Archive of Our Own ^beta

It all starts with three words.

“Cloud, you’re bleeding,” Red XIII says in a quiet voice, barely raising his head from where he’s left it tucked against his front paws.

Cloud stills, feeling the turn of his stomach, that clench of nausea that holds and bites at his insides, nothing that magic can cure—he has plenty he could say, but he says nothing.

“This kind of thing happens sometimes,” Tifa whispers back, her voice light and sweet as she rises and takes Cloud by the arm, the press of her fingers gentle. Her eyes are full of nothing but love, even as she has to defend Cloud against little, simple misunderstandings, done all too well as Red XIII accepts her answer and closes his eyes to rest. “Come back to my tent. I’ve got something to take the burn off.”

“Thanks, Tifa,” Cloud finally says, finding himself clumsy and mentally ajar, like all his brains have spilled out with three simple words. He stumbles after her, led by her hand and her smile and the way the skies seem to shimmer around her, make her pretty dark eyes burn nearly red from the halo of the campfire at their back.

“Don’t thank me for something like that,” Tifa says with ease, and her smile is all the prettier when she tries to keep her cheeks from warming with embarrassment. “I just- I know it isn’t easy for you.”

“I guess,” Cloud says, not sure what else to say as he wrinkles his nose at the thought of conversation, of discussions—in many ways, Nibelheim burning left him this fragile reward beneath the scars on his soul. Few know him inside and out, the way Tifa does so naturally. “You said about- about taking the burn off?” he manages, awkward and uncertain. He tries not to bite his own tongue, feels irritation with himself rising.

“Uh huh,” Tifa says with ease as she ducks down into her tent, holding the flap open for him to follow her in. She rummages around once Cloud follows her, his actions swift and silent and yet so damn awkward as he sits in the corner, tries to get smaller. She makes an “Aha!” sound and pulls free a bottle of alcohol, its label all too familiar from their time at Seventh Heaven, Tifa’s drink of choice. “My favorite,” she says proudly. “We’ll drink all those worries of yours away.”

Cloud watches her, silent and not sure of the words to thank her, to show his full gratitude, but he still extends a hand to take his drink when she pours it, and he shifts in closer, their shoulders bumping together as they drink. But still, as he watches Tifa drink, he can’t help but think a beautiful girl like her deserves a better boy.