Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1. Like This

If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,

Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,

Like this.

'Like This' - Rumi

There’s a misconception, he thinks.

If he’s being honest, Cloud’s never really been good at these types of situations, and more than once, he wishes he’d had even an iota of Zack’s intuitive charisma when it came down to it. 

But that’s not him. He’s pretty sure of that now. 

It’s taken him a while to find all the scattered pieces of himself — the bits that are him and solely him. 

Not Zack.

Not Sephiroth.

Not Jenova.

Not even the fabricated version of himself — the man he wished he could be.

For the first time in years, Cloud’s mind is at peace — he can think his own thoughts, formulate his own opinions, and be in charge of his memories whilst creating new ones, too. 

But there’s still something scratching at the back of his head — something not quite alien, but also nagging and persistent. He sees it sometimes, in the flicker of Tifa’s waning smile, the tight lines around her mouth. The twist of her wrist when she’s clutching it in her gloved hand. The slight aversion of her lowered eyes — a gaze he’s longed for his entire life — when she tucks her chin to her chest and refuses to look at him. 

He doesn’t understand at first. 

This new distance between them, small but mighty. Slipping under his skin like an irritant, burning him from within slowly. He’s overcome with a desperate urge to close it, to have her be comfortable at his side again. He thinks he’s conveyed this embarrassingly well already — in the lifestream, within buried childhood memories, and that magical night under the Highwind. Cloud thinks he’s already laid his soul bare to Tifa, and yet…

And yet, it’s not quite enough. 

Maybe that’s why he hesitates . When the decision ought to be an easy one, Cloud finds his tongue tied, his neck flushed, his palms clammy. He’s practiced it so much in his head. Should he pose it as a question? Should he be honest and allow his embarrassment to show? Should he deliver it smoothly, as if it were the most natural course of events between them?

Grappling with these methods in his head, Cloud finds he takes none of them instead. 

“Were you going to say something?” 

It’s Aerith who notices it enough to call him out on it — catching him with his mouth open, a sharp inhale through his nose, before all the courage whistles out of him upon his defeated exhale.

Embarrassed to have been caught, least of all by the perceptive flower seller, Cloud shyly tucks his face to the side of his shoulder and mumbles, “Nothing, never mind.” 

Aerith fixes him with a puzzled look, chestnut braid slipping over her shoulder as she tilts her head to gain a better perspective of the expression he’s so desperate to hide. “Are you sure?” 

He nods quickly and affirmatively — after all, his confession isn’t meant for her .

And as he manages to peek a quick glance at the demure, raven-haired beauty just beyond Aerith’s shoulder — her already perfect profile enhanced by the glow of the sinking sunlight — he thinks, with his heart thudding in his chest, that maybe that’s the problem. 

Unsatisfied but uncharacteristically not pressing him further, Aerith shifts back into her seat and pretends to busy herself with her task of re-organizing her materia. A tension settles among the three of them and Cloud wishes that the floor could open up and devour him.

He needs to get Tifa alone — a task that has turned out to be more difficult than he’d ever anticipated. With a deep rooted longing, he allows himself to stare at her back while he has the opportunity, the waterfall of her long, dark hair swaying as she sweeps behind the counter. 

Low on gil, and with no real place to stay in the aftermath of meteor, the group has opted to offer their services in exchange for food and board. Some of those services happen to include menial labor such as cleaning — a task Cloud is happy to avoid in favor of monster hunts instead. Others, like Tifa, are content with a reprieve from fighting. Daily mundane tasks are easy compared to everything else they’ve been through.

Aerith is rearranging her battle load-out materia to prepare for the next day’s pest control duty, while Tifa putters around the empty foyer with broom in hand.

Cloud has long since finished doing his maintenance on the Buster Sword, although he continues to wipe at a smudge that doesn’t exist in an effort to keep himself busy. Knee bouncing, fingers tense and fidgeting, it’s all he can do not to scream out in frustration. 

He’s coming to a boiling point.

Abruptly then, Cloud stands up from the couch, taking both Aerith and Tifa by surprise with his sudden movement. Clenching his fists at his sides, and with a tick in his jaw, he addresses them both without looking at them; “Bathroom break.” It’s more of an irritated grumble than a statement, but he doesn’t know how much more of this he can handle. So Cloud takes several long strides out of the room, away from them, without so much as a glance back. He can feel their weighted gazes boring into the center of his shoulder blades, the unspoken concern filling the silence with tension thick enough to cut. 

Closing the bathroom door and locking it behind him, Cloud clutches the edge of the porcelain sink until his knuckles go white. He stares into the reflection of the barely healing man staring back at him. 

Tired, haggard, cheekbones sharp and jutting. Even his hair seems to have lost its golden shine, dulling to a pale yellow to match the sallow of his skin. Only his eyes never change — striking, glowing aquamarine due to the swirling mako. A parting gift from Hojo that he will never be rid of. An inescapable reminder of everything he’s endured at that man’s hands. 

Cloud turns on the tap and splashes cold water onto his face, hoping the shock against his flushed skin will help him to better understand this restlessness he is succumbing to. It drips down the length of his nose, clings to his lashes, and somehow magnifies the eerie color of the mako in his irises.

