to muffle out all of the sounds beyond. Buried in the soft fabric, all she could now hear were the sounds of her own cries, leading her into a hazy but silent slumber.
.
.
.
Tifa stares up at the twinkling lights burrowed into the plate above, flashing like tiny signals of doom. Smokes chokes her lungs as shouts of anger and fear fill the air. She blinks, her heart thundering with indecision in dread.
"Tifa?"
She turns at the bright voice. Eyes as green as emeralds blink curiously up at her, waiting, watching.
"I'm sorry," Tifa hears herself say. "I… I have to help them."
Aerith smiles sagely, her eyes softening. She steps closer, and Tifa feels her hands clasp around her own, holding them together, palm to palm.
"Don't be sorry," Aerith replies. Her hands are warm and soft, like energy is radiating from within. Tifa can feel it all the way to her bones. "Go. Follow your heart."
As if in response to her words, Tifa's heart stutters. She locks eyes with Aerith, who only nods in understanding.
"I have a bar in the slums," Tifa goes on. "There's a little girl there-"
"Marlene, right?"
Tifa freezes, her brow furrowing in confusion. She cocks her head to the side.
"How - "
"Go," Aerith insists before slipping her hands away. Tifa exchanges a final look with her, before turning back to the pillar, the distant shouts growing louder and louder.
Follow your heart.
"Cloud!"
.
.
.
Her eyes shuffle closed. The smoke and flames of Sector Seven dissipate into the warm, bucolic hues of a spackled ceiling that is overlaid by thick, wooden rafters. A quiet blue moon shines through the heavy curtains of a wide glass window, raining its light on the quaint and comfortable room.
Tifa rolls her fingers over her knuckles, her hands clasped together. She squeezes in anxiety, the roil of her heart reflected in the simple movements of her hands.
She glances across the room to the bed beside her. Aerith lays on her side, her back facing her. Tifa sighs softly before gently calling her name.
"Aerith? You awake?"
She hears the flower girl shuffle. "Barely," she admits. "What's up?"
Tifa can hear a similar sense of unease in Aerith's own voice. She wonders what it is about this journey that they are on that is constantly leaving them all feeling so tense and unsure.
"Was wondering…" Tifa begins, her heart beginning to pound as she considers the truth she's about to admit. It'll be the first time she's said anything to anyone about what's been weighing down her heart, and it scares her. "What Cloud's been doing these past five years…"
Aerith seems startled. "You're asking me this?"
Tifa tightens her hands over each other. Her friend was so intuitive, seemed to have knowledge of things that went far beyond her perceived scope. Like Marlene. "Just… had a feeling you'd know."
She can hear Aerith shuffle uncomfortably in her sheets. "Maybe… at one point. But it feels like all of that was taken from me… or… maybe erased."
Tifa thinks, her heart beginning to pound. "By Whispers?"
Aerith nods.
"Aerith…" Tifa continues. "As far as I know… Cloud was never in Nibelheim five years ago."
Abruptly, Aerith sits up. She turns to Tifa, her eyes wide at this admission, as if it can't quite be believed. Tifa simply nods, verifying its truth.
"What do you mean?" Aerith asks.
Tifa finds herself sitting up, glancing at Aerith, her hands folded in her lap. The young Cetra woman is staring at her expectantly. Staring down at her hands, she sighs softly and shakes her head.
"I… I don't remember him being there. There was another SOLDIER. His name was Zack. Cloud never came to Nibelheim."
Aerith gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. "Zack?" she repeated. "What - what did he look like?"
Tifa glances down at her hands. Her memory is still fuzzy, but some things remain. "He was tall. Dark haired. Charming, but a bit goofy. I'm sorry, I don't really remember much else. But I know that Cloud wasn't there. I looked for him… waited for him."
Tifa closes her eyes, remembering the water tower, the promise, the wait. The hope that he would return. The forlorn dejection when he ultimately didn't.
She couldn't have been mixing those things up, could she?
"Zack," Aerith repeats. "My first love… he was a SOLDIER. He went on a top-secret mission five years, and never returned. I…"
Tifa stares at Aerith, seeing tears well up in her eyes. She tries to think of the right thing to say, but confusion overwhelms her. Aerith had mentioned boys in passing, and Tifa could see that she was a bit of a flirt. But this is the first time she's heard her mention a serious affair.
"It doesn't matter," Aerith finally perks up. "There is something going on with Cloud, Tifa. But I… even I can't understand it. Even my powers can't get passed the walls he's built. You're the only one, you know that? You need to talk to him."
"Talk to him?" Tifa balks. The idea is terrifying. Confronting Cloud, who already seems so fragile, about things that even she isn't sure about… the idea raises goosebumps on her flesh.
Aerith swings her legs over the bed, leaning forward to take Tifa's hands in her own. Warm palms, clasped around hers, just like the pillar.
Follow your heart.
"You have to," Aerith insists, sensing her hesitation. "Cloud listens to you. In fact, I think you're the only one he listens to. He… really cares about you, you know that, right? Tifa…"
Aerith trails off, a whimsical look on her face. She looks down at Tifa's hands, held in her own, before she meets eyes with her again.
"Go talk to him, before he falls asleep. I'm sure he's still up. Just… ask him what else he was up to over those five years. I'm sure things will start to come together."
