Lifeline - star_sworn - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

The water washed over Cloud’s hands, staining the white porcelain sink red as the blood flowed down his fingertips.

There was so much of it, it had soaked through his leather gloves until his hands were wet. It was possible the gloves couldn’t even be salvaged–not that Cloud could bring himself to try. He looked down at himself, at the blood caked on his chest, arms, and legs, dyeing the blue fabric of his clothing so dark it looked almost black. The damp made him shiver.

He gripped the rim of the sink in each hand, supporting himself on his arms, trying to steady himself. Even with the proof tangible in front of him, Cloud was still in a daze. Everything that had happened that night felt like a dream, a nightmare–yet it was too vivid, too real, all at once: The metallic smell of the blood, the searing fear and panic that nearly made him lightheaded, the echoes of the gunshot still clanging in his head. It wasn’t supposed to be like this…

Taking in a shaky breath, Cloud lifted his eyes, gazing at his reflection in the mirror. That’s when he noticed the small stain of dried blood on his upper lip. He touched the stain lightly with two fingers, remembering how it had got there–and his stomach twisted for the thousandth time that night. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Cloud jackknifed upright in bed, his eyes opening to find only more darkness. In the quiet bedroom, the throbbing of his thundering heart, his labored breathing, were deafening in his ears. He glanced down at his hands, palms turned upward.

Clean.

“You can’t be serious!”

The eyes of everyone seated at the table were on you: Barret, Tifa, Aerith–even Cloud.

“Why not?!” Barret shot back. “It’s a golden opportunity to get information on Shinra’s plans–straight from the top!”

“Or more likely, on bottom,” Aerith giggled. You felt a warm flush bloom on your cheeks.

“But–but you’re asking me to be a Honeygirl!” you exclaimed incredulously. “I’m supposed to live in Wall Market, work at the Honeybee Inn, dancing and doing Odin-knows-what for pervy men, all in the hope that some Shinra exec will just happen to be there for me to…to… seduce?!”

The silent, expectant stares of your friends gave you their answer: Yeah.

Tifa gently laid a hand on your shoulder. “We would never force you to do something this difficult. But if it works, we might be able to uncover Shinra’s bigger plans, not just for Midgar, but maybe for the war too–even the whole planet. You’d really be helping all of us out.”

“But I’m–I’m not–attractive enough to be a Honeygirl! It should be you, Tifa!” Your mind scrambled to find a reason for them to call it off. It wasn’t that you were lying–with girls like Aerith and Tifa as friends, it was impossible not to be self-conscious. You liked how you looked well enough–considered yourself pretty, maybe even beautiful–but this was on a completely different level. You’d be in skimpy outfits for an intolerable amount of time, performing erotic dances in front of leering men. Any girl’s self-esteem would be vulnerable to destruction under that kind of pressure.

“That is so not true!” Aerith piped up. As your oldest friend, you appreciated the moral support–not that it made you feel any less insecure.

“I would, but–” Tifa replied, “I’m already too well known in Wall Market from the last time we were there. And everyone else is already working on the next mission.”

“I’ve never had any professional training, I-I can’t even dance!”

Cloud’s eyes snapped to you at that remark. Your face burned molten hot. It was true that you’d never had any formal training to dance–but that didn’t mean you didn’t.

There was only one card left to play. “Barret, I grew up in Sector 6–right next to Wall Market. I know how dangerous it is there. I don’t have to tell you guys that…” Cloud, Tifa, and Aerith all exchanged glances. You hadn’t been told the details of their time in Wall Market, but you knew they’d had to rescue Tifa from the infamous Don Corneo–suffice it to say, it hadn’t been a vacation. “You would really send me there to live? To work at the Honeybee Inn? The owner is one of the Trio, for Shiva’s sake!”

But even as you spluttered your protests, the look on Tifa’s face, all your friends’ faces–except for Cloud, of course, who had returned to glaring at the table–was causing your resolve to wither. They wouldn’t ask this if it wasn’t important, and you hated to let your friends down. Besides, you despised Shinra as much as they did, and this could be a way to truly gain the upper hand on them. And though Tifa had nominated you for other reasons, you knew deep down why you were the best choice for the assignment: I can do this because I’m not special, like everyone else is.

You’d only joined the cell about six months ago. Tifa, Barret, and Cloud had only become your neighbors in Sector 3 a short time before that, after they’d rescued Aerith and reconstructed their lives here. Tifa and Barret even built a new Seventh Heaven, where you were seated now. While you’d known the pair for years, it was only after they moved to your sector–with an unfamiliar face named Cloud–that you decided to finally join up. Your deficiencies were immediately apparent: You weren’t the strong and abiding leader of the group, like Barret. You’d known your whole life you weren’t powerful with magic like your childhood friend Aerith. You knew you weren’t a fighter, like Tifa was. You certainly weren’t as useful as Cloud, the ex-SOLDIER turned friendly neighborhood merc. Hell, you knew even Jessie could make bombs, and Biggs and Wedge were good support, securing exit routes and creating diversions–back when they were still alive, that is. You were a nurse–and while that meant you were the best medic in the cell, it also meant that in most combat scenarios, you weren’t much help.

I’m nobody. Your ordinariness, your lack of significance, made you the perfect person to take this on. You could blend in, disappear into a crowd, as forgettable as all the other people in the slums. It made you the complete opposite of–

Your gaze drifted over to Cloud. You found his eyes were already on you, boring into you with an intensity, a hardness he rarely seemed to turn off. But when your eyes met, his gaze darted away–like it always did. You never were quite sure what to make of it: Cloud was a closed off person to say the least, but you could tell he’d warmed to the other cell members enough to offer cordial conversation and the occasional dry joke. And of course, he had a long-standing friendship with his childhood friend, Tifa, and he’d clearly become close with Barret and Aerith, too. But since meeting Cloud after he moved to Sector 3, you could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d spoken to you. That hadn’t stopped you from crushing on Cloud since the moment you met him–and while you’d done your best to stomach his indifference and move on, your heart would not comply.

So when he suddenly spoke, it jolted you. “She’s right, Barret–Wall Market is a rough place. It’s dangerous even when you’re not looking for trouble.”

“And that’s why you’re going to go with her.”

Both of you startled as though you’d been struck.

“What?!”
“No chance in–”

But Barret’s booming voice cut you both off. “We would never send one ’a our own on such a risky mission solo. And with the connections you made durin’ your last visit to Wall Market–” Barret argued, “you’re the only one of us who can get her in with the right people, Cloud–and you and your big sword can make sure nothin’ happens to her while you’re there.”

Folding his arms over his chest, Cloud somehow scowled even more severely than usual. “How do we even know someone from Shinra will show up?!” he snapped. “You’d be risking our lives for nothing.”

“Didn’t you say something about seein’ Director Palmer in one of the private rooms last time you was there?” Barret countered, not even trying to hide his smirk. Cloud scoffed, but didn’t put up further resistance.

Then, as the leader and the merc began planning, you began to panic–Cloud was actually considering this? He’d made it clear in the past six months he wanted nothing to do with you. And now, your friends expected you to work together, just the two of you? You could be on this mission for weeks, maybe even longer. Cloud’s coldness toward you stung, but you’d been able to live with it while you were distant comrades, indifferent neighbors. How were you going to do this with a guy you had feelings for–and who clearly didn’t return them?

“Her being attractive isn’t the problem here–” Cloud was staring down at the tabletop, deep in strategizing mode. “The real risk is maintaining our cover. We know The Don has some sort of working relationship with Shinra, which means he or any one of the Trio could expose us–and there’s no way it can work without Andrea being fully on board. I’ll have to–”

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

“Hey–wait.”

The sound of Cloud calling your name made you turn back.

You were just a few steps away from the imposing entrance to the Honeybee Inn, gleaming in all its nighttime splendor, bright neon signs surrounding the long, elegant red curtains that marked the entrance. You turned back to see Cloud had stopped a few feet behind you. “Yeah?”

His eyes had dropped to the cobblestone ground. He’d barely spoken the entire ride in the chocobo carriage from Sector 3, and even after you left your bags at the ranch outside town and made your way here, he kept pretty much silent. When he’d led you through the town to the Honeybee Inn, all you could do was follow–though you’d lived your youth in the sector just outside the walls, you’d certainly never been to Wall Market before. Looking at him now, you’d been around Cloud long enough to know that his averted gaze meant he didn’t like what he was about to say. “Before we go inside–You…You remember what I told you? About the Trio?”

“Yeah. Chocobo Sam, Madam M, and Andrea Rhodea–they were able to get you inside Don Corneo’s mansion so you could save Tifa. You said Andrea really helped you out.”

Cloud nodded. “Well, that help wasn’t exactly free. Andrea helped me and Aerith because he…uh…” Cloud scratched behind his head, suddenly bashful. Your heart squeezed at how cute he looked in that moment. “Let’s just say he only takes an interest in people he sees as extraordinary, people who…catch his eye,” he finished cryptically.

“So it sounds like we’re going to need to impress him in order to get me hired at the Honeybee Inn. Is that what you’re saying?”

Cloud nodded again. “I told Andrea about you before we left for the mission, so, he’s expecting you.”

“You make it sound like he’s going to interview me or something.”

“Something like that.” Then he cleared his throat. Ah–here was the part he’d been avoiding. “You’re going to have to dance for him.”

“…What?!”

“Er–I mean–” Cloud fumbled over his words, your alarm flustering him even more.

“What do you mean? Like, take off my clothes, and–”

“–No!” Cloud cut in. “You have to dance with him. You’ll go up to the stage, he’ll probably be there waiting for you. Then he’ll lead you through a dance routine, and you just need to do your best to keep up. If you impress him, he’ll let you work as a Honeygirl, and help us out on the mission.”

“Is he with Avalanche, then?”

“No. He has no love for Shinra, but he’s no freedom fighter, either–he’s agreeing to look the other way.”

You suddenly felt a little unsteady on your feet. You’d known in the abstract your job as a Honeygirl would involve dancing–but, well, you thought you’d have more time. The fact that you’d have to dance in front of such an infamous and important person, tonight, and that the fate of the whole mission rested on it, had your heart pounding in your chest. “Will I get a chance to…I don’t know, warm up? Practice?”

Cloud nodded. “Yeah. You’ll get a chance to practice first.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, unable to contain your apprehension. “It’s all riding on this. I’ve–I’ve never done anything like this before…” Cloud let out a small uncertain noise, but offered no comment. “Okay, well– I’ll just have to do my best,” you said, trying to steel yourself. Then you parted the red curtains and strode through the entrance.

The Honeybee Inn overwhelmed you the moment you stepped inside: the bright lights, the vibrant colors, the racket of the music and people, the strong smell of liquor and all the perfumes and colognes in the world stormed your senses, making you almost woozy. Not to mention the crush of people all around, in various states of drunken revelry.

When Cloud called your name again, you blinked hard, his brows furrowed as he studied you. You closed your eyes and shook your head, clearing the fog. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not my kind of place either.” With that, Cloud led you past the front desk, where a well-dressed attendant greeted him as “Mr. Cloud,” before pointing you through another door that led deeper into the Honeybee Inn.

“Mister Cloud?” you asked, eyebrow raising.

His voice was somehow even more gravelly than usual. “It’s a long story.” You knew that was all you were going to get.

The door off the lobby led into a large, circular vestibule ringed with doors. A giant fountain sat at the center. You tried to avoid staring too long at the sculpted figures of erotic women that comprised the fountainhead. “Where are we going?” you asked.

“You’re going to get changed.”

You froze in your tracks. Cloud turned around, instantly aware you’d stopped–you pinned it down to his enhanced senses. “…Excuse me?”

He cleared his throat. “The first impression is everything. You’re auditioning to be one of his workers.” You resisted the urge to make a ‘worker bee’ joke, assuming it would not find a receptive audience. “And, um…you can’t perform in… that.” His eyes quickly flicked to your form before returning to the ground.

Your cheeks flared. “O-Oh…” You only now realized you were still wearing your jeans and cardigan. “But, Cloud, I don’t have anything else to wear–we left our bags at the chocobo ranch, remember?”

“I was able to work something out.” Your mind burned with questions you knew wouldn’t be answered. “I’m gonna go through to the stage,” Cloud went on, pointing at the door opposite the one you’d come in through. “Your stuff should be waiting for you in that room there,” he said, pointing to one of the other doors across the fountain. “Once you’re done, come find me, and I’ll introduce you to Andrea. Okay?”

You swallowed. “Okay.”

He moved as if to walk away, then slowly turned back to face you again. “Just…just one more thing.” You co*cked your head. His hand was carding through his hair again. “Try and enjoy yourself. It’ll help you stay loose, keep you from choking up.” He didn’t wait for your response before he headed through the far door. This day just keeps getting weirder.

Approaching the door Cloud had indicated, you decided to knock first. It immediately burst open, and you were immobilized by the sound of what must have been half a dozen girls cheering and shrieking at your arrival. “She’s here! She’s here!” They were jumping up and down, clapping and squealing, all thrilled in that adorable girl way. You felt like a chocobo caught in the headlights of a car moments before impact. Then you noticed what they were wearing.

All the Honeygirls (for now you had no doubt what their occupation was) were wearing what could barely be described as bee costumes–barely because they were barely bee themed, and barely covered much of anything: they wore fishnet stockings with black and yellow ribbons wrapped around their thighs. On their torsos, they wore black leotards with gold piping and obscenely high cut thigh openings that failed to cover the points of the girls’ hip bones on the way to their waists, and some sort of frilly white collar around their necks that went up to their chins. On their heads they wore headbands complete with insect antennae. And on their backsides, they had life-sized prosthetic thoraxes, complete with stingers–how did they get those to stay on? you wondered. Then your stomach flipped over when you realized that if you did pass the audition, you’d be wearing this get-up, too.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you wrapped your arms around your middle. “Oh, um, hi there, I’m–”

The girls all cheered your name, startling you even more. “We heard you’re here to become a Honeygirl!” one bee said, wiggling her body in excitement. She told you her name was Maya. Then the girls went one by one, introducing themselves. You did your best to remember all the names, but after all the strange things thrown at you today, your brain was pretty much tapped out at this point.

Once you’d greeted each girl, another said, “Alright, time to get ready for your big audition!” With more high pitched cheering, the girls stepped aside, finally allowing you to see the rest of the room–and the outfit hanging on the far wall. Your jaw dropped.

“Okay girls–” Maya called out, clapping her hands to get their attention, “let’s get to work! Our newest bee needs to shine tonight!”

“Oh, no, you really don’t need to do that–” But your protests were duly ignored as a Honeygirl grabbed each of your arms and pulled you toward the vanity. You decided it was best to simply submit to your fate.

When it was all done, you’d actually had fun–the girls were mostly around your age, and you’d enjoyed getting to know them. They were all bubbly and kind, not at all like what you’d expected from the seedy descriptions of Wall Market you’d heard around the slums. As they pinned your hair and applied your makeup, they seemed genuinely happy in their work, buzzing around you like, well, bees. Their friendly conversation helped calm your nerves. All that was left was to don the clothing selected for you. When they’d finally finished, you looked in the mirror, the Honeygirls whooping and cheering behind you. And you had to admit–you looked amazing.

“Wow…” Was all you could say.

“Now it’s time to show us what you can do!” Maya announced to even more cheering. Right. Your nerves ratcheted up again.

You looked around at each of the girls. “Please, tell me, what advice can you give me? I’m really nervous, I–I’ve never danced on a stage before…” This fact caused many of the girls to let out awwws as if you were some adorable puppy in a sweater. In the end, you got varying pieces of advice, but the main theme was to stay loose and have fun.

“And besides–” one Honeygirl chimed in with a giggle, “I’m sure Cloud can give you some pointers too–he really brought down the house last time!”

You froze in shock. “Wait–you mean…Cloud–?”

“You didn’t know?” The girl (warm brown eyes and auburn hair–Marin, you remembered now) asked incredulously. “His audition is practically legendary here in Wall Market! Cloud danced with Andrea on stage, one on one, just like this. That boy has some moves!” she cooed.

Your face felt molten hot. That must be why he knew what Andrea wanted you to do before you got here. And his advice to enjoy yourself…it was from experience, not conjecture. But he was always so collected, so cool (or at least, tried to be). He must have been mortified. Your brain tried to create an image of Cloud dancing, but it was so bizarre you couldn’t do it. And what in the name of the Planet did that have to do with rescuing Tifa? It felt like your head was spinning–every small answer you got just seemed to lead to more questions. The more you heard about Cloud, the less you felt you knew him.

The girls took you through their warm up routine, full of squats and hip rolls and shoulder shrugs all to get you loosened up. The encouragement from the girls at every stage had you feeling fairly confident by the end of the experience. You thought to yourself that if you did end up working here, having these ladies as your coworkers would definitely be the silver lining. But you couldn’t delay any longer–it was time to make your way through the double doors and into whatever madness awaited you behind them.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Cloud stared down into his drink as he leaned against the back wall, watching the light slide over the ice cubes as he swirled the glass.

He hadn’t taken a single sip. He hadn’t actually gotten the drink for himself in the first place: when a Honeygirl had offered him a glass of some unknown blue liquid on a tray, he just accepted it to make her go away–you weren’t the only one on edge tonight.

Cloud cast his gaze over the room with a disdaining eye. Without the sheen of intoxication, the buzz of activity in the lounge surrounding the stage wasn’t the glamorous party tourists flocked to the Market to see: It was mostly drunk men making fools of themselves over giggling Honeygirls, all as the smell of liquor, cigar smoke, and cheap cologne wafted through the air and the sound of grating dance music stung Cloud’s ears. The idea of you spending hours in this place–what the hell was Barret thinking? Suffice it to say, he wasn’t thrilled to be here. So Cloud had stationed himself as far on the sidelines as possible, leaning against the wall right next to the door: he wanted to make sure he’d be there when you arrived. He was starting to get a bit apprehensive–it seemed like you were taking an awfully long time to get ready. What could have gone wrong in the time he’d left you alone?

“Well now–if it ain’t the reignin’ champ.”

The baritone voice and the country drawl were instantly recognizable to Cloud. He looked up to find Chocobo Sam smiling at him with that sardonic grin he always wore, that made you feel like you were playing a game only he knew the rules to. Cloud pushed off the wall and shook the man’s hand. “What brings you back to our fair town?” the rancher asked. When Cloud hesitated to answer, he didn’t even blink. “You bring that nice lady friend of yours back with ya? The firecracker?”

Cloud just shook his head. He knew Sam was not the type to pry into people’s business. In this instance, Cloud greatly appreciated that trait. Then Sam put a hand on his shoulder and gestured to a booth where two Honeygirls were eagerly eyeing the two men. Just as Sam was offering for Cloud to sit with him, Cloud froze when heard the sound of the door opening behind him, followed by an unsure voice calling out.

“Um…hey…”

You reflexively took a small step back when Cloud and the tall, bearded man he was conversing with whirled around to look at you. Your already rapid heartbeat sped up and your eyes fell to the ground under their slack-jawed stares.

You were dressed in a floor length gown of wine red satin, with long, drapey sleeves that ended with cuffs at your wrists. The dress was luxurious and smooth, fitted just enough to still outline the curves of your shape beneath the shifting fabric. The slit that ran up your right leg exposed the black stockings on your thighs. The dress had a plunging neckline that your mother certainly would have disapproved of, the two sides of the dress only barely held closed with a thick black satin sash tied in a large bow around your waist, a layer of see-through black lace the only thing covering the exposed stripe of your chest underneath. You never wore much makeup, but the girls had given you a full face of it tonight, including lipstick in a muted red that matched the shade of the dress. They’d wanted to apply blush, but you’d refused–your cheeks would surely be red enough all on their own. Not to mention the slight headache you had coming on from the updo they’d arranged your hair in, small sections falling out of it to frame your face, a singular black stick stuck through the mass to hold it all in place. You were also wearing high heels, which you vehemently avoided in your everyday life–it was hard to feel impressive when you were just trying not to fall over.

You’d felt fairly confident when you’d seen yourself in the full length mirror in the dressing room, surrounded by encouraging Honeygirls. But as both men’s eyes trailed from up from your high heels to your face–making many detours in between–you suddenly wished they’d put you in a sleeping bag instead. Both men took you in with expressions of wide-eyed shock: but while the stranger recovered quickly, a wicked grin spreading over his face, Cloud seemed unable to figure out where to look, as though he wanted to take his eyes away from you, but wasn’t quite able to pull it off–he must have thought you looked ridiculous…

As Cloud struggled to construct human language, the stranger let out an appreciative whistle. “Well now–” he said, a new edge in his voice, “What’s your name, little missy?” His voice was rich and deep, with a country accent that added to his gruff charm. Given his boots, cowboy hat, and vest, you figured he was some type of farmer, or maybe a rancher.

“Hi–” You extended your hand out for a handshake as you offered the man your name, doing your best to meet the man’s gaze, though he towered over you.

“Well, ain’t that a pretty name–and you’ve got a pretty firm handshake for such a pretty girl,” he drawled, and you felt your cheeks warm at such blatant flirting. “Call me Sam. I run a little chocobo ranch here in Wall Market–nothin’ fancy.” So, this was Chocobo Sam, one of the infamous members of Don Corneo’s Trio. Your heart somehow beat even faster. “You here with anyone, darlin’?” he continued, reaching for your arm, “Because I’d be happy to–”

“She’s with me.” Cloud’s tone was so severe that you looked over at him, eyes widening.

Sam retracted his arm, placing both his hands casually on his hips. “Well missy, I was just asking our reignin’ champ here how long you two will be stayin’ this time around–Cloud raised holy hell last time he came rollin’ in, and that was only for one night!”

“Reigning champ?” you echoed.

“You don’t know?” Sam asked with genuine surprise, his eyes dancing between you and Cloud. You were really getting sick of hearing that phrase. But your teammate had his arms firmly folded, one hip jutting out in agitated disinterest, while you awkwardly fiddled with the sleeve of your dress.

“Did you see that large buildin’ on your way here–with the dragon statues out front, off the main road?” Sam began. You nodded. “That’s the Corneo Colosseum, named for the king ‘a Wall Market himself. The Colosseum hosts tournaments with all kind ‘a fighters, be they machines, monsters, or men. There are matches most nights, but every once in a while, the Don puts on a Corneo Cup, where you’ll see the biggest and baddest fights this side ‘a Gaia.” You vaguely remembered Barret mentioning something about a colosseum–it was hardly a normal fixture in most towns–but he’d only mentioned it under his long list of ‘Places in Wall Market You Should Never Go If You Know What’s Good for You.’

“Cloud entered the Cup last time he was here,” Sam continued, “swept whole damn thing, he and uh…what was that girl’s name again? Real homely type, with the long brown hair? The one who wanted in to the Mansion?” Aerith?! As your oldest childhood friend, you'd asked her (and Tifa) about their adventures with Cloud before he had moved to Sector 3 numerous times, but they'd always studiously skirted around their time in Wall Market, claiming it wasn't their story to tell–and what a story it was, apparently! “Anyway,” Sam went on, “It was the most impressive showin’ Wall Market ever saw. Ain’t no one come close since.” Directing his attention to Cloud, he finished, “The Don will be happy to know you’re back in town. He’ll be chompin’ at the bit to put on another Cup now, knowing you’re here to drive up the bettin’.”

You did your best to suppress your astonishment, even managing to keep your mouth from hanging open as you stared up at Cloud in bewilderment. Bloodsport? Betting? But he was glaring at the floor. “Whatever,” he remarked balefully.

“Well, you’re both welcome to sit at my booth when the show starts, or anytime you’re in town. I get the feeling you’re in need of some good ol’ boys’ time,” Sam said to Cloud with a wink. Then his eyes once again roamed over you. “And maybe you could stop by my ranch during your stay–I’d be happy to introduce you to my birds.”

You heard Cloud scoff under his breath next to you, but you kept your focus on Sam. “I’d love to Sam–I definitely will.” With a final grin and a tip of his hat to you, the man strode back to his booth. While your shoulders relaxed, Cloud’s hard posture remained unchanged. “I assume that’s Chocobo Sam, right?”

“Yeah. Be careful–he’s a real ladies man, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Hardly!” Cloud’s eyebrows raised in surprise at your flippant remark. “What? He’s trying too hard, way too polished. And he’s totally relying on his accent, too–you can tell he’s trouble from a country mile.” Cloud’s features seemed to relax a little as your response, and he huffed out a small grunt of amusem*nt. Gathering your courage, you asked, “So you really competed in this…Corneo Cup last time?”

“We had to, to rescue Tifa.” It seemed to you he’d left out a few things there–you weren’t sure how those dots connected. But just as you opened your mouth to question Cloud further, his clipped tone cut you off. “It’s always rowdy–and dangerous. There’s no reason for you to ever go there. Just keep your distance, got it?” Not exactly unexpected advice coming from Cloud… But he was staring at you with a strange intensity in his gaze as he waited for your answer–this was important to him for some reason. So you nodded. It wasn’t like you sought out bloodsports or gambling, anyway.

There was a stretch of silence then, only the music and the racket of the people milling all around you filling the void. You fussed with the belt on your dress, your outfit suddenly feeling even more ridiculous now there wasn’t anyone around to pretend for. But then again…Cloud had arranged for you to wear this, right? Had he…had he picked it out himself? It wasn’t what you imagined he liked at all. Your cheeks went red again, the heat spreading down to your chest. Gods, pull yourself together… This was about impressing the mysterious Andrea Rhodea, not your hopeless crush. It was hard enough to converse with Cloud under normal circ*mstances, but now, the awkwardness was stifling.

“I, uh…probably should sit with Sam during the show–just to hear if there’s any news in Wall Market we should know about,” Cloud said finally. You thought back to how chummy Sam had been with him, offering to bring him along for some particularly male entertainment. Just how well did he know the Trio? What had he gotten up to last time he was here? It wasn’t your business, but the idea of him partaking in that kind of thing…well, it intrigued you.

“If you want a boys’ night, that’s fine, Cloud, really–you don’t need an excuse!” you ribbed gently, a playful light gleaming in your eyes. You were hoping for a smile–but when Cloud scoffed (just as you thought he would), you laughed. “I’m just teasing, Cloud,” you said, absentmindedly placing a hand on his forearm as you reassured him. He flinched, and you instantly jerked your hand back, remembering Cloud’s aversion to people in his space–and you in particular. “Oh–sorry!” you exclaimed, taking a step back as you recoiled from him. Nice going…

“No, I mean, it’s–”

“My word, is that Cloud Strife?”

Cloud hissed, and his sudden agitation alarmed you. When his eyes landed on the spiral staircase across the room, you followed his gaze and spotted her descending the stairs, hips swaying in her black kimono, fan fluttering as she made her way toward you. Before you could ask Cloud who she was (though you had your suspicions), the woman was standing in front of you. Though she was only a few inches taller than you, her demeanor made her an imposing figure all the same. Cloud folded his arms, as if barricading himself, before he nodded at the woman in a terse greeting–what was it about her that put him so on edge?

“Still in fighting shape, I see!” the woman said coyly, not even trying to hide how her eyes roamed Cloud’s body. Your grip on your sleeve clenched. Then she looked at you. “And who do we have here? You always have so many different women with you, Cloud, I’m starting to lose track!” she teased in her smooth, seductive way. Cloud let out an embarrassed grunt, but the woman’s attention remained fixed on you. “And what a gorgeous dress! Where-ever did you get it?” she asked with a playful giggle.

Plastering a smile on your face, you once again extended a hand and offered your name. “Oh, um thank you! I’m a…a friend of Cloud’s.”

