Take Me Back to Eden

by Chocobo_Salem

Summary:

He doesn’t plan to use the gun. But he holds it sometimes—just to feel in control.
And then the phone rings.

A story about healing in pieces. About motorcycles, grief, Reubens, and the girl upstairs.

Notes:

📍 AU / Modern Setting
📍 Friends to Lovers
📍 Slow Burn, Soft Angst, Eventual Comfort, Eventual Smut
📍 Cloud Gets a Motorcycle, Therapy, and a Girl Who Never Gave Up

TW: Suicide, PTSD, graphic descriptions of war and injury

Chapter 1: Indigo

It didn’t feel like an explosion. Not at first.

There was a crack—louder than anything he’d ever heard—and then nothing. No ringing, no screaming, no thought. Just silence. The kind that presses in on your chest and makes your lungs forget what to do. Then the ground gave out.

He hit the dirt hard, rolled once, maybe twice. Rocks and sticks bit into his skin. Something sharp lodged in his thigh. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t tell where his rifle had gone. Couldn’t tell where anyone had gone.

When the sound came back, it came in pieces. A high whine. Then shouting. Then the chaos—the barking of orders, the static of radios, the unmistakable sound of someone begging not to die.

Cloud tried to push himself up. Couldn’t. His stomach turned. The smell of blood and dirt was thick, and smoke was curling off what was left of the transport. His unit had been doing recon. They weren’t supposed to engage. They weren’t even supposed to be seen.

He’d seen the glint too late. Just a flicker beneath the leaf litter. Then—fire.

He blinked. Blood smeared across his lashes, warm and sticky. His ears throbbed, pulsing with every weak beat of his heart. Something was wrong. Something was really wrong. His leg. His side. His chest.

His hand found the comm on his vest, fingers trembling as they pressed the button. “This is Strife,” he rasped. Or tried to. His throat was raw. He wasn’t even sure the words came out. “IED. Down. Multiple—”

That was as far as he got.

Rolling to his back was hard. Cloud blinked up at the sky. It wasn’t blue anymore—it was gray, blurred by smoke and dust. The stench hit him next. Blood. Burnt metal. Something else—something worse. He tried to turn his head and nearly choked on the pain that cracked through his neck and down his ribs.

His fingers scraped through the dust and blood until they hit something jagged and wet. His thigh. His thigh. His eyes snapped downward and he saw it—metal, long and wicked, buried deep. Shrapnel. Still smoldering. Bone visible. Blood pooling fast.

“No, no, no—” he gasped, reaching with trembling hands. His left arm wouldn’t move. Useless. Broken. His shoulder hung wrong, ribs grinding with every breath. But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t think. It wasn’t supposed to be there. He had to get it out. 

So he pulled.

The shrapnel came out with a sick, wet sound. His vision blacked at the edges. He screamed. Screamed again when the blood poured like a split canteen. Panic gripped him.

Tourniquet. You need a tourniquet.

Where was his med kit? No time. 

He fumbled at his belt with his good arm, breath coming in ragged sobs. The pressure in his skull was unbearable, his fingers numb. He wrapped the belt above the wound, cinched it hard with his teeth, used his utility knife as a handle, then twisted. He didn’t even register the bone-deep scream that tore from his throat.

Then came the static—his radio. Words. Voices.

“…man down… heavy casualties… we need evac—now…”

He slumped forward, cheek to the dirt, vision flickering.

Boots thundered toward him. He heard them before he saw them. The weight of them. The urgency. Then someone dropped to their knees beside him and grabbed him by the collar.

“Cloud?! Oh fuck, Cloud—”

That voice.

It split through the pain like light.

“Zack?” he whispered.

Zack’s face hovered over his. Covered in ash. Eyes wide with something Cloud had never seen on his brother’s face before—terror.

“Hang on, little bro, okay? I’ve got you. Stay with me.” Zack’s hands moved fast, pressing down on the wound, barking orders behind him. “He’s bleeding out! Get me a medic and a litter—NOW!”

Cloud tried to speak but couldn’t. Zack was shouting again, voice getting farther away, like he was falling down a tunnel.

“I’ve got you,” Zack said, voice cracking as everything went dark. “I’ve always got you.”

 

---

Cloud bolted upright with a gasp—then immediately collapsed back, choking on pain.

Bright lights. A sterile, humming quiet.

It took a moment for the haze to clear. His mouth was dry. His body felt like it had been shattered and taped back together wrong. Tubes in his arms. Bandages from shoulder to hip. His leg—

His leg was wrapped, elevated, but it was there.

His fingers shook as they gripped the edge of the bed.

The dream still clung to him. No—memory. He remembered pulling the shrapnel. Screaming. The heat. The smell. Zack’s hands, slick with his blood. His brother’s eyes, wide and desperate.

Then the medic came. A clipboard in her hands. She didn’t look at him, not right away. She checked his IV, his vitals. Then quietly said—

“You’re lucky.”

He blinked. Could barely speak.

“You’re the only one we pulled out alive,” she continued, voice gentler now. “I’m sorry, soldier.”

The breath caught in his throat. His chest seized. His vision blurred again, this time from tears he didn’t feel fall.

The only one.

Zack had saved him, got him out. Maybe even carried him across the jungle himself.

But it didn’t matter. Not when the rest of his unit—guys he bunked with, laughed with, fought beside—were gone. Vaporized. Names now carved into walls and folded flags.

He curled onto his side as far as his broken ribs allowed, biting his lip hard enough to bleed. The shame burned deeper than the wounds ever could.

His brother was a legend. Cloud was just the kid he had to carry home in pieces.

The door creaked open softly, but Cloud didn’t turn his head. He knew who it was before the boots crossed the threshold.

Zack always walked like he had somewhere to be—even when he didn’t.

Cloud stared at the peeling wall ahead of him, jaw clenched. His leg was immobilized, his ribs wrapped so tightly it hurt to breathe, and the meds they gave him left his mouth tasting like rust. His brother’s shadow crossed the bed.

“Well you look like shit,” Zack said quietly.

Cloud didn’t answer.

Zack pulled up a chair, the scrape of metal legs loud in the sterile quiet. For a while, he just sat there. Elbows on knees, eyes on Cloud like he could read everything he wasn’t saying.

“I brought you something.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out an old, battered Walkman and cassette. Cloud blinked at it, confused.

“Your mix tape,” Zack said with a little smile. “The one with all the Nirvana and that weird industrial shit I never liked. You gave it to Tifa when her mom died, whom you told, ‘it makes me feel better when I’m sad.’ So she asked me to give it back.”

Cloud’s throat tightened.

Zack set the player on the tray beside the bed. “We figured you might want something to drown out the noise.”

Still, Cloud didn’t speak. The noise…

“I know what you’re doing,” Zack said after a moment. His voice softened. “You’re going over it. All of it. Every second. Trying to figure out what you missed.”

Cloud swallowed hard.

“You didn’t miss anything, Cloud.”

“I pulled the shrapnel out,” Cloud whispered, voice barely audible. “Like a dumbass. I knew better. I made it worse.”

Zack leaned back, sighing through his nose. “Yeah. You did. That metal was plugging the hole in your femoral artery.”

Cloud looked over sharply, shame flashing hot across his face.

“But you still managed to slap a tourniquet on yourself with one good arm, a shattered shoulder, and a body full of scrap metal,” Zack added. “I’ve seen trained medics freeze up. You didn’t. You moved. You fought.”

“Doc said I was the only one who lived.”

Zack’s jaw ticked. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t even like all of them,” Cloud whispered. “But they were mine. And I’m still here.”

Zack looked down at his hands. “I’ve been there.” he said quietly. “Every op I’ve ever done—every time we come back with one man missing—I think about what I could’ve done different. What I should’ve done.”

He reached out, carefully placed a hand on Cloud’s forearm.

“You didn’t survive because I happened to be there or because I’m your brother. You survived because you didn’t quit.”

Tears stung Cloud’s eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. He just nodded—barely—and Zack gave his arm a firm squeeze.

“Get some rest. You’ll need it,” Zack said as he stood. “I’ve got your six. Always.”

 

After Zack left, the room felt too quiet again.

Not peaceful—hollow. Like the silence was pressing in from all sides.

Cloud sat motionless in the hospital bed, the blanket bunched around his hips, IV still taped to the back of his hand. The tray table beside him held untouched broth, a melted cup of ice, and—carefully placed—the old cassette tape.

He reached for it slowly.

The case was scratched and cloudy with age, but the handwriting on the label was unmistakably his—blocky, all-caps, just slightly too big to fit in the lines. Track names were crammed along the margins, ink from a long-dried marker faded to dusty gray.

He remembered this tape.

He remembered everything about it.

The summer between elementary and middle school, when the world still felt like something he could fix if he just tried hard enough. He used to sit beside the radio in the living room with his finger hovering over the record button, waiting. Calling the request line. Waiting some more. Timing it just right, getting frustrated when the DJ talked over the intro.

He’d spent days stitching it together.

Not for himself.

For her.

Tifa had just lost her mom. The funeral had been quiet, the kind of sad no one knew what to do with. Cloud hadn’t known what to say—not really. But music had always helped him. When he was scared. Or lonely. Or sad in that slow, aching way that didn’t show on his face.

So he made her something to listen to.

He remembered giving it to her outside the dojo. She hadn’t said anything at first—just stared down at it like it was fragile. Then she looked up with watery eyes and hugged him so tightly he nearly dropped it. She cried. Right into his shoulder. No words. Just trust.

That was the first time Cloud understood what it meant to belong to someone.

You’re mine. And I’m yours.

I’ll keep you safe. Always.

Now, years later, the tape had come back to him.

He ran his thumb across the worn plastic. The hospital light caught the edges of the case, glinting soft gold.

He didn’t play it. Not yet.

 

---

The ward had fallen into that strange midnight stillness—quiet, but never quite silent. Machines clicked. Fluids dripped. Somewhere down the hall, a nurse’s shoes squeaked faintly against polished tile.

Cloud lay awake.

The lights were dimmed, the kind of low glow meant to soothe. It didn’t. Nothing really did—not the meds, not the antiseptic smell, not the way the ceiling tiles all looked the same.

He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop the loops in his head.

The blast. The crater. The silence after the screaming.

Cloud shifted, careful not to jar the IV in his arm, and reached for the Walkman. It was still where Zack had left it, sitting beside his water cup like a quiet offering. The headphones felt too big over his ears, but they muffled the world in a way he was desperate for.

He pressed play.

A faint hiss of static.

Then…

A low, haunted hum. The first strained notes of a cello, slow and heavy, followed by the hollow rasp of Kurt Cobain’s voice.

Something in the way…

It wasn’t loud.

The tape was worn. The sound warbled slightly, a little warped from heat and age. But it didn’t matter. The moment the song started, Cloud felt it in his bones.

That ache. That soft collapse. The sound of someone barely hanging on, too tired to fall apart properly.

He stared at the ceiling as the lyrics spilled out, raw and ghostly.

Underneath the bridge… the tarp has sprung a leak…

It was the same song he’d picked all those years ago, sitting beside the radio in a dark room with a half-melted slushie and a ball of worry in his chest. He didn’t even know why he’d chosen it then—just that it felt right. Like someone else understood what it meant to carry sadness you didn’t have the words for.

Back then, he’d given it to her.

Now it was coming back to him.

And it still knew.

Cloud closed his eyes, and for the first time since the blast, he let himself feel everything.

The guilt. The exhaustion. The weight of living when others hadn’t.

The tears came silently.

He didn’t stop them.

It’s okay, the music seemed to say. You’re not alone. You never were.

And Cloud, breath shallow and chest aching, curled into himself and let the tape keep playing.

Three weeks passed and cloud was discharged from the ICU. A week after that, he was sent home with strict orders to keep up with his PT. 

Physical therapy was hell.

He’d been cleared for movement, barely, and every session felt like punishment. Cloud couldn’t even stand at first without help. His leg buckled under his weight, and the muscles in his shoulder screamed every time he tried to lift a cup.

Zack’s emergency family leave was approved so he went with him to every appointment.

He was always there—on the bench, arms crossed, barking encouragement when Cloud wanted to quit.

“You want me to carry your stubborn ass again?”

“No? Then move your Chocobo head having ass.”

Some days, Zack made jokes.

Some days, he just sat in silence while Cloud vomited from the pain.

And on the night when he realized this was his life now. The words disabled veteran running through his mind over and over. Zack was the one who helped him through the anger. 

Tifa didn’t call often—not because she didn’t care, but because she knew him. Cloud wasn’t the type to talk when he didn’t want to, and he definitely didn’t want to.

But she texted constantly.

Midterms are actual hell. I cooked a steak at 3am just to cry into it. 7/10, would not recommend. 

 

10/10 on the steak. 

 

Aerith says hi. She wants to know if you’re still “tall, blond, and brooding.” I said obviously.

P.S. you’re still my emergency contact. So don’t die. Please.

 

She sent voice memos when she was walking to class—wind in the mic, the shuffle of her boots, half-laughing rants about her professors. Pictures too. A new dessert she was practicing. Her wearing a ridiculous apron that said, “I made you some Shut the Fucupcakes.” A snap of the city skyline from her dorm window with a simple caption: I miss you.

Cloud didn’t respond at first. But he listened to everything.

---

The PT clinic smelled like antiseptic and old sweat.

Cloud’s leg buckled for the fourth time that week. His shoulder refused to cooperate. The therapist’s words blurred together like white noise.

Zack cracked his knuckles nearby, trying to hide his tension.

Later that night, Cloud collapsed into the couch, too tired to sleep. He opened his phone. Scrolled through Tifa’s messages. One of them was a video—just five seconds of a cupcake with a sparkler jammed in it, and Aerith giggling in the background.

He smiled, just barely.

Then texted:

Looks like you finally learned how not to burn baked goods.

Tell Aerith I’m still brooding.

 

Tifa’s reply came two minutes later. 

Progress!

Proud of you. Always.

 

Tifa came down once every month or so, whenever she could steal a weekend.

She never stayed long—college was demanding and expensive—but when she showed up, it was with food in hand and fire in her eyes. She’d march in, open the windows, and tell Zack to “go take a walk or something,” then sit on the edge of Cloud’s bed and look at him.

Not pity. Just… presence.

She brought his favorite ramen once, the kind from the back-alley shop they used to sneak out to as kids. She made jokes. Told him stories about Aerith’s latest relationship disaster. Sometimes they lay in his bed curled up together during a Star Wars marathon.

“You’re getting stronger,” she said once, mid-visit, when she saw him walk from the couch to the window without limping. “I can see it.”

Cloud shrugged. “Still broken.”

“So?” she said, nudging his knee. “Things that break can be remade. Stronger.”

One afternoon, after a particularly brutal PT session, Cloud sank onto the living room floor and leaned against the wall. His breath came shallow. His hands trembled. The pain was white-hot.

Zack sat beside him, slid a fresh water bottle over, and said nothing for a while.

Then: “You ever think about what’s next?”

Cloud shook his head. “Feels too far.”

Zack nodded. “Okay. Then just think about tomorrow. Or tonight. You’ll eat. You’ll sleep. That’s enough.”

---

Six months after the accident.

Cloud could stand now. Walk from one end of the apartment to the other.

He could even carry a pot of water without shaking.

To everyone else, he looked… better.

Better enough to stop checking in.

Better enough that the nurse stopped calling.

Better enough that Zack’s leave extension was denied.

“They need me back in Wutai,” Zack said one night, hands clenched around a mug he hadn’t sipped from. “Front lines again. High-value extraction.”

Cloud didn’t say anything.

Zack leaned against the counter, watching him like he could stall time just by willing it. “It’s not too long this time. Just a few months.”

Cloud kept his eyes on the floor.

“I’ll leave you the car,” Zack added. “You can drive now. You’ve got the meds. Your therapist’s on call. Tifa’s a phone call away. You’re not alone.”

“I know,” Cloud said.

Zack hesitated. “Do you?”

 

At first, Cloud kept the routine. PT. Meds. Short walks to the corner store.

But then the apartment got too quiet.

He left the TV on, not because he watched it—just to drown the silence. He fell asleep on the couch one night, a beer bottle still half-full in his hand. The next night, he finished the six-pack.

Just to “unwind.”

He missed his next PT session. Told himself he’d reschedule.

He didn’t.

Tifa calls. Then Texts:

Haven’t heard from you in a bit. Everything okay?

…

Cloud??

 

He didn’t answer..

Tifa tried again a few days later with a voice memo:

“Hey. Not trying to bug you, I just… I know things get heavy. You don’t have to talk. But I’m still here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

He listened to it once. Then again.

Then put the phone face-down and opened another beer.

 

Zack called from the barracks one night. The connection was spotty, but Cloud could hear the roar of engines behind him, the grit in his voice.

“You good, bro?”

Cloud laughed softly, bitter. “Yeah. All good.”

He didn’t tell him about the bruises from falling in the shower. Or the drinking. Or how he’d woken up three nights in a row choking on air, convinced he was back in the jungle. 

Didn’t tell him he’d stopped eating for a few days. That the only thing he could taste anymore was metal.

Zack believed him.

Or maybe he didn’t.

But he said, “I’ll be home soon. Hang in there.”

And Cloud said, “Yeah. See you soon.” But meant, “I’m drowning.”

Chapter 2: Midgar Blues

Summary:

“Please,” he whispered into the crook of her neck. “Don’t tell Zack. He has enough to worry about. I’ll go back. I’ll fix it. I promise.”

Notes:

Trying to learn how to write shorter chapters. Very Short ones, apparently.

It was dusk when Tifa got off the train in Nibelheim.

She hadn’t planned to come—not really. She had midterms in three days, and Aerith had warned her not to spread herself too thin. But Cloud hadn’t answered her in over a week. No texts. No calls. No read receipts.

And she’d felt it. That heavy, invisible pull in her gut that said something was wrong.

The house was silent when she arrived. Not just quiet—silent. The kind that feels unnatural. Like everything inside was holding its breath.

She knocked once. No answer.

The door was unlocked.

The living room was a mess. Blankets strewn across the couch. Empty bottles clustered by the trash. Dirty dishes stacked in the sink. 

The hallway light flickered overhead.

“Cloud?” she called, voice low, cautious.

She found him on the floor of his bedroom, Half-asleep, shirtless, pale, dark circles under his eyes, and bottle hanging from his fingers. There was music playing on the radio near the bed.

“Tifa,” he croaked, sitting up too fast. “What… what are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Her voice cracked. “You haven’t answered me in a week.”

“I—I’m fine.”

“Cloud, the house smells like mold. You haven’t showered. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

He slumped, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

She didn’t move for a long time. Neither did he. Then she walked over, sat beside him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His body was stiff, resistant—but then he melted into her, forehead pressing to her collarbone like a child. Like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore.

“Please,” he whispered into the crook of her neck. “Don’t tell Zack. He has enough to worry about. I’ll go back. I’ll fix it. I promise.”

Tifa pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. I swear. I’ll call the therapist. I’ll finish PT. Just… please.”

She studied him for a long moment—saw the shame, the fear, the desperation not to be a burden. Then she nodded.

“Okay. But if you lie to me again, I will call him.”

 

Cloud meant it.

He went back to physical therapy, limped through the final sessions. The therapist signed off on his recovery with cautious optimism. He took his meds again. He showered. Cleaned the house. Ate regularly—even cooked once or twice.

Tifa came when she could. Sometimes stayed the weekend. Brought flashcards and studied at his kitchen table, just to be close. She kept things light—funny stories, dumb memes, Aerith’s latest dating drama. And when Cloud couldn’t sleep, she didn’t say anything. Just curled up on the couch beside him, two separate people tangled in the same silence.

Things got better. Or looked better.

Until the dreams came back.

It started subtle. A tremor in his hands. The return of the metallic taste. The growing pressure in his chest that wouldn’t ease no matter how hard he breathed.

He didn’t drink—not yet—but he stopped replying again. Avoided mirrors. Stared at walls for hours. Slept too much. Or not at all.

The worst days were the quiet ones. When everything looked normal—but felt wrong.

When he caught himself standing in the hallway, holding a blade from the drawer and not remembering why. It was then he decided he needed to get out of the house. 

---

Cloud found work at a tire shop on the edge of town—the kind of place that paid in cash, didn’t ask for a résumé, and smelled perpetually of burnt rubber, motor oil, and despair.

It was hard work. Grueling, thankless. His shoulder protested every lift, and his fingers ached in the morning cold, still stiff from nerve damage and half-healed breaks. But he didn’t complain. Didn’t ask for help. Didn’t talk much at all.

He showed up.

Did the job.

Went home.

Most nights ended the same. He’d kick off his boots, heat a can of whatever was closest—chili, beans, soup—and eat it straight from the tin. Half a bottle of cheap whiskey dulled the edges. By the time he passed out on the couch, the taste of rubber was still clinging to the back of his throat, and the sound of pneumatic wrenching echoed in his skull like a lullaby.

Zack sent money once a month. Quiet Venmo deposits, always under dumb labels.

Utilities.

Pizza fund.

Because I said so.

Cloud never asked for it. Zack never stopped sending it. 

Tifa still texted, at first.

How’s the job?

You eating okay?

Want to call later?

 

Cloud answered—less and less, and always with the same clipped replies.

Work’s fine.

Yeah, I’m eating.

Sorry, I missed this

 

Eventually, the messages slowed. Then stopped.

Therapy ended with a shrug.

He told himself he was busy. Said it out loud once or twice, and it sounded believable enough. He’d made it through physical rehab, after all. He could walk. Lift. Smile when someone cracked a joke at the shop.

“Fine,” he told the therapist.

They believed him.

He almost did, too.

But the whiskey came out earlier now. Sometimes before dinner. Sometimes instead of dinner.

He started sleeping with his boots still on. Left the laundry until there was nothing clean left to wear.

Stopped checking his phone.

The mix tape sat untouched on the shelf, the label faded to a ghost of its former self.

The Walkman’s batteries died. He didn’t bother replacing them.

 

The space between him and Tifa widened slowly.

Not with a bang—but like shoreline erosion. A little more distance each day. Messages came less often. Her check-ins grew shorter. Sometimes she sent a meme, a picture of something she’d cooked, a sleepy photo of Aerith grinning in the background.

Thought of you when I saw this.

Made your favorite—still too much garlic, sorry.

Hope today’s not too hard.

 

He rarely replied.

Tifa had exams. A job. A roommate. A best friend.

A life.

And Cloud—quietly, inevitably—faded out of it.

She still cared. That much was obvious in every message, every photo. But when he stopped answering, she didn’t push. Maybe she thought he was busy. Maybe she hoped it meant he was getting better.

She didn’t know he was already slipping backward.

---

Two years passed. Cloud had moved to Midgar to be closer to the VA.

Zack’s contract ended without fanfare. He didn’t renew it.

By then, the war had soured into something unrecognizable—bloated with lies, weighed down by loss, and hollow at the core. Wutai wasn’t a mission anymore. It was a loop. A blood-soaked treadmill chewing up soldiers and spitting out ghosts.

Zack had been loyal. Committed. He did what was asked, followed orders, buried the dead. But somewhere along the way, he stopped believing any of it mattered.

It wasn’t just Cloud. It was everything.

Every soldier he talked to sounded the same—tired, jaded, used. Kids who didn’t sleep. Men who didn’t laugh anymore. Women with thousand-yard stares and no one left to call home.

But through it all, one silence lingered louder than the rest.

Cloud.

Zack hadn’t heard from him in months. Not really. A few dry texts. One clipped phone call. A voicemail that was never returned. He tried not to imagine the worst, but the weight in his chest never let up.

He knew.

He’d always known. Even when Cloud was a kid—too small for his boots, too angry to ask for help—Zack could read him better than anyone. And what he saw now, in that silence, was someone slipping further and further away.

So he turned in his gear. Packed a bag. Took a few mercenary jobs to keep the lights on.

And went home. Not to Nibelheim. To Midgar.

Chapter 3: Ghostlight

Summary:

It grounded him in a sick, quiet way. The cool metal. The weight in his palm. The click of the safety switching off, then back on.

TW: Suicide

Cloud was staying with Roache—an old squadmate from basic. One of those guys who never really left the war, even after he came home. They’d both crawled through the same dirt, bled in the same mud, and now they were drinking themselves numb in a shoebox apartment that smelled like smoke and fried grease.

The place was a wreck.

Cracked walls. Leaky faucet. A fridge full of beer and takeout boxes that should’ve been thrown out a week ago.

There were no pictures on the walls. No furniture that matched. No sense of time.

They slept until noon. Stayed up until dawn. Told themselves they were doing okay.

Cloud picked up work when he could—delivery gigs, grunt labor, whatever didn’t ask for paperwork. He’d come home sore and silent, crack open a bottle, and drink until his thoughts stopped forming words.

Sometimes he didn’t remember the nights at all.

Once, he woke up shirtless on the back patio, freezing, a bent cigarette still clutched in his hand and no idea how he got there.

He didn’t tell Roache. Didn’t tell anyone.

Because somewhere deep down, Cloud had started to believe this was all he deserved.

 

There was a pistol in the drawer.

His old standard-issue service pistol. Still kept clean, always loaded. He’d taken it when he left the service. No one had asked. No one cared.

Cloud never told Zack about it.

He never planned to use it. Not really. That wasn’t the point.

Most nights, it stayed buried under his socks and spare phone chargers, beneath the clutter of a life too messy to sort through. But sometimes, when the drinking wasn’t enough—when the weight behind his eyes got too heavy—he’d pull it out.

Sit on the edge of the bed. Hold it in both hands. Not raised. Not aimed. Just held. He told himself it was about control. That it wasn’t about dying. Not exactly. 

It was about remembering. What could happen. How quickly everything could end. How easy it would be to just… stop.

It grounded him in a sick, quiet way. The cool metal. The weight in his palm. The click of the safety switching off, then back on.

It wasn’t about death. It was about the option. Sometimes just knowing he could choose was the only thing that kept him breathing.

It was raining the night it got bad. Not the gentle kind—biblical rain. Sheets of it hammering the windows like the sky wanted to drown the city.

Roache was out. Probably at the bar down the street or passed out in someone else’s apartment. Cloud was alone. Drunk. Unshaven. Barefoot on cold wood flooring.

The lights were off. The fridge was empty. The whiskey was nearly gone.

He hadn’t showered in three days. Hadn’t slept in two. Every time he closed his eyes, the blast came back. The dirt. The ringing in his ears. The blood soaking through his uniform. And always—always—the same question.

Why me?

He didn’t remember standing. Or walking.

One second he was on the couch. The next, he was in the bedroom with the drawer open and the gun in his hand. The world outside blurred into a wash of headlights and stormlight.

Cloud sat down hard. Back to the wall. Gun resting in his lap.

He sat with it for a long time. Bare feet on wood. Rain slamming against the windows like fists. The bottle sat empty beside him, forgotten. His mouth tasted like ash and bitterness. His chest felt hollow.

He ran his thumb over the grip. Flipped the safety off.

 Click.

It made a sound he knew too well. It used to mean readiness. Now it just felt like resignation.

Cloud closed his eyes.

His hand trembled as he brought it up—slowly, methodically—until the muzzle pressed against the soft underside of his jaw. The angle was familiar, clean.

His finger hovered over the trigger.

And then—

His phone rang.

A sharp buzz. A soft chime. Too loud in the silence.

It startled him. He opened his eyes.

The screen lit up in the darkness, face down on the mattress beside him. He turned it over.

Tifa Lockhart. Her name in bold.

And beneath it—a photo.

One he hadn’t looked at in months.

It was from the day he left for basic. He had only graduated  high school the month before. Zack had snapped it without warning, told them to “look badass.” Cloud had tried. Tifa just laughed, that soft, radiant kind of laugh that made her eyes crinkle.

She was leaning into him, hand on his chest like she belonged there.

He remembered that day so clearly.

He remembered how beautiful she looked in the sunlight, wearing a simple white tank top and cutoff shorts, hair pulled back with a red ribbon. She hadn’t worn makeup. She never needed it.

And him—he was in fatigues, boots scuffed, trying to look tough and failing miserably.

She’d called him brave that day. Kissed his cheek. Told him she’d write every week.

And she had.

The phone buzzed again. He didn’t answer.

He just stared at her face on the screen until the call went to voicemail, and even then, he didn’t move. Slowly, his hand lowered. The safety clicked back on. He set the gun down on the nightstand, gently. Like it might explode. 

Then he curled forward, arms wrapped around his knees, temple to the edge of the mattress, and breathed. Not deep. Not steady. But alive.

The phone screen faded to black. But her face lingered. In his mind. In his chest. He didn’t know how long he lay there.

The storm had faded to a quiet drizzle, the kind that barely touched the windows but made everything gray. The gun was still beside him, untouched, the weight of it pressing into the air like an accusation. Like a promise he hadn’t kept.

---

It had started around midnight.

Tifa had been studying new drink recipes, planning the next weeks menu, spread out like a paper explosion, her laptop humming with notes. Aerith was already asleep on the couch, curled under a blanket with a face mask half peeled from her cheek. The apartment above Seventh Heaven was warm. Peaceful.

But something felt wrong.

At first, she told herself it was stress of running a fledgling business. Not enough sleep. That little knot in her stomach was just pressure.

But it didn’t go away. It grew. Tighter. Sharper. Cold.

She looked at her phone. No new messages. She scrolled to his name. Bit her lip. Called. She counted the rings, five. Then to voicemail. She tried again. And again.

Still nothing.

Her heart started hammering against her ribs. She didn’t have proof, no evidence—just that sinking, sickening feeling curling in her gut like smoke. The one that whispered, something’s wrong. Something’s incredibly wrong.

Tears sprang up before she realized she was crying.

She stood abruptly, chair scraping the tile. Aerith stirred behind her but didn’t wake.

Tifa pressed her phone to her ear again, voice shaking.

“Come on, Cloud… pick up. Just—please.”

It went to voicemail.

And that’s when she did what she never had before, had threatened.

She called Zack.

The call came through while he was half asleep on a security job an hour outside the city. He didn’t even recognize the number at first—but the moment he heard her voice, he bolted upright.

“Tifa?”

She was crying. And trying not to. But Zack could hear it in the breath between her words.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t know who else to call, I just—he won’t answer me. And I know it’s probably nothing, it’s just—my chest hurts and I can’t stop thinking about him, and I don’t know why—”

Zack was already pulling on his boots.

“Where is he?” he asked. His voice had gone cold. Sharp. Soldier instinct.

She gave him the last address she had. Midgar. Somewhere near Sector 3. She didn’t have an apartment number—just what Cloud had texted her months ago. She apologized again, voice breaking halfway through.

Zack’s jaw clenched. “You did the right thing.”

“Even if I’m wrong?”

“You’re not.”

She choked on a breath. “Please… just find him.”

“I will.”

He ended the call. Started the engine. And drove like hell through the rain.

 

His phone sat in his lap. Screen dark. Cloud stared at it, thumb hovering over the screen. He could still feel the phantom cold of the metal under his chin. His hands were trembling. He didn’t have a plan. No speech. No idea what he would say. But his fingers moved anyway—muscle memory, instinct. He tapped Zack’s name. It rang once. Twice. Then:

“Cloud?!” Zack’s voice instantly alert. “Hey. Everything okay?”

Cloud opened his mouth. Nothing came out. A long silence stretched between them. Cloud pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, tried to breathe, tried to swallow the taste of bile.

“Spikey?” Zack’s voice sharpened. “Talk to me.”

“I—” Cloud’s voice cracked. He closed his eyes. “I need help.”

Zack didn’t ask why. Didn’t ask how bad it was. He must’ve heard it in the way the words dropped like stones.

“Where are you?” Zack asked. Already moving. Cloud could hear it—the rustle of fabric, the slam of a door, the engine turning over.

Cloud told him the address.

“I’ll be there in twenty.” A pause. Then, softer: “Don’t go anywhere. Just… stay where I can find you, okay?”

Cloud nodded, even though Zack couldn’t see it. “Okay.”

He hung up. Set the phone down beside the gun. Then threw the pistol far under the bed, like if he could just not see it, maybe it wouldn’t be real. He sat on the floor with his head in his hands.

And waited.

The rain had started again by the time headlights swept across the stained curtains. Cloud sat motionless, hoodie pulled over his head, hands clasped between his knees. The clock on the stove blinked 2:13 AM. 

He didn’t move. Not even when the knock came. Sharp. Familiar. Zack always knocked like that—like the door owed him something.

Cloud stared at the floor, frozen.

Another knock. Then, his voice—muffled but unmistakable. “Cloud. It’s me.”

Cloud rose slowly. He opened the door.

Zack stood there soaked to the bone, dark hair plastered to his face, eyes wide and frantic. He looked like he’d run from wherever he had parked the car. Maybe he had.

His gaze swept over Cloud in a single breath—hoodie too big, jaw unshaven, bruised circles under both eyes.

Then Zack stepped inside and closed the door behind him without a word. 

He took it all in with one slow glance.

The apartment was a disaster—cluttered, sour-smelling, empty beer cans spilling off the counter. No weapons in sight, but Zack didn’t need to see any. He felt it. Hanging in the air like a ghost that hadn’t been exorcised yet.

Neither of them spoke.

Zack reached out, placed a hand on the back of Cloud’s neck, and pulled him in. Not hard. Not demanding. Just there.

Cloud tensed. Then folded.

His forehead pressed to Zack’s shoulder. Not crying—just breathing. Shallow. Unsteady. But breathing.

“You don’t have to say it,” Zack murmured. “I know.”

Cloud nodded against him. “I didn’t— I wasn’t going to. I just…”

“I know,” Zack said again, voice rougher this time. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Zack helped him gather his things—what little there was. A backpack. A coat. A few clothes. The Walkman, batteries still dead, but wrapped gently in an old t-shirt like something fragile. Zack didn’t comment on the gun. Just quietly searched for it, and disarmed it before tucking it away into his own bag.

They didn’t say much.

Roache was passed out in another room, unaware or unwilling to acknowledge the storm that had just passed through his living room.

Zack opened the door. “Come on.”

Cloud hesitated for a second—just long enough to glance back at the chaos behind him. Then he stepped outside. The rain hit him like a baptism. Cold and clean. And when Zack opened the passenger door, Cloud got in without a word.

 

They drove in silence, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Zack’s grip on the wheel was tight, jaw flexing every few seconds like he was biting back a dozen things he wanted to say. But he didn’t say them. He just glanced at Cloud once at a stoplight.

“You’re coming home now,” he said quietly.

Cloud stared ahead through the windshield. “Where’s home?”

Zack didn’t miss a beat. “Wherever I am.”

Chapter 4: The Ghost of You

Summary:

“I almost did it.”

Zack didn’t flinch. Just nodded once. “I know.”

The rain had slowed to a mist by the time they pulled into the cul-de-sac—a row of narrow, sand-colored townhomes wedged tightly between faded brick buildings and flickering street lamps. Zack’s place sat in the middle, small and plain, the porch light buzzing faintly against the dark.

Real estate wasn’t cheap in Midgar. And Zack hadn’t wanted to sell the house in Nibelheim—not yet. Not ever, maybe. So he made do.

One bedroom. One bathroom. A tiny galley kitchen. The living room was barely big enough to turn around in. But it had a couch. And that couch had a trundle bed.

It was enough.

He got Cloud inside, guided him past the threshold like he was leading a sleepwalker. The place smelled like pine cleaner and takeout. Zack tossed the backpack by the door, kicked off his wet boots, and steered Cloud to the kitchen table.

“Sit.”

Cloud sat.

Zack reheated soup—canned, but hot—and set it down in front of him with a spoon. Cloud didn’t touch it at first, just stared at the steam curling off the bowl. But eventually, spoon met hand. And then food met stomach.

He didn’t realize how hungry he was until the third bite. Zack sat across from him, elbows on the table, watching. Not interrogating. Just present. When Cloud finally spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“I almost did it.”

Zack didn’t flinch. Just nodded once. “I know.”

Cloud’s eyes flicked up, startled.

“I found the gun.” Zack said quietly. “I know the signs.”

Cloud exhaled slowly, hands tightening around the spoon.

“I didn’t plan it. Not really. But I held it. I raised it. I was right there.”

Zack waited.

Cloud swallowed hard. “Then my phone rang. It was Tifa.”

He set the spoon down. Couldn’t look Zack in the eye now. “If she hadn’t called… I wouldn’t be here.” The words dropped like stones. Heavy. Final.

Zack reached across the table. Laid a steady hand over Cloud’s. His grip was firm, grounding.“You’re here,” he said. “That’s what matters.”

Cloud nodded, barely.

Zack let the silence breathe for a long moment, then rubbed a hand over his face and muttered, “Shit. Tifa.”

He pulled out his phone and shot her a quick text:

He’s safe. He’s with me. I’ll call you in the morning. Thank you.

 

Then he looked at Cloud again, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“She called me before you did.”

Cloud blinked.

“She didn’t know where you were—just that something was wrong. Said her chest hurt. Said she couldn’t shake the feeling.” Zack shook his head, awe creeping into his voice. “She gave me the wrong address, but I still went. Was already on my way when you called. Only reason I got there that fast.”

Cloud didn’t respond. Didn’t move. He was staring at the table like he was seeing something else—someone else. When he spoke again, it was a whisper.

“She saved my life.”

Zack nodded. “Yeah. She did.” A long silence passed. Cloud finally sat back, stared up at the ceiling, and let out a shaky breath.

“I want to get better.”

