Chapter Text
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WHAT WE PROMISE IN THE DARK
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1
When we were liars
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Cloud hates the break room. There’s nothing wrong with the room, really—it’s the people in it that make the place unbearable. Gossip always flows, endless chittering that’s become little more than a buzzing in his ears now—but he remembers when he started his job at Shinra Corp three years ago. He would hear every word back then; they would pique his curiosity for a second or two, but the affluent stream of gossip would drown them out, so he stopped listening.
Sometimes, though, he still listens. Out of boredom, really; it happens on the rare days where he’s got nothing to do. Like today. Today, Cloud takes his time getting a coffee refill, and that’s why he hears the gossip.
“Being rich will do that to you.”
“Why is she even here, anyway? Other than to be the company’s little princess.”
Cloud rolls his eyes. There’s no doubt who they’re talking about—Tifa Lockhart, daughter of one founder of the company. He glares at the coffee pot, willing it to drip faster; he can’t listen to this bullshit without coffee.
“I just hate that she pretends to be nice. We all know she looks down on us.”
“Yeah, I remember that. Like, at least have the guts to be honest.”
“Seriously. Maybe people would respect her if she was.”
Cloud turns his head a little to spy on the people talking—and freezes as he spots Tifa Lockhart standing still in the doorway to the break room. For a second, she seems hurt, almost shocked, but he blinks and she’s back to normal—cold and composed. Like she doesn’t care about all this, and Cloud figures he must have imagined the crack in her armor.
Her heels click as she steps into the room; the hush that falls over the employees weighs heavily. Cloud can’t help it—as he pours his fucking coffee, he angles his body so he can watch the scene. While Tifa Lockhart isn’t his favorite person in the company—far from it, actually—there’s something satisfying about witnessing the culprits reaping the consequences of their actions.
He can’t say if he’s surprised or not when she says nothing—in a way this is worse, her silence only amplifying the one that blanketed the room at her arrival. She makes for the coffee maker, and Cloud moves to the side to let her access it. Her nearby presence crowds him, but he refuses to walk away like he’s one of those scared gossipers—after all, he’s got a meeting with her in the next hour, and this isn’t the time to seem afraid. His stubbornness is why he notices her pinched lips and frown as she fills her insulated cup almost to the brim; the way she’s positioned, no one else could witness her annoyance—because annoyance is what Cloud guesses this is. He knows that’s what he would feel.
When Tifa is done pouring her coffee (his coffee, really, but he’ll let it slide this time), she takes her sweet time looking for cream and sugar, adjusting her coffee to taste, and twisting the lid back on her cup. Cloud takes a sip of his too-hot coffee to hide his growing smirk at her dedication to making everyone in the room feel uncomfortable. She twirls around on her heels and out of the room with one last, lingering look in the gossipers’ direction. It takes a moment after she leaves for people to speak up again, but by then Cloud has lost interest, so he goes back to his office.
Out of the few offices he’s cycled through in his career, this one at Shinra Corp is his favorite. It’s far from being extravagant—the space is more than enough for him alone—but the windows make the room look spacious and bright, something he enjoys immensely. They had offered him another office on a higher floor when he had gotten promoted four months ago, but while it had been bigger, the prevalent darkness of it hadn’t suited him. Cloud plops down in his chair, puts down his cup on the table, and prepares his materials for his meeting with Tifa Lockhart.
As he searches for some stray paper he needs—one day he’ll get used to keeping things on a computer—Cloud thinks back on what happened in the break room. Though it would be easier to pretend he’d imagined her hurt when she’d come in and overheard, Cloud knows it’s an unfair thing to do. Anyone constantly hearing their coworkers trashing them would be affected, and there’s no reason to assume Tifa would be any different despite her best efforts to be. The thoughts keep on whirling through his mind as he makes his way to her office, three floors above.
The elevator’s doors open on a much nicer space, one he doesn’t visit that often. He veers to the right, heading for her office, and stops as he reaches the doors. Cloud throws a glance at her assistant’s empty desk—it’s a complete mess, similar to his, actually—but he’s glad to see Yuffie isn’t there. He’s not in the mood for her chattering. His knock on the office’s doors resounds in this rather empty corner of the floor, and Cloud already has his hand on the handle by the time he’s called inside.