Hanging his head, lost in his own destructive thoughts again, Cloud doesn’t realize how much time has passed before he hears a slow, gentle knock on the door. 

He panics a little at first — the sound is too soft to be anyone but Aerith or Tifa, and he isn’t sure he wants either of them to see him in this state.  But the panic immediately subsides to a fevered anticipation — after all, he’s been desperate for some alone time with Tifa, and he realizes this might be his only chance to get it.

“Cloud? Are you okay? You’ve been gone for a while…”

A wave of relief washes over him at the familiarity of her soothing voice, even when muffled by the door between them. Quickly, he wipes his face with a nearby towel and runs wet fingers through the fringe of his hair, soaking and darkening a few of the clustered, blonde strands. 

When he opens the door, Tifa has her arms demurely tucked behind her back. She shuffles her feet nervously, and her eyes — as carmine red as the Cosmo Canyon she’d made him at the Seventh Heaven bar, in what feels like a lifetime ago — shine with apprehension, concern, and a warmth reserved for him. When she looks at him, the room gets a little bit brighter, his surroundings a little more insignificant. With Tifa at his side, Cloud feels like the edge is finally taken off — she’s more intoxicating than any drug or drink. His shoulders release the tension, the muscles of his back unknotting. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, scratching the nape of his neck, suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed by his earlier outburst. “Just needed a minute.” 

The corners of Tifa’s lips tilt up. “I get that. It’s hard to be so idle after…well, after everything, huh?” 

The hallway is quiet, deserted, and Cloud realizes how alone he is with her when her voice feels like a whisper only he can hear. He nods in agreement. “Like a speeding car trying to slow down before a crash…”

Her smile grows at the analogy and Cloud’s stomach does a little flip, the way it always used to do even when they were kids. Tifa’s genuine smile has always had a way of making him feel like he’s done something worthy. But just as quickly as it arrives, it crumbles, and her brow furrows beneath the weight of something unspoken and heavy. 

He’s losing her and he can feel it. 

As Cloud grapples with the words to say that’ll make her stay, Tifa says, “Aerith’s stepped out to help Yuffie with the herb gathering. Turns out ninjas have a hard time telling herbs apart from poison ivy.” 

But what she doesn’t say is all that seems to occupy Cloud’s mind. 

We’re all alone now. Just the two of us.

He swallows, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. Tifa wrings her hands, the way he knows she does whenever she’s hesitant and unsure. 

The two rooms they’ve been given are shared among the party, there’d be no chance for privacy there. The hallway corridor is a risk — anyone can walk in on them having a private conversation.

So Cloud does the only thing he can think of — he steps aside and holds the bathroom door open for her. When she looks up with raised brows, he shrugs and says, “Not ideal, but…wanna talk?” 

Truthfully, he’s a little uncomfortable. The bathroom is tidy but small, the essentials of a toilet, a sink, and a bathtub tucked away in the corner, curtains with tiny, faded sailboats drawn shut. But Cloud is desperate, and a bathroom door at least has a lock on it. Blessedly, Tifa doesn’t ask any questions, and if she is embarrassed too, she is careful not to show it, keeping her expression obscured by her dark hair, her vermilion eyes downcast. 

Cloud locks the door behind her, and when he turns around, he only then acknowledges how little space there actually is between them — if he wants to, he can probably count her every single eyelash. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Tifa is careful with her words, but she can’t mask the slight flush to her cheeks, the high color on her face. 

Being alone together often reminds him of the night beneath the Highwind, and Cloud ponders if maybe Tifa is thinking about it now, too. Gods know he has been obsessing over it ever since, often waking up in the dead of night from the vivid dreams of her lying naked under him, pale skin tinted a shade of ethereal blue beneath the moonlit, starry sky. Sometimes, he can hardly believe the dream is real — that he’s tasted her, felt her, been with her in ways he’s longed for his entire life. 

And now, she’s here, so close and tantalizing, and he has to stay his aching fingertips from running a path along her collarbone down to the delightful curves of her bare shoulders and arms. 

Instead of pondering Tifa’s question, Cloud’s been staring at her intensely with a predatory hunger like a wolf’s, mirrored in his ice-like eyes. And Tifa, much to his surprise, is swaying forward, nostrils flared and her buttery gaze fixed on his lips, her own, soft mouth parted. The tension in the small room buzzes so loudly in his ears, nearly drowning out the thud of his quickening pulse. He’s an idiot for thinking he can handle being alone with her like this, that he can hold a conversation with his thickening tongue, his dizzying mind, after being forced apart for days. 

“Cloud…” Tifa’s voice is a caress of his name — pleading . They’re both breathing pretty hard, he notices, and their bodies are drawing closer, nearly touching, magnetic in their impulse. 

When their noses touch, Tifa’s trembling hands find their way to his waist. Cloud can’t help the groan that escapes his throat, the crotch of his pants already feeling way too constricting. When their lips meet at last, it is devouring. Her warm, wet mouth tastes like cherries and pure divinity and before he knows it, he has her pushed back against the wall, his knees between her thighs, parting them in greedy anticipation. 

Tifa moans against his mouth and her hands clumsily grapple with his belt buckle where his bulge strains against the constricting fabric. Cloud’s already worked her suspenders down over her shoulders, his hands cautiously brushing the sides of her breasts on their journey down to her hips. He trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and her neck, and Tifa inhales sharply at the feel of his tongue against her pulse. She’s raised one of her bare legs to rub against the back of his, tucking him against her. 

