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He’s not a touchy guy. Wasn’t when he was a kid and definitely isn’t now.
It’s pretty weird, all things considered. Mom was always friendly. Mom never had those hangups. Tifa had tried to get him to open up when they were younger. She’d given up somewhere along the line and then he’d run off to become a SOLDIER.
You stopped wanting people to touch you after that. Someone was trying to kill you half the time. The other half they were trying to inject you with something and it was just...pain. Somewhere along the line he’d started associating touch with negative stimuli. It kicked his fight or flight instincts into high gear.
Most people got it. Most people left him alone.
The flower girl didn’t.
He’d met very few people who gave less of a shit about personal boundaries. Wasn’t like Jessie either; with the AVALANCHE Op it was all about artfulness, exaggerating every touch. It was a game, a stage show, and so it mattered a lot less. Aerith was just naturally tactile.
She’d clutch his arm when he motioned for them to stop. She’d hold his hand if she thought something was bothering him. Shit, if she wanted his attention she’d just touch his elbow. That first brush of skin on skin left him jolting upright, staring at the contact. Her hands weren’t as soft as one might have expected; years of gardening had left her with calluses. There’s a gently textured quality when she brushes her thumb over the curve of his elbow. She’s staring up at him with her huge eyes and open face. He doesn’t catch the words.
He doesn’t understand the flower girl. At all. She’s still staring at him and still holding his arm; it takes him actively pulling away for her to finally let go.
“So prickly.”
She’s clasping her own hands together now. He wonders why she needs the contact so badly, if it grounds her or some shit. Aerith rocks from the tips of her toes back on her heels, practically bouncing. He wishes she’d stop. It’s excess movement; it’s a waste of energy. Cloud grunts in lieu of a reply, already in the process of moving past her.
“You could try smiling once in a while, you know. You’re probably scaring off customers.”
“Not my problem.”
“Your face isn’t your problem?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s starting to pick up on these shifts in her mood. There’s a lilting cadence that bleeds into her voice when she’s feeling mischievous. “People don’t pay me to look nice.”
“Cloud,” and she sets her hands on her hips, moving to stand in front of him. Aerith looks like a stiff breeze might knock her over, petite as she stands there in her summer dress and oversized boots. “If you’re going into business for yourself you have to understand something: the customer is always right.”
He gets a feeling he knows where this is going. The ex-SOLDIER crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. And right now, I’m the customer.”
“Ain’t paying me.”
She huffs. She huffs and then she catches his right hand, clasping it between both of hers. “C’mon. Just try it. You might like it.” He doesn’t. Just stares at her, blank faced, and she heaves an exaggerated sigh. Aerith tosses his hand back at him. “Prickly, prickly, prickly. But I’ll wear you down.”
Lots of people have tried. He shrugs and says: “Sure.”
____
Wall Market is crowded. Really crowded and with the wrong kind of people. Aerith sticks out, natural and earthy in a sea of neon. He catches a few guys staring. He’s not jealous; he’s not really anything. But he’s her bodyguard and he’s not about to let her wander in a place like this.
He reaches behind him, fingers curled in invitation. “C’mon. Stay close.”
Only Aerith’s stopped and she’s staring at him as if he’s grown a second head. “Huh?”
He frowns, flexing his fingers. “Don’t wanna get separated.”
Her pursed expression blossoms into a wide grin. It’s soft, rather than teasing, and leaves him needing to look away. He’s not...good at this. Interacting with people or...having them around. Aerith sets her hand in his, threading their fingers together. She doesn’t make some jibe about him being her hero, or tease, or anything. She squeezes his hand and says, “Ok, Cloud. I’ll follow your lead.”
Her skin is warm. Her hands are delicate. He’s never liked having his hands occupied. As a SOLDIER, it was a liability. Couldn’t go for the buster sword quickly enough and those few seconds could make all the difference in battle.
It’s got a weight to it that isn’t exactly bad, though. There’s a hint of resistance when he walks too far ahead and the flex of muscle when she wants to catch his attention. He doesn’t like it. He just doesn’t hate it either.
_____
Aerith doesn’t like the silence.