This isn’t his first visit to Tifa’s office in the years he’s worked here. Still, there’s always a sting of jealousy when he enters—the space is big and lavish, though not so different from others’ with similar positions in the Company. But it’s the wall of windows that makes him sigh in envy. Cloud drags his eyes towards Tifa, who is still focused on her computer, her furious typing echoing in the room.
“Miss Lockhart,” he says as a greeting. Her insistent use of formality when addressing others has always annoyed him, but he knows better than to be too familiar.
“Just a minute.” Her eyes don’t stray from her screen as he takes a seat.
Cloud drops the documents on the edge of her desk; he crosses his legs and leans back in the chair, waiting. Truth is, he hates waiting, more so in situations like these. Her blatant dismissal of his time only reminds him why she’s not his favorite person—to work with or otherwise. He taps his foot, the steady rhythm joining her typing. After a minute, she halts, a frown betraying her irritation, and swivels in her chair to face him. Cloud keeps his foot moving for longer than necessary so she hears his impatience loud and clear.
“Are you ready?” she asks with a pointed look.
“Of course.” Cloud gestures at the documents. “Everything has been there for a few minutes now.”
It surprises him when she goes to roll her eyes—she catches her display of displeasure before it goes too far, but it’s hard to ignore coming from her. From Tifa Lockhart, who never allows her cold facade to crack. Well, almost never, he thinks as he remembers what happened earlier. She goes through the file in silence, and after a minute, Cloud resumes tapping his foot. It’s both to ease his exasperation and build hers.
“Would you stop that?” she snaps after another minute.
Cloud widens his eyes as he falls deeper into the chair; his foot doesn’t stop. “Stop what?”
“That tapping,” she bites out, closing the folder. “It’s annoying.”
“You could just ask politely, you know.” Still, he complies, aware he can’t push his luck too far.
When she does roll her eyes this time, Cloud raises his eyebrows in surprise. It’s so unlike what he’s come to know of her, to be open with her emotions, that he figures she must be having a really shitty day.
“The proposal is fine.” Her curt tone acts as a dismissal.
It’s hard to contain the incredulous chuckle that escapes him—and to be honest, Cloud doesn’t try very hard. “That’s it?”
“Did you expect anything else?” She switches her focus to her computer once more.
“Feedback? Guidance?”
“It’s fine as is.”
Irritation zaps through Cloud as she keeps her gaze away from his. “No improvements needed? None at all?”
“What do you want me to do, Mr. Strife?” She stops typing. “For me to tell you how to do your job?”
“No,” Cloud says, voice snappier than should be, “but you could do yours.”
Her hands curls into fists over the keyboard. “I see you still haven’t discovered what respect is.” She leans forward; her voice is low when she says, “The proposal is fine, Mr. Strife. Now get out.”
It takes a lot out of him not to scoff, but he manages to keep his composure as he grabs the file and gets to his feet. He says nothing, only strides for the door, letting it fall shut behind him. Cloud is again glad for Yuffie’s absence as he continues towards the elevator—there’s no doubt his anger is written all over his face. Tifa Lockhart’s attitude is what always got to him—not her status at one of the founders’ daughter, not her position in Shinra Corp possibly being handed down to her on a silver platter. Maybe it’s because of the undercurrent of falseness that he’s always sensed around her, or maybe it’s just her in all her cold glory; it’s not that it matters, really, but every time he meets with her, Cloud leaves irritated.
This time, as he gets back to his office and throws the folder on the desk, the papers scattering on the surface and on the floor, Cloud finds himself on the deep end of annoyance. He doesn’t even glance at the discarded documents; instead, he walks to the window and watches the world of Midgar below him. This false sense of control, like he’s untouchable from this high up, has always brought him some calm. It’s no different this time around, only the anger doesn’t fade completely; the afternoon carries on, and though it thins out, there is still a string of vexation that manipulates him. At some point, he goes back into the break room to get more coffee—and his glare shuts down a coworker’s budding joke about his caffeine intake. Cloud usually ignores those, but today is not the right day for harmless teasing—he feels ready to snap at just about anyone.