The strange woman seized your outstretched hand with a little too much force, and you let out a surprised gasp. Even stranger still, she then began pressing and feeling your palm with her fingers as she peered at your hand. You looked up at Cloud in bewilderment, eyes seeking an explanation.

“A friend, you said?” the woman asked, still completely fixated on your hand.

“Yeah,” Cloud answered. Your eyes dropped to the floor.

The woman hummed in a tone that indicated she wasn’t convinced by his answer. Still gripping your palm, she looked up and said, “How rude of me, I’ve forgotten to introduce myself–I’m known as Madam M, proprietor of the finest hand massage parlor in Midgar,” she said sweetly. “Cloud dear, you really must bring this charming young woman to my parlor for a massage, I insist.”

“Thank you,” you began, “that’s very–”

“–And since Cloud here is just a friend, I’m sure he won’t mind if I borrow you for a moment, now will he?” Neither you nor Cloud had time to answer before Madam M whisked you across the lounge to her circular booth, where she sat you down and resumed her intense examination of your palms. You shot Cloud a pleading look, and he sent back a shrug–there was no telling Madam M no.

You watched Cloud climb into his friend’s booth across the lounge. Sam raised his glass to him as he sat, and one of the girls immediately scooted over and latched onto Cloud’s arm. He seemed to stiffen up, and barely paid her any attention despite her fawning, focusing instead on conversing with Sam. Your chest grew strangely tight as you watched Cloud and the Honeygirl with freckles and dark brown hair (who you now knew was named Samantha) throwing herself at him. You were the last person on the planet who had any claim on Cloud–but just knowing it was going on was making it hard for you to concentrate on the woman probing and prying at your hands.

Madam M cut straight to the point. “So, why are you really here?”

You considered what to say. “We’re here to ask Andrea for another favor.” It was the truth, after all.

After a few more silent moments of squeezing various parts of your palm, the woman spoke again. “How do you like the outfit I provided for you? I’m looking forward to seeing it in action–and judging by his reaction, I think someone else is, too.”

You choked, finally looking away from Cloud to stare at Madam M. “You–?”

“Of course dear, who else?”

Trying not to convey your ignorance, you remained silent. It was finally dawning on you that you really didn’t know anything about Wall Market. “You, um…you said you own a hand massage parlor?”

“I do. I even gave Cloud a massage the last time he was in town, one he isn’t likely to forget–oh, the moans that boy makes when you rub just the right spot!” she said with a giggle as she dragged her fingertip across your palm. It was dawning on you that you didn’t know Cloud at all, either. The realization stung, and your cheeks burned, but again, you thought the best course of action was just to remain silent. Part of you was hoping she’d simply grow bored of teasing you and let you escape.

“You really do have lovely hands,” Madam M remarked. Does she only talk in non-sequiturs? “Delicate, but strong underneath. Not unfamiliar with hard work. Kind to others, but hard on yourself–when you hold on to something, you don’t easily let go.” She continued tracing the lines etched into your hand. “Unsure of your purpose, your path–but never of your feelings. These hands know what they want, but not how to get it. Always reaching, never grasping.”

“S-So, can you tell me how many kids I’m going to have? Will I win the lottery?” You were trying to change the subject, lighten the suddenly serious mood.

“Three. And they’ll be quite good-looking, given who the father will be–though not very tall…” she intoned, still staring at your palms. “It’s fascinating…your hands are so soft, while his are hard. Perfect complements…”

“What?”

“He’s not merely a friend to you–anyone with a pulse could figure that out, my dear.”

“What? N-No, Cloud is just–”

“I don’t remember mentioning Cloud’s name.”

You shut your mouth. Madam M smiled, knowing she’d caught you out. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she cooed, “I can keep a secret.” You and your practical mind knew palm reading was a bunch of nonsense, but it didn’t help that she was reading you like an open book. Probably just telling me what she knows will push my buttons.

Your eyes drifted over the tables, over the forms of all the people drinking and talking, flirting and leering at one another. In all the commotion and clatter, for you, the only thing in focus was Cloud. Though his angular face looked sharp and severe in the dim lighting, you couldn’t take your eyes off him, caught in how beautiful he was to you. And it wasn’t just his handsome face or his toned physique, no. Underneath all his gruffness and indifference, you knew there was more to him in there–a sweet young man with a heart full of dreams, who covered up the gentle kindness he saw only as a liability. Still waters ran deep, and you knew there was so much more to Cloud, if only he’d embrace it, if only he’d let others in to see it. You wanted to see it. Above all, you wanted Cloud to be happy–even if it wasn’t with you. You saw the struggles he faced, the torment inside him. You’d give anything to help him, in any way you could, in any way he’d let you.

Yet, you had no way to approach. If you pushed him too hard, if you asked for more than what he was willing to give, you risked him pushing you even further away–and that was the last thing you wanted: Because in the months you’d known him, this boy who barely gave you the time of day had become an ardent obsession, invading all your thoughts, captivating your fantasies, haunting your restless dreams. After your initial crush on him had simmered down, you’d been able to repress those feelings most times you were around him, firmly reminding yourself over and over that he was just an acquaintance, just a person on the same team you were, fighting the same enemy. He was indifferent to you, and it would be selfish to push him, to put your feelings on someone who didn’t want them, who had far too much burdening him already.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t the one you wanted. The one you burned for.

While you’d resigned yourself to the fact that Cloud felt nothing (or worse) for you, you’d also never met another man who made you feel the way you did when you looked into his piercing blue eyes, the way you did when he said your name. From the moment you first saw him some six months ago, it felt as though you were floating in limbo: You knew Cloud would never be yours, would never return your feelings, but your heart clung to him all the same–he was holding you prisoner, and he didn’t even know it. You could all but hear Marle’s voice in your head, an old friend of your late mother’s, who’d known you since you were a little girl: scolding you for getting yourself into this mess, for not having the willpower to pick yourself up and make a fresh start with someone actually attainable. Spending Astrals-knew how many weeks here in Wall Market together was going to be excruciating. In this kind of situation, where you two had to rely on each other so closely, so completely, you knew it was only a matter of time before he figured you out, and the rejection would be out in the open. You just had to hope the mission wouldn’t be compromised in the aftermath–there wasn’t even really a friendship to ruin in the first place.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest little thing?” Madam M cooed. “Your face is so expressive, I don’t even need to read your palm to know what you’re thinking! My advice? Never play poker, my dear.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “I’m no card-player.”

“Don’t fret, darling–” Madam M replied, her gaze surveying the room as she spoke. “When Cloud was last in my parlor, I read his palm, too. His love line was faint, meaning his heart wasn’t spoken for at the time. And it only had one solid line, no branches, just like your own–quite a rare feature, especially on a man’s hand.”

You’d heard something about a love line before. “So he… won’t fall in love?”

“Quite the opposite. The number of branches tells you how many great loves a person will have in their life. It can mean marriages, or simply deep, enduring love affairs–and Cloud’s hand only had one line. When he finally comes to his senses and realizes who the love of his life is, he will never have another.” The conviction in her voice surprised you. Now Madam M was definitely having you on. You were quickly learning that here in Wall Market, everyone was a smooth talker, good at getting what they wanted from naive and unsuspecting people, and this woman was no exception: If you were going to make it here, you’d have to wise up.

Madam M suddenly let out a puzzled noise–something on your palm seemed to catch her eye. It drew your gaze back to her. You felt your heartbeat quicken when you noticed her mirth was gone, her brows pinched in confusion as she took your right hand into both of hers, intensifying her scrutiny-confusion, and maybe even…alarm?

“I-Is something wrong?” One of her thumbs was tracing along a line on your hand–a crescent shaped arc that sloped around your thumb to the base of your palm. She didn’t answer for a few moments.

“…If you truly want Cloud, my dear…I wouldn’t leave it too long, if I were you.”

The sudden sobriety in her voice made you study the woman, looking for a teasing smile or some other indication she was joking. You didn’t find it. She was being sincere, the most sincere you’d heard her be. As you attempted to parse her cryptic advice, she finally released your hands–but you didn’t have long to contemplate.

“Ah–and here’s the man of the hour!” Madam M proclaimed, rising from her seat. You followed her gaze, which, to your surprise, took you back to Cloud. He was now standing, conversing with a tall, lithe man in sleek black clothing. Then the man began moving toward your table, and Cloud’s blue eyes found yours. The message in them was clear: get ready.

You’d never been great at math, but you could subtract two from three. There was only one man this could be: Andrea Rhodea. A cold weight settled over your chest–the mission had officially begun.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

“Hello, my dear–what a pleasure it is to finally meet you.”

The man you presumed to be Andrea Rhodea had reached your table, his voice even-keeled and honey-smooth. He bowed as he greeted you. You rose from the booth, suppressing the nervous impulse to fix your hair or pull at your dress.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Rhodea,” you said sweetly, giving him a genuine smile. Though the man had a dramatic, angular face, he had kindness in his blue eyes, and they instantly put you more at ease–he was nothing like the grimy image of an erotic dance club owner you’d had in your head.

You extended a hand for him to shake, but Andrea instead took it and gently kissed your knuckles, causing you to blush. “No need for such formality–please, call me Andy. My dear, you are a vision,” Andrea remarked, lifting his arm to twirl you around.

“O-Oh, um thank you,” you giggled, unused to being charmed in this way. “It’s thanks to Madam M, really. A-And your Honeygirls, they did my hair and makeup. They were so welcoming to me.”

“Clothing and makeup can only adorn the beauty already within–” Andrea remarked. “My girls simply brought out your very best. She is breathtaking, is she not, Cloud?” Andrea asked in his languid tone, looking to the young man for input.

Your eyes dropped to the floor, a furious blush warming your face. Forcing the issue was the last thing your nerves needed at the moment. Cloud’s eyes widened at being put on the spot, but incoherent stammering was all the reply he made. You were relieved to get even that–you’d heard just how biting Cloud could be when he wanted to, especially when it came to rejecting the advances of the many girls who tried to chat him up at Seventh Heaven. You’d never seen him show even mild interest in a single one–maybe we should start a club.

“It’s time for tonight’s show to begin,” Andrea proclaimed, turning to face you. “Are you ready?” Then he offered you his hand. You couldn’t help looking to Cloud.

He held your gaze, voice even and resolute. “Remember what I told you before.” But then Cloud gave you a firm nod, and it bolstered you. Placing your hand in Andrea’s, you allowed him to lead you through the booths toward the stage on the far side of the room trying not to implode under the leering gazes of the men you passed in the booths.

Just as you were about to reach the stage, you stopped. “Wait, Mr. Rhodea, sir–there’s something I’d like to ask you.” His head co*cked, waiting for you to continue. Reflexively, you looked back at Cloud again. There was a Honeygirl clinging to him on either side, dragging him down to sit at his own booth–but despite their fussing and fawning, he was only focused on you. Probably worried I’ll screw this up. Then you turned back to Andrea. “Would you…would you let me pick the song?”

Andrea smiled warmly. “Why don’t you tell me what you had in mind.”

Though he leaned down, you still had to rise up to your toes so you could whisper in Andrea’s ear. His smile grew wider as you told him the song you wanted to dance to. He nodded, then called over one of the Honeyboys to relay the instructions. With that, you let him lead you the rest of the way to the stage. Cloud had said to enjoy yourself–this would give you the best chance of doing just that.

But as you finally reached the short staircase, and Andrea released your hand to ascend the steps and take his place center stage, you suddenly felt your heart stutter in your chest, and your knees threatened to buckle beneath you. Taking a deep, shaky breath, you silently cursed yourself for what you were about to do next. Dancing in front of a leering crowd was one thing–how on Gaia had you ever agreed to this?

Gathering your skirt in your hands, you sauntered up the stairs, already garnering a few whistles. But instead of moving forward to stand beside Andrea, when you reached the top, you planted yourself there, jutting one hip out in a confident stance. Though you hadn’t instructed it, a spotlight suddenly blazed over you, and Andrea eyed you from center stage, clearly intrigued. With your back still to the audience–to Cloud–it looked like you were simply adjusting something on the front of your dress. What they didn’t see was you pulling apart the black bow that held the sash around your waist. Then you shrugged your shoulders, and the wine red satin slid down your body to pool at your feet–revealing what Madam M had really dressed you in for the night.

It was black, it was lace–and it was lethal. Underneath the red dress lay a two-piece set: on your torso was a black corset top with a sweetheart neckline and thin straps, (low cut to allow for ample cleavage, of course.) For your bottom half, it was a pair of black, high waisted boyshorts (skin tight, of course.) They nipped the pinch of your waist, hugged the curves of your flesh, ending in the creases of your thighs, a scant stripe of bare skin separating them from the start of your stockings. Over the corset top was a long sleeve lace shirt, so sheer it covered absolutely nothing at all, the floral stitching perfectly matching the bands that topped the stockings. It was lingerie in all but name: You’d never worn something like this in your life, let alone owned it: it wasn’t like you’d ever had the extra cash for such a splurge–or a boyfriend serious enough to buy it for.

And to top it all off, you reached back and pulled the black stick out of your updo, feeling your hair tumble free down your back, eliciting another round of appreciative whistles. Finally, you looked at Andrea standing in front of you. With his hands on his hips, he flashed you an approving smile and nod. You’d done more than just surprise him–you’d impressed him. Then another spotlight appeared beside him–it was time to get the show on the road.

As you got into position under the spotlight, finally turning to face the audience, you took in what must have been the biggest breath of your whole life, desperate to calm yourself. Your heartbeat was thundering in your chest, and you were already sweating, even though you hadn’t done any physical activity–yet. It was hard to pick what aspect of the situation was making you the most nervous: foremost on your mind was the fact that you’d be performing a dance routine without any preparation. You’d have to follow a man you’d just met, step for step, all while trying to look like you were both poised and sexy–and didn’t have two left feet (two left hips?). But on top of that was the knowledge that beyond the blinding glare of the stage lights were countless men and women (but mostly men) devouring your body, watching your every move–and just to truly crank the pressure up to diamond-forming levels, one of those men was Cloud.

He said he’d been the one to get Madam M to provide your clothing–did he like it? Did he like you in it? Surely not, but the questions burned you all the same. He probably thought you looked ridiculous–Cloud wasn’t the type to appreciate garish displays. Not to mention how self conscious you were showing so much skin, so much flesh… But just as all your worries had you considering making a mad dash for the exit, the song you’d chosen came in over the speakers.

Your eyes reflexively scanned the crowd. He was muted and murky in the darkened lounge beyond the glaring stage lights, but you were able to make out Cloud’s pale face and shock of blond hair. He was looking down into a glass of dark liquor–but once the music began playing, you saw Cloud freeze, his gaze snapping to meet yours. First his eyes went wide, but then a look of startled recognition passed over his features, and you couldn’t help the small smile that pulled your lips: The song you’d chosen was the one playing the night you and Cloud first met. Then Andrea moved beside you, and you had to forget everything else.

But the song didn’t give you the boost you’d hoped it would: You were hesitant from the first step, hardly moving, and it felt as though your joints were made of rusted metal. The eyes of the crowd on you were crushing, and the knowledge Cloud was watching made you feel ridiculous, your movements stiff and forced even despite the song choice. You were finding it hard to do more than choppily keep up with the masterful moves of Andrea beside you. It was taking all your concentration to simply try to stay on beat. Odin, how embarrassing… If you kept up like this, you’d be booed off the stage long before Andrea decided to toss you out.

But seemingly sensing your apprehension, Andrea wrapped you in his arms and dipped you, the crowd breaking into applause. He gave you a warm, reassuring smile. “Be yourself.”

The human connection broke through your trepidation. When he righted you, you briefly stood still, your eyes closed, taking a moment to remember why you’d chosen the song now swelling to the first chorus. You looked back over at Andrea, waiting for you expectantly with a hand outstretched. Then you smiled, and took it. He spun you around and the crowd began to cheer, your hair a fan around you. This time, you found yourself naturally mirroring Andrea beside you, and in the moments you two freestyled, you now found it easy, even enjoyable, to spin around, to raise your arms, to roll your hips in a way that had the audience raving.

In your defense, the song’s connection to you and Cloud was not the primary reason you’d chosen it for this moment: it was a great song to dance to, with an energetic beat and catchy melody. But more than that, it was how the song made you feel when you danced to it: beautiful, alive, and whole. That was the version of yourself you needed to channel right now–and that’s exactly what you did.

Though you wouldn’t really realize it then, something shifted as you danced, as your confidence grew and your inhibitions fell away. Unlike at the start, at some point you found the knowledge Cloud’s presence emboldening you rather than cowing you. In the moments your nerves threatened to paralyze you, you’d look at Cloud, his gaze ever fixed on you, and imagine that he was the only one in the room. Even if it was just here and now, just in this moment, you wanted him to look at you, to see you–maybe even to want you–though you knew he never would. You were putting on a sort of performance every time you spoke to him–how was it that this one was somehow more honest than all the others?

And in what seemed like no time at all, when Andrea finally whirled you into his arms, dipping you low in a triumphant finish as the music ended and the crowd erupted, you threw your head back with a radiant smile on your face: Cloud’s advice had been right, after all.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

“My dear, you were magnificent.”

You stepped out into the small plaza outside the Honeybee Inn, Andrea walking beside you with a hand on your shoulder as he showered you with praise. The sun had gone down long ago, but you’d been such a hit, the audience had called you up again and again for encore performances. Your eyes scanned the small courtyard as he spoke–in the crowd of people buzzing around after the finale, the one person you didn’t see was Cloud.

“I told you before that clothing and makeup can only enhance the beauty one already possesses–” Andrea continued, “but confidence, true confidence and joy–these are beauty’s greatest adornments. Your confidence, my dear, your radiance–you need no other adornment. With your passion and your joy, you embody the spirit of the Honeybee Inn.”

You looked up at Andrea, as flustered as you were flattered. You certainly weren’t a professional (though now, you supposed, you were), so there was no way you’d been as good as all that. “Please, Mr. Rhodea–” you said, genuinely touched by the kindness the man had shown you, “I–I don’t know what to say! It’s easy to shine with someone like you leading the way–you made it easy, and fun! You’re really helping us out so much.”

“You’re too kind.” Andrea replied with a bow. “You and Cloud certainly make for an extraordinary pair.”

“O-Oh, n-no, I mean–”

Andrea just chuckled. “Go home and get some rest–you’ve certainly earned it. Why don’t you and Cloud come by tomorrow morning, and we’ll discuss what I can do to help you both–as well as take your measurements for your uniform.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rhodea, we will.”

“When you feel ready, my dear–” Andrea replied, “please, call me Andy. Now, I’ve already given Cloud the keys to the apartment you’ll stay in while you’re here–it’s private, and no one knows I own it, so your anonymity will be assured. And don’t trouble yourself about rent.”

“No, please–I wouldn’t feel comfortable. Take it out of my wages.”

An affectionate smile spread on Andrea’s face. “You really are the sweetest young lady. Your beau is quite a lucky man.”

“O-Oh, um…no, actually, I’m single, Mr. Rhodea.”

“A lovely young woman like you? Why, you must have men falling at your feet!”

You laughed nervously, heat creeping into your cheeks. “W-Well, not as many as you might think…”

“But you do have a young man in your heart, do you not?” You looked up at the lithe man towering over you. His eyes were soft and understanding–turned out Andrea didn’t need to read your palms to figure you out.

Your eyes fell to the cobblestones. “…Yes.”

“Young love stings like no other dart.” You felt Andrea’s hand come to rest gently on your shoulder again. “Try to keep your spirits up, my dear. Wall Market changes everyone, in some way or another–I have a feeling it will change things for you, too.” Andrea gave you a wink and a smile before he bid you goodnight and sauntered back through the curtained entrance to the Honeybee Inn.

You shifted the mass of flower bouquets bursting from your arms and draped the garment bag containing your outfit from Madam M over your arm, looking around the plaza once more. As you’d descended the stage after your final encore, you’d been swarmed by admirers all cheering and praising you, throwing flowers at your feet as others shoved bouquets into your arms. But as you’d walked back through to the changing room, you didn’t see Cloud anywhere–and even after you returned to the lobby after changing your clothes to find Andrea, waiting to officially hire you as a Honeygirl, Cloud still hadn’t appeared. You were starting to feel a bit awkward, standing here dumbly in the middle of the courtyard by yourself.

“–certainly one of the best performances I’ve ever seen! That really was quite a show. I know you must agree–don’t you, Cloud?” It was the syrupy voice of Madam M, somewhere to your right. It was easy to spot her at the far side of the plaza, with her ornate hairpiece and voluptuous black kimono. And sure enough, she was talking to Cloud, his arms folded in his usual standoffish posture.

“Sure, I guess.” Hardly a raving review…

“It’s so nice to have you back in town with us, Cloud,” she purred. “You always make things so interesting. I’m rather looking forward to it.”

Cloud’s eyes dropped to the ground, cheeks tinged pink. What is going on here? you wondered, your heart stuttering in your chest.

“But don’t forget–” she said, resting the end of her folded fan on his chest, “you and I are meeting again tonight. I expect you to give me your best performance. You know I’ll accept nothing less in our little arrangement.” Your eyes went wide as you looked on.. What was she…?

“I got it!” Cloud snapped, backing up to escape the reach of her fan.

“Good. Now, you should probably get back to your gorgeous, talented, irresistible friend–” she went on with a giggle, “before she starts to worry you’re with another woman!” Madam M was clearly very good at teasing Cloud in a way that pushed all his buttons. His eyes snapped up to glare at her, letting out a short, agitated grunt, but she just fluttered her fan over her face. “Until then, do try and get some rest–my champion,” she cooed. With a final coy smile, Madam M sauntered off into the night.

Your eyes fell to your feet. What had you just seen? Your stomach was doing somersaults as you tried to rationalize what could possibly have passed between Madam M and Cloud, unable to help how your mind drifted to the worst possible scenarios. Get some rest before meeting late at night? An arrangement? Giving her a performance? Were he and Madam M…? You’d seen Cloud rebuff (or simply ignore) every woman who dared to even smile at him. The idea of Cloud doing what you were imagining…and with her? You didn’t know if you were more jealous or nauseous thinking about it. It couldn’t be true…could it?

Oh, the moans that boy makes when you rub just the right spot… What if his hands weren’t the only thing she had–

Even as you violently dismissed the thought, your mind flashed back to when you’d arrived at the Honeybee Inn only hours earlier. Before that, you’d only known the barest details of Cloud’s first time in Wall Market: You knew he’d tried to go into the mansion, and had been turned away. And you knew he’d needed the help of the Trio to ‘sneak inside’ with Aerith, but that had been the extent of your knowledge. In just the short time you’d been here, you’d learned Cloud had danced with Andrea, was on good enough terms with Madam M to request designer dresses from her (and maybe, even more), and even have some good ol’ boys’ time with Chocobo Sam. That didn’t even include his seemingly celebrity status as Wall Market’s reigning champion in the Colosseum. It seemed every random stranger in Wall Market knew more about him than you did. As much as you thought you knew Cloud, even from a distance, it turned out you really didn’t know him at all–he was a mystery man to you, and that was seemingly by design. So who were you to say what he was like–what he got up to at night?

It wasn’t hard for you to tell that even among your mutual friends and Avalanche comrades (Cloud wasn’t officially a member, but they hired him for so many missions, he might as well be) you were the one Cloud was most indifferent to, even avoidant of. You’d observed how always kept himself on the outside in social situations, but you could pick up on the current of grudging fondness and friendship running underneath his exterior when it came to people like Tifa, Aerith, even Barret. But not so with you. Your eyes squeezed shut, wincing as a painful memory surfaced.

It was the night after your first successful mission with Avalanche–your first (and only) mission with Cloud on your team. Since the first mission had gone well, you’d finally made it official you were joining your friends’ Avalanche cell in Sector 3. Tifa and Barret had thrown a party in the new Seventh Heaven to celebrate, just a casual night of music and drinking among friends.

And for some reason you had yet to figure out, Cloud had been there too–and not even at gunpoint. He’d been mostly silent during the mission, but that was hardly unusual for Cloud. He, Tifa, and Barret had only moved to Sector 3 some six weeks before–it was just over a month since the Sector 7 plate fell, and it was still raw for everyone: Tifa tried to hide it, but you’d sat on her bed and held her as she cried more nights than you could count. Even after those six weeks, you’d still been harboring hope that Cloud would warm to you, and the mission had been your big chance to impress him. So after downing the remainder of your second drink to bolster yourself, you’d approached Cloud, seated in his usual place in the corner up at the counter avoiding human interaction, your heart fluttering as you tried to congratulate him on a mission well done.

If anything, he’d grown even colder toward you: he was never outright rude, but his answers were clipped and disinterested. It didn’t take long for you to figure out Cloud was just saying whatever would get you to move on in the least amount of words–and he certainly never asked anything back. So after a sufficiently long and awkward silence, you left him to his whiskey and rejoined your old friend Tifa instead. After two more drinks, you were almost able to convince yourself his iciness didn’t hurt. But hey, you’d been turned down by guys before (none as cute as Cloud, though) and it was early enough that you still naively assumed you’d get over it, as you’d gotten over all the others–but the sting you felt then was nothing compared to what happened once the party had ended.

You were walking home with one of your housemates, a girl named Deena–back before you made enough money to afford your own place–when you realized that in your tipsy state, you’d forgotten your purse back at Seventh Heaven. You’d told Deena to go on ahead while you headed back to see if Tifa or Barett were still awake so you could run inside and grab it.

As you approached the bar, you saw the lights were still on inside. You padded up the steps to the porch. But just as you reached for the doorknob, you froze, hearing a tense discussion through an open window.

“What’s your problem, man?!” It was Barret.

“Nothing–” And Cloud, you realized. “I just don’t want to be put on missions with her, that’s all I’m asking!”

You felt like you were going to be sick.

“C’mon, you only been on one job with her, man–that ain’t enough for you to judge her yet. She’s just as capable as Jessie, Biggs or Wedge were. And she’s the best medic outta all of us, ain’t even close. So what is it? We’re all excited to have her on the team–the only one that ain’t is you.”

“It’s not–” Cloud cut himself off. You’d never heard him sound so frustrated.

“I can’t promise you won’t ever be put on assignment together,” Barret said, “but if you want me to keep you two separate, you’re gonna have to tell me why–and it better be a good reason, too.”

“I just don’t wanna work with her, okay?! She’s a liability. She just… she’ll just get in my way.” His voice was defensive, agitated, even for him.

“You ain’t never been a good liar, Cloud–now come on…”

But you didn’t stay to hear the rest. Your legs were already carrying you away as the tears began streaming down your cheeks. Now here you were, how many months later, just as attached to Cloud–and just as hopeless.

The sudden sound of your name made your eyes fly open. It was Cloud, his brows furrowed as he studied you.

“O-Oh! Cloud. I-I’ve been waiting–where have you been?”

“Had to discuss something with Madam M.” Well, at least he wasn’t lying to you.

“O-Okay.”

“You, uh, ready to go?” When you nodded, Cloud cleared his throat, and offered you a hand. You stared at it like it was radioactive.

“You…need help with that?” he finally said, eyes landing on the garment bag hanging over your overburdened arms.

“Oh, um, yeah, thanks.” After some awkward shifting, you managed to hand him the bag, which he folded over his own arm before he made his way through the crowd loitering in the plaza. You stuck close behind him, trailing in his wake as he cleared a path through the mob of people until you reached the main road.