Zack didn’t smile. Didn’t say I’m proud of you. He just leaned forward, elbows on the table again, eyes steady and serious.

“It’s gonna be hard,” he said. “And it’s not gonna be fast. There’s no magic fix. You’re gonna want to quit. But if you want it—really want it—I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll carry you through it if I have to.”

Cloud looked at him. Really looked at him. All the years. The loyalty. The love. “How long can I stay?”

Zack tilted his head, like it was the dumbest question he’d ever heard. “As long as it takes.”

 

---

Her phone buzzed in her bag during her 10am culinary theory seminar—third row from the front, notebook half-filled with doodles and half-hearted notes about sauce pairings. Since graduation last year, she still attended these events. With Seventh Heaven just getting its start, she tried to accumulate as much knowledge as possible. 

She excused herself quietly, heart hammering. Zack’s name on the screen. She answered on the first ring. “Zack?”

His voice came fast. Too fast. Rushed and breathless and shaking in a way she’d never heard from him—not even when he called from the front lines.

“He’s safe,” Zack said, not even a hello. “I’ve got him. He’s staying with me.”

She stopped walking. Her breath caught. “Is he—”

“He’s not okay, Tifa. He’s—fuck, he almost—” Zack’s voice cracked. “He had a gun.”

The words hit her like a punch to the chest.

“Said he had it under his chin when your call came through.”

Tears welled in her eyes so fast it burned. “I knew something was wrong. I knew it.”

“You saved his goddamn life,” Zack snapped—not at her, but because of her. “I was already on my way, but it was the wrong address. I would’ve been too late if you hadn’t called first.”

Tifa leaned back against the hallway wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor. Other chefs and students gave her odd looks  “I want to see him.”

“I know,” Zack said, softer now. “Let’s talk first. Can you meet me?”

She was already grabbing her coat.

The café was quiet. One of the only places in Midgar where you could still get a decent espresso without waiting twenty minutes.

Tifa sat across from Zack in a corner booth, hands wrapped around a mug she hadn’t touched. Her eyes were swollen. His hair was still damp from the rain, and there were deep lines around his mouth that hadn’t been there two years ago.

Zack didn’t sugarcoat it. “He’s not okay. Hasn’t been for a long time. He kept it all buried until it nearly killed him.”

Tifa nodded slowly, throat tight. “I knew he was struggling, but… I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Zack shook his head. “It’s more than the war. He never recovered from the rest of it either. His dad. Your mom. Then losing our mom. It’s like every time he found something worth holding onto, life tore it out of his hands.”

Tifa looked down at the table.

Zack leaned forward. “He told me everything. All of it. And he said the only reason he’s alive right now is you.”

She blinked hard. “He said that?”

Zack nodded. “He said if you hadn’t called, he’d be gone.”

Tifa covered her mouth, her shoulders trembling.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” Zack said, voice quiet now. “You pulled him back when I couldn’t.”

She sniffled, wiped at her eyes. “When can I see him?”

Zack leaned back with a tired sigh. “Soon. I want to get him stabilized first. He’s still reeling, and I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

Tifa nodded. “I understand.”

“I’ll have him call you. When he’s ready.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Tell him I’m here. Whenever. However he needs me.”

Zack looked her straight in the eye. “He knows.”

 

Zack didn’t drag him into an office. He didn’t make Cloud sit under fluorescent lights, fill out paperwork, or stare down a waiting room full of strangers.

Instead, he made a call.

And a few hours later, Dr. Elira Mako knocked gently on the door of Zack’s townhome, holding two coffees and wearing a knit sweater over her scrubs.

She didn’t look like a shrink. She looked like someone’s cool aunt. Smart eyes. No nonsense. A calm presence that walked into a room and somehow made the walls feel less tight.

Cloud was already sitting on the couch, hoodie pulled over his head, legs drawn up. He watched her silently as Zack let her in.

“Elira, this is Cloud. Cloud, this is the best doctor I know—also the reason my shoulder healed right.”

She arched a brow. “And here I thought I was the reason you finally stopped acting like a walking trauma case.”

Zack grinned. “That too.”

There was a rhythm between them. Easy, casual, not flirty—familiar. Something shared and burned through already.

Elira turned to Cloud. “Mind if I sit?”

He shrugged, barely.

She sat in the armchair across from him and passed one of the coffees to Zack without breaking eye contact with Cloud.

“You don’t have to talk. But I’ll stay a while. Just here to listen, if that’s okay with you.”

Cloud didn’t answer. But he didn’t leave. Didn’t flinch.

That was enough.

They spoke for almost an hour.

Zack stayed in the kitchen, listening but not hovering. At one point, Cloud’s voice lifted just enough for him to catch the words “I still hear it. I smell it. Like it’s on me.”

Zack closed his eyes. Breathed through it.

Elira didn’t ask too much. She didn’t pry. Just let him pace when he needed to, nodding when he faltered, redirecting gently when he got lost in his own words.

By the time she stood to leave, Cloud looked exhausted but lighter somehow. Like something had cracked—but not in a way that broke him. In a way that let light in.

Elira patted Zack’s chest with the back of her hand on the way out.

“Don’t fuck this up,” she murmured.

“I won’t.”

“You better not,” she added, then louder for Cloud’s benefit: “I’ll be back tomorrow. You don’t owe me anything—but I’ll be here, if you want to talk again.”

Cloud gave her a small nod. It was the most anyone had gotten out of him all day.

 

Later, after Elira left and the dishes were done, Cloud sat with his phone in his hand. Almost dead—physically and metaphorically.

Zack handed him the charger and stepped out to give him space. Cloud stared at the screen for a long time. His fingers hovered, hesitated. Then, finally, he tapped her name. It rang twice before she picked up.

“Cloud?” Her voice was soft, almost afraid to say it.

He swallowed hard. “Yeah. It’s me.”

A breath. Shaky. Relieved. “Hey.”

He didn’t know what to say. Not really. But the words that came out were the only ones that mattered. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You called. You saved my life.”

“Cloud—” Her voice broke. “You don’t have to—”

“I do.” He pressed his fingers into his eyes. “If you hadn’t called, I wouldn’t be here.”

Another pause. Then, quietly, “I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t know how bad.”

Cloud nodded. “It was bad.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

He shook his head. “You did. Just in time.”

Tifa’s voice was steadier when she spoke again. “When can I come see you?”

“I… I don’t know,” he said truthfully.

“That’s okay. No pressure. I just… I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he whispered. “ I just…” he faltered. “I want to be the man you remember. From before.”

Zack stepped back into the room then, not saying a word, but watching with that quiet steadiness that always made Cloud feel like he had one foot on solid ground again.

“I’ll call again tomorrow,” Cloud said, eyes still on Zack.

“I’ll be here,” Tifa replied.

Chapter 5: Emergence

Summary:

It was tiny.

The ceiling sloped on one side, and the single window rattled in the frame when trucks passed too close outside. The shower whined when it turned on, and the mattress was probably older than Cloud was.

But it was his.

The next day, Cloud leaned back against the couch, the phone warm against his ear, Zack moving quietly in the kitchen behind him. The apartment smelled like fresh coffee and floor cleaner—cleaner than it had in weeks, thanks to Zack’s not-so-subtle need to reclaim his space from the storm Cloud had brought with him.

But tonight, Cloud felt lighter. Stronger. Like the voice on the other end of the line had pulled him a little further out of the dark.

“So…” he ventured, voice still rough but steady, “Zack said you graduated.”

“Yeah,” Tifa replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Finally. Top of my class, too.”

“Of course you were.”

She laughed softly. “He told you about the bar?”

“He said you opened a place. A Restaurant?”

She hesitated—just a beat. “More like a gastro pub. With a real kitchen. Small menu, seasonal ingredients, that kind of thing. I wanted a place that felt like me, you know?”

“What’s it called?”

“Seventh Heaven.”

Cloud barked a laugh. “Seriously?”

“You’re judging me.”

“I mean… you have horns holding up your halo?”

She laughed again—louder this time. God, he missed that sound.

“You love it,” she said.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I do.”

For a second, silence settled between them—but not awkward. Not strained. Just easy. Familiar. Like they were back on the steps outside the old dojo, watching the sun dip behind the mountains. 

Cloud rubbed at the back of his neck, then offered, “I bought a bike.”

“You what?” she gasped.

“A motorcycle.”

“You on a motorcycle feels… terrifying.”

He smirked. “Got it cheap. Built most of it myself.”

There was a pause. A soft sigh.

“That sounds like you,” she said gently. “A little broken, a little dangerous… but somehow still running.”

He went quiet for a moment, caught off guard by how much that meant coming from her. 

“And you?” he asked, shifting the spotlight. “Where are you living?”

“Upstairs,” she said. “The apartment above the bar. It’s not special, but it works. I like being close to the kitchen.”

“So you don’t sleep?” he teased.

“Barely. But at least now it’s because of wine pairings and not exam anxiety.”

Cloud chuckled. Then, a little more serious, “I’m proud of you, Tifa.”

Her voice softened. “Thank you.”

He leaned his head back, eyes drifting to the ceiling, and said, “I don’t think I told you enough before… but hearing your voice—it’s the best thing I’ve had in a long time.”

There was a pause. Then a quiet, heartfelt:

“Same.”

 

The phone buzzed at 10:30 p.m., just like it had the past four nights.

Tifa, in her pajamas—tank top, hair pulled up messily, her face lit by the warm glow of the kitchen light—appeared on screen with a wooden spoon in one hand and a bubbling pot behind her.

“You’re cooking at this hour?” Cloud asked, voice still a little raspy from sleep.

“It’s called menu testing,” she said. “Also known as me trying to impress a food critic who scheduled a visit next week.”

Cloud smirked, setting the phone against his headboard as he laid back. “Need me to come taste test?”

“Please. You’d cry over this sauce.”

“Bold of you to assume I still have emotions,” he deadpanned.

Tifa rolled her eyes and smiled. “You laughed at a fart joke this morning. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Their conversations weren’t always deep—but they were constant. Texts all day, memes traded back and forth, videos of the bar’s cat terrorizing patrons, photos of Zack’s awful protein pancakes.

And on nights like this, when she was alone upstairs and he couldn’t sleep, they just talked.

About the day. About nothing.

About everything.

 

The alarm went off at 5:45 a.m. sharp.

Zack groaned like he was dying, rolled out of bed, and slammed his palm against the snooze button.

Cloud was already up.

The gym wasn’t fancy. It was a small community place—old mats, cracked mirrors, metal weights that clanged. But it had what they needed.

Cloud started slow. His left leg still protested some of the heavier lifts, and his balance on certain moves wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t skip. Not once.

Zack spotted him on squats, hands ready, voice steady.

“Lower. You’ve got it.”

Cloud grunted. “You say that like it’s encouragement, but it sounds like a threat.”

Zack laughed. “You’ll know the difference when I actually threaten you.”

They trained hard. Focused. And slowly, Cloud began to see it. In the mirror. In the way his shirt fit. In the way the weight moved easier in his hands.

He was coming back. Not the same. Never the same.

But stronger.

And every time he thought about quitting, he remembered her—in her kitchen, barefoot, beaming at him through a screen like he was something worth waiting for.

---

Dr. Elira came by twice a week.

They no longer sat across the room from each other. Some days they talked on the porch. Some days they sat on the floor, knees pulled up, coffee in hand.

She adjusted his meds after a month. Tweaked the dosage. Gave him a mood stabilizer that actually worked.

He stopped waking up drenched in sweat. The flashbacks didn’t claw at him quite as often. The noise in his head dimmed to something manageable.

And most importantly—he didn’t feel the need to drink himself silent anymore.

Now, when he reached for a bottle, it was once. Maybe twice. Then he stopped. No edge. No spiral.

He didn’t feel broken. Not all the time.

 

“You look good,” Tifa said one evening, halfway through their FaceTime. She was curled up on her bed, chin propped on a pillow, feet swaying in the air.

Cloud raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, solemn. “You’ve got your color back. You’re sleeping better. Smiling more.”

He shrugged, but the smile lingered. “Zack still yells at me in the gym.”

“Means he loves you.”

Cloud chuckled. “I know.”

She hesitated, then added softly, “I’m proud of you, you know.”

His heart thudded—loud and solid.

“Thanks,” he said. Then, almost shyly, “I’ve been thinking about coming to see the bar.”

Tifa lit up like sunrise. “You better. I’ll make the garlic noodles.”

Cloud smiled. “Even if you burn them?”

“Shut up.”

---

Zack didn’t usually get up early unless it involved the gym, a paycheck, or really good coffee. In this case, it was all three—plus a waitress he’d flirted with once and hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since.

The local VFW crew held court every morning at Rosie’s, a retro hole-in-the-wall diner with sun-bleached blinds and cracked red booths. The coffee was strong enough to strip paint, and the breakfast specials hadn’t changed in twenty years.

Zack slid into his usual booth just as the old timers were settling into theirs. Grizzled men in jackets too warm for the season, ball caps faded to pale gray, voices rasped from decades of smoke and war stories.

Cid Highwind was the youngest at forty-five, but also the loudest among them.

“Little bastard up and quit,” Cid was saying, slapping his mug down hard enough to make the silverware jump. “Didn’t even finish the damn carburetor rebuild. Left me elbow-deep in a ’75 Mach IV with no rear brake line and a customer threatening to sue.”

One of the others grunted. “Told you not to hire anyone with a man-bun.”

“Swear to gods, next guy who walks in with a vape and an attitude, I’m throwin’ him headfirst into the scrap pile,” Cid muttered. “I need a real mechanic. Someone who gives a damn.”

Zack sipped his coffee, something stirring in the back of his mind.

Motorcycles. Precision. Patience. The sound of metal under careful hands.

He pulled out his phone and shot off a message.

hey

found something

don’t make me look like an idiot. 

---

Cloud stood outside the shop the next morning, black hoodie under a beat-up leather jacket, fingers hooked into belt loops.

The sign read Highwind Mechanics in bold block letters. The smell of oil and exhaust was thick in the air, and the open bay revealed a line of gorgeous, half-gutted bikes lined up like broken art.

He stepped inside.

Cid looked up from under the lifted chassis of a sleek black cruiser, cigarette hanging from his lips, smudges of grease across his forearms and temple like war paint.

“You the guy Zack sent?” he asked, not bothering to rise.

Cloud nodded. “Cloud.”

Cid sized him up in one long glance. “You ever work on a Gilera Vortex?”

“No,” Cloud said. “But I can.”

“Hmph. You know what a Mikuni carb looks like?”

Cloud stepped forward, peered under the bike. “Dual flat-slide, right? Needs a steady idle screw and someone who’s not afraid to get their fingers dirty.”

Cid cracked a grin around his cigarette. “Zack said you were full of attitude. Didn’t say it was earned.”

Cloud didn’t smile—but his shoulders eased. Just a little.

“Gear’s on the wall. Gloves in the drawer. Don’t break anything unless it needs breakin’. You can work next to me. Trial run.”

Cloud nodded. “Understood.”

He rolled up his sleeves. The wrench felt good in his hand.

 

Cloud knelt beside the frame of the bike, hands deep in the guts of the engine, grease caked under his nails, a smudge streaked across his cheekbone. He barely noticed.

The garage hummed around him—metal clinks, the occasional bark of a socket wrench snapping loose, the low rasp of Cid cursing under his breath in the next bay over.

But none of it felt too loud. None of it buzzed in his skull like it used to.

He was focused. Steady.

The carburetor was stripped, disassembled on a cloth like puzzle pieces, each part laid out with quiet reverence. He cleaned every bit with slow precision, fingers working with muscle memory he didn’t even know he still had.

And somewhere between the solvent and the throttle cable, he stopped thinking.

No noise. No flashbacks. No tension behind his eyes.

Just the bike. Just the parts. Just the silence of being present.

He exhaled and didn’t even realize it had been shaky.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was holding himself together with duct tape and spite. He didn’t feel watched. Or trapped. Or like every breath was borrowed.

This—this was his.

He blinked, sat back on his heels. The light through the garage door caught the edge of the chrome. It glinted. Clean. Balanced. Ready to run.

And him? He wasn’t there yet. But gods… he was close.

---

Cloud was wiping his hands on a rag, half-listening to the hum of the shop radio, when Cid walked over and jerked his chin toward the bike they’d just finished.

“Good work,” he said simply.

Cloud nodded. “Thanks.”

“You didn’t strip the bolt on the crankcase like the last guy did. And you didn’t act like you were god’s gift to the gal down at the parts house. That earns points.”

Cloud smirked faintly. “High praise.”

Cid grunted, then lit a cigarette. “You planning on freeloading off your brother forever?”

Cloud blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Zack.” Cid exhaled smoke through his nose. “Good guy. Better than most. But I know the look. You’re gettin’ antsy. You’re ready to get your own space.”

Cloud didn’t answer right away. But his silence said enough.

Cid jerked a thumb toward the back office. “Got a loft upstairs. Nothing fancy—tiny as hell. Bathroom, countertop, hot plate. No kitchen. No frills. But it’s quiet. And it’s yours if you want it.”

Cloud studied him. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Rent’s dirt cheap. You pay on time and don’t bring home strays, we’re square.”

Cloud hesitated for half a second. Then: “When can I move in?”

Cid shrugged. “Tonight, if you want. I’ll toss you the key.”

Cloud didn’t smile exactly—but there was something in his face. A flicker of warmth. Gratitude. Pride.

“I’ll grab my stuff.”

 

It was tiny.

The ceiling sloped on one side, and the single window rattled in the frame when trucks passed too close outside. The shower whined when it turned on, and the mattress was probably older than Cloud was.

But it was his.

He dropped his duffel bag on the floor, pulled the chain on the lamp, and stood there for a long moment, taking it all in.

No Zack hovering. No walls that didn’t feel like his. No expectations.

Cloud sank onto the mattress with a soft grunt, stared up at the cracked ceiling, and whispered to no one in particular, “I made it.”

Chapter 6: Dinner & Diatribes

Summary:

The moon hung low. Tired, like him. But bright.

He let out a breath. Then whispered, like it might break the spell:

“I think I’m okay.”

And this time, he meant it.

The loft was nothing special. Just four peeling walls. A secondhand mattress. A hot plate, microwave, a futon he bought with his first paycheck, and TV. 

But Cloud woke up in it for the third morning in a row with the sun in his eyes, sore arms from yesterday’s gym session, and the sound of motorcycles rumbling in the garage below.

And for the first time in years, the ache in his chest wasn’t emptiness.

It was fullness.

The rhythm was quiet, but steady.

He worked hard. Showed up early. Stayed late when Cid needed him.

On weekends, he cleaned carburetors on the stoop and listened to passing traffic like it was music.

Zack still checked in, but didn’t hover.

Tifa still texted good morning and goodnight.

The meds were doing their job. The bottle stayed unopened. There was even a little cash left in his drawer after bills. Nothing flashy. Nothing dramatic.

Just… peace.

It came like a slow tide, not a wave. A sock with no holes. A clean sink. The smell of oil on his hands. The low, good burn of muscles rebuilding instead of shaking apart.

He’d been waiting so long for the other shoe to drop, he almost didn’t notice when things just kept staying up.

No disasters. No explosions. No ghosts waiting behind the door.

Just work. Friends. His own damn bed.

Cloud stood by the window of the loft one night, cup of terrible instant coffee in hand, and stared out over the city. 

The moon hung low. Tired, like him. But bright.

He let out a breath. Then whispered, like it might break the spell:

“I think I’m okay.”

And this time, he meant it.

---

The music thumped low and heavy from the band near the back of the bar, all gritty bass lines and rhythmic drums. Laughter echoed through the haze of warm lights and clinking glasses. Tifa moved fast behind the bar—two deep at every station, orders piling up, hands sticky with condensation and speed-poured whiskey.

She was in her element.

Hair up. Tank top clinging to her frame. Tight jeans, scuffed boots. She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist and flashed a tired smile at a regular shouting over the music.

That’s when the door opened.

And everything shifted.

Fenrir rumbled low to a stop outside, engine cutting off with a growl that turned heads. The figure that stepped through the door was haloed in light from the street—a leather jacket, broad shoulders, wind-tossed spiky blond hair, and a white henley that clung just right.

Tifa didn’t see his face at first. Just the silhouette.

Then—

“Know where a guy can get a decent drink around here?”

The voice. Low. Dry. Familiar. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Cloud.

He slipped through the crowd like he’d been there a hundred times. Paid the cover without fanfare. Head down, eyes sharp. When he reached the bar, he leaned one arm on the counter like it was nothing, but his eyes locked with hers and didn’t move.

She forgot how to breathe. It was just him. No warning. No fanfare. Just… him.

And gods, he looked good.

Hair a little longer, pushed back from his face by the wind. That shirt was unforgivable—clinging to muscle he hadn’t had in years, neckline loose enough to expose his collarbones and a tease of chest. His jeans were low on his hips. His jacket creaked when he pulled it off, and when he laid it on the stool beside him—

The tattoos stopped her cold.

Black and grey ink covered both arms—sleeves like armor.

A wolf’s head snarled just below his right shoulder.

A broken sword cut through his bicep.

Gears and mechanical etching climbed up the rest in stark, intricate lines.

She stared. Her mouth went dry. “Holy shit,” she whispered under her breath.

Barret nudged her with a grin. “You okay?”

“I—” She couldn’t take her eyes off him. “Watch the bar for a sec.”

She yanked her apron off and tossed it aside, already moving. The crowd blurred around her. Her boots hit the floor like thunder.

And Cloud?

He just stood there, watching her come to him, gaze calm—steady—like he hadn’t done anything more significant than ordering a drink.

But when she got close, he said, low enough only she could hear—

“Hey, Teef.”

She didn’t hesitate. She launched into him with both arms, threw her weight into his chest, and wrapped around him like a lifeline.

He caught her instantly.

 

Tifa didn’t let go of his hand. She slipped through the crowd with him in tow, weaving past shoulder bumps and drink trays until they reached the back door. She pushed it open and stepped into the alley behind Seventh Heaven, the noise from the bar muffled to a dull heartbeat behind them.

The air was cooler out here. Damp concrete, the soft fizz of neon signs buzzing overhead.

Cloud leaned back against the brick wall, exhaled slow, and pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket.

“Didn’t know you still smoked,” Tifa said.

“Only when I’m nervous,” he replied, lighter flicking to life with a metallic snap.

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re nervous?”

He looked at her through the smoke. “It’s been a long time, Tifa.”

That stopped her for a second. Because it had. Years, really. But the way he leaned against the wall, one hand tucked in his pocket, head tilted just slightly—he looked like the version of Cloud she used to daydream about. Only older. Stronger. Weathered in all the ways that made her ache.

And she wasn’t sixteen anymore, either.

She leaned beside him, arms crossed, stealing a glance as he dragged from the cigarette.

“You look good,” she said.

Cloud huffed a quiet laugh. “Zack told me to wear this shirt.”

“Oh, he did, did he?”

“Girls like the collarbone thing,” Cloud muttered, mimicking Zack’s voice just enough to make her laugh.

“I do like the collarbone thing,” she said, biting back a smirk.

Their eyes met again. And for a beat, the air between them felt like something charged. Like the last second before a storm.

But neither of them moved.

Instead, Cloud said softly, “This place… it suits you.”

Tifa looked down at her boots, then up at the red glow of her neon sign casting light across the pavement. “Yeah. I think it does.”

They stood in silence for a little while, the comfortable kind—the kind they’d only ever shared with each other. A car passed by at the end of the street. Somewhere nearby, a bottle rolled and clinked against the curb.

Eventually, she nudged his arm. “I should get back. Bar’s packed.”

Cloud nodded.

“But,” she added, glancing at him sideways, “if you want to hang out until close… I’d love to show you around.”

He looked at her, eyes warm beneath that spiked blond hair.

“Yeah?” he said.

She smiled, slow and sure. “Yeah. You can meet Aerith. And you can tell her all about how you built your bike from scrap.”

“That’ll win her over.”

“She’ll marry you on the spot.”

Cloud chuckled. “Guess I better stick around.”

Tifa lingered another second, her gaze lingering on his tattoos, his mouth, the quiet comfort he brought just by being here.

Then she slipped back inside, the door swinging shut behind her.

Cloud stayed in the alley a while longer. Finished his cigarette, just breathing. Just being.

And for the first time in years, he wasn’t waiting for the good part to end.

 

Cloud found a seat at the corner of the bar, halfway hidden by the curve of the wall and the soft flicker of an old neon sign above him. From there, he had a clear view of the stage, where the band was halfway through a bluesy cover of something vaguely familiar. The crowd was loud, bodies moving in rhythm, glasses clinking.

But Cloud just watched.

Hands loose around a pint, legs stretched out, one foot tapping softly in time with the beat. His jacket hung on the stool beside him. The henley clung to his shoulders like a second skin, and when the lights shifted, the ink on his arms caught every shadow.

Tifa slipped behind the bar and dropped a plate in front of him with a wink.

“Roasted chicken. Garlic noodles. Green beans.”

Cloud looked down at the plate. Then back up at her. “You remembered.”

“I never forget,” she said, before disappearing back into the fray.

He took a bite. And nearly groaned. It was perfect. Warm. Real. Like something that tasted vaguely like home.

 

“Strife?” The voice came from behind him—lazy, familiar, and tinged with something playful.

Cloud turned, eyes narrowing slightly.

Red hair. Half-lidded eyes. A shit-eating grin. Sunglasses pushed up onto his forehead.

“Reno,” Cloud said evenly.

“In the flesh.” Reno slid onto the stool next to him, spinning it once for dramatic effect. “Damn, you’re shorter than I thought you’d be.”

Cloud raised an eyebrow.

“I’m just sayin’. You were kind of a myth for a while.”

Two more figures approached—Rude, stoic and looming, sunglasses indoors at night like always. And Elena, all sharp smiles and fast hands, with a gin and tonic in one hand.

Rude nodded once. Elena offered a small smile. “You’re Cloud Strife.”

Cloud hesitated. Then gave a small nod.

“You were rising through the ranks before…” she trailed off, catching herself.

Cloud didn’t flinch. Just said, “Before everything.”

“Tseng was considering offering you a contract.” She said. 

Reno clapped him on the back. “Zack used to talk about you all the time. Said you could rebuild a bike faster than most guys could change a tire.”

“Still can,” Cloud muttered.

Guess we’ll find out,” Reno grinned. “We got a charity ride next weekend. There’s a race afterward at the drag strip.”

Cloud snorted. “I’m not racing for your amusement.”

“Oh, come on. It’d be for the kids.”

Tifa reappeared with another tray of drinks, nudged Reno with her hip as she passed.

“He just got here,” she said. “Don’t scare him off yet.”

Cloud watched her as she walked away—how her braid bounced with each step, how the bar parted around her like she belonged to it. He smiled to himself and took another bite.

He didn’t feel out of place or like a ghost. And for once, being remembered didn’t hurt.

It felt like the world had kept moving without him—and now, somehow, he was stepping back into it.

On his own terms.

 

By 1:15AM, the crowd had thinned to a few stragglers nursing their final rounds. The Turks clinked glasses one last time before heading out, Reno tossing Cloud a casual salute on his way to the door.

“You’re alright, Strife,” he called. “Coulda sworn you’d be moodier.”

Cloud smirked faintly. “You caught me on a good night.”

Elena laughed, still texting as she followed Reno out. “Tseng’s so mad he missed this.”

Rude nodded at Cloud one last time and turned silently to go.

And then it was just music humming from the speakers and the low clatter of cleanup.

Cloud rolled his shoulders, stood, and started stacking glasses from the nearby tables without being asked.

Behind the bar, a broad-shouldered man was wiping down the counter with methodical precision—dark-skinned, beard thick and tidy, arms like tree trunks. His tank top bore the faded logo of the bar itself, Seventh Heaven, and he moved like someone used to doing a lot with very little patience.

Barret.

Cloud had never met him, but Tifa had mentioned him plenty. Her landlord. Her friend. Practically family.

Barret watched Cloud stack a few glasses before finally saying, “Didn’t expect to see you in here tonight.”

Cloud glanced up. “Didn’t plan on being here. Just… felt right.”

Barret eyed him—blunt, appraising. “You the soldier boy?”

Cloud nodded. “Was.”

“Hmph.” He wiped down the counter again, slower this time. “Tifa talks about you. Said you two grew up together.”

“We did.”

“Said you were tight. Then one day you left. Didn’t hear from you for years.”

Cloud’s jaw tightened. “I know.”

Barret didn’t sound angry—just watchful.

“Tifa’s been through hell and back,” he said. “Built this place from the ground up. Keeps this whole damn block alive.”

“I know,” Cloud repeated.

“She’s got a good thing going. People who care about her. A home.”

Cloud looked him in the eye. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Barret stilled for a moment, rag paused mid-wipe. Then he gave a single, curt nod. “You good with dishes?”

Cloud didn’t smile. But he grabbed a towel.

They worked in silence after that—not friendly, not hostile. Just two men with one thing in common:

They both loved Tifa.

Notes:

Our boy is healing! ❤️‍🩹

Chapter 7: Casual

Summary:

“Please tell me you still have that tattoo.”

Cloud smirked. “I have a few now.”

“I noticed.” She replied.

Notes:

Thank you guys for the kind comments. I’ve been thinking of nothing but this fic and where I want it to go. I’m thinking it could be about 15 chapters—give or take.

Tifa’s apartment wasn’t large, but it felt like her. Lived-in. Intentional. Every pillow had a purpose. Every picture told a story.

She moved around the space with ease, tugging open drawers, sliding photo albums from the shelf like she’d done it a thousand times for a thousand people—but Cloud suspected she hadn’t. Just for the ones who mattered.

“Okay,” she said, settling on the rug with her legs crossed, a thick binder cracked open on her lap. “Brace yourself for every terrible dorm haircut I’ve ever had.”

Cloud sat beside her, arms resting on his knees. The first picture was of Tifa, blurry and laughing, holding a wok over her head like a helmet. “My first year,” she said. “The fire alarm went off every week.”

He chuckled, slow and genuine.

She flipped through more—her and Aerith standing outside their university. Tifa in a chef’s coat, graduation pictures with her diploma held high, the day the 7th Heaven sign was finally screwed into place over the door.

“I wanted to invite you,” she said quietly, glancing up. “To the opening. I just… didn’t know where you were.”

Cloud looked down at his hands.

She caught it. The flicker. The retreat.

“You don’t have to pretend,” she said gently. “Not with me.”

He hesitated, then reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone. It was scratched, a little crack in the corner. But it still worked. He swiped through his photos until he found a few that weren’t too raw.

“This is Roache,” he said. “Crazy bastard from my unit. Haven’t heard from him since I left our place in Sector 3. Probably a good thing.”

Tifa smiled as she leaned in. “He looks like the type to get banned from bars just for breathing.”

“Oh, he was. Three in one week.”

He flipped to a few more—grainy shots of base life, his first ride on a military-grade bike, a sunrise in Wutai taken through a cracked windshield visor. Then a video thumbnail caught his eye. Zack had taken it.

He hit play.

It was shaky footage of Cloud, sitting shirtless in a folding chair at a tattoo parlor. His back to the camera. Zack’s voice was unmistakable behind the lens: “Okay, show us your battle cry, man! You’re about to become living art!”

In the video, Cloud flipped him off without turning around.

Tifa laughed so hard she nearly fell sideways. “Please tell me you still have that tattoo.”

Cloud smirked. “I have a few now.”

“I noticed.” She replied.

Just then, a door creaked open down the hall.

They both turned.

A girl stepped into the room wearing striped pajama shorts and a sleep shirt with a faded moogle on it. Her light 

Her light brown hair was wild from sleep, eyes blinking against the low light.

“Are you guys watching TikTok videos or something?” she asked around a yawn.

Tifa grinned. “Cloud, I would like you to officially meet Aerith. My partner in chaos.”

Cloud stood up, a little awkwardly. “Hey.”

Aerith blinked at him, then tilted her head.

“Oh,” she said with a sleepy smile.“You’re Cloud.”

He stiffened slightly. “That a good thing?”

“Depends who you ask,” she said, stepping forward to offer a hand. “But I’m thinking… yeah.”

Tifa covered her mouth to hide her grin as Cloud shook her hand, still slightly dazed.

“Well,” Aerith said, spinning on her heel. “Don’t let me interrupt the nostalgia-fest. But if you’re staying the night, just know the toilet runs unless you jiggle the handle.”

She disappeared back into her room. The apartment fell quiet again.

Tifa looked at him. “Told you she’s the best.”

Cloud nodded. “Yeah… she’s something.”

Tifa bumped her shoulder into his. “So are you.”

A little while later Cloud stood in the doorway, his jacket in one hand and a to-go box in the other, warm and heavy. The apartment was quiet now, dim except for the glow of the kitchen light behind her. She leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching him with something soft in her eyes.

“Thanks,” he said, nodding toward the food. “And the tour. It was…” He searched for the right word. “Good. Better than good.”

Tifa smiled, one corner of her mouth curving higher than the other. “You’re welcome.”

He hesitated—just long enough to make it awkward if it weren’t her. Then:

“Would you maybe… wanna hang out sometime?” he asked. “Like old times.”

Her smile spread a little more, but it stayed easy. Uncomplicated. “Yeah,” she said. “I’d like that.”

He gave a small nod, adjusted the box in his arm like it suddenly weighed too much, and turned to go.

Before the door closed behind him, she called softly, “Cloud?”

He turned back.

“I’m really glad you showed up tonight.”

His eyes met hers—just for a second longer than they should’ve—and something passed between them. Familiar. Unspoken. Unresolved.

Then he nodded again, more gently this time, and disappeared into the rain.

 

---

 

The routine took root before either of them realized it had.

Mornings began with Zack dragging him to the gym, barking encouragement that usually involved some combination of “Don’t be soft,” and “You owe me for the protein shakes.” Cloud didn’t skip a day—not anymore. Not with Zack pacing like a personal trainer possessed.

From there it was work. Long hours in Cid’s garage, grease under his nails and the smell of burnt oil soaking into his clothes. He liked it. The noise. The rhythm. The way Cid didn’t talk unless he had something to say.

After work, he’d go home. Shower in his tiny loft above the shop. The hot water never lasted long, but it was enough.

Then Seventh Heaven.

Tifa always noticed when he walked in. Even on busy nights, her eyes found him. She’d wave him toward the corner booth—the one that faced the band. Sometimes she was still in her apron. Sometimes she already had a plate set aside.

He tried to pay every time.

She just raised a brow and said, “Don’t insult me.”

So he stopped trying, but always put a tip in the jar on his way out the door.  

They didn’t always talk. Sometimes she was too busy with customers. But she’d flash him a grin from behind the bar, toss him a towel when he looked too sweaty from work, lean on the counter when things slowed and ask how his day was.

And just like that, it was easy again. Like no time had passed at all.

---

Saturday afternoons had a different rhythm—sunlight slanted through the blinds, jazz crackling low from the sound system, and the usual chaos replaced by something softer. Tifa had just finished training Yuffie behind the bar and finally peeled off her apron, fingers running through her hair as she scanned the room.

Cloud was sitting in his usual booth.

Plate scraped mostly clean save for a few stray fries, half a pickle, and a drained glass of Coke sweating onto the tabletop. He’d come in around noon, ordered the Reuben again, and barely said more than “thanks” when she brought it over. But she saw the little things. The way he lingered. The way he glanced at the clock like he was waiting for her to be free.

She made her way over and slid into the booth beside him. Not in front, beside. He relished in the warmth she brought with her. 

“New girl doing okay?” he asked, glancing over at the bar. Yuffie was drying glasses with more flair than necessary, balancing one on her head while chatting up a patron.

“She’s chaos incarnate,” Tifa said, lips twitching. “But she’s good. Picks things up fast. And I finally don’t have to close every night.”

Cloud gave a small nod, half a smile curling at the edge of his mouth. “That why you’re slumming it over here with me?”

“That, and I wanted your pickle,” she said, snatching it off his plate.

He blinked, then snorted. “Figures.”

They sat in an easy quiet, the kind that only came with years of history and just enough electricity humming beneath the surface to keep them both aware of it.

Outside, the light was golden and warm. The kind of day that begged for motion, for wind and open roads.

“You busy?” he asked suddenly.

Tifa looked at him. “Not really. Why?”

He grabbed the keys from the edge of the table. “Come for a ride.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He tilted his head toward the door. “She’s parked out back. Fenrir.”

She stared at him, playful suspicion creeping into her expression. “You named your motorcycle after a wolf god?”

He shrugged, smirking now. “It fits. I’m also very impressed with your knowledge of Norse mythology.”

She bit her lip, glanced at the bar where Yuffie gave her a very obvious thumbs-up from across the room. She slid out of the booth, allowing him to free himself from against the wall. 

“Alright, soldier. But if you get me killed, I’m haunting your ass.”

Cloud grinned—really grinned—and held the door for her as they stepped into the afternoon light.

He didn’t say it aloud, but something about her sliding behind him, arms wrapping tight around his waist, made him feel like the world had shifted a little closer to right again.

 

The sun was starting to slip behind the curve of the horizon, casting long shadows across the grasslands. The city of Midgar stretched out in the distance, a jagged silhouette wrapped in the haze of industry and neon, softened by the wind that rolled across the plains.

Cloud cut the engine and let the quiet settle. No traffic. No bar noise. Just the rustle of wind through tall grass and the lingering heat of the day radiating off the bike between them.