Tifa hesitates, pulling her hands away from Aerith's. But the flower girl doesn't relent, squeezing Tifa's hands tighter.
"Everything will be okay. I promise."
She releases Tifa's hands, finally, leaving her with a reassuring nod. She waits for Tifa to get up, gesturing to her boots. Tifa sighs, looking down at her hands, before she gets to her feet and slowly pulls her stockings back on.
Her heart pounds as she crosses the inn's small corridor, knocking on the boy's room.
"Cloud?"
.
.
.
The sun blazes in the sky above them, but with the ocean breeze, it is anything but oppressive or harsh. The smell of saltwater lingers in the air, fresh and inviting, and Tifa can't help but smile against the breeze as it wafts over her lotioned skin. Aerith sits in the warm sand beside her, sipping on an orange-hued drink while Tifa drinks from a familiar, blue concoction she remembers serving in her own bar.
"So," Tifa starts, her voice tentative. She turns her head just enough to catch Aerith's profile. "Back on the boat, you said you wanted to talk about something... about boys?"
Aerith doesn't answer immediately. Her fingers toy with the tiny umbrella in her drink, twisting it slowly like it holds the secrets of the world. When she finally looks at Tifa, her emerald eyes carry an unusual heaviness.
"Yeah," Aerith murmurs, her lips curling into a faint, wistful smile. She takes a quick sip before continuing, her voice soft. "It's about Zack."
Tifa feels the name hit her like a tiny pebble dropped into the calm pool of her thoughts. They've talked about him before, and Tifa never really had the chance to press. All she knew was that he was Aerith's first love, that he was in Nibelheim, and that Cloud…
"I loved him," Aerith goes on. Her gaze fixes on the horizon, where the sun now dips closer to the water's edge. "He was brave and funny and... so kind. The kind of guy who makes you feel like everything's going to be okay just because he's there."
Her voice wavers, and she takes a steadying breath. "And Cloud... he reminds me of him."
Tifa blinks, her mind scrambling to process the confession. A sudden pang of confusion and possession knots her stomach, though she can't quite name why. "Oh," is all she manages.
Aerith laughs softly, though there's no humor in it. "I know, it's strange, isn't it? Sometimes it feels like I'm looking at Zack when I look at Cloud. The way he talks, the way he carries himself... It's like little pieces of Zack are still here, in him." She pauses, her fingers tightening around the glass.
She sits up, turning to Tifa. "But it's not him. And I know that….We know that."
The waves crash louder for a moment. Tifa shifts, unsure whether to speak or let Aerith continue.
"I don't know what to do with that, you know?" Aerith says, her voice quieter now. "It feels like I'm holding onto a ghost, and it's not fair. Not to Zack's memory... and not to Cloud." She turns to Tifa then, her expression softening. "But you... you don't have to worry about any of that. You've got Cloud, all of him. And he's so... loyal to you. I see it, Tifa. In the way he looks at you, in the way he listens."
Tifa's breath catches, her chest tightening. "I don't think—" she starts, but Aerith cuts her off with a gentle shake of her head.
"Don't doubt it," Aerith says firmly, her hand brushing briefly against Tifa's arm. "You're lucky to have someone like him. Someone who's always there, even when things get hard. Don't give up on that. No matter how hard it gets, Tifa."
Tifa looks at her, then back at her drink. Abruptly, Aerith takes the drink out of her hand and shoves it into the sand beside her own. Once again, she takes both of Tifa's hands, folds them inside her own.
Warm. Soft.
"You love him, don't you?"
Tifa blinks, her heart pounding. How badly she's wanted to talk to Aerith about her feelings, about the moments she's shared with Cloud since they've reunited and the promise they forged as children. But she holds onto all of that in her heart, afraid to make peace with the truth and everything that might go wrong if she dares to unlock it.
"Don't wait till it's too late to tell him," Aerith advises. She releases her hands, picking her drink back up and relaxing back against her towel. "I know what it's like to lose something like this…"
The sun finally kisses the horizon as Aerith's words sink in. She thinks about Cloud, wondering if she can confess. She thinks about Aerith, who lost someone so special to her that she still can't seem to move on.
Tifa can't let that happen to Cloud. She can't lose him, too.
.
.
.
Tifa feels herself sinking into the moment, a sense of calm and clarity washing over her. This is important—this memory. She feels it in her bones. Aerith's voice comes back to her, soft and tinged with that unique blend of vulnerability and strength.
"No matter how hard it gets."
"You love him, don't you?"
"Don't wait till it's too late to tell him."
""I know what it's like to lose something like this…"
Something clicks into place, like a key turning in a long-forgotten lock. Tifa begins to speak, to tell Aerith she understands, that she'll never let go. But the words die in her throat.
Aerith shifts in her seat, her face pale and drawn, the light in her eyes dimming. She's no longer dressed in her swimsuit and they are no longer in Costa Del Sol, but rather under the ethereal blue-green glows of the Forgotten City.
Tifa's stomach churns as a dark stain spreads across Aerith's dress, blossoming from her center—a sickly, vivid crimson that spills downward, soaking the light pink fabric.
"Aerith?" Tifa's voice is a strangled whisper, her hands flying to the other woman's shoulders. The warmth of the sun fades, the breeze vanishing as if the world itself is holding its breath.