As you walked through the cramped, winding streets of Wall Market, at first, you two didn’t have much chance to talk (not that Cloud was much of talker, anyway). You had what seemed like a constant stream of admirers calling out to you as you passed, complimenting your dancing or your beauty or your dress–how did they all know you by name? But when Cloud turned off the main thoroughfares and ducked down residential street, the crowds dwindled away. The awkward silence remained.

“You were…good,” he said finally.

You jolted, unprepared for him to say anything. “Oh, uh, thanks, Cloud.” The only sound was your two sets of footsteps against the cobblestones.

“I think this is it.” He was standing at the base of a barren, nondescript concrete building that matched all the other barren, nondescript concrete buildings on this block. He took the metal staircase all the way up to the third floor. Andrea had called it a “penthouse,” assuring you it was the only residence on the top floor. You appreciated the privacy. Cloud handed you one set of keys before placing the other in the lock, the door swinging open smoothly as you both walked inside and surveyed your new digs.

“Oh…” It only took one look for you to judge that the term penthouse was a gross exaggeration: the apartment was no larger than the standard fare in the slums–no living room or kitchen, just a bedroom with a door to your left that you assumed led to the bathroom, a small closet next to it. On the right side wall stood a wooden dresser, and on either side of the bed on the far wall were two matching nightstands.

Oh. Then you noticed the bed: luxuriously king-sized, with a wooden frame and headboard, covered with white satin sheets, rich red blankets, and far too many pillows–and there was only one. You glanced sideways at Cloud, and saw his cheeks were flushed–apparently he’d noticed too. The gods–or Andrea–were playing a sick joke on you.

When you saw your duffel bags placed on the foot of the bed, you realized you’d completely forgotten to retrieve them from the chocobo station: someone must have had them brought over. Cloud headed first for the closet to hang your gift from Madam M, while you looked around for a place to off-load the pile of flowers in your arms. When you turned, you noticed a leather armchair tucked in the corner you hadn’t seen before, clearly well-worn and well-loved, and you decided to lay the bouquets down there until you could decide what to do with them. All you wanted to do right now was get all this makeup off your face and climb into that awfully inviting looking bed. With Cloud.

“Do you mind if I…?” Your eyes flicked over to the bathroom door. Cloud shook his head. Rifling through your bag for your toiletries and a pair of pajamas, you dashed to the bathroom, finding it small and simply outfitted like the bedroom, a plain counter and sink next to a toilet and a standing shower. Once you’d brushed your teeth, removed your makeup, and changed into your pajamas, as you went to open the door, you briefly considered if you should take your toiletries back out, instead of leaving them on the counter. But Cloud was your roommate now, you figured–he’d just have to get used to sharing the counter space.

When you emerged, Cloud was standing there dumbly, arms folded, his eyes fixed on the bed until your appearance roused him. Now that your hair was free of all the pins, it fell loose down your shoulders, but there were crimped parts around your head where the pins had bent the locks–you looked like you had bedhead, and you hadn’t even gotten into bed yet. And even though you were in your pajama shorts and loose-fitting shirt, you suddenly felt like you had when you’d met Cloud in the lounge in your new outfit–scandalously exposed.

When he ducked past you and shut the bathroom door, you moved your duffel bag next to the dresser before turning to peer at the bed. You bit your lip. It felt wrong somehow, to get into bed first–to have Cloud come out from the bathroom and find you waiting there for him. But the thought of climbing in together was somehow even more mortifying. The ache in your feet from the high heels tipped the balance, and your exhaustion overrode your scruples.

You only took one step toward the bed before Cloud returned from the bathroom, shrugging his now unarmored shoulders. He simply moved to the nightstand closest to him, on the left side of the bed, near the bathroom, where he set the heavy metal pauldron and leather harness on the table. Guess that makes this my side now…

You searched for something to say that would cut through the oppressive silence–this was your new living arrangement for the foreseeable future, so you had to find a way to make it work. “What a day, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said with the barest chuckle. Even that had your heart fluttering.

You wanted so badly to ask about his audition, to compare notes, to laugh with him at the absurdity of it all–but you didn’t think Cloud would appreciate knowing you’d found out about his prior adventures without him telling you, so you went for something more neutral. “I don’t know what I was expecting the Trio to be like, but it wasn’t…”

“That?”

You smiled at his wry humor. “Yeah. Andrea seems nice, I guess.”

“He’s the most reasonable of the three–which is saying something.”

You finally sat on the edge of the bed, your shoulders relaxing as you sighed, resting one leg on the bed to massage your aching calves. “Andrea said we should stop by the Honeybee Inn tomorrow morning, so we can fill him in on the mission.”

“Alright.”

Another stretch of silence hung in the air. Was he…was he ready for bed? You looked up at Cloud again. It occurred to you that he was still in his SOLDIER’s uniform, only his boots, gloves, and armor removed–he hadn’t taken any clothing into the bathroom with him to change, nor did he move to his own travel bag now: he was just standing at the edge of the bed, arms folded, gaze firmly fixed sidelong on the carpet. It made your cheeks flare to ask: “Are you…do you have pajamas to change into?”

“I prefer to be ready at all times.”

Your head ducked as a small smile pulled at your lips, much as you were trying to suppress it. You saw a flash of confused agitation cross Cloud’s features when he noticed. His macho attempt to pass off the fact that no, he didn’t have any other clothes, was supremely adorable to you–but you figured he wouldn’t appreciate you telling him so. With your mission to lighten the mood somewhat achieved, you could wait no longer. After climbing under the downy covers, you flopped onto your back, eyes closing as you relished the feeling of sinking into the firm but comfortable mattress.

Wait–just as Cloud reached to pull the blankets aside, your eyes popped open again, staring straight above you. “Oh.”

Cloud’s head snapped to look over at you, eyes wide with alarm. “What?”

“Oh no.”

“What is it?!”

“…There’s a mirror on the ceiling.”

Cloud looked up. The only reply he could make was a choked, mortified grunt as he verified your statement: sure enough, there was a large rectangular mirror mounted to the ceiling directly overhead, ensuring the entire bed (and everyone in it) was, ahem…on display. You bit your lip, overcome with both the urge to laugh out loud, and to pull the covers up over your face and never come out. Guess that’s Wall Market for you… The worst part was that your cheeks betrayed you by flushing deep pink, the heat spreading down your neck and chest–because the only person you would ever want to see you in a mirror like this, happened to be the one staring up at it beside you like it was a Malboro about to eat him. Cloud’s gaze met yours in the reflection for the briefest moment, before his head dropped. When he finally lifted the covers aside to shuffle into bed, he made sure there was a chasm of space between you on the mattress–so much for getting rid of the awkwardness…

Avoiding looking anywhere in your general direction, the moment Cloud laid down and pulled the covers to his waist, he flipped over to face the wall, his back to you–you tried to pretend it didn’t sting. Still, you couldn’t help but take advantage of the opportunity to look at Cloud without his eyes boring into you: gazing appreciatively at the way his slender neck sloped to his lean shoulders, admiring how the light of the table lamp brought into sharp relief the lines of his shoulder blades, how it profiled the muscles in his back beneath his sweater. You suddenly felt an overwhelming compulsion to touch him, to trace your hands over his back, to soothe the tension you saw in his shoulders by pressing your lips there–what’s wrong with me?

“What?”

Of course Cloud would be able to feel you staring at him–if he couldn’t hear how your heart was having an audition of its own in your ribs. “N-Nothing, sorry. Um…sleep well, Cloud.”

He didn’t respond.

Nice job… You rolled on to your back then, your own reflection in the mirror waiting there for you. You fought the urge to look over at Cloud’s reflection, for fear he’d feel you staring again. So you instead reached for the light on your nightstand, and doused the room in darkness.

Though the mission had gotten off to a successful start, it wasn’t what was making your insides roil: you’d be sharing a room, sharing a bed, with Cloud Strife–who at best was indifferent to you, and at worst, couldn’t stand to be near you. It felt like you’d learned more about Cloud tonight than you had in all the months he’d been your neighbor back in Sector 3: you’d only ever spent time together in large groups, always surrounded by friends–certainly never on missions–justifying the fact that despite meeting over six months ago, you were still practically strangers. Tonight had only served to prove just how little you knew Cloud–and how little that seemed to bother him. You felt a sudden pang of sadness at the thought that the tiny glimpses of Cloud you’d gotten tonight, gleaned from the stories of others, would probably be all you ever knew of him.

But what tonight had also shown you was that your attraction to Cloud certainly hadn’t cooled, even in all that time–if anything, it had only gotten stronger. He still had you feeling like a giddy schoolgirl just by looking at you, and your brain and tongue malfunctioned accordingly. Being so close to him, having such license to talk to him, it was nerve-wracking, sure. It was also thrilling.

But you had to keep your mind focused on why you were actually here: You were going to dress up as a glorified chorus girl four nights a week, with your goal being to…entertain the male clientele until you found some gullible Shinra employee you could somehow steal information from–the erotic dancing and borderline nudity were going to be the easy parts. But despite the jumble of thoughts and emotions in your head, you quickly succumbed to fatigue, and drifted off to sleep.

It wasn’t until you burst through the swinging double doors into the waiting room that you figured out why the ground was shaking.

The usually placid, well-ordered lobby of the hospital looked like ground zero of a warzone: the clusters of the slate blue chairs dotted around the space were filled with new arrivals flooding in through the front doors at the far side of the room: parents carrying crying children, friends guiding friends to seats, arms slung over their shoulders, most everyone crying and wailing, or sitting silent and still, clearly numb from shock. You vaguely registered that very arrival, regardless of injury, was coated in dirt and dust, the slate gray color of concrete, clogging the air with a cacophony of coughs and wheezes layered over the chaos. The sense of despair in the air was as thick and acrid as the scent of blood.

You looked over to Judy, the receptionist, at the front desk to your right, frantically trying to answer the phones–all three were ringing all at once, a new call waiting the moment the previous one was attended to. “Hospital of the Holy Phoenix, topside Sector 1, what is your–”

You looked down at your badge, clutched tight in your hands: you’d only taken your photo for it that morning, a rite of passage for finally completing your nursing degree, passing your final course. It had started as a normal day, a normal shift: going through your rounds with your mentor, the head surgeon, attending your regular patient rotation–until the ground suddenly and violently began to shake less than twenty minutes ago. You’d been born in Midgar, lived your whole life here–and nothing like that had ever happened before. Everyone on staff froze, trying to parse what could be going on, but when the shaking subsided, there was nothing to be done but return to work. You didn’t think anything was wrong, even when there’d been a sudden influx of people a few minutes later, all sporting similar–and similarly grave–injuries. But what in the name of the planet could have happened to cause such a widespread malady?

Even as you surveyed the waiting room now, your brain was too overwhelmed to assemble any logical answer. You didn’t really believe in providence, but maybe it didn’t care: The sudden frantic trilling of an alert startled you. Gaze darting up to the TV mounted on the far wall, you saw the familiar face of the anchorman for daily news blaze onto the monitor. When you read the ticker racing across the screen beneath him, your heart stopped, and you nearly dropped your newly minted badge:

SECTOR 6 PLATE COLLAPSES: MASSIVE CASUALTIES REPORTED, ENTIRE SECTOR LOST…EARLY INVESTIGATIONS POINT TO ANTI-SHINRA GROUPS AS LIKELY PERPETRATORS…

No…no, no, no, no– You stumbled backward, only stopping when the wall behind you hit your back. You lived in Sector 6, had since the day you were born. It couldn’t be true–it just couldn’t. As your glassy eyes surveyed the room again, this time the knowledge that these were your neighbors made you feel like you were going to be sick. You should have waded into the chaos, began helping the paramedics and other nurses assess the incoming patients–but you couldn’t. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think. This…this can’t be real…

The sudden, sharp sound of a familiar voice barking your name, a familiar large but firm hand coming to your shoulder jolted you so bad your shoulders nearly hit your ears. It was your mentor, Dr. Blackwood, lead surgeon and director of the hospital. He had kind, keen blue eyes set into his square, weathered face, short dark hair just starting to gray around his temples. His usually pristine white coat was smeared with dirt and blood, his surgical mask pulled down beneath his chin, but he was even-keeled and steadying, as always. His intervention didn’t quite calm you down, but it kept you from losing it completely.

From the way his brows were furrowed, you knew Dr. Blackwood remembered that you were personally affected by this tragedy. “I know you’re just out of school. And this is way too much for you to take on. Why don’t you take the rest of the day–”

It was supposed to be your break, but as you surveyed the horrific sights around you, people in all states of injury, from bruises, cuts, and gashes, to clearly dislocated joints and broken bones, to worse things–you reattached your badge to the pocket of your cobalt blue scrubs–it took you a few tries, your hands were shaking so bad. You cut Dr. Blackwood off before he could finish his suggestion. “–I-I want to help.”

Blackwood said your name with hesitation. “I’m almost certain you’re in shock yourself. This is going to be bad, lots of people are going to be very hurt, and many won’t–”

But you just shook your head, despite the vacant void in your mind. You were no longer sure where your answers were coming from, what part of you had taken over, but it didn’t matter. “I-I just need to call my parents first…then I’ll be back in the OR…” When you began to shuffle toward the front doors, Dr. Blackwood let you go.

As you came within yards of the entrance, fumbling to retrieve your phone with your trembling hands, you blanched when the sliding doors slammed open. You barely darted out of the way in time when two paramedics came racing through with a young man on a gurney, blood soaking his pant leg from a large, nasty gash on his thigh. Wait–the sandy blond hair, the large blue eyes, his crooked nose–

“Brian?” you murmured as the paramedics sailed him across the room and through the double doors. You felt your throat constrict–you’d known him since you were eight. He’d gone to school with you, played with you in Evergreen Park–he always used to push you on the swingset, using all his juvenile strength each time you squealed, “Higher! Higher!” until you were so far from the ground you wondered if you could fly off the seat and sail clean over the wall into Wall Market just down the road. Not that you ever would–your mom had made it clear you were never to go near that dangerous place. The thought of your family jerked you from your shock: you hurried the remaining distance to the entrance doors. When they automatically slid open, you stumbled through–and into an even worse nightmare.

The Hospital of the Phoenix was located topside, on Sector 1: but when you landed on your hands and knees outside the doors, you were on the desecrated asphalt of what could only be the slums of Sector 6–at the entrance to expressway that traversed the sector, still under construction. The fires burning all around you were so hot, the pavement beneath your palms was warm to the touch. The smoke in the air made everything look warped and rippled, further adding to the surreal quality of your surroundings. Large chunks of the expressway’s ceiling had collapsed, leaving gaping, jagged openings in the vault revealing the amber sky overhead, the smoke so thick you couldn’t see the sun. Your eyes immediately began to water, and you coughed as the air made your lungs burn. It was a sea of debris and rubble stretched out in front of you–the only sound you heard was the burning. The scattered metal plates and rods were still glowing molten hot, the ground still occasionally trembling when chunks of the walls crashed to the ground, or piles of rubble collapsed under their own dilapidated weight.

Your vision blurred as the tears gathered in your eyes and your voice fractured. “Mom? Dad?!”

Then you bolted upright–and everything was dark.

Your breathing harsh and ragged in your ears, your gaze flitted wildly around the room: at first, you didn’t know where you were, and you began to panic anew: but as you registered the muffled racket of the town rumbling on outside the window, your duffel bag by the dresser in the murky light, it came back to you–Right. Wall Market… It was just the dream–again. You looked at the digital clock on your bedside table, the mako green display reading 2:04 AM.

Wait–but if you were here, that meant he was too. You gasped as it hit you, head snapping to the bed beside you, face going slack in horror: you must have woken him up with all the–Besides your heaving chest, you went absolutely still.

The sheets were empty–Cloud was gone.

Your eyes darted to the bathroom door, checking to see if there was any light coming from the gap beneath it. But there wasn’t any. Everything was quiet and still, almost unnaturally so, in contrast with the noise and chaos of your nightmare. In the faint light coming in through the closed blinds, you scanned the room, and noticed Cloud’s sword was also nowhere to be found, either. He must have taken it with him–where on Gaia did he have to be at this hour?

But don’t forget–you and I are meeting again tonight. I expect you to give me your best performance. You know I’ll accept nothing less in our little arrangement…

Could he be…? But after everything you’d learned about Cloud tonight, who were you to say? And besides, he was his own person. What he did was his business, right? It’s not like you were his girlfriend, entitled to know what he did on his own time–you weren’t anything to him. But your worry for Cloud meant no matter how much you tossed and turned, you couldn’t fall back asleep. Had he gotten lost? Was he in danger? Was he hurt, and needed you to tend to him? Given that he had his sword, it was unlikely, but still–you cared about him. And because you were in town under a cover story, you and Cloud had decided against taking any PHS devices with you, for fear they would put you at risk of discovery. So you had no way to get in touch with him, either.

The minutes went by agonizing slowly. As you worked to slow your breathing, to clear the adrenaline racing through your system, there was nothing to do but stare up at your own reflection. When you glanced at the clock again, it was nearly 3:30. But when you heard the soft clicking sound of a key entering the lock on the front door, without thinking, you decided to close your eyes and pretend to be asleep. It was cowardly, and you knew it. But in your panic, it seemed like the best option. You weren’t the brave one–Cloud was.

Even with your eyes closed, you heard the distinctive shink sound of Cloud removing his sword, and the small thud as he propped it up against the wall. There was a stretch of silence then, before you heard him quietly pad over to the bathroom. Your eyes popped open in surprise when you heard the muffled sounds of water running behind the door, but then you closed them again. Whatever he’d done, he needed to shower afterward? Your guesses as to what he’d been doing somehow got even worse.

Eventually the sound cut off, and soon you felt Cloud’s weight settle back into the mattress beside you. The scent of his body wash drifted over to you then, still strong from his shower, and it made you ache. Without moving, you opened your eyes just enough to see his back facing you once more, his chest rising and falling slowly and gently, as though he’d never left.

Despite the obvious fact he was keeping something secret from you, you couldn’t help how Cloud’s presence next to you was an immediate balm, making you feel more grounded again. Even his scent from his body wash–Junon Pine, Tifa had told you a few months back, when you’d mentioned how you liked it, the traces of it in the air around him when he brushed past you on his way to the counter in Seventh Heaven–the strong, steady sound of his measured breathing, somehow it all seeped into your skin, your bones, and it dragged your own breathing back down to a normal rate. It also made you wish you could curl up against him, hold onto something–have him hold you.

But the barricade of his back told you what you already knew: I don’t want to work with her, okay? She’s a liability–she’ll just get in my way. Cloud would never be what you wanted him to be–the foot of space between you may as well be the Northern Crater.

So you pulled your gaze away, back up to your murky reflection in the mirror overhead. From the moment you’d walked into Wall Market and left your real life behind, it felt like you were in another world, on another planet all together, with a man who was a total mystery to you. You didn’t know Cloud at all–you didn’t know anything anymore.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

One of the benefits of sleeping in his fatigues was that Cloud didn’t need to re-dress before he slipped out of bed and exited your new apartment: He just had to quietly harness his pauldron, slide into his boots, reach for his sword, and he was ready to go. The digital clock on the nightstand read 12:13 in the mako green numbers on its display–so he had about an hour to kill.

Glancing back at your sleeping form from the doorway for just a moment, he waited until he shut the door to place Hardedge at his back, before he began wandering the streets of Wall Market. Though most sensible people would be in bed by now, Wall Market was the last place sensible people chose to be: the streets were packed, and would be until dawn. When a group of drunk women jostled him as they passed by, Cloud scoffed in disdain–one night in this Odinforsaken town had been enough for a lifetime. Now, who knew how long he’d be stuck here. He silently cursed Barret for insisting he be the one to go on this suicide mission in the first place. Speaking of suicide… He was on his way to see Madam M–to fulfill their deal. But he was taking a long, meandering route to get there, savoring the time to himself–at least, that’s what he’d hoped he was doing.

Cloud kept his head down, his eyes firmly fixed on the dirty cobblestone streets as he weaved through the throngs of revelers eating at the food carts, stumbling in and out of bars and shops. It was all just the same as when he’d been here with Aerith looking for Tifa, as if Wall Market were frozen in time, stuck in a loop, reliving the same party night after night. Cloud should have felt lonely–but this is what he was used to: being on the outside, by himself even when he was surrounded by crowds of people. He liked it that way–or at least, it was better that way.

“–Did you see that drake?! Those bandits never stood a chance!”

A trio of young, clearly drunk men stumbled into Cloud’s path, no doubt on their way from a match at the Colosseum. He had to pivot sharply just in time for them to brush past him without a full-on collision. It forced Cloud to finally look up as he glared after the men–and he finally realized where he was: Cloud was standing in the middle of the main street, facing the hill–staring straight up at Corneo’s mansion. Despite his best efforts to ignore the familiar buildings and landmarks of Wall Market, the moment his eyes locked onto that ghastly, gaudy red eyesore, all the memories Cloud had been staunchly repressing came back to haunt him. He quickly darted away, down another side street–as if running ever solved anything.

Why did it have to be here? It wasn’t just the humiliation and embarrassment of dancing on stage and putting on a dress that plagued him, no: What stung far more was the searing fear he’d felt every waking moment he’d been here–knowing Tifa was locked away in Don Corneo’s mansion, and that if he and Aerith didn’t find some way inside, he might never see her again. He’d known her since childhood, and she was practically like his sister at this point. The idea of losing her…it was unthinkable.

And that had only been the first harrowing episode in what would become a gauntlet of danger, pain, and loss: Once he, Tifa, and Aerith had somehow navigated the sewer systems beneath the slums, he’d watched Aerith disappear before his eyes, snatched away by the childlike ghosts of the Train Graveyard. And even after the three had made it through the derelict maze of machinery, they’d emerged in Sector 7 only to find their friends outgunned and outmanned as they desperately tried to defend the support pillar from destruction. He’d watched Jessie and Biggs both die in front of him, been the one to hear their last words and wishes. He’d only just decided to stick around–and now Sector 7, this new home of his, was taken from him, too. And once they’d learned that Aerith had been captured by Shinra in the chaos, then Cloud had spent the sleepless nights worrying about yet another friend, held in Hojo’s lab, undergoing what kind of treatment, he could only shudder at; Then there had been that brief, agonizing moment, when Sephiroth had run Barret through before his eyes, and he’d felt sick with grief and anguish, utterly helpless, useless–it had only been a miracle performed by the Whispers that had brought his friend back to them; And while they’d managed to rescue Aerith, he’d learn later Wedge had died in the aftermath.

The last few months–last few years–had rocked Cloud to his core, battered him with loss after loss, constantly reminding him that loving people didn’t actually protect them–or protect him from the devastation of losing them: and this was the place where it had all begun to unravel…

“Hello again, Cloud.”

The sound of the voice pulled him from the past, and Cloud realized he’d walked to the plaza outside the Honeybee Inn. The crowds had died down, now that the shows were long over. He looked to the side to find Andrea leaning up against a wall to his left. “Are you here for some more private entertainment?”

Did he mean…a Honeygirl?! “What? N-No, I–!”

When the other man chuckled, Cloud cursed himself for taking the bait. “You know I only tease. But if you were, you’d find no judgment from me.” Then Andrea relented, and Cloud was relieved when he shifted to talk of the business at hand. “Don’t worry, I understand why you’re both here. Your partner is more than beautiful enough for your ruse to work–” Andrea remarked, “and after her debut tonight, I’m sure she’ll do just fine passing off as one of my girls.”

Her debut… Cloud had to stamp out a fresh invasion of the flashes of skin and hair, of red satin and black lace that had been looping in his head. He simply answered, “Thanks for agreeing to help us out.”

“Of course, Cloud–you know I always have an open ear for my friends. And how do you find your new apartment? Is it to your liking?”

Hell no–and thanks for the single bed, by the way. “Yeah. That’s another one I owe you.”

Andrea just waved a hand. “Her performance tonight was more than enough for a down payment.” There was a pause, and Cloud seized the opportunity to turn away–“She must be quite the young woman, for you to bring her here to meet me. I saw you two before the show, in the lobby–I must say, you do look well together.”

Cloud whirled back. “I–that’s not–”

Andrea chuckled. “As eloquent as ever, I see–you had better press your claim on her soon, my boy, before she traps some other man with her honey.”

Wanting to escape more indelicate teasing, Cloud turned to leave again–but then he hesitated. He suddenly remembered how nervous you’d looked when you met him in the lounge, pulling at your dress, fussing with your hair. He remembered the calls and whistles of the men around him as he’d watched you dance, how they’d eyed you from behind their drinks and cigars, and how it had made his insides burn. “I guess I have another favor to ask then–about…” Andrea co*cked his head, showing he was listening. “Just...just keep an eye on her, okay?”

Andrea’s feline eyes widened–apparently Cloud had finally done something he wasn’t expecting. “You won’t be joining her, then?”

Cloud shook his head. After the horror and humiliation of his previous visit to the Honeybee Inn, he was determined never to see the inside of the place again. Tonight had been necessary to get you set up for the mission–but his part in that was over now. Never again. Besides, he’d only get in the way of you trying to find someone who worked for Shinra: seducing unsuspecting businessmen wasn’t exactly a team activity–let alone a coed one.

Andrea studied him for a few moments before he answered evenly, “I would never let anything happen to any of my girls, but, I understand your concern.” Placing a hand to his chest and giving a slight bow, he solemnly said: “I will watch over her, Cloud–you have my word.” Cloud gave a terse nod in thanks, turning to walk away, but when Andrea called his name yet another time, he turned back once again.

“The last time you came to Wall Market and asked for my help,” Andrea began, “you told me you were looking for something–and when you returned, you told me that you found it.” Cloud just stared at him, not sure where he was going with this. “Well, here you are–” he went on, gesturing with one hand to their surroundings, “asking me to help you once more. So I’ll ask you again: what is it that you’re looking for this time?”

Reflexively folding his arms, Cloud’s brow furrowed as he scowled. “I’m not looking for anything.” I’m just trying to get out of here alive.

Andrea just gazed at him. “…All I ask is that you think on it. Good evening, Cloud–I will see you in the morning.”

With that, Cloud headed for the plaza stairs and returned to the main street of Wall Market, Andrea’s question still dancing in his head. Knowing his time was running short now, he finally began to make his way to Madam M–he only hoped he could get this over with quickly, so you wouldn’t wake to find him gone.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

In the crowded atmosphere of the plaza outside the Honeybee Inn, it took you a moment to realize you could no longer hear Cloud’s familiar footsteps beside you.

Tonight was your first official shift as a Honeygirl. Of course, Cloud had been largely silent for the commute, but given how nervous you were, you were too much in your own head to mind for once. That’s why you hadn’t noticed at first, when he suddenly stopped a few paces from the entrance.

“Cloud?” You turned back to find him shifting his weight on his feet, one hand adjusting the sword on his back.

He looked up at your voice, a blank look on his face. After a few seconds, he simply asked, “What?”

“Aren’t you going to come inside?”

Your heart sank when Cloud shook his head. “I’d just get in the way of…what you need to do.”

You swallowed hard. Don’t remind me… You’d have to jump from man to man, schmoozing them enough to determine if they were an employee of Shinra, to see if they were worth trying to extract information from in some way that had not occurred to you yet. But still, you’d sort of hoped Cloud would be there for…moral support? You shouldn’t have been surprised he wouldn’t want to spend hours with you in the Honeybee Inn (since he didn’t want to do that regardless of the setting.) But the rejection still stung.