Tifa stayed seated, hands still lightly gripping his sides as if she hadn’t quite decided to let go. Cloud stepped off, tugging his gloves loose and resting his forearms across the seat, facing her. His eyes tracked the skyline but didn’t quite see it.

She watched him for a moment. The way he exhaled slowly, like he had to remember how to do it right.

He finally said, voice low, “Some days are better than others.”

She blinked. “Cloud…”

“I’m alright,” he added quickly. “I mean—I’m getting there. Most mornings I wake up and I’m okay. I go to work. I eat. I laugh.” He gave a quiet, almost embarrassed smile. “I even sleep, sometimes.”

Tifa shifted, her boot brushing the chrome peg. “But it’s still there?”

He nodded. “Not all the time. But… yeah. In the periphery. Like it’s waiting. The dreams still come, just not as much as before. And I only see my therapist once every three months now.” He shrugged. “Progress, right? I’m winning at therapy.”

She didn’t speak for a moment. Just reached forward and brushed a bug off his collar.

“I haven’t seen Zack lately,” she said gently.

Cloud chuckled. “Yeah. He’s been working. The new Shinra contract pays a lot, apparently.” He squinted out at the sky. “But I also think there’s a girl.”

Tifa’s brows lifted. “Oh?”

He tilted his head, amused. “Zack? Quiet about a woman? Yeah, that’s how I know it’s not serious. He’s found the one about 10 times.”

She laughed softly, her hands now resting in her lap. “Maybe I should introduce him to Aerith. What about you?” she asked, looking at him sidelong. “Anybody on your radar?”

There was a pause. He didn’t look away from her this time. His gaze boring into hers. 

His voice was soft. “Something like that.”

Color bloomed in her cheeks, and before she could stop herself, she let out a flustered little sound and shoved him—hard enough that he staggered a step back from the bike.  

“Ass,” she muttered, turning her face away. But she was smiling.

Cloud caught his balance, straightened, and smirked.

“You asked.”

She rolled her eyes, but her heart was thudding now, louder than the wind. Cloud was flirting??

He stepped closer again, more confident this time, the way he used to stand near her when they were younger—close enough to feel his presence, never quite touching.

The last glow of daylight painted everything in gold—his lashes, her cheekbones, the chrome of the bike. She studied him, watched the way his jaw flexed like he was chewing on some heavy thought.

“What’s your long-term plan?” she asked softly.

Cloud blinked, like the question hadn’t even occurred to him before. He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “I don’t have one,” he admitted. “I take it one day at a time.”

She nodded, lips pursing. “That’s fair.”

A pause.

“You ever think about… settling down one day?”

He snorted—a short, surprised bark of a laugh. “With who? I’m 27 Teef, with no prospects it’s unlikely.”

Tifa giggled. “Yeah, me either.”

But her smile lingered a beat too long. Something itched at the back of her mind, and it suddenly wasn’t so easy to picture him with someone else.

Maybe it was the way he looked now—calmer, stronger, the color back in his face and his posture less guarded. Or maybe it was the way he’d said something like that earlier, and the way it made her stomach flutter in a way she refused to examine.

She looked away before she could say something she’d regret.

Cloud was the one to break the silence this time.

“Whatever happened to that guy you were dating? Back in Nibelheim?”

She groaned immediately, head tilting back in horror. “Oh my god. Emilio? Why would you remind me of that?”

He smirked. “Just popped into my head.”

“I can’t believe he was my first,” she said, face scrunching in agony. “God, what a disaster.”

Cloud choked—actually choked. He coughed once, eyes wide, hand over his mouth like he’d just inhaled a bug.

She turned, eyebrows raised in amused suspicion. “What is that look for?”

He was still recovering, face flushed. “Nothing.”

“Cloud Strife, don’t you dare.”

He cleared his throat. “Just… surprised, I guess. Thought it would’ve been someone cooler.”

“Oh, shut up!” she laughed, reaching out to smack his arm. “I was seventeen! I thought hair gel and a tribal tattoo made someone mysterious!”

He couldn’t help picturing her younger, impressionable, kissing someone like that—and felt something sharp twist behind his ribs.

Cloud gave a slow, solemn nod. “Mystery solved. It was just Emilio.”

She groaned again, pressing her palms to her face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said quietly.

She dropped her hands, smile faltering into something softer. “No,” she agreed. “I really don’t.”

“What about you?” she asked suddenly.

Cloud blinked, eyes refocusing like she’d pulled him out of a daydream. “Hmm?”

“Who was your… first?” Her cheeks were pink now, but her gaze didn’t waver.

He arched a brow, lips twitching. “Saving myself for marriage.”

Tifa cackled—a real, full-body laugh that made her double over against the bike tank. “Yeah right,” she wheezed. “No one who looks like you is a virgin. Please.”

Cloud feigned offense, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “How dare you insult my virtue, madam.”

She laughed even harder, especially at the god-awful accent he’d just attempted. Somewhere between old-timey noble and drunk tourist.

“Your virtue?” she managed through giggles. “Cloud, your tattoos alone are at least third base.”

“Oh, is that the metric now?” he teased, shaking his head. “No wonder Emilio made the cut.”

She gasped and shoved him, nearly knocking him off balance. “You are insufferable.”

He grinned, but after a moment, his expression softened. “It was in basic. One of the girls in my unit.”

“Oh,” Tifa said. Her tone wasn’t jealous, but it held something… curious.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Cloud added, shrugging. “We were both from small towns, first time two kids from the country left home. I think we just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

She nodded slowly, lips pursed, like she was reconsidering her next words. “Was it good?”

He gave a half-smile. “It was… fine. Awkward. Fast. Overrated.”

“Yeah. Awkward definitely. But Overrated?”

For half a second, neither of them said anything.

Then he added, quietly, “Not how I’d do it now.”

That made her look at him again. Really look. Her fingers flexed where they rested on the seat beside her, inches from his.

He didn’t move. Neither did she.

The moment lingered—quiet, charged, fragile.

Tifa looked away first, exhaling through her nose like she’d been holding her breath. “Well,” she said, a little too brightly, “at least you don’t think it’s still overrated.”

Cloud chuckled, low in his throat. “No. I definitely don’t.”

Warmth flooded through her. She shot him a sideways glance, something unspoken flickering behind her lashes. “We should probably head back,” she said softly, not moving an inch.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

But neither of them moved.

Finally, Cloud pushed off the bike and held out his hand like a chauffeur, just to lighten the mood. “Your chariot awaits, Miss Lockhart.”

Tifa snorted and took his hand, swinging her leg back over the seat. “So formal now. Is this before or after you ruined your own integrity?”

Cloud climbed on behind her, smirking. “Oh, I was never that innocent to begin with.”

She laughed as he kicked the bike to life. The engine roared, and the moment dissolved into wind.

The ride back to the city was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Her arms wrapped around his middle—tighter than before. Not just for balance this time. At one point she laid her head against his back. 

By the time they pulled into the back lot of Seventh Heaven, the stars had appeared behind the glow of streetlamps. Cloud cut the engine, but didn’t move.

Tifa slid off first and hesitated. “Thanks for the ride,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “And for… everything tonight.”

Cloud climbed off, meeting her eyes. “Thank you for the sandwich,” he said.

She laughed, then grew serious. “I missed this. Us.”

He swallowed. “Me too.”

They stood there under the halo of a buzzing light. Close. Closer than friends usually were. Just barely not touching.

“I should get upstairs,” she murmured.

He nodded. “Right. I’ll… see you tomorrow?”

Tifa gave a small smile. “You always do.”

And then she disappeared through the back door, leaving Cloud alone with the city and the pulse in his throat that hadn’t slowed since she smiled at him.

---

The room was dark, save for the faint amber glow of the streetlamp seeping through the blinds. Cloud lay flat on his futon, one arm behind his head, the other draped across his stomach. His dinner sat forgotten on the counter, half-eaten. The TV flickered in the background—something about motorcycle mods—but he wasn’t watching.

He could still smell her.

Not perfume. Not anything artificial. Just her. The warm press of her against his back on the ride home, the way her laughter felt like an exhale he hadn’t known he was holding. The way she’d looked tonight—bare skin and starlight, lit up like the memory of summer.

He turned toward the wall, pulling the blanket up over his waist. But sleep didn’t come. His mind refused to quiet.

“I missed this. Us.”

He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that. How much he’d craved something simple, familiar, and safe.

Only… this didn’t feel simple anymore.

Tifa wasn’t just the girl next door anymore. And he wasn’t just her broken best friend.

Something had shifted.

And it scared the hell out of him.

---

“Dude,” Zack grunted, benching another set like it was nothing. “You’re distracted.”

Cloud, halfway through his leg press, didn’t respond right away.

Zack sat up, towel draped around his neck. He studied his little brother’s expression—vacant, slightly dazed, a full five seconds behind reality.

“Okay, I know that look,” Zack said. “That’s either ‘I didn’t sleep at all’ or ‘I had a sex dream so vivid I’m still emotionally recovering.’”

Cloud blinked. “…It wasn’t a dream.”

Zack’s brows shot up. “Wait. Wait. You and Tifa—?”

“No!” Cloud cut in, scowling as he set the weights down. “We just… hung out. Talked. Rode out to the lookout.”

Zack tilted his head. “And now you look like someone rearranged your entire sense of self. Got it.”

Cloud shot him a look.

Zack just grinned and slapped his shoulder. “Good. You need someone to rearrange you a little. Maybe shake some of that broody bullshit loose.”

Cloud grabbed his water bottle and muttered, “It’s not like that.”

Zack didn’t push, but he was smirking all through leg day.

And Cloud? He didn’t even protest when Zack added weight to the bar.

 

Chapter 8

Cloud’s hands were black up to the wrists by the time Stephen strolled into the garage.

The Indian Scout sat in the center of the bay, frame up on the lift, its engine gutted and laid out in neat, oily precision. Cloud had been at it since nine—stripping it down, replacing the cracked piston rings, and realigning the damn clutch that wouldn’t seat right. His knuckles were already busted and raw.

Stephen whistled low as he circled the bike, arms crossed, denim apron speckled with glue stains and chalk dust. “Fuck, that thing’s turning out nice.”

Cloud grunted, not looking up. “Client wants it a dark matte green, no chrome, all blacked out. I’m reworking the bars and the seat needs covering.”

Stephen perked up. “Speaking of which… hear me out— distressed leather, dark rich camel. Diamond stitch.”

Cloud actually stopped mid-wipe, turning to glare like Stephen had just suggested paisley. “Absolutely not.”

Stephen grinned, pulling a swatch from his pocket and waving it. “Look at it in this light. Come on, man. It’s classic. Retro without being corny.”

“It’s too retro,” Cloud shot back, standing. “That stitching looks like it belongs in an ‘70s Buick.”

“Client wants something that stands out.”

“So do I. Not something that screams ‘retired rodeo dad.’”

Stephen laughed, tossing the swatch onto the workbench. “Trust me. Once it’s on there, you’ll come around.”

Cloud muttered under his breath, but he didn’t throw the swatch away. Which, in Stephen-speak, was a win.

By the time 3 o’clock rolled around, Cloud had just started reassembling the timing components when the garage door groaned open—and in came Cid, dragging an old stereo the size of a coffin behind him, four beat-up speakers stacked like a monument to the gods of southern rock and classic country.

“Don’t say it,” Cloud warned.

Cid lit a cigarette like it was a punctuation mark. “Boys are comin’ by tonight. Chocobo Sam’s ole lady kicked him out again so his garage is off limits. We’re takin’ it old school.”

“I already don’t sleep,” Cloud muttered.

“You’ll sleep when you’re dead.”

Cloud stared at the stereo like it had personally wronged him. “It’s gonna be Hank Jr. and Coe isn’t it?”

Cid just grinned.

At six Cloud wiped his hands on a rag, nodding goodbye to Cid, who was already deep into his third beer and rambling about real bikes, not those electric piss buckets. 

By seven, Cloud had managed a shower, a fresh t-shirt, and exactly fifty-seven minutes of Hank-free quiet before the first twang of a steel guitar rattled through the floorboards.

That was his cue.

 

It was Friday night. Which meant—one beer.

Maybe two, if the week had been hell.

He didn’t text her. Just rode across town and parked outside 7th Heaven like he had every other weekend for the past eight months. 

The lights at Seventh Heaven were warm and low when he walked in. Yuffie was behind the bar grinning at something one of the patrons said. 

“Hey, grease monkey,” she called, spinning a shaker. “Tifa’s in the kitchen. Smells awesome, shocker.”

Cloud nodded, slid onto his usual stool. The music here was low, soulful. Jazz with bite. A warm contrast to the throbbing country two neighborhoods over.

He didn’t even have to ask. Yuffie poured his usual, a Red XIII IPA, and handed it over with a flourish. 

“She’s got chicken sliders tonight. I snagged one. You’re gonna cry.”

As if summoned, Tifa’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Tell Weezer to pace himself. I don’t want him getting sick in here again!”

Cloud chuckled into his glass and glanced over to the man in question. Weezer was one of the neighborhood regulars. His wife had left him for the thirteenth time and he had been here drowning himself ever since. 

A minute later, Tifa emerged, wiping her hands on a towel, a plate balanced in the other. 

“Taste test.” She set it down in front of him: two chicken and waffle sliders drizzled in honey butter and just a hint of cayenne.

“Mac’s next,” she added. “Topped with brisket from next door. And fried mozz sticks.”

Cloud bit into the slider, eyes narrowing.

Tifa smirked. “Well?”

He chewed, swallowed, and grabbed another before moaning, “You know damn well it’s perfect.”

“Still not letting you pay.” She winked. 

Still he reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out a folded bill, and dropped it directly into the tip jar.

Tifa sighed, but didn’t argue. It was their ritual. She cooked. He ate. He tried to pay. She refused. So he tipped outrageously.

Yuffie didn’t mind at all. 

“Rough day?”

“Upholstery guy and I nearly came to blows.”

“What was it this time?”

“Diamond stitching. I said it looked like a couch from a ’70s porno. He said I had the taste of a brick.”

Tifa snorted and and finished pouring her own pint. “To thick mustaches and tasteful bricks.”

Cloud took a long drink, savoring the quiet hum of conversation around them. The bar wasn’t packed—just the regulars. A few mechanics from the rail yard. A group of off-duty security guys in the corner booth. He caught Aerith’s voice near the end of the bar, laughing with a couple of them.

She waved when she saw him.

He gave a small nod. They’d gotten to know one another fairly well. She was sharp and kind, and seemed to genuinely like giving him hell. The teasing was gentle. Unassuming. He liked her.

“So,” Tifa said, drying a glass beside him. “Aerith and I are hosting a game night here Sunday. You and Zack should come.”

Cloud blinked. “Game night?”

“Yeah. Cards, darts, trivia. Couple of the guys from the neighborhood, all the Turks, of course Barrett, and Yuffie is working.  Figured it’d be good to have everyone under one roof. You know. Not killing each other.”

Cloud gave a small smirk. “That happen a lot?”

“More than you’d think.”

She leaned on the bar, watching him. “You coming?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I’ll talk to Zack.

---

By the time Sunday night rolled around, Cloud was already regretting everything.

Zack showed up early, dressed like he was heading to a casting call for Midgar’s Most Eligible. His jeans were tight, his short-sleeved button down was tighter, and his cologne could’ve choked Bahamut himself.

Cloud eyed him over his coffee mug. “You trying impress the bartender or kill her?”

Zack grinned, checking his reflection in the microwave door. “I’m recently single and devastatingly hot. I owe it to the people.”

Cloud groaned. “You’re not even the hot one in this loft.”

“Not according to your neighbor, who waved at me twice this morning.”

“Zack—she was walking her dog.”

Zack just winked.

By the time they got to the bar, Zack was still fussing with his hair in the side mirror of the truck. Cloud didn’t wait for him. He shoved the door open and walked in.

 

“Hey! Weezer, I swear to god, you puke on the jukebox again and I’ll ninja chop your ass!”

The voice came from a blur of dark layers—torn fishnet under a cropped hoodie, shorts over patterned leggings, and boots scuffed like they’d survived a few alley brawls. Her black hair was twisted up haphazardly, piercings gleaming along one ear like stardust in rebellion.

“Who the hell…” Zack whispered behind him.

“Yuffie,” Cloud said dryly.

Reno, who’d just found a seat at the bar, raised a brow. “She always like this?”

“Every damn day,” Tifa said from the kitchen, her voice warm with amusement.

Yuffie spun theatrically, giving a little bow. “Yuffie Valentine-Kisaragi. Part-time bartender, full-time chaos goblin.”

Reno looked delighted. “Wait—Valentine-Kisaragi? You any relation to Vincent?”

“Older brother,” she said. “Emotionally unavailable cryptid, collector of vintage handguns. You know the type.”

Zack barked a laugh. “Vincent’s still alive? I figured he turned into a fog bank by now.”

Yuffie pointed a finger gun at him. “Only on Thursdays.”

Reno leaned forward, eyes bright. “I went to high school with that guy. Quiet, but cool. I could talk to a brick wall, and Vincent was the challenge I never beat.”

Yuffie grinned. “He’s the reason I don’t have to pay for campus housing. I crash with him to save Gil. It’s either that or get a roommate who smokes inside and does tarot for her GPA.”

“Tough call,” Cloud muttered, sliding onto a barstool.

“Vincent doesn’t ask too many questions when I come home at 3 a.m. smelling like tequila and weed,” she added, swiping a fry from Reno’s plate.

Reno stared at her like he’d found his long-lost twin. “Are you me?”

Yuffie squinted. “Only if you believe Alice in Chains: Unplugged is the greatest grunge album of all time.”

Reno slapped the bar. “Finally. Some culture!”

He leaned in. “Unplugged is solid, I’ll give you that—but Temple of the Dog? That’s the soul of Seattle in an album.”

Yuffie crossed her arms. “Okay, you’re not wrong. But AIC Unplugged has better acoustic layering.”

Tifa shook her head with a quiet smile as she dried a dish. Yuffie had that same natural spotlight that Aerith carried—only hers came dressed in combat boots and sarcasm instead of sundresses and flowers.

Cloud was just taking a sip of his beer when he noticed Zack go still beside him.

Tseng was off in the corner, sipping neat scotch like a Bond villain. Elena was pretending not to stare at him. Barrett was loudly comparing hunting knives with a guy Cloud didn’t recognize. The music was good, the lights warm, the kind of place that felt like it knew you even if you didn’t know yourself yet.

And then Aerith stepped out from the back.

Hair curled. Sundress soft and floral. Laughing as she balanced a tray of drinks with ease.

Zack stared like he’d been hit by a truck. A very beautiful, flower-scented truck.

Cloud didn’t even have time to warn him.

“Hi,” she said with a bright smile. “You must be Zack.”

Zack straightened, smile clicking into place like a reflex. “And you must be an actual angel.”

Cloud thunked his forehead against the bar.

Hard.

“Help,” he muttered.

Tifa walked past, smirking. “He’s already lost, huh?”

“Completely,” Cloud sighed. 

Aerith set the tray down on the bar with a graceful twist of her wrist, like she’d done it a thousand times—and she probably had. Every movement was fluid, easy. Comfortable in her skin in a way that made Zack feel like he’d just forgotten how to use his limbs.

She turned to him with an open smile. “So, Zack, Cloud’s… older brother?”

“Basically.” He offered a hand. “Zack Fair. Ex-military. Recently reformed party boy. Currently between bad decisions.”

She laughed, warm and unbothered, and shook his hand. “Aerith Gainsborough. Part-time bartender, full-time florist, and professional judge of character.”

He tilted his head. “So? What’s the verdict?”

“Jury’s still out,” she said, but her grin softened the words. “But you’ve got kind eyes. Even if your hair looks like it lost a fight with a lightning bolt.”

Zack laughed—genuinely—and gave a dramatic bow. “Guilty as charged. Styling gel and hope can only do so much.”

Aerith folded her arms, hip cocked as she looked him over. “You know, I expected someone more serious. Cloud talks about you like you saved his life.”

That knocked the breath out of him in a way he hadn’t expected. Zack’s voice dropped a little. “He saved himself. I was just… close enough to catch him.”

Her eyes softened. “That’s enough.”

There was a long beat of quiet between them—an understanding neither had to name. She didn’t press, and he didn’t deflect. It felt… easy. Like they’d known each other longer than five minutes.

“So.” Aerith finally broke the silence with a mischievous glint. “Are you gonna stand there looking heroic all night or are you drinking something?”

Zack blinked. “Wait—you’re offering to buy me a drink?”

She gave him a wink. “No. I’m offering to pour you one and charge you full price.”

He let out a low laugh, hand over his heart. “Brutal. I like it.”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “I make a mean whiskey sour. You look like someone who drinks whiskey in girly drinks.”

“Okay, ouch,” Zack said, mock-wounded. “But yeah. That’s… extremely accurate.”

Aerith moved behind the bar, already reaching for the bottle. “One whiskey sour, coming up—with extra regret, just how you like it. 

Zack looked over his shoulder, caught Cloud watching from a few seats away with the most murderous glint in his eyes.

He gave a two-fingered salute. Cloud flipped him him off. 

The rest of the night was chaos. Zack was on fire—charming everyone, especially Aerith. They were glued to each other within an hour, whispering over card games, sharing drinks, laughing like they’d known each other for years. By the time ten rolled around, they were already making plans for dinner next weekend.

Tifa sidled up beside Cloud while he was reshuffling a deck of cards. “Think that’s gonna stick?”

Cloud glanced toward the pair of them, now slow dancing to a song Aerith had picked on the jukebox.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think it might.”

Tifa smiled, soft and knowing. “Good.”

Cloud didn’t say it, but—good was exactly what Zack deserved.

And maybe—just maybe—he could believe it for himself too.

The bar had emptied out by the time Cloud helped flip the chairs. Zack and Aerith had vanished sometime around midnight, muttering something about finding dessert—though neither of them had touched the cupcakes Tifa left out.

Cloud wiped down the counter. Tifa counted the till, eyes flicking up every so often to check on him. There was something about the way he moved tonight—slower, a little hunched, like the weight he carried was heavier than usual.

When she finally tucked the Gil into her bank bag, and turned off the register, she caught him mid-yawn. A real one—jaw-cracking, eyes-watering, the kind of yawn that only came when you’d been running on fumes too long.

“Damn,” she murmured. “You look exhausted.”

Cloud blinked at her, then gave a sheepish shrug. “Cid’s been in rare form with his biker buddies.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Every night this week,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Some kind of classic rock bender. I think last night he discovered Foghat. Played Slow Ride four times in a row.”

“Yikes.”

“And the night before that was Bon Jovi. I almost moved out.”

Tifa laughed, warm and sympathetic. “You poor thing.”

He shrugged again, trying to downplay it—but his shoulders sagged a little more.

There was a pause. Tifa dried her hands on a towel, then tossed it over her shoulder.

“There’s a couch upstairs,” she said, casually. “If you want it.”

Cloud looked at her, a flicker of surprise in his expression. “You sure?”

She nodded. “Yeah. You won’t get any Bon Jovi up there. Just Aerith’s plant humidifier and the occasional meow from Fluffy.”

A breath of something close to relief escaped him. He didn’t smile exactly, but his eyes softened.

“Thanks.”

Tifa held his gaze a moment longer. “Get some rest, okay?”

He nodded. “I’ll try.”

And he did.

---

Hours later, he was still out cold when Aerith came home.

It was well past three when Aerith returned, barefoot and humming, keys jingling softly in her hand. The apartment was mostly dark, save for the glow of the streetlamp outside the window. She tiptoed in, already pulling her earrings off when she spotted the figure on the couch.

Cloud.

Fast asleep, his arm flung across his eyes, blanket kicked halfway to the floor. One boot still on, the other missing. His jacket draped over the back of the couch, hair messy and sticking to his forehead.

She paused, softening. Then walked over and crouched beside him.

“You okay there, soldier?”

Cloud stirred, blinking groggily, pulling his arm back to squint at her. “…Hey.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’okay.” He sat up slightly, rubbing his face.

“Long day?” she asked, settling onto the coffee table across from him.

He gave a tired laugh. “Long week.”

She tilted her head. “You working overtime?”

“No. Just… haven’t been sleeping.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Cid’s been blasting this awful country rock bullshit every night until like, two a.m. I swear he’s going deaf and trying to bring us all with him.”

Aerith grinned. “That explains the bags under your eyes.”

“Yeah,” he deadpanned. “Put there by Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

She snorted. “Tragic.”

He leaned back against the cushions, eyes half-lidded. “Tifa said I could crash. Just didn’t expect to crash so hard.”

Aerith gave him a gentle smile. “You’re welcome here anytime. Tifa’ll be glad you’re here.”

Cloud looked at her, something soft and honest in his expression. “Thanks.”

She rose, brushing her hands on her skirt. “Get some rest. I promise not to turn on any outlaw anthems.”

“Appreciate that.”

She headed for her room, pausing in the doorway. “Night, Cloud.”

He was already slipping back down, eyes closing.

“Night, Aerith.”

And then the apartment fell quiet again.

This time, Cloud slept. Really slept. No dreams. No noise. Just peace.

Just home.

Chapter 9: Flamboyance

Summary:

No one knows what a group of flamingos is called.”

Tifa smiled. “It’s a flamboyance.”

Zack stared at her. “That’s awesome.”

Notes:

Ok well... I just re-read all of this and realized I missed a WHOLE FUCKING CHAPTER. That's what I get for editing at 3AM and posting rapid fire before I have to take a hiatus for a major spinal surgery. Any way, I'm sorry and you guys have been great with the comments. I guess it made sense without this chapter, but to me, as the author, I was lost. And this chapter was probably the most fun to write.

The following Friday Cloud had just kicked off his boots when the first few chords of Stevie Ray Vaughan’s “Cold Shot” rattled the floorboards. It came blaring through the shared walls from below, loud enough to vibrate the light fixtures in his ceiling.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Here we fucking go.”

Downstairs, Cid and his biker crew were clearly a handle deep and halfway into their weekend blues rotation. Cloud could already smell cigars and the burnt edge of someone’s grilled disaster wafting up through the vents.

He barely had time to grab a clean shirt when his door slammed open.

“CLOUD.”

Zack burst into the loft like a man who’d been dying to say something for the last twelve hours.

Cloud looked up from the tiny kitchenette, unimpressed. “What.”

Zack was glowing. Like, legitimately glowing. Still in his date clothes—collared shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled halfway up, that stupid silver chain glinting under the light. He looked like someone who’d joined a cult.

“I’m in love, bro.”

Cloud didn’t blink. “You met her last Sunday.”

“Exactly. And it was enough. I’ve seen the light. Her name is Aerith Gainsborough and she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, including that one time you and I raced Chocobos drunk through Sector Five.”

Cloud leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Please tell me this isn’t another girl-you-met-who-knows-your-coffee-order-and-you-think-it’s-a-sign thing.”

“She remembered my allergies, Cloud! She ordered me lavender tea with honey because she said she could ‘just tell’ I needed it. Do you know how terrifyingly specific that is?!”

“Do you know how insane you sound?”

Zack was already pacing. “She asked about my dad. Who asks about my dad?! No one’s ever asked about my dad!”

“You tell her he took the long way to the gas station to get smokes?”

“Bastard’s still lost.”

Cloud chuckled. 

“…Okay. But seriously, she’s just… different. She listens. She cares. She’s smart and sarcastic and she called Reno a swamp rat to his face. I think I saw Tseng smile, man.”

Cloud smirked despite himself. “Take a breath before you pass out.”

“I am in heaven.”

Zack threw himself on Cloud’s worn-out couch. “We’re going out again tomorrow.”

“Of course you are.”

“She wants to go to that garden in the upper plate. The one with the koi pond.”

“You hate that kind of shit.”

“She likes flowers, man. So I’m gonna like everything.”

Cloud chuckled and dropped onto the armchair across from him, shaking his head. “God, you’re hopeless.”

Zack beamed. “Hopelessly smitten.”

The floor beneath them vibrated with a guitar solo that made the picture frames tilt sideways.

“Cid’s on the bourbon,” Cloud muttered. “We’ve got maybe an hour before he cranks ‘Pride and Joy’ and starts line dancing in his grease-stained socks.”

Zack stretched out and closed his eyes, still grinning like a fool. “Let him. Nothing can ruin this high.”

Cloud shook his head, but he couldn’t help smiling.

Because deep down, he was glad. Zack deserved this—joy, peace, something real. And if Aerith was even half as good as she seemed, Cloud couldn’t think of anyone better for his brother.

He inhaled a breath and thought to himself, maybe…

Tifa’s face came into his mind. The way she looked with the sun setting behind her the day they went riding.

Then, unbidden, the image of her was shrouded in smoke. The wet heat of the jungle clung to his bones.

The dreams were worse when he was exhausted.

Cloud didn’t always remember them. Sometimes it was just a feeling—an unease that clung to the edges of his mind like smoke, the kind that followed him into the shower, into his boots, into the choke of traffic on the way to Cid’s garage. Other times, it was vivid.

Concrete. Blood on his hands. A gunmetal hallway echoing with the sound of retreating footsteps he couldn’t catch.

He would wake up breathless, soaked in sweat, heart pounding like he’d just sprinted through a battlefield with no weapon. And lately, thanks to Cid’s nightly concerts and the growing line of clients desperate to get their hands on “Strife-tuned parts”, he was barely sleeping at all.

Which is why, after crashing on Tifa’s couch last week, that morning still clung to him in ways he hadn’t expected.

She’d made breakfast. Not much. Just eggs, toast, and strong black coffee. But he’d sat at the little round table by the window, elbows braced on the wood, watching her move around the kitchen in soft sweats and a band tee that hung off one shoulder.

There was music on low. Something mellow and wordless. Aerith had already left for work, and the apartment felt quiet, lived-in, like a place someone called home.

Tifa had caught him staring once. She didn’t call him out for it. Just slid his mug closer, sat across from him, and said, “You look better.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just nodded. Took another sip.

Then she asked, “How long’s it been since you had a full night?”

He didn’t lie.“Almost a week.”

Her brows creased, worry flickering across her face. “Just Cid?”

“And the dreams,” he admitted. His voice came out rough, like he’d pulled it from somewhere deeper than his lungs. “They’re not always bad. Just… heavy. Like I’m stuck in them.”

Tifa didn’t speak for a moment. Then she reached across the table and touched his hand—just barely. Her fingers were warm.

“You know,” she said, soft, “there’s a couch here anytime you need it.”

Something in him pulled tight at that. A knot, a tension that didn’t unwind but hummed low in his chest.

He could’ve said thank you. He could’ve made a joke. He could’ve promised to take her up on it soon.

Instead, he just turned his hand over—so their palms met—and held hers for a few seconds longer than necessary.

Now, with Cid’s music rattling the ceiling and Zack raving about koi ponds, Cloud found himself thinking about that morning.

The way she’d smiled at him across the table. The way her thumb had brushed his knuckles before she pulled away. The quiet between them that hadn’t felt awkward at all.

He wasn’t in love, not like Zack—falling face-first into it like gravity had caught him off guard.

But something was shifting. Something had shifted.

And maybe, if he let himself stop fighting it, he could figure out where it was going.

For now, he got up, grabbed his boots, and slammed them back on.

Because if he couldn’t sleep anyway…

He might as well go see her.

 

The next Sunday rolled in wrapped in the scent of grilled street food and engine grease. Cloud stood in front of his mirror, still shirtless, still damp from the shower, staring down a wrinkled flannel like it had personally wronged him.

From the couch, Zack scrolled through his playlist, humming some half-forgotten victory anthem.

“You gonna pick a shirt or just go like that?” he called without looking up.

Cloud grunted. “They’re all stupid.”

“No, you’re just spiraling because she’s gonna be there.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” Zack stood and rifled through the narrow rack of shirts wedged against the wall. “Here. Wear this.” He pulled out a soft grey-and-white raglan with three-quarter sleeves.

Cloud narrowed his eyes. “That’s yours. You left it at Aerith’s. I forgot to get it back to you.”

Cloud hesitated. Zack tossed it at him anyway.

“Trust me. Girls love the forearms.”

 

They got to the bar late. Not on purpose, but it worked out that way. Music was already going, laughter spilling from the patio. Paper lanterns swung gently in the warm breeze, casting swaying shadows across the sidewalk.

Cloud ducked his head as they walked in, already scanning for her. He didn’t even realize he was doing it—until his eyes found her.

Tifa.

She wasn’t doing anything extraordinary. Just laughing with Elena from behind the bar, setting down a bowl of popcorn. She wore ripped jeans and a red tank top, her braid loose and curling down her back. Gold hoops. Smudged eyeliner. Effortless.

And somehow—everything else disappeared.

She looked up. Saw him.

Her face lit up.

And that was it.

The moment.

It didn’t crash into him all at once, but it struck true just the same—like gravity realigning. Like all the pieces he’d been quietly collecting for years finally settled into place.

Fuck, I do love her. Not just love, but IN love.

He didn’t say it. Not even in his own head. But he felt it. Bone-deep. Irrefutable. From scraped knees to whispered letters, to shared meals and soft glances across worn wood tables—every version of her was folded up inside him like a memory that had always been waiting to bloom.

Zack, already halfway to Aerith, caught the shift.

He didn’t say a word. Just paused. Looked back. Smiled—quiet and knowing.

Later, when most of the crowd had filtered out and Cloud was brooding into a beer like a cat avoiding eye contact, Zack nudged him with his shoulder.

“You’ve always looked at her like that.”

Cloud blinked. “What?”

“Twelve years old. Right after kickball. Remember? She patched your elbow and you couldn’t even talk. Just stared at her like she was made of magic.”

“I did not.”

“You did. You just didn’t have the language for it yet.”

Cloud glanced back toward the bar, where Tifa’s laughter still floated through the low music like windchimes.

“…Yeah,” he murmured. “Still don’t.”

Zack slung an arm around his neck, grinning. “Don’t be an idiot. You’ve been hers since third grade. Only thing left is for you to stop pretending otherwise.”

---

Summer Camp 12 year old Cloud and 11 year old Tifa. 

It was the last game of the day. Cloud had taken a kickball straight to the arm trying to catch it for Tifa’s team—and missed.

He sat on the ground, holding his elbow like it might fall off, muttering curses under his breath. His pride was more bruised than his body. Zack was a few yards away, laughing with some older kids, but watching out of the corner of his eye.

Then he saw her.

Tifa jogged over, brows pinched in concern, a roll of gauze and a little first aid kit in her hand. Her ponytail bounced behind her, and she wore one of those oversized camp shirts tied at the waist, scuffed knees from god-knows-what.

“You okay?” she asked, kneeling down in front of him.

Cloud just blinked. She smelled like sun and something sweet. Maybe strawberries.

“I’ve had worse,” he mumbled.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’ve bled before.”

She gave him a look, then popped open the alcohol wipe and gently took his arm. He didn’t flinch—but not because it didn’t sting. Because she was touching him.

Her fingers were soft.

“You can’t catch for shit,” she muttered, not unkindly, just in a teasing way, cleaning around the scrape. “You tried though.”

“I thought I could,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up at him then. Smiled. “You’re stubborn.”

He wanted to die.

Then she blew on the scrape, slow and soft, to cool the sting. And Cloud just sat there, absolutely wrecked, completely silent, unable to look anywhere but at her.

From across the field, Zack stood with his friends laughing at whatever it was a fourteen year old boy found funny. He glanced at them from across the playing field and grinned.

---

 9 year old Cloud and 8 year old Tifa

Tifa was screaming.

Cloud ran up the hill so fast he tripped twice, knees torn open and dirt in his teeth. But he didn’t stop until he found her.

She was swatting at her arms, tears streaking her cheeks. The yellow jackets were still buzzing around her, angry and wild. Her shirt was bunched up, welted stings dotting her arms and neck. She was breathing too fast. Crying too hard.

Cloud didn’t think. Just moved.

He grabbed her hand, yanked her away from the tree stump, and bolted downhill with her until they collapsed in the grass behind his house.

She was sobbing, her hands trembling. Her fingers were going red and puffy. “It hurts…”

“I know,” Cloud said, breathless, already checking her over. “I’ll fix it.”

He ran to the porch, slammed the screen door open, and grabbed the tube of minty white toothpaste from the bathroom drawer—the kind Grandpa Strife swore by. Ran back and started dabbing it gently onto the worst of the stings.

“You’re gonna smell dumb,” he warned, voice serious. “But Grandpa Strife says it works.”

Tifa hiccupped a laugh through her tears. “I already feel dumb.”

“You’re not dumb.” Cloud’s little brow furrowed. “You’re just not as fast as me.”

That earned a watery glare, and he looked briefly smug.

But once she was settled, curled up in his beanbag chair with a box of frozen peas on her arm, Cloud slipped out the back door.

He didn’t tell her where he was going. He just went to the shed. Grabbed the gas can. Walked straight back to that tree stump with the nest inside and doused the damn thing like a tiny soldier on a mission.

Then he struck the match.

And when the fire whooshed to life, his blue eyes gleamed in the dusk, unblinking.

“No one stings my best friend,” he whispered.

Back at the house, Tifa looked up as he came back inside smelling like smoke and vengeance.

“What did you do?”

Cloud dropped the gas can by the door and sat beside her.

“Handled it.”

---

The bar had been transformed. The tables were pushed to the sides, replaced with a makeshift game stage and a chalkboard listing team names. Barrett stood at the center like a game show host on his third espresso, grinning like he was about to preside over a war.