Aerith's lips part, but no sound escapes. Her body sways, and Tifa lunges forward, catching her just before she collapses fully.
"No," Tifa breathes, clutching Aerith's lifeless weight in her arms. "No, no, no. This isn't—this can't—"
The sound of laughter pierces the stillness, low and resonant, chilling her to the core. She stiffens, her head snapping up, and the nightmare deepens.
Behind her, two figures loom in shadow. Their laughter is perfectly synchronized, cruel but hauntingly melodic. She knows these voices too well.
Cloud's, warm but twisted into something foreign.
And Sephiroth's: smooth, calm, and dripping with malice.
Tifa tries to turn, to look at them, but her body won't move. The weight of Aerith in her arms roots her in place, the sticky warmth of the blood spreading onto her own clothes.
The laughter grows louder, reverberating around her like the toll of a death knell. The figures edge closer, but their features blur, twisting and melding into something inhuman.
"Stay with me," she begs Aerith, her voice cracking. "Please, Aerith, stay—"
Aerith's head lolls, her glassy eyes fixed on nothing, and Tifa's scream rips through the silence.
The world collapses, darkness rushing in like a tidal wave, and Tifa is falling, her arms empty, her voice swallowed by the void.
.
.
.
Tifa awoke with a shout, shooting up in bed and looking around in every direction. Slowly, she retunes to the careful realization of where she is and why. The inn at Icicle Inn. Less than a day after Aerith was killed. Cloud cold and distant and unfeeling, the rest of the party splintering at the seams.
Tifa was covered in a light film of sweat, her breath rough and harried as it escaped her lungs. She was left with a devastating blend of confusion after her conflicted sleep left her with both the return of very precious memories but also a nightmare that too vividly reminded her of what she had lost and what she continued to lose.
Tifa thrust her head into her hands, unable to stop the tears that rolled into her palms and the shuddering sobs that wracked her shoulders. She and Aerith had been closer than she'd realized. In those few short weeks, they'd shared secrets, supported each other, and dove into one another's pasts. Aerith had known exactly what to say to Tifa to help motivate her beyond her own doubts and insecurities. She had become a rock, even as she tried to sort out her worries for Cloud.
And now she was gone. Cruelly stolen from her, leaving her to navigate the brokenness alone. And Cloud only continued to worsen, creeping closer and closer to the edge, while Tifa could feel her own resolve falter to the point she wasn't sure if she would make it to the Northern Crater.
Maybe things would be better off if she just left. Maybe everyone would be happier and stronger if she was no longer here to mess things up.
Even Cloud.
A knock at the door tore her out of her thought, and Tifa wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands as she heard Barret's gruff baritone on the other side of the door. Clearing the sobs out of her throat, Tifa rose to her feet, straightening her clothing and pulling on her boots before opening the door.
"Barret," Tifa greeted.
Barret stood there, his hulking figure wrapped in a thick winter jacket. He carried a bundle of supplies in one hand his face set in a look of tired annoyance.
"Double-time, Tifa," he insisted, thrusting the pile at her. "Cloud had me up at the ass-crack of dawn to pick up provisions and he's already downstairs, raising hell at everybody he can. He's on the warpath, so we best get a move on.
Tifa blinked, still feeling the rawness rimming her eyes as she accepted the supplies from Barret. It was a satchel of provisions and a stack of winter clothing - a fur-lined bomber jacket, a scarf and glove, and heavy, wool leg warmers. All of the material was thick and practical, perfect for the frigid temperatures of the north.
"Tifa?" Barret interjected, leaning towards her in the doorframe. "You alright?"
Without even realizing it, Tifa sniffled. She wiped at her cheek again. "I-I'm fine. Just didn't get much sleep, is all."
Barret looked at her with skepticism curating his features. He tore his sunglasses off, warm hazel eyes connected serenely with hers.
"I know it hurts," he told her gently. "We ain't even had a proper chance to mourn. And Cloud doesn't seem to even acknowledge what happened back there. Pisses me off, I tell you."
Tifa could feel his words eat away at what little was left of her heart, and she did her best not to flinch. Usually, she would defend Cloud when Barret would rip into him like this. And over the course of the last several weeks, it had become less needed, as the older man had fortified his trust in Cloud. But all of that was eroding, and Tifa wasn't quite sure what to do.
"It doesn't matter now," Barret went on, not waiting for her to finish. "We've got to keep moving for now. But at some point, we're gonna have to talk some sense into him and we're all gonna have to stop. For our own sakes."
With that, Barret grabbed her shoulder, squeezed it affectionately, then put his sunglasses back on, whirling his heavy frame and heading back down the hall.
Tifa quietly closed the door, her thoughts a myriad of worries and doubts. Cloud's volatility was so bad that even Barret was at a loss on how to handle it. She had never seen him - the man who fearlessly declared his intentions to take down the Shinra Company by any means necessary - so dejected and complacent. She felt her heart squeeze as hard as he had done to her shoulder.
Tifa dressed quickly, checking the provisions in the bag he'd given her. Some dried rations, water, potions, and other restorative items. An upgrade to her leather gloves, her weapon of choice.
Gathering everything and wrapping the scarf tightly around her throat, Tifa zipped her coat and made her way downstairs, finding the others had already gathered and were in various states and moods. They had all bundled in more weather-appropriate garments, and they stood around the lobby quietly brooding. Even Yuffie was surprisingly silent.