“Oh…okay. Well, I…I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

“Hey–wait.” When you turned back, he was gazing at you with a hard, serious expression. “I guess it’s time I warn you about Wall Market–what you need to do to look after yourself.” You wanted to say, “isn’t that what you’re here for?” but you didn’t. Besides, there were probably going to be times you two weren’t together–in fact, Cloud seemed to be banking on it, given the advice he was about to give. Shoving down your disappointment, you listened intently to what he said.

“It should be safe enough for you to be by yourself during the day. But if you decide to go out at night, you should never go alone. It’s always safest to stick to the main roads–wandering into back alleys could get you into real trouble. You don’t have to have me with you, but, you really shouldn’t go anywhere at night without at least one other person. And no matter what–you stay away from the Mansion. If anyone tries to take you there, you run. Got it? That goes for the Colosseum, too.”

You could see the intensity in his piercing blue eyes, hear the insistence in his gruff voice. So with equal solemnity, you answered, “Okay–I’ll remember.” He gave you a firm nod, before Cloud turned and disappeared into the crowd. Despite all the people around you, you’d never felt more alone. You squared your shoulders–time to head inside.

After you changed into your uniform, you were seated in front of your vanity, the line of lightbulbs framing the mirror making you glow as you applied your lipstick. “So–where did you say you were from again?” It was Samantha, a fellow newbie. The one who had been all over Cloud when he was sitting at Sam’s booth, running a brush through her lush chocolate brown hair. Did Cloud like brunettes?

“O-Oh, um, I’m from Mideel, actually. I wanted to try and make it in the big city, but well, this was the only place I could get a decent paycheck.”

“Ooooh! That’s so far away!”

“There’s a food cart on the main road that’s run by a guy from Mideel,” another Honeygirl, Louise, chimed in. With her pale skin and jet black hair, you wondered if she had any Wutaian descent. “If you’re ever in the mood for some authentic cuisine.”

“That sounds amazing, thank you!” You were trying your best to not give away how fast your heart was beating.

“What did you do before you got hired here?” Samantha continued.

“I was a nurse.” Truth. “There’s a clinic in Mideel, that’s where I got my training.” Not.

“Oh, wow!” Samantha exclaimed.

You told the other girls you were applying for nursing gigs at a few hospitals up on the plate, in hopes of earning better wages. “But it’s nice to know I’ve got this job in case those don’t work out. Who knows? If I really like it, I might work nights for the extra cash.”

“You must be really smart!” Maya chimed in. “All that schooling…”

“Not to mention all the needles and…bodily fluids…” Louise said with a shudder.

“You get used to it after a while,” you said with a grin.

“So about that guy you came with, the night of your audition–” Samantha said. “Is that your boyfriend? He must be pretty laid back to be okay with…all this,” she finished with a giggle. You noticed a few of the other girls had paused what they were doing at their vanities, watching you in the reflections of their mirrors, clearly interested in your answer.

“O-Oh…” sh*t sh*t sh*t– of all the aspects of your cover story, how had you not thought up a plausible lie to tell about Cloud? You’d sort of assumed he’d actually be around, and that would take care of it. “Well, he’s good friends with Andrea. He was the one who told me about the Honeybee Inn, and talked to Andrea about getting me an audition.” Some of the girls ‘awwwed’ as though hooking you up for a job as a glorified chorus girl was somehow endearing.

“So–not your boyfriend, then?” came Maya’s follow up, not doing a great job hiding the hopefulness in her tone.

“Just…just a friend.” It was clear by the way your eyes fell and your voice wavered that you weren’t too happy with that fact.

“Oh gosh…I’m sorry, sweetie!” Samantha said, placing a hand on your arm. “Well, we’ll just have to find you someone else then!” The other girls vocalized their agreement, one even remarking that you could find a nice doctor topside if you managed to get hired as a nurse somewhere–you knew they were trying to cheer you up, and though it was a hopeless endeavor, you plastered a smile to your face and thanked them all the same. Now finished with your preparations, you stood, adjusting your ruffly collar (don’t think about how ridiculous you look) before you realized once you walked into the main lounge, you had no clue what to do. You asked the girls if there was some sort of procedure you should follow.

“It’s kind of a free for all, except for your regulars,” Louise explained. “Since you’re so new, your best bet is to wait in the lobby or by the entrance to the lounge, and see if any guy checks you out when they walk by. I wouldn’t worry. Just make sure to smile and look interested–they’ll come to you!”

Not exactly a foolproof plan, but, it was all you had to go on. As you opened the door back to the fountain room, you paused in the doorway to ask, “Oh, um…say, do you guys meet a lot of people from Shinra here?” Luckily, preoccupied with their hair and makeup, none of the Honeygirls seemed put off by your question.

Louise, clearly a veteran, was the one who answered. “Quite a few, actually. Shinra employees are the most well-off people in Midgar, so they have the gil to spend. I even heard some of the board members are regulars here! Though I’m not sure who…” Well, that was something. You departed through the fountain room and into the main lounge. Since the first show of the night was going to begin soon, the room was abuzz with excitement as people were ordering their first drinks and taking seats at the booths scattered around the stage. A good time to try and chat up your first…patron.

You parked against the wall until you saw a man in a relatively nice looking suit enter through the doors. He had a long, lanky build, and dark hair that was greying at his temples–and best of all, he was alone. You didn’t want to approach groups of men, at least, not yet, if you could help it. You watched him looking around the room, marveling at the atmosphere, until he finally saw you. When he met your gaze, you flashed him a girlish smile and a wave. He grinned. Sauntering over as best you could in your heels, when you asked him if he wanted to grab a booth with you, he instantly agreed.

Holding your untouched whiskey in one hand, you looked over at the man sitting beside you in the booth. You thought back to how Samantha and the other girls had fawned over Cloud on your first night. Plastering a smile on your face, you scooted over next to him, draped one hand on his upper arm, and began chatting him up. David was his name–a topsider from Sector 2.

“Gosh, one sector over from the Avalanche bombing…” Not exactly pillow talk, but you didn’t have much else to go on.

“The air in sector 2 smelled like smoke for weeks afterward. Shinra really needs to do something about those terrorists!”

This told you two things: 1. You would not be giving David an Avalanche recruitment pamphlet, and 2. He wasn’t a Shinra employee. Damn. But the lights dimmed then, and the show began, so you couldn’t leave. It was Honeyboys and girls at first, until of course, Andrea appeared to headline the show. He’d been merciful by not assigning you any performances your first weekend, but that only gave you a week before you’d be back on stage.

“I saw your show last night,” David suddenly remarked, leaning much too close to whisper in your ear. You shivered, but not out of delight.

“Yeah?”

“You were incredible!” he continued, “Especially what you did with your dress.” You giggled, all the while, desperate for the show to end so you could try to extricate yourself. “Though, there was one thing I didn’t like…” David added.

“Oh?”

You felt his fingers trail down your bare back as he finished, “Still too much clothing.” Your face flushed, but your stomach twisted. “So, what do you say you and me–”

“I, uh, I need to go to the bathroom, sorry!” you exclaimed, bolting upright and quickly exiting the booth, leaving David staring after you, bewildered. After you spent a few minutes in the bathroom catching your breath, you reemerged sometime later to find David still seated at the booth, but now with a different Honeygirl on his arm–that was fine by you.

Another lone man walking past you on the way to the bar in the back of the room caught your eye, and you opened your mouth to call out to him–

“Sorry, sweetheart–you don’t do it for me.”

You shut your mouth. How rude. Fed up with the lounge, you decided to try your luck in the lobby, plopping down on the bright red leather couch across from the reception desk, a stream of people filing past to try and see the show. Eventually, a man sat down next to you, two glasses of wine in hand, offering one to you. He was an older man, with a rotund midsection and balding salt and pepper brown hair, dressed in a white dress shirt and a maroon vest.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here all by yourself?” he asked. I honestly don’t know.

As a self-proclaimed regular, the man (Doug was his name) remarked that he’d never seen you here before. You confirmed that you were new. The longer you chatted, the closer the man got to you on the couch, and you crossed your legs to preserve your modesty (in your skimpy black leotard.)

Your eyes flicked down to the expensive watch gleaming on his wrist. “Well, you must be doing pretty well for yourself to own a watch like that.”

Doug grinned. “I got plenty of gil to make you happy.”

Clearly this glass of wine wasn’t his first, because when he then pulled you to your feet, his balance was shaky. “C’mon, honey, let me take you to one of the suites–I have a VIP card, which means I get to keep you all to myself.”

Before your brain could assemble an excuse, he had led you back to the fountain vestibule and into a room on the far right you’d never seen before: it had a long, luxurious red leather couch on the left side of the hexagonal room, and a long counter stocked with champagne in an ice bucket on the right. While Doug crossed to pour two glasses of champagne, you remained standing.

“I’m not going to stop until I guess what you do for a living!” you remarked coyly.

“Don’t you worry about that, sweetie,” Doug leered from across the room. “I’m gonna take good care of you.”

“Let me guess–a doctor. Or maybe a lawyer. No, wait! I bet you’re some bigshot VP, maybe even for Shinra!”

“Let’s just say Shinra does pay my bills!” he chuckled jovially, and you let out a weak laugh–you weren’t sure what to make of that. You had no choice then but to join him on the plush leather couch. When Doug placed a greasy hand on your thigh, you had to fight to urge to wretch. You knew you needed to appear receptive, flirtatious, but you never had any intention of actually doing anything with any of these men.

“Wh-What’s it like? Inside the Shinra Building?” you stammered as he fingered the ribbon tied around your thigh.

“What’s the matter with you, sweetheart? You nervous? It’s okay that you’re new–I don’t mind playing teacher.”

But your mind was drawing a blank, too overwhelmed by nerves to come up with a response. His wine-laden breath ghosting over your ear, hand sliding up your leg, your breathing hitched as Doug moved ever close to you. Your mind suddenly thought of Cloud–what good would that do you?

You bolted up from the couch. “What the–!” Doug nearly spilled his champagne when you pulled away.

“I-I just remembered–” you said, scrambling, “I have to perform on stage tonight, I’m probably already late!”

“You’re not getting away that easy,” Doug leered. “Private engagements always come before public appearances–I know the rules here, honey. I know…why don’t you give me a show?”

“O-Oh, no, I–”

“Look, you can even keep your outfit on for it–at least for a little while!” he added. “And the fun doesn’t have to end here, baby–I own a used car dealership topside, best vehicles Shinra’s got–” Then he laughed. “Not that they know I’ve got ‘em! I can take you for a ride, any car you want–drive around you ‘round town, show you off–what do you say?”

So, a counterfeit car salesman-not with Shinra after all. Dammit! “A-Actually, I don’t do anything like that–”

Finally, Doug seemed to catch on that something was wrong. His eyes narrowed, and he rose up and began walking toward you slowly. “Even for a newbee, you’re a bit slow. You’re a Honeygirl–you do do that, if that’s what I want.” You felt the doorknob dig into your back when you finally backed into the wall, and quickly yanked it open, spouting excuses.

“Crazy bitch!” you heard Doug swear behind you as you slammed the door shut and raced back to the dressing room across the fountain.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, you saw that you still had about an hour left in this dreadful shift before you could go home. If only you could hide in the bathroom until then…You suddenly felt the ghost of the man’s hand on your thigh, and you shivered. It turned out you were woefully unprepared and totally unsuited for what this mission required of you–you’d have to harden your resolve, get better at asking questions, and above all, learn to control your nausea and anxiety. Because you weren’t a Honeygirl, anything but–there was only one man whose attention you wanted. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly very homesick for your own apartment, your own bed–even though Cloud wasn’t in it. How were you going to pretend to be something you never were, and never could be?

What the hell was Barret thinking?

The next hour went by agonizingly slowly. Luckily for you though, you’d found a man who was happy enough to simply watch the evening’s final show beside you while downing shots–until his PHS went off, and he had to lie to his wife that the loud atmosphere was because he was at the train station, before quickly excusing himself and heading home.

When you finally changed out of your Honeygirl uniform and stepped back out into the plaza a free woman, you’d never been so happy to see the grimy, run down atmosphere of Wall Market. All that glitters… But you’d only taken one step into the plaza when you froze as a flash in the shifting bodies of the crowd caught your eye. Was that–?

It was Cloud, grumpily muscling his way through the mob of people filing out of the Honeybee Inn after the final show. When he finally broke through and stood in front of you, you blinked a few times in some mix of astonishment and confusion. “Cloud? What are you doing here?”

He took a moment to answer, his eyes dropping to your feet before traveling your form up to your eyes, as if scanning you for injuries, which only bewildered you even further. “The streets are dangerous at night.” With that, he turned and headed for the stairs back up to the main road. When you didn’t move to follow him, he looked back, staring at you expectantly. He was…he was walking you home?

Wall Market was still so new to you, that you relied on Cloud completely to navigate the confusing, cramped streets. He would slow down at each intersection, checking at each step to make sure you were still beside him as he led you both back to the apartment.

“Any luck?” It had been quiet for so long, you jolted when Cloud finally spoke.

“…No.”

Then it was silent again. He didn’t ask how it went–and even if he had, you weren’t sure what you would have said. Part of you still wanted him to.

When he held the front door open and let you enter the apartment, you dashed to your duffel bag for your pajamas, eager to wash the Honeybee Inn off of you and crawl into bed. But just as you approached the bathroom door, you nearly ran into Cloud, also reaching for the handle.

“Oh!”
“Uh…”

He took a step back, and so did you, the hand he’d reached for the knob with now carding through his hair while you both stood there dumbly. It was only now, in the improved lighting, that you noticed Cloud was covered in a sheen of perspiration that made his arms and forehead glisten (down, girl). But, what had he been doing? Had he been with…?

“It’s okay, you can–”
“I’ll go after–”

You both cut off again. After clearing his throat (gods, could this get any worse?) he said, “It’s cool. You go first.”

You thanked him, ducking inside before closing the door behind you and turning on the shower. When you reached for your shampoo, your hand froze when you saw his bottle of Junon Pine on the shelf beside it, and your cheeks suddenly flushed hotter than the scalding shower stream–gods, if he ever found out…But you shook your head to clear the mortifying thought, instead focusing on trying to scrub the cigar smoke smell from your hair. It felt so wonderful to step beneath the warm water–you hadn’t actually gotten dirty, but…you felt dirty, somehow. Grimy. And it wasn’t just because of all the men who’d leaned in too close, or put their arm around you, or played with your headband, or grabbed your legs. It was the deception, too, the lying: not just to the men, but to the Honeygirls, too. No matter how nice the other girls were, your entire relationship with them was based on lies. You could never relax, never let your guard down around them. They could never be your friends, never help you shoulder the burden of your deception. And the men…

But what made you feel the worst was that you had to bring all these unsuspecting men onto yourself: you had to reel them in, then turn them away. It didn’t sit right with you. It wasn’t fair. You’d never been one to lead people on, to use people. You knew it was for a good cause, to try and fight back against Shinra, but on a personal level, it all made you feel unclean, shameful.

When you were finally tucked up in bed, facing the wall, you heard the water shut off from behind the bathroom door, and felt the weight of Cloud settling into bed beside you. You heard him reach for the lamp, and then the lights went out. Unable to help yourself, you peeked over your shoulder–all you saw was his back and his spiky blond hair.

Correction: now you’d never felt more alone.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Two more weeks passed just like the first: each night Cloud would walk you to the Honeybee Inn to begin another dismal shift, where you would dance a show or two before mingling in the lounge, finding no one even loosely affiliated with Shinra (besides a guy who falsely claimed Shinra knew he was selling their weapons in his junk shop), before stumbling back out into the plaza with a headache from the cigar smoke when you were finally off the clock. And–to your eternal confusion–Cloud was always waiting out in the plaza, there to walk you home after each and every shift. It was his job, you figured. He never asked about what you did in the Honeybee Inn, and you never told him.

That wasn’t the only bewildering thing Cloud had kept up: He still left in the middle of the night at least three or four times a week, usually showering upon his return hours later, never bringing it up in conversation. You agonized constantly over asking him what he was doing, but even in the oceans of silence between you, you never found that right moment–or, more accurately, you were never brave enough to make it the right moment. This was the uneasy rhythm your life had fallen into here so far. Now, it was Friday night–you hated Fridays the most. Fridays you were scheduled to perform in the first show–but it wasn’t exactly a normal performance.

You were crouched on your hands and knees, your Honeygirl wings digging into your back in the cramped space you were crammed into. It was completely dark, with only the muffled noise of the blaring music and cheering crowd outside. Then you heard the familiar swell of the music–that was your cue.

You surged to your feet, pushing up at the ceiling until it gave way, and you were blinded by the bright lights of the stage, nearly deafened by the sounds of the raving crowd–and coated in a layer of yellow frosting: Because on Fridays, you started your shows by popping out of an obscenely large, flower shaped, three tier cake. Then Marcus and Ben, the two Honeyboys who had wheeled out your cake, each offered you a hand, and helped you step out of the monstrous pastry to join the show. Since Cloud was also often gone for long stretches during the days (and no, he didn’t tell you what he was doing then, either), you had plenty of time alone to practice your routines. You were no Andrea, but you could at least keep the beat and smile at the same time, now.

After you struck your final pose and took a moment to bask in the applause with the rest of the Honeyboys and girls, then all of you descended to the lounge area to begin entertaining patrons for the evening. As you walked through the booths toward the employee bathrooms to clean yourself off, you heard the appreciative calls and whistles of the men in the booths you passed.

“Hey, why don’t you come over here and give me some of that sugar, baby?” A blond haired man in a leather jacket remarked as you walked past his booth, whom you duly ignored. But you gasped at the sudden sharp sting when he swatted your ass, causing you to stumble forward, tottering on your heels. As he and his friends laughed, you simply continued hurrying to the bathroom, trying not to let it upset you. When you looked up, you saw Louise at a nearby booth. Her sympathetic shrug said: just part of the job.

Once you’d spent as much time as you could cleaning yourself off at the sink, you went back into the lounge to resume your mission. When you saw a group of four guys attended by three Honeygirls, all taking turns doing shots, you slid into the end of the booth and began chatting up the man next to you. Though he was pleasant enough, he was a plumber: a noble profession to be sure–which meant he wasn’t worth your time.

You decided after a while to slip away, and headed over to the bar in the far corner of the room, near the staircase Madam M had used during her grand entrance the night of your audition. The bartender (Ronan, you remembered), already knew what your drink was by now, and began mixing it before you even had a chance to slide into one of the bar stools. You looked up at the clock on the wall: about 90 minutes, and then you’d get to go home. If you were lucky (or unlucky), you’d have time to chat up two, maybe three more men.

“Not every day you see a girl order herself a drink like that.”

You turned to see a man–early thirties, maybe?–in slacks and a blue dress shirt, the sleeves loosely rolled up to his elbows, his brown hair slicked into a neat undercut.

You grinned. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Really? And what might those be?” He slid into the stool next to yours, and told the bartender he’d have what you were having. This was the first man who’d actually sort of tried to flirt with you, rather than just proposition you.

“I can’t give them all away now, can I?” Then you had an idea. “How about we trade–you start by telling me your name.” It was Ethan. Then he asked for yours.

“You got a boyfriend, sweetheart?”

Only the worst kept secret in Midgar. “Nope."

You opened your mouth to ask another question, but he beat you to it. “So, tell me–you get off on popping out of cakes?”

You grinned as Cloud’s wry voice echoed in your head. “I’m just here for the paycheck,” you replied. Ethan watched as you took a sip from your drink, eyes fixed on your lips. It made you flush, in spite of yourself. Was it possible you were actually enjoying this a little bit? Focus. You have a real job to do. “So you know what my profession is–” you pivoted. “What about you? What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an accountant.” You considered this. Shinra probably employed dozens of accountants. It wasn’t enough for you to determine if he was a viable target yet.

“Do you get off on popping out of cakes?” you shot back teasingly.

“I do have a bit of a sweet tooth…” Suddenly, he reached a hand toward you. Dragging a finger across your forearm, you realized you must have missed a bit of frosting, which Ethan made a show of bringing to his mouth to lick off his finger, eyes never breaking from yours. Heat flooded your face.

Before you knew it, he was leaning in, and you tasted the faint flavor of the frosting as he kissed you. You froze, eyes wide as saucers. However mildly you were enjoying the flirting, his lips felt…wrong.

When Ethan pulled away, you felt strangely lightheaded from the shock, but managed to smile. “N-Not bad–for a Shinra accountant,” you teased.

“Huh?” It took Ethan a moment to pull his eyes from your lips. “I never said I worked for Shinra.”

“Didn’t you?” It had been a calculated risk–but by slipping that in there, you’d gotten him to definitively give you an answer.

“No. I work for the city.”

“Sorry–guess I was a bit distracted,” you remarked, flicking your eyes down to his lips. Then, over his shoulder, you looked up to the clock–still an hour to go. But then Ethan was kissing you again, his movements sloppy, tasting of a strange mix of whiskey and frosting. Then he was pulling you to your feet off the barstool, hands dragging up and down your bare back. It was mortifying, being manhandled here in a public place. You tried to pull away, but he didn’t let you go far.

“My-um–my shift is going to be over soon...” you said lamely, trying to lay the groundwork for your escape.

But Ethan wasn’t having it. “I’ll pay you overtime.”

“I need to get going–”

“You get off on playing hard to get?” he breathed, his hand sliding down to grip your ass.

“What? No, I–” He was clearly wearing some sort of expensive cologne, but it smelled foul to you, acidic, overwhelming. You tried to push him away, but it seemed to only rile him more.

“–Because it’s getting me off.”

“Ethan–”

“–I’m gonna be the best thing you’ve ever tasted, sweetheart–”

With a shove, you managed to separate from him. Your lipstick was smeared around his lips–you could only imagine how embarrassing you looked. “Actually Ethan, it’s been nice, but, I just want to head home.” But as you tried to turn, you felt a firm hand lock around your wrist.

“You’re kidding.” When you looked back, that playful glint in his eyes was starting to harden into anger. “I said I’d pay you. Is that what this is? You want more money?”

“What? No, of course–”

With a yank of your wrist, he had his mouth on yours again.

“–Excuse me, sir.”

It was Andrea, standing with his arms folded, giving Ethan a dark look. “I believe the young lady has indicated she doesn’t want to continue.”

“This has got to be a f*cking joke,” Ethan sneered, the last remnants of his charm completely gone.

“I suggest you find a more willing partner, or leave the establishment.”

“What kind of Honeygirl doesn’t put out?!” Ethan exclaimed indignantly. But Andrea just kept glaring at him. “Whatever.” Without paying his tab, he took a step toward the exit. But then, after a moment’s hesitation, Ethan rounded back on you. “You’re a f*cking tease.” Then he stormed out.

As your eyes began to well with tears, you jolted when you felt Andrea taking you by the shoulders and guiding you through to the changing room, which thankfully, was unoccupied. You sank into your chair, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “I’m so sorry I caused a scene, Mr. Rhodea, th-that was so unprofessional of me…”

You looked up when Andrea pulled up one of the other vanity chairs to sit beside you. “Don’t trouble yourself about that. Are you alright, my dear?” You tried to nod, but the tears welling in your eyes betrayed you. “I know all this must be a lot to adjust to.”

“I-I don’t want to hurt your reputation…” you murmured.

“My dear, you are sweet,” he answered fondly, taking one of your hands in his. “You don’t have to stay on here, if you don’t want to. I would completely understand. But you must decide if you can handle this.” It would damage his business if his girls got a reputation for turning men down, all because of you. Andrea was trying to do you a favor–you couldn’t do that to him. But could you do this to yourself? “Go home and get some rest,” Andrea said, his voice gentle and soothing.

“B-But my shift–”

Andrea shook his head. “You’ve worked long enough for today. You aren’t scheduled to perform for the rest of the weekend–it will ease some of the pressure. Tomorrow will be a new day. And if there’s anything I can do to help you, do let me know.”

When you stumbled back through the front door to your apartment, Cloud was nowhere to be found–even his sword was missing. Thank Shiva…

After Andrea let you get off work early, you hadn’t even changed out of your uniform, instead choosing to rip off your wings, collar, and thorax before throwing your coat on and heading home in your leotard. Judging by the sideways looks you got on the street, your smeared, tear soaked makeup must have made you look rough–but that was the last thing you cared about. Besides wiping your lipstick off with a tissue, you couldn’t wait a moment longer to curl up in the armchair in the corner and have a good cry.

You’re a f*cking tease. You brought your knees to your chest. The worst part was that he wasn’t even completely wrong. You were supposed to be a Honeygirl–it was supposed to be your job. Why had you thought you could handle this? You felt so gross, so uneasy in your own skin. For once, you were glad Cloud wasn’t here, to see you like this—he was averse to strong displays of emotion in general, and given how little he wanted to be involved in (or even informed of) how your mission was going, you were sure this one wouldn’t be well received. He wasn’t a mean person, no–but he would just shut down, or accidentally say something that would sting, rather than soothe.

Maybe that was part of why this was so hard–you didn’t have anyone to confide in. Your coworkers were nice, and could understand dealing with unpleasant interactions with the clientele, but this was supposed to be your job, after all–why would you be doing it if you didn’t want to? And without PHS devices, you had no way to call Aerith or Tifa, the two people in the world you could tell anything. Despite being your teammate, your supposed partner and confidant, the last person you could talk to was Cloud. So for these last weeks, you never had a moment to just get it out: you were constantly shoving things down, pushing through them, pretending, pretending, pretending: pretending you were a Honeygirl, pretending you weren’t Avalanche–pretending you didn’t care about Cloud so much it hurt, and that it didn’t hurt you that he didn’t care.

But as the tears finally flowed freely down your face, it was clear Ethan was just the final straw, the one thing on top of the pile that made it too heavy to bear. It had been weeks of this, of flirting and teasing, then backpedaling and rejecting, facing at best confused or disappointed looks, maybe some insults and at worst…well. Ethan. That was after that guy had smacked your butt, after Doug had cornered you the week before. Your eyes squeezed shut. You’re a f*cking tease.

Feeling nauseous, you wrapped your arms around yourself. You had no idea how long you sat there, letting the weeks’ worth of tears finally pour out of you. The lying, the pretending, the fear that maybe one time, it would go too far–that you were in way over your head…

Then the door opened.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

You couldn’t tell who looked more stunned–you, or Cloud.

He barged into the apartment, scanning the room before he finally turned and noticed you curled up in the armchair in the corner. His eyes were bright, and his chest was rising and falling heavily–had he been running somewhere? As his eyes danced over you–no doubt logging your smudged makeup, unkempt hair, and puffy eyes–that stricken look didn’t change.

Time to pull it together... “Oh, um, h-hey, Cloud…” You sat up and began furiously wiping at your eyes, noticing the dark mascara streaks that came away on the back of your hand. You did your best to keep your voice even, but didn’t quite succeed.

“Andrea said you went home early.” So he’d gone to the Honeybee Inn?

You scrambled for an excuse, but your brain was muddled from all the emotion. “Y-Yeah, I wasn’t feeling well, so I–”

Cloud cut you off when he said your name, blunt and hard. “–What happened?”

You looked up at him, blinking hard through your tears. Andrea must have told him you’d had a problem at work. “Nothing. I-It’s nothing. It’s fine, Cloud, I–” Gods, did you really want to relive the night’s events? The memory of the taste of Ethan’s mouth on yours suddenly made you shudder, and your eyes crimped shut. You heard Cloud let out a small, strained grunt. “I’m just…I’m just getting used to the job. I know you don’t want to hear it–”

The sound of footsteps made you open your eyes. You watched Cloud remove Hardedge to prop it up against the wall beside the dresser. Then he crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge, directly facing you still curled up in the armchair. He was silent, but his intense, expectant stare got the message across: I wanna hear it.