“Welcome to Jeopardy: Midgar Mayhem Edition!” he bellowed, holding up a hand-scrawled cue card. “Let’s meet our gladiators of useless knowledge!”

Laughter rippled through the room.

On the left: Team Avalanche — Tifa, Cloud, Zack, and Aerith.

On the right: Team Turk & Tonic — Reno, Rude, Tseng, and Elena.

Cloud leaned on the bar beside Tifa, arms crossed loosely, trying to ignore how close her shoulder was to his. She smelled like sugar and bourbon. He hadn’t touched his second beer.

Zack stood behind them, bouncing on his heels. “Okay team,” he whispered. “We got this. I’ve been training for this moment since trivia night at the Wutai barracks.”

Cloud gave him a flat look. “You lost that night.”

“Only because the question was rigged. No one knows what a group of flamingos is called.”

Tifa smiled. “It’s a flamboyance.”

Zack stared at her. “That’s awesome.”

Aerith leaned in, eyes twinkling. “Oh, we’re gonna wipe the floor with them.”

Across the room, Reno was already heckling. “Hope you nerds brought tissues for all that second-place crying you’re about to do.”

Elena elbowed him. “Let them try to win. It’ll be cute.”

Tseng just sipped his drink like he was above it all. Rude nodded once, silently intimidating.

Barrett cleared his throat and held up the first question card. “Category: Music & Mayhem.”

The bar went quiet.

“This legendary guitarist was known for playing his instrument upside down and setting it on fire during live performances.”

Buzz.

Zack slammed the bell. “Who was Jimi Hendrix? Final answer.”

Barrett raised an eyebrow. “Correct. Point to Avalanche.”

Zack spun dramatically and bowed. “Ladies.”

Tifa and Aerith clapped. Cloud muttered, “Showoff.”

But he was impressed.

The rounds continued. Food & Drink. Midgar History. Pop Culture. Zack dominated with a mix of unhinged enthusiasm and actual, baffling competence.

“Name the five sectors of Midgar in clockwise order starting from the reactor core.”

Buzz. Zack again.

“Easy. What is One, Two, Five, Six, Eight. Boom?”

Barrett squinted. “Correct? Hell. When did you get smart?”

“I hide it behind my good looks,” Zack said, pretending to flip his hair.

Aerith just looked at him, heart in her eyes.

By round four, things had gotten close.

Tifa and Cloud were hunched over the bar-top scoreboard, whispering through their strategy.

“You take Midgar Politics,” she murmured, pointing at the category. “You actually paid attention in government class.”

Cloud shook his head. “I only passed because you let me cheat off your notes.”

“Then this is your redemption arc.”

She was too close.

Her knee brushed his. Her hand lingered on his arm a second too long. He tried to focus, but her voice was a low hum in his head and he couldn’t remember if Shinra’s first president had a middle name or not.

Tifa leaned in. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes flicking to her lips before snapping back to the board. “Fine.”

“You’re blushing.”

“No I’m not.”

“You’re definitely blushing.”

Buzz.

“Team Avalanche,” Barrett barked. “This one’s for the lead. ‘In Shinra policy, what does M.R.A. stand for?’”

Cloud blinked. “What is Military Reserve Authority?”

Barrett grinned. “Damn right. Point to Avalanche!”

The bar exploded.

Zack whooped, grabbing Aerith and spinning her in a circle. She laughed so hard she nearly fell over.

Cloud sat back down, heart hammering.

Tifa slid into the stool beside him, warm and flushed with excitement. She leaned close again, voice just for him.

“You’re kind of a genius when you’re not overthinking.”

“Guess I learned from the best.”

She paused, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. Their eyes met—too long, too much—but neither looked away.

“…We should be on a team more often,” she said softly.

And damn it if he didn’t want that to mean more than trivia.

 

Across the bar, Reno grumbled, “This is rigged.”

Zack lifted his arms in victory. “Get wrecked, Turk & Tonic!”

Barrett yelled, “Lightning Round in five!”

But Cloud didn’t hear any of it. Not really.

Because Tifa was still looking at him like that.

And for a second, just a second, he let himself look back the same way.

It was well past midnight by the time the final round ended.

Barret had called it—Avalanche wins. Reno cried foul, twice, before Elena told him to sit down or she’d revoke his drink privileges. Tseng disappeared mid-conversation like some kind of corporate ghost. Chairs were flipped. Glasses clinked in the background. The hum of the evening slipped into something softer, the crowd thinning into memory. A low vinyl crackle spun in the corner, playing a half-forgotten jazz record that made the room feel warmer than it was.

Aerith laughed as she helped Tifa stack dishes. “Best idea we’ve had in weeks.”

“Tell that to Reno’s ego,” Tifa murmured, bumping her hip with a grin.

Cloud lingered at the bar, nursing a beer that had gone flat half an hour ago. He wasn’t drinking it anymore. Just holding it. Watching. Zack was at full wattage, elbows on the counter, practically glowing every time Aerith looked at him. That man had been struck dumb by fate, and for once, Cloud didn’t feel the need to tease him about it.

Eventually, Tifa turned toward him. “You staying for a bit?”

He blinked like she’d pulled him from deep water. “If you don’t mind.”

“I never do.”

The kitchen was spotless, quiet. She’d lit a candle near the sink—a soft amber glow that flickered like a heartbeat. It smelled faintly like cinnamon and something citrusy, something warm.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch. At first.

Their legs stretched toward the middle, knees just shy of touching, until they weren’t. Her bare foot brushed against his shin—light, casual, but intentional. A question wrapped in soft skin. She didn’t pull away when he didn’t flinch. If anything, she pressed in closer.

Her braid was gone. She’d tugged it loose after everyone left, and now her hair was a mess of dark waves, falling over one shoulder and catching the low light like silk.

“You did good tonight,” she said, swirling the last of her whiskey. “You’re not as antisocial as you think.”

Cloud smirked, lips curving faintly. “I was just trying to survive Zack’s commentary.”

She laughed—low, intimate. The kind of laugh that only belonged to people who’d seen you on your worst day and stayed anyway.

“Aerith likes him a lot,” she said, softer now.

“I noticed.”

A pause. The kind that held weight. Tifa leaned her head back against the cushion, eyes tracing the ceiling, the exposed beams, the soft spin of the ceiling fan. “You ever miss it? The service?”

Cloud’s fingers tightened around his glass. He didn’t answer right away.

“I miss some parts,” he said finally. “The clarity. The structure. Knowing what your mission was. Where you fit.”

She turned her face toward him.

“But not the war,” he added. Voice low, almost reverent. “Never the war.”

“Of course not.”

He hesitated, jaw ticking once. “I lost good people. And I wasn’t… I wasn’t okay after. I think part of me didn’t want to be.”

She shifted closer, silent. Closing the distance inch by inch, until her knees touched his. Until the room felt smaller. More private. Like a secret wrapped in candlelight.

“You could’ve called me,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“I know.”

“I texted you. Every week.”

“I saw them.” His voice cracked, just a little. “All of them. I just couldn’t answer. Not without lying. And I didn’t want you to see what was left.”

She didn’t move right away.

But then—slowly—she reached across the narrow gap and touched his hand.

Not to hold it. Just to anchor him.

“I would’ve found you anyway,” she said, eyes locked on his. “You know that, right?”

And this time, when he looked at her… he believed her.

 

Outside, the air was thick with the memory of rain. The pavement still glistened, puddles catching the glow of the streetlamp overhead like scattered coins. It cast the whole street in warm gold, soft and quiet, as if the world had been muted just for them.

Aerith walked Zack to the curb, her jacket slipping slightly off one shoulder, exposing the smooth line of her collarbone and the edge of her sundress strap. The air smelled of wet concrete, blooming jasmine, and something sweeter—maybe her perfume, maybe just her.

“That was fun,” she said, hugging her arms around herself like she didn’t want the night to end.

Zack rubbed the back of his neck, glancing sideways at her. “I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun completely sober.”

She laughed, and gods, it did something to him—like splitting open a sealed-up part of his chest he hadn’t realized was still locked.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not. It’s just…” He trailed off, grinning faintly. “Weird. In a good way. You’re kind of addictive.”

They stopped at the bottom of the steps, where the shadows from the porch met the golden wash of the streetlamp. For a second, neither moved. The air held still between them.

Zack shifted his weight, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. His voice was quieter when he spoke again.

“Hey… can I see you again?”

“You’re seeing me right now.”

He blinked. Then snorted softly. “Smartass.”

Aerith smiled, but this time it came with a tilt of her head and a glint of something gentler in her eyes. She stepped up one stair, closing the distance just enough that he could count the freckles across her nose, see the sheen of moisture on her lips.

“I’d like that,” she said, her voice softer now. More open. “To see you again, I mean.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the warmth in her tone or the way she was looking at him like she already knew what came next—but Zack’s breath caught. He didn’t want to screw this up. Not this. Not her.

His hand hovered, hesitant for just a second, until she solved the problem for him.

She tilted her chin just slightly, eyes flicking to his lips, her smile turning almost shy. And that was all it took.

He leaned in and kissed her. Slow, careful—like the first page of something he wanted to read again and again.

And when she kissed him back, it wasn’t hesitant at all. She sighed against his mouth, soft and content, like something long-awaited had finally fallen into place. Her hands slid up his chest, fisting lightly in his shirt, while his own found her—one cradling her cheek, thumb grazing her jaw; the other gripping her hip like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Neither of them spoke after that.

They didn’t need to.

Not when the only sound was the hush of the wind, the low hum of distant traffic, and the unmistakable rhythm of two people beginning to fall.

 

Tifa walked Cloud to the door.

He lingered. One hand on the knob. The other half-curled like he might reach for her.

“I should go,” he said, but didn’t move.

“You don’t have to.”

She said it so quietly, it could’ve been an accident. But it wasn’t.

He looked at her—really looked—and for a breath, the world shrank down to her mouth, her bare shoulder, the light catch in her lashes.

She didn’t move forward.

But she didn’t move back, either.

“Next time,” she said, breaking the tension with a smile, “we’re doing charades.” 

He huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “That’s just evil.”

She stepped back as he opened the door.

And just as he crossed the threshold, she said his name.

“Cloud.”

He turned.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

His voice was gravel-soft. “Me too.”

Then he walked out, carrying with him the weight of every breath they hadn’t taken, and everything still left unsaid.

Chapter 10: Caramel

Summary:

“She invited me in last night,” he said finally. “We sat on the couch. Talked. I told her… things I haven’t told anyone. And she just… listened.”

Cloud hated Mondays.

But this Monday? This one was personal.

He hadn’t slept.

Not just because of the usual post-socializing regret spiral, or because he’d been stuck thinking about Tifa’s laugh and how her fingers had brushed his on the couch. No. This time, the universe had decided to double down.

Because sometime around 1:00 a.m., Cid had switched from Stevie Ray Vaughan to his Mellow ’70s Gold playlist and let it ride. Bread. Fleetwood Mac. Gordon Lightfoot. Something called “Afternoon Delight” that made Cloud want to throw himself into traffic.

By 3:00 a.m., Cloud had reached existential crisis levels of exhaustion.

And now, here he was. Standing in the garage, smeared with oil, staring down a motorcycle seat he swore he would hate.

It was diamond stitched.

Distressed dark brown leather. Clean lines. Custom thread.

It looked good.

Goddammit.

“Of all the goddamn things,” he muttered, brushing a hand along the edge of the saddle. “Stephen actually made it work.”

He was still brooding when the garage door creaked open and Zack sauntered in, sunshine incarnate with a grease-streaked paper bag in one hand and a cardboard drink tray in the other.

“Happy Monday, sunshine!” Zack called.

Cloud didn’t look up. “Fuck off and die.”

“That’s the spirit.” Zack kicked the door shut with his boot and dropped the bag on the workbench. “I brought offerings.”

Cloud turned slowly. “What is that.”

“Double bacon cheeseburger. Crinkle fries. Large Coke.”

Cloud squinted. “From Charlie’s?”

“Duh.”

“…Okay.”

Zack grinned like a man who’d just solved world hunger. He popped the lid off the Coke and slid it across the bench like a bartender in an old Western. Cloud caught it with a grunt, then leaned against the worktable and took a long drink.

Zack didn’t waste time.

“She kissed me.”

Cloud groaned.

“She kissed me, Cloud.”

“I heard you.”

“Like… really kissed me. Hands-in-the-shirt, linger-after kind of kiss.”

Cloud stared at him, unimpressed.

Zack kept going anyway. “Bro. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. She smells like flowers and citrus. She hums while she pours tea, like mom used to. I’m done. Put me in the ground.”

Cloud took a bite of the burger, chewed in silence.

Zack leaned against the other side of the bench. “You see Tifa last night?”

Cloud hesitated. “Yeah.”

“She looked good.”

Cloud didn’t answer.

Zack gave him a look. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Because of Cid’s music, or because your brain won’t shut up about her?”

Cloud wiped his mouth with the edge of a shop rag. “Both.”

Zack nudged him. “You ever think about just telling her?”

Cloud didn’t look at him. “You ever think about not talking?”

“Not once.”

They ate in silence for a bit, the mellow sounds of The Doobie Brothers floating down through the wall speakers. Cloud stared out at the alleyway, watching the haze of city smog hang low over the rooftops.

“She invited me in last night,” he said finally. “We sat on the couch. Talked. I told her… things I haven’t told anyone. And she just… listened.”

Zack studied him.

“I think I could fall apart in front of her,” Cloud admitted quietly. “And she wouldn’t look away.”

“That’s how you know,” Zack said. No teasing in his voice this time.

Cloud nodded, slowly, like he agreed. 

---

The dishwasher hummed low in the background. Most of the lights were off except the kitchen over-sink bulb and the soft orange glow of the salt lamp in the living room.

Tifa stood barefoot at the counter, sipping tea, hair still damp from her shower. Aerith padded in behind her, wrapped in one of Zack’s old hoodies that had magically found its way into their apartment.

They didn’t talk for a minute.

Then, without looking up from her mug, Aerith murmured, “You like him.”

Tifa froze for a fraction of a second.

“Don’t start,” she said, a little too quickly.

“I’m not starting anything,” Aerith said, smiling softly as she stole a piece of leftover brownie from the cooling rack. “I’m just… observing. Noticing things. Like how your face lights up every time he walks in. Or how you change into your good jeans on nights he might show up.”

Tifa groaned. “This isn’t a romantic comedy. We are friends. Have been our whole lives. 

Aerith leaned on the counter beside her, licking chocolate from her thumb. “You are. But you’re also extremely attracted to him, and he’s Cloud. You’ve known him forever.”

Tifa sighed. “That’s exactly why.”

Aerith tilted her head.

“He’s been through hell. And I don’t want to make anything harder for him. I just…” Tifa shook her head, trailing off.

“You’re scared,” Aerith said, not unkindly. “Because you love him in that way where it’s always been there, and if it ever breaks—you break too.”

Tifa looked away. “Something like that.”

Aerith bumped her shoulder. “You know he’s already halfway yours, right?”

Tifa didn’t answer.

But she didn’t deny it either.

 

Friday night came with the usual noise—motorcycles, music, rowdy laughter from the garage below. Cloud had already texted her earlier.

C: Loud night. That couch still available?

T: Always. Blanket’s in the closet.

C: I’ll bring ice cream.

T: …If it’s the caramel kind, you’re forgiven for last Tuesday.

 

It was late when he showed up.

His hoodie was slung over one shoulder, bag in hand, the faint scent of motor oil still clinging to him. She was already in pajama shorts and an old tank top, hair in a loose braid.

“Hey,” she said softly.

He stepped inside and didn’t even try to hide the way he breathed out—like walking into her apartment peeled something heavy off his back.

They ate ice cream out of the carton; Chunky Monkey for him, Caramel Chocolate Cheesecake for her. They sat on the couch with a rerun playing low on the TV. She tossed him the blanket, and he gave her a look like, really? but tucked it over their legs anyway.

Halfway through the episode, she looked over and caught him watching her.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Cloud.”

He hesitated. Then: “Thanks for this.”

Tifa smiled. “Anytime.”

---

The dream came in a rush of fire and screaming.

Cloud was back in Wutai. Dirt in his mouth, the metallic tang of blood thick on his tongue. Smoke choked the air, curling through the battlefield like a living thing. Gunfire rattled in his ears—sharp, staccato bursts that never stopped. His boots slid in mud, in ash, in something worse. A boy’s face—too young, too scared—flashed in front of him, eyes wide before they vanished beneath rubble. His blade was heavy in his hands. Everything was heavy.

He turned—Zack, Zack was just there, wasn’t he?

But it wasn’t Zack anymore.

It was Roache. And then it wasn’t even him—it was Cloud himself. Standing across the scorched ground, looking back at him with the same blue eyes and the blood of strangers dripping from his chin.

“Coward,” the other Cloud whispered.

Cloud jolted upright with a strangled gasp.

His chest heaved. The sheets stuck to his skin, soaked with sweat. The ceiling fan spun uselessly overhead, stirring the thick heat in the loft but offering no real relief. Outside, the low hum of Cid’s shop already buzzed to life—music rumbling through the floorboards as engines coughed awake.

He dragged both hands down his face.

That made three nights in a row. Worse each time. He could still taste smoke in the back of his throat.

This wasn’t normal—not anymore. Not with how far he’d come. Not with how steady things had been. His hands shook as he reached for the water bottle on the nightstand, and that’s when he knew: he needed to call Elira. It was time to check in. Maybe the meds needed adjusting. Or maybe his head was just slipping again.

He was still sitting there, shirtless and worn out, trying to will himself to move when a knock echoed from the door below.

“Cloud?” Tifa’s voice drifted up from the stairwell. “You home?”

He blinked. Looked at the time—barely 9 a.m. The heat was already thick in the air, sticky with summer. He got to his feet, grabbed a towel to wipe down his face and chest, and padded barefoot to the door.

Tifa stood there in cutoff shorts and a sleeveless tee, her dark hair twisted up off her neck. A bead of sweat traced the line of her throat. She took one look at him—flushed, wild-eyed, still damp with sleep—and her smile faltered.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

“Yeah,” he said, a little too fast. “Just—rough night.”

Her eyes softened. “I brought iced coffee. And muffins from the new place on the corner. I figured you might not wanna cook in this heat.”

He stepped aside, letting her in. “You figured right.”

She passed him on the narrow stairs, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla trailing behind her. She paused when she saw the state of the place—half-dressed, fan going, sweat still shining on his shoulders—and turned back to him slowly.

“Cloud,” she said carefully. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitated.

And for once, he didn’t say no. Cloud didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he took the coffee from her hand and moved toward the small kitchenette, the muscles in his back flexing as he opened a cupboard for two paper plates. Tifa followed, quiet, watching him move like someone half-haunted. The dream still clung to him—she could see it. The way his eyes didn’t quite focus. The way he rubbed his palm along his jaw like he could scrub the memory away.

He handed her one of the plates, then leaned back against the counter, bare chest rising and falling in a slow, measured rhythm.

“I’m dreaming again,” he said finally, voice low. “One of the bad ones.”

Tifa didn’t interrupt.

“I was back in Wutai. Or… some version of it. It all blurs. I can’t remember the kid’s face, but I remember his scream. And then it wasn’t him. It was me. Bleeding. Blaming.”

Her fingers tightened around the bit of muffin in her hand.

“I haven’t had one like that in a long time,” he went on. “Not since—well, not since I started the meds.”

“Did you call Elira?”

“Not yet. I will.” He looked up at her then, eyes dark and tired. “I think something’s off. I’ve been exhausted for weeks, and with Cid blasting music every night—”

“You’re not sleeping.”

He nodded once.

She moved closer. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

He gave a small shrug. “Didn’t want to dump it on you. You’ve got your hands full already.”

“Cloud,” she said, firm now. “You’re not a burden.”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t look away.

The air between them thickened—charged, close. Tifa stood so near he could feel the warmth of her skin through the damp heat, smell the faint citrus of her shampoo, see the freckles dusting her collarbones. She reached up, almost hesitating, and touched his face—just a brush of her knuckles down his cheek.

His breath caught.

“I hate that you went through all that alone,” she whispered. “I hate that you still feel like you have to.”

His hand came up, fingers curling lightly around her wrist. Holding her there. Not pulling her away. Just… grounding himself.

“You always find me,” he said softly. “Even when I don’t want to be found.”

“I know,” she whispered back.

They stood like that for a beat too long—eyes locked, breath mingling, the silence full of everything unspoken. Her fingers shifted, barely brushing the edge of his mouth. His grip tightened just a little.

And then she stepped back, breaking the spell before it broke them.

“I’ll text Elira,” he said, clearing his throat.

He watched her move across the loft; somehow both effortless and completely devastating.

“Tifa,” he said before she reached the stairs.

She paused.

“…Thanks. For coming over.”

She looked back at him, her smile small and radiant.

“Anytime,” she said. “You’re my favorite mess.”

And with that, she slipped out, leaving the scent of vanilla and lemon and some barely-contained ache trailing behind her.

Cloud stared at the door long after it shut.

Then he picked up his phone and dialed Elira.

---

The clinic was cold.

Not in temperature, really—just in that sterile, too-clean way that made Cloud feel like he didn’t belong. He sat on the edge of the exam table, arms folded, boots tapping a slow, unconscious rhythm against the linoleum floor.

Dr. Elira adjusted her glasses, studying the chart on her tablet before glancing up at him. “You’re sleeping less. Nightmares are worse. Appetite?”

Cloud gave a noncommittal shrug. “When I remember to eat.”

“And your mood?”

He offered a dry look. “Zack says I’ve always been a ray of sunshine.”

She didn’t smile. Just tapped her stylus once against the screen. “I’m going to recommend a short-term sleep aid. Just something mild. Not addictive. It might help break the cycle, give your brain a reset.”

He said nothing.

“Cloud,” she said gently, “you don’t have to muscle through everything. It’s okay to accept help.”

He nodded, and he meant it—but when she handed him the bottle, something in his gut recoiled.

Later that night, he tried one.

The sleep it brought wasn’t real—it was heavy and synthetic, full of static and darkness that felt too thick to breathe through. He woke up sweating and disoriented, the back of his neck damp, his thoughts sluggish like his mind was trapped under wet concrete. It wasn’t rest. It was sedation.

He dumped the bottle in his bathroom drawer and didn’t touch it again.

The next day, he showed up at Seventh Heaven early. The place was quiet—just Tifa restocking bottles behind the bar. Cloud leaned against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck as she glanced up from a box of mixers.

“How’d your appointment go?” she asked, voice soft.

He hesitated.

Then shook his head. “Not using the sleeping pills.”

She didn’t try to change his mind. Didn’t offer pity or advice.

She just wiped her hands on a dish towel, walked around the bar, and knelt beside the big galvanized tub they used for junk—mismatched utensils, spare coasters, backup bottle openers.

She rifled through it for a moment, then pulled out a small, silver key.

Held it out to him without a word.

He looked down at it, confused.

Tifa didn’t explain. Just pressed it into his palm, her fingers curling briefly over his.

“It’s for the apartment,” she said. “Mine and Aerith’s. If you ever need to crash on the couch again.”

Cloud stared at her, caught somewhere between overwhelmed and disarmed. The key felt warm in his hand. Heavy in the way things mattered.

“Tifa—”

“You don’t have to ask,” she said, eyes locked on his. “Just come.”

His throat felt tight. He nodded once, then twice more when once didn’t feel like enough.

Tifa gave him a small smile and went back to restocking, like she hadn’t just carved open his chest and tucked herself inside.

Cloud stared at the key for a long time.

It was nothing fancy—just worn brass with a faded green plastic cap—but it gleamed like gold in the morning sun.

And somehow, it made the air feel easier to breathe.

Notes:

Ok, so I forgot to add the appropriate tag for Smut. So just to let y’all know, it is coming. Maybe not in the next chapter…but it’s definitely coming.

I’ve updated the tags btw 🤠

Chapter 11

Summary:

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, voice low, playful.

Zack didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve got plans.”

“Oh, I’ve got plans.”

Notes:

You guys have been awesome! Thank you for all the comments. Smut incoming. 👹

It started with the key.

A quiet exchange. No questions, no expectations. Just Tifa pressing it into his palm one evening after his check-up, her eyes soft but certain.

“Come by whenever you want,” she said. “Couch is yours.”

He started showing up Friday nights.

Sometimes late, after closing the shop. Other times earlier, with takeout in hand and his boots already untied. He never made a big deal of it—just slipped through the door like he belonged there. And maybe, in some ways, he did.

Aerith would greet him with a hug and a mischievous comment about his hair. Tifa would lift an eyebrow and point to the fridge. “There’s beer if you want one.”

By the second weekend, Cloud had a designated blanket. By the third, a toothbrush in the bathroom cup. He didn’t say it, but the couch had become the only place he slept through the night.

Saturday mornings were slow. Lazy. Sunlight spilled across the floorboards while Tifa brewed strong coffee and wandered barefoot in shorts and a faded old tank. Cloud would pad into the kitchen behind her, still tugging a shirt over his head, hair sticking up in every direction.

“You look like you got hit by a truck,” she’d tease.

“Feel like it,” he’d grumble, reaching for a mug.

She smiled into her cup, watching him from over the rim. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” he said—and meant it.

He helped her with errands, fixed a broken shelf, refastened a towel bar in the bathroom that had been loose since winter. They grocery shopped once on a Sunday, and Aerith insisted on pushing the cart. Cloud followed behind, carrying a basket like a pack mule while the girls debated brands of granola like it was a matter of national security.

The nights, though—they were different.

Quieter.

After Aerith went to bed, it was just him and Tifa. On the couch. Sharing cookies and the end of a bottle of wine. They talked more than they used to—sometimes about nothing, sometimes about everything. She asked about work, about the shop. He asked about the bar. They teased each other, fell into old rhythms, drifted closer without meaning to.

She’d tuck her feet under his thigh. He didn’t move them.

One night, she laughed at something he said and leaned into him, head resting briefly on his shoulder.

Neither of them commented on it.

Another night, she dozed off beside him while they watched an old movie. Her head slumped against his chest, her breath even. He didn’t dare move—just sat there with one arm curled lightly around her, heart thudding in a slow, unfamiliar rhythm.

Something warm. Steady. Real.

And for the first time in what felt like years, Cloud wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He just… stayed.

 

---

Zack’s truck rumbled down the quiet street, windows down, the late-summer air thick and heady with jasmine and asphalt. Neon signs flickered in passing—old diners, shuttered pawn shops, a mural half-washed out by rain. The city was winding down. 

He wasn’t.

Aerith had kicked off her heels the second they got in, feet tucked beneath her, body angled toward him. She looked impossibly soft in the dashboard light—sleeveless sweater riding up her hips, hair half-fallen from its braid, lips kiss swollen from hours of barely restrained teasing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, voice low, playful.

Zack didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve got plans.”

“Oh, I’ve got plans.”

She arched a brow. “Do they involve taking me home?”

“They involve maybe not making it to your front door.”

Aerith laughed, but it slipped into a gasp when he reached over, hand skimming up her bare thigh. His fingers teased just under the hem of her skirt, slow and unhurried.

“You’re not even trying to be subtle,” she whispered, shifting across the bench seat; closer.

He turned onto her street with one hand still resting on her leg. “Not when you’ve been torturing me all night.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she said innocently, but her hand slid across his chest, nails lightly dragging beneath the collar of his shirt.

Zack shot her a sideways glance. “That little sway you do when you walk? The way you lean up on your toes then drop back to your heels? The way that makes your tits bounce just enough to be illegal in three sectors?”

She grinned. “Maybe I did a little.”

By the time they pulled up outside Seventh Heaven, the tension had stretched to a breaking point. Aerith’s legs were slung over his lap, her body curled against his, one hand in his hair, the other tugging at his collar. Her laugh was breathless, her pupils dark and wide.

He barely managed to kill the engine before their mouths met—urgent, greedy, wet with promise.

“We should—” she started, voice shaking.

“Go upstairs before I fuck you right here in the truck?” Zack rasped.

She nodded, already pushing open the door.

They didn’t run.

They practically flew up the steps.

---

The night had settled gently over the apartment, the kind of hush that came only after hours of laughter and too many shared drinks. Tifa’s shift had ended long ago. The bar was cleaned and locked, the jukebox finally silent. The only light in the living room came from the open kitchen and the soft glow of the TV, where some poorly dubbed martial arts movie played on in the background—dramatic sound effects and all.

Tifa sat cross-legged on the couch in an oversized t-shirt and cotton shorts, a bowl of leftover stew in her lap. Her hair was up in a loose ponytail, a few stubborn wisps framing her flushed face. She looked comfortable, relaxed. Almost. Her eyes flicked to the clock every now and then.

“They said they were just grabbing a bite,” she murmured.

Cloud was beside her, barefoot, still in the black tank and jeans from earlier. One leg stretched out, the other tucked under him. He looked uncommonly at ease—back against the cushions, one arm slung casually along the back of the couch behind her. A forgotten mug of tea sat on the table, long gone cold.

“You know how Zack gets,” he said, voice low, amused. “He probably started talking about something dumb, chocobo breeding is his current interest, and got carried away.”

Tifa smiled faintly, spoon halfway to her mouth. “Or maybe she dragged him into a flower shop and he’s pretending he doesn’t love it.”

Cloud gave a soft huff of laughter. “She’s good for him.”

“She is,” Tifa agreed.

The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward. It was warm, almost weighty—thick with something unspoken. Tifa leaned forward slightly to grab her drink, and her knee brushed Cloud’s thigh. Neither moved.

“You doing okay tonight?” she asked, tilting her head toward him.

He didn’t answer right away. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “It’s easier. Being here. With you.”

Her gaze softened. “I’m glad.”

Cloud looked at her a moment longer than necessary. She was flushed from the warmth, maybe the wine. Her thigh was still pressed to his. The curve of her fingers where they held the bowl was soft and familiar.

He looked away first.

“I could stay again tonight,” he said quietly. “If that’s alright.”

“Of course it is.”

Another pause.

“You always say that,” he murmured.

“Because I always mean it.”

Tifa shifted, set her bowl on the table, and leaned back, shoulder brushing his. “You don’t have to ask, you know. You’re part of this place, Cloud. You always have been.”

His throat tightened. He couldn’t speak around it, so instead, he nudged her ankle with his foot—a small, quiet touch.

She nudged back. Familiar. Easy.

The silence returned, but it was changed—soaked in the intimacy of late hours and shared spaces. Cloud leaned into the couch a little more, letting his knee stay flush against hers. On the screen, a monk with dramatic eyeliner delivered a flying kick that made both of them snort.

“That guy’s wearing eyeliner,” Tifa muttered around a spoonful.

“Don’t judge a man because of his love of eyeliner,” Cloud returned.

She nudged his knee again. “Didn’t know you were into dramatic monks.”

“Just appreciating the aesthetic.”

Tifa grinned, setting her bowl aside. “Next time we go out, I’ll do your makeup.”

“You say that like I don’t already own some.”

She laughed—open and bright—and just like that, the energy shifted again. The space between them pulsed, shoulders barely apart. The air was thick with almosts. Tifa’s gaze flicked to his lips. Just once. She cleared her throat, cheeks pink, and reached for her spoon again like nothing happened. Cloud didn’t move. But he’d felt it too. He opened his mouth—maybe to joke, maybe to say something real—when the front door burst open with a bang.

Aerith stumbled in first, breathless, one hand fisted in Zack’s shirt like she’d been dragging him by it. Honestly, she had.

Zack looked wrecked. Shirt half untucked, collar askew, hair a disaster. Tifa froze mid-chew. Cloud lowered his spoon. Zack tried, valiantly, to redirect the damage. He twisted sideways, blocking Aerith from view—though his hand was still firmly gripping her ass. It was not subtle.

“Hi!” Aerith chirped, lips swollen, one shoulder bare.

“Heyyy,” Zack added, zero shame, trying and failing to flatten his hair with one hand while tugging his shirt down with the other.

Cloud stared. “Really?” he deadpanned.

Tifa sighed, setting her bowl down like this was normal. “You two are hopeless.”

Zack looked like he wanted to defend himself, but Aerith yanked him by the wrist. Tifa didn’t even blink. “Just don’t traumatize the balcony plants, okay?” she called after them.

“No promises!” Aerith’s voice trailed down the hall, full of breathless laughter.

A door slammed. Silence returned. Cloud exhaled. “Well.”

Tifa dropped her spoon into her empty bowl. “So much for a quiet night.”

“You think they’ll be loud?”

“We’re not talking about that.”

“Fair.”

A beat passed. Tifa nudged his leg again, playful this time. “You want dessert?”

Cloud gave her a slow smirk. “I think they’re already having it.”

She groaned, standing. “You’re the worst.”

“You love it.”

She rolled her eyes, walking toward the kitchen. And he followed, smiling. Still.

---

The second the door clicked shut, Zack had her pinned.

Her back hit the wood with a dull thud, and his mouth crashed into hers—rough, open, hungry. Not a kiss to seduce, but one to claim. His hands were already under her skirt, fingers dragging along the inside of her thigh, teasing the damp fabric clinging to her core.

“Been thinking about this all damn day,” he growled, mouth hot against hers. “That smug little look you kept giving me? You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Aerith gasped when his fingers found her through her panties—soaked.

Zack chuckled darkly. “Fuck. You’re drenched. You get this wet just thinking about my mouth on you?”

“Just shut up and show me what you’re gonna do about it,” she snapped, breath hitching as he rubbed slow, tight circles over her clit with two fingers, slick and teasing.

His eyes lit up. “Yes, ma'am.”

He lifted her with one hand under her thigh, the other slipping beneath her underwear, middle and ring finger sliding between her folds with practiced ease.

“You’re gonna come on my fingers before I even get you to the bed.”

Aerith clutched at his shirt, breathless. “Zack—bed—please—”

“We’ll get there.”

He carried her like she weighed nothing, lips never leaving her neck, breath ragged against her skin. He tossed her onto the mattress—one smooth motion—and dropped to his knees like a man in prayer.

Slowly he peeled her underwear down her thighs and off. His hands spread her thighs wide.

And his mouth followed.

He started slow, dragging his tongue through her folds, tasting her with a deep groan that vibrated against her core.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he breathed, eyes dark and hungry. Then he went in—messy, open-mouthed, tongue fucking her, lips wrapped around her clit, devouring her like he was starving. Aerith writhed, moaning, hands in his hair, thighs trembling. He growled, gripping her hips to keep her still.

“You don’t get to squirm, sweetheart,” he muttered, mouth slick with her. His tongue circled her clit—slow, then fast. He sucked, licked, teased her with maddening precision. Two fingers slid back inside her, curling just right, making her cry out.

“Zack—fuck—I’m—”

He didn’t stop. She came with a cry, thighs clenching around his head, hips jolting up off the bed—and he held her down, sucked her through it until she was sobbing. Then he did it again. Sucked her clit with lips and tongue, fingers pumping into her until the sound of her wetness was obscene. She came again—harder, helpless, shaking.

“This is what you do to me, Aerith,” he whispered, mouth shiny with her arousal, voice gone dark and low.

He stripped off his shirt. Dropped his pants. And she gasped. Zack was big. Thick and heavy. His cock curved just slightly, head already slick with precum. It twitched when she looked at it—and his grin turned feral. He stroked himself slowly; made a show of it for her. “Tell me, Aerith. Tell me what you want.”

She whimpered. “You, Zack—”

He was on her in a blink—hands braced on either side of her head, cock dragging through her folds before he pressed in, inch by inch. “Fuck—you’re so good,” he groaned, voice shaking. “So perfect.”

Aerith arched, hands scrambling at his back as he filled her. 

“You feel me?” he asked, biting her neck. “Good?”

She nodded, nails digging into his shoulders. “Zack—Zack, you’re—fuck”

He pulled back, pushed back in. She groaned, completly gone. He fucked her perfectly—hips snapping into hers in long then quick strokes, sweat slicked, hair falling over his face.

“You sound so fucking pretty when you beg,” he whispered, thrusting deeper. “Say it again.”

“Please—Zack—don’t stop—please—”

He lifted her legs, pressed her knees to her chest, changed the angle pressed inside again. Her cry was broken—raw.

The sound of skin against skin, the wet heat between them. She came again—body locking up, shaking beneath him. Zack groaned, thrusting through it, eyes wild.

“You want it?” he gasped. “Gonna let me come in you?”

Aerith dragged him into a kiss—messy, breathless, moaning into his mouth and nodding. That was all he needed. He buried himself deep, groaning against her throat as he came—pulse after pulse of heat flooding into her.

He held her like he’d never let go.

---

The sun is just beginning to rise. Soft golden light spills in through the sheer curtains, casting warm lines across the bed. Zack stirs first, tangled in sheets, hair a mess, one arm thrown over Aerith’s waist like he’s anchoring her to this plane of existence. She’s already awake—barely. Eyes half-lidded, lips parted, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Her thighs ache. Her throat’s a little raw. But she’s never felt more wanted. She turns toward him, brushing a strand of hair from his cheek.

“You look so peaceful when you’re not being an absolute menace,” she whispers, voice still heavy with sleep.

Zack hums low in his chest, eyes blinking open slowly. “Hey.” His voice is gravel and warmth. Aerith leans in and kisses him. Soft. Lingering. He kisses her back without thinking, hand sliding to her hip. “You okay?”

She nods, resting her forehead to his. “A little sore.”

He frowns, pulling back just enough to search her face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Her voice is gentle. “You made me feel wanted. You made me feel… adored.”

He exhales, relief and love tangled in the sound. “You are,” he says. “I do.”