Cloud stood in the front of the room, the only one still dressed as he had come and not bothering with any winter gear. The instinct to say something about it clawed at Tifa, but the look he shot her stopped her dead in her tracks.
"About time," he snapped. He unfolded his arms from his chest, pulling open the inn's front doors and letting in frosty wisps of winter wind beyond. "Let's go. We're heading north and we aren't stopping again."
Tifa's mouth dropped open slightly, stunned by his exceptionally harsh words and told. But no words came out. Instead, she watched as the others all tossed her apologetic, sympathetic looks before they too filed out behind him, one by one.
She felt her lip tremble, tears burning at the corners of her eyes.
Biting back the pain, she stepped into the snow.
The sky was bleak, a dark gray shadow that hung over the vast white of the Great Glacier region like a cloak. Along the backdrop of the horizon were the wicked, stark white peaks of Gaea's Cliffs, hanging above the endless miles of dangerous white tundra and snow.
Cloud stopped, staring at them in the distance beyond. The biting chill of the winter winds bit into his bare skin, but he could scarcely feel it, could hardly feel the way each icy flake pierced his cheeks and clung to his lashes. All he could feel was the distant pull, the need, the impulse to kill and destroy.
Reunion.
Stop Sephiroth.
Reunion.
I'll end him.
Reunion.
"Yo, Cloud," Barret's gruff voice called from behind him. "There's a cabin right up this path. Turn yo' ass around so we can rest for the night."
"Seriously," Yuffie chimed in with a high-pitched whine. "My whole body is frozen. I can't feel my toes anymore!"
"Maybe it's best if we stop here for the night?" Nanaki calmly added.
Cloud winced at each of their voices. His pulse was rushing, and his head was aching, the only thing that he could truly feel as they continued on this relentless hike north. The cold did not bother him so much as the unerring assault on his mind.
Flinching against another flash across his temple, Cloud turned only slightly, glancing over his shoulders at the team.
"No," he stated bluntly. "We keep moving. No sense in wasting another night. Sephiroth is waiting and we need to get to him before it's too late."
He started to press on, ignoring the way that snowflakes whipped into his vision. But he was stopped by another gruff shout, this time, a heavy hand gripping him by the shoulder and pulling him backward.
"Wait a damn minute," Barret woofed, forcing Cloud to whirl around and face him. His irritation skyrocketed, disgust at being touched and rage at the unwanted interference. " It's past nightfall and everyone on this damn team is hungry and exhausted. We've been hiking through pure ice for the last 10 goddamn hours!"
Cloud narrowed his eyes, feeling his blood boil beneath his frigid skin. Without hesitation, he walked up to Barret, standing chest-to-chest with him even though the man towered over him.
"We aren't stopping," he informed him coldly. "If you can't handle it, you can stay behind."
Barret narrowed his eyes, then gave Cloud a rough push in the center of his chest with one thick finger. "You need to take your spikey-head up out of your ass," he roared. "You ain't the only one on this team. "Look around you, Cloud. We ain't gonna survive the night on that cliff."
Cloud's fists clenched at Barret's words, the anger rising in him like a tidal wave. "I am looking around," he snapped, his voice low and sharp. "And all I see are people slowing me down."
Barret's eyes widened, his nostrils flaring as his jaw tightened. "Slowin' you down? Is that what you think this is? We're bustin' our asses out here, followin' your lead, and you got the nerve to say we're draggin' you down?"
Cloud stepped forward, his movements stiff and robotic. "I don't have time for this. We don't have time. Every second we waste here, Sephiroth gets closer to whatever he's planning. If you can't keep up, then maybe you should stay behind."
Barret let out a humorless laugh, his voice booming over the wind. "You don't get it, do you? You keep talkin' like you're the only one who matters, but this ain't just your fight, Cloud. It's all of ours. And you ain't gonna get nowhere alone, no matter how much you pretend otherwise."
Cloud's vision blurred for a moment, a pulse of pain shooting through his head. His grip on reality wavered, the edges of Barret's silhouette flickering like static. Sephiroth's voice whispered in his mind, oily and smooth.
They're weak. They'll fail you. Slow you down. They always do.
Cloud shook his head, the noise in his brain roaring louder. "I'm not pretending anything," he ground out, his voice shaking with suppressed fury. "I know what I'm doing. I know what needs to be done. And I don't need you or anyone else second-guessing me."
Barret took another step closer, his face a thinly-veiled mask of rage and disappointment. "You keep sayin' you know what needs to be done, but all I see is you runnin' yourself—and us—into the ground. You ain't thinkin' straight, Cloud. Hell, I don't even know if you're you anymore."
The words hit like a physical blow, and Cloud staggered back, his breath hitching. The snow around them seemed to darken, the wind howling louder as if it were feeding off his turmoil. His mind swirled with conflicting images—Aerith's still body, the flames of Nibelheim, Sephiroth's 're not real. None of this is real.
Barret jabbed a finger at Cloud's chest again, his tone unwavering. "You think you can do this alone? Go ahead, then. But don't expect the rest of us to follow when you're too damn blind to see what's in front of you."
Cloud's lips parted, but before he could retort, a loud, exasperated voice cut through the icy air.