You tried to explain as briefly, as obtusely as possible, barely meeting his eyes as you spoke. You recounted your emotions over the last two and a half weeks, your inexperience, your unease. But then it started spilling out of you, and you shifted to what was actually going on, what was really upsetting you: How nearly every shift had inevitably resulted in your extreme discomfort as you approached various men, had to let them close to you, touch you, whisper things in your ear that made you shudder. It had never gone too far, but that wasn’t due to their lack of trying. Cloud was sitting stiff as a board, glaring sidelong at the floor–but he listened. When you told him about Doug cornering you, he shifted uncomfortably, and there was visible tension knotted in his shoulders. When you mentioned the guy swatting you after your show, his face contorted in a grimace, a snarl. And when you finally recounted the episode with Ethan, the sudden movement of Cloud’s hand clenching into a fist caught your eye, and he let out a soft hiss under his breath–but he stayed silent, and listened. You’d somehow managed to keep your composure through your speech, until you reached the end.

“H-He started kissing and…grabbing me again, and then Andrea came over and told the guy to leave. But he, he didn’t want to, at first. Said he’d never seen a Honeygirl who wouldn’t put out.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry– “When he left, he–he said I was a tease…” You couldn’t help how your voice faltered. “Th-Then Andrea took me back to the dressing room and told me I could go home. He said I need to decide if I can really handle this.” Cloud had his elbows on his knees, scowling at the floor between his feet. He didn’t react, but you could feel the agitation, the tension, radiating off him.

“I-I don’t completely blame them,” you murmured. But you were lost in your head, almost speaking to yourself more than for anyone else. “I’m supposed to…to…put out. It’s been two weeks, and I’m already–I’m so pathetic…” As you stared down at your lap, from the corner of your eye you saw Cloud sit up. “Am I…am I a tease?”

“No.”

You blinked. Cloud was gazing at you intently now. “It’s not your fault. You’re in an impossible situation. This would be hard on anyone. You’re too–” Bahamut below, what was he about to say? “You’re doing the best you can.”

You suddenly felt horribly embarrassed. “Gods, I’m sorry, this is stupid…”

“That’s not true.” You just watched him silently, almost too stunned by his words to absorb them.

“Do you think you can do this?” he asked, quiet but firm.

You considered your words carefully. “I know how important this is, to Barret, and Tifa, and everyone. I don’t want to let them down. But–” You heard Cloud let out another soft grunt when your arms came to wrap around your middle. “I didn’t think it would be this hard…” His head ducked to the side, a deep scowl on his face–it seemed he found it hard to confront your displays of emotion or distress. Why in the name of the Planet had you let him see you like this?

There was another stretch of silence, then–but it was Cloud who finally breached it. “…What do you need?”

“Huh?”

He was looking right at you, his voice even and firm. It grounded you, somehow. He grounded you. “If you want to keep going–what do you need?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it: You.

“Would it help, if…if I was there? To look out for you.” His voice was soft, rumbly, his eyes on the floor.

You sniffled, and it brought his gaze back to you. You nodded weakly. He was silent for a few moments, studying your eyes. Then he nodded back. “Okay.” Cloud rose to his feet–guess the talk was over. He was heading for the bathroom, no doubt to get ready for bed–it was well past 1:00 now.

“I…I didn’t know.” You startled at the sound of his voice, hard and quiet. He was looking back over his shoulder, eyes fixed on the ground where he stood in the doorway. “Didn’t know you were–” But then, firm and earnest, he finished, “I’m gonna make sure you’re okay.”

Then Cloud disappeared behind the bathroom door, leaving you with the emotions–some bad, but some not so bad now, too–jumbled up in your head.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

“Cloud, my boy–may I have a word?”

Cloud reluctantly pulled his gaze from where you were seated across the main lounge of the Honeybee Inn, between two men drunkenly encouraging you to take a shot of the same green liquid they were drinking. He didn’t attempt to relax the scowl that cut his face when he turned to Andrea. “What?”

“It seems something is…troubling you.”

Cloud glared in your direction. “You said you’d take care of her–but every time I come here, she has guys all over her!”

Andrea folded his arms. “Cloud, entertaining admirers is what it means to be a Honeygirl,” he replied evenly. “Is that not the enterprise of your mission here?”

“But she’s not a Honeygirl!” Cloud shot back.

“I must say, Cloud–while your gallantry does you credit, your…supervision, well, it’s beginning to put off the guests. This is making your partner’s job more difficult to perform, not to mention my own.” Cloud glared down at the floor–he didn’t like the idea of you performing at all–but the realization that Andrea may be right stung. “I have a suggestion that might put you both at ease–if you’d be amenable,” Andrea said.

Cloud looked over at you, clearly uncomfortable (at least, to anyone who knew you), but doing your best to appear receptive as the show on stage began. Then one of your admirers put an arm around your shoulders. The man’s hand quickly slid down beneath the booth, where Cloud couldn’t see where it went–or what it was doing. Oh, he was amenable–because this was intolerable.

“Am I doing something wrong?”

You looked up at your employer from your place on the red leather couch as he lazily paced the room in one of the Honeybee Inn’s private suites, your brows pinched in concern.

“Quite the opposite, my dear–” Andrea replied smoothly. “Given how remarkable you are on stage, you’re quickly becoming the new darling of the Honeybee Inn. They’re falling at your feet–you really should consider staying on, once your mission is complete.”

“Get on with what you wanted to tell us.” You looked over to see a searing look in Cloud’s storm blue eyes as he glowered at the floor.

What was going on with him tonight? When Andrea had extracted you from the two men you’d sat with to watch the evening’s show and escorted you to one of the private suites, Cloud had already been waiting inside, pacing back and forth. He’d barely even acknowledged your presence even after you both sat down, he was so on-edge.

“Cloud here is…concerned for your well-being as you fulfill your mission here,” Andrea began. You looked over at Cloud for some sort of explanation. His eyes refused to leave the floor. “While I have no objection to him accompanying you to the Honeybee Inn to support you,” Andrea continued, “his conduct has started to…unsettle the clientele. This is not only detrimental to your own mission, but to my business.”

You were shocked at first–but then, the more you thought it over, you could see Andrea was right: Since he’d agreed just over a week ago to discreetly keep an eye on you during your work shifts, Cloud hadn’t been, well, discreet. Whether he was seated at a booth by himself while you worked the lounge, or leaning up against the wall as you chatted men up in the lobby, his eyes never left you, even on the few occasions he ordered a drink to sip on. For some of the more astute men, that alone was enough to sufficiently weird them out, have them making their excuses.

And even after you’d determined a man wasn’t a Shinra employee (or was just a run-of-the-mill creep), most times, you often didn’t even have to shoot Cloud a pleading look before he was storming over at even the barest indication of your distress: Sometimes, he did it so prematurely, you didn’t even get the chance to find out if the target was viable or not. Cloud usually started with clearing his throat to get the target’s attention, boring into them with a cold stare. Many times that was enough for the guy to get the hint. But there were always a few instances where the men would show resistance. Those exchanges usually went something like this:

“What are you, her boyfriend or somethin’?”

“I’m the guy who’s gonna beat your ass if you don’t move along.”

They always moved along after that.

Andrea went on, “So, I think I have a solution which will at once help me, and the two of you in your objective.” Returning to the present, you looked up at Andrea again, while Cloud continued glaring at the carpet. “I propose that Cloud continue to frequent the Honeybee Inn in order to monitor you, as per both your wishes–but that he do so under the guise of one of your, ahem, private patrons.”

“W-What?” you stammered. Cloud let out what you could only describe as a hiss, like he’d been stung.

“There’s no need to be so scandalized, you two!” Andrea chuckled, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “Come now, it would remedy the situation, would it not?”

“She’s here for someone from Shinra–how does this help with that?!” Cloud shot back. You briefly looked over at him to find a deep red flush staining his cheeks–though you were certain your own complexion was faring no better.

“Because, Cloud–you are one of the most well-known, celebrated people in Wall Market. You’re the reigning champion of the Colosseum! After myself and the other members of the Trio, there are few here in Wall Market with a higher profile.”

“You’re saying that–” you chimed in, “if it looked like someone as famous as Cloud Strife was one of my, um, clients,” the word making your cheeks burn molten hot, “it would raise my status in town, too.”

“Precisely, my dear–and what’s more, it would give you pretense to decrease the number of men you spend time with. If people knew you were limited to private bookings with only the most select men in Wall Market, it would make the fact that you entertain fewer patrons a sign of your popularity, rather than the reverse. And, should any executives from Shinra come through my doors–” he continued, “well, I’m sure they’ll be asking me to point them in the direction of the most exclusive, highly sought after talent in my employ–not to mention having such a celebrity as the Corneo Cup Champion a known guest at the Honeybee Inn would certainly be a boon to my business.”

It took all your courage to look over at Cloud. You’d noticed he was still painfully silent. But, you thought the plan made sense–and it would alleviate much of the pressure you were under. “Well, Cloud?” Your voice came out more timid than you meant it to. “What do you think?”

He was quiet for a handful of heartbeats, eyes studying you as he considered. Your cheeks flushed under his scrutiny. Then, at last: “I guess it would make the mission easier.” Not exactly a ringing endorsem*nt, you thought.

“Excellent!” Andrea said, that teasing glint still in his eyes. “My dear, why don’t you go back and finish your shift for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll have a suite reserved just for you and your, ahem, your patron, here,” Andrea went on, secretly enjoying the way you two couldn’t look at each other as he spoke. “You should still split your time between the public lounges as well as the private suite, though–you two will need to be seen together openly for word to get out about your new liaison. And of course, your performance schedule on stage has not changed. Maybe we could even have a night where you and Cloud dance on stage together…” Andrea’s eyes gleamed the idea. You knew he’d follow through on that offer, if you let him. You both looked up at him, your eyes wide and bashful–Cloud’s full of murderous intent.

“Anyway–you will be needing this, then.” Andrea extended his hand to Cloud, offering him something thin and glossy black.

“What is it?”

“Your VIP card, of course–we must keep everything above board,” Andrea finished with a playful wink. “Now that it’s been settled, I’ve a show to perform–I bid you goodnight.” Then Andrea left the two of you alone to come to terms with your new arrangement.

“Cloud…are you–are you sure about this?” you asked gently. “You really don’t have to do this. I would never want you to do anything that made you uncomfortable. I’m fine, honest.” There was another stretch of silence as he searched your eyes. What would you do if he changed his mind? Your heart was racing.

“…It’s fine. I’d feel better staying close to you. The plan does make sense.”

You both looked away then, thanking him with your eyes on the floor. For the second time, you were asking yourself: what in the name of Shiva had you just agreed to?

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Even though it was well past midnight, the streets of Wall Market were packed as Cloud wove his way through them. What he wouldn’t give to be back in the apartment, passed out under the covers–like you. As was the case every time he went out at this Odinforsaken hour of the night, he was on his way to see Madam M–to fulfill their deal.

But not to her parlor: wading through the crowds that clogged the main street, Cloud ducked inside the gilded entrance to the Corneo Colosseum.

Once he’d taken the elevator down to the competitor’s floor, Cloud opened the door to the fighters’ waiting room to find Madam M curled up in one of the metal folding chairs around the table. Oceans of fabric unfurled around her as she rose, opening her fan with a flick of her wrist.

“Ah–and here is my champion!” she purred in lieu of a greeting.

“We made a deal,” was the gruff answer he gave.

“So we did. You’ve been doing well, but you still need to win me another 50,000 to pay for the two pieces I gave your friend,” she reminded him.

“Won’t be a problem.”

She giggled at his terse bravado. “I thought I got the better end of the bargain at first–” Madam M mused, “but after seeing the look on your face when she performed in it, I’m starting to think I should have asked for a higher amount–you two really are adorable.”

Cloud let out a strangled grunt, which only made Madam M even more pleased with herself. “It’s as much a gift for you as it is for her, you know. Though, if she does give you an encore,” she purred, “I suggest you do the unwrapping next time–it’s much more fun that way.” Images of all that red satin and black lace flashed in his mind. How easy it would be to pull apart that flimsy bow and–

He turned his back to her, his head ducking to the side to hide his flushed face. “You’ll get your gil, alright?!”

Finally, Cloud heard Madam M make her way to the open doorway. “And do let me know if she needs anything else! There’s talk there might be another Corneo Cup soon–if you want to put her in something even more stunning.” With that, Madam M bid him good luck, and disappeared down the hallway.

Once the door shut behind her, Cloud let his shoulders relax. He made his way to the blue bench at the back wall to rest up for the fights ahead–but without really meaning to, his thoughts drifted to you. He remembered how you looked when he’d turned back to gaze at you from the doorway tonight, curled up in bed, the serene expression on your sleeping face, hair fanned out around you. As he did every night, Cloud would do everything he could to make sure the matches ended quickly, so he would be back in bed well before you woke up.

Why don’t you just tell her? He considered the idea for what must have been the hundredth time–but Cloud had his reasons. And besides, you were always soundly sleeping when Cloud crept back into the apartment–you probably didn’t have a clue he was leaving. Why would you? He hadn’t told you the dress had come with any strings attached. Had come with a satin belt…

He shook his head to clear the invading thought. Rising up and reslotting Hardedge on his back, Cloud made his way down the hallway to the greeter standing in front of gates to the ring. And when the doors opened to the bright lights and screaming crowds, Cloud felt his brain shut off, the sweet oblivion of mindless combat quieting his troubled thoughts. The world of co*cktails and cigar smoke, of fishnet stockings and stage lights, that wasn’t his world–this was where Cloud was the star of the show.

Cloud was seriously starting to feel a bit stir crazy: He was backtracking to the apartment–he’d swept all his matches, of course. He reckoned he had about a week’s worth of servitude remaining, maybe two, then his debt to Madam M would be cleared. But unusually for the friendly neighborhood merc, gil was the last thing on his mind.

Cloud had disparaged Wall Market and the people in it for being seemingly trapped in suspended animation: but now, he felt like the one stuck in a time loop, the one reliving the same night over and over. How many times had he walked this route now? Dozens, if not more. And each night, he did his best to keep his head down, to ignore his surroundings, as though he could outrun the painful memories, each time with the hollow hope that it would be easier, this time.

It never got easier.

As was the case every time he made this stupid trip, Cloud was drowning in the sentiment he’d felt the very first time he’d left you in bed and wandered the winding streets, passed the buildings and landmarks that served as monuments to bad memories. The last few months–last few years–had rocked Cloud to his core, battered him with loss after loss, constantly reminding him that loving people didn’t actually protect them–or protect you from the devastation of losing them. That was the lesson Cloud had learned the last time he’d come to Wall Market; the lesson he’d learned when he’d fought his way up the pillar, looked his friends in the eyes as the lights in them went out; when he’d awoken under a pile of rubble, lost in every way; when some friends had been stolen from him, and some had come back from the Shinra Building, while others never would again–the lesson he’d learned as a sixteen year old boy, choking on the ashes of the only home he’d ever known. His grief was always just below the surface, his fear never far away. He’d already been hurt, already lost so much.

So when he, Tifa, and Barret had pieced together ramshackle lives in Sector 3 after rescuing Aerith, and you came into his world–apparently an old friend of Aerith, Tifa, and the friends he’d lost–it was just too much for Cloud to take. Even though he felt endlessly fascinated by you, intensely drawn to you, he wanted nothing more than to stamp it out, ignore it, just not deal with it, and hope it–and you–would leave him in peace. Even from that first meeting, when that song was playing–when he’d been entranced by you in a way he’d never been by anyone else before–he saw it as just another risk, another person to get attached to that would be torn away, just as so much had already been ripped from him. I can’t–not again.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t burn for you.

So his solution was to close the gates, guard his heart at all costs, and push everyone away besides the few friends he’d managed to hang on to. It wasn’t good to be alone–but it was better than being hurt, in Cloud’s eyes. That was what he told himself when he heard your laugh, when he looked into your eyes, in the moments when it was hard just to be near you. Cloud’s eyes crimped his shut, and he shook his head to get his grip, desperate to stop himself from getting buried in the ashes and rubble in his mind.

That was why he was keeping all his activities from you: absolute silence, untraversable distance, that was the safest option. In his defense, there were practical reasons for it: he knew just how dangerous Wall Market was, and how the Colosseum greased the wheels of the corruption that fueled it–the less you knew, the less involved you were, the better. And in addition to its physical proximity to Don Corneo’s horrid–and horridly gaudy–mansion, the Corneo Colosseum was for its namesake: it was crawling with his thugs, and above all, the Trio. It would be easy for someone to pick you out of the crowd and drag you up to the Mansion as a prospective ‘bride’–and that was the one thing Cloud would not allow, no matter what.

But that was only a noble excuse as best, and he knew it–the more Cloud shared with you, the more your lives here became intertwined, it would only be harder for Cloud to keep his distance from you. This was strictly business between you, your forced pairing a necessary part of completing the mission. If it didn’t involve your work at the Honeybee Inn, you didn’t need to know. Cloud was just supporting your part of the mission from behind the scenes, rather than center stage–he preferred it that way, anyway. No chance in hell Cloud was going to let that change–even though earlier that night, Andrea had proposed a…change in your working relationship, which, in a moment of weakness–brought on by your vulnerable expression, the wide look in your pretty eyes–he’d agreed to.

Besides, his remoteness, his unyielding policy of not telling you where he went during the day, or why he needed to be out late almost every night, it didn’t seem like it bothered you: you’d never asked what he did, where he went–you probably didn't even know he was gone. The only indication of distress he'd ever seen from you was that awful night he'd raced to the apartment to find you curled up in the armchair, eyes streaked with tears, clearly fragile as glass, trying to hold it all together. You'd never let on you were having any problems– but the guilt that he'd let you down made his insides twist. True, having to cycle through an endless stream of men as a Honeygirl had been upsetting you–but now that Cloud was there to keep the worst creeps in line, it seemed even that anxiety had resolved for you. What had upset you was the mission, not anything to do with him. This was about preventing hurt, not causing it–and it seemed the current way he was keeping things between you was working well enough for both of you.

Lost in his head yet again, it wasn’t until his hand was hovering before the doorknob to your apartment, just about to insert the key into the lock, that Cloud realized that he was filthy. He was coated from head to toe in an unholy mix of sweat, blood, monster guts, and grime–and that was just what he could see without a mirror. Astrals knew just how late it was, but he could hardly crawl back into bed looking–and smelling–like this. Guess it’s a shower night.

Sliding the key into the lock, Cloud did his best to quickly but quietly close the door behind him before the increased light from Wall Market outside roused you. With his enhanced sense of vision, even in the dim light, he could make out your form still curled up in bed. And with his heightened hearing, he could hear your steady heartbeat, your rhythmic breathing: it was a little rapid for sleep, but given you didn’t stir, Cloud figured he hadn’t woken you. Once he’d propped his sword against the wall, Cloud made his way to the bathroom door. He froze when he saw your outfit–courtesy of Madam M–hanging in the closet. Cloud swallowed hard and ducked into the bathroom.

As usual, he made sure to stuff a towel in the gap beneath the door to block any light from getting into the main room before he turned on the overhead light and stepped into the shower-but the knots in his shoulders didn't quite release like they normally would have from the warm water. The musky, crisp scent of his Junon Pine body wash quickly filled the steamy air, and he found himself furiously scrubbing the sweat and grime off his body, much harder than was strictly necessary. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through his system after hours of intense battles–maybe it was something else. But Cloud was agitated, a tension pent up inside him that his usual tonic of clobbering things with his sword hadn’t alleviated. Finally clean, the warm water running down his scalp and along his arms as he braced them on the shower wall, Cloud’s thoughts once again began to spiral out of his control, threatened to overwhelm him: or, more accurately, you did.

Over three weeks later, and that first night of your audition still tormented him: He remembered turning around to find you in a cascade of red satin, cradling your every curve in the most mesmerizing way. The dark lines around your eyes made the color in them seem even more vivid–you’d even put on lipstick. Your face had flushed, and as you talked with Sam, Cloud’s eyes were fixed on the ruddy blotches rising on your neck and chest as that flush spread. Despite all this, you had actually been one of the more modestly dressed women in the room–but the most alluring to Cloud by far. So alluring, it almost hurt. He’d wanted to trace the path of your blush with his lips, to press kisses along the rosy trail down your throat and over your breasts. He’d wanted to wrap a finger around one of the locks of hair framing your face and gently tug on it, to follow the slit of your skirt and the line of those stockings until he reached –Get it together, he’d reprimanded himself.

And once Andrea had taken you to the stage, he’d been relieved to finally drown his fraught nerves in whiskey, too preoccupied to even get annoyed at the Honeygirls buzzing on either side of him. He’d thought he could breathe then, that the hard part for him was over–but he couldn’t have been more wrong.

My gift–though next time, I suggest you do the unwrapping. You’d been standing with your back to him and the rest of the onlookers at the top of the stairs, before he’d seen you look down to adjust something on your dress. It happened so fast that even after the crowd reacted, it took his brain a few seconds to realize what you’d just done.

Eyes dragging down the dress as it fell, you’d hit Cloud in waves–or more accurately, curves, displayed beneath all that sheer black lace. And those stockings… He remembered his throat going bone dry as the crowd leered. The whole time he’d been standing next to you, talking to you–you’d been wearing that? And when you pulled out the stick and let your hair fall free in a curtain down your back, Cloud was suddenly very glad his lower half was concealed beneath the table–and you haven’t even started dancing yet. It had almost been hard for Cloud to choose where to look–there wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t drive him to distraction. And there had been this…this look in your eyes when you met his gaze as you danced, wide-eyed and earnest, like it was all for him, as though he was the only one in the room.

Cloud shoved down the groan rising in his throat as he felt a different kind of heat beneath the scalding shower stream, a painfully familiar tension building in his core: Familiar, because no matter what he pretended–Cloud wanted you, from the moment he saw you, in a way he’d never wanted anyone else; And painful, because being so close to you–seeing you dress like that, move like that–it was scorching him, threatening to burn him up. Hell, he even got heated from seeing you in your pajamas. When you’d both been leading your normal lives back in Sector 3, the attraction never went away, but he could keep it tamped down most of the time. And when he couldn’t, at least he’d had his own space to…relieve himself. Cloud gritted his teeth. How the hell was he going to manage with this…arrangement?

Next time she gives you an encore… Madam M’s words tonight had done something to Cloud–brought it all surging back into his head. He thought about that red dress, those black stockings, hanging in the closet: He thought about the fact that when he left this bathroom, you’d be in his bed. As his mind entertained ever more perverse thoughts no teammate should have about another teammate, Cloud yanked the lever down, biting back a hiss as the water went ice cold. He’d had to do this the night of the audition, too, and he’d long since resigned himself to the fact that this probably wouldn’t be the last time, either: Because what he’d said before, back in Seventh Heaven, had been true: you being obscenely attractive didn’t pose a problem for the mission–but it sure as hell did for Cloud.

When he eventually emerged from the bathroom, you were just as you’d been before, sound asleep on your side of the bed. As he climbed into the covers, Cloud picked up your scent, and he felt a pang of shame for how riled up he’d gotten just behind the bathroom door while you’d been out here, innocently sleeping. You weren’t some pin-up girl–you were a real person. Who clearly cared about him, to some extent.

As if sensing him in your sleep, you rolled over to face Cloud when he settled in, sighing deeply, contentment smoothing your pretty face. Propping himself on one elbow, as he gazed at you, the flagrant desire he’d been stifling dissipated, giving way to something softer in the quiet peace of the moment. But once he realized he’d been staring, he shook his head, dismissing the feeling.

It was almost 3AM now. Not long before the day would begin–and then the night: the first night he would be pretending for all of Wall Market that you and Cloud were client and Honeygirl, that he was paying you to do…well, doing what Cloud imagined in his mind before he turned the shower water cold. He swallowed hard. This new arrangement certainly complicated the delicate balance Cloud was trying to maintain. Get it together. It’s…just another job.

But he remembered the vulnerable look in your eyes when you asked if he was truly up to Andrea’s proposal, after the man had left the room: “Cloud… are you–are you sure about this?” you’d asked gently. How did his name sound so nice when you said it? “You really don’t have to do this. I would never want you to do anything that made you uncomfortable. I’m fine, honest.” Cloud had stared at you, his eyes searching yours. In that moment, he'd recalled when he’d found you in the apartment a week earlier, curled up in the armchair, holding your stomach in revulsion as you forced yourself night after night to be something you weren’t, forced yourself to pretend it wasn’t hard on you. He’d realized that unlike before, when he’d had to put on a dress to save Tifa, Cloud wasn’t the one compromising himself this time–you were.

So he’d said yes.

It doesn’t change anything.

His determination to get through this damn mission while keeping himself completely distant from you had not wavered. Cloud was a SOLDIER, and you were a line item on his mission detail–when you’d voiced a need, he’d assessed the situation, and adjusted accordingly. His attraction to you certainly made this hard (bad word choice), but not impossible. Carrying out a fake sexual relationship altered the variables, but didn’t change the equation. He’d successfully kept you at arms’ length for all these months, what was a few more weeks? Just a few more weeks, surely–then he’d be back home, back in his own bed, heart and soul intact and unscathed. Friendship was hard enough for him–and left him vulnerable to profound heartache, as he knew all too well. To open himself up to romantic attachment? Not interested.

You didn’t know how he felt, you didn’t know Cloud–and he was determined to keep it that way.

It won’t change anything.

You shifted then, wiggling in the most adorable way in your sleep. Grimacing, Cloud turned his back to you, facing the wall when his head landed on his pillow.

It won’t change anything.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

As you and Cloud walked in silence toward the Honeybee Inn the following evening, the sunset painting the sliver of the sky visible in the gap in the plate with rich oranges and pinks, you had to fight the urge to laugh out loud.

You’d never even had a serious boyfriend–now here you were, drinking and flirting with dozens of men whose names you couldn’t remember, didn’t bother to learn. And starting tonight, you were going to pretend to be the “official Honeygirl”, the fille de joie of Cloud Strife, the guy you’d secretly been obsessed with for over half a year. You couldn’t even imagine what your mom would say, if she were still around. Then the thought of your late parents killed your mirth.

When you both reached the courtyard of the Honeybee Inn’s entrance, Cloud hesitated. “Do you–uh…” He suddenly looked nervous, and maybe even… bashful?

“Give me a head start.”

Cloud nodded. Then you strode past him and pulled the curtain to the entrance aside, leaving him alone in the cool evening air. Your prediction from your first night at the Honeybee Inn had proven true: your fellow Honeygirls really were the best part of your job. You’d actually come to enjoy the ritual of arriving at the Honeybee Inn before your shift and making your way to the employee area. You’d put on your make-up and fix your hair and change into your costume while the other girls did the same, all gossiping and chatting, their cheerful buzzing putting you at ease. Though the routine tonight was the same, even your newfound sort-of friends couldn’t calm your nerves. Tonight was the night you and Cloud would be making your…liaison known.