And then he kisses her like he means it—slow, sweet, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head. She shifts, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth… then his jaw… then lower. Zack’s breath catches as she trails kisses down his chest, over the scars and freckles and sun-warmed skin.

“What are you doing?” he asks, breath hitching.

“Returning the favor.” She moves beneath the sheets, her hand wrapping around him—already half-hard from the heat of her touch, the softness of her voice, the look in her eyes like he’s something holy. He gasps when her mouth wraps around him. No teasing. No edge. Just pure, slow worship. She moves with the same gentleness he gave her last night—tongue swirling, lips sealed around him, hands grounding him with every pass of her thumb across his thigh.

Zack’s eyes flutter shut. One hand fumbles for hers beneath the sheets, and when he finds it, he laces their fingers together—gripping her tight as he whispers her name like a vow. “Aerith…”

She hums softly, and that’s it. That’s all it takes. He comes with a low, shaky moan, hips barely lifting, breath catching in his throat as he melts beneath her. When she surfaces, he pulls her into his chest immediately, burying his face in her hair. “You’re gonna kill me,” he mumbles.

“Not before breakfast,” she teases, nuzzling closer.

They stay like that for a long time—warm skin, soft kisses, tangled limbs and quiet smiles. No rush. No noise.

Just love.

Chapter 12: September

Summary:

He covered his face with one hand. “You’re going to ruin me.”

“You like it.”

“…Yeah,” he said after a beat, grinning under his hand. “I really fucking do.”

Notes:

I am not going to get this finished prior to my procedure, but I have brought the smut we have been waiting for. I will be slow to update for the next few weeks but will as soon as I can.

Sorry for any errors. I am sitting here bleary-eyed trying to edit this.

The morning sunlight hit the kitchen just right—slanted golden beams slicing through the blinds, warming the hardwood. The smell of coffee hung thick in the air, mixing with cinnamon and something vaguely toasty.

Cloud stood at the stove in gray sweats and a worn tank top, hair still damp from the shower. He moved with unthinking ease—mug in one hand, spatula in the other, flipping slices of cinnamon French toast like it was a mission. Tifa leaned against the counter nearby, barefoot, in one of her old Midgar University t-shirts and sleep shorts, nursing a second cup of coffee.

“You didn’t have to make breakfast,” she murmured, watching him.

Cloud didn’t look up. “Didn’t sleep much anyway.”

She didn’t push. Just stepped closer, took the spatula from his hand, and gently bumped his hip with hers. “Go sit. I’ve got it.”

He didn’t argue. Just passed her the spatula and leaned back against the fridge, sipping from his mug, watching her move like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this—quiet mornings, shared kitchens—wasn’t something sacred in its simplicity.

He stiffened when he heard the bathroom door click open then soft footsteps coming down the hall. 

Aerith waltzed into the kitchen like she would have any other morning, but this morning, Zack trailed in behind her—barefoot, shirtless, pants unbuttoned at the top like he hadn’t quite finished the job of dressing. His hair was wild. His grin was worse.

Cloud raised an eyebrow over his coffee. “Good morning, sunshine.”

Zack stretched with a satisfied groan, arms overhead, every inch of his torso on blatant display. “What a beautiful day to be alive and freshly laid.”

Aerith smacked his chest with the back of her hand. “You’re impossible.”

Tifa choked on her coffee.

Zack wandered toward the kitchen like a man casually invading someone else’s fridge. “Is that cinnamon French toast? Oh hell yes.”

Cloud stepped in front of the counter before he could get there. “Shirt first.”

Zack pouted. “But I’m hungry.”

“And Tifa’s not emotionally prepared for your nipples this early in the day.”

Tifa, without missing a beat, passed Zack a piece of toast with tongs. “Here. Now go sit down and eat.”

Zack saluted her with the toast between his teeth. “Aye aye, boss.”

Aerith leaned against the doorframe, cheeks pink but glowing. “Sorry. We didn’t mean to crash the kitchen.”

Cloud shrugged, quietly sincere. “You live here.”

She met his eyes. Smiled. “Not for much longer.”

That hung there for a second.

Then Zack dropped into the chair beside the window and moaned around a mouthful of cinnamon. “Tifa, you ever get tired of being the most talented woman on the planet?”

“I’ll let you know,” she said dryly.

Aerith shook her head fondly, still watching her. Watching Cloud.

The kitchen buzzed with soft movement and low laughter, four lives briefly orbiting one shared sun. But beneath it all, a subtle shift had begun—new chapters unwritten but quietly unfolding.And Cloud, standing with his coffee going lukewarm in his hands, realized that someday soon, this version of their little universe was going to change.

---

It was late morning when Aerith found her in the laundry room, folding a warm heap of bar towels fresh from the dryer. The hum of the old machine filled the quiet, soft and steady. Sunlight streamed through the small window, catching on motes of dust that danced lazily in the air.

Tifa looked peaceful, barefoot on the tile, her ponytail a little messy, sleeves pushed to her elbows. She didn’t look up when Aerith stepped inside, just said, “You finally recovered from last night?”

Aerith grinned. “Define recovered.”

Tifa snorted. “I’ll take that as a no.”

There was a beat of silence—easy, familiar. Aerith leaned against the doorway, fidgeting with the sleeves of Zack’s hoodie she’d borrowed.

“I wanted to tell you something,” she said softly.

Tifa paused mid-fold. “Okay…”

Aerith hesitated, then stepped forward, perching on the edge of the dryer. “Zack asked me to move in with him”

Tifa blinked. Then smiled—soft, unsurprised. “Yeah. I figured it was coming.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No.” Tifa turned to face her fully, folding a towel with a practiced flick. “He makes you happy. That’s kind of the whole point.”

Aerith exhaled. “I just didn’t want you to think I was ditching you.”

Tifa’s smile wavered, just a little. “You’re not. You’re just… starting your own chapter.”

There was a long pause, quiet but full.

“I’m gonna miss this place,” Aerith said, looking around the small, scuffed-up room. “Miss our midnight laundry talks. Miss hearing you yell at the stove when it doesn’t light.”

Tifa laughed, wiping at the corner of her eye like it was nothing. “You’re still gonna come by, right? Don’t make me hunt you down just to have lunch.”

“I’ll be here all the time,” Aerith promised. “You’ll be sick of me.”

Tifa stepped closer and wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug.

“I could never be sick of you.”

They stayed like that for a while—two friends tangled in the comfort of knowing things were changing, but the love between them wasn’t.

Tifa side-eyed her over the rim of a coffee mug. “So… how was it?”

Aerith blinked, all false innocence. “The sleepover?”

Tifa gave her a flat look. “Aerith.”

She grinned, dreamy and unrepentant. “Best. Sex. Of. My. Life.”

Tifa groaned. “I regret asking.”

“You asked!” Aerith plopped into the chair, chin in her hands like a girl gossiping at a summer camp. “Tifa. You do not understand. That man is a goddamn athlete.”

“I really don’t want to understand.”

“I mean, I knew he was built, but he’s built. Like—where was he hiding all of that?”

Tifa’s eyes widened in horror. “Please tell me you’re talking about his arms.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Aerith purred. “Nope.”

Tifa slapped a hand over her face. “Zack is like my brother. I do not want to know the size of anything.”

Aerith cackled. “Too late. It’s burned in your brain now. The image is there. Festering.”

Tifa sighed, defeated. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I had an orgasm so intense I saw into the Lifestream.”

Tifa pointed at her. “I swear to Shiva, if you start describing the sound he makes when he finishes—”

“He whimpers a little.”

“AERITH!”

“Okay, okay!” Aerith waved her hands in surrender, still laughing. “I’ll stop.”

There was a beat of silence, then her tone softened. “He’s just… good, you know? Not just in bed—though, yes, obviously—but like, as a person. He’s funny and warm and he listens. He remembers little things I say. I’ve never had that.”

Tifa turned, drying her hands on a towel. Her smile was quieter now. “Yeah. He’s a good one.”

Aerith nodded. “He makes me feel… safe. And seen. And like I could say the stupidest thing in the world, and he’d still think I was brilliant.”

Tifa leaned against the counter. “He does that. He did that for Cloud, too.”

Aerith looked up. Her smile turned sly. “Speaking of…”

Tifa blinked. “What?”

Aerith crossed her legs. “How’s your sleepover buddy?”

Tifa rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were already pink. “He’s not my sleepover buddy.”

“He’s spent the night three weekends in a row.”

“He’s tired.”

“He wears fewer clothes each time.”

“That’s because it’s Summertime and it’s hot!”

Aerith just smiled. That knowing, insufferable smile.

Tifa scowled. “Nothing’s happened.”

“Yet.”

Tifa hesitated—just a breath too long. Then she looked away, voice lower. “He’s… different lately. Softer. But also more like himself. Like who he used to be, before.”

Aerith reached across the table and took her hand. “You really love him, huh?”

Tifa didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Aerith just gave her a squeeze. “For what it’s worth—I think he’s coming back to you. Little by little.”

Tifa’s throat felt tight, but she managed a smile. “Yeah… I think so too.”

And for a while, they just sat there, hands clasped, the smell of coffee and laundry soap curling in the air between them. Two best friends, walking alongside each other through all the messy, wonderful parts of falling in love.

---

Seventh Heaven had officially been open a year. And it felt like the whole damn neighborhood had shown up to celebrate. The block was lit up like a festival.

Lanterns swayed between buildings, strung high across alleyways, casting soft gold light over the crowd. Music spilled from the live band set up on the back patio—gritty, loud, just a touch off-key—and somewhere near the front curb, Barrett and Myrna were teaching a reluctant Marlene how to two-step while Rude manned the grill with surprising finesse.

Tifa hadn’t stopped smiling in over an hour.

She made her rounds like a queen surveying her court—refilling pitchers, laughing at Reno’s antics, dodging Cid’s unsolicited advice on bartending ("It’s all in the wrist, sweetheart"), and thanking the band between sets. At some point, Vincent appeared like a shadow at the edge of the bar. He stood there in all black, silent as a tombstone, sipping whiskey while watching his little sister like a hawk. When Tifa caught his eye and waved, he nodded—barely—but stayed. 

The music had faded into bassy thumps behind the doors of Seventh Heaven. Outside, the street was quiet except for the distant hum of an engine and the flickering buzz of the neon sign. Zack’s truck was parked just far enough down the block to be in shadow, out of view from the front windows.

Aerith was in his lap. Her legs straddled his hips, skirt bunched at her waist, top shoved up to her armpits.

“Fuck,” Zack groaned, his head tipped back against the headrest, jeans pooled at his ankles. “You’re so wet I can feel it through my underwear.”

“Then take them off,” she whispered, grinding against him.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

She helped him shove them down. He hissed when his cock sprang free, already slick from how tightly she’d been rocking against him. Aerith leaned back, lips parted, and looked at him—like she was trying to burn the image into memory.

“God, you’re perfect,” she murmured.

Zack growled, hands gripping her hips as he aligned himself. She sank down slow—so slow—her head rolling back as he stretched her open, inch by thick inch.

“Fuck—Zack—” she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “You feel—so deep—”

“Because you take me so good,” he breathed, voice shredded, hips bucking up into her. “You like how full you are, huh?”

She nodded, whimpering as he thrust up again, harder this time. The windows fogged almost immediately. Every slap of skin was muffled by the close, humid air. Zack’s fingers clutched at her ass, guiding her pace, but Aerith was riding him now—wild, greedy, her moans sharp and filthy as she ground down on every thrust.

She leaned forward, bit his lip, whispered “Harder.”

So he gave it to her. Fucked up into her until the truck rocked on its shocks. Her head fell to his shoulder as she clenched around him, crying out his name, trembling with her orgasm.

He didn’t stop. Not until he came too, hips jerking, groaning into her neck like she was the only thing anchoring him to earth.

They clung to each other in the silence after. Sticky, breathless, dizzy.

Zack kissed her hair. “Thank you,” he whispered.

She blinked against his chest. “For what?”

“For saying yes. For being with me. The last few months. I think I fell in love with you the second I saw you.”

Aerith smiled into his skin, heart thudding so loud it nearly drowned out the world.

They slipped back into the bar, trying not to look like they'd just fucked in a vehicle. Failed. Aerith’s lipstick was gone. Her skirt was wrinkled. Zack had his shirt back on but the collar was crooked and his hair was a lost cause.

Tifa raised an eyebrow as they passed.

Cloud arched one brow, utterly unimpressed. “Seriously?”

Zack just shot him a grin. “Not my fault I’m so irresistible.”

Aerith blushed and waved at Tifa. “Hi again!”

Tifa snorted. “Welcome back.”

They cleared a space near the patio, dragged two long folding tables together, and made teams. Yuffie paired with Reno. Pure chaos. Full offense. Cloud and Tifa teamed up without a word, handing each other drinks, bumping shoulders, falling into that old rhythm.

The first round was a massacre—Cloud sank three in a row, and Tifa nailed the last cup like she’d been born to dominate.

“Damn,” Reno groaned. “She’s hot and lethal.”

“Yeah,” Cloud muttered, eyes on her. “She really is.”

Tifa flushed but didn’t miss a beat. “You boys ready to lose again?”

“Oh, it’s on now,” Yuffie said, tying her hair back. “I’m about to embarrass you so hard you’ll move to Junon.”

Aerith heckled from the sidelines, Rude nodded in solemn approval, and Cid hollered something about “balls and angles” like it was sage advice.

Cloud and Tifa stood shoulder to shoulder, grinning, flushed, tipsy and electric.

And when Cloud made the final winning shot, she threw her arms around his neck in celebration—laughing, breath against his jaw, fingers tangling briefly in the fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t pull away. He didn’t want to.

The night had unraveled into something soft and golden by the time the last guests drifted off into the slightly chilled air. The block party was a memory now—glitter scattered across tabletops, half-empty bottles tucked in corners, the cornhole boards abandoned mid-game like forgotten relics of laughter.

Zack and Aerith were tangled together at the exit, giggling as they fumbled with the door, her arms looped lazily around his neck.

“Love you, Tifffffa,” Aerith sing-songed over her shoulder, eyes glassy, hair slightly mussed.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Zack added with a wink, and they disappeared into the night, laughter trailing behind them like confetti.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was peaceful.

Tifa stood barefoot behind the bar, hair in a low bun now, tank top knotted at the waist, ice clinking gently in the glass she held as she surveyed the room. Confetti. Cups. One of Barrett’s socks for some reason.

Cloud leaned against the jukebox, rolling a toothpick between his fingers. His jacket was gone, sleeves pushed to the elbows, collar open just enough to show the line of his throat and the faint edge of that wolf tattoo.

He looked good. A little too good.

Tifa sighed. “Would you judge me if I just cut off all the lights and left all this for tomorrow?”

Cloud raised a brow, straight-faced. “Wait, you weren’t already going to do that?”

She snorted. “I’m trying to be responsible.”

“Try again in the morning.”

She laughed, quieter now, and set her glass down. Her eyes drifted toward the jukebox still humming quietly—low, lo-fi jazz crooning beneath the sound of the ceiling fan.

Then she looked back at him. And something shifted.

“Dance with me?” she asked.

Cloud didn’t answer. He just walked to her—slow, deliberate—and took her hand.

They moved toward the center of the room, the only light coming from the street lamps outside. His hand found her waist, hers rested on his shoulder, and they swayed.

Not perfectly. Not on rhythm. But like they’d done this forever. Her cheek brushed against his chest. He smelled like leather and summer heat, and underneath it all, something familiar. Something safe.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Better now.”

Her fingers flexed where they rested against his shoulder. “Tonight was good.”

“It was. You did good, Tifa.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Just closed her eyes and let him hold her, let the music wrap around them like a lullaby.

“You really were always there,” Cloud said suddenly. “When my dad died. Then, later when mom passed. You were the one who held me together. Even when I didn’t want to be.”

Her breath caught. He felt it.

“I didn’t know what to say,” she whispered. “I just didn’t want you to be alone.”

“I would’ve been,” he said. “If it weren’t for you.”

She pulled back slightly, eyes shining, fingers reaching up to brush his hair from his face.

“I had this feeling that night,” she murmured. “Like something was wrong. That’s why I called. I didn’t know if you’d pick up. But I had to try.”

He leaned into her hand without meaning to. “You saved me,” he said. “I don’t think you even know how much.”

Tifa blinked hard and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Her voice cracked.“I would’ve been devastated if you weren’t here.” 

He held her like she was the only thing tethering him to the floor. She kissed his cheek. Pulled back.

Their eyes locked—close enough to blur.

The lights from the street outside cast a warm gold glow across the room, catching in the sheen of sweat on his collarbone, the flush on her cheeks, the way their bodies hovered just shy of touching too much.

“I want to kiss you,” she said, the words slipping out before she could second-guess them.

Cloud’s hand flexed at her waist. His breath hitched. He met her eyes, and everything in him burned.

“Tifa…” Cloud swallowed hard. His voice was low. Gravel and heat. “God, I want to.”

“Then prove it,” she whispered.

His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist. Barely there. Just enough to make her knees go soft.

“You’re so—” He exhaled sharply and looked away, jaw tight. “I’m too drunk to be thinking the shit I’m thinking right now.”

She gave a breathless laugh. “Probably the same thing I am thinking.”

Cloud groaned, forehead dropping to her shoulder. “You’re not helping.”

Tifa bit her lip. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

She wasn’t. Not even a little.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “There are so many things I want to do to you right now.”

Her breath hitched, heat blooming low in her belly. She swayed closer without meaning to. “Say one,” she dared, voice like velvet and smoke, though her heart was beating out of rhythm.

He hesitated.

Not because he didn’t know—but because he did. Because once he said it, they wouldn’t be able to pretend they hadn’t crossed that line. His eyes flicked down her body and back up, lingering at her lips, then her eyes, as if trying to memorize her before this moment became something else entirely.

He leaned in. His voice was soft, almost reverent. “I want to untie that shirt… slowly. I want to feel your skin against mine for the first time.”

Her breath shuddered out of her.

God.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting—but that? That wrecked her in the most delicate, devastating way.

There was no cocky smirk, no careless heat. Just him. Honest. Wanting her so badly he was trembling with it, but still holding back.

She whispered, “Then do it.”

And the look he gave her—like she was something sacred—burned hotter than any touch ever could.

He didn’t answer with words. Just stepped closer and kissed her. 

It started slow—his mouth brushing against hers like a question he’d been too afraid to ask until now. But when she answered—when she leaned in and kissed him back, fingers curling into his shirt—it deepened, grew hungry. Years of barely held-back want poured into that kiss. All the nights spent pretending they didn’t notice how close they sat. All the accidental touches that lingered too long. All the dreams neither of them dared speak aloud.

When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard.

She didn’t say anything. Just reached past him and flicked the light switch behind the bar, plunging the place into warm shadow. Bottles gleamed faintly on the shelves, but otherwise, it was just them and the hum of the quiet night.

Cloud took her hand. They didn’t rush. Up the stairs, her fingers laced with his, every step tightening the coil inside her a little more. By the time they reached the door, she was dizzy with it. He opened it and let her in first.

The moment the door clicked shut, he was on her again—hands gentle, mouth greedy, kissing her like he was afraid she might vanish between breaths. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world. No rush. No fumbling. Just the slow, molten press of his mouth on hers as they backed toward the bed, never breaking contact. His hands framed her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones, grounding them both. Every kiss said I want you—but it also said I know you.

He sat on the edge of the mattress and gently guided her to straddle his lap. She climbed into it without hesitation, knees bracketing his hips, her hands buried in his hair. Their foreheads touched. For a moment, they just breathed together.

Then he kissed her jaw. Her neck. That spot just beneath her ear that made her shiver. His hands slid up her thighs, slow and warm, fingertips grazing the hem of her shorts. She gasped when he touched bare skin, and he smiled against her neck—hearing it, feeling it.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“So are you.”

She leaned back just enough to pull her shirt over her head and toss it aside. He went still.

His gaze swept over her slowly—like he didn’t know where to look first. Like he didn’t want to miss anything. Then his hands rose to her waist, reverent, fingertips brushing the underside of her bra as if asking for permission.

Her answer was a soft, “Yes,” and a nod that made her dark hair tumble over one shoulder.

He reached behind her and unclasped her bra, letting it fall away. Her breasts spilled free, and he let out a quiet, wrecked sound.

“Tifa…”

She kissed him again, and he was done for. His hands came up to cup her—thumbs brushing over her nipples, gentle at first, then firmer as she arched into him, gasping at the contact. He leaned down and took one in his mouth, swirling his tongue, sucking softly while his hand teased the other. She buried her fingers in his hair, eyes fluttering shut, her hips beginning to roll instinctively in his lap.

He groaned when he felt it—her heat grinding down on him through his jeans.

“Fuck, Teef…”

“Touch me,” she whispered. “Please.”

He laid her back on the bed, kissing his way down her body—slow enough to drive her mad. Over her ribs. Her stomach. Her hips. He hooked his thumbs in her waistband and paused.

She lifted her hips in invitation.

He peeled her shorts and panties down in one smooth motion, leaving her bare and breathless beneath him

He settled between her thighs, kissed the inside of one knee, then slowly dragged his mouth up the soft skin of her inner thigh. She was already soaked. He could see her arousal glistening in the low light.

“Beautiful,” he breathed.

Then he lowered his mouth to her.

The first pass of his tongue made her hips jerk, a gasp catching in her throat. He groaned against her, anchoring her thighs over his shoulders as he dove in, tongue parting her folds, slow and deliberate. He licked her like it was something holy—long, deep strokes that made her clutch the sheets and cry out. Every moan she gave him, every twitch of her thighs, only made him hungrier.

He slid a finger inside her, then a second—curling them just right while his mouth worked her clit. Her back arched, thighs tightening around his head.

“Cloud—oh my God—don’t stop—”

“Never,” he whispered, voice muffled against her. “I want to make you come like this… want to feel you break for me.”

Just a few more strokes of his talented tongue, she did. With a cry that shattered into a moan, her whole body trembling as she came around his fingers and tongue, thighs shaking against his shoulders.

Tifa was still catching her breath when he kissed his way back up her body. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down into a kiss that was all heat and gratitude, her mouth parting for him like she couldn’t get enough. And she couldn’t. Not now. Not after that.

When they broke apart, she trailed her fingers down his chest—over firm muscle, faint scars, and trembling restraint. She watched him. Studied the way his lashes fluttered when she touched him like that. The way his breath hitched.

Her fingers hovered just above his belt.

“Okay?” she asked.

His voice was barely more than a rasp. “Please.”

She undid his belt slowly, letting the leather slide through the loops with a quiet snap. He watched her—chest rising, muscles tense, like he was barely holding himself together. She popped the button, tugged the zipper down, and eased his jeans over his hips. The boxers came next.

And then she saw him. Her breath caught. God, he’s perfect. Thick and flushed, already fully hard, the head slick with precum. Her mouth actually parted on instinct. Heat bloomed low in her belly again—hotter, needier.

He started to say something, maybe a warning, maybe an apology, but she silenced him with a hand on his thigh and a look that said, Don’t you dare.

She sat up, kneeling between his legs now. Her hands were soft as they wrapped around him—testing the weight of him, the heat, the way he twitched in her palm.

“You’re—” Her voice faltered, not from fear, but awe. “You’re so hard.”

“Because of you,” he managed, voice wrecked. His head tipped back, Adam’s apple bobbing as she gave him a slow stroke, her thumb sweeping over the head to spread the wetness. His hips jerked. “Fuck—Tifa—”

She smiled softly, biting her bottom lip.

He was beautiful like this. All strength undone. Breathless. Eyes dark with want. She stroked him again—long and slow—twisting her wrist near the top, just to see how he would react. The sound he made—low and feral—made her thighs clench.

She leaned in, pressing a kiss just above his navel, then a trail lower, over the sharp line of his hip. He was panting now, fists clenching in the sheets.

“You’re killing me,” he groaned.

“You’ll live.” She licked a stripe along the underside of his length and he shuddered.

But just as she wrapped her lips around the tip, he stopped her—gently, reverently—fingers threading into her hair.

“Not this time,” he said, voice low but certain. “I want to be inside you. I want to feel all of you.”

She straightened slowly, heart pounding, and nodded.

They kissed again—her hand still wrapped around him, his mouth soft and hungry against hers. And when she guided him between her legs, the look on his face was devastated with want.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice hoarse against her throat, where her pulse fluttered beneath his lips. “I can’t go back to what we were after this. So if that isn’t what you want, tell me to stop.”

She looked up at him—eyes wide, cheeks flushed, her chest rising in soft, shallow breaths—and whispered, “Don’t.”

That was all it took.

He lined himself up and began to push in, inch by inch, his breath catching in his throat like it physically hurt to go slow. Her thighs framed his hips, and her hands clutched at his back as he moved deeper, until he was fully inside her, buried to the hilt, trembling with restraint.

They both went still. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “God, Cloud…”

He pressed his forehead to hers, panting lightly. “You feel so good. Better than I… fuck.” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His hips rolled, the first thrust slow and careful, like he was memorizing the feel of her from the inside out. Her body welcomed him, warm and tight and soft in all the right ways. He groaned low in his throat, one hand cupping her jaw while the other slid  down her side, tracing the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip.

Tifa moaned, head tilting back, baring her neck to him. “More,” she breathed. “Please.”

He gave it to her. Slowly. Intimately.

Each stroke was deep and unhurried, their bodies rocking together like waves—no rush, no urgency. Just the unbearable sweetness of finally being allowed to feel. The tension between them didn’t snap; it melted, spilling into everything. Her hands roamed his back, nails dragging gently, making him shiver. His lips never stayed in one place—her mouth, her neck, the hollow of her collarbone. He kissed her like she was something sacred.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he gasped against her skin. “Tifa…”

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, and it broke something in him.

He moved a little faster then, grinding his hips just right, shifting to press in at a new angle that made her gasp and cling tighter. His hand slipped between them, thumb brushing her clit in soft, slow circles that made her cry out, hips jerking up into his.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, her mouth parting on a moan that turned into his name. “Cloud—God—I’m gonna—”

“Let go.” His voice was thick with awe. “I’ve got you.”

She came with a soft cry, her whole body arching into his, fluttering tight around him. Her hands clutched at his shoulders as if trying to anchor herself, and he never stopped moving, fucking her through it with steady, reverent thrusts.

The way she pulsed around him—warm, wet, and perfect—undid him. He groaned her name like a prayer, hips stuttering as he came hard, buried deep, gasping against her neck. His entire body trembled with it. He didn’t pull out. Didn’t move. Just collapsed onto his elbows, forehead resting against hers, still inside her, breath mingling with hers in the quiet dark.

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Eventually, he reached up to tuck a damp strand of hair behind her ear, voice still unsteady. “You okay?”

She nodded, eyes glassy. “Yeah.” Her smile was small. Genuine. “You?”

He laughed under his breath and kissed her again. “Never better.”

They stayed like that for a minute.

Tangled in each other, still joined, her legs draped over his hips, his weight a comforting press against her body. His forehead rested against her shoulder, his breath warm and uneven against her skin.

Cloud shifted first, only enough to ease himself from her body with aching slowness. She gasped quietly at the loss, oversensitive and tender, but he kissed her through it—soft, apologetic.

Then he moved beside her and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. His hand smoothed up her back, then down again, palm wide and warm as it followed the curve of her spine like he couldn’t stop touching her. Couldn’t believe she was really there. He let out a shaky breath, like he’d been holding it the whole time.

Tifa pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “You didn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I was trying so hard not to,” he admitted. “You feel so fucking good. I didn’t want to lose it and—” He cut himself off, jaw tight.

“You didn’t,” she said gently. “You were perfect.”

He looked down at her, brushing a thumb over the curve of her cheek. “You’re perfect.”

She flushed, curling closer. One of her legs slid between his, hooking around his thigh, bare skin on bare skin. She traced lazy circles on his chest, over the sweat-slicked muscle still rising and falling under her hand.

“I don’t want to move,” she whispered.

“Then don’t.”

They lay there in silence, the kind that only exists after something sacred. Outside, the city hummed quietly, but the room felt suspended—timeless, weightless. Just their bodies, their breaths, their quiet, steady connection.

Eventually, she stretched and winced a little.

Cloud was instantly alert. “Hey—”

“No,” she laughed softly. “Just sore. In a good way.”

That seemed to short-circuit his brain. His face went red.

She grinned, kissing his cheek. “Relax, soldier.”

He covered his face with one hand. “You’re going to ruin me.”

“You like it.”

“…Yeah,” he said after a beat, grinning under his hand. “I really fucking do.”

She nudged him onto his back and rested her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her without hesitation.

“You’re staying, right?” she asked quietly.

He answered firm, steady, no hesitation—“I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter 13: The Night We Met

Summary:

“You really waited this long to tell me?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I told you last Saturday.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Last Saturday you told me to stop you if I didn’t want everything to change.”

“Same thing,” he murmured, eyes soft.

Notes:

I survived my procedure and am finally through the Hydrocodone fog. Hopefully will get back to updating on a regular basis now that I am just sitting at home for the next 10 weeks.

Thank you all for the love and comments on this story. I read them, and try to respond to you all. It makes me want to keep writing.

much love,

-Salem ❤️

The sunlight was soft when it slipped through the curtains, golden and quiet. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, and somewhere in the distance, the city stirred to life—but up here, everything was still.

Tifa stretched beneath the sheets and winced just slightly—sore in all the right places. She smiled. The bed was warm beside her, Cloud tangled in the blankets, one arm flung over the empty space where she’d been. His hair was a mess, his face relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen in a long time. Peaceful. She watched him for a moment, heart full in her chest. Then she slipped out of bed—naked, save for a sleepy grin—and padded out into the kitchen. She made coffee like muscle memory. A little stronger than she liked it, the way he liked it. The smell filled the apartment, rich and grounding. When it was done, she poured two mugs and added a dash of cinnamon to hers.

She spotted his shirt hanging over the back of a chair—the gray button-down from the block party discarded there during their quest to find the bedroom. She slipped it on. It hung off one shoulder, barely brushing her thighs, sleeves swallowing her hands. Her scent was all over him now. And his was all over her.

She padded back to the bedroom, one mug in each hand.

“Hey,” she said softly.

Cloud stirred, eyes fluttering open. When he saw her—bare-legged, carrying coffee, wearing his shirt—he blinked once, slowly.

Then smiled. The kind of smile that started small, crooked, real.

“Morning,” he rasped, voice still sleep-heavy.

“Coffee?” she offered, climbing onto the bed beside him.

“You’re a dream,” he muttered, sitting up and taking the mug. “You can’t look like that and bring me coffee. I’m gonna die happy.”

She snorted, tucking her legs under her. “You survived last night.”

“Barely.”

He took a sip, groaned low. “It’s even made perfectly.”

“I pay attention.”

He glanced down at her legs—bare and folded beneath her—and his expression turned a little hazy again. “Is that…my shirt?”

She raised a brow. “You complaining?”

“Hell no.” He grinned. “I think I’m obsessed with you in it.”

The teasing faded after a moment. They both sipped their coffee. The silence was full but easy.

“You okay?” he asked eventually.

She looked at him over the rim of her mug. “Yeah,” she said. Then—more carefully—“Are you?”

He set his mug down. Ran a hand through his hair.

“I meant what I said last night,” he said, voice low. “I can’t go back to pretending. To just being your friend and pushing everything else down.”

Tifa set her mug aside, scooted a little closer. “I’m not asking you to.”

He looked at her—eyes serious now, still searching hers like he was waiting to wake up.

She placed a hand over his heart. “We crossed the line, Cloud. There’s no going back. But maybe… maybe we don’t need to.”

He let out a breath, shoulders sinking.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.”

She smiled, leaning in to kiss him—slow and unhurried, with the same quiet confidence she’d had the night before.

When she pulled back, her voice was a whisper against his lips. “I want a shower. You coming?”

He kissed her again and didn’t even pretend to think about it. “Lead the way.”

 

The water was already running by the time he stepped into the bathroom.

Steam curled along the ceiling, fogging the mirror, diffusing the morning light into something hazy and golden. Tifa stood under the spray, back to him, water cascading down her bare skin. Her hair was soaked, clinging to her spine in dark, heavy ribbons. His shirt—the one she’d worn to bring him coffee—was draped over the counter.

She looked over her shoulder when she heard him, and the smile she gave him was lazy. Unapologetic.

Like she knew exactly what she’d done to him.

Cloud said nothing. Just stepped in behind her.

The heat of the water didn’t compare to the heat between them. He touched her waist first—barely a graze of his fingertips, enough to feel her inhale. His hands skimmed over her hips, up her sides, slow and reverent, as if he were still learning her body by heart.

“You’re staring,” she murmured, eyes half-lidded.

“Can you blame me?”

She turned to face him, and their bodies slid together, slick with water and want. He cupped her face, brushing damp strands away, and kissed her like it was the first time all over again—slow and searching, until she whimpered against his mouth.

His hands roamed lower, over the curve of her ass, pulling her against him. She could feel how hard he was already, thick and heavy against her stomach.

“You don’t take long,” she teased, breath warm against his lips.

“I woke up hard,” he muttered. “And then you brought me coffee. In my shirt.”

She laughed softly—but it turned into a gasp when he pinned her gently to the wall of the shower, water pouring over both of them. He kissed her again—messier this time, open-mouthed, tongue stroking hers with mounting hunger.

His hands weren’t slow now. They gripped, pulled, spread her open. One slid between her thighs, fingers slipping through the wet heat there—already slick, already ready.

“Still sore?” he asked, voice strained.

“A little.”

He paused. “We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she cut in, breathless. “Now. Please.”

That was all he needed.

He lifted her in one motion, her back against the tile, legs wrapping around his waist. She guided him to her entrance with one hand, the other braced on his shoulder.

He pushed in slow—just the tip, then deeper, stretching her around him with a growl low in his throat. She bit her lip, nails digging into his back as he bottomed out, hips flush to hers.

Then he moved.

Not gentle anymore. Not slow. He fucked her like he couldn’t help himself—deep, steady thrusts that rocked her against the wall, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the slap of water and the soft, broken noises she made each time he hit just right.

“Tifa,” he groaned. “You feel—fuck—you feel so good like this.”

She was already close. The friction, the water, the way he filled her so perfectly—it was too much, too good.

“Touch me,” she gasped. “I’m so close—”

His hand slid down between them, thumb finding her clit in practiced circles. The moment he did, she broke, moaning his name against his neck as she came hard, clenching around him like a vice.

Her orgasm tipped him over the edge. He thrust once, twice, then held her tight as he came with a strangled groan, pulsing deep inside her.

They didn’t move for a moment. Just stayed like that, water pounding over them, their bodies shaking with release.

Eventually, he set her down gently, brushing her soaked hair from her face. She looked up at him, flushed and dazed and so goddamn beautiful he had to kiss her again.

This one was slower.

Softer.

Grateful.

---

The kitchen smelled like toasted bread and cinnamon.

Tifa stood at the stove flipping slices of French toast while he rummaged through the fridge for butter. His hair was damp from the shower, clinging to his forehead, and he hadn’t bothered with a shirt. Just sweatpants, riding low on his hips.

He looked edible.

“Coffee’s still warm if you want more,” she said over her shoulder.

He nodded, grabbing his mug from the counter. “Thanks.”

They moved around each other easily. Too easily. Like they’d done this before. Like they hadn’t just crossed the line between friends and something that made his heart feel too big in his chest.

He watched her heat butter in a small pan, heating it gently like she always did. The quiet morning light kissed the curves of her thighs where her shorts ended. His brain still hadn’t fully recovered.

And that was when the thought hit him—cold and sharp.

“Tifa?”

She glanced back at him. “Yeah?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I… I know it’s a little late to be asking and I’m really sorry for that but… should I go out and get Plan B? Or something?”

She blinked at him—then laughed.

Not in a cruel way. More like, you’re just now thinking of that?

“I’ve been on the pill for years,” she said, turning back to the pan. “You’re good.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Oh. Okay. Good.”

But something stuck. Lodged deep.

Years.

She’d been ready. Long before him. Long before last night. And he… hadn’t even asked.

Cloud leaned against the counter, staring into his coffee like it might give him answers.

How many partners had she had?

How many had known her like he did now—not that it mattered, but…

What made him think he deserved to be the one she woke up beside?

It crept in quietly—that familiar weight. That sinking heaviness in his chest. Like the floor was starting to tilt.

He hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t planned her. He’d wanted her for years and never believed he had the right. But now that it’d happened—now that she’d let him in—all he could think was:

What if he wasn’t enough?

Tifa turned with a plate in each hand, and she froze when she saw his face. His eyes were far away. His jaw tense. Mug forgotten in his grip. And she knew that look.

“Cloud.”

He blinked out of it, straightening. “What?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

She set the plates down gently. Walked over to him. Stopped right in front of him, barefoot and half-dressed and radiant in his shirt.

“Don’t disappear on me,” she said softly. “Talk to me.”

He swallowed. Eyes dropped to the floor. “I just… I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You didn’t.”

He looked up at her then—really looked. And she saw it all. The fear. The doubt. The vulnerability he never showed anyone else.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. “I don’t know what the rules are. I’ve wanted you for so long it stopped feeling real.”

Her expression softened. She reached up, cupped his face in both hands, thumb stroking his cheekbone.

“There are no rules,” she said. “It’s just us.”

He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

“We’ll figure it out,” she added. “Okay?”

He nodded. Then leaned down and kissed her. Soft and slow.