"All right, that's enough!" Cid barked, stepping between them. He shoved Cloud back with one arm and planted himself in Barret's path with the other, his weathered face a mixture of irritation and exhaustion. "You two wanna throw punches? Fine. But wait 'til we're not freezin' our asses off in the middle of a goddamn glacier."
Barret's glare didn't soften, but he didn't move forward either. Cid turned his attention to Cloud, pointing a gloved finger at him. "And you—pull your head outta your ass, kid. People are dyin' to keep up with you, and all you're doin' is runnin' them into the ground."
Cloud opened his mouth to argue, but Cid cut him off. "Save it. Whatever's goin' on in that spikey head of yours, you ain't gonna get to Sephiroth faster by killin' your whole damn team in the process."
Cloud looked away, his teeth grinding together. The anger was still there, boiling under the surface, but so was something else—shame, guilt, the weight of Barret's and Cid's words pressing against the cracks in his mind.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. "Stay here if you want. I don't need any of you."
Cloud ignored the look of disbelief that stretched Cid's haggard face and the way that Barret flinched. None of it mattered to him. It only mattered that he get north and put a stop to Sephiroth, once and for all. With the cold nipping at his skin, he turned on his heels, heading in the direction of Gaea's Cliffs, even as the night sky continued to darken.
"Cloud?"
Tifa's voice called softly from the distance, pulling his attention briefly. He glanced back at her, the ache in his head momentarily dulled. She stood a few feet away, her expression heavy with worry, her arms crossed against the cold.
Cloud turned fully to face her, his irritation clear in the sharpness of his movements. The cold stung his skin, but the ache in his head was worse, a constant, maddening pulse that only seemed to worsen the more he tried to focus and concentrate. He glared at her, the words spilling out before he could temper them.
"Tifa, don't try to stop me," he said, his voice harsher than he intended. "If the others don't want to follow, that's fine. I'll find Sephiroth myself. I don't need anyone slowing me down."
Her expression flickered—hurt, worry, frustration—but she didn't back away. Instead, she took a step closer, her boots crunching softly in the snow. He could see the visibly pained expression pull at the lines of his face, and it prickled at something deep in his chest.
"Cloud, please. You can't do this alone. You're not thinking clearly, and if you keep pushing like this, you're going to—"
"I'm fine," he interrupted, his tone cutting through the frosty air like a knife. He turned his back on her, intending to leave her and the others behind. If they couldn't keep up, that was their problem.
Not his. Not anymore.
"Cloud, stop!" Tifa's voice rose, desperation bleeding into her words. "Please,listento me. This isn't just about Sephiroth. It's about you. You're... I'm scared for you. Let me help. Please."
Cloud almost didn't stop. Almost didn't turn. But something about the tremor in her voice made him glance back. That's when he saw it—the way she curled her arms around her middle, holding herself tightly against the cold. She was trembling, but it wasn't just from the icy wind. It was a familiar gesture, one he'd seen so many times before, betraying the chaos and uncertainty in her heart.
It struck him hard.
Memories surged in unbidden flashes. Tifa as a child, standing alone in the Nibelheim square after her mother's death, hugging herself with the same fragile determination. Tifa, years later, at the well, arms curled around herself as she asked him to make her a promise. Tifa, standing in front of him in her room in Sector Seven, arms clutching her tummy as she shyly asked him on a date.
Something in him broke through the haze. Something inside of him—something that wasn't consumed by rage or pain or delusion—surfaced, cutting through the insidious whispers in his mind. He exhaled shakily and shook his head, as though trying to physically dislodge the darkness pressing down on him.
Slowly, he walked back to her, his boots crunching over the snow.
"Tifa," he said, his voice soft now, hesitant. He almost didn't recognize the sound of it, realizing that in the last day, the disquiet in his own brain so overpowering his every sense.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with a mixture of hope and fear. She glanced down, her eyes trailing his body and her expression tightening.
"Cloud, you're freezing."
Cloud frowned, confused. What was she talking about? The pain in his skull intensified as the turmoil in his mind swirled. Unsure of what was driving her sudden concern, he followed her gaze to his own arms, finding his skin pale and tinged with blue, his fingers trembling slightly from the cold. He hadn't even noticed.
"Why didn't you grab a coat in Icicle Inn?" she asked, frustration mingling with worry as she reached out and grasped his forearms. Her leather-bound hands were warm, the touch shocking against his frigid skin. She rubbed his arms briskly above his braces, her brow furrowed, crimson eyes picking up the glow of the moon. "You're going to frostbite out here if you don't warm up."
Cloud wanted to argue, to tell her it didn't matter, but the words caught in his throat. Her hands, her presence, the very sight of her - it was stabilizing, grounding him and pulling him out of the spiral he hadn't even realized he was in.
"Tifa, I -"
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly as she interrupted him. Her hands gripped his arms tightly, and with the strength that belied her lithe form, she pulled on him just enough to jostle him slightly in her direction. "Let's go back to the cabin. Just for tonight. You don't have to do this alone, Cloud. Let's rest, so we can be ready for tomorrow."
Her words settled over him, heavy but comforting in a way he had to admit he wasn't ready for. The last several hours had found him stepping outside of himself, and it seemed she was the only one who could bring him back.
Even when he hadn't realized he was gone.
He swallowed, hesitating for a long moment and savoring the feel of her grip around his forearms before slowly nodding. "Fine," he said, his voice low and gruff but yielding. "Just for tonight."