The thing is, Cloud knows there’s nothing wrong with his proposal—there rarely is, to be honest. He got where he is now through hard work and dedication; mistakes aren’t part of his practice and are few and far between. What got to him earlier was Tifa’s blatant disinterest and dismissal; there is no way in hell she got through the documents this fast, and her snappy attitude let him know she must have skimming the text.
The thought swims through his mind as he goes over the fucking proposal he knows is good, and then one more. Her lack of commentary left him anxious and doubting—now that no one else will look it over, he has no choice to do it himself. By seven, his eyes sting and his head hurts; Cloud throws his pen on the desk, staring at his improved proposal for the Loveless campaign—there were things to fix, and he’s glad he went through it before submitting it. But as he goes to email the documents to Mr. Tuesti, Cloud freezes. And instead, he prints it; he puts the proposal in order again and grabs the folder that had fallen to the floor earlier. He doesn’t bother with the papers still strewn all over. Once everything is ready to be presented, he leaves his office and heads for the elevator.
Cloud is more than aware that pettiness is what fuels him as he exits on Tifa Lockhart’s floor. It’s almost empty at this hour, most employees having finished by five. But he knows she leaves late—they’ve crossed paths in the lobby after six often enough—and if she’s gone, he’ll just leave the goddamn file for her to find. Or at least, this is what he intends to do. As he gets closer to her corner of the floor, voices rise—a woman’s and a man’s, both unrecognizable to him. Cloud rounds the corner and stops in his tracks.
He does know one voice, after all—it’s Tifa’s, but it sounds nothing like he what he’s used to. It’s not cold or detached or deadly soft; it’s fiery and annoyed and louder than he’s ever heard. She stands before Yuffie’s desk, a blonde man wearing a suit before her—and to Cloud’s surprise, she looks wary, or maybe even afraid. Still, her voice doesn’t shake as she speaks over the man.
“I told you, already! I’m not doing it.” She goes to move to the side, but the man steps to intercept her. “Would you stop that!”
“Tifa, you know you don’t have a say in this.” The man’s voice is smooth, almost amused, and it makes Cloud frown in apprehension. “How about you accept it’s going to happen?”
“I don’t want to,” she hisses, “and therefore there’s nothing to accept.”
When the man grabs her arm and pulls her closer to whisper something in her ear—something that makes her eyes widen—Cloud doesn’t think twice about his actions; he’s next to them in seconds. She’s the one who sees him first, and this time there’s no denying the panic in her expression.
“What are you doing?” Cloud’s heart beats too fast as he tugs her away from the man; the movement is a little too sharp, making her stumble over her heels, but she regains her balance easily enough. His hand sneaks down her arm to clasp her hand, and he hears the slight hitch in her breath at the gesture. He turns his head towards her; the words that leave him blanket the room in a hush. “You okay, baby?”
Tifa freezes for a second only—a contrast to the blonde man who still and whose features shutter into blankness. She nods and squeezes his hand, playing along. “I’m okay.”
Cloud stares at the man across him; they look similar in a way that makes him irritated, only this man is richer and more assured—and clearly used to getting what he wants.
“Baby?” the man says in a whisper. The quiet and curious tone of his voice is more of a threat than if he had yelled. “Tifa, what’s this? A little something you forgot to mention?”
“The little something is just Tifa’s boyfriend,” Cloud says, speaking loud and clear. “And we’re leaving. Have a good night.”
Before the man can say anything else, Cloud leads Tifa away; he opens the door to her office and shuts it with more force than necessary. She immediately lets go of his hand and strides for the couch, almost bumping into the coffee table. Cloud walks past her and the couch towards the wall of windows, dropping the folder on her desk on the way. It’s dark out now, and the endless lights of the city glitter back at him. His heartbeat is still too fast, too intense, but the sight of a bustling Midgar bathed in darkness helps soothe the crazed rhythm.
The sob that breaks the silence doesn’t surprise him—it’s become obvious by now that Tifa Lockhart isn’t the cold and composed woman she always pretends to be. She’s like him or anyone else—human and filled to the brim with emotions that eventually overflow, drowning their minds. Cloud detaches himself from the window, picking up the box of tissues on the desk before sitting next to her, making sure to keep a certain distance. He extends his hand with the box while staring straight ahead; he gets the impression she wouldn’t want him looking at her right now.