It wasn’t a real relationship, you knew, and the fact made your heart sting–because it was all painfully real for you. You’d never been a very good actor. Up until now, you’d had to act like you were actually attracted to the men who brought you flowers and bought you drinks and asked you to dance and do…other things: now, you’d have to act like that while simultaneously pretending you didn’t find Cloud Strife attractive in a way that consumed you utterly. You smiled when you thought of your old friend Jessie, and the line Wedge always used to describe her flirtatious antics: Life’s a stage, and love’s the play! Talk about the performance of a lifetime…

Fixing the antennae on your headband as you checked yourself over once more in the full-length mirror, you made your way to the lounge. Your eyes scanned the faces in the dim light, looking for Cloud’s familiar figure. But you couldn’t find him. You tried not to panic–the two of you hadn’t agreed on a specific time to meet. So you walked to the bar in the back, trying not to look like a wallflower with no date to the big dance. When Ronan handed you your first drink of the night, you took a long sip to calm your nerves. Nothing to do but wait…

Little did you know that Cloud was there, seated at one of the booths pushed up against the far back wall of the lounge, already well into his second drink–he’d need it tonight. His eyes never left the door, so he saw you the moment you walked in. Cloud followed you with his eyes as you wove through the booths, until at last you parked yourself at the bar all the way across the lounge. He began scooting down the seat to make his way over to you–when a hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“Cloud! Bro! Long time no see!”

A deep scowl severed Cloud’s face. Just my luck...

“I know, I know, you’re probably wondering what your ol’ pal Johnny’s doing here–”

“–Actually, I wasn’t.” He needed to extricate himself before Johnny really got going.

“What brings you to The Honeybee Inn, man? It’s crazy seeing you here, I-I mean, last time, when we helped that old man with the VIP card, you didn’t want to come with us, so I figured–”

“–None of your business.”

But then Johnny slid into the booth beside him, and Cloud fought the urge to groan. “I think the girls get even more gorgeous every time I come here!” Johnny rattled on. “I mean, look at that absolute babe over at the bar! You ever see hair like–” Cloud winced, bracing for impact.

“Wait a minute–” Johnny let out an incredulous laugh when he said your name. “N-No way! She’s a Honeygirl now?! Wow, I never saw her as the type, she’s so…well…I don’t know–” Cloud side-eyed Johnny, dreading whatever thought he was trying to finish. Johnny had often popped up in Sector 3 in the months since the platefall–usually to hit on every woman with a pulse who happened to be at Seventh Heaven, you included–but Cloud had naively believed him when he’d said he was leaving for good. “A-Anyway,” Johnny pivoted, as flighty as ever, “Cloud–you think I got a shot with her?”

“With who?”

“Cmon, bro, don’t play dumb! You know, with–!” His head flicked over to the bar, where you had your back to the two boys as the bartender handed you a glass.

“I thought you said Tifa was your love, your light,” Cloud quoted, voice dripping with disdain as he reached for his drink. He gripped the glass harder than strictly necessary.

“Well I mean, there’s plenty of Johnny to go around, bro–and if she’s a Honeygirl, that means she’s receptive, if you know what I mean!” Now Cloud was in serious danger of shattering the glass in his hands. “Unless–you’re here to shoot your shot, bro!” Johnny suddenly said, the realization dawning on him. Cloud’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t comment, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the ice cubes in his glass.“Nah–” Johnny decided, dismissing his own statement. “I mean, you would have made a move by now, if you were interested. Whole sector knows you can’t stand her–even she’s figured it out. What can I say? We’re both heartbreakers–we turn ‘em down, but they just can’t get enough of us! Am I right, bro?”

Cloud nearly choked on his drink. “What?”

Johnny was lost in the eyes of an auburn haired Honeygirl bringing him another glass of some mysterious purple liquid, so he didn’t see the way Cloud’s eyes were boring into the back of his skull. “Johnny–what did you say?”

Johnny tilted his head back and gulped down half the new drink in one go. He was clearly already quite drunk, and making no effort to filter himself. “Well I mean, we’ve all seen how you act around her–it seems like you barely even know she exists. Tifa says she pretty much doesn't think you can stand her, doesn't know what she did to make you dislike her so much. Apparently she told Tifa, a few weeks ago. Even said she was crying when she said it–but you know girls, a lot of them cry when they get drunk. I mean, she wasn’t drinking at the time, but you get what I mean. I don’t get how anyone wouldn’t be into her–I mean, look at her–she’s gorgeous, and like, so sweet and funny and cute–It’s kinda crazy she’s still single, right? But she must be, if she’s here, which means Johnny definitely has a shot! Bro, you think she’s into tall guys? I’m no blitzball player, but lucky for me I’m not short like everyone else is on my dad’s–”

But Cloud had stopped listening to Johnny’s rambling. His heart was racing at an alarming rate. Is that what you thought? That he couldn’t stand you? He had noticed that you’d stopped trying to really be friends with him at some point in the months since your first (and last) shared mission–but you hadn’t let on that his coldness bothered you much. He didn’t think you cared what he thought–Cloud wasn’t charismatic, wasn’t bright and outgoing like you. Surely he’d simply faded into the background for you, practically part of the wallpaper in Seventh Heaven as he sat up in the far corner while you were surrounded by your other friends. But he’d been wrong. Guilt made his gut twist–in trying to guard himself, he’d hurt you. He was trying to prevent causing hurt, that was the whole point.

I…I made her cry? The thought made him want to slash something with his sword, to stamp out the agitation tearing at his insides. Cloud shook his head. He had to get a grip. Not just on his emotions, but on the situation: Johnny was someone who knew both you and Cloud–and your involvement with Avalanche. If he didn’t leave soon, he could blow the whole mission. Not to mention that Cloud didn’t want him to see you working as a Honeygirl–or him pretending to be your client.

Thinking quickly, Cloud scanned the room. “–Johnny.”

“Yeah, bro?”

“You see that girl over there? The one with the dark brown hair?”

“You know I do, bro!”

“Her name’s Samantha.” She was one of the girls who’d been sitting with Chocobo Sam the night of your audition, the one who’d latched on to Cloud when he sat down at the table. “I heard she’s into guys with red hair,” he lied. You had informed him Samantha was new, like you, so Cloud figured she’d appreciate the traffic.

“Really? Why didn’t you say so?!” Johnny downed the rest of his glass before he clapped Cloud on the back. “Wish me luck, bro–Johnny out!” And he stumbled off, thoughts of you apparently forgotten.

Cloud’s shoulders relaxed–one crisis averted. At least for tonight, it seemed Johnny was already far too drunk to remember anything that happened here. But he knew you two weren’t in the clear yet: until Johnny was out of town for good, you’d have to be wary of him every time you were working. But knowing Johnny (which unfortunately, he did), Cloud figured he’d blow all his money in a few days on gambling and Honeygirls, and be forced to return to his mother’s house before the week was out. Did his family make it out of Sector 7? Cloud wondered suddenly. Where did they end up after the plate fell? He took another long sip from his whiskey, trying to drown the painful thought.

Cloud groaned aloud in frustration–all these complicated emotions could not have ambushed him at a worse time. He did his best to clear the thoughts jumbling in his head. He was here as part of the mission, and you must seriously be wondering where he was by now. Cloud scanned the room once more, looking for you. Sure enough, you were still at the bar in the far corner–and what he saw there made him flare with anger. But he made himself come up with a strategy. This was an act, a performance, Cloud reminded himself. This was about making it known you weren’t just a regular Honeygirl anymore: you’d caught the eye of someone special. He had to be Cloud Strife, reigning champ of the Corneo Colosseum–not Cloud, the merc who’d never even kissed a girl, let alone spent time with one in a place like this.

He tilted his head back, letting the last dregs of the bitter alcohol burn down his throat. For Cloud, this would be as tense as entering enemy territory for the first time–except he had even less experience in this field. He was going to need all the confidence he could muster. As Cloud wound his way through the maze of booths toward the bar, he snatched a bouquet of flowers laying on one of the tables, despite the protestations of its owner. But when he saw the searing anger in Cloud’s eyes (not to mention the giant sword on his back) the man quickly shut his mouth. Cloud locked his gaze on you, your form murky in the dim lights of the lounge. Without really meaning to, he found his eyes trailing up your legs, laughably 'covered' under the fishnet stockings, until his gaze landed at your, ahem, stinger, visible behind the fake one on your costume.

It won’t change anything. He decided to treat this like its own mission–and like any other mission, if he acknowledged how nervous he was, he’d never make it out alive.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

By now, you’d just about given up any hope Cloud would turn up.

Not that he had anything better to do: you were both transplants from another sector, and this was your mission. You’d left him three feet outside the entrance to the Honeybee Inn–what could have possibly happened? Maybe he’d changed his mind, decided he didn’t want to add this new facade to your cover story. You couldn’t really blame him, though you couldn’t help your disappointment.

Business as usual, then… You took a long sip from your drink, the one a short, greasy man in an ill-fitting suit had just bought for you–you were fairly certain his name was Vince. Vince was bragging about his supreme luck (or was it skill?), not just in placing bets at the Corneo Cup, but also with the ladies. You laughed, not quite able to make it sound convincing. As you made polite conversation, trying to discreetly ascertain if he had any affiliation with Shinra, you felt your skin crawl when the man began lazily dragging his sweaty fingertips across your leg, tracing along the edge of the black ribbon tied off in a bow around your upper thigh.

“Seeing as I just made a nice bit of gil at the Colosseum tonight,” the man leered, “why don’t you and I go down to that nice lingerie store on Mill Street, and you can try on–”

The rough sound of someone loudly clearing his throat erupted behind you. You whirled around to find the source of the noise.

Cloud–finally. You couldn’t help the relief that washed over you as you gazed at him. He didn’t look like he’d been in a fight, or any other sort of distress–what in the world had taken him so long? In fact, with his arms folded like that, he looked fairly nonchalant, almost unnaturally so–except for his eyes. They were burning with such intensity that the mako in them almost looked like it was glowing.

And was that a bouquet of flowers he was holding? What did they put in these drinks?!

“N-No way!” Vince stammered, clearly starstruck. “You’re–!”

“Cloud Strife–” He stepped forward and placed himself between you and Vince, tilting his head down to glare at him. “And you’re leaving.”

Cloud’s voice was usually rough, his tone blunt. Yet, your friendly neighborhood merc had this uncanny ability to be seething with anger in a way that was ice cold. He didn’t punch things or yell, like Barret: It was a cool, bone-chilling kind of rage. In those three words, Cloud was somehow able to convey not just his anger, but also how little he cared about this man’s very existence. Somehow, the ice made him so hot to you–you furiously beat back the thought.

Vince stammered out some excuse as he hightailed it away from the bar, too spooked to even remember to grab his drink. You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in. It wasn’t until that moment you realized just how relieved you were Cloud was here, just how much you’d been looking forward to seeing him. It occurred to you that… well…you missed him, when you were apart. Sure, he wasn’t the best conversation partner, but he was a steadying presence for you, his quiet self-assurance never failing to put you at ease. You knew no matter what, if Cloud was with you, you’d be okay.

“Cloud–” you breathed, unable to help the smile that poured over your face. “Boy, am I glad to see you.” The way his eyes softened at the warmth in your greeting, his anger instantly vanishing, had your heart fluttering in your chest. How could he shift gears so quickly?

“Uh…these are–these are for you.” Cloud thrust the bouquet into your arms before folding his own over his chest, looking down sidelong at the floor. You couldn’t help but roll the soft petals between your fingers–he’d somehow managed to procure a bouquet filled with your favorite blooms. You lowered your head and inhaled deep, the familiar, watery scent of the flowers causing a contented smile to pull at the corners of your mouth. When you finally opened your eyes again, you saw his dart away from your face as he raked a hand through his hair.

“Cloud, how did you know?” When Cloud simply stammered, you decided not to press him. He probably didn’t know what those types of flowers even were. Aerith had told you how resistant he was to helping her in her garden, and the thought made you giggle. “I love them–thank you, Cloud.”

Flushed in his cheeks, he didn’t reply. Instead, he waved down the bartender and ordered you both a drink. “So, um…work going okay?”

“Yes and no–I still haven’t run into any Shinra employees, if that’s what you mean.” Cloud picked up the two freshly poured drinks and handed one to you. He raised his in a toast, eyes glued to yours as he took a sip. You giggled as you reciprocated.

Then Cloud suddenly planted his forearm on the counter next to your left side–maybe with a little too much force–before resting his weight on it, his other hand placed on his hip in a confident swagger. “Word is Corneo’s gonna be entertaining some high-profile guest soon. Sounds like it could be someone from Shinra.” He was apparently passing on information he’d gleaned from Andrea after you’d left to get ready for your shift tonight. Though his stance made him look like a smooth, self-assured ladies man (though you knew Cloud was anything but), he spoke to you just as he always did, efficient and gruff: the contrast between Cloud’s open, even flirtatious posture, against his normal, all-business tone as he spoke was throwing you off-kilter. His breath reeked of liquor, but it was warm against your neck, and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran through you.

“O-Oh, th-that’s good news,” you choked out lamely. An abrupt silence fell over you, made all the more painful by your close proximity.

“…Hey, Cloud–what took you so long to get here?” you asked finally, eyes glued to the ice cubes in your drink.

He blinked. “Johnny.”

“Johnny’s here?” you blanched.

“I think I got rid of him–at least for tonight. But yeah, he’s back in town. We’ll have to keep an eye out for him.”

“Right. What did he want?”

Cloud just looked at you for a few moments. “Trouble. What else? It’s Johnny,” Cloud replied finally, tone laced with his unique brand of disdain as he took another sip. You giggled as you nodded in agreement–warm and flush with alcohol, you were already finding the closeness to Cloud a different kind of intoxicating.

“Sorry to tear you away from your bro,” you shot back in a burst of playfulness.

“He’s not my–” Cloud glared until he saw your grin, and his face relaxed. He simply grunted, which seemed to convey grudging amusem*nt. You knew Cloud disliked being teased, but you just couldn’t help it sometimes–even when you were sober.

Then the two of you lapsed into silence again. Your inebriated state made you want to talk to Cloud, about anything, everything–you needed to fill the awkward silence, but had no idea what to say. Given the way the two of you were leaned into each other, it felt like you should be flirting, but you knew it wasn’t wanted. Still, you had to keep up appearances–that was the whole point of this new arrangement, right? Here goes...

“We really should get you another pair of clothes,” you remarked, marshaling the courage to trace a finger down his chest along the line of his pauldron strap, feeling the worn material of his SOLDIER’s uniform against your fingertips (even you were impressed with how smooth that move was.) “Any Shinra exec will recognize your uniform from a mile off.”

Cloud suddenly straightened, and you jerked your hand back, worried you’d overstepped. You stammered, your brain scrambling to assemble an apology–but instead of moving away, he then stepped closer, until his chest was inches from yours: this time, he placed his hand on the counter behind you, bracketing you with his arm, shoulder, and chest, and you almost dropped your glass. Even as your pulse stuttered, you felt your body reflexively lean into him ever so slightly, your tipsiness compromising your self-awareness–and self-control. If you let yourself savor how wonderful it felt to be sheltered like this, you’d never make it. Cloud’s face scanned the room as he looked over your shoulder, glaring at any man stupid enough to be caught eyeing you. Remembering your surroundings brought you down from your high. Right. He’s trying to make this obvious–because it’s an act, you reminded yourself.

He was leaning in close, so he only needed to speak softly for you to hear. “No can do. This is what the famous Cloud Strife wears in the ring–gotta keep up my image,” he countered suddenly, his tone sarcastic and playful (for Cloud, at any rate) as his eyes continued to survey the room.

When he looked back down at you, you rolled your eyes. “The fame is already going to your head…” you lamented, gazing up at him with a playful smile. Cloud wasn’t that much taller than you, all things considered, so as he practically stood pressed up against you, his face and lips were dangerously close to yours. You realized you thought his height was actually quite nice: no matter how you were situated, when you were together, his face was never far away. It also meant you could feel the heat radiating off him, and it made your own cheeks burn molten hot.

But then he cleared his throat suddenly, stepping back from you a bit. Again, you feared you’d done something to upset him. Then he reached for both your drinks, long forgotten on the countertop while you’d bantered back and forth. “You wanna grab a seat? Andrea should be out soon, yeah?” He nodded toward an empty booth, allowing you to go first. You jolted when you suddenly felt his arm at your lower back, guiding you to the table. It was hardly necessary, you thought–then you realized it was meant to broadcast the fact that you two were an item.

Cloud set your glass down before sliding into the booth next to you. You sat there stiffly, your eyes fixed on the riveting ice cubes in your glass. You could feel the stuttering rhythm between you, how the (fake, you reminded yourself) flirting and intimacy would come so naturally for a few moments, before stifling awkwardness would creep back in. As soon as you thought about what you were doing, you seized up. You were shocked at just how good Cloud was at this–but then you realized it was probably because he wasn’t contending with real feelings, like you were. The thought suddenly made you want to be alone. Your face fell, eyes still on your drink as you swirled the liquid around.

Cloud seemed to sense the drop in your mood. You saw him staring over at you, eyes searching your face. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you looked away, eyes traveling around the room. While most people were lost in their own entanglements, drinking and laughing and flirting, you could see that scattered around the room were people eyeing you and Cloud, sometimes gesturing with flicks of their eyes or subtle hand signals at the two of you as they talked to their friends, in the way people did when they were trying to be inconspicuous when they gossiped. It helped you get your head back in the game.

When he called your name, Cloud’s tone was hesitant, his real question implicit: You okay? You closed your eyes, steeling yourself before turned to meet his gaze–it was time to really put on a show. When you opened them again, the sudden, flagrant heat in your stare made Cloud emit a nervous stutter.

You plucked his drink out of his hands, eyes never breaking contact while you downed the rest of the liquid (Bahamut below–what kind of gasoline did Cloud drink?). Then you plunked the empty glass down on the table, the sudden noise making Cloud startle, thoroughly spooked. Truly forsaking all your scruples, you shifted on the seat of the booth onto your hands and knees next to him, knees sinking into the red vinyl cushion. His torso was turned so he was facing you, face slack in complete shock. You placed one hand on his chest, bringing your face inches from Cloud’s. The poor man had the look of a chocobo caught in the headlights of a semi-truck–and you were the truck. You could only imagine how ridiculous you looked, the low cut neckline of your leotard right in his face, the apian thorax attached to your ass sticking up behind you. But if you stopped to think about the performance you were giving–and your audience–it would be curtains.

You dragged your fingers at the nape of Cloud’s neck, riding the neckline of his SOLDIER’s sweater. “What do you say we take this somewhere more private, Champ?” You probably sounded like one of the two-bit actresses on the soap operas Jessie used to make you and Tifa watch with her, but it was all you had.

Cloud was paralyzed, lips slightly parted as his eyes ransacked your face. You couldn’t remember ever seeing his cheeks so flushed. Part of you wished you’d eased into it more gently, given him more time to adjust–but you needed to move this along quickly, or you’d implode from the pressure. You’d played the flirt with at least two dozen men by now, but in this moment, with so many people gawking at you and Cloud, you were starting to feel jittery–how had dancing with Andrea given you less stage fright than this? Your agitation was making you act more boldly than you normally would–if there was any normal that even existed in an absurd situation like this. A small part of you worried you were pushing Cloud way too far. Far more than the risk of betraying that your amorous displays were fake, you truly did not want to make Cloud uncomfortable, ever. But he’d known what he was signing up for, right? He’d probably be relieved you were getting to the suite faster, where he could finally put some breathing room between you. But he was so stupefied by you throwing yourself at him, you were starting to worry you’d truly fried his circuitry.

“…Cloud?” you finally asked, barely above a whisper. You told yourself it was so no one else would hear–but really, it was the fear of rejection, the fear you’d asked for more than he was willing to give, that shrank your voice. Hearing you say his name seemed to break some sort of spell. Cloud blinked hard, his gaze focusing again. Astrals above, his eyes were mesmerizing. Then they narrowed as a hungry, wolfish look seeped into Cloud’s features, and you feared maybe you were the one in danger of malfunctioning.

Still on your hands and knees facing him, your breath hitched when you felt the lightest pressure of his hand at your waist. You felt the worn leather of his gloved hand drag over the bare skin of your ribs, then over your upper back and shoulder and down your arm, sparks singing your flesh where his touch electrified you, until he wrapped his hand around yours where it rested on his chest. He was the picture of suave charm–but his heartbeat racing under your palm betrayed him. Suddenly, your ragged breathing seemed too harsh, too loud in your ears, even over the din of the lounge. Half of you wanted to look away, break the spell between you, to hide what could only be truth in your eyes as you gazed at one another–but you were lost. As Cloud lifted your hand from his chest, pressed his palm to yours, gently entwined your fingers, you felt like Phoenix divine: he was burning you alive; he was bringing you back to life again.

In this moment, another guy would have had some smooth, cavalier response to your challenge that would have you swooning: something like, “up for a few rounds with the reigning champ?” or maybe even a simple, “think you can take me on, sweetheart?”

But this was Cloud, your Cloud–though you could never call him that. So he had no comeback, no clever reply: He just kept your hand firmly wrapped in his, even as he helped you rise from the table, even as you made your way to the exit, parading your pairing through the booths for all to see; He just kept his gaze locked with yours, intense and magnetic and mesmerizing, and you were powerless. In some ways, if he’d spouted some quip, it might have made things easier for you, might have helped keep you moored by the fact that none of this was real. But the way he was handling you was so Cloud–solid and self-assured, radiating silent strength, leading you in a way that was always firm, yet always gentle.

When Cloud had you like this, you’d follow him anywhere–and you did.

Cloud only let go of your hand after you’d returned to the central vestibule of the Honeybee Inn, and come to a stop in front of a door with a newly minted gold plate affixed to it, bearing your name etched in a flowing script. Apart from you two, the open area was completely empty. As Cloud turned from you and walked into your new suite, you froze just outside the open door.

Turned out you were wrong–there was one, solitary man, staring at you from across the fountain.

While most men at the Honeybee Inn stared at other parts of you long before their eyes bothered to reach your face, this man was immediately different. His eyes were unwaveringly fixed on yours, as if trying to bore through to the back of your skull. And unlike your other admirers, he didn’t wave or smile or call out to you when your eyes met his. He just kept staring. You couldn’t help feeling he was eyeing you like some big game hunter–and you were the prey. There was an utter coldness to his stare that Cloud couldn’t match even in his most disaffected moments. Only the soft sounds of the water cascading down the fountain intruded upon the unnerving silence.

The man had a short, smoothed back crop of silvery blond hair, a few wispy strands hanging in his face. He was young, you guessed–late twenties or early thirties, probably. He wore a crisp white double breasted coat with large buttons and gray lined pockets. Layered over his white slacks hung strips of fabric forming a skirt-like draping around him. With his arms folded, you noticed he was holding a silver coin in between two of the fingers of one of his gloved hands. His eyes were ice blue–and ice cold. After a few moments, a smug grin tugged at one corner of the man’s mouth, and he tipped his head in a small nod at you. You just kept staring. Cloud’s gaze mesmerized you–this man’s petrified you.

The soft sound of your name behind you made you jolt. It was Cloud, calling out to you from within the suite. You blinked hard before you ducked inside, making sure to turn the lock behind you. Then you leaned back against the door, letting out a deep breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

Cloud instantly picked up that something wasn’t right. “You okay?”

You forced your eyes to open. “Y-Yeah.”

“What were you looking at?”

“Did you–did you see the man on the other side of the fountain?”

“No–I didn’t see anyone.”

“There was this… strange man standing out there,” you explained. “He was just… staring at me.”

Cloud was studying you intently. When he started moving toward you, you startled. He put a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I’ll go take a look.” One hand resting on the hilt of his sword, Cloud opened the door and peered out. You could see the energy taut within him, ready to strike at a moment’s notice as he slowly circled the fountain. Then he straightened, and walked back over to your room.

“Whoever he is, he’s gone now,” Cloud said as he shut the door again. Now you could begin to relax. At last you looked around to survey your new surroundings.

The suite was ornate, if simply furnished. Elegant golden sconces illuminated the room in warm, sensual light. The carpet had an intricate botanical pattern in its rich red fabric, and large panels of black and gold hexagons adorned the red walls. The room was in the shape of a hexagon–like the cell of a honeycomb, you suspected. One long, brown leather couch ran along the left side walls. When you saw that the two walls opposite the couches were covered floor to ceiling in a mirror, you weren’t sure if you wanted to burst out laughing, or melt into the floor, never to be seen again: not here, too...

You walked farther into the room while Cloud removed Hardedge and took a seat at the near end of the couch, placing himself only a few feet to the left of the door. You noticed a small ice bucket stocked with two bottles of top-shelf champagne on the coffee table in the center of the room, sitting next to an empty glass vase–a handy inclusion, given how many bouquets of flowers Honeygirls received. As you continued your survey of the room, you noticed a honey-comb shaped area of the floor made of wood, not carpet, nestled in the angle where the two mirror walls met, and a not-so mysterious empty hole in its center. You quickly turned your back on what you were sure was a pole-dancing stage, hoping Cloud wouldn’t put the pieces together–given the horrified look on his face, it was manifestly clear that yes, he had.

But after a few seconds of mortified silence, you couldn’t help the smile that seized your face. Seeing you break affected Cloud, and when you saw his eyes begin to crinkle into a grin, the tiniest chink in his cool composure, you doubled over laughing. While Cloud didn’t laugh, the small smile and amused grunt he gave you was his way of joining in.

“What the hell was Barret thinking?” you chuckled to yourself, bending down to place your flowers into the vase on the coffee table, shaking your head in playful disapproval of your leader.

“That’s his problem–he usually doesn’t.”

You couldn’t help how your eyes snapped up to Cloud at this remark. Was that–a joke? It was almost as alien as Cloud appearing before you with a bouquet of flowers in hand. You giggled in agreement, and Cloud smirked, looking pleased with himself, as if he’d won some contest over Barret by getting you to laugh.

Still standing in the center of the room, you turned in a circle, admiring the colors and shapes on the wall panels. “Well,” you began, “at least we can talk freely in here–it gets so exhausting in the lounge.”

Cloud grunted in assent. “Makes both our jobs easier.”

“Should we bang on the walls and make loud moaning noises–you know, just to really sell it? We're trying to build my rep, after all!” you giggled. Normally, you didn’t joke around this much with Cloud, but the alcohol must have been slackening your self-restraint.

He surprised you yet again when he chuckled at your remark. “Might be good for my rep, too.” Where was this Cloud coming from?

You reached down to grab one of the champagne bottles. “Shall we?”

Cloud nodded, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you prepared to pop the cork. Seeing what you were about to do, he turned his head, shielding it with an upraised arm. You managed to pop the cork without causing bodily injury or property damage–though there was a stain on the carpet where the champagne had bubbled over onto the floor.

“That’s gonna be a nightmare to get out.”

You gave him a jovial shrug, a beaming smile. “It’s a rental!”

There was a brief silence as you poured a glass of champagne and handed it to Cloud. When you returned to the table to pour yours, you suddenly heard behind you: “You’re pretty funny, you know that?”

You were grateful your back was turned to Cloud, so he couldn’t see how your face grew red hot at the compliment. Unfortunately for you, you’d forgotten about the mirrors covering a third of the walls, so Cloud saw your reaction anyway. “O-Oh, uh, thanks…” you replied lamely.

There was a high top counter running along the far wall across from the door, between the mirrors and the couches. You walked to it and set your champagne glass down before leaning back against the wooden surface. Even though you were at least ten feet apart, the atmosphere here was somehow far more intimate than when you’d been nearly glued together in the lounge–you didn’t need proximity to feel close in here. You looked around, realizing there were no clocks, no tokens to connect the occupants of the room to the outside world. It was just like every other aspect of the Honeybee Inn: it was meant to pull you into a fantasy, a dream, where the real world was forgotten. How long had you and Cloud been together tonight? It could have been an hour, or ten, for all you knew. But you weren’t tired. In fact, you’d never felt more awake. Your chest squeezed as you found yourself suddenly wishing it would go on and on: you didn’t want the spell to break, the sun to rise, for Cloud to pull away from you. You never wanted him to pull away ever again.