Cloud hisses into her ear when she pulls him free of his pants and starts gently stroking his erection, the velvety, sensitive flesh warm beneath the friction of her palms. Every time her hands pass the ridge of the head, an electric pulse of immense pleasure ripples down Cloud’s back to coil in his belly. He bites down on her earlobe, and he grips the fabric of her shirt over her midriff, his eager hips thrusting in motion to her slow, tortuous rhythm. When she’s sure to squeeze him just a little as she reaches the tip, Cloud thinks he’s seeing stars. If she isn’t stopped soon, he’s going to make a mess earlier than he’d like. 

So he grabs her by the wrists, pins her hands against the wall over her head, and kisses her long and deep, tongue probing until she’s writhing beneath him, and the bathroom walls echo with the wet sounds of their feverish kissing. By now, she’s hooked her leg around him tighter, bringing her hips in reach of his, and it’s all he can take. His cock is throbbing with need, and he’s absolutely drunk on her . 

“Tifa…” With closed eyes, Cloud tilts her chin and kisses her softly this time, savoring her taste and wishing he could sample even more of her — from the tips of her fingers, down to the salt of the sweat drying on her skin. 

When they part, they’re both gasping for air, but their heartbeats are as loud as the words left unspoken between them. Cloud then nervously inches his hands under her skirt, surprised — and becoming even more aroused — when he discovers her shorts are missing, leaving behind only the thinnest fabric of her silk panties. Maintaining eye contact with her, Cloud lowers himself to the bathroom floor so his head is level with her hips, and carefully slips the underwear down over her powerful thighs. His fingers glide ever so carefully over her skin, because he knows that if he gives in to the impulse to touch her, he’ll drown in the sensation, never to resurface. 

Cloud’s too impatient to worry about removing her stockings, so those stay on, but Tifa kicks her panties away when he gets them down to her feet. 

The reality is, Cloud is still new to all this — he’s not relatively experienced, and he’s pretty sure he fumbled plenty under the Highwind that previous night, but he is, in the least, enthusiastic to learn . Mostly, he’s stuck to instinct, and his instinct is to please her — because when she’s being pleasured, he’s never been more turned on in his life. 

The rest of his ‘knowledge’ comes from some pretty shoddy internet search history that he isn’t proud of, and a few moderately weird and crass exchanges between the military boys during his ShinRa days. Both of which have only served to confuse him further on the subject. 

Eventually, he thinks that he’ll work up the nerve to ask Tifa outright what it is she likes and doesn’t like. 

Eventually.

Like when his brain is more functional and capable of thoughts regarding anything outside of the current moment he’s in. 

Cloud finds himself staring into her eyes — a ruby red as dark as the richest molasses — and his lips hovering inches over the inside of her thighs, where they are squeezed into her black stockings. Without blinking, he kisses her bare skin there and watches her chest heave with an inhale. He kisses the opposite leg in the same place and admires the way the flush in her face deepens. 

It’s overwhelming, his desire for her — like a tidal wave that washes over all his other senses. Cloud doesn’t know when he’s gotten to his feet, or how he’s managed to capture her mouth with his again, but his hunger is insatiable, fierce, and never ending no matter how much of her he consumes. 

Tifa takes this opportunity to hold his hand by the wrist and guide him beneath the supple leather of her skirt, bringing his fingers to the wet folds between her legs. She bucks forward at the contact of his cool, electric touch, and Cloud can all but hope he hasn’t started actually drooling. 

With Tifa’s cues helping him along the way, Cloud fingers her at varying paces, trying to find the perfect rhythm and focusing on that pattern until he has her gripping him so hard, her nails dig into his shoulders and leave behind little pale crescent moons on his skin. It makes his heart pound and his pace grow sloppy, his own arousal throbbing between them.

Tifa cries out softly as she orgasms against him, falling to pieces, her thighs quivering. Cloud can’t help the bit of pride and satisfaction he feels knowing only he gets to bear witness to her undoing. He pulls his slick fingers out of her with a sticky pop and cleans the remnants of her off with his tongue. It isn’t something he does intentionally, or with prior knowledge and method — it is pure instinct, raw and unfiltered. The sweetest of honey that he lays claim to as his prize. But Tifa stares open-mouthed as he does it, her eyes unblinking and unfocused. Cloud wonders if she likes it when her juices are running down his chin. 

He thinks the nectar of the gods must pale in comparison to her taste, her intimate scent lingering on him for a few days after he’s slipped his fingers inside her. Cloud is nearly giddy at the prospect of having a constant reminder of this physical intimacy, a secret only he’ll be privy to. A memory of Tifa only he can access. A reminder that it wasn’t just a dream.

Overcome with a sense of possessiveness, Cloud kisses her hungrily again, and Tifa returns his passion twofold. The flavor of her, still clinging to his tongue, is shared between them. She’s got her legs clinging around his hips now, and Cloud hoists her up easily, the plush flesh of her buttocks firmly in his calloused grip. He gives her a squeeze and groans against her mouth, his insatiable desire becoming a pulsing agony. 