“Tissues?” he says, voice soft and a little awkward.
Tifa stops crying at this; her breathing is a little uneven, a little harsh, but she gets it under control quickly enough. She takes a few tissues without a word and dabs at her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers after a while.
He drops the box on the table before them. “No problem. You okay for real?”
“No.” She takes a deep breath, crumples the tissues, and throws the ball into the wastebasket next to her desk; it lands next to it, but she doesn’t bother picking it up. Instead, she falls back into the couch. “But I will be. I don’t have a choice,” she adds, chuckling without mirth.
“Who was that?” Cloud leans his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands.
Her sudden stillness tells him he asked something he shouldn’t have—or should have the answer to. Tifa takes her time replying; she goes to run her hand through her hair but stops when she remembers it’s tied in a bun. The gesture has Cloud realize he’s never seen her with her hair down; her proper hairstyles are as part of her work persona as her haughty attitude, and he wonders if the real Tifa would look different.
“That was Rufus Shinra,” she says at last, her voice wary. “I thought you knew.”
The world opens under his feet—godfuckingdamn it, he just had to piss off the son of Shinra Corp’s President. Cloud rubs his cheek, his headache from earlier returning at once. He doesn’t regret helping Tifa, and part of him knows he would have done it even if he had known who the man was—but the agitation at the possibility of Rufus Shinra making his life hell remains.
“Okay.” Cloud rakes his hand through his hair, messing it up even more; he hopes the casual movement will mask his nervousness. “So, what did he want?”
To his surprise, Tifa laughs; there's a hysterical note to the sound, one that makes him think she’ll cry again. She doesn’t, though—but the panic from before still seeps into her words. “He wants to marry me.” At his silence, she adds, “You know how our families are close. This is what everyone expects.”
“But you don’t want to?” Cloud asks softly.
She snorts and shakes her head. “No. He’s not a good person. That’s…” A pause, only broken by a quiet sigh. “That’d be reason enough even if I wanted to go along with the idea.”
Her phone chimes, then once more after a few seconds. It seems to snap Tifa back into her usual self—the self Cloud now understands must be a lie—and she sits straight, smoothing out the winkles of her skirt.
“You should go home, Mr. Strife. Thank you for helping me out of this.” Her gaze avoids his, settling instead on the folder he left on her desk. “I suppose that’s the new proposal?”
“Ti—Miss Lockhart,” he says, catching on his slip, “that’s not important right no—”
“I’ll look it over.” Her voice is loud enough to drown his. “Thank you for tonight.”
Cloud stares as she stands and walks to her desk; she picks up the file and sits at her chair, leaving him with no apparent choice but to leave. It annoys him a little, sure, but he’s aware this must be her way of protecting herself and the reputation she built—any vulnerability she’s shown him tonight must now be buried and forgotten.
“Alright.” Cloud gets to his feet and walks for the door. He hesitates as he grabs the handle; after a second, he turns his head a little, just enough to spy her from the corner of his eyes. He pretends not to notice how her shoulders droop and how she rests her head in her hands. “Goodnight, Miss Lockhart.”
Leaving doesn’t sit well with him as he makes his way down to his office to grab his belongings. But once in his car and on the road home, he reminds himself this was nothing more than an attempt to help her out of a tight spot. It can end here, tonight and right now. Tomorrow, when he’ll come in for work, he’ll act like he never saw Tifa as she doesn’t want to be seen.
—
Of course, that’s not what fate had in mind, and the next day, Cloud hates that he thought any differently. He’s answering an employee’s question on the floor when he notices the sudden hush settling over the room; the clicking of heels is the only sound for a few seconds, and when he turns around to see Tifa heading his way, there is no surprise to be felt.
“Mr. Strife,” she says as a greeting, her voice as cold as ever, “I need to speak with you.”
There’s no arguing with her tone, and though Cloud wishes he could tell her he’s busy, he doesn’t. He might have yesterday, but not now, not when he figures this has nothing to do with his proposal—she wouldn’t have come down to his floor if it had been the case.