Relief washed over her face, and she let out a shaky breath. She stepped closer, as if to guide him, but he didn't move immediately. There was a pull in his chest, a familiar and magnetic sensation he couldn't ignore.
Before he could think too hard about it, he reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. He wasn't sure what was coming over him, but the familiar helplessness he felt when it came to Tifa was infiltrating his bones and suddenly all he could think about was being with her, pleasing her, giving himself to her completely.
Tifa looked up at him, startled by his sudden change in demeanor and the simple but affectionate gesture. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she let him take her hand, his grip firm but careful, as though afraid she might slip away.
She tightened her hand around his.
"Let's go," he said softly.
They walked back toward the cabin together, the snow crunching beneath their boots. For the first time in what felt like eons, Cloud's mind was quiet, the constant ravaging that tore at him suddenly pushed aside. Tifa's presence at his side seemed to beat back the demons and visions that had been curling through the ridges in his brain since they'd arrived at the Temple of the Ancients, and he had to admit that the brief tranquility it brought him was welcomed, no matter how temporary it might be.
Finally entering Holzoff's cabin, they found it warmer than Cloud expected, a sharp contrast to the biting cold outside. It made him acutely aware, despite his enhanced senses and mako-forged protection, how cold he really was from being out in these frigid temps without proper clothing all day. The smell of a hearty beef stew filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of old wood and the smoky tang of the fire crackling in the hearth. Voices greeted them as they stepped inside, but they died quickly when their party noticed him trudging in a step behind Tifa.
Barret was mid-sentence, his large hand wrapped around a mug of something steaming. Yuffie, Vincent, and Cid sat nearby, their bowls half-eaten, Nanaki curled by the fire with his emblazoned tail flickering back and forth. Holzoff, the weathered and wiry old mountaineer who had welcomed them into his cabin, was at the head of the table, a bushy eyebrow lifting in curiosity as Tifa gently closed the heavy wooden door behind them.
All eyes turned to Cloud.
The air in the room shifted, heavy and charged with unspoken and dangerous tension. Cloud felt it immediately, and it made him suddenly cognizant of how their group was beginning to fracture, mostly thanks to him. Barret's brow furrowed deeply, his dark eyes narrowing with something between anger and exasperation. Yuffie's expression was guarded, her usual levity replaced by unease. Even Nanaki, ever composed, lifted his head slightly, his fiery tail flicking in muted agitation.
Cloud's hands flexed at his sides, and he unconsciously shifted closer to Tifa, his shoulder brushing hers as if her presence alone could shield him from the scrutiny. The security of having her so close to his side was the only thing at that very moment that was keeping him from snapping at everyone
Holzoff, who was easily seventy years old, broke the silence, his gravelly voice filling the bleak void that sucked all of the air out of the room. "Young man. You look like you've been through a meat grinder," he said bluntly, squinting at Cloud. "You're half-frozen. Sit down before your fingers fall off."
Tifa stepped forward quickly as if to defuse the tension. "We need to warm him up," she said, her voice steady but gentle. She placed a hand on Cloud's arm, her touch grounding him even as his shame flared hotter than the fire. Her fingertips were warm and they set off flames under his frozen skin, his blood responding as if she'd set a match to his veins. "He's been out in the cold too long."
Holzoff nodded, gesturing to the small kitchen in the rear of the cabin. "There's hot food on the table, and plenty of blankets upstairs, young lady. Take him up there—no sense staying down here in the drafts. He needs to thaw out, and fast."
Cloud opened his mouth to protest. He hated the feelings of helplessness and ignominy that weighed him down from how useless he appeared in front of his team. He could feel all of their stares pinning him down from their seats, an array of disdainful emotions —pity from Yuffie, frustration from Barret, disgust from Cid, and even an empathetic sadness from Vincent. It churned his stomach, the shame coiling tighter, and he felt himself withdrawing, curling inward.
His despairing thoughts were disrupted when Tifa's hand slipped into his once again, her fingers curling gently around his with an encouraging squeeze. "Come on," she said, her voice soft but insistent. She didn't wait for him to argue, didn't give him a chance to sink deeper into his own misery and conflict. Instead, she guided him toward the stairs, her hand firm in his as though she were afraid he might vanish.
He could only follow, no longer wallowing in self-loathing but instead entranced by the sway of her body as she moved. The others said nothing as they ascended, but the weight of their silence followed him, thick and suffocating.
The second floor was quieter, the warmth of the fire below rising to fill the small space. The room was simple but nicely furnished, a narrow bed pushed against one wall, a low table, and a thick pile of blankets folded neatly in the corner. The glow of the firelight flickered up to the ceiling, painting the walls in amber and shadow.
Tifa led him to the bed, finally letting go of his hand. Cloud watched her, his body stiff and unyielding, but his chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the woman who, despite her own pain, remained so dedicated to helping alleviate his. She was careful, methodical, moving with a quiet determination as she grabbed one of the blankets and draped it over the bed.
"Sit," she said gently, her hands brushing against his shoulders to ease him down. He obeyed without thinking, his legs folding beneath him as he sank onto the mattress in one slow movement. The bed was softer than he was expecting, and he braced himself with his hands on either side of his thighs, looking up at her speechlessly and unsure of what to do or how to even respond to her care.