When he slips himself inside of her — slowly, inch by inch — it is like a homecoming. He exhales a long sigh of relief, his eyes shutting as he feels her wet and tight around him, sheathing him as deep as he can go. In this moment, he believes he could stay like this forever. 

But he also really wants to orgasm inside of her, too. His thrusts begin slow and careful, gauging her expression through his half lidded eyes. It had been their first time beneath the Highwind that night, and Tifa is still rather tight and uncomfortable when he stretches her out again. She bites down on her bottom lip, her brows drawn in moderate pain, getting reacquainted with his size once more. He hates the idea of hurting her, that he can’t make this any easier for her, but he also knows that the pleasure does follow shortly after. 

“Don’t stop,” she breathes out as if sensing his worry. Tifa’s hands wrap around his neck and shoulders, squeezing the knot of corded muscle beneath his thin shirt as if to hold him there. 

Sweat coats their skin in filmy detail, their clothes sticking to their backs, the tiny bathroom steaming up with their exertions, hot and unbearable. But neither of them care — all that matters is this . Despite his urge to pump into her faster, to drive them both closer to the edge, Cloud still takes his time so as not to hurt her. She feels so good, so wet and so warm, that it’s probably better he goes slow or else he doesn’t think he’ll last more than a few strokes.

Years ago, when he’d just been a ShinRa grunt, the others had teased him mercilessly about sex — to the point Cloud would grow red eared and flustered, too embarrassed to contradict any of their crude ideas about his lack of experience. Only when Zack had been around, they minded their tongues. The admirable, dark-haired SOLDIER never did like that sort of talk, and he often had come to Cloud’s defense once they’d become friends. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t change that what they’d said about him had been true — Cloud had not lasted more than several thrusts before he’d climaxed inside Tifa that final night. He’d been mortified at first, all the familiar haunts from his grunt days making a mockery in his head, but Tifa had been his savior, even then. She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t berated him or mocked him, or laughed at him. Instead, she’d crawled into his lap, naked as the day she’d been born, cupped his face in her palms, and kissed him. Slow, languorously, and endless. Eventually, he’d gotten hard again, and Tifa had stroked him back to life. 

The second — and third —  time he’d had her that night, he’d lasted longer. 

Cloud had come to learn that the teasing had never mattered, because his lack of sexual experience had never bothered him — he’d only ever wanted Tifa, no one else. She’s still the only one he wants. Even now, as he has her in his arms, mewling helplessly against him, his name a sharp whisper on her lips, his hard cock moving slowly inside of her, coated in her wetness, the friction delightful and agonizing at the same time for the both of them. 

It does nothing to sate the intense feeling of desire he has for her. Cloud cannot even tell where it ends or where it begins.

That same residual, aching desire he’d felt even back when he’d been a teenager, and here it is, years later, the time lost between them only a catalyst that has made it surge stronger. Cloud finds that he misses her, even when she’s in the same room with him, breathing the same air. No matter how close, it is never close enough. No matter how many times he has her, he will only want her more . 

Naturally, Cloud folds her body against him, gentler, inhaling the sweet scent of sweat on her damp neck, the faint traces of shampoo in her silken hair — darker and sticking to her sweat-slicked skin. 

And then he makes love to her, never wanting the moment — the pleasure — to end. Tifa comes apart in his arms first, panting, breathless, drowning with him as the muscles of his buttocks and his hips jerk once, twice, and he fills her with his seed, manhood buried in her up to the hilt, as deep as he can go. A satisfied, climactic moan escapes both their throats, and they remain entangled while their breathing, and their heartbeats, slowly become less erratic. 

Cloud doesn’t pull himself out immediately, busy soaking in the raw afterglow of sex, of this new special closeness he feels to Tifa. A closeness they only just started exploring. In moments like these, he thinks maybe he’s only imagined this distance between them. That is how good it feels being in her embrace. 

“The others might be back by now…,” Tifa interrupts his thoughts then, pulling carefully out of his arms much to his dismay. 

Cloud gazes into her eyes, the tender love he feels swelling in his chest until he thinks it’s going to burst out of his ribcage. 

Reluctantly, he lets go of her and they separate. Already he feels colder, detached, like a piece of his soul has been cut out and stitched elsewhere. He misses her.

Nonetheless, he gets to work. Cloud grabs a nearby towel, gets down on his knees, and gently wipes the inside of Tifa’s upper thighs, where droplets of warm, pearlescent liquid have streaked down towards her stockings. He also helps her slip her panties back on and Tifa adjusts her skirt and suspenders. 

“Thank you,” she says, but her cheeks are still flushed and she can’t seem to meet his eyes.

Cloud isn’t sure if it’s because they’ve only just made love, or that there’s still something she isn’t telling him. It’s now that his head’s working properly again, that Cloud realizes he’s squandered his opportunity to actually talk to her. Outside the bathroom door, he can already hear the rest of the team’s boisterous chatter as they arrive back at the inn from their various errands. 

Cloud fixes his own pants and belt and gives his shaky appearance a quick glance in the mirror. Aside from the heady flush of his face and neck, he still looks the same. 

Tifa sidles past him, her shoulders brushing his in the tight space. “I’ll go first so they’re less likely to ask any questions,” she explains hurriedly. 

“Right,” Cloud manages, although his voice feels sticky, like words aren’t familiar to his throat.