“Of course.” He signals at her to follow him, and they head for his office. As soon as the door is closed, he asks, “What’s up?”
His lack of formality doesn’t seem to shock her. It amuses Cloud because she’s been amongst the many supervisors who lamented his messy hair, his rolled-up sleeves, and loosened tie, not to mention his typical informality when addressing others. And now he knows it’s just another aspect of the front she puts up.
Tifa leans against his desk and grips the edge with both hands as if steeling herself. “I need your help.”
“Alright.” Cloud crosses his arms, resting against the door. “Guessing it’s Rufus?”
Her nods is her only answer for a moment. “He told my Dad I have a boyfriend. And that I refuse to marry him because of said boyfriend.”
Cloud stills as the statement washes over him. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” She blows out a breath. “Oh.”
“So…” Dread pools in his stomach as he trails off.
“I need you to act as my boyfriend,” she says, not hiding her annoyance. “Starting right now.”
“Right now?” Cloud frowns at the sudden commotion outside and pushes away from the door.
Tifa eyes the door with plain wariness. “Rufus is on his way. He was asking who you were this morning. Yes or no?” she asks with a desperate edge.
As he noise on the other side of the door escalates and he hears someone asking for him, Cloud feels his world spin—Tifa’s last question echoes in his mind, and he doesn’t have the time to decide before someone knocks on the door.
“Mr. Strife?” It’s his secretary’s voice, sounding more irritated than timid despite who must stand at her side. “Mr. Rufus Shinra here to see you. Apparently.”
Cloud ignores Tifa’s defeated posture as he opens the door, moving aside as Rufus Shinra strides in without invitation. “Thank you, Jessie,” he says with a nod.
“Everything okay?” Jessies leans in to whisper, “I can kick his ass, you know.”
“I’m good, thanks.” His wry expression makes her laugh, but she twists on her heels and goes back to her desk.
“Nice office,” Rufus Shinra says once the door is shut. There’s amusement filling his voice again, like he’s just here to squash a bug, and Cloud figures that’s what he is to him. “A little small, but it’s nice.”
Cloud schools his features to be impassive as he turns around to face him. Tifa hasn’t moved from her spot, and he notes how her grasp on the desk has grown taunt. “What do you want?”
“Listen, Cloud, I admire what you did last night.” Rufus smiles like a predator about to tear into his meal. “Thinking you were coming to Miss Lockhart’s rescue. But—”
What decides for Cloud is Rufus Shinra’s blatant lie—that Cloud only thought he was coming to Tifa’s rescue, like he didn’t notice the fear in her eyes. Before he knows it, he’s spoken over the President’s son. “I came to my girlfriend’s rescue. Now,” he carries on at Rufus’s scoff, “is there anything I can actually help you with?”
Rufus’s smile dims—just a little, but enough to tell of his irritation. He shoves his hands in his pants’ pockets. “You could help me by stopping this joke. Tifa is my fiancée.”
Movement behind Cloud alerts him of Tifa’s approach; she stops at his side, arms crossed over her chest, her features twisted by anger. “I’m not, and you know it.”
“Your father won’t like this, Tifa,” Rufus says, voice deadly soft. “You know what he wants.”
“I don’t give a shit what all of you want.” From up close, Cloud can see the trembling of her hands and how she tries to hide it by tucking them under her elbows and at her sides. “Get the fuck out, Rufus. I’m tired of your bullshit.”
Silence falls between them—the buzz of the floor floats through the closed door, but Cloud barely hears it. He’s too aware of what is happening in his office; of Tifa’s tense form as she holds in her breath, waiting for Rufus to say something; of the President’s son standing still, his smirk frozen on his face; of his own pounding heart as he waits for one of them to crack.
“Fine,” Rufus says after a minute goes by, “if that’s how you want to do this. Then I expect you’ll stop hiding your boy-toy from now on?” He makes for the door but stops before Cloud first. His eyes don’t stray from Cloud as he addresses Tifa. “I’ll see you both at the Company’s Christmas party, then? Together, I suppose, though that’s still a month away." He smiles, slow and wolfish—and Cloud can’t help but roll his eyes. “A lot can happen in a month.”
“We’ll be there,” Cloud snaps. “Hopefully I don’t have to see you until then.”