When they broke apart, she smiled.

“Now sit down and eat before it gets cold,” she teased, smacking his ass lightly as she turned back to the table.

He almost smiled.

Almost.

But inside, something loosened. Something that had been tight for years.

---

The garage was already loud by the time Cloud pulled up.

The bay doors were open, sunlight pouring across the oil-streaked concrete floor. A box fan hummed somewhere uselessly in the corner, and Waylon Jennings was crooning over the static-filled speakers like the soundtrack to someone’s half-forgotten glory days.

Inside, the usual crowd had assembled—Cid’s VFW crew. Old men in cutoff shirts and worn ball caps, sipping from thermoses that didn’t hold coffee. One of them was halfway through tuning a carburetor, the other deep in an argument about why the original Mad Max was better than any of that “modern remake bullshit.”

Cloud parked Fenrir in the back, kicked the stand down, and peeled off his gloves. He wasn’t two steps inside before he heard the voice.

“Well, well, well,” Cid drawled. “Look who finally decided to roll in.”

Cloud didn’t look at him. “It’s Sunday. I don’t have to be here at all”

 

“You’re still wearing your clothes from yesterday,” Cid said, stepping around a lift with a wrench in hand and a crooked grin on his face. “Which means you’re either hungover… or got your dick wet.”

That earned a round of oohs and cackles from the peanut gallery. One guy actually slapped his thigh.

Cloud’s jaw twitched. “Jesus, Cid.”

Cid clapped him on the back, hard. “Don’t Jesus me, kid. You walked in here smelling like girly shampoo and sin.”

“I will end you.”

“Oho!” Cid barked. “So it’s true!”

Cloud finally turned and glared at him. “You still want me to help you rotate your truck tires today or should I punt you into traffic?”

Cid held up both hands. “Relax, Romeo. I’m happy for you. Tifa, right?”

Cloud’s silence was confirmation enough.

Cid let out a low whistle, then turned back to his work. “Good on you. She’s a hell of a woman. Smart. Gorgeous. Scary accurate with a pool cue.”

Cloud pulled off his good shirt, draping over the least dirty surface he could find. Pulling the hem of his tank top out of his jeans, he bent over the workbench, trying to focus on the intake manifold in front of him. Anything to shut out the sudden onslaught of mental images. Her bare legs. Her hands in his hair. The way she said his name right before she broke apart.

“Your ears are red, boy,” one of the veterans pointed out from across the room. “You gonna survive the day or do we need to hose you down?”

Cloud dropped his wrench and straightened. “If you old bastards don’t shut up, I’m taking all your bikes apart and putting the pieces in the wrong boxes.”

The room erupted into laughter. Cid lit a cigarette he wasn’t supposed to have indoors and grinned around it.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said. “It’s a rite of passage. If we don’t embarrass the shit outta you, how’ll you know it was real?”

Cloud shook his head and tried not to smile. He failed.

---

The sun was dipping low by the time Cloud pushed open the door to Seventh Heaven.

The usual hum of the bar greeted him—quiet chatter, the clink of glasses, music low in the background. It was calmer than usual, the lull between happy hour and the late-night rush, but the moment he stepped inside, his eyes found her.

Tifa was behind the bar, laughing softly at something one of the regulars said. She had a towel slung over her shoulder and was reaching for a bottle on the top shelf, rising on her toes just enough to stretch the fabric of her shirt.

Cloud didn’t realize he’d stopped moving until she turned, saw him, and smiled.

Not her customer smile. Not her best-friend smile.

His smile.

He crossed the room without a word and slid onto the stool closest to the end of the bar. She poured him a glass of water before he even asked.

“Rough day?” she asked, tone light but teasing.

“Cid.”

Tifa grinned. “Say no more.”

He took a sip, watching her over the rim of the glass. “You look good.”

“I changed out of that holy t-shirt from this morning, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He tilted his head. “Shame.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Don’t start.”

But before either of them could say more, the door banged open.

“Hello Seventh Heaven!” Zack’s voice rang out like a drumroll, followed closely by Aerith’s melodic laugh.

They entered like they owned the place—Zack in a fitted t-shirt and black jeans, grinning like a man on a mission; Aerith in a sundress and boots. She spotted Cloud at the bar, then turned toward Tifa, eyes narrowing.

“Hmm,” she said, looping her arm through Zack’s. “Something’s different…” she said eyeing both of them closely. “Cloud’s smiling.” 

Then, “Oh. My. God. Tifa…” her voice raising an octave on the end of her name. “You little slut!”

Zack barked a laugh. “Jesus, Aerith.”

Tifa choked. Cloud nearly spit out his water.

“Wait… It all makes sense now! Now I know why you disappeared on me for the last three days. Cloud,”  Zack raised his brows, mock-hurt. “You didn’t tell me you guys finally—”

“Don’t,” Cloud warned, pointing a finger.

“Oh, I’m gonna,” Zack said, sliding into the barstool beside him. “I have to. I’ve been betting on this since before we could legally drink. I deserve my big brother privileges.”

Aerith slid onto a stool across from them. “You owe me twenty gil, by the way.”

“I do not.”

“You said he’d chicken out.”

“I said he’d overthink it. Which, statistically, he still probably did.”

Tifa looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

Cloud just drank his water, jaw tight, but his ears were pink.

Zack nudged him. “You good, man?”

Cloud finally looked at him, deadpan. “If you say one more word, I’m pouring this water down your pants.”

Zack leaned back, hands up. “Hey, I’m proud of you.”

Aerith leaned toward Tifa, conspiratorial. “So. Does size run in their genes?”

“Aerith!”

She laughed. “What? It’s a compliment!”

Cloud exhaled like he was reconsidering every life choice that led him to this moment. But then—under the chaos—his eyes met Tifa’s.

And she was smiling.

Just for him.

So he smiled back. Small. Quiet. But real.

 

By nine the bar had emptied out slowly, the last of the regulars stumbling into the night with laughter echoing down the street. Yuffie had taken over cleanup, sleeves rolled up, counting out the drawer with her usual commentary about how she deserved a raise, or at the very least a free drink tab.

Tifa was behind the bar, finishing off the last wipe-down. Her back was turned when she heard boots cross the floor behind her, steady and familiar.

Then—warm fingers curled around the belt loops of her jeans.

She barely had time to turn before he pulled her back into him—close, snug against his chest—and kissed her.

Not a polite kiss. Not a quick peck.

He kissed her like he was making up for all the years he hadn’t. Like the whole night had been building to this—his hands tight on her waist, her body pressed to his, and the low, hungry noise he made when she sighed into his mouth.

When they broke apart, she was breathless.

So was he.

His voice was rough. Quiet. “Wanna get out of here?”

She didn’t hesitate.

 

Tifa nodded once, lips still parted, eyes shining. “Yeah.”

The ride out of the city was quiet. The wind in her hair, her arms around his waist, the distant lights fading behind them. Cloud didn’t speak much—he didn’t need to—but every time she shifted closer on the bike, he reached back and squeezed her thigh.

The road opened up into the hills just past the old reactor ruins. Wide and dark, surrounded by open space and sky.

He pulled off onto a dirt path only he would know, weaving between tall grasses until the engine cut and silence fell like a blanket.

Tifa slid off the bike behind him, her boots crunching softly in the grass. She looked up.

The stars were just beginning to show—pale at first, then bolder, blooming across the indigo sky.

Cloud dropped to the ground first, leaning back on his hands. He looked up at her with a soft smirk. “You coming?” 

She lowered herself beside him, tucking her knees up as the wind moved around them.

The sky stretched forever overhead. The kind of sky that made everything else feel small—except this.

Except them. He reached out and took her hand. Twined their fingers.

“I used to come out here after deployments,” he said quietly. “When everything felt… too loud. It helped. Being out here.”

Tifa turned to look at him. “Why bring me?”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Because now when I think about peace… I think about you.”

Her chest tightened. God.

She leaned in and kissed him again. Slow. Deep. One hand on his jaw, the other sliding into his hair. They kissed beneath the stars like the world had shrunk to just this patch of grass and the hum of their hearts.

When they broke apart, he rested his forehead to hers.

“You’re it for me,” he said, so soft it might’ve been the wind. “I hope you know that.”

Tifa smiled, eyes stinging.

“I do now.”

The grass was cool beneath them, the stars bright and scattered overhead like someone had spilled silver dust across the sky. A gentle breeze moved through the field, tugging at strands of Tifa’s hair, sending blades of grass rustling like whispers.

Cloud lay beside her, elbow propped, watching her face more than the stars.

She caught him staring.

“What?” she asked softly, smiling.

He didn’t smile back—not yet. He just looked at her like he was turning something over in his mind. Something he’d carried for a long time.

And then he said it.

“I love you.”

Tifa blinked.

He didn’t stop there. “I’ve loved you since I pulled you out of that yellow jackets’ nest behind your house.”

She stared at him.

“You were eight,” he added. “And furious. You’d gone in looking for the whiffle ball, and you wouldn’t let me help until you got stung. I drug you back home screaming the whole way.”

Her breath caught. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything.”

He paused. Looked back up at the stars like he needed the sky to steady him.

“I didn’t know what it was back then. Not really. I just knew I wanted to be near you. Always. Even when you scared the hell out of me.”

She laughed under her breath, blinking quickly.

“I knew it by the time we were fifteen,” he went on. “That summer, when we sat on the roof and you asked me what I wanted to do when I left school. I didn’t say it, but the answer was be with you.”

Tifa rolled onto her side to face him fully, propping her head on her hand.

“You really waited this long to tell me?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I told you last Saturday.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Last Saturday you told me to stop you if I didn’t want everything to change.”

“Same thing,” he murmured, eyes soft.

“No,” she said, smile turning bittersweet. “It’s not. But this is better.”

He brushed his fingers along her jaw, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“I love you,” he said again, firmer now. “I’ve loved you through everything—through leaving, through losing myself, through getting it wrong more times than I want to admit.”

She didn’t answer right away.

She just leaned in and kissed him—slow, deep, reverent. Like she was kissing the years they lost and the lifetime they still had ahead of them.

When they pulled apart, she rested her forehead to his.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “And I think… maybe I always have.”

He smiled then. Really smiled.

And she watched it bloom across his face like light cresting the horizon.

Chapter 14: Stones Throw

Summary:

Cloud 🐺

Wanna get out of here?

I bet I can make you come in under 5. No one will even know you’re gone.

AKA: The chapter where Cloud and Tifa figure out each other's turn on's.

Notes:

Did I stay up till an ungodly hour last night writing 4k words of mostly smut?

Yes. Yes I did. 👹

Ugh to be young and desperately in love.

signed,

A elder millennial who's been married for 20 years.

The bar was already buzzing when Cloud walked in—music low, voices louder, the din of clinking glasses and laughter rising like heat. The air smelled like lime wedges, Tequila, and fryer oil. The last few days of Summer clung to everyone’s skin.

It was Zack’s birthday, and the place was packed. Turks off-duty, loud and happy, taking up a corner booth like they owned it. Aerith was there too, dressed in white with a flower pinned in her braid, laughing at something Elena had just said. There were cupcakes on the bar. Someone had lit sparklers and stuck them in a plate of nachos.

Cloud stepped inside—and froze.

Tifa was behind the bar, radiant.

Her tank top clung like it had been painted on, cropped high on her ribs. Her shorts were frayed, hugging her hips like a sin. Her legs looked long and tan and unfair. Her hair was up, loose strands framing her face, and her lips were painted red.

Fucking red

It hit him like a punch to the chest.

She hadn’t seen him yet. She was laughing—at Reno, of all people, probably something vulgar—but when she turned to grab a shaker, her eyes caught Cloud’s for half a second.

She smiled.

Not big. Not sweet. Just… slow. Knowing.

Cloud made for the far end of the bar, jaw tight. Didn’t take his usual stool. He couldn’t. It was too close to her. Too close to the scent of her skin, the soft rasp of her laugh. Too close to the memory of this morning: her breath in his ear, her thighs around his waist, the way she’d whispered his name when she came.

Elena raised a brow as she slid him a beer. “You good?”

“Fine,” he muttered.

He wasn’t.

He took a long drink, watching her move—grabbing bottles, pouring shots, dipping under the bar to grab ice. Every movement carved into muscle memory, and all of it wrapped in a body he already knew by heart. Had touched. Kissed. Been inside.

When she finally made her way down the bar to him, she leaned her elbows on the counter, cleavage framed perfectly, red lips parted in a grin.

“Hey, you. You’re late.”

“Didn’t realize there was a dress code,” he said, voice low, too steady.

She cocked a brow. “Too much?”

His eyes dragged over her—slow, heated. “You’re trying to kill me.”

She laughed, but her breath caught when he leaned forward, hands flat on the bar. The weight of him. The way he looked at her.

He leaned in under the guise of kissing her cheek but lingered at her ear and whispered, “I haven’t stopped thinking about this morning,” he murmured. “You. Pressed up against me. Moaning in my ear.”

Her flush was immediate.

His eyes darkened. “You’re not playing fair. So its only right you know what you do to me.”

She opened her mouth to say something—he wasn’t sure what—but before either of them could speak, Elena’s voice cut through the din.

“Tifa! Backup on Table Eight. Zack’s getting birthday shots with the Turks again!”

Tifa blinked, stepping back. “Saved by the Zack.”

She glanced over her shoulder once before slipping into the crowd—still smiling, but quieter now. A little rattled.

Cloud swore under his breath.

This night was going to kill him.

Tifa slipped behind the bar again ten minutes later, cheeks flushed from laughter and the heat of the crowd. She’d delivered birthday shots to the Turks, ducked a kiss on the cheek from Reno, and tried to wrangle Zack off the tabletop twice.

Cloud hadn’t moved from the end of the bar. He was nursing the same beer he ordered a half hour ago scrolling through his phone.

Tifa’s phone buzzed in her back pocket as she slid a tray of empties toward Yuffie. She barely had time to breathe before it buzzed again.

She wiped her hands on a towel, angled away from the crowd, and checked the screen.

 

Cloud 🐺

I’m gonna lose it.

 Those shorts + those lips = I can’t feel my legs 😵‍💫

 

Her lips twitched. She typed back quickly.

 

Tifa 🍒

You feeling ok over there, champ?

 

Cloud 🐺

No.

 I’m sitting on a barstool trying to act normal with a situation in my lap.

 And you keep biting that damn straw.

 

She looked up, eyes skimming the bar.

There he was—far end, nursing his beer, jaw tight. His stare locked on her like she was the only thing in the room.

She ducked her head, cheeks flushing, and typed back.

 

Tifa 🍒

 I mean I am just working…

 Can’t help it if I’m thirsty 😇🥤

 

There was a pause.

Then—

 

Cloud 🐺 …

Stop.

 Please.

 I’m begging.

 

She bit her lip.

Another ping:

 

Cloud 🐺

If I have to watch you bend over that ice bin again I’m gonna walk back there and make very poor decisions.

 

She covered her laugh with a cough and turned toward the shelf, grabbing a bottle she didn’t need just to buy herself a second to breathe.

Then her phone buzzed again.

Not Cloud this time.

 

Aerith 🌸

👀👀👀 girl… you and Cloud

You’re texting like 7th graders in heat. I can feel the angst from over here.

 

Tifa nearly dropped the bottle. She glanced across the bar.

Aerith was perched next to Zack, sipping a cocktail with a little paper umbrella in it, phone in one hand and a wicked smile on her face. She winked.

 

Tifa 🍒

Aerith pls

Not now 😳

 

Aerith 🌸

No no no. We’re doing this.

Go put the man out of his misery 🫢🫢🫢

 

Tifa 🍒

I— I might disappear for a few.😶‍🌫️

 

Aerith 🌸

 Get it girl 😏 

You little slut 🥂 proud of you

 

Tifa groaned and shoved her phone in her apron.

Another buzz. She swore under her breath and checked it.

 

Cloud 🐺

Wanna get out of here?

 

Another second passed. 

 

Cloud 🐺

I bet I can make you come in under 5. No one will even know you’re gone. 

 

Her breath caught.

She turned to pour another round of drinks, heart hammering. She didn’t look up until the glasses were full, and even then—only once.

He was still watching her.

She typed one last reply.

 

Tifa 🍒

Stairwell to the apartment. 15 mins.

 

The back of the bar was chaos—Yuffie juggling plates, the fryer beeping angrily, Zack trying to convince Rude to do karaoke for his birthday, 

“Come on, just one song, man—do it for me—do it for the troops!”

Tifa was trying to focus. Really. But her phone kept lighting up in her apron pocket like it had a personal vendetta.

She ducked behind the register, slid it out, and glanced at the screen.

 

Cloud 🐺

Make it 10. Can’t stop thinking about how you sounded this morning. The way you moaned when you came on my cock.  I’ve got a whole reel playing in my head rn😈

She choked on air.

Her fingers were already flying over the screen before her brain could catch up.

 

Tifa 🍒

If you keep texting me like this I’m gonna drag you in the cooler to sit on your—🙊

Send.

 

The second she hit it, her soul left her body.

Because she realized, with dawning horror, that the little name at the top of the message thread wasn’t Cloud 🐺.

It was Aerith 🌸.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

“Everything okay?” Yuffie called over her shoulder. “You’ve been preoccupied all night. 

She looked down at her phone in disbelief. Already, the typing bubbles were popping up.

 

Aerith 🌸

😳😳😳😳

EXCUSE ME

SIT ON HIS WHAT???

Tifa slammed her phone face down on the counter and turned around like she could outrun digital reality.

Elena, who had wandered over with a cocktail shaker, raised a brow. “You alright?”

“No,” Tifa said weakly.

Her phone buzzed again. Twice. She peeked.

 

Aerith 🌸

Is this what we’re doing now?? We’re sending accidental thirst texts??

BECAUSE I’M OBSESSED

 

Another buzz:

Aerith 🌸

I need the uncut version btw. Do not hold out on me. Besties don’t lie 😤

Tifa buried her face in her hands.

At the other end of the bar, Cloud was still perched on his stool, nursing a beer, brooding like a thunderstorm.

Blissfully unaware. For now.

She unlocked her phone again, desperate to salvage what dignity she had left.

 

Tifa 🍒 → Aerith 🌸

I am going to set myself on fire.

Aerith 🌸

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

’ll bring marshmallows.

 

Cloud slid his phone back in his pocket and decided he at least needed to say goodbye to Zack before he met Tifa in exactly seven minutes and thirteen seconds from now. Cloud approached the table like it might bite him.

The corner booth was overflowing—Zack in the center of it all, laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. Reno was already half-drunk and dramatically fake-crying into a shot glass. Rude just shook his head and poured another round. Elena was filming again, God help them all.

Aerith spotted him first. Her eyes narrowed just slightly.

“Well well well,” she said, sipping something neon pink and dangerous. “Look who decided to join the party.”

“I’ve been here,” Cloud muttered, sliding a hand through his hair. “Just… over there.”

Zack leaned across the table and threw an arm around him. “Strife! The man, the myth, the broody-ass legend! C’mere. You’re drinking with me.”

Cloud didn’t resist. He let himself be dragged in, took the offered shot, clinked his glass to Zack’s.

“To surviving another year,” Zack said, grinning.

Cloud gave him a crooked smile. “Somehow.”

They both downed the shot. Cloud barely flinched. Zack made a noise like he’d just been punched in the throat.

Then Aerith raised her glass. She didn’t stand. Didn’t shout. Just raised her voice just enough to cut through the music.

“To love,” she said sweetly. “To honor.”

Cloud didn’t even blink.

Then she grinned. “If you can’t come in her… come on her.”

Zack choked on the second shot he’d just poured. Elena dropped her phone. Reno howled like a dying animal. Rude blinked once and looked deeply into his drink.

Cloud turned to stone.

Aerith sipped like nothing happened.

Zack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wheezing. “Holy shit, Aerith.”

Cloud stared at her. She met his eyes with an innocent smile and raised both brows.

“Something wrong, Cloud?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked toward the bar.

Tifa was wiping down a tray, her lips twitching. She’d heard. Of course she had. He looked back at Aerith. Her eyes glittered. She knew something.

“I have to go,” he muttered, setting the empty glass down and stepping back.

“Oh, so suddenly leaving?” Aerith called after him. “Should we save you a cupcake, or will you be… busy?” 

Cloud didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. He was already headed toward the back door, the faintest flush creeping up the back of his neck.

By the time Tifa slipped away for her break, Cloud was already at the stairwell door, back pressed to the wall like he might combust. His hands were in his pockets. His pulse was somewhere near catastrophic.

Then the door creaked open. Tifa stepped inside.

It was dark, lit only by the faint, humming fluorescents near the top of the stairs. The door clicked shut behind her.

Neither of them said anything at first. Then she moved.

A few quiet steps, sneakers soft on concrete, and then her hands were in his shirt. She fisted the front of it, tugged him down into her, her lips crashing against his with a heat that made him groan.

She tasted like cherry lip balm and tequila.

He backed her up against the wall in two steps, one hand sliding to her hip, the other cupping her jaw. Their mouths worked frantically—like they hadn’t been alone in days. Like this was the only oxygen left in the world.

“You’re killing me out there,” he murmured between kisses.

“Good.” She bit his lower lip. “Serves you right.”

“For what?”

“For…” she kissed his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, “… texting me things I can’t stop thinking about in front of like fifty people.”

“You started it by wearing this shirt,” he growled, sliding a hand under the back of her top.

She shivered.

“Cloud…”

“Say it again.”

“Cloud…”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, hips grinding against hers, and she gasped into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Come upstairs with me.”

She blinked. “I’m on shift.”

“Call it a break.”

She hesitated.

He kissed her again, slow and thorough, pulling back only enough to murmur against her lips:

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

Tifa’s breath stuttered.

She bit her lip, looked toward the stairwell door, then back at him. Her fingers slid into his hair.

“I’m already not wearing underwear.”

Cloud made a low, wrecked sound and grabbed her hand.

They didn’t walk up the stairs.

They ran.

Tifa grabbed his hand without thinking—fingers threading through his like it was muscle memory. Like she always meant to. Her other hand fumbled with the keys as they reached the door to the apartment above the bar, nerves flaring hot under her skin. She could still feel the heat of his mouth on her neck, the rasp of his voice in her ear. Her thighs were trembling.

Cloud stood behind her, quiet—but not still. His body radiated heat, presence, restraint. He hadn’t let go of her hand. He wouldn’t. Not tonight.

The door clicked open. She stepped inside, heart hammering.

Then—his palm pressed flat against the small of her back, guiding her in with a gentleness that made her knees weak. The door shut behind them with a soft thud.

Tifa turned slowly.

He was watching her like he had all night, but up close, it was different. Hungrier. Hungrier—and reverent. Like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to pin her to the wall or fall to his knees.

“Skip your shift,” he said, voice low.

She gave a breathless laugh, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall. “I think I already did.”

He stepped closer, fingers brushing the edge of her jaw. “Good.”

She didn’t wait this time.

Tifa reached up, curled her hands into his shirt, and pulled him into a kiss—slow and deep, with a quiet desperation that had nothing to do with haste. Just need. Just him. The world fell away.

Clothes didn’t come off yet. But hands wandered. His settled on her hips, dragging her closer until her chest met his. Hers curled at the nape of his neck, nails raking gently through his hair. The kiss turned hungry, then slower again. Her back hit the wall. Her breath hitched.

Cloud broke the kiss first—just barely—and let his lips ghost down the line of her throat. “I think you like being teased,” he murmured.

Tifa nodded, already breathless. “I do.”

His mouth curved against her skin.

And he bent to kiss her again—slow and deep—before taking her hand and walking her backward, toward the bedroom, one step at a time.

They reached the bedroom like that—step by step, mouth to mouth, hands never still.

By the time her knees bumped the edge of the bed, Tifa’s tank top was rucked up her ribs, her lips kiss-swollen, breath coming in soft, shattered gasps. Cloud’s hands were at her hips, thumbs brushing the waistband of her shorts like a promise. His eyes searched hers once more—asking, even now, even when they both already knew the answer.

She nodded.

He kissed her—slow and deep, the kind of kiss that could ruin a girl for anyone else—and reached back with one hand.

The door closed with a soft, decisive click.

And then it was just the two of them.

No bar.

No noise.

Just breath, heat, and the steady unraveling of restraint.

“I like the sounds you make,” he said after a beat. “The little ones. Like when I—” he hesitated “—when I put my mouth on your neck. You make this sound like… like it’s too much.”

Tifa’s breath hitched. Her eyes locked with his in the dim lamp light.

He was closer now.

She could feel the heat radiating from him.

“Do I?” she whispered.

“You do.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“Do it again and find out.”

His hand slid across, fingers grazing her hip, but he didn’t push. Didn’t climb on top of her or take control.

He just looked at her. Like he could see her whole life in her face.

And then he smiled—quiet, undone.

“We have time.”

“I like when you tease me,” Tifa said softly, voice barely above a breath. “Mercilessly. Drives me crazy in the best way.”

Cloud stilled.

Then he turned onto his side, facing her fully, propped on one elbow. The night wrapped around them, warm and close.

His eyes were dark now—stormy, focused.

“So I was right, you like being teased,” he repeated.

She nodded, lips curved in a subtle, wicked smile. 

“I like the sound you make,” he murmured. “when I—”

He reached out slowly, hand finding the strip of skin just under her top. His fingers brushed her waist, featherlight. Just enough to make her breath catch.

“—put my mouth right here.”

Then he leaned in.

His lips pressed to the underside of her jaw, soft at first, then firmer. His tongue followed—slow, unhurried, tasting her skin. He found the spot beneath her ear and lingered, lips parting around her pulse, sucking gently.

She gasped—sharp and sudden—and her hips twitched toward him.

“That sound,” he murmured against her throat. “That one right there.”

His hand slid up under her top, palm splaying across her ribs. He didn’t go for her breasts, not yet. Just let the heat of his hand settle over her skin while his mouth kissed a slow path down her neck.

Another whimper slipped out—high and breathy—and he groaned in response.

“Fuck, Tifa…”

“You said you liked it,” she breathed.

“I love it.”

He dipped his head again, this time kissing lower, brushing his lips over the swell of her chest. Her tank top shifted, and he dragged the fabric up, slow and deliberate. When the underside of her breast peeked out, he stopped.

He looked up at her.

“Still okay?”

She nodded, eyes wide, already panting.

“I’m not going to rush this,” he said, voice thick. “You said tease.”

He kissed just above her breast.

Then to the side. Then lower.

Her back arched as he finally took her nipple in his mouth—through the fabric first, the soft cotton dampening under his tongue. She whined, fingers curling into his hair, her thighs rubbing together instinctively.

“Cloud—please—”

He didn’t give her what she wanted. He dragged it out.

His hand slid to her other breast, thumb brushing over her nipple as his mouth sucked softly on the first. He alternated between soft flicks and slow, open-mouthed licks—until she was squirming beneath him, legs shifting, hips pressing up into nothing.

“You like this?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

“You know I do,” she gasped.

“Then say it.”

She swallowed hard. “I like it when you tease me. I—fuck—I need it.”

That broke something in him.

He finally shoved her shirt up and kissed her bare skin, hot and hungry now, his hand palming her breast fully while his mouth lavished the other. He rolled her nipple between his fingers and listened for the change in her voice—when it went breathy, then high, then desperate.

“God,” she gasped. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“No,” he said, dragging his tongue over her nipple. “Just ruin you a little.”

And then he kissed his way down her stomach.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Worshipful.

He stopped just at the waistband of her shorts, resting his cheek against her bare thigh.

“Cloud,” she whispered.

He looked up at her—eyes blown wide, hair a little wild, lips parted, chest rising in fast, shallow breaths.

I want you naked in this bed, so I can keep going until you’re begging me to fuck you”

Tifa made a soft, broken sound.

He kissed the inside of her thigh—just once—and moved back up to stand beside her, dragging her into his arms.

She curled against him, trembling slightly.

“You meant it?” she whispered after a beat. “You really like this?”

He kissed her temple.

“I live for it.”

He didn't give her time to doubt.

Cloud kissed her again—fiercely now—like he was making up for every moment they’d had when they were just friends. His hands slid under her shorts, palms rough from the garage, thumbs pressing into the warm curve of her hips.

Tifa’s breath hitched as he hooked his fingers in the waistband.

“Off,” he muttered, his voice gravel and heat. “These have to go.”

She arched, lifting her hips so he could slide them down, slow at first, then not-so-slow when he caught sight of what lay beneath.

Or… didn’t.

“Tifa—” he groaned. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Nope.” She grinned, breathless. “Told you I wasn’t wearing any.”

His jaw flexed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Then he got to his knees.

She barely had time to process it before his hands gripped her thighs, spreading her open, and his mouth was on her—hot, soft, utterly relentless. Tifa cried out, her hand shooting out to brace against the headboard as he licked a slow stripe up her center, then flattened his tongue against her clit like he was starving.

“Fuck,” she gasped. “Cloud—oh my God—”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. He sucked her clit into his mouth gently, then let his tongue flick against it in dizzying, perfect circles. Her legs shook. Her hips bucked. He held her down with one strong arm, fingers digging into her thigh, anchoring her as he worked.

“Already close,” she breathed, voice shaking. “I can’t—shit—”

“Then come,” he murmured, voice low and sinful. “Right now. Just like this.”

And then he moaned into her—moaned—and the vibration shattered something in her.

Tifa came hard, gasping his name, thighs trembling, back arching off the bed. She felt his hands, steady and warm, grounding her through it, his mouth slowing but never stopping, easing her through every last wave.

By the time he pulled back, his mouth was wet, his hair a mess, and he looked… wrecked.

Ravenous.

He crawled back over her, kissed her like he hadn’t just ruined her on his tongue, and she tasted herself on his lips.

Tifa blinked up at him, still breathless, flushed and glowing, her chest rising in soft, shallow pulls. Cloud hovered over her, lips kiss-swollen, hair wild, eyes dark with heat.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered, brushing a thumb across her cheekbone. “I could do that all night.”

She smiled—lazy, satisfied. “But now it’s your turn.”

Before he could argue, she pushed gently at his chest. He let her flip them, his back hitting the mattress with a surprised huff.

“Tifa—”

She kissed him quiet. Long, slow, molten. And when she finally pulled back, her fingers were already sliding down his chest, slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” she murmured. “Ever since this morning. You in my mouth.”

He groaned—actual, guttural sound—and his hips bucked.

Tifa smiled against his skin.

Then she kissed her way down his torso. Leisurely. Deliberate. Tongue flicking the dips between muscle, lips dragging along the trail of hair beneath his navel. When she got his jeans open, he lifted his hips for her, the trust in the motion enough to make her stomach flip.

God, was he hard. Her mouth watered.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes blown wide, breath shaking. “Tifa…”

She didn’t answer. She just wrapped her hand around him, slow and gentle, her thumb swiping over the tip as she lowered her mouth—lips parting, tongue flicking out to taste him. The hiss that left his lungs was pure desperation.

Then she took him in. Slow at first—just the head, her lips wrapping around him with maddening care. Her eyes never left his.

Cloud looked like he might die.

“Tifa—Jesus—oh my God—”

She hummed around him, then eased down farther, lips sliding lower inch by inch until her throat fluttered around him and he choked on a curse.

His hand slid into her hair. Not guiding. Just anchoring. Holding on. Because she was wrecking him.

And she knew it.

She bobbed her head once. Then again. Found a rhythm. One hand stroking what her mouth couldn’t take, the other splayed on his thigh to steady herself. Her eyes stayed locked to his, watching every twitch, every flicker of restraint breaking.

“You’re gonna make me—fuck—Tifa—baby, stop, I can’t—”

But she didn’t.

Not until his whole body shuddered and his head dropped back and he whined—a broken, desperate sound she swore she’d never forget.

Only then did she pull off, licking her lips, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Cloud lay there, dazed, ruined, chest heaving like he’d run a marathon.

Tifa crawled up his body, straddling his waist, and leaned down until their noses brushed.

“Still alive?” she whispered, grinning.

He blinked, dazed. “Barely.”

“Good.”

He grabbed her then—hands strong, sure, reverent—and flipped her onto her back in one fluid motion.

His mouth met hers again, deeper this time. Tasting himself on her lips. Tasting her, too—cherry, tequila, heat and want. It was messy. Intense. Perfect.

His hands were on her again—sliding up her ribs, thumbs brushing just under her breasts before he pushed her tank top up and off entirely. He sat back to look at her.

Took her in.

Like he was trying to memorize every detail.

Tifa’s skin was flushed, her chest rising in quick little breaths, her eyes locked to his like she couldn’t look away even if she wanted to.

“Cloud,” she whispered.

“I know.” He leaned down, kissed her collarbone. “I know, baby.”

She lifted her hips, legs spreading a little wider to cradle him.

“Please,” she breathed.

The only light in the room was the low amber glow from the bedside lamp, casting soft shadows across her skin.

“Come here,” she whispered.

Cloud climbed over her, bracing on one elbow, the other hand gently guiding himself as he settled between her legs. His eyes searched hers one last time.

She nodded.

And he pushed in—slowly, carefully, burying himself inch by inch with a low groan that vibrated against her throat. Her legs wrapped around him instinctively.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Cloud—”

“I know,” he breathed. “You feel… fuck, Tifa, you feel perfect.”

He didn’t start moving yet.

He just stayed there a moment—deep inside her, forehead resting against hers, breath shuddering.

She tightened her arms around his back. “Move. Please.”

He did.

Slow at first. Rolling his hips like he had all the time in the world. She gasped, and he kissed her for it. His thrusts were deep, purposeful—hitting something that made her back arch and her fingers dig into his shoulders.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “You know that, right?”

“Yes,” she choked out.

He pulled back, only to sink in again harder, deeper. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she moaned. “Always.”

That shattered what little control he had left.

He picked up the pace, hips slamming into hers now, faster, rougher. The headboard thudded softly against the wall, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the quiet room.

Tifa’s voice broke on a sob. “Cloud—I’m—oh my God—please—”

He slid a hand between them, thumb finding her clit, circling it just the way she needed.

She shattered.

Head thrown back, spine arched, she clenched around him like a vice, crying out his name like it was the only word she knew.

He followed her with a strangled groan, burying himself to the hilt as he came hard, hips stuttering, hands gripping her tight like he was afraid he might float away if he let go.

When it was over, he collapsed against her, still buried deep, his weight warm and solid and grounding. She curled around him, one hand stroking his hair, the other tracing lazy shapes down his back.

Neither spoke for a long while.

Just the sound of their breathing. The soft hum of the world outside their little room. The beat of two hearts slowing in sync.

Eventually, Cloud shifted, pulling out gently, and rolled onto his side to face her. He reached for the blanket and dragged it over them, then cupped her cheek, brushing a kiss across her temple.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded. “More than okay.”

A long pause. Then, softly—

“I love you.”

Cloud blinked.  His breath caught. Then he smiled—small, crooked, a little shy. “I love you too.”

Tifa’s smile bloomed.

They kissed again, softer this time. Not for lust. For love. And somewhere downstairs, in a bar full of friends, music played on.

But up here—It was just them. Home.

Chapter 15: Take me Home Tonight

Summary:

"No-You don’t get to come in here and police who I talk to like I’m yours to protect, but then keep me at arm’s length when it comes to actually sharing your life. I need a roommate, not a bodyguard.”

The door to Tifa’s apartment creaked open with the familiar groan Cloud knew by heart. He’d just finished a double shift with Cid—his jacket still smelled like engine grease and motorcycle oil. Normally, the scent didn’t bother him. But tonight, it clung to him in a way that made his skin itch.

He was hoping for an IPA. Maybe one of Tifa’s soft looks. The ones she gave only him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Instead, he paused just inside the door. A man’s voice. Low. Too confident. Smirking around the syllables.

Cloud froze.

“I mean, obviously, the location’s a little loud,” the guy was saying, “but the rent is killer. And you’re, like, right above the action. That’s kinda hot.”

Cloud’s brows drew together. No. He knew that voice.

He stepped into the hallway, boots heavy on the floor. Tifa was sitting at the kitchen table with a clipboard, her hair up in a bun, a pen in her hand—but her shoulders were stiff. Her smile was the one she used on drunk customers. The one that meant go away.

Sitting across from her was the owner of that smug voice.

Ryan. Or Kyle. Or something that correlates with a backwards hat and an ego bigger than his tab.

Cloud had seen him harassing Yuffie two weeks ago—cornering her at the pinball machine, calling her “sweetheart” until she threatened beat his ass and told him to piss off.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Cloud’s voice sliced the room in half.

Tifa looked up, startled. “Cloud—”

“I thought you were only interviewing women.”

“I was—he sent a message through the app, and I thought... I don’t know, I thought maybe he deserved a chance.”

Frat-boy McAsshole leaned back in the chair like he owned the place. “You must be the boyfriend,” he said, looking Cloud up and down. “Mechanic, right?”

Cloud didn’t answer. He stared. Hard. Long enough for the guy’s grin to flicker.

Tifa stood up. “Okay. Thanks for coming in. I’ll—uh—I’ll be in touch.”

“Seriously? We were just getting to the good part.”

“Now.” Cloud’s voice was low. Dangerous.

The guy held up his hands and backed out with a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The second the door shut, Tifa turned on Cloud.

“What the hell was that?”

“You’re letting creeps like that in your home?”

“You think I don’t know he’s a creep? You think I want someone like him living here?”

“Then why the fuck was he sitting at your kitchen table, Tifa?!”