As he watches her leave, Cloud wonders if this is what their relationship is going to keep looking like now — reduced to sneaking around and only giving in to one another when no one else is there to question them.

His brow furrows and he thinks that he might not like that at all… 

Chapter Text

2. I Know Of A Path In Your Heart

I know of a path in your heart
that merges with mine
my sweetheart
i know of a tranquil sea
within me
that mirrors your moon-face
with delight

'I Know of a Path In Your Heart' - Rumi

Over the years, Cloud’s gotten pretty good at recognizing when his company isn’t wanted. 

In his self-deprecating mind, this is likely often. But if he can at least prove useful, then he doesn’t have to feel like a burden. It’s a tactic he adopts that seems to be the most effective in a variety of situations. Except when it comes to the three women of the group. 

No matter how hard he tries, there’s simply no way to ingratiate himself where he’s welcome amongst their throng. 

The whispering, the giggling, the secretive, exchanged looks, raised brows and inside jokes. Gossip that Cloud is not privy to and never will be — some of it, dare he think, may even be about him . Under normal circumstances, he might be less bothered by being excluded, or so he thinks. But this isn't normal — anything involving Tifa makes him insatiably curious. An observer watching his muse, longing to be a part of her world, even in the most insignificant of ways. A speck of dust on her boot, a drop of sweat over her brow, the crease in the leather of her gloves. 

Although Cloud knows her so well already — has gotten to know her even better these days — he still wants to be involved wherever it concerns her. In his mind, there is a tether between them, a lifeline that will reel and reel but never break, never sever. 

If things were more clear between them and the others, he thinks he might be entitled to be close to her all the time. But how can he claim that when they continue to tip-toe and pretend that their dalliance is nothing more than a friendship? 

He hates admitting it but it’s making him resentful. The way it used to back when they were kids, and the other boys would surround Tifa and take up all of her attention. Subconsciously, Cloud’s hands clutch into fists at his sides. He’s done a lot of growing since then — some of it, catching up on the years of his life stolen by Hojo — but even now, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s somehow losing her. That he needs to act soon, do something worthy so that it’s him she laughs with and smiles at. That it’s him she feels comfortable sharing secrets with. That when her eyes glance around a crowded room, it’s his she looks for. No one else. 

Cloud wants to be her everything . 

He always has.

It’s a childish wish he’s never been able to grow out of, a ridiculously selfish notion, but it eats away at him like a voracious cancer. Deep down, he knows he shouldn’t be so unreasonably jealous — Aerith and Yuffie are his friends, too, after all. He’s come to care about both of them, and he can appreciate how rare female friendship is for Tifa, who grew up around boys. 

Cloud doesn’t wish to take that from her. 

And now that they’re navigating a more romantic angle of their relationship — in the loosest definition of the word — he ought to be content. 

Yet he isn’t. 

Not when she still won’t acknowledge him in front of the others. Not while whatever their status is remains a well-guarded secret. 

Tifa is still maintaining a distance that makes Cloud’s heart ache tremulously. 

For the most part, he bears this with as much grace as he can muster, choosing to remain focused on other daily tasks and ensuring the team stays on course. But eventually, like all bottled up emotions, it comes spilling out sooner than later. 

“He was kind of cute, wasn’t he?” 

Cloud isn’t usually one to eavesdrop, but he happens to overhear Aerith at the bar on his way back into the kitchen. 

He isn’t supposed to be here — officially, he’s on nightwatch duty for the city, but his thirst had become so fierce, he was certain his headache would push his eyeballs through their sockets if he didn’t do something about it immediately. It was supposed to be a quick trek — sneak into the bar, sneak out with some water, but when Cloud had sniffed the delicious Gongaga Mushroom stew freshly boiling and mingling with the honey sweet, heady scent of fresh mead in the air, Cloud’s stomach let out an involuntary, embarrassing growl rivaling that of a Behemoth’s. 

Mouth still watering at the prospect of dinner, Cloud has smuggled some food and drink to go and it is while he is stealthily making his exit that he becomes aware of a private conversation. 

He stops and waits, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“He was super into you, Tifa! Right, Yuffie?” Aerith squeals teasingly.

The blood drains from Cloud’s face and it’s all he can do to ensure he doesn’t drop everything bundled in his arms in a loud clatter on the floor. 

“I mean, I guess…,” Yuffie replies, her usually enthusiastic tone dampened and wary instead. “What do you think, Tifa? Were you interested?”

Tifa lets out a nervous chuckle — one Cloud has grown very familiar with whenever she’s too scared to voice her true thoughts and doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. “He was…nice enough.” 

“Come on, you don’t have to be so shy! If you like him, you should tell him!” 

A muscle in Cloud’s jaw ticks, his teeth gnashing together. Heartbeat thudding, a cold sweat works its way down his back and a lump embeds itself in his throat. 

Anger, fear, insecurity, inadequacy. Everything hits him all at once, square in the chest, squeezing his heart like thorns and nettles. Cloud is a twelve year old boy all over again, walking home past Tifa and the other kids, who are all vying for her attention. He’s invisible to them, tiny hands clenched into fists, the backs of his eyes burning with unshed tears of frustration. 

