Chapter Text
Cloud’s replacement phone was pretty much a carbon copy of his old one. It had the same number, theme, and ring tone. Reeve had even restored his contacts and call history, which was a little too much like being under Shinra’s omnipresent eye for Cloud’s comfort.
Still, the practical upshot was that Strife Delivery was back in business with hardly any delay. A week after Sephiroth’s attempted advent, Cloud was traveling again; a week after that, he resumed overnight deliveries. He’d been relieved, needing to be away from the unspoken fears and recriminations he could still see in Denzel, Marlene, and Tifa’s eyes. Maybe if he showed he was trustworthy, some of that would fade.
Which was why instead of being home, Cloud was spending the night alone in a little hole-in-the-wall inn and waiting for Tifa to call. It was a familiar routine with them. Even after he’d let their family down, disappeared due to his geostigma, she’d still continued to call him every night. Her refusal to give up on him had been a lifeline. If she’d given up, he probably would have, too. Just let himself stop moving, stop resisting, and let Sephiroth take him. But she hadn’t, and had welcomed him back at Seventh Heaven after the silver-haired bastard had been defeated again. He doubted she would ever give up on him, which just proved she was too good for him. She deserved more than his taciturn self would ever be able to offer. Not because he didn’t want to give it, but because he couldn’t seem to get it right. Which the impending conversation would soon show.
Cloud and conversation were not good friends. At best, they were unfriendly acquaintances. He could talk about battle tactics or monster weaknesses, but small talk was a mystery, and discussing his thoughts or feelings was more uncomfortable than pulling teeth. For someone who’d once told him that words weren’t the only way to indicate how you felt, there were times when Tifa didn’t seem to understand that words were truly difficult for him. He’d be lucky if he managed anything more than affirmative grunts for his half of the conversation, and could already hear the brightness in her voice fading at his lack of response. If there was one person he wanted never to disappoint, it was Tifa, yet it was a pattern he couldn’t seem to break.
When at last the phone rang, his trepidation was palpable. Tifa didn’t seem to notice. “You sound chipper. Did you have a good trip down?”
“Aa.” And there was his first affirmative grunt. He ran one hand through his hair and sought for words. “I’ve been waiting for your call.” Nothing fancy, just the simple truth.
“Me, too.” Her response was soft and a little shy, but also pleased. Because of him. Because he answered the phone instead of hiding behind voice mail. Ironically, instead of helping him relax, it just made him more tense, made it even harder to find words to say to continue the conversation. Here was proof that the things he said mattered to Tifa. That he was the focus of her attention, and his actions were important enough for her to notice. That she wanted his attention in return. It was a gift he didn’t deserve, and he knew he couldn’t be trusted not to mess up. Again.
Fifteen torturous minutes later the call ended. Each hung up to the sound of the other’s voice saying good night, but Cloud was silently cursing himself for all the things he’d still left unsaid.