“Because I’m out of options, Cloud!” she snapped. Her voice cracked under the weight of it. “Because Barrett’s been cutting me slack for three months and I hate it. I can’t afford this place alone.”

Cloud’s chest heaved. His fists clenched at his sides. “Then let me help.”

“You don’t live here.”

The words landed like a punch. He swallowed. “No. But I’m here all the time.”

“You still have your own place.”

“Tifa—”

“No,” she said, louder. “You don’t get to come in here and police who I talk to like I’m yours to protect, but then keep me at arm’s length when it comes to actually sharing your life. I need a roommate, not a bodyguard.”

Something twisted in his gut. She was right. And he hated it.

“I need air,” he muttered, grabbing his keys and slamming the door behind him.

He ended up at Zack and Aerith’s. Aerith had gone out for groceries. Zack took one look at Cloud’s face and pulled on his riding jacket.

They rode out to the ridge above the old city line, where the lights blinked below like embers in the dark.

Cloud kicked the stand down and sat on the stone wall. Zack leaned back on his bike, arms crossed.

“So. You gonna tell me why you looked ready to murder someone when you walked in?”

Cloud stared ahead. “Tifa was interviewing a guy for a roommate. He’s been around the bar a few times. Your typical Midgar U frat-boy.”

“Oh.” Zack’s mouth curled into a smirk. “That guy.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“He tried to hit on Aerith last month. Bad move. She made him cry.”

Cloud’s lips twitched. Barely.

Zack nudged him. “So...what’s the problem? Why aren’t you offering to be her roommate?”

“We’ve only been dating three months.”

“And?”

“And I don’t want to crowd her. I don’t know. I didn’t think we were at that point.”

Zack gave a soft snort. “Cloud. You’ve known her since you were kids. You’ve been half-living at her place anyway. What’s really stopping you?”

Cloud didn’t answer.

Zack’s voice softened. “You love her?”

Cloud nodded, eyes still fixed on the skyline. “Of course I do.”

“Then stop being an idiot. Be her roommate.”

 

The apartment was quiet when he returned. The lamp in the corner was on, casting a dim amber glow.

Tifa was in the kitchen. Rage cleaning.

The counters were already spotless, but she was scrubbing them like they owed her money. A pile of used tissues sat on the edge of the sink. Her cheeks were blotchy. Her eyes red.

Cloud’s chest cracked open. “Tifa,” he said softly.

She didn’t look up.

He crossed the room slowly and gently reached for her hand. “Tifa.”

She stopped scrubbing.

“I don’t want you to look for a roommate anymore.”

She turned to face him.

“I want to be your roommate.”

Her breath hitched.

He stepped closer, cupped her damp cheek in his palm. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I just didn’t want to assume you’d want that.”

Her eyes watered again, “I guess I’m sorry I never asked you.” then threw her arms around his neck and held him like he was her gravity.

“I can help with rent,” he whispered against her hair. “I’ll do dishes. I’ll even pretend to like your cinnamon coffee.”

She laughed into his chest. “You already drink it.”

“I guess I’ve been living here for a while, huh?”

She nodded, smiling through tears.

He kissed her temple. “Let’s make it official.”

 

The day Cloud officially moved in was overcast, but not raining—thank the Planet. They had one truck bed, two duffel bags, a few crates of tools, and the world’s ugliest futon.

It was gray. Faded. Lumpy in the middle. And it had seen things.

Zack stared at it with his arms crossed and an expression that could only be described as haunted.

“You’re seriously bringing this into her home?”

Cloud grunted as he shoved the frame up onto his shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“It’s a war crime,” Zack said. “It looks like it survived a Shinra dorm fire. Twice.”

Cloud ignored him and started up the stairs.

Zack followed with one of the duffel bags, narrating like he was on a tour. “And here we see the noble beast in its natural habitat. The futon—a creature feared and misunderstood. Known to devour spines and seduce college freshmen.”

Tifa was waiting at the top of the stairs with a smirk and a mug of coffee. “Don’t let him bully you,” she said, brushing hair out of her face. “It’ll go in Aerith’s old room.” 

Zack gasped. “Good thing she’s not here. She would have a lot to say about that.”

“She moved out!” Tifa called over her shoulder as she turned into the apartment.

Cloud and Zack wrangled the futon through the doorway like it was a boss fight. They hit the frame on every wall, dinged the doorjamb, and Cloud may have cussed in three different languages under his breath.

“Pivot,” Zack said. “PIVOT!”

“I swear to Leviathan, Zack—”

The frame slammed into the hallway wall again with a sharp bang. A picture of Tifa and Aerith nearly fell off its hook.

From the kitchen: “That better not be my favorite photo.”

“It’s not,” Zack lied.

Eventually, they made it into the room.

Cloud dropped the frame with a loud clunk and sat on the mattress with a huff.

Zack was doubled over laughing. “This is it. This is your legacy.”

“It’s temporary, I’m going to list it for sale on marketplace tomorrow.” Cloud muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

Zack raised a brow. “You really think someone will buy it?”

“I did.” Cloud answered. 

Zack huffed a laugh, “Yeah and you’re already its third owner.”

Tifa walked in with a box labeled "CLOUD’S CRAP" in Sharpie.

“Hey,” she said, nudging his knee with her own. “You okay?”

Cloud nodded. “Yeah. Just… feels weird.”

“Good weird?”

He met her eyes.

She was standing in his space now. Smiling like this was home. Like he was home.

He reached for her hand and tugged her down beside him. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Good weird.”

Zack watched from the doorway and sighed dramatically. “Gross.”

Tifa threw a pillow at him.

 

Six Months Later: 

It was a quiet afternoon—warm air drifting through the open bay doors, the scent of motor oil and cherry blossoms mixing weirdly in the wind. Zack leaned against the tool bench trying to pretend like he wasn’t vibrating with nervous energy.

Cloud wiped his hands on a rag and gave him a look. “You’re hovering.”

“I’m not hovering,” Zack said.

“You are. You’ve circled that same bolt tray three times.”

“I’m thinking.”

Cloud raised a brow. “Thinking louder than the air compressor.”

Zack exhaled hard. “Okay, fine. I need your opinion. But you have to swear not to tell anyone.”

Cloud blinked, slowly tossed the rag into the bin. “Did you crash your bike into something again?”

“No. Better. I mean—worse, technically. For my nerves.” Zack pulled something out of his jacket pocket.

A ring box.

Cloud stared. “Seriously?”

“I’m proposing to Aerith.”

“Holy shit.”

“Right?!”

Cloud rubbed the back of his neck, unsure whether to grin or tackle him. “I mean, you’ve basically been married since the first time she reorganized your liquor cabinet.”

“Cloud. She alphabetized them and put the dates of purchase on sticky notes. That’s how I knew it was love.”

He flipped the box open. A delicate gold band, thin and elegant, with a pale green kite cut gem in the center—like a sliver of lifestream.

“Think she’ll like it?”

“She’s gonna lose her mind.”

Zack beamed. Then immediately deflated. “Okay, but how do I do it? Big speech? Dramatic gesture? Flash mob?”

“No flash mobs.”

“Ferris wheel?”

Cloud blinked. “Sky Wheel. Gold Saucer.”

Zack lit up like a kid on Christmas. “Dude. That’s perfect.”

---

The windows were cracked open, and the smell of rain lingered in the air. Tifa was curled up on the couch in Cloud’s t-shirt, one leg tucked under her, flipping through a cookbook. Cloud sat beside her, his head resting back against the cushion, freshly showered, hair still damp.

“You’re in a good mood,” she said without looking up.

He glanced over. “Zack’s proposing to Aerith.”

Her head snapped up. “What?!”

Cloud smirked. “Sky Wheel. Gold Saucer. Spring trip.”

Tifa squealed and dropped the book on the floor. “*Oh my God. That’s so perfect.”

“He’s telling her it’s just a birthday getaway. You and I are in charge of keeping her distracted until the big moment.”

Tifa’s eyes went wide. “I am so bad at secrets.”

“You kept us a secret for three days.”

“That was different. That was a sexy secret. This is high-stakes, emotionally explosive, potential-crying-in-public secret.”

Cloud chuckled. “You’ll be fine.”

“No. She knows me too well. She’ll take one look at me and be like ‘Tifa, why are your pupils dilated, are you hiding something romantic and important from me again?’ and I’ll implode.”

He laughed softly, reached over, and pulled her into his lap. She curled against his chest, legs draping over his thighs, heart still thudding with happy panic.

“I’m so excited,” she whispered. “They’re perfect for each other.”

Cloud nodded, his hand brushing her hair back. “They really are.”

She pulled back and looked at him. “You’re sure she won’t see it coming?”

He grinned. “Zack’s been playing dumb since they last talked about it. She probably thinks he forgot what a proposal is.”

Tifa laughed and pressed her forehead to his. “This is gonna be amazing.”

Notes:

Fun fact: this fic originally was going to be a friends to lovers and forced proximity. Tifa and Cloud were going to be roommates before they ever got together. But I wrote so much angst and the slow burn was sooo slow. I had to put them out of their misery. 🤣

Chapter 16: The Most Magical Place on Earth

Summary:

“Zack,” Cloud muttered, deadpan, as he was tugged toward yet another chocobo knight, “I’m not posing with the moogle.”

“You are, and you’re gonna look majestic doing it.”

Notes:

I was fortunate enough to be able to go to Disney World on Star Wars day. (Also my Bday ☺️) So for the purpose of this story, I imagine the Gold Saucer to be very much like Disney World. I didn't mention the Haunted Hotel simply because I know there are other hotels at the Gold Saucer. There's no way there isn't with all those people.

The apartment smelled like roasted potatoes, butter, and something sweet baking in the oven—apple tarts. Tifa moved through the kitchen with practiced ease, barefoot in leggings and an oversized tee, her hair up in a messy knot. She stirred the sauce, tasted, adjusted. Across the room, Aerith was perched on a stool, legs swinging as she watched.

“You really missed your calling,” Aerith said. “You could’ve been a chef with a whole ass restaurant.”

Tifa smiled, blowing on the spoon before offering it to her. “I don’t want that headache. The bar is plenty.”

Aerith leaned in, tasted, and made a dramatic face of bliss. “Okay. I take it back. You’re a kitchen witch.”

“See?” Zack called from the couch, where he and Cloud were watching some old war film with half their attention. “This is why I keep asking her to open a café. She keeps saying nooo, but if she just let me put my construction skills to use, build the place—”

“You mean get distracted halfway through the construction,” Cloud muttered.

Zack waved him off. “Details.”

Tifa brought the pot to the table just as the timer on the oven dinged. She popped open the door, pulled out a bubbling casserole dish, and grinned as the scent of melted cheese and fresh herbs filled the room.

They all settled around the table—Cloud quiet but content, Zack grinning over his second helping, Aerith sipping wine and complimenting everything, and Tifa… a little flushed. A little jittery.

Because she had a plan.

A casual one.

A very normal idea that wouldn’t at all give away the fact that her best friend’s entire life was about to change in a matter of weeks.

“So,” she said lightly, twirling her fork, “I was thinking… maybe we do something fun this spring.”

Aerith perked up. “Like what?”

“Well, your birthday’s coming up,” Tifa said, then gestured toward herself. “And mine too. We’ve never done anything together to celebrate.”

Zack glanced at Cloud, who kept his face perfectly neutral. Almost too neutral.

Tifa leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What if we took a trip?”

Aerith’s eyes lit up. “Yes. I love this already.”

“I was thinking the Gold Saucer,” Tifa went on, keeping her tone breezy. “We haven’t been since we were kids. And it’ll be warm by then, everything in bloom…”

“And the Sky Wheel,” Aerith added, dreamy-eyed already. “And the hotel with the balcony garden!”

Cloud glanced at Zack.

Zack was sweating.

Tifa took a sip of wine and shrugged. “Just a little birthday getaway. No pressure. We could do the spa thing. Maybe a few rides…”

Aerith reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “Yes. Tifa. This is the best idea you’ve ever had. Why haven’t we done this every year?”

Tifa smiled innocently, but her eyes flicked to Cloud—and the look they shared was full of everything they weren’t saying.

Across the table, Zack looked like he might pass out.

 

The table was a mess of empty plates, drained wine glasses, and one final cupcake split between four forks. Aerith leaned back with a happy sigh, cradling her glass like it was a treasure.

“That was so good,” she groaned. “I don’t think I can move.”

“You say that now,” Cloud said, standing and stretching, “but if one of those balcony planters is infested again, you’ll be sprinting.”

Aerith blinked. “What?”

“Pretty sure I saw a web on the lavender earlier.”

She sat bolt upright. “No. That’s my favorite one.”

Cloud didn’t look at Zack or Tifa. Just grabbed the sliding door and held it open.

“C’mon. Let’s check. Bring your wine.”

Aerith grabbed her glass and marched outside, already muttering about aphids and murder. Cloud followed, letting the door slide shut behind them with a soft click.

Zack exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for thirty minutes.

Tifa leaned her arms on the back of one of the dining chairs and smirked. “Smooth. Real subtle.”

“I’m dying,” Zack whispered.

“You’re fine.”

“I’m not fine. She was glowing when you said Gold Saucer. And you mentioned birthdays. You gave her hope, Tifa.”

“She’s your girlfriend, Zack. She already had hope.”

Zack dragged his hands down his face. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Tifa laughed softly and walked around the table, picking up the wine bottle and topping off his glass. “You mean it’s perfect.”

He looked up at her, eyes wide. “Is it?”

“Yes.” She softened. “She’s going to say yes. You know that, right?”

He nodded. Slowly. “I do. I just…” He looked down at the glass, watching it swirl. “I’ve never wanted to get something this right.”

Tifa sat beside him and reached for his hand. “You will.”

Zack stared at her a moment. “You really think the Sky Wheel’s good enough?”

Tifa smiled. “She’ll love it. She loves you.”

Outside, through the glass, Aerith was pointing wildly at the planter while Cloud crouched beside it with a flashlight, doing his best to look interested.

Zack followed Tifa’s gaze.

Then said quietly, “Think you’ll be next?”

She blinked.

He met her eyes. “You and Cloud.”

Tifa’s heart skipped.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “We haven’t really talked about that yet.”

Zack smiled. “You will.”

And somehow, that made her stomach flutter more than anything else that night.

The sliding door eased open again, letting in the cool night breeze—and Aerith reentered like a woman victorious.

“I knew it wasn’t bugs!” she declared, pointing a triumphant finger. “It was just pollen buildup. My lavender is fine. We live another day.”

Tifa grinned from the kitchen. “I think your Lavender would be happier if it lived with you.”

“Excuse you,” Aerith said, sliding back into her seat beside Zack and kissing him on the cheek. “She loves the angle of the sun on the balcony, Besides I saved its life. That’s basically medicine.”

Cloud followed in after her, shutting the door behind him. His expression was carefully neutral—but his eyes flicked toward Zack, just once.

Tifa caught it.

Zack cleared his throat. “So…”

Aerith turned to him. “So?”

“I was thinking,” he said casually, too casually, “we really should take that Gold Saucer trip. For your birthday.”

Aerith’s face lit up. “Yes! it’s a perfect idea—a spring getaway, spa time, cupcakes, fireworks—”

“No bugs,” Cloud added from the couch.

“No bugs,” Aerith repeated, pointing at him. “You’re coming too, by the way. Don’t even think about staying behind and brooding.”

Cloud smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Tifa leaned her elbows on the counter, watching the way Zack kept glancing at Aerith like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Tifa pulled out her laptop and got to planning. An hour later and the trip was booked. The plan was in motion.

The countdown had officially begun.

Aerith turned to Tifa, eyes wide and sparkling. “Do you think I should bring that pink sundress? Or is that too much for spring?”

Tifa bit her lip, warmth rising in her chest. “I think you should absolutely bring it.”

Because if everything went according to plan, Aerith was going to need something pretty to wear when she became a fiancée.

---

The air shimmered with heat and magic.

From the moment the tram pulled into the station, Aerith was practically vibrating in her seat, nose pressed to the window. Outside, the Gold Saucer bloomed like a dream—neon archways and holographic signage rising above sculpted gardens, wide cobbled walkways glittering under strings of lanterns. Music drifted through the air—upbeat, orchestral, threaded with synthesized flutes and faint chimes that seemed to sparkle like magic.

The park was divided into themed districts now: Wonder Parade Avenue, Materia Kingdom, Chocobo Crossing, and of course, the jewel in the crown—The Sky Wheel Plaza, sitting like a halo over the entire park, lit with thousands of glowing panels that pulsed gently in time with the background music.

Tifa stepped onto the platform first, suitcase in hand. The warm breeze lifted her hair as she looked up and let out a breathless laugh. “Okay. This is way bigger than I remember.”

“Right?” Aerith spun in place, skirt flaring, eyes wide. “It’s like a fairy tale!” 

Cloud trailed behind with their bags, sunglasses on, expression impassive—except for the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth every time Aerith gasped over something new. Tifa nudged his arm as they walked.

“You okay?”

“Overstimulated.”

“You’ll live.”

Zack was clearly barely holding it together. He kept brushing invisible dust off his jacket, checking his pocket (where the ring box sat, hidden), then glancing at the Sky Wheel like it was both his salvation and the instrument of his death.

Aerith threw her arms up. “I want to do everything! The carousel. The chocobo parade. The fireworks—there’s a firework show every hour. And there’s a new materia-themed ride that simulates limit breaks.”

Cloud made a noise like he was deeply against that concept.

Tifa laughed.

They made their way to the hotel—a sleek, high-rise tower in the center of the park with a lobby full of floating lanterns and illusion-magic koi swimming through the marble. Each couple had their own suite.

The moment they checked in, Aerith dragged Tifa to the balcony.

“Okay,” she said, breathless, gripping the railing. “This was a genius idea. You’re a genius. I’m never leaving.”

Tifa smiled softly. “You sure you want to see the whole park in two days?”

“Yes.”

“You might be exhausted.”

“I’ll collapse happy.”

Behind them, Cloud and Zack were still in the entryway, setting down bags. Cloud raised a brow. Zack looked pale.

“Still good?” Cloud murmured.

Zack swallowed. “She looks so happy. What if she dies from joy before I even ask?”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I need a drink.”

Cloud clapped him on the back. “Later tonight. For now, we just enjoy the ride.”

Zack straightened, nodded, and took a breath.

Showtime was coming.

 

By midmorning, they were swept up in it. Cloud grumbled about having to get up at six while on vacation.

The Chocobo Parade was in full swing—animatronic and live Chocobos with dazzling feathers marched alongside cast members in golden armor, tossing candies into the crowd. Tifa had a little stuffed chocobo attached to her shoulder already. Cloud caught candy out of reflex and gave it to a kid nearby, who stared like he’d just been handed a star.

Zack had already taken a selfie with every costumed performer.

“Zack,” Cloud muttered, deadpan, as he was tugged toward yet another chocobo knight, “I’m not posing with the moogle.”

“You are, and you’re gonna look majestic doing it.”

Aerith beamed behind her sunglasses, a pink Moogle pom-pom from the gift shop clipped into her hair. She kept linking arms with Tifa, skipping ahead, gasping at every attraction like she’d never seen so many lights before. They made it through Wonder Drop, Meteor Spin, and the Magic Materia Gauntlet before lunch—and Cloud looked visibly traumatized after the last one.

“I’m pretty sure I lost a piece of my soul on the Bahamut ride,” he said, hair windblown, shirt sticking to his chest.

“I saw the lifestream,” Zack groaned from a bench.

Tifa handed them both water and laughed.

The sun dipped lower as the day went on. They slowed down—less rides, more wandering. They ate skewers and popped mochi, got glitter on their clothes from some weird street performer, and took a photo in front of the Sky Wheel, the glittering rings just starting to glow with sunset light.

Aerith leaned her head on Zack’s shoulder. “I want to come back here every year.”

Tifa’s heart twisted.

Zack’s face turned white.

Cloud muttered, “Hang in there.”

That night, after a final fireworks show, the four of them collapsed into a late dinner at a rooftop café that overlooked the glowing park. The breeze was soft and warm. Aerith was still babbling about doing it all again tomorrow. Zack only nodded, eyes fixed on the Wheel in the distance.

It was happening tomorrow.

And only three people at that table knew.

Chapter 17: Cover Me Up

Summary:

“Yes.”

He blinked.

She smiled through tears. “Yes, you dumbass.”

It was the kind of morning that looked like magic.

The park was quieter early in the day—breezes warm and light, fountains glimmering in the rising sun, cast members just beginning to set up for the first parade. The breakfast buffet at Mog's Garden Café had exactly one too many sugar-based entrees, but Aerith was already halfway through a cinnamon swirl as she pointed out which attractions they still had to do.

Tifa sipped her espresso, legs curled under her in a patio chair, smiling as Aerith chattered on.

Cloud sat beside her, buttering toast like it was a mission.

Zack? Zack looked like he hadn’t slept at all.

“You okay?” Cloud murmured behind his coffee cup, low enough for no one else to hear.

Zack nodded too fast. “Yep. Great. Love is great. Park’s great. Day’s perfect. I might vomit.”

Cloud bit back a grin. “Not on the table, please.”

Tifa leaned over. “You want me to make up an excuse to get her ready early?”

Zack whispered, “No—she’ll know. She’s like a goddamn witch when it comes to surprises.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tifa said, gently brushing crumbs off his shirt like a sister might. “It’s happening tonight. Just make it to tonight.”

Aerith came back from the buffet with bright eyes and zero suspicion. “So… after lunch, can we go to the Stardust Pavilion again? That pond with the lily lights? I want to take more pictures.”

Zack blinked. “Yeah. Anything you want.” She smiled at him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Zack turned to stone.

Cloud muttered, “Dead man walking.”

They spent the day wandering through quieter corners of the park—rides they missed the first time, gardens trimmed with spellbound hedges that shimmered when touched, a puppet show about summon spirits that made Zack cry again, and a visit to the Fortune Arcade, where Aerith and Tifa both beat Cloud’s high score on Ragnarok Blitz.

Aerith skipped everywhere. Tifa filmed everything. Zack looked like a man preparing to be launched into the sun.

By dusk, they were back at the hotel to change.

It was time.

 

The plaza glittered like a storybook.

Strings of golden lights arched overhead. Fountains danced to soft instrumental music. The Sky Wheel towered above it all, lit by thousands of softly pulsing panels—each one shifting hues like candlelight caught in a prism. It spun slowly, massive and dreamlike, its glass gondolas gliding up into the stars.

Aerith was practically buzzing as they approached. “This is perfect. The colors, the music—it’s like something out of a dream.”

Tifa glanced at Zack. He looked like he was about to pass out.

Cloud nudged him. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“You’re wheezing.”

“I’m living my truth.”

They stepped into line just as a fireworks show started behind them—bright bursts of color lighting the sky above the Golden Arcade. Aerith turned, captivated, her face bathed in violet and gold.

That was Zack’s moment.

He turned to the ride attendant and quietly held up two fingers—two gondolas. Not one.

Cloud’s brow rose in surprise, but Tifa caught on immediately. She slipped her hand into Cloud’s and gently pulled him ahead.

“Come on,” she said, “let’s give them some space.”

They were next. The attendant swung open the door to the first gondola, ushering them forward.

Aerith turned to follow—still mid-sentence about how cute it would be to share with Tifa and Cloud—when Zack caught her hand.

“Wait,” he said. “Let’s ride together. Just us.”

Aerith blinked. “Wait, what? Why?”

Zack smiled, heart pounding. “Because I want you all to myself. Just for this.”

Aerith’s brows drew together. “You hate heights.”

“I’m making an exception.”

Before she could argue, the door to Cloud and Tifa’s gondola slid closed.

Inside, Cloud burst out laughing. Tifa snorted, covering her face with both hands.

“I thought she was gonna bite him,” Cloud said, leaning against the window.

“Oh, she will. Later.”

Outside, Aerith crossed her arms and glared at Zack. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Zack reached for her waist and kissed her cheek. “I’m banking my entire future on that.”

She rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched. As the attendant opened the next gondola, Zack guided her in gently, hands trembling.

The door closed.

The ride began.

 

As the wheel turned, a holographic Midgar spread out below them in a sea of color. The lights from the Gold Saucer reflected in the water, sparkled across rooftops, glowed softly against the curve of the wheel’s arc. Their gondola was completely enclosed, soundproofed from the world below, moving higher and higher through a quiet pocket of stars.

Tifa leaned into Cloud’s side, head on his shoulder.

“This is... kind of perfect,” she murmured.

He hummed low in his chest, arm looping around her waist. “Even with the dramatics back there?”

“Especially with them. I love those two.”

He chuckled. “I do too.” They sat in silence for a while, just watching the lights pass beneath them.

Then Tifa spoke again, quietly. “Do you ever think about it?”

Cloud glanced at her. “About what?”

“Getting married someday.”

He blinked. Then slowly said, “Are you asking me if I would want to get married?”

Tifa’s eyes went wide. “I didn’t mean— I wasn’t saying you and me— I just—”

He turned more fully toward her, one arm still around her, the other resting on his thigh.

“Tifa,” he said, voice low, steady, “I couldn’t fathom why we wouldn’t.”

Her breath caught. “Cloud…”

He kissed her then.

Soft, reverent at first—just lips brushing hers, slow and sure—but when she leaned into it, when she cupped his jaw with both hands and pulled him closer, the kiss deepened. His fingers curled at her hip. She pressed into his lap. They kissed like teenagers—messy, breathless, nothing held back.

When they finally parted, she was in his arms, breath warm against his neck.

“You really mean that?” she whispered.

He nodded. “I’m already yours.”

 

 

It was quiet inside Zack and Aerith’s gondola. Aerith had her face turned to the glass, arms crossed. “It’s weird without them.”

Zack was sweating. Not from the height or from the slow rise of the gondola into the clouds. From the ring box in his coat pocket. From the way she still hadn’t turned around. He slid a little closer. “I just wanted to have a moment with you. Alone.”

She glanced back at him, brow raised.

“Because,” he continued, fumbling, “you’re the best part of my life. And I wanted to say it… without anyone else around.”

Her face softened. “Zack,” she said.

He pulled the box from his pocket. Opened it. Aerith gasped.

“I know I probably screwed this up already,” Zack rushed, “and this wasn’t smooth or subtle or classy, and you almost murdered me before we even got on, but—”

“Yes.”

He blinked.

She smiled through tears. “Yes, you dumbass.”

He laughed—half-relief, half-shock—and she threw her arms around his neck as the gondola crested at the very top of the wheel, fireworks exploding behind them like a kiss from the sky.

Zack kissed her through it.

Below, the entire Gold Saucer shimmered.

Above, the stars blinked like they’d always known.

 

They were still wrapped around each other when Zack pulled back just enough to look into her face—really look. Her cheeks were damp, eyes bright, lips swollen from kissing him breathless. The fireworks behind her lit her like a painting.

He held the ring between them, still glinting in its velvet box.

“Okay,” he said, a little hoarse, a little shy now. “Let me ask you for real.”

Aerith blinked, then smiled slowly. “That wasn’t real?”

He laughed once under his breath. “You deserve the real thing. It’s kind of… a rite of passage. For a man. Gets passed down in the blood or something.”

She raised a brow, teasing. “You’re really gonna make me cry again, huh?”

Zack got down on one knee. Best he could, in a cramped gondola swaying lightly in the clouds.

He held the ring up, heart in his throat.

“Aerith Gainsborough,” he said, steady this time, “I love you more than life itself. Would you do me the absolute honor of being my partner for life; will you marry me?”

She grinned through fresh tears. “Yes. I will.”

He slipped the ring onto her finger—hand trembling a little, even now—and when it settled into place, her whole face lit up like a second round of fireworks.

She threw her arms around him again just as the gondola began its slow descent.

 

Cloud leaned against the railing, arms crossed, squinting toward the gondola exit. Tifa stood beside him, one hand shielding her eyes from the lights as she craned her neck.

“They should be down by now,” she muttered. “Unless she pushed him out.”

Cloud cracked a small smile. “Guess we’ll know when he starts screaming.”

A moment later, the gondola doors opened.

Aerith bolted. She practically flew across the ramp, pink dress flaring behind her, one hand raised in the air like a banner pointing to the other. The other?

Adorned.

Tifa gasped. “Yes—!”

Aerith skidded to a halt in front of them and thrust her left hand out, beaming like the sun itself.

“LOOK,” she cried. “LOOK AT IT. I’M GONNA BE A WIFE!”

Tifa screamed.

Cloud winced but didn’t move when both women launched at each other—hugging, laughing, bouncing in place like two teenagers at a concert.

Zack stepped off the gondola slowly, looking dazed and entirely in love.

Cloud clapped him on the back as he joined them. “You pulled it off.”

“Barely.”

“Guess that’s a yes?”

Zack looked at Aerith—who was crying again, laughing through it, and holding Tifa’s hands.

He smiled. “She didn’t even let me finish asking the question.”

 

---

 

The club was carved into the highest level of the Gold Saucer, hidden behind a velvet-curtained hallway that shimmered with starlight spells. Inside, The Glint pulsed with synth beats and neon, all gold railings and black marble floors, velvet booths with privacy wards, and a glass balcony that overlooked the entire park glittering below.

The music was loud. The drinks? Stronger. Aerith was radiant.

She spun into the room like the main character of every story ever told—hair done in loose waves, her short blue dress glittering every time she moved. She made a b-line for the bar and shouted “Fiancée privileges!” when the bartender hesitated to give her the bottle of champagne directly.

Zack followed behind her, laughing, shirt already half unbuttoned, his cheeks flushed from praise and booze and sheer relief.

Cloud, meanwhile, leaned at the edge of the bar in black—fitted shirt rolled at the sleeves, one drink in hand, eyes constantly tracking Tifa across the room like he couldn’t help it.

She looked unreal.

A red satin dress, low in the back, a slit cut high on both thighs to her hips, her hair pinned loosely like she hadn’t even tried (she had). She was laughing at something Aerith said, the neckline of her dress a little scandalous, her cheeks pink from champagne.

Cloud wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

He watched her, head tilted, thumb brushing the rim of his glass. He needed something to do with his hands or he'd go over there and ruin her.

Tifa finally looked his way. And smiled. It was the smile that said come get me.

He downed the rest of his drink.

 

Aerith and Zack were already at the center—he twirling her like they were on a wedding cake, she was laughing, glowing, shouting the lyrics to a remixed Cosmo Canyon anthem. People circled around, cheering.

When Cloud slipped onto the floor, Tifa met him halfway.

“You’ve been staring,” she said, lifting a brow.

“You wore that knowing I would.”

She smirked, looping her arms around his neck as the beat dropped. “Dance with me.”

And so he did. It was close. Tight. Heat blooming between them. Her hips brushed his. His hand found her waist, then lower. Their bodies swayed together, all friction and fire. Her fingers slid into his hair. His mouth grazed her ear.

“You look so goddamn good tonight.”

Tifa bit her lip. “You gonna do something about it?”

He didn’t answer.

Just grabbed her by the hips and kissed her—deep, right there on the dance floor, under strobing lights and thunderous bass. She melted into it, breath caught, hands fisting his shirt like she never wanted to stop.

When they pulled back, she was breathless.

Cloud smirked, thumb stroking her hip. “Back to the room after one more drink?”

“Only if you keep your hands on me the whole way there.”

Done.

 

The music still pulsed behind them, faint and muffled now, swallowed by velvet-lined hallways and mirrored elevators. The Gold Saucer’s upper-tier suites were tucked far above the noise—luxurious, private, dimly lit.

Cloud barely waited for the elevator doors to close. The second they slid shut, he was on her. His hands found her hips, then her thighs, then lower—dragging the red satin up her legs as his mouth pressed hotly to her neck.

Tifa gasped. “We’re still in public.”

“We’re alone.” His voice was low, dark with promise. “And I said I wasn’t taking my hands off you.”

She made a noise—something between a challenge and a whimper—as his fingers slid under the hem of her dress, grazing the bare skin of her upper thighs. His palms were warm, calloused, hungry.

The elevator hummed, slow and steady. Cloud pressed her back against the mirrored wall.

“You know what this dress does to me?” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Watching you all night—laughing, dancing, teasing me with those hips...”

She arched into him as his hands swept up, knuckles grazing the lace at the tops of her thighs.

“I could barely think straight,” he said. “All I could picture was dragging you into a dark corner and getting on my knees.”

Tifa exhaled hard, thighs tightening.

His thumbs slid higher, teasing just along the edge of her panties.

“You like this,” he said, voice gone ragged. “Being touched like this. Teased until you’re begging.”

“You know I do,” she whispered, head tipping back as his mouth found her collarbone.

The elevator dinged. The doors opened. They didn’t move. Not at first.

Then Cloud exhaled slowly, like it pained him to stop. He stepped back just enough to gather her hand in his and lead her down the hall.

Still touching her.

One hand on her lower back. Then her hip. Then sliding back to cup her ass as they walked. Every few steps, his fingers would graze the curve of her bare thigh beneath the swish of her dress, just to remind her who she belonged to tonight.

She was panting by the time they reached the suite.

He backed her against the door, one hand already sliding up her ribs beneath the fabric.

“You gonna unlock it,” he asked, “or do I have to fuck you right here in the hallway?”

Tifa fumbled for the keycard with shaking fingers. Cloud chuckled against her neck.

The door opened, they stumbled inside, and the door slammed shut behind them.

Cloud walked her backward—deliberate, slow, like he had all the time in the world. Her dress clung to her in the low light, the hem still rucked high from the elevator, her legs, revealed by the high slits, bare and trembling with anticipation.

He kissed her again. Hard. Possessive. His hands moved over her like he owned every inch of her—thumbs brushing under her breasts through the thin fabric, knuckles grazing the dip of her spine. He pressed her back against the suite’s tall window, the lights of the Saucer glittering below them.

Tifa arched into him. “Cloud—”

“Shh,” he said, voice molten. “We’re doing this my way tonight.” She went still at that. Her breath caught. His mouth ghosted over her jaw, down the curve of her throat. “You said you loved the anticipation?”A kiss. Lower. “Begged for.” Another. “Ruined slowly.”

She nodded, whispering, “Yes.”

“Then be good,” he murmured, sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders with agonizing patience. “And let me take my time.”

The dress slipped to the floor with a sigh of satin. She was bare underneath, save for a sliver of lace and nothing else. Cloud stepped back to look at her.

Eyes dark. Breathing uneven. He exhaled once—sharp—like he was barely holding himself together.

“Turn around,” he said. She did.

He pressed up behind her, still fully clothed, and let his hands roam. Palming her breasts. Rolling her nipples between his fingers until she whimpered. Dragging his teeth across her shoulder just to hear her gasp. His palm slid down her stomach, between her legs—just enough to make her tremble, but not enough to satisfy.

He groaned low at the wet heat he found there. “You’re already soaked.”

“You—” her voice broke as his fingers circled slow. “You did this to me.”

“I know I did,” he growled into her neck. “And I’m not done yet.”

She tried to turn, but he grabbed her wrists and gently pinned them to the window slightly raised forcing her to bend forward slightly.

“Stay like that.”

Her thighs clenched. He knelt behind her. Pressed a kiss to the back of her knee. Then her thigh. Then higher, higher, teasing her through lace with tongue and breath and nothing more.

She nearly collapsed.

Cloud wrapped an arm around her hips and held her steady.

“You make the sweetest sounds when I take my time.”

“Cloud—please—” Her palms hit the glass, breath fogging the shimmering skyline. The lights of the Gold Saucer stretched out beneath her in a constellation of color and sound—but all she could see was her reflection: flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. Cloud behind her, on his knees.

The red dress puddled at her feet. Her panties were gone—ripped away with a quiet, purposeful sound. One he hadn’t apologized for.

“Keep your hands there,” he said, voice thick with heat.

Then he kissed the back of her thighs—soft, reverent, before he palmed her ass, squeezing hard. His thumbs sliding to the apex of her thighs and gripping, spreading her apart.

She shivered. He took his time. Tongue, lips, teeth—exploring her like a man starved, like he’d dreamed of this. The scrape of his stubble, the wet heat of his mouth—it was too much, too perfect. Her knees buckled. Cloud gripped her thighs tighter.

“Don’t move,” he muttered, mouth brushing slick skin. “Not until I say.”

Tifa moaned—shameless, desperate—as he finally, finally licked up into her.

Slow at first. Just enough pressure to make her squirm. Then deeper. Firmer. Tongue stroking in long, relentless drags while his thumbs spread her open and held her still. He was groaning into her, eating her like he needed her to survive, every sound she made only spurring him on.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” he said against her. “You love this, don’t you? Being spread out for me like this.”

She whimpered something incoherent, hands slipping on the window.

One of his hands left her hip.

Two fingers slid into her—slow, curling, hitting that spot that made her cry out.

“Cloud—fuck—Cloud—”

He didn’t stop. Just moved with her, working her toward the edge. Drawing every sound out of her until she was gasping, pleading, sobbing for release.

When she came, it was sudden, sharp—her whole body trembling, forehead pressed to the window, Cloud’s name a broken chant on her lips.

He rose behind her, breath ragged. Pressed a kiss to her spine. Then another. Then stood fully and caught her before she could collapse. “You good?” he murmured, voice hoarse, hands steadying her.

She nodded weakly, boneless against him.

Cloud wrapped his arms around her, lifted her easily, and carried her to the bed.

 

The sheets were cool beneath them, the air thick with sweat and satisfaction. But the silence between them wasn’t sleepy—it simmered. The kind of quiet that said we’re not done yet.