“It’s fine, guys. Really. I’m not exactly in the position for that sort of thing anyways.” The lie falls off Tifa’s lips easily enough — but her heart isn’t in it. She sounds weary.  

At least, to Cloud’s relief, it seems like she is trying to end the conversation. He can hear it in the way her breath hitches, the way she sighs exasperatedly as the girls press her. 

“Why not? We just saved the planet — you have your whole life ahead of you now. No more ShinRa, no more Sephiroth, no meteor, or looming end of the world stuff. Don’t you think you’ve earned yourself a bit of happiness?” 

“Of course, it’s not that at all,” Tifa rebukes. “I just…I’m not ready yet.” 

He can visualize her in his mind now just from her tone of voice, all her familiar, insecure tells that he’s gotten to memorize. Chewing her bottom lip, grabbing one of her elbows, her stance adjusted with her weight carried on one hip, booted feet shuffling against wooden floorboards, eyes dancing and looking anywhere but up. 

“It’s okay to be a bit scared, right?” counters Aerith optimistically. Cloud can hear the distinct notch of excitement increase in her tenor as she ramps up. “We shouldn’t let life just pass us by. Hesitating when we ought to…jump right in! What if that guy was your soulmate?”

What happens next is lightning quick, unplanned — Cloud steps out from the kitchen then, his booted feet loud against the creaking floorboards, stealth officially abandoned. He doesn’t look at any of the women, but he can tell he’s startled them all by the way both Tifa and Aerith suddenly go deathly silent, with only Yuffie’s inherent little squeak breaking the uncomfortable quiet. 

For a moment, everyone holds their breath. 

“C-Cloud!” Aerith suddenly exclaims, her cheeks no doubt turning a ruddy shade of red. “I thought you were on watch duty. W-what are you doing here?” Her voice is even higher pitched than before — the attempt at damage control barely concealed this time. 

Yuffie elbows Aerith in the arm and hisses loudly to her, “Look at his haul, silly! Obviously he came back looking for a midnight snack.” 

“I was just leaving,” Cloud mutters through gritted teeth. 

He still can’t look at them. He can’t bring himself to see their expressions and what they might convey. But most of all, he’s scared to look at Tifa . Not because of what she’s thinking of him, but what she might see .

An angry, hurt little boy, cowering and vulnerable, afraid to speak up for himself. What if she witnesses his naked, conflicting emotions, warring visibly on his face? 

The word soulmate rattles around in his brain like a haunting echo, taunting him. Mocking him. Letters like a jagged pill he can’t swallow, could never dream to speak aloud. 

Will he ever be truly worthy of such a concept? 

With eyes burning and throat tight, Cloud keeps his head down and takes several long strides towards the exit. 

If the girls say anything else about the intrusion, he doesn’t hear it. 

By the time he arrives back at the cold, tall city walls, the soup has grown stale and lukewarm in his arms, and Cloud’s appetite has turned acidic and nauseating. With his ears still burning and his pride smarting, Cloud slinks down against an outer city door next to his Buster Sword, and lets out a long, heavy sigh.

The gates are closed for the night, the town itself drowsy with sleep, its denizens no doubt tucked safely away in their beds, with no fear of imminent doom dogging their every dream. The empty, flat plains are relatively peaceful, too. The only sounds are of the wind whistling through the leaves of nearby trees and the tall grass, the chirping of various nocturnal insects in the dark. 

His role is superfluous — there are no other guards, and likely none are truly needed. The gates are fortified well enough to keep out most curious creatures that happen to wander by, but for the most part, even they seem to be keeping their distance these days. As if they too are aware the danger to the planet has passed and there’s no need to fight anymore. That the world has entered a brief reprieve. 

The sun has long  since dipped from the horizon, and Cloud is cascaded in the shadow of the quiet, lonely night. But the stars glitter up ahead from behind wispy, gray clouds, twinkling down at him as if in gratitude. He closes his eyes and basks in their comfort, and their memory.

Overcome by a sudden irrational irritation, Cloud tries not to think of the promise he’d made to Tifa in Nibelheim — of the shooting star that had commemorated the moment, burning across the night sky, igniting the darkness surrounding it. 

Soulmate , Aerith had said. 

Could it be true? 

It feels right and wrong at the same time. 

Right, because he always seems to find his way back to Tifa, no matter how lost he gets in these myriad puzzles of life. That even when fate and celestial powers try to tear them apart, the two of them always manage to heal and reunite. 

Wrong, because Cloud remains unsure as to how to define things between them, the way they currently stand. Tifa hesitates, and he finds himself too tongue-tied to do anything about it. 

Too much of a coward . 

Still the same, scared, self-conscious little boy he was back in Nibelheim. 

It makes him hate himself anew. 

“Hey…”

Cloud is suddenly startled awake through his half dreams and hazy thoughts by a familiar voice calling out to him. Too distracted and more tired than he’d initially assumed, he hadn’t even heard the stranger approaching — an extremely dangerous habit for a mercenary to fall victim to. 

Thankfully, when he looks up, he finds Tifa hovering shyly over him, her silhouette shrouded in dusk and starlight. Cloud is grateful for the dark cover of midnight when he realizes his face must have brightened at the invasive, poignantly inappropriate memory of the last time they’d spent the night outdoors alone together. 

“Tifa…What are you doing up?” he asks when he finally salvages the motor control over his voice. 