She crouched in front of him, her crimson eyes scanning his face, his hands, his arms. Her worry was etched into every line of her expression, and it gnawed at him. Why did she care so much? He didn't deserve her. He had never deserved her.
His mind flashed back to Gongaga. Pushing her into the reactor. Carrying her, crestfallen, back to the village. The way she kissed him and promised to protect him. The way she woke the very next morning, having forgotten everything, all because of him.
The way they had spent the next weeks trying to reforge their pasts and their connection to one other, leading up to the night they shared in the Gold Saucer.
"Your hands are like ice," she murmured, reaching for them. It was then that he noticed she had shed her gloves, having tossed them to the side along with her coat and scarf. She rubbed his hands briskly between her own, her warmth bleeding into his frozen skin.
Cloud swallowed hard, his throat tight as he carefully eyed her movements and the concentration etched into her features. The pain of his unworthiness was almost unbearable now.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," she interrupted, her voice steady. "Let me."
Her words silenced him, and he watched her work, her touch both practical and unbearably tender. She slipped his gloves off, exposing his stiff, pale fingers, covering them in her own before she rose to grab some of the blankets and wrap them around his gaunt and heavy shoulders.
For a moment, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire below and the faint whistle of the winter winds outside.
"Tifa," he finally spoke, his voice hoarse.
She paused, looking up at him, her hands still wrapped around his. "Hmm?"
"I..." The words caught in his throat. He wanted to apologize, to explain, to say something that could convey the storm raging inside of him but still let her know just how much she meant to him. But the words were scrambled in his mind, forlorn sentiments floating over shaky breaths and the constant reminder that he was nothing but a failure in her eyes.
"Thank you," was all he could manage.
She smiled faintly, her grip on his hands tightening briefly. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything right now. Just... let me take care of you, okay?"
He could hardly breathe in the face of such a statement, his eyes hooked on her ruby orbs without any hope of looking away. He nodded, the motion slight, and for the first time in hours, the ache in his chest began to ease.
She rose then, pulling another blanket from the pile and draping it over his knees. The weight was comforting, and her hands lingered for a moment, her fingers brushing against his side.
"You'll be warm soon," she said softly.
Cloud watched her as she moved, her presence anchoring him in a way nothing else could. The whispers in his mind were quieter now, seemingly muted by her voice and her touch, her unwavering love.
Love?
It couldn't be. He didn't deserve it.
When she returned to his side, she hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to him, close enough that their shoulders touched. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn't heavy. It was calm, filled with something unspoken but deeply understood. Something that they had been visiting back and forth since they had reunited in distant Midgar but most certainly since that fateful morning in Cissnei's bedroom in Gongaga.
And for the first time since they'd left the Gold Saucer, Cloud let himself lean into whatever it was. Intoher.
"You know," she murmured, lazily tipping her head against his shoulder. "I've been thinking a lot about the past. About… our childhood."
Cloud blinked, his gaze shifting to her face. Her expression was calm, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes as she looked down at the blanket they shared.
Cloud shifted uncomfortably under Tifa's gaze, her words stirring something inside him that he wasn't ready to face. The fire crackled softly, its warmth a sharp contrast to the tension knotting in his chest.
"I… I'm still remembering bits and pieces," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "But it's all... hazy. Like pieces of a puzzle that don't quite fit together yet, y'know?"
She glanced up at him, her faint smile carrying a weight that made his stomach churn. "But anytime you talk about Nibelheim, it helps. It's like it fills in the gaps."
Cloud nodded, swallowing hard against the lump forming in his throat. Her words held an unspoken plea, one that tugged at parts of him he had long tried to bury. The truth of those days was tangled and sharp, and it wasn't something he could give voice to—not now, not yet.
"What do you want to know?" he asked instead, keeping his voice steady, though the effort left his throat dry.
Tifa paused, her hands stilling briefly over his. "Anything," she said after a moment. "Anything you remember. What you liked to do, what you thought about... what you wanted to be."
Her gaze held a quiet vulnerability that made his chest tighten. The memories came unbidden, clawing their way to the surface—the boy he used to be, standing on the edges of her world, desperate to be a part of it. To be noticed by her.
To bespecialto her.
But he couldn't tell her that. Not now.
Cloud let out a slow breath, his gaze dropping to the fire. "I used to watch Gramps and the other old men in the village," he said finally, his voice low and even. "On summer nights, they'd sit outside, drinking and telling stories. Sometimes they'd get loud enough to wake half the village."
Tifa's lips curved into a faint smile, and the tension in his chest eased slightly.
"Sometimes," he continued, "I'd wander around the outskirts of the village. I liked exploring the fields, the forest... places where no one else went. It was quiet out there."
It was true, though it wasn't the whole truth. The edges of those memories bled into others—of watching Tifa with her friends, the laughter that wasn't meant for him, the moments that made him feel invisible. And the jealousy that burned hot and shameful in his chest, even as he told himself it wasn't fair to feel that way.
"That sounds nice," Tifa said softly, pulling him from his thoughts. Her hands resumed their gentle work, her touch grounding him even as his mind threatened to spiral. "I used to wonder where you went sometimes. You'd disappear for hours."
Cloud hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly under her grip. "I just... liked being alone," he said vaguely. "It was easier."