“I’m starting to worry we’re never going to run into someone from Shinra,” you sighed, setting to work removing the more uncomfortable pieces of your costume. First to go was the frankly embarrassing prosthetic thorax and stinger above your ass. Busy with the fastenings, you didn’t see Cloud’s eyes drift to your waist as your hands worked behind your back there. Once you were finally free of the stupid thing, you tossed it onto the couch. Then you untied the large, ruffly collar from around your neck–it was itchy. You’d forgotten how low cut the black leotard was underneath it. “All this, just to go home with nothing…”

“Can’t say you didn’t try,” Cloud replied. “Let’s see if anyone turns up next week–if not, we’ll contact Barret and come up with a new plan.”

“Let’s just hope it isn’t Scarlet,” you joked.

The small chuckle Cloud answered you with had your heart fluttering. You were making him laugh–just like you’d always wanted. “Yeah–no way you’re getting me into one of those leotards,” he added, clearly attempting a joke in his dry way, and you lifted a hand to your mouth as you giggled.

The champagne further laying waste to your good sense, you gave Cloud a flirtatious smile then, with no attempt to conceal it, no effort to pass it off for something else, despite the fact there was no one here for you to be acting for. “You’re pretty funny, you know that?” you echoed.

Cloud’s eyes went wide, and he grunted softly as he blanched at your words, before the smallest of bashful smiles pulled at his lips. But then he suddenly looked to the floor, his brow furrowing, like he was conflicted about something. Your heart thundered in your chest–had you gone too far?

Finally, Cloud looked straight at you, his eyes unexpectedly solemn, voice unexpectedly pensive, unsure. “Listen, um…there's something I...I need to–”

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

“…I need to–”

BAM!

The sudden impact of something slamming into the wall outside your door startled you both, and Cloud abruptly cut off. Then came the sounds of female giggling from the vestibule, and the voice of a man, high pitched for his sex, almost weasel-like. You and Cloud both interrogated the wall with your stares, trying to understand what was going on.

A giggly woman’s voice said: “I’ll check this one!” You began to panic as you realized it was coming from right outside the door to your suite. Then you heard the second woman’s voice join the first, and when the door knob started rattling in its socket, you felt your heart skip a beat.

“Cloud–!” you hissed, “did you lock the door?!” Your heart skipped another beat when he shook his head.

There were only seconds to act: so you seized on the first idea that popped into your mind. Slamming your champagne glass down on the counter, you hurried across the room (as quickly as your stupid heels would allow), making a beeline for Cloud.

His eyes widened in panic as you approached. “What are you–?!”

But any words Cloud might have said died in his throat when you climbed onto his lap, bracketing his hips with your knees, your high heels falling from your feet as they dangled off the edge of the couch where you straddled him. You looked to your left and saw the knob beginning to turn–it was like a scene from those cheesy old horror films Jessie loved to subject you and Tifa to. Cloud was frozen beneath you, face stricken, so you grabbed his wrists and yanked, pressing one of his hands to the bend of your waist, cupping the other directly on your ass, as if he really were your–what mortifying term had Andrea used?–‘patron’, and the two of you had just been caught in flagrante.

Not a moment later the door burst open, banging into the wall. Your faces both petrified in shock, you and Cloud looked over to see two Honeygirls stumble through the open doorway, the second leading a man into the room by his neck tie. Cloud recognized the man instantly, though you didn’t–it was Palmer, director of the space exploration program for Shinra, one of the chairmen of the board: though he was quite short in stature, there weren’t many fish bigger than him in Shinra’s proverbial pond.

While you didn’t know who this rotund little man with hair like a balding clown was, you did recognize the red diamond of the Shinra logo on his cufflinks, and sewn into his neck tie. Cloud! If this man recognized him–either as one of the Avalanche members who’d rescued Aerith from the Shinra building six months ago, or simply as someone in the uniform of a first-class SOLDIER–there was no telling what kind of danger he’d be in. Luckily, it seemed the man was currently too engrossed in the Honeygirl pulling at his tie to have noticed him yet.

So, without giving yourself time to second guess, you brought your left hand to the back of Cloud’s head, fisting it into his hair–and used it to unceremoniously shove his face into your chest.

Not exactly the most elegant solution, but this allowed you to conceal his face with your shoulder and ribs–and other parts of your anatomy–just in time for Palmer and the Honeygirls (quite possibly the worst name for a band you’d ever heard) to notice the room wasn’t empty after all. “Oh–hey girl!” your coworker Maya beamed, completely unfazed by your compromised position. “I’m so sorry, we didn’t know you reserved this room!”

You let out an artificially girlish giggle. “What can I say? I’m a busy bee!” you replied, giving her a sickeningly sweet smile.

“D’oh my!” The small man finally noticed you, his fingers wiggling as he looked you over, like you were a particularly tasty tea cake he was hoping to sample. “What an enchanting creature! Would you care to join us, my little bumblebee?”

Suppressing your urge to wretch, you gave the man an equally saccharine smile, before you gestured with your head at the mass of blond spikes shooting up from your chest.“I’m sorry, but–well, this bee already has a flower that needs some honey, if you understand my meaning, sir,” you replied, voice dripping with melodramatic innocence. Your brain balked at the horrendous scientific fallacies in your metaphor, but it seemed to do the trick.

“Ah–how sad indeed!” the man lamented. “Well girls, we shall have to find another room in which to play our game. I won’t rest until I’ve caught you both in my net!” With that, the man waddled off, the Honeygirls following him out into the vestibule–but not before Maya raised her eyebrows at you in a suggestive look that said, ‘aren’t you lucky?’ before shutting the door behind her.

Your shoulders slumped in relief, and you finally relaxed your death grip on Cloud’s hair. He was breathing heavily as he came up for air–much as you tried to help it, your chest was heaving, too.

“That was close,” you huffed.

“Still is.”

His voice was husky as his breath fanned over your collarbones. You noticed Cloud’s eyes stayed fixed on your breasts for just a second too long before he pulled them up to meet your gaze. You only realized now that your faces were mere inches apart, his gloved hands still on your body. It made you want to crash your lips to his and let him do whatever the f*ck he wanted to you. But then, as your senses returned and you realized what you’d just done, you let out a horrified gasp. You all but leapt off of him, like the contact burned you (which it had).

The apology came bursting out of you. “I’m so sorry Cloud! I’m so sorry! I just, they were about to blow our cover and then I saw that he worked for Shinra and I didn’t want him to recognize you I didn’t know what else–”

Unlike the gradual intimacy that had been steadily growing all evening, you had just forced what was perhaps the most hypersonic rounding of second base ever seen in Midgar.

Even after you detached from him, you kept backing away. It was only when your calves hit the coffee table that you stopped backpedaling. Had you just blown it with Cloud for good? How could you look him in the eye ever again, knowing you’d violated his boundaries so spectacularly? Would he ever be able to meet your eye again?

Cloud shifted uncomfortably on the couch, angling his body away from you, arms folded, his eyes superglued to the carpet as you apologized over and over. “I know you really don’t like people touching you, I know that was way way way over the line I promise I only–”

Cloud suddenly said your name, sharp and firm, and it jolted you into silence. Then–to your surprise–you felt tears begin to prick your eyes. The emotional roller coaster of the evening was hitting you all at once, finally threatening to overwhelm you. It was going so well…But somewhere in the muddle of your embarrassment and distress, you registered that Cloud’s tone had been forceful, but not angry.

“It’s fine.” His voice was calm, if still a bit rough.

“What? No, Cloud, it was–I was–”

“–I get why you did it. You were trying to protect me–and the mission,” he continued gruffly, still not able to meet your gaze.

“You’re not–you don’t…hate me?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

That made Cloud look up at you, his eyes wide. “What? No, I–” You only grew more confused when you saw his eyes suddenly fill with intense sincerity. “No, I don’t–I don’t hate you. I…I could never hate you.”

Your knees threatened to buckle beneath you. “O-Oh…” you breathed, barely above a whisper. There was no reply you were capable of making.

Cloud let out a sharp exhale. “Listen, I–” His arms rose up, palms upturned before they settled back down into fists on his knees. It seemed as though he wanted to say something, but kept stopping himself. “I know I don’t… I-I haven’t–” He winced, fists clenching. “I haven’t always been… considerate to you,” he said choppily. “And I–” he huffed out another breath, not allowing himself to lose his nerve under your wide eyed stare. “I regret it.”

Now you were sure you’d been slipped something in your drink. You were bracing for an outburst, or for Cloud to simply shut down and never speak to you again. You couldn’t be hearing this right–but you were: Cloud’s tone throughout his declaration was heartfelt, even if it had stuttered out of him like even he wasn’t sure what word was about to come next. It wasn’t an outpouring of expressive, polished speech–it was Cloud, his cadence gruff and flat, doing his very best to force out the words. But it was in his artlessness that you knew Cloud really meant it: It was when the mask slipped, when the callous, self-assured exterior cracked to reveal the stuttering, wonderful boy beneath it–that was when a glimmer of Cloud Strife would shine through, as precious to you as it was fleeting.

Still, you were finding it difficult to trust his reassurances. This was Cloud: who kept his distance from everyone, physically as well as emotionally, who almost never allowed physical touch and certainly never welcomed it. You’d climbed into his lap, shoving his face directly between your breasts without asking–and he was apologizing to you? You were now fully convinced Wall Market was on another planet, not just in another sector.

When he spoke up again, it snapped you from your thoughts. “Just…don’t worry about it–okay? You were looking out for me–that’s what friends do. So…” He trailed off, leaned forward as he sat with his elbows resting on his knees, head looking down toward the floor so you couldn’t see his eyes. His voice was no less rough and gravelly for how soft it had become. Even in your distress, you couldn’t help the shiver it sent through you.

You sank down to the coffee table, unable to make the journey to a real seat. He’d called you…friends? When still you didn’t say anything, Cloud looked up. He seemed to be on-edge, his eyes boring into you. “You–” you finally managed to murmur, “you mean it?” You had nothing left in you to pretend anything other than what you really felt. You were as fragile as the thinnest pane of glass–one word from Cloud would shatter you utterly.

After what felt like a long stretch of him staring at you, your breath hitched when Cloud got up from the couch and walked past you to the high wooden counter across the room, only the clinking sounds of his boots and armor filling the silence. Picking up your half-full champagne glass, his eyes were on the floor as he turned and approached the coffee table. The low height of the table meant that your knees nearly reached your chin as you sat there, arms wrapped protectively around your shins, still barefoot in your fishnets. You stared at him as he squatted low to sit down next to you on the coffee table before he offered you your drink. Once you’d accepted it, he paused, before he seemed to make some decision within himself. The silence that hung in the air was almost spell-like.

Cloud reached behind you to the vase, and lifted a single red rose from the bouquet. His eyes were glued to the flower pinched between his fingers as he turned to you. And when Cloud reached forward and tucked the rose behind your ear, gloved fingers smoothing the hair there before falling away–he burned you alive.

He brought his elbows to rest on his knees. Then he shrugged. “Could have been worse–least it wasn’t Scarlet.”

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

He’s out late again…

You let out a sigh as you dropped your chopsticks into the empty takeout box in your lap. The unopened box for Cloud sat on the bed beside you, surely long cold by now. It had been a late night for you at the Honeybee Inn, so you’d grabbed a late dinner from one of the food carts on your way back. You always made sure to only stop at a place directly on your route home, heeding Cloud’s advice not to stray from the main streets.

Now that you were the official Honeygirl of Cloud Strife, reigning champion of Wall Market’s Corneo Colosseum (wouldn’t your mother be so proud?), on the occasions he joined you during your shift, after a long night of pretending to be scandalously entangled, you’d come to enact this ritual as you walked home, grabbing food and eating it together on your bed, usually in quiet, but companionable, silence.

Cloud hadn’t been at the Honeybee Inn with you tonight, which wasn’t unusual–now that you had cover to spend time with fewer men, your shifts had become much less demanding, and you no longer felt quite so dependent on his watching over you. What was unusual was that he hadn’t been in the plaza outside waiting for you afterwards. But after twenty minutes of standing around, you’d decided to just head back, trying to soothe your worry for him the whole way. Famished after your shift of dancing and entertaining (and covert investigating for Shinra personnel), you made sure to get Cloud a box of takeout as well as one for yourself, in the hope he’d be at your apartment when you got back–but he wasn’t there either.

The clock on the bedside table now read 1:18. It was at times like these you wish you’d accepted Barret’s offer to provide you and Cloud with personal phones for this mission. You both had decided against it, because you didn’t want any sort of record that could reveal your real identities–but that meant you didn’t have any record of what Cloud did all day (and all night), either. You stared at the front door, as if that would somehow bring him walking through it, as you debated what to do: while you were bone tired after a long night of performing, and the prospect of curling up under the covers was awfully tempting, another part of you wanted to wait up for Cloud. You’d returned from work around 11:30, meaning he’d been out since at least then. Usually, it seemed like he tried to wait until you had fallen asleep before he’d disappear to…wherever it was he went at night.

Madam M’s parlor? You hated yourself for entertaining the thought.

After all this time…Even after that first night in the private suite, two weeks ago–when it seemed you and him had really made some sort of breakthrough–most of the distance had remained between you in the days that followed. Sure, he talked a bit more, attempted a few more jokes, and yes, spent more time with you at work–but you could feel how he’d usually end up receding back into the space between you, and then you would subconsciously follow. Had the alcohol that night really affected you both that much, creating something between you that, so it turned out, wasn’t permanent after all?

You could admit, some of this was on you: the nights Cloud didn’t stay with you at the Honeybee Inn, you didn’t share anything, except whether you’d met anyone from Shinra (the answer still being no). You didn’t discuss what you did most days, and Cloud didn’t ask, just as you didn’t ask what he got up to. And despite your anxious curiosity, you still hadn't found the courage to ask about his nighttime activities. You could feel that nice barriers, cleanly demarcated lines of duty, that was what he wanted to maintain.

And perhaps most strange of all, it seemed Cloud actually preferred to carry out your fake sexual liaison in the public spaces of the Honeybee Inn, rather than in your private suite: he would never ask you to meet there or move there from the lounge, and often skirted your attempts to take him back there when you propositioned him. For someone as averse to crowds (and dumbasses) as Cloud was, you could only surmise that he really didn’t want to spend any time alone with you at all, if he could help it. He wanted your dalliance to be as public as possible for the sake of the mission–and nothing more. So much for being friends, you thought dejectedly. Had he meant a word of it?

…But it couldn’t all have been a lie, could it?

Your gaze drifted to the wall closet on your right, adjacent to the bathroom. One evening before your shift (when Cloud was mysteriously absent yet again), you tied a string around the stem of the rose he’d tucked behind your ear, hanging it from the rod with the petalled end pointing toward the ground–just as Aerith had taught you–behind your clothes, where Cloud wouldn’t see it. As much as Cloud was driving you crazy with his ever-changing moods, his on-again, off-again behavior, his continued efforts to keep so much of his life here secret from you–you still wanted something to hold on to, a memento of this time in your life, of your time together. The rose would be fully dried in the next few days, ready for you to take it home with you.

Home…Just over a month, and still, no real run-ins with anyone consequential from Shinra (besides your brief um, meeting with Palmer, whose identity Cloud had apprised you of on your walk home from the Honeybee Inn that night). You were seriously starting to consider the possibility that when you contacted Barret at the end of next week for your scheduled mission report, he’d call it all off, and all this would be for nothing.

But it wouldn’t be nothing, no. The memories, the moments with Cloud as you lived in another world–another life–as stilted and awkward as they often were, you’d treasure these forever. They made up for the grime and discomfort of living in Wall Market, of being a Honeygirl.

Worn out by the jumbled, melancholy thoughts in your head, you looked down, and realized you were still in your jean shorts and cardigan, the clothes you changed back into after your shift had ended–even your sneakers were still on your feet. Finally giving up on Cloud, you walked to the dresser to retrieve your pajamas. But when you heard the faintest creak of hinges behind you, you shrieked as you whirled to face the door.

It seemed Cloud was just as startled to see you as you were to see him–but since he was clutching his abdomen as he limped through the doorway, covered in fresh blood, the only indication he gave was a slight deepening in his grimace.

Your surprise at an intruder creeping into your apartment quickly morphed into relief when you realized it was Cloud–then twisted into horror as you cataloged his injuries: his face was streaked with blood (just his?), arms covered in red marks that ranged from minor cuts to wicked slashes. There were three parallel tears in his sweater just over his left shoulder blade (claw marks?), but that laceration was nothing compared to the gaping gash that ran from his ribs to his left hip bone, a deep gouge that oozed red blood and greenish bile–Cloud had been poisoned, somehow.

“Cloud!” Your training as a nurse instinctively kicked in, and you raced over, placing your hands on his back as you helped him over to the bed, arranging the pillows so he could sit upright. Then you sprinted to your overnight bag, retrieving your first aid kit and your Cleansing materia. As you set these onto the bed beside Cloud, you asked, “Your Cure materia–where is it? I can’t find mine!”

“Dresser–” he grunted, eyes shut tight in pain. You rifled through the drawers until you found it. Materia in hand, you then made your way into the bathroom, ripping your bath towels and washcloths from their hooks on the walls, soaking some of the washcloths with water before returning to Cloud’s side, arms piled high with your supplies.

“Where have you been? What happened?!” While the part of you that was Cloud’s friend was in a panic, the nurse side of you was entering that calm trance that cleared your head and sharpened your focus. You knew that the first thing you needed to do was clear the poison. Simply doing as you were trained to, you placed your hand on the bloody flesh of the slash in his side, wincing at the hiss Cloud emitted at the contact. Taking your materia in hand, you quickly cast the appropriate spell (Esuna, not Poisona, just to be safe–you had no idea how many ailments Cloud had racked up). You watched his face as the amethyst wisps of magic seeped into his skin, brows only relaxing slightly as the sting of the poison faded, but the pain from his injuries remained.

You placed the materia back on the bedside table and popped open your first aid kit, looking over what you had inside. Luckily, you probably had enough disinfecting wipes to clean his wounds and prevent infection, and you had a needle and some thread made from organic Grashstrike silk to stitch the deeper lacerations before you used the Cure materia. “Cloud,” you instructed briskly as you prepared your tools, “you need to take your shirt off, now. And your pants, too–do you need me to help you with that?” But even as you asked, you were already reaching for the sweater on his chest, when he suddenly jerked away from you.

“What are you–?!” he protested, leaning away from your reaching hands.

“You need to tell me how you got these injuries, Cloud–” you went on, your only concern trying to keep the guy you’d been enamored with for eight months from bleeding out on this bed. “Was it from an animal?” Was he up to date on his rabies vaccine? “A mech?” Possibly a risk of tetanus… “A weapon?” What if I need to remove bullets? “How long–"

“It doesn’t matter–” Cloud snapped, “just give me the Cure materia and I’ll take care of it! I don’t need you babying–"

“–Cloud,” Your gaze was still fixed on your med kit as you debated what kind of sutures you wanted to use on him. Would one layer be enough? It looked pretty deep. You might need a second layer for the muscles. “Cure will help but, some of these gashes are deep. I really need stitch these up first to–”

“Just leave me alone!”

You froze. It was finally registering that Cloud did not want you here, did not want your help. He hadn’t answered any of your questions, even though they would help you assess his injuries, and decide how best to treat them. Friend and nurse warred inside you: the friend was seriously considering leaving him to patch his own sorry ass up. But you were also a nurse, and you couldn’t leave anyone dying. The realization that even now, Cloud was still pushing you away, after all this time, when all you wanted was to be there for him, made something inside you snap. Anger and hurt flared in your chest.

You snatched up the Cure materia on the nightstand before rising from the bed. Cloud grunted in confused protest, but that didn’t stop you from crossing back to your duffel bag. You rifled around until you found one of the ethers you’d brought with you, downing the bottle before walking back over to Cloud. Placing your hand back over his stomach (not as upset by his hiss of pain this time), you used the magic now coursing through you to cast a Cura spell, the highest level the materia was currently at. You knew it wouldn’t be enough, that he’d still have some serious healing to do afterwards, but he could deal with that on his own–your conscience would be satisfied knowing you’d kept him from dying.

As the spiraling tendrils of the spell faded, and Cloud’s face finally relaxed (well, relaxed enough to resume the scowl he normally wore), you stood up once more and tossed the materia at him, his reflexes just fast enough to catch it, though the sudden movement made him wince.

“Fine.”

Cloud’s eyes snapped up at the ice in your voice.

“Why would you want my help? I’m only a nurse.”

Cloud blinked.

“If you don’t want my help, then fix yourself up! What do I care?”

Under Cloud’s intense gaze, you normally would have lost your nerve by now. All these weeks, you’d been trying so hard to make him comfortable, to be there for him in any way you could, any way he’d let you be. And that usually meant holding your tongue, not asking the questions you wanted to ask, not always saying what you were really thinking. And you’d had enough. Yes, you normally would have relented by now, stuttered out some apology and given him his space–but you were too far gone to stop now. All the weeks and weeks’ worth of pent up hurt and frustration inside you had reached its limit.

“I’m sick of this. You’re gone all night, and you don’t tell me where you are, what you’re doing–even when you come back half dead! Sorry I want to know what’s going on, sorry I want to help you–Sorry I care about you!"

Cloud just stared at you, mouth slightly open, utterly shellshocked.

“You’d rather be alone, you’d rather bleed out than talk to me–even though I’ve been sitting here for two hours, waiting for you!” Your eyes began to well up. “How many weeks have we been on this mission, and you still just want to push me away. I don’t–”

You choked out, hating how you struggled to find your voice again. “I don’t care what you’re doing–if you want to go spend every night with Madam M–”

You cursed yourself as your voice faltered again. A look of puzzled confusion pulled at Cloud’s pain stricken features at that remark, but it wasn’t nearly enough to stop your momentum. “I’m not trying to smother you–but how are we supposed to do this if you keep everything from me? How am I supposed to trust you when you won’t tell me anything! I don’t understand, what–what did I do to make you hate me so much?”

When you felt the first traitorous tear slide down your face, you saw Cloud’s eyes go wide.

“That first night in the suite, you said you didn’t hate me–” you went on. “You said we were friends–but this isn’t how friends treat each other! You don’t tell me what you’re thinking, what you need, you don’t tell me what you’re doing, you don’t let me help you. You don’t even care what I’m doing–you don’t even want to be near me.”

Your vision began to blur from the tears as you put into words what was hurting you most: “The stuff you said that night–you didn’t mean any of it!”

Cloud’s stuttering but seemingly heartfelt statements that night had meant so much to you–and that was making the discovery of their insincerity hurt ten times worse. You saw Cloud wince, but you just didn’t care. You knew you couldn’t take back what you were saying–but in this moment of anguish, you couldn’t think any further ahead than the next word on your lips.

“Why–Why are you even here? If you don’t want anything to do with me, then why did you even come? If you don’t want to be here, then–then just go!” With that, you spun on your heel, and headed for the door.

“Hey, w-wait–!”

You paused, back still to Cloud, your hand on the knob. “I’ve been trying so hard, Cloud. And I…I’m done trying.”

And with that, you yanked the door closed behind you and took off down the stairs, no destination in mind–you just had to be anywhere but here.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Cloud winced as the door slammed shut. In the fog of his pain-addled mind, he knew he’d messed up–but he’d have to deal with it later.

Luckily, he didn’t have to get out of bed to get his Cure materia–the bad news was that it was because you’d tossed it at him before storming out of the apartment, more hurt and angry than Cloud had ever seen you. His magic reserves were running low (he’d spent it all surviving an encounter with a particularly nasty Rust Drake), so he only had enough for the simple Cure spell. Nevertheless, he sighed in relief as the minor cuts, bruises, and aches faded away. He could see that the large gash on his lower abdomen wasn’t fully healed, but now he could think through the pain, at least. These were all injuries Cloud had sustained in the Colosseum, of course: he’d carelessly been sedated by a Blugu in the third round, and a Venomantis had raked him across his back with its poisonous talons while he’d been out of it. But it was in the final match, when he’d faced the Beastmaster–who’d brought some new breed of monstrous hound with him–that he’d gotten the gash that gouged his side.

From where he sat propped up in bed, he stared at the front door. Now that his mind was more clear, guilt began eating away at him. You’d only been trying to help–he would be feeling much better right now if he hadn’t been so irrational. But Cloud didn’t like being bossed around, didn’t like being coddled and fussed over, and that, combined with the searing pain wearing down his nice filter, had caused him to snap at you. Not to mention, he knew he wouldn’t have the mental acuity to dodge all your questions in his weakened state.

But the moment you revealed that you'd known he was leaving at night all along–he knew he'd really messed up.

Cloud really had been trying to protect you: he didn’t want you near the Colosseum, didn’t want you to get any more mixed up in the underworld of Wall Market than you needed to be. He didn’t want you to feel you owed Cloud for your dress, either. But it wasn’t all pure selflessness, either–he couldn’t let himself get away with that excuse.

The way he had kept your arrangement here was just…easier. It was easier for Cloud to keep to himself, to do things himself, by himself. It was easier to keep himself from getting used to having you around, used to sharing things with you, being so close to you. In his defense, you'd never let on that you even knew he was leaving at night. And when it came to everything else, he thought it hadn’t bothered you, or bothered you all that much. You and him were working in tandem, together but separate, and the mission was working, for the most part–no one from Shinra had appeared yet, but that wasn’t your fault. And you had been spending more time together, during your fake liaisons both in the lounge and in the private suite. It hadn’t been until Johnny had blurted it out that Cloud had realized it was affecting you, after all: that was why he’d said what he did, back in the private suite. Or, at least, he’d tried to: but just when he’d been about to say it, Palmer and those Honeygirls had barged in, and he’d had other things on his mind…and two awfully distracting things in his face. But he'd seen the vulnerability in your pretty eyes in that moment, and he'd been determined not to let himself give up, determined to try to make amends, start again. Cloud was trying to find a balance he could live with–some amicable middle ground between comrades and friends. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he was primarily trying to avoid getting hurt himself.

Then his gaze flicked to the dresser–there was a small, unopened white box perched on it, a packet of chopsticks laid beside it. Cloud felt his stomach turn, and not from hunger. What was it you’d said? That you’d been waiting two hours for him to turn up? Cloud was still too nauseous from the poison to eat, but the realization made his chest feel warm. He wasn’t used to having someone care like you did–someone who would wait up for him, make sure he was looked after, went out of their way to spend time with him. The nightly quiet dinners with you certainly weren’t the worst part of his day… He suddenly remembered the feeling of your hands on his back as you guided him to the bed, the way you’d cried out his name, in pain yourself at the sight of him in pain. He saw now he'd seriously hurt the feelings of someone who was trying to be a true friend to him–and Cloud hated it.

Despite his injuries muddling his mind at the time, Cloud had felt the intensity as you spoke, your anger morphing into anguish. He’d been paralyzed in shock when he saw your eyes begin to shine with tears–and it was because of him. Even though he’d decided he didn’t want to hurt you anymore, it seemed he’d hurt you anyway. He winced in a different kind of pain as your words ricocheted in his head: The stuff you said that night–you didn’t mean any of it.

I did mean it.

But it was the last thing you’d said, right as you left, that troubled Cloud the most: I’m done trying. You hadn’t just been upset, it was more than that–he could hear your despair. Cloud knew that if he let this lie, if he left you to just get over it, a wound would form between you that would never heal. If he really meant what he’d said–and he did–he knew things couldn’t go on as they were, for your sake. He’d have to come clean, tell you everything–well, everything about what he'd been doing, at least: just not everything about why he'd been quiet about it.