His gaze then drops to the incriminating, large paper bag in her arms, and in answer to his question, Tifa demurely takes a seat next to him and begins rifling through it. 

“I figured you’d be hungry, you’d barely eaten anything at dinner.” 

She starts to lay out some cutlery and napkins before them on the ground, the food still fresh and steaming in the plastic travel containers. Cloud’s mouth waters and his traitorous stomach lets out a sad gurgle that makes Tifa giggle behind her hand. “Don’t try to deny it now,” she teases. 

Cloud sighs in defeat, but he picks up a spoon and opens one of the lids. There’s fresh, meaty stew soaked with herbs, and the warm, spicy smell that wafts out reminds him of home. 

When he looks over at Tifa, she has her hands folded in her lap and her eyes steady on his. “I added a little something extra… for you .” 

At the way she looks at him and says this, Cloud’s heart thuds like a jackhammer in his chest — affection and adoration propelling him into wanting to forget about the food and just pull her into his arms for a kiss. 

“It smells delicious,” he says instead, bringing the bowl up to his mouth and nose. 

They both then munch in amicable silence on the dinner Tifa has so consideringly packed — freshly baked buns right out of the oven, and an ice cold bottle of honey beer Cloud’s just cracked open. 

Only after they’ve savored the last crumb, does Tifa decide to broach the subject he’s been hoping they could avoid. 

“How much did you hear…back at the bar?” 

When Tifa asks the question, she’s sure not to look at him directly, keeping her voice as small as possible, like she can mitigate the damage by shrinking her presence. It’s as if she curls in on herself, to be as inoffensive to him as possible. Her knees are brought up to her chin and her fingers lace with one another across her still healing bruised shins. 

The food settling in Cloud’s belly turns sour, sinking to the bottom in a clench as tight as a fist. He fixes his gaze on the constellations above when he answers her as nonchalant as he can manage, “Enough…” 

Tifa nods to herself.

“She means well…I think.” She looks up to the sky then, too. Glittering and beautiful, reflected in the darkest depths of her eyes like fragmented moonlight across a tranquil body of water. “I wasn’t going to say yes anyways. Back in Midgar, there were a lot of guys like that.”

Cloud bristles, and even though the air is balmy, a shiver creeps up his spine. He’ll never admit it to her, but he secretly despises the thought of her being so alone at such a young age — at how he couldn’t be there to protect her, to be at her side when she needed it most. It causes all his buried feelings of inadequacy to bubble back to the surface. Cloud is strangled by the emotions in his throat. 

“I wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship back then. And I let them know that,” Tifa continues, rocking on her heels and gazing up at the dangling crescent moon — so like the charm he’d gotten from Marle in what feels like ages ago.

“And now?” prompts Cloud, tilting his head to look at her. 

Tifa turns her head, the night sky making the shadows of her dark eyes look like silver at the bottom of a lake. Her smile is warm and her hand even warmer still when she lays her fingertips cautiously overtop his own. He pretends not to notice. 

“Now? I suppose…” She pauses to stare into his eyes. “I do want more, but with you .” 

In a motion that is precise and unexpected, Tifa then gingerly cups his jaw in her palm and leans in, eyelashes fluttering closed when her cherry-soft lips brush against his. Cloud falls into her touch with incredible ease, as natural as a homecoming — a bee to a flower, and a flower to the sun. 

The word soulmate buzzes in Cloud’s mind again, heady like a strong perfume and just as intrusive. His arms come to envelop Tifa, his hands stroking her back in gentle, circular caresses. He deepens the kiss, unable to help his embarrassingly quick arousal and hoping she hasn’t noticed. Tifa always has felt good in his arms — a perfect fit, made just for him to hold. 

Tifa’s own hands wander over his broad shoulders, the grooves of his upper back, the taut muscles of his neck, her fingertips tangling in the baby-fine blonde hairs at the nape. Her desire feeds his and it isn’t long before he has her lowered onto her back, trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. She sucks in a sharp breath with every touch, her hips driving upwards in what must be a plea for release — a release Cloud very much plans to grant her. 

Their relationship is still so new, he hasn’t fully immersed himself in her taste yet, and he knows he’s eager to try it. He gets harder just thinking about her reaction to him nestled between her powerful thighs. With Tifa’s hands in his hair, Cloud impatiently makes his way down to her flat abdomen, kissing a spot right next to her belly button as she writhes beneath him. Then, he eases her bottoms off — skirt, shorts, and panties are flung to the side carelessly. 

Tifa flushes as she’s suddenly on full display, her beautiful, nude body for his eyes only. The short, dark triangle of curls at the junction of her legs smell intoxicatingly like her — with a hint of lemon soap. Even though Cloud has just eaten a full meal, his whetted appetite has returned tenfold, and his mouth waters in eager anticipation. The erection he’s done a terrible job at hiding, pulses against his zipper.

But he wants to take his time. He reminds himself that he has to take his time. 

He wants to savor this moment — savor her — because he doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance like this again. 

While peppering her bottom half with kisses — her jutting hipbones, the outside of her thighs, the apex of her pubis — Cloud’s hand wanders up her belly to the hem of her shirt where he reaches beneath the tight fabric of her bra to fondle one of her breasts. Tifa’s breathing is heavy and labored and she’s bucking her hips in a way that makes Cloud think he won’t be able to hold out much longer — his entire body is high strung, a bundle of nerves right on the edge. A thread so taut it’s about to snap. 