Her expression softened, and she tilted her head, as though trying to read him more deeply. He could feel her gaze pressing against the walls he'd carefully built around himself, and for a moment, he worried she might see the cracks.
Even so, Tifa didn't press him further, and for that, he was grateful. He wasn't ready to talk about the truth of those days—about how he'd watched her not just because he was curious, but because he wanted so badly to be part of her world. To be the one she laughed with, the one she trusted.
He wasn't ready to admit how much he'd envied her friends or how much he'd hated the boy he used to be—the boy who couldn't find the courage to close the distance between them.
But sitting here with her now, the firelight casting warm shadows over her face, he realized he didn't need to say those things. Not yet.
For now, it was enough just to be here.
The warmth in her voice settled in his chest, spreading like the heat of the fire. For a while, they talked quietly, trading memories of Nibelheim—of the mountains, the well, the small moments that lingered in the haze of the past.
Tifa brought over a tray of food at some point, simple but warm and filling. They ate together, the silence between their words comfortable and easy. Cloud found himself relaxing, the tension in his shoulders easing as the room's quiet intimacy wrapped around them.
For the first time in what felt like days, he felt... normal. The grief and guilt were still there, lurking at the edges of his thoughts, but they no longer consumed him. At least not for now, he'd found a temporary refuge to store them. All that mattered was the warmth of the fire, the soft cadence of Tifa's voice, and the way her presence filled the room and wrapped around his heart.
When she smiled at him, he couldn't help but smile back, the moment grounding him in a way he hadn't thought possible.
After they ate, Tifa cleared away the tray, setting the last remnants of their meal to be forgotten on the small table. The fire crackled, casting a soft glow over the room, its warmth welcome but not enough. Cloud noticed the way Tifa rubbed her arms absently, a faint shiver coursing through her shoulders despite the blanket she had wrapped around her.
She sat on the edge of the daybed now, no longer at his side, her posture tense, her gaze lost somewhere in the flames. The heavy look on her face struck him like a dagger to the chest—pain and exhaustion etched into every line of her features, her usual strength seeming so far away.
Cloud swallowed hard, his heart twisting as guilt clawed at him. How long had he been so consumed by his own torment that he'd ignored hers? She'd been by his side this entire time, carrying her own grief and burdens, and he... he hadn't even thought to ask how she was holding up.
"Tifa." Her name left his lips in a rough whisper, unsteady and unsure.
She turned her head slightly, her crimson eyes finding his, but she didn't speak. The flicker of vulnerability in her gaze was enough to shatter whatever wall he'd been trying to hold up.
Wordlessly, he shifted, opening the blanket draped around his shoulders. He held it out to her, the motion quiet and tentative, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Come here," he murmured, his voice soft but firm, leaving no room for her to argue.
Tifa blinked, her expression flickering with surprise, then hesitation. "Cloud, I don't want to—"
"Please," he interrupted, his tone almost pleading. "You're freezing, too. Just... let me do this for you."
Her lips parted, but no protest came. Slowly, hesitantly, she slid closer to him, her movements unsure, as if afraid she might break something fragile. When she finally settled under the blanket, the space between them seemed to hum with unspoken words.
Instinctively, Cloud reached for the blanket she had given him and pulled it over her knees, inviting her to share the warmth beneath. The faintest hint of a smile crossed her pouty red lips, and she leaned even closer to him, a gesture that was so natural and affectionate that it betrayed the feelings and connection between them that Cloud had found elusive for far too long.
Cloud tightened the blanket around both of them, his arms moving carefully as he pulled her closer. She curled against him, her body fitting against his in a way that felt achingly familiar and yet brand new. The warmth of her seeped through his clothes, chasing away the last remnants of the cold, but it was the vulnerability in her proximity that struck him the hardest.
She sighed softly, her head coming to rest against his chest, her hands clutching lightly at the fabric of his shirt. Cloud's arms tightened around her instinctively, his grip protective and gentle, his fingers brushing lightly against her back.
For a moment, he simply held her, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head. The quiet between them was thick with the weight of everything left unsaid—the grief they shared, the unspoken fears, the yearning that had always lingered between them like a tether too fragile to pull taut.
Long moments passed where they sat in quiet silence together, before Tifa shifted even closer to him, her heat pressing deeper into his skin. She reached over under the blanket and took one of his hands again, this time interlocking their fingers together.
Cloud tilted his head slightly, pressing a feather-light kiss to her forehead. He lingered there for a moment, his lips brushing her skin as he closed his eyes.
"Thank you," he whispered, the words barely audible but carrying every ounce of his sincerity.
Tifa didn't respond with words. Instead, she shifted closer, the fingers of one hand tightening slightly against his shirt while the other deepened their handhold. The gestures were small, but they spoke volumes—acceptance, trust, and something deeper that Cloud was too cowardly to name.
They stayed like that, the firelight casting soft shadows over their intertwined forms as the world outside the cabin fell away. Slowly, the tension in Tifa's body eased, her breathing evening out as she drifted into sleep.
Cloud held her tighter, his own eyes growing heavy, though his thoughts remained restless. He wasn't sure if he deserved this moment—this closeness, this comfort—but he couldn't bring himself to let go.
Not of her.
As sleep claimed him, the storm in his mind was quiet for the first time in what felt like years. And for now, that was enough.
But it wouldn't be for long.