Tifa shifted, brushing hair off her neck. Her skin still tingled, her thighs a little shaky—but the way Cloud was looking at her? That low heat in his eyes?mHe wasn’t finished. Not even close.

She turned toward him slowly. Kissed him, lazy and deep, then slid down his chest, nails dragging lightly over his ribs, his hips, until he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Tifa…”

She glanced up through her lashes as she took him in hand, already hard.

“Let me,” she said, voice a low hum of mischief and promise.

He groaned—head falling back, one arm thrown over his face as her mouth closed around him.

Soft, wet, slow. She licked along the underside with long, teasing strokes, just to feel him twitch. Swirled her tongue around the tip. Hollowed her cheeks. Took him deeper.

Cloud cursed. His hips jerked, fingers gripping the sheets like they might anchor him.

She didn’t stop. She loved this—the weight of him in her mouth, the way he moaned when she went deeper, how he kept trying not to thrust but couldn’t help it.

When she pulled off with a pop, he looked dazed.

“I—Tifa, if you keep that up—”

She just smiled.

Cloud growled low in his throat and grabbed her, flipping her easily to her stomach. He kissed her spine, her shoulder blades, down her back.

“You like it when you ruin me?” he asked, voice wrecked. “When you’re begged for?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”

He nudged her legs apart, kneeling behind her. Ran his hands over her ass, squeezing, spreading, worshipping. He smacked her ass once—she moaned. Another smack echoed through the room and she yelped. 

Then he slid into her with a groan—slow, but so deep it stole her breath.

“Oh my god—Cloud—”

 

He started to move. Hard. Smooth. Deep. His hands gripping her hips tight, his rhythm relentless. Every thrust slammed into the perfect spot, making her cry out, push back, plead.

“You love this,” he gritted. “Getting fucked from behind. Me buried so deep you can’t think.”

“Yes—fuck—Cloud—”

He leaned over her, bracing one hand beside her head, the other still gripping her waist as he took her—flesh meeting flesh, sweat-slicked, desperate. The sounds of their bodies filled the room, all breath and moan and rhythm and need. He reached forward—gripped her hair just enough to pull her up so her back arched.

“I want to hear every sound,” he growled into her ear.

She gave him everything.

She broke apart a second time with a hoarse, shuddering cry—legs trembling, fingers clawing at the sheets.

Cloud followed her over the edge moments later with a low, guttural moan, still deep inside her, body taut and shaking.

They collapsed together.

Breathing hard. Drenched in heat and skin and something more.

He kissed her shoulder again. Whispered her name like a vow.

“Tifa.”

She turned her head, kissed him softly, lazily, smiling even as her body trembled.

“Yeah?”

“You ruin me.”

Tifa was on her stomach, cheek pressed to the pillows, still catching her breath.

Her skin was flushed and glowing, her thighs trembling from the aftershocks of everything he’d done to her. She felt utterly spent—but when she peeked back over her shoulder and saw the guilty wince on Cloud’s face, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“You spanked me that hard?”

He gave her a sheepish little grin. “I might’ve gotten carried away.”

“You think?” 

There were faint handprints on the curves of her ass—rosy, warm. The sight of them did things to him. Things he honestly didn’t feel the least bit sorry for.

He bent down, brushed a kiss to the center of one cheek. “I’ll fix it.”

Tifa raised a brow. “With what, exactly?”

He pushed off the bed and padded over to her overnight bag, rummaging until he found the little black jar of whipped body butter. Vanilla and sandalwood—he always liked that scent on her. He popped the lid and scooped some into his hands, warming it between his palms.

Then he climbed back onto the bed and straddled her thighs.

“Cloud—what are you—”

“Shh.” His voice was low. “Relax.”

She hissed softly as his slick hands made contact—kneading the sore spots first, slow and careful, thumbs digging deep into the muscles. He worked with reverence, rubbing gentle circles into the bruised flesh, dragging his palms over every curve he’d marked.

She groaned into the pillow. “Ok. That feels amazing.”

“Good,” he murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to her shoulder. “You deserve to be spoiled.”

His hands traveled lower. Down the backs of her thighs. The dip between them. Sliding inward.

Tifa shivered.

He massaged the inside of her thigh, fingertips drifting too close. Then easing back. Teasing.

“Cloud…”

“Hmm?”

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Doing what?” he asked, all innocence, his thumb sliding up to barely graze her slit—just enough for her to feel it, just enough to make her ache again.

She gasped, hips shifting instinctively. Her breath hitched as he did it again—slow, unhurried, brushing her folds while his other hand massaged her ass.

“You’re already wet again,” he whispered, voice husky. “That didn’t take long.”

“I can’t help it,” she breathed. “Your hands—”

“I haven’t even started,” he said, pressing a kiss to the base of her spine. “Gonna take my time. Again.”

He teased her open with slick fingers, slow circles and barely-there pressure until her thighs trembled beneath him. The combination—his hands massaging, the vanilla scent, his fingers moving lower—was driving her mad.

Her back arched. She moaned softly, pleading without words. Cloud groaned at the sight of her—splayed out, needy again, her hips rising toward his touch.

He leaned forward, kissed her shoulder, and whispered against her skin:

“Another round?”

She didn’t answer him with words. Just shifted her hips back into his hand—an invitation, a plea, a demand. Cloud groaned low in his throat, watching the way her body responded. The way her thighs trembled. The way her breath came in shallow, stuttering waves.

He leaned over her again, pressing a slow kiss to the back of her neck. “I’m not gonna be gentle this time,” he murmured against her skin.

Tifa’s response was a soft, desperate sound—half moan, half whimper. “Don’t be.”

That was all he needed.

He gripped her hips—palms still slick with body butter—and eased himself into her again, slow at first just to feel that first tight slide. She gasped, nails biting into the sheets, her whole body already too sensitive, too full. But she wanted this.

She pushed back into him, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck, Tifa,” he breathed. “You’re so wet, I can’t—I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that.”

She did it again.

He growled and snapped his hips forward. The sound that ripped out of her was filthy.

Cloud set a rhythm—harder, deeper, relentless. One hand gripped her waist, the other wrapped around her front, sliding between her legs to find her again.

Every thrust knocked the breath from her lungs. Every circle of his fingers against her clit made her cry out.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demanded, voice rough.

“S-so good,” she gasped. “You’re so deep—fuck—I can’t—Cloud—”

“You can,” he growled, fucking her harder. “You’re gonna come again for me. Just like this.”

He pulled her up slightly, chest to her back, still moving inside her. One hand squeezed her breast, the other never stopped working her from below.

She shattered. Loud, unfiltered, the kind of orgasm that left her sobbing his name.

Cloud came right after her with a deep, guttural sound, hips grinding into hers as he spilled inside her, body shuddering.

They collapsed again—this time fully tangled, panting, skin damp and flushed. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Just the thrum of the city lights outside the window. Then Cloud kissed her shoulder. Her spine. The nape of her neck.

“Can’t believe how much I still want you,” he whispered, still breathless. “Even after all that.”

Tifa turned her head, found his mouth, kissed him—slow and sweet.

“Good,” she said, smiling faintly. “Because I’m not done wanting you either.”

The sheets were a mess. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and her vanilla body butter. But the lights from the city outside painted the room in soft hues of gold and blue, and for the first time all day, the world felt quiet.

Tifa lay curled against Cloud’s chest, her legs tangled with his, his hand splayed wide on the small of her back. He rubbed slow, lazy circles with his thumb. Her hair was damp against his collarbone, but he didn’t care. He held her tighter, like he could fuse them together if he tried hard enough.

She was the first to break the silence.

“Think we’re finally done?”

“Might be.” He kissed her temple. “Unless you want more.”

She laughed softly. “God, I can’t. My legs are jelly. My soul is jelly.”

Cloud chuckled too, low and warm. But then—she shifted slightly and froze.

Her brow furrowed. She peeked down between them.“…Cloud.”

He glanced down.

“Again?” she asked, incredulous and grinning. “Really?”

His ears flushed pink. But the smirk tugging at his mouth was unrepentant. “I can’t help it.”

She burst into laughter, shaking her head. “You are ridiculous.”

“Yeah?” he muttered, pressing his face into her shoulder. “You didn’t think I’d want you this bad?”

She arched a brow, smug now. “Apparently I broke you.”

Cloud groaned, but it turned into another laugh.

Tifa curled a little closer, resting her chin on his chest. “Okay, be honest.”

“Always.”

“How often did that happen before we started dating? Like… when we were just friends?”

His pause was way too long.

She narrowed her eyes. “Cloud—”

“All the time.” he said flatly, as if admitting defeat.

She cackled. “No.”

He nodded solemnly. “The amount of cold showers I took after visiting your apartment should’ve been a red flag.”

“Oh my god—”

“That damn black tank top? Your shorts? That lip gloss that tasted like strawberries?” He covered his face. “You were trying to kill me.”

She was still laughing when he rolled on top of her.

“You think it’s funny?” he growled, mock-serious.

“I know it’s funny—wait, Cloud—!”

But he was already kissing her again, slow and sweet, pinning her wrists to the pillow just because he could.

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, smiling against her mouth.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered.

“Good,” he murmured, kissing her jaw. “I don’t plan on stopping.”

Chapter 18: Darlin'

Summary:

“You know,” she said sleepily, “Mrs. Gainsborough-Fair sounds kind of sexy.”

Zack grinned. “Damn right it does.”

They barely made it through the door.

Aerith was laughing as Zack kissed her, breathless and flushed from the celebration downstairs. Her lipstick was smudged, her heels dangling from one hand, her hair a wild halo around her face. She looked like a dream. His dream.

Zack kicked the door shut behind them and swept her up into his arms, bridal style.

“Zack!” she squealed, legs kicking. “Put me down!”

“Sorry, can’t hear you, Mrs. Fair.”

She snorted. “We are not married yet.”

He carried her straight to the bed and tossed her onto it, grinning. “Technicality.”

“You’re already changing my name?” she teased, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt.

“Hell yeah, I am.” He kissed her hard, hands already sliding up her thighs, over the soft silk of her dress. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say you’re mine.”

Her eyes darkened. “I’ve always been yours.”

Zack groaned, kissed her again—longer this time, deeper, his hand sliding up to cup her breast through the fabric. She arched into him, already breathless, already soaked.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, “I’m gonna worship you tonight.”

Aerith grinned. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time.”

He dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, dragging her dress up inch by inch, slow and reverent. His hands caressed the backs of her knees, her thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When he reached her panties, he pressed a kiss just above the waistband before easing them down with his teeth.

“You’re ridiculous,” she breathed, shivering.

“Hush.”

She did.

Zack didn’t tease for long. He dove in—tongue firm and slow at first, then faster, licking her until she gasped and arched, moaning his name like a prayer. One hand gripped his hair, the other fisting the sheets as he kept going, relentless and hungry.

When she came, it was with a cry that echoed off the hotel walls.

He climbed up over her slowly, kissing her inner thighs, her stomach, the curve of her breasts. She grabbed his belt, yanked it loose with urgency.

“I want you,” she whispered.

“You have me.”

When he slid inside her, they both stilled—foreheads pressed together, breath mingling. Her legs wrapped around his hips. He moved slow at first. Deep. Rhythmic. Intimate.

“Mrs. Fair,” he said again, grinning into her neck.

“Stop calling me that,” she gasped.

He pulled back and thrust harder, making her cry out.

“Say it,” he growled.

“I’m—shit—I’m keeping my last name!”

He laughed—genuinely laughed—then kissed her through it. “You would.”

“I’m hyphenating,” she gasped, nails digging into his back. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? I gave you a ring, woman.”

“I gave you myself,” she said, breathless. “Every part.”

And god, she had.

Zack lost it then—fucking her hard, hips snapping, teeth at her shoulder. She met every thrust, hands tangled in his hair, lips at his throat.

They came together, shaking and tangled, his name on her lips, hers on his.

Later, wrapped in each other under the hotel sheets, Aerith traced circles on his chest.

“You know,” she said sleepily, “Mrs. Gainsborough-Fair sounds kind of sexy.”

Zack grinned. “Damn right it does.”

 

The sun was too damn bright. Cloud was struggling.

He’d barely made it out of bed that morning—somehow managing to tug on jeans, a wrinkled t-shirt, and his ever-reliable sunglasses to hide the bags under his eyes. He didn’t say much when they all met at the resort restaurant for brunch. Just grunted and slumped into his seat, one arm over the back of Tifa’s chair, the other cradling a black coffee like it was the only thing tethering him to the mortal plane.

Across the table, Zack looked criminally well-rested. Aerith looked like she’d floated out of a dream. And Tifa—God. Tifa looked radiant.

Slightly smug, even.

Hair up in a loose bun, skin glowing, wearing one of Zack’s hoodies over a little sundress. She’d barely put on makeup and still looked like the kind of woman who woke up with golden light filtering through her lashes.

Cloud just growled and kept sipping his coffee. He hadn’t slept. At all. Every time he thought he was done for the night, Tifa had proved him wrong. He wasn’t even mad about it—just destroyed.

“You okay over there, Spikey?” Zack smirked, sipping his orange juice like it wasn’t spiked with whatever the waiter had brought them for the engagement.

Cloud flipped him off lazily.

Aerith was all dimples and charm, swinging her left hand into the sunlight every five minutes so her ring would catch the light.

“You know,” she said, eyes bright, “I don’t want to wait.”

Zack blinked. “Wait for what?”

“The wedding. I want a summer wedding. Mid-summer. We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

Zack’s face softened. “Whatever you want, babe.”

Tifa beamed. “Mid-summer sounds beautiful.”

Aerith turned to her. “Will you be my maid of honor?”

Tifa’s hands flew to her mouth. “Of course! Are you kidding? Yes! Yes!”

They leaned across the table and hugged over the syrup and coffee and mimosas. Aerith whispered something about how she knew something was going to happen last night—“your hair, Tifa, come on”—and Tifa just giggled and told her to shut up.

Cloud groaned and laid his head down on the table.

Zack reached across and patted his arm. “You good, buddy?”

Cloud lifted one hand and gave a thumbs-up.

 

Later that afternoon, after they’d all showered, packed, and said their goodbyes to the Gold Saucer, Zack pulled into his townhouse driveway while Tifa and Aerith rode ahead in Aerith’s little green car. They’d planned to swing by Tifa’s apartment and get a head start on early guest lists.

Cloud hopped out of Zack’s truck, stretching slow and deliberate. He made for his motorcycle parked beside the garage, running a hand over the seat like it was an old friend.

Zack came up behind him, holding two bottles of water.

“Here.”

Cloud took one with a grunt of thanks. Drank half of it in one go.

Zack leaned on the bike next to him. “Hey.”

Cloud glanced at him. “Hm?”

“I was gonna make some big sentimental speech,” Zack said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But honestly? I think it’d be weird if it wasn’t you.”

Cloud blinked. “Wasn’t me for what?”

Zack grinned. “Best man, dumbass.”

Cloud stared at him.

Zack raised a brow. “You in?”

Cloud huffed a laugh. “Course I’m in.”

Zack pulled him into a one-armed hug, slapping him on the back. “Thought so. Just don’t sleep through the ceremony.”

Cloud smirked. “No promises.”

---

There were flowers on every surface.

Not real ones—yet—but photos, swatches, color palettes, and little paper samples spread out across Tifa’s kitchen table like some kind of pastel explosion. A soft playlist buzzed from her phone speaker, half drowned out by the rustle of tissue paper and Aerith’s delighted laughter.

“You realize,” Tifa said, blinking at the mess, “we’re planning a small wedding, right?”

Aerith didn’t look up from where she was bent over her notepad. “Small doesn’t mean boring.” She circled something with a heart. “I’m going ethereal, not minimalist.”

“Clearly,” Tifa murmured, lifting a mood board off the floor. It was covered in watercolor florals and swatches labeled things like sea glass and moonstone. She tilted her head. “…You’re seriously going for teal?”

“Not a true teal. Soft teal. Think—your dress from that family photo you have with your mom and dad. That exact shade.”

Tifa blinked. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything.” Aerith leaned back on her heels, hair tied in a loose braid that kept slipping down her shoulder. “You looked beautiful in that photo.”

Tifa flushed. “So, bridesmaids wear teal too?”

“There’s only going to be you,” Aerith said, smiling. “So technically, you can wear anything you want as long as it’s this color.”

Tifa huffed a laugh. “Okay.”

Aerith leaned over and hugged her—tight and sudden. “Best decision I ever made.”

Tifa hugged her back just as hard.

 

“Don’t look at the total,” Elmyra said gently.

“I wasn’t,” Aerith said, eyes glued to the total.

Tifa winced beside her, peeking into the overflowing baskets of pale blooms. Daisies. Lilies. Peonies. And trailing greenery in soft, almost silvery hues. Every arrangement felt like something out of a fairytale garden. It was stunning. It was also probably three paychecks.

Elmyra handed them both lemonade in paper cups. “The church is letting you use the space for free. Let this be the splurge.”

Aerith looked like she might cry again.

“Thank you,” she said, voice thick. “Really. Thank you, Mom.”

Elmyra patted her cheek. “Now get out of here. Go pick cake flavors or something.”

---

“This is how I die,” Zack said, holding up two teal ties. “Buried alive under decision fatigue.”

Cloud looked up from the motorcycle he was tuning and raised a brow. “They’re literally the same.”

Zack flipped one over. “No, this one is ‘Aqua Frost.’ This one is ‘Ocean Dust.’ Apparently it matters.”

Cloud reached for a rag. “I don’t see any difference.”

Zack threw himself dramatically onto the garage bench. “How are you so calm?”

“I’m not the one marrying Aerith Gainsborough.”

Zack laughed. “That’s fair.”

 

By the time the final week rolled around, the teal had been approved, the suits fitted, and Aerith’s dress was hidden in Elmyra’s closet under strict supervision.

Tifa’s apartment had become the unofficial HQ for last-minute prep—ribbon tying, bobby pin sorting, nervous wine nights. Aerith was riding a high. Tifa was emotionally exhausted but excited. Zack had somehow ended up responsible for transporting the cake and was treating it like a bomb. Cloud just kept showing up where he was needed, quiet and steady and, according to Tifa, stupidly handsome in his fitted gray vest.

The church was ready. The flowers were being delivered. The dress was perfect. Now all that was left was for the I do’s.

 

---

 

The morning light was soft through the windows, filtered by gauzy curtains and dancing across the kitchen table—now buried under palettes of eyeshadow, curling irons, glass bottles of setting spray, and half-drunk mugs of herbal tea. The apartment smelled like roses and citrus and dry shampoo. Somewhere in the background, soft music played—old love songs that Tifa had queued up from an ancient playlist she and Aerith had collaborated one.

Aerith sat in front of the vanity mirror, draped in a silky robe the same shade of pale sea-glass she’d chosen for the wedding colors. Her hair was only half-done—loose curls pinned up in sections, the rest tumbling over her shoulders like warm chestnut silk. Her eyes were closed while the makeup artist worked, gently brushing on shimmer and warmth and a soft flush of color.

“You look like a painting,” Tifa whispered.

Aerith cracked one eye open. “A good one?”

“The best one.”

Tifa’s own hair was pinned back in an elegant updo, a few curled strands left to frame her face. Her dress hung nearby, the same soft teal from her photo. It was simple, flowing, backless. It made her feel stunning in a way that didn’t require effort—and she’d needed that today. Because if she stopped moving, if she thought too long about what was happening, she might cry all her makeup off.

She was holding it together. Barely.

Elmyra came in then, carrying a tray with juice and toast none of them were going to eat. She paused, smiled, and brushed a hand along Aerith’s shoulder.

“My girl,” she said quietly. 

Aerith smiled back. “Almost time.”

 

The church was small but beautiful—sunlight pouring through high windows, casting soft golden light onto the ancient wood and stone. Flowers were everywhere. Not just in arrangements, but tucked into the ends of pews, draped across the altar, wound into the beams above. Daisies, peonies, lilacs, delicate greenery. It smelled like spring. It smelled like home.

Out back, Zack was pacing.

He was already in his suit—dove gray with a teal vest and tie. It fit him like it had been made for him (because it had), and his hair was styled a little neater than usual, though strands were already falling in his eyes.

Reno, Rude, and Barret were gathered by the steps, nursing beers from a cooler someone had stashed behind the vestry.

“She’s not gonna run,” Reno said, popping the cap off another bottle. “You’re too pretty. She’s locked in.”

“I’m not nervous about her,” Zack shot back, rolling his neck. “I’m nervous about… all of this.”

He gestured broadly at the church, the sky, the entire day.

“Big moment,” Barret said, nodding. “I get it.”

Cloud hadn’t suited up yet—he was still in just his dress pants and a white undershirt, leaning against the church wall, arms folded, watching Zack with quiet amusement.

“You’re good,” Cloud said finally. “She loves you. You’ve got this.”

Zack exhaled. “You sure?”

Cloud gave a faint smile. “You’re her whole world.”

 

The photographer arranged Aerith on the front steps of the church first, her dress now on—white and radiant, hugging her torso and flaring into soft folds of lace and tulle. Crystals shimmered across the fabric like stardust. The deep V in the back showed off the delicate slope of her shoulders. Her veil was clipped just beneath a braided crown of curls, the rest of her hair spilling soft and loose down her back.

Tifa stepped out from behind the doors, bouquet in hand, and promptly burst into tears.

“Tifa!” Aerith cried, laughing.

“You—you look—” she couldn’t even get the words out. She threw her arms around Aerith carefully, not to wrinkle anything. “You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

The photographer snapped the moment. Both girls glowing. Both laughing and misty-eyed.

 

Zack stood at the altar, facing away from the aisle, fiddling with his tie. His hands trembled slightly.

Then he heard footsteps behind him.

“Ready?” Tifa asked quietly.

He nodded.

“Turn around.”

He did.

And he froze.

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. His whole face crumpled. The tears hit before he could even stop them. He laughed once—wet and stunned—and whispered, “Holy shit.”

Aerith bit her lip, trying not to cry too. But it was useless.

Zack closed the space between them slowly. Took her hands in his. Looked at her like nothing else existed.

“You’re real,” he whispered. “You’re really mine.”

---

 

The sun had shifted, angling through the tall windows with a golden glow that soaked the altar in light. The petals along the aisle gleamed. Every pew was full—Barret and Myrna with Marlene in front, the Turks off to one side (looking suspiciously emotional), and Cloud standing up beside Zack near the front in his suit, hands folded, heart pounding.

Tifa appeared first, walking down the aisle in time with the music. Her dress caught the light like starlight. She smelled like warm flowers and shampoo. She smiled at him—and Cloud forgot how to breathe.

He wanted this. With her.

He didn’t know when the thought had solidified, but it was there, rooted and steady. He could see it now—her in white, her hand in his, a life that looked like home. He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to.

Tifa looked back at him.

And knew.

Chapter 19: Purple Patchouli

Summary:

“You’re crying again?” she whispered.

He nodded. “You’re perfect.”

“I told you I would be.”

“You always are.”

The sanctuary glowed in golden light, caught in tall windows and scattered through arrangements of soft lilacs, lilies, and trailing ivy. Petals lined the aisle. The altar was framed in flowers and sunlight, the scent of blossoms thick in the warm air. Everything shimmered.

Tifa stood just to the left of the altar, bouquet in hand, wearing sea-glass teal. Her hair was swept into a romantic knot with tiny pearl pins tucked into the strands. Her chest ached—in the good way. She could barely stop smiling.

Opposite her, Cloud stood tall in a dove gray suit, teal vest and tie. He looked calm, composed—until you looked at his hands. His thumbs fidgeted with the edge of his cuffs. But his eyes never strayed from Zack.

Zack stood front and center, heart in his throat, smoothing his tie for the fiftieth time. He looked to Cloud.

“You sure this looks right?” he whispered.

Cloud gave him a flat look. “You’ve asked me that six times.”

Zack exhaled a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Okay.”

“You’re fine,” Cloud said. “She’s already in love with you.”

Zack grinned. “Yeah. Lucky me.”

 

The music began. Everyone stood. And at the back of the church, the doors opened wide. Aerith stood there, radiant.

Her gown caught the sunlight—lace and pearl, the train pooling like fog. Her veil was pinned just beneath a delicate crown braid. Her bouquet was a lush cascade of wildflowers and lilies, tied with a teal ribbon that matched Tifa’s dress. Her smile was impossibly wide, glowing with joy.

Elmyra was at her side, arm linked with hers. She looked both proud and deeply emotional, squeezing Aerith’s hand before they began to walk.

Zack turned.

And the moment he saw her—he cracked open like a stormcloud. His eyes filled immediately. He laughed softly, then wiped his face, already overwhelmed.

Cloud smiled faintly. Tifa blinked fast, clutching her bouquet tighter.

Aerith met Zack at the altar and took his hands in hers. She was already laughing through her tears.

“You’re crying again?” she whispered.

He nodded. “You’re perfect.”

“I told you I would be.”

“You always are.”

Tifa looked at Cloud then, just a glance—and he was already watching her. Their eyes met, and something quiet passed between them.

The ceremony began. They’d written their own vows.

Aerith went first—voice trembling but sure, her hands tucked in his.

“I knew, the first time you made me laugh, which was thirty seconds after met you, that I was going to love you forever,” she said, and laughter rippled through the room. “You were loud. Relentlessly cheerful. You asked if I wanted to see a magic trick, and then fell out of the booth trying to do a handstand.”

Zack groaned softly. “It was cool in my head.”

She smiled through her tears. “You’ve made me laugh when I didn’t think I could. And you never stopped. You never gave up on me. And I promise, from now until forever, I’ll never stop showing you how glad I am that you didn’t.”

Zack wiped his face again, smiling like a fool.

Then it was his turn.

He took a deep breath. Looked at her. Really looked. And said:

“I didn’t know what falling in love would feel like. But if I had known—really known—I still wouldn’t have been ready for you.”

Tifa’s breath hitched beside Cloud. She was full-on crying.

Zack went on.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You scare me a little. You make me better. You bring the light back when the world goes dim. And I swear to you, Aerith Gainsborough… I will love you with everything I have. I’ll fix the sink without complaining. I’ll let you keep every stray cat. I’ll dance with you in the kitchen even when there’s no music.”

She was openly sobbing now.

“I love you,” he whispered. “And I am so—so—lucky.”

The officiant gave a gentle smile. “I believe that’s what we call a yes.”

There was laughter through the tears.

“By the power vested in me… I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

“Finally,” Zack muttered—and kissed her.

Applause erupted. Cheers. Reno actually whistled.

Aerith pulled back breathless, beaming, her hands fisted in Zack’s lapels.

They were married.

Tifa wiped her cheeks, laughing as she clutched her flowers. Cloud stood still, eyes on them, that quiet little smile returning.

He looked at Tifa again.

 

The sun was low by the time the photographer gathered everyone in the small garden tucked behind the church. The air smelled like lilacs and cut grass. Petals from Aerith’s bouquet were still caught in her train.

She and Zack stood together under a trellis wrapped in ivy and string lights, stealing kisses while the photographer adjusted her lens.

“You’re not supposed to kiss yet,” she laughed. “She’s not ready!”

“I am ready,” the photographer said dryly. “You just keep blinking.”

Zack squinted. “It’s bright.”

“It’s sunlight,” Tifa teased, stepping in beside Aerith as maid of honor. “You know, the thing that shines in the sky?”

Cloud walked up next to Zack and straightened his tie. “You’re sweating through your vest.”

“Because I just married the most beautiful woman alive.”

The camera clicked as Aerith melted, leaning into Zack’s side. “Say that again.”

Click.

“You are the most beautiful—”

“Stop!” she laughed. “I’ll cry again.”

Tifa handed her a tissue with a knowing smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve got the waterproof mascara.”

The next few minutes were a flurry of poses—some formal, some candid. Aerith and Elmyra. Zack and the guys, arms slung around each other. Aerith laughing so hard she nearly doubled over when Reno whispered something obscene in her ear during a group shot.

Then the four of them—Zack, Aerith, Tifa, Cloud—stood together beneath the trellis.

One perfect shot.

Zack’s arm wrapped around Aerith’s waist. Tifa tucked against Cloud’s side, her hand resting gently on his chest.

They looked like a family.

Click.

---

The bar was glowing with string lights and the soft hum of an old jukebox. The “Closed for Private Event” sign was taped on the door, but half the regulars were inside anyway. Cid was holding court at his usual table with the VFW crew, already a few beers in. Barrett was at the back table with Marlene on his lap, chuckling as she held a fizzy apple soda up like it was champagne.

The food was simple—grilled steaks, roasted vegetables, fresh salad and bread Elmyra had baked that morning. Aerith had insisted on cooking half of it herself, even in her gown.

By the time the meal wound down and the cake was cut, someone called out—

“Speech!”

“Yeah, speech!”

Zack looked smug. “You giving the best man’s speech or what?”

Cloud gave him a look like he wanted to crawl into the floorboards.

Tifa nudged his thigh beneath the table. “You don’t have to.”

However, Cloud stood up and the DJ brought him the wireless mic. The room quieted. He reached for his drink, paused, set it back down. His hand shook just slightly.

Then he cleared his throat.

“I hate public speaking,” he said flatly.

Laughter broke out. Even Cid barked a laugh.

“But…Zack’s my brother and he deserves it.” He cleared his throat. “When I hit bottom, and I mean the bottom, he showed up. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t hesitate. He got me out of bed, into the gym, into therapy. Back to being…me.” He looked at Zack. “You saved me.”

Zack’s smile faltered, emotion tightening in his throat.

“But Aerith…” Cloud turned toward her. “You saved him.” The room filled with murmurs of endearment. “From Axe body spray. And probably herpes.”

The entire bar howled.

Aerith clapped both hands over her face, laughing so hard she choked on her champagne. Zack turned beet red and fake-pouted. “I wore it like once—”

“Three years of Purple Pachouli,” Cloud said, holding up three fingers.

Tifa was doubled over in silent laughter beside him.

“But seriously,” Cloud said, voice softening. “I’ve never seen anyone love the way you two do. It’s loud. It’s honest. And it’s so clear you’re meant for each other. Aerith, you’re his person. And now you’re our person too.”

He raised his glass. “To the Fairs.”

“To the Fairs!” the room echoed.

Zack was crying again. Aerith was wiping her eyes, still laughing. Cloud sat down, Tifa beaming at him, pride and affection all over her face.

She leaned in, voice soft in his ear. “You crushed it.”

Cloud huffed. “You think so?”

She nodded. “You were perfect.”

He took her hand under the table. Laced their fingers.

Somewhere across the room, the DJ changed songs—something slow and sweet.

The night was only just beginning.

 

The lights dimmed low. Someone had strung fairy lights across the ceiling beams, and they cast a soft gold hue over the wooden floors. 

“Zack and Aerith,” Tifa called, clinking her glass. “Get out there.”

Zack stood up with exaggerated flair, bowing deeply to Aerith before taking her hand. She curtsied—dramatically—and the bar whooped and hollered as they made their way to the center of the floor.

They danced close, forehead to forehead, her dress swaying like petals in a breeze. Zack whispered something that made Aerith laugh through her tears. She leaned into him like he was the only solid thing in the world. He kissed her knuckles, then her temple, then her mouth.

Cloud felt a lump rise in his throat.

Tifa reached for his hand. “Come on. They’re gonna drag us out there anyway.”

He let her lead him into the sway of bodies, her hand warm in his. The music changed to something slow but a little playful, and more couples joined in. Cid and his wife Shera two-stepped in boots. Elena and Tseng danced awkwardly but sweetly near the jukebox. Reno tried to spin himself and nearly fell.

Zack passed by and slapped Cloud on the back. “Don’t step on her feet, Romeo.”

 

Tifa rolled her eyes. “I could body slam him.”

“You absolutely could,” Cloud said, smiling.

They moved together easily. Her arms slid around his neck, his hands finding the small of her back like they belonged there.

“You’re a good dancer,” she said softly.

He glanced down at her, a little caught off guard. “You make it easy.”

She smiled, but it was quieter this time. More intimate. Her fingers traced the edge of his collar. “I saw your face. When Zack gave his vows.”

Cloud looked down. “Yeah?”

“You were looking at me.”

“I always look at you.”

The words were simple. Honest. Heavy.

Tifa blinked up at him. For a moment, the rest of the bar disappeared. It was just them, swaying in a little pocket of space that didn’t belong to anyone else.

The song shifted again, something upbeat, and a wave of chaos hit the floor—Yuffie dragging Barret into a makeshift conga line, Marlene jumping into Reno’s arms, the VFW crew trying to remember how to line dance.

Cloud and Tifa drifted off the floor, quiet amid the laughter. Desperate for a breath of fresh air.

The door swung shut behind them with a soft thunk, and suddenly it was just them and the summer night. The alley was lit with old string lights Tifa had wrapped around the fence long ago. The stars overhead were faint, but visible.

Cloud leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. Tifa stood in front of him, arms crossed loosely over her chest, swaying a little in her heels.

“This was a really good night,” she said softly.

He nodded. “Yeah. It was.”

“You did so well, Cloud. That speech? You had me bawling.”

He looked down, a little shy. “I meant every word.”

Tifa took a step closer. “I know you did.”

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward—just full.

Then she slipped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest. He held her there, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“I want this,” he said after a long moment. His voice was low. Sure.

Tifa looked up at him.

“This life. With you.”

She smiled, slow and real. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “I want to dance with you at our wedding. Watch you cry through our vows. Fall asleep with you that night and wake up with you the morning after.”

Her throat tightened. “That sounds a lot like a proposal.”

He laughed. “Nah. I’d do that right. Ring, nerves, awkward speech…”

“But you’re already thinking about it.”

He nodded. “I have been for a while.”

Tifa leaned up and kissed him, slow and soft and deep. He kissed her back like she was oxygen.

Above them, a faint cheer rose from inside—someone had convinced Barret to do karaoke.

They stayed outside a while longer. Just holding on. Letting the night stretch around them like a promise.

 

The bar was mostly empty now. Plates scraped clean. Glasses half-full and forgotten. The air smelled faintly of champagne and something sweet—Aerith’s wedding cake, barely touched in the whirlwind of laughter, dancing, and Zack’s victory lap around the bar when someone put on his favorite song.

Outside, the stars had come out for real.

Tifa leaned her head on Cloud’s shoulder as they sat in their usual booth, shoes off, her teal dress pooled around her thighs. Her makeup was smudged from tears and laughter, but she still looked radiant—soft and flushed and full of love. Cloud’s tie was loosened, jacket off, hair even messier than usual. He looked equally tired and content, like he could finally exhale.

At the bar, Zack was double-checking their suitcase. Aerith sat beside him, barefoot now, her gown bustled up, curls a little unruly. Her bouquet sat in a glass pitcher water.Zack snapped the suitcase closed. “Okay. Sunblock, underwear, swimwear, sexy underwear…”

“I packed all that,” Aerith said, laughing as she hopped off the stool. “You packed, like, one shirt.”

“That’s all I need,” he said, grabbing her hand.

“You two heading out?” Tifa asked from the booth, eyes glinting.

“Costa del Sol, baby,” Zack said, throwing both hands up. “Private villa, room service, I don’t plan on leaving the room for at least a week.”

“Ugh, not the image I needed right now.” Cloud muttered.

Aerith walked over, arms open. Tifa stood and hugged her tightly. “You look like a dream tonight,” Tifa whispered.

“So do you,” Aerith whispered back. “Thank you for everything.”

“Try not to get knocked up this week.”

Aerith snorted. “We’re just practicing for now.”

Zack pulled Cloud into a hug—one of those arm-clap, back-slap, hold-too-long guy hugs that said everything words couldn’t.

“You did good today,” Cloud said.

Zack pulled back, grinning. “So did you. Never thought I’d see you in dove gray.”

Cloud looked down at his vest and made a face. “Never again.”

Tifa leaned in, slipping her hand into Cloud’s. “Send pictures,” she said.

“Not the weird kind,” Cloud added.

Zack winked. They all laughed.

Outside, the cab pulled up. Zack grabbed the suitcase with one hand, Aerith’s hand with the other. She paused at the door and looked back—eyes shining, cheeks flushed.

“I love you guys.” 

“We love you too,” Tifa said.

Cloud lifted two fingers in a lazy salute. “Be safe.”

Zack smirked. “Always.”

Then they were gone, ducking into the car. The taillights flared red, then disappeared down the darkened street.

The silence left in their wake was warm, not heavy. Cloud wrapped an arm around Tifa’s shoulders. “Wanna help me clean up?”

She glanced up. “Not even a little.”

“Thought so.”

They stood there a minute longer, leaning into each other, watching the empty street.

Tifa finally said, “Someday?”

Cloud looked down at her, brushed a bit of windblown hair from her face. “Yeah. Someday.”

And they went inside. Together.

 

The End. 💫

Notes:

So we have come to the end. It was a fun ride and I appreciate all the comments. The sequel is already in the works. So look for it in the next week or so. It doesn't have a title yet but I will probably stick with a Sleep Token reference. This will be a series on Ao3 so you'll be able to find it fairly easy.

I don't know how fast I will be updating the next one, because I am currently writing a Romantasy novel. Something that isn't a fan fiction? 👀 Absolutely terrifying. But seeing my name on the cover of a book is something I've always wanted.

But, that said, I will do my best to update every other week.

Notes:

This is what happens when I go into a deep depression and use writing to cope. Yes, I love Sleep Token and EiA has been on constant repeat.