“I doubt that’ll happen.” Rufus opens the door, halting as he is about to cross onto the floor. “Congratulations, you two,” he says with false cheer. His voice is loud enough to catch people’s attention; a few heads turn their way, and Rufus nods at them with a smile as he walks away.
Cloud doesn’t wait for him to be far before closing the door; he ignores the curious looks from the employees. What he did doesn’t register at first—it’s only when he hears Tifa sigh that it does.
“That’s it, uh?” he says as he faces her. “What’s the deal, then?”
For a while, all Tifa does is stare at him—he notes the gratitude in her eyes, the relief making her shoulders sag. But then, she stands straight, and he fears it’s the return of her usual composed persona until she speaks.
“Thank you so much, Cloud.” She tucks away a strand of hair that escaped her bun, the gesture bashful. “I know this is asking for a lot coming from me.”
Cloud steps forward and past her to stand before the windows, hoping for the serenity to find him again—but it fails him this time. “I think that’s asking a lot from anyone you don’t know.”
“Well, you know more about me than most people in this company,” she says, her voice getting louder as she joins him. “Still… I’m sorry for asking this.”
He holds in the it’s fine about to leave him because it’s not fine, not really. “So, how does this work?”
“We’ll have to make it seem like we’ve been dating for a while, I suppose. To sell what Rufus told my Dad. I don’t want to marry him, Cloud,” she says softly.
Cloud stares at the city, unblinking, letting her words settle over him. He thinks of Rufus Shinra’s smug smile and knowing look—the man is aware they aren’t a couple, and he’ll probably do anything to prove it. But he also thinks of the fear in Tifa’s eyes last night, of the raw sob she let out in her office, of her coming here to ask something so ridiculous of him—all the while knowing he might say no.
“Alright,” he says, making her glance at him.
Her voice is still soft as she asks, “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I promise you won’t marry him.”
Tifa only nods, but there’s something more sincere about her silence, and Cloud enjoys it. Below them, the rush of Midgar carries on like the world didn’t change—it’s only his that did, Cloud realizes, and there’s no going back on his word.
He buries his hands in his pockets and gives her a small smirk. “I also kinda want to prove him wrong.”
“You do have a petty streak,” Tifa says, her own smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You redid your entire proposal to prove a point.”
“It needed improvements, anyway.”
“I’m sorry about that, by the way. He’d been emailing me all day, and I got frustrated. I should have done my job right.”
Cloud shrugs before turning around. “I’ll let it slide this time, baby.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Tifa mumbles, frowning.
He ignores her protest and slides into his chair. “What are you going to call me? Honey? Sweetheart?”
“I think I’ll stick to Cloud, thanks,” she says, wryness coating her words.
“Hm, I guess it’ll have to do.” His smirk makes her roll her eyes. “I’ve got work to do, Miss Lockhart, so if you don’t mind…” He gestures at the door.
Tifa stays still for a few seconds as if debating something, but then strides for the door. “Thanks again, Cloud. I’ll email you later so we can meet up.”
“Don’t mention it,” he calls out without looking up from a document.
He waits until she’s left and he’s alone again before sighing and letting his body slump in his chair. An incoming email has him groan, and Cloud scoots his chair closer so he can stay sprawled in it and still access the computer. It’s from Mr. Tuesti—Cloud swears as he realizes he forgot to send the proposal last night. But the email is not what he expected.
Mr. Strife,
Excellent proposal for the Loveless campaign. It came highly recommended by Miss Lockhart as well.
Keep up the good work,
Reeve
Cloud blinks once, twice, then laughs. Tifa sent the proposal for him, probably aware he’d be too preoccupied to remember it. His chuckle fades as he reads the message again. He’s opened a new email and entered Tifa’s email before he knows it. He keeps it sweet and short.
Thanks.
Cloud
When her answer comes in, a simple No problem, Cloud shakes his head, wondering what the fuck he got himself into. This definitely calls for more coffee; he’s about to get up, but another email from Reeve comes in.
Rufus Shinra is asking about you. Figured you might want to know. Try not to piss him off.
Reeve
Yes, Cloud thinks with a sigh, he’s gonna need a fuckton of coffee.