Very softly, he places a chaste kiss on the inside of her milky thighs, and then he runs his tongue along the seam of her wet, enticing clit. Tifa moans loudly, hips rising, and Cloud considers that he’s opened Pandora’s Box — her taste on his lips and tongue sends him into an absolute frenzy. Before he realizes it, his nose and mouth are buried between her legs.

While his tongue dances around the vulnerable flesh between her lips, Cloud tries not to think about how he’s never actually done this before. He doesn’t even know if what he’s doing is right or wrong — if he should apply more pressure, or suck tenderly on a specific spot, or if all he’s accomplishing is spreading her juices down his chin. What he’s heard is that women enjoy this, and he wants nothing more than to please Tifa — in every possible meaning of the word. Cloud figures he’s doing something right when he feels her tug at his hair harder, when her breaths grow more shallow, when she brings her hips up to his face, urging his tongue to go in deeper. 

“Cloud!” Tifa cries out his name at last — a symphony in the night for his ears only, the lonely stars above bearing witness to their labor of love. 

After her orgasm, Cloud is still licking her clean, the wet flesh pink and swollen and throbbing from his attention already. Her juices cover his mouth and his chin, the heady scent of her lingering in his nostrils, and he prays it never goes away. 

When he’s done, he kisses her again — all up her glistening clit and her thighs this time. He makes his way up her torso where he lifts her shirt and takes the breast he’s been squeezing into his mouth, her pert nipple being flicked by his smoothe tongue. 

She’s lovingly stroking his hair now, running her fingers through the tousled, blonde mess, and Cloud doesn’t stop until he’s turned the skin of her breast red with bruises and raw from his mouth. 

He’s so hard, it aches deeply. He knows he’s going to have to find a spot to relieve himself after or he’ll never manage to survive the rest of the night. At least, he figures, he has a lot of material to work with now. 

After kissing her, long and deep on the mouth, Cloud then rolls over to her side on the picnic blanket, laying on his back, and lets out a long, contented sigh. While staring up at the infinite, inky blue sky above, he feels lighter and happier than he’s ever thought he’s had the right to. He hears Tifa moving next to him, no doubt searching for her clothes and adjusting her bra. Once she’s modest again, she snuggles into him, her head resting overtop his chest, her arm laying across his waist where her fingers play with the hem of his vest. 

“You’ve put on some weight,” she teases, her voice thick with sleep. 

“I have?” Cloud furrows his brow as he glances down at his abdomen, seeing the ridges of his ribs and the flatness of his abs beneath the thin fabric of his top. 

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Tifa explains with a smile. “I mean that you look…healthier now.” 

Cloud stretches and has his arm behind his head. “Yeah, well. It’s because of your cooking. Everything you make tastes great.” 

Even in the darkness of night, Cloud knows he’s made her blush, his double entendre not lost on her either. 

With her bare leg hooked over top of his, Tifa’s knee suddenly brushes painfully against his erection, and Cloud inhales through his nose at the reminder. He tries to calm his racing heart and the coiled tension of desire flaring to life in his lower belly. 

“Did you…need help with that?” Tifa asks tentatively after she reflexively moves her leg back, like she’d come in contact with a hot iron.

“Don’t worry about it,” he strains in reply. “I’ll figure it out later.” 

Propping her chin over his chest, she searches his eyes when she says, “Are you sure? I don’t mind-...”

“It’s fine, Tifa.” Cloud cuts her off, not wanting to allow for the opportunity of weakness where he’d cave into her proposal. 

He changes the subject when he registers her moderate expression of doubt. “What do you think a soulmate is, anyways?” 

“Silly,” she answers with ease. When his jaw nearly drops at her deadpan response, she elaborates apologetically, “The idea that we’re born to be with someone is a bit hard for me to believe, I guess.” 

“Huh.”

“Don’t tell me that you, of all people, are taking Aerith’s words on soulmates seriously, are you, Cloud? She’s always been pragmatic, you know. I think it’s just meant to be a comforting thought, that’s all.” 

Cloud doesn’t answer right away, looking to the stars again for the right words or thoughts to say. “You mean about being alone? Then what happens if…if you’ve lost your soulmate?”

Tifa sighs heavily, but not out of irritation. It’s loaded with contemplation, but also a sense of uncertainty. “I don’t know. I think…well, I’d like to think that you’d reunite again one day…right?” 

He turns his head to look at her then — beautiful in his arms. Most days, he can hardly believe she’s here with him. Every twist of fate, every misfortune, every power that tried to keep them apart. Yet here she is. At his side. Where she belongs. 

Cloud surmises that he doesn’t quite know if he believes in soulmates, but he does believe in Tifa. And after all, he did find his way back to her, didn’t he?

In an uncharacteristic surge of emotion, Cloud responds to her question by kissing the top of her head, right above her brow, sweet and tender. He holds her just a little bit closer, a little bit tighter. Tifa reciprocates by nuzzling into him, and when she speaks, her voice is barely more than a whisper in the night breeze; “Maybe…she’s not entirely wrong after all…”