So instead of collapsing into bed and sleeping for the next week, Cloud went to the bathroom sink to hastily scrub the blood off his face before he retrieved Hardedge from where it was propped beside the dresser, making sure to lock the front door behind him before he set out after you.

It wasn’t until he reached the main street, crowded as ever with people, that Cloud realized he was still wearing his bloody SOLDIER’s uniform. But he didn’t have any other clothes, and it seemed no one had even noticed his appearance–most people had seen much weirder in Wall Market. And besides, Cloud didn’t care what any of these people thought. He was just scanning the throngs of drunken tourists as he passed, looking for your distinctive hair, the shape of your face, the sound of your voice. When Cloud saw Chocobo Sam come strolling out of one of the shops, he decided to jog over to him.

“Nice job out there tonight, Champ–can’t remember the last time someone took down a Rust Drake, and lived to walk away from it.”

“I’m looking for my friend–” Cloud started, cutting straight to his point. “You seen her?”

“Let’s see, that was uh...” Sam trailed off, hand reaching up to his chin as he worked to recall your name. “Your new lady, right? Danced with Andrea a few weeks back?”

Cloud nodded, forcibly glossing over the fact that he’d called you his girl. Sam laughed, eyes twinkling in a way Cloud did not like. “You two have some sort of lovers’ tiff?” he ribbed.

“Have you seen her, or not?!” Cloud snapped. He knew his sessions with you in the private suite were public knowledge, but it still made his cheeks flush.

“Can’t say I have. You should be careful–pretty little thing like that, you better hope no one ain’t shipped her off to the Mansion.”

Cloud’s stomach dropped like a stone. It was entirely possible you’d been carted off, especially without him there to protect you. “Is there an audition going on?”

“Not yet–but soon, I reckon.” Thanking Sam with a terse nod, Cloud turned to resume his search, when the sound of the rancher’s voice made him turn back.

“Word from the top is there’s going to be another Corneo Cup–this weekend. Sounds like The Don has a high profile guest comin’ to town he wants to keep happy. He knows you’re back, too–and that you’re good for the bettin’.” Cloud stared at him, trying to hide his alarm. Sam just tipped his hat in farewell as he said, “If you do track down your girl, maybe you should bring her along–even if you don’t win, she’s a sweeter prize than any hunk’a metal.” Then he sauntered off, disappearing into the crowd.

The prospect of enduring another Corneo Cup looming over him, Cloud wove through the crowded streets, debating where to look for you next. If there was even a chance the scouting for a new audition had begun, Cloud wanted to know about it–and if either of the Trio had decided to recommend you for it. So it was either off to Madam M, or Andrea, though Cloud could hardly believe Andrea would subject you to such a fate: it was evident from the very first meeting that Andrea was fond of you, and Cloud had seen him honor his word to look after you while you worked for him. Besides, he didn’t think the man was heartless enough to send one of his own girls for an audition against her will. So he began planning his route to Madam M’s parlor–

Cloud’s boots skidded on the cobblestones as he came to an abrupt halt. Something you’d said during your outburst popped into his head: I don’t care what you’re doing–if you want to go spend every night with Madam M–You’d choked on your words, so you never finished the thought.

Spend the night with…? Oh. Did you think he and Madam M were…involved? Cloud’s eyes widened as he put the pieces together, horrified at the realization that maybe you thought that was where he was disappearing to late at night. Not only did the idea make him nauseous, but he cursed himself for letting something like that fester in your head. He remembered his conversation with Madam M in the plaza, after your first performance. You’d been waiting for him outside–had you seen him talking with the Madam, and assumed it was…? Cloud shook his head to clear the thought. In the strategic silence he had maintained, it hadn’t occurred to him you might be filling in the void with answers that were much, much worse than the actual reality.

Did you really think Cloud was that type of guy? Did you know him so little?

…But that had been his goal, right?

So why did he find the idea of you seeing him in this light–the idea that you believed he would rather spend his nights with Madam M than with you–so…unacceptable? Refusing to let himself answer that question, he took a breath, refocusing on his search for you.

So–probably not painting her nails with Madam M...That left Andrea. While Cloud wasn’t seriously worried Andrea might have nominated you for an audition, he knew you’d become friends with some of the other Honeygirls you worked with–as close as an undercover insurgent could–so he decided to check if one of the girls had seen you tonight. Instead of heading straight down the road to Madam M’s parlor, Cloud ducked left and descended the metal steps leading to the small open area outside the Honeybee Inn. As he sprinted toward the entrance, the sudden sound of someone calling his name made him stop in his tracks. He looked to his right to find Andrea, waving off the man who greeted people at the front desk, as if they’d just concluded some conversation.

“Cloud–” Andrea remarked smoothly, “you seem distraught. Whatever has you in such a hurry?”

“Is she here? Have you seen her?”

Cloud didn’t have to say your name for Andrea to understand who he was talking about. He didn’t answer at first, simply studying Cloud under his cat-like gaze. “Cloud,” Andrea started again, “the first night you came back to Wall Market, I asked you a question–the same one I asked you before: I asked you what it is you’re looking for this time.” The sounds of the lively courtyard filled the silence. “Have you found it?”

Cloud didn’t have time for this. “Just tell me–is she here?”

After another pause, Andrea nodded. “She arrived about twenty minutes ago. I believe you will find her in the Drawing Room, second door on the right. The young lady seemed quite upset–it is my sincere hope you will be able to remedy that. I wish you luck.” Cloud squared his shoulders before ducking inside.

Following Andrea’s directions, he found the Drawing Room through one of the doors off the fountain room with no trouble (though he did peer through the keyhole of the door before he opened it, the debacle in the private suite seared into his mind permanently). The acrid smell of cigar smoke and whiskey coming from the small lounge stung his nose, and heard the sounds of a jazz piano as he scanned the space. But when Cloud spotted you across the room, what he saw made his heart stop, and his vision tunnel:

You were seated at the bar, surrounded by multiple empty glasses, smiling at Rufus Shinra.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

You’d wished you’d brought a jacket the moment the door slammed shut behind you. Your jean shorts and cardigan were better for warmth than your Honeygirl costume, but that wasn’t saying much. You were also quite underdressed compared to many of the people you passed as you walked the winding streets of Wall Market, whose fashions ranged from possibly homeless to high level couture. Hearing all the sounds of merriment around you in this town of pleasure only made you feel even more dejected and isolated. Paradoxically, you had left your own apartment and entered the crowded town to be alone (well, and to be away from Cloud).

Eventually, your feet carried you to the Honeybee Inn–as if there’d ever been any doubt you’d end up here. It was like this place was the center of the universe. You’d been shuttling back and forth between it and your apartment for so long, that everywhere else was starting to feel a bit unreal. You were hoping your suite would be available for the night, so you could have a private place to have a good cry. So you greeted the attendant at the desk (Caleb was his name) and inquired after your suite. To your disappointment, since you weren’t working tonight, it was reserved for another girl. The best you could do was try and grab one of what the worker bees called “the honeycombs.”

There was actually a third area within the Honeybee Inn, more public than the private suites, but less crowded than the main stage, called The Drawing Room: it had its own bar at the back, with chairs and couches scattered about the room, and a grand piano on a raised dais in the center. In the far corner of this smaller lounge were the honeycombs: hexagonal little rooms grouped together, each with a red curtain that served as the door for the little enclave. The purpose of these honeycombs was so that the workers could take the patrons they were chatting up into a secluded space to take the fun up a level–certainly not as white glove as the private suites, but those were reserved for customers who were more generous with their gil.

Since it was a weeknight, the Drawing Room wasn’t crowded, and you were able to cross the room and duck into one of the honeycombs (more like stalls with some good branding, you thought), and yank the curtain closed behind you, sitting down on the edge of the plush chaise lounge that was propped up against the back wall. You berated yourself for the way your eyes immediately began to sting. Cloud says a few harsh words, and you’re a puddle of tears? You hated that you’d let him see you so affected, so emotional. He probably thought you were hysterical, emotionally unstable–that’s certainly how you felt at the moment.

What your meandering walk through Wall Market had done was give you a moment to just think. You’d had no time to process everything that had happened, since you’d started living a life that was unrecognizable to the one you’d led just a few weeks ago. Nothing felt real since the moment you’d rolled into town with Cloud: working at the Honeybee Inn, maintaining the lies of your cover story, fending off the looks and advances of countless strangers, putting yourself on display night after night, the constant noise and people and lights and smells–it all made your head spin.

Not to mention Cloud. Living with him in cramped quarters, trying so damn hard to be his friend, to learn and accommodate his moods, to pretend you didn’t care when you did, when you cared so much you thought your heart might burst–even though you knew deep down it would all bring you nothing but disappointment and pain in the end. The time with Cloud oddly made this one of the happiest times of your life, but also one the most challenging. But you couldn’t help it. You were drawn to Cloud, and it seemed his hold on your heart was absolute. It all suddenly felt like too much.

I can’t do this anymore.

The thought struck a chord inside you, the tears blurring your vision as they finally began to spill over. Then you realized that you didn’t have to: you hadn’t found any Shinra employees. You hadn’t told anyone who you really were, except for Andrea. If you left, it would be as if you’d never been here at all. You had the gil in your pocket, right now. You could leave your uniform and all your belongings–leave it to Cloud to sort your stuff out. All you had to do was walk to the chocobo ranch and hire a carriage, and you would be back in Sector 3 in no time–back in your own apartment, in your own bed. A bed you didn’t share with Cloud. You didn’t know how that made you feel anymore.

As you spiraled deeper into melancholy, the thought finally crossed your mind that maybe, the only solution was to leave Sector 3 altogether–a clean break. As long as you were near Cloud, forced to be reminded of (and to suppress) your feelings for him every day, you would never be able to move on. You’d just be fanning the flames of hope at a fire with no kindling, no embers, no spark: you’d always be out in the cold. But you knew that even a clean break would break your heart; Yet, the life you were living now, it was death by a thousand cuts, slow and exhausting. And even if you could manage day-to-day, a slow death still meant you were dying–and pretending you could carry on like this with Cloud was killing you.

Now the tears flowed freely down your cheeks. You knew somewhere in your brain that this was all an overreaction, that it wasn’t just your hurt feelings from Cloud’s coldness that were affecting you like this. It had just been the final straw, one strain too many, and all the emotions you’d been holding in since you’d punched your ticket to this fake wonderland just couldn’t be held in any longer. It was about nothing, and yet–it was about everything.

“…Is this seat taken?”

Your head snapped up from where you were holding it in your hands at the sound of the smooth, dignified voice. You hadn’t even noticed the rasping sound of the curtain being drawn back along the rod, the soft light from the lounge nearly blinding you as you tried to scan the face of the man standing in the opening to your honeycomb.

When it finally hit you, you gasped: it was the same young man who’d been staring at you from across the fountain room, the first night you and Cloud had retreated to the private suite. It took you a moment to recognize him because this time, he was wearing a charcoal gray suit instead of the white coat he’d had on then–but the ash blond hair, the ice-blue eyes, the sharp, angular features, were unmistakable.

“O-Oh,” you murmured, furiously wiping at your eyes, frantic to clean yourself up. You certainly weren’t dressed for the Honeybee Inn–and you couldn’t imagine how your makeup could have survived your crying intact. “E-Excuse me, I was just leaving–”

But you froze when he gently put a hand up, saying, “No, please, don’t get up. That’s not why I came in here.” The young man slid the curtain shut once more behind him, the single sconce on the wall above the chaise lounge now the only source of light. The space now felt weirdly intimate, with just the two of you alone inside these cramped walls. You seriously hoped he wasn’t trying to come on to you now, of all times, to a girl who was not in a Honeygirl uniform and crying her eyes out on a Tuesday night, but you’d seen worse in your time here–you braced yourself to reject the man.

“I saw you enter by yourself,” he explained evenly, “and you seemed to be in some distress. I thought I’d inquire as to whether you were alright.” You blinked, unprepared for such a kind sentiment. His tone was smooth and self-assured, and the man radiated an air of cool confidence even Cloud couldn’t match. You were still supremely weirded out, but you had to admit, you were intrigued.

“May I sit down?” he asked. His speech oozed grace and elegance, and he was clearly high-class and well-bred given his expensive suit and impeccable etiquette. You nodded, shifting over so he could sit beside you (at a respectable distance, you noted.)

“Thank you, t-that’s very kind, but–” you started, “I really am fine. I just needed a place to be alone, and, well…”

“I’m a bit concerned that this was the best place you could find for that purpose,” he teased ever so gently.

You huffed out a weak laugh. “I have a–a roommate, so I had to go out for some privacy,” you explained. Why were you telling this man anything? What on earth was wrong with you?

“Is that the gentleman that was with you, the last time I saw you? By the private suites?”

You blinked. He’d seen Cloud? “O-Oh–no. I-It’s another one of the girls that works here,” you lied, your instinct to protect Cloud kicking in automatically. “You…you remember that?”

“Of course I do. You’re not so easy to forget.” Even though he’d complimented you, there was no animation to his tone or the smooth expression on his face, no added warmth in his eyes. You found it off-putting. Worried he was going to make some advance after all, you put up your guard again. You simply thanked him again lamely before silence fell between you.

“You live here in Wall Market? You and your…roommate.” The man asked, though it came out more like a statement.

“I only just moved to town recently, when I got the job as a Honeygirl.” Not technically a lie.

“And before then?”

You chose your words carefully. “Well, I’m originally from Sector 6, but when the plate fell and my parents–” you stopped yourself before you went on. “After that, I moved around Midgar a lot, finding work wherever I could. I–I was a nurse, before this.” That wasn’t a lie, either.

“My apologies–” he said, “I didn’t mean to bring up distressing memories. I lost my own mother, when I was young, and my father passed only a few months ago…sounds like you’re a strong young woman.” You looked down at your feet as you smiled, unsure how to respond. Though you were touched he’d share something so personal with you. “Forgive me, where are my manners?” he began again. “I never asked for your name.”

“It’s a pleasure,” he said when you offered it, giving you a bow of his head and a smirk. “My name is Rufus.”

You couldn’t help the small snort that burst out of you.

One of Rufus’s eyebrows raised in suspicion, and you shook your head, trying to collect yourself. “You find my name funny, do you?”

“No, of course not,” you said sincerely, desperate to suppress your smile.

He made you sweat for a few seconds as he stared hard at you. Then a small smile split his face. “It is a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?” You couldn’t help the smirk that pulled one corner of your mouth. “It’s a family name,” he explained.

“That’s sweet,” you remarked.

“That’s how it always is with us–we keep it all in the family,” he mused.

“What is it you do for a living?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation on him (and off you and Cloud).

“May I get you a drink first?”

His question caught you off guard. You hadn’t realized that having a somewhat normal conversation was helping you calm down. You could feel your sadness receding, your anger diffusing, at least for the moment. When you looked at Rufus to respond, you thought his eyes might have been just the slightest bit softer than when this young man had first walked into your honeycomb.

“You may.”

Cloud’s blood ran cold as ice as he stood paralyzed in the doorway of the lounge. Flashbacks of that night on the rooftop of the Shinra building slammed into him, dredging up the fear and dread he’d felt when he saw this same man approaching from a helicopter, fully intent on killing him and all his friends before returning Aerith to her imprisonment. Cloud had sent his friends ahead to safety, fully prepared to never see any of them again. He wanted to drag you away from Rufus, to tell you to run while he drew his sword and settled the score–but at the same time, he knew if Rufus Shinra recognized him here, Cloud would be the one truly in danger, not you.

His brain simply shut off. His feet began carrying him backward, and once he’d exited through the door, Cloud burst into a sprint, legs propelling him through the lobby and back out into the plaza. He leaned forward, propping himself up on the concrete of one of the walls that formed the entryway to the Honeybee Inn, fighting to catch his breath. sh*t–this just got way more complicated…

Cloud’s eyes flicked around. Seeing the people milling about the small plaza beginning to peer at him curiously, he forced himself to straighten, turn around, and lean back against the concrete, folding his arms to stop his hands from shaking. He didn’t know how long he stood there like that, heart and mind racing, seized with dread, but also racked with guilt over the fact that he’d left you to the wolves.

But it was more than that: it was that the wolf was making you smile, making you laugh. It was that you let the wolf sit right next to you, and the wolf clearly enjoyed your company. You weren’t in uniform, weren’t on the clock–he was just…spending time with you. How long had it been going on? What else were you getting up to that Cloud didn’t know about? He realized this must be how you felt, only seeing glimpses of what was being kept from you. The sight of you with Rufus somehow stung Cloud far more severely than he could rationally justify. Not just because of his searing hatred of the man–though that was undoubtedly part of it.

A pretty girl like you was the object of desire nearly every moment of the day here, and Cloud had a front row seat, testing his sanity with daily regularity. Normally, his agitation came from wanting to protect you–not to mention it was his job. And while constant exposure to it here in Wall Market had blunted his agitation to the way men treated you slightly, something about this was different. Because…well…Because he knew you didn’t like any of those other men. They were at best a means to an end, a pawn to use as part of your mission–at worst, they were creeps that you were happy to have Cloud deal with. But now, the sight of you genuinely smiling at one of them was making him burn. sh*t.

As Cloud was paralyzed with indecision, trapped between his need to make things right with you and his fear of the possibility of having to confront the new President here, the curtain behind the wall he was leaning against moved aside, and he heard the unmistakable (and insufferable) voice of Rufus Shinra. “I won’t be back this week, but then I’ll be in town frequently over the next month–which means I have every intention of seeing you again soon.”

Then what could only be your heart-melting giggle. “Well, you know where to find me!” Cloud recognized the back of your head and your hair as you walked out into the plaza, side by side with Rufus. “Oh, that reminds me–” you started, “you never told me what you do for a living!”

“I’ll just say that I work for Shinra,” he said coolly.

“No way! You must be pretty important, wearing a suit like that.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s a nice color. And the fit is perfect for you–you certainly cut a striking figure.”

“You’re too kind. And yes, I am fairly high up in the company–it was my father who got me the job.”

“You did say you like to keep it in the family!” Cloud blinked: Were you teasing Rufus f*cking Shinra?

Rufus chuckled. “Yes, I did.” Though Cloud still thought Rufus possessed the same cold, ruthless blue eyes, he couldn’t deny the spark that had lit behind them at your quip. And he was letting you?

“Please, allow me to walk you home,” Rufus offered sanguinely. Cloud’s heart began hammering in his chest.

“Oh! No, Rufus, thank you, but that really isn’t necessary. It’s not far, I’ve walked home by myself lots of times.”

“Though I admire your courage, a young woman like you shouldn’t take such risks if she doesn’t need to–my driver won’t be coming to collect me for a while yet.” Despite Rufus’s persistence, you managed to convince him to let you go home alone, insisting that it really was only a few minutes walk, and that your roommate Maya was expecting you (must be your cover story, Cloud figured.)

Just as Cloud began to hope he was finally leaving, Rufus asked for your work schedule, confirming next Saturday was the first day he would be free to see you again–and he assured you that you would. “So if you have any… regulars, I suggest you inform them you will be otherwise engaged–I plan to keep you all to myself.” Cloud had to stifle the hiss rising in his throat.

With that, you finally bid Rufus a good night. But while you made for the stairs leading to the ground level of Wall Market, Cloud noticed Rufus went the opposite way, in the direction of the main road–maybe Corneo’s Mansion? Part of him wanted to follow Rufus, to try and learn what he was doing here, but the urge to follow you won out in the end, and he took off for the stairs.

When he reached the top, he turned left, preparing to follow your usual route back to the apartment–Cloud froze. You were nowhere to be seen. It seemed you’d chosen to take a different way home, and in his moment of indecision, he’d lost you. Trying to stifle the panic rising in his chest, Cloud took off down another street in search of you, ignoring the pain in his leg and the sting in his side. It was beyond late–there was nothing good in store for a girl like you, in a town like this.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

It was no accident you were taking an extremely long, meandering route through Wall Market–you were stalling your return to the apartment, and you knew it. Cloud would probably still be there when you got back–and if not, he’d be there in the morning. What would you say? It was true that you were exhausted after the long, emotional day you’d had, but your unease was keeping you from making a beeline back to your bed. Your anger and pain were still raw, only temporarily pacified by the liquor and the distraction of your conversation with Rufus.

Rufus…You still didn’t quite know what to make of him. He was charming, from a surface level: witty and clever and sophisticated, he was good with his words and had a commanding presence. But there was something…cold about him–like he was good at simulating warmth, without actually feeling it. He wasn’t terrible to look at, you mused, but his cool, laser-focused intensity was a bit intimidating. You’d had to create your cover story on the spot, interweaving truth, half-truth, and lie into a tapestry you hoped you could remember the pattern to once you were sober. Not to mention the fact that he worked for Shinra–seemingly in some sort of senior role. This was what you’d been working for for weeks–this was why you were here, popping out of flower-shaped cakes and dancing in a leotard night after night. But now that your opportunity to accomplish your mission had finally come, you honestly felt nauseous more than anything else. You almost wished it was Palmer instead–almost.

As you made your way down the winding streets, the lights and lanterns and balloons and streamers mesmerizing in your intoxicated state, you couldn’t help it as your eyes drifted to every couple you passed by–sharing treats at the food carts or canoodling in the shops, holding hands across the tables at the restaurants, or walking the streets arm in arm. You wrapped your own arms around yourself. Cloud…Even though you couldn’t imagine him ever acting like this with you–ever taking you out for dinner, or holding your hand–it was still what you wanted more than anything. One sh*tty night couldn’t change that.

You stopped when you realized you’d walked so far that you’d reached the end of town, even going past Madam M’s parlor. There was a small market square before the road led off into the piles of scrap that lay beyond. Among the circle of carts that ringed the street, you noticed one was bursting with fresh flowers. Not only did it remind you of Aerith, making you miss your friends terribly, but it reminded you of the bouquet Cloud had inexplicably handed to you the first night he’d joined you in the private suite at the Honeybee Inn. You could still feel his leather gloved fingers brushing the hair behind your ear as he placed the rose there, letting you know in his wordless way that you two were alright.

But you weren’t alright, were you?

Your hand drifted to the section of the cart with the roses, cupping the soft petals in your fingers. Resisting the urge to just keep going, to disappear down the dark road into the night, you turned back toward the light and racket of Wall Market. In your intoxicated state, you were even less competent at navigating the town–which was a challenge for you even when you were stone-cold sober. You could have sworn you’d turned right at the pharmacy–or was it the materia shop? Who designed this place anyway, with no straight roads or street signs?

After wandering aimlessly down a few more streets, you found yourself in a secluded open area nestled behind what you thought was the hotel, but you weren’t sure. The little enclave had a concrete floor and a chain link fence hemming it in, the warbling music from an old jukebox drifting through the night air–and best of all, it was deserted. A small part of you wondered what Cloud was doing at the moment. But still uneasy about going back, you decided to flip through the track list and see if there was anything good.

“Hey baby!” The sound of a man’s voice calling out to you in that patronizing way only the most repulsive men did made your skin crawl. You instantly wished you’d just asked the greeter at the hotel for directions and gone straight home.

The sidewalk leading into the open area wrapped around the chain link fence, so you saw the men coming long before they reached you. They sauntered toward you, eyeing you with the shamelessness that only came with being intoxicated. You could make out their large, muscular statures even from this distance. Worse still, there were three guys approaching you. The one who’d called out, who seemed to be the leader, had tanned skin, an undercut of black hair tied off in a short ponytail at the crown of his head. He wore an open vest made of sleek black leather (and nothing underneath, lucky you) above his baggy pants. The other two were similarly dressed. But given that they were occupying the only exit route, you had no choice but to square your shoulders and will your inebriated brain to come up with a plan. You folded your arms and leaned against the wall next to the jukebox, trying to appear relaxed and, hopefully, intimidating. You decided to say nothing.

“You hear me?” the leader called out. He turned to the men behind him. “I don’t think this chick heard me!”

You suddenly wished you’d taken Tifa up on her offers to train you more often. What was the advice? Act tough, or just scream?

“Listen, sweetheart–” the man said as he rounded on you, “you’re really something. f*ckin’ gorgeous. Ain’t that right?” He looked back to his two friends. The looks on their faces concurred.

“You see dollface, (was this man ever at a loss for nicknames?) my boss is Don Corneo– the King of Wall Market. You know who that is, right?”

You nodded once.

“Well, he’s got a thing for pretty girls–especially ones with a body like yours,” the man continued. “Don Corneo is looking for a new bride–and you got fiancée written all over you,” he leered. “Don’t worry baby, when he’s done with you, you might even get a nice little golden parachute for that fine ass of yours. So whaddya say–you wanna put on a pretty dress and meet the Don himself? You wanna be a princess?”

You weren’t really sure why this guy was bothering to lay out his reasoning for whatever heinous thing he was about to do to you–but even with the extra time, your brain was fresh out of ideas. The problem was the exit: you briefly considered agreeing to go with them, so you could get past the chain link fence and disappear down a side street. But that would be insanely risky. Even trying to get away from one man would be next to impossible. But three? Who knew the town, unlike you? And you knew once the mansion’s massive red doors closed shut behind you, you’d probably never see them open again.

“Are you deaf, bitch?!” The lead thug suddenly spat. He was right up in your face now.

“…I-I’m flattered,” you said finally, “but, I’m not interested. I’ve got some gil in my pocket here–how about I give it to you, and we go our separate ways?”

“Oh, she’s one of them high-class broads!” one of the supporting goons said. “Pretty words coming out of her pretty little mouth, thinking she can just throw some money around and get what she wants.”

“She does have a pretty little mouth,” the leader agreed, eyes suddenly fixating on your lips. “Let’s hope she can still get the job done, eh?” he chuckled darkly, and the blood drained from your face.

You suddenly pictured your friend Jessie–back when she was still alive–shouting some cavalier line before tossing one of her grenades at the thugs, walking away with a pillar of smoke in her wake. You imagined Tifa, knocking this man flat with a roundhouse kick. Even Aerith, pulling out her staff and smiting them with a Thundaga, or simply casting a Stop spell and prancing away.

But you were nobody.

“If you try to take me to Don Corneo, I’ll scream,” you countered evenly, fighting your body’s urge to go into shock. “You should take my money and get drunk, or go find a Honeygirl.”

“She says she’ll scream, guys!” the leader exclaimed, mockingly frightened by your threat. “Listen, you uppity bitch–” he sneered, “you’re going with us to that mansion. You can come quietly, and we’ll put you in a nice dress, let you drink champagne–you like champagne, don’t ya? But if you don’t, it’s going to be so much worse for you.” Finally, your worst fear came true, when the lead goon touched you. Reaching his hand to your neck, he traced a finger down your throat.

“She’s the prettiest one we’ve had in a while, eh Damian?” one of the men said.

“Gorgeous body and a pretty face.” Your heart was racing, but you weren’t even sure you were breathing. “Go keep watch,” Damian said darkly, not taking his eyes from where his hand rested at your throat. The two men grinned before they retreated back toward the entrance–they knew what his words meant. Then the hand slid lower. You inhaled as deeply as you could and opened your mouth to scream for help–but you only managed a short cry before Damian’s other hand clamped over your mouth, cutting you off.

“Now what did I tell you?!” he chided, reeling his other band back and socking you in the gut. The wind rushed from your lungs, and you would have collapsed if not for Damian holding you up. As you