He’s starting to pick up on these things. They’re on their way back from Seventh Heaven, Tifa on one arm and Aerith on the other (which is a personal nightmare, but he’s trying not to focus on that), and she’s filling the empty air as best she can. Tifa’s a better person. She chimes in; she helps. He just grunts, speaking only when directly addressed.
His friend pinches his bicep, hard. He misses his early days in town. When people kept their hands to themselves and just...left him alone. Cloud holds onto that thought, clings to it. If he doesn’t, he’ll have to face the fact that he hasn’t even tried pulling away. Tifa is soft and warm. Aerith is soft and she’s shivering in the night air. She’s just cold; he doesn’t mind her pressing nearer if she needs the heat.
Tifa hugs him before ducking into her own room. He doesn’t...he’s not going to hug her back but he does...wrap an arm around her. It’s just a limp weight, pressure more than anything. But Tifa laughs, presses her palms to his chest and gives a little shove. “Well, well, look who’s turning into a big softie.”
“Shut up.”
She smiles. For everything else that’s changed, Tifa’s smile remains constant. Midgar hasn’t taken that from her; it’s radiantly bright and warm. He crosses his arms over his chest, tries to look stoic. Tifa pats his cheek. “Don’t worry, tough guy. Aerith and I’ll keep your secret. Isn’t that right, Aerith?”
“Maybe. Maybe we should make him pay us.”
Tifa has the audacity to wink and he’s never hated having people in his life more. “We can hash it out over breakfast. Good night, you two.”
Which leaves him alone with the Flower Girl. Aerith is wringing her hands in front of her, all nervous energy. Not the good kind either. Aerith’s anxiety has an almost electric energy to it, charging the air around her.
He touches her bicep. “You good?”
She’s staring at the metal door, face drawn. He’s never seen her look so tired. “I don’t uh...your room’s nice and all, Cloud, and I’m so grateful to have a place to stay but…” The left corner of her mouth turns up in a wan smile. The young woman shrugs. “Some bad memories. Don’t really...like. Metal...well, cells.”
He steps forward instead of away. Somehow he’s still touching her. “You...wanna talk about it?”
She shakes her head. All the joy in her voice is forced. “Nope!” Cloud nods. Maybe a good friend would offer more. He’s still trying to figure all this out. He turns to go. Aerith catches his wrist. Cloud decides he doesn’t like her like this: small and delicate and drained of all her vivacity. He wishes she’d tease him or something. There’s only the deathly strength of her grip, too much for a woman her size. And there’s no tangent when she finally speaks. Just one tired request, barely a question. “Please stay.”
She expects him to leave. He can see it in her eyes, bright green and so alive. There’s hurt and fear and so much. He doesn’t understand how any one person can feel so much and keep going. And he’s shit at this kind of thing but he still…
“Ok.”
“What?”
There’s so much relief in that one word. Cloud grits his teeth, pushes on. These are his friends and he...it matters. They matter. “I’m your bodyguard, right? So I’ll stay.”
For once, she doesn’t say anything. Aerith nods, grave and still fundamentally off. She doesn’t say anything as she crawls beneath the covers. Cloud lays on top of them. He lets her adjust him. She wants her back to the door; she wants him curled behind her, around her. She’s so delicate; he’s afraid he’ll break her when she hugs his arm over her.
“Cloud?” He grunts in response. “Thank you.”
“Go to sleep.”
She must. Eventually, her breathing evens out. Their fingers are threaded together, joined hands clasped between her breasts. It can’t be comfortable. Her head is resting on his other arm. It’s gone numb already. Her hair is tickling his nose, scented too heavily with floral notes. He still hasn’t moved.
None of this should be comfortable. But she’s warm. She’s soft. It’s calming and those incessant voices in the back of his head, the one’s screaming he doesn’t belong, he’s a coward and a liar…
They’re still there. They just...aren’t as loud. If he closes his eyes, they’re almost silent. Cloud sighs. He hates this. He hates all of this. He half expects her to gloat the next morning. Say she did it; she won. She wore him down. Aerith just stares at him, smiling softly. She brushes the fringe of his bangs away from his forehead and curls into his chest.
He should get up. He ends up turning his face into her hair. He'll hold her until she's ready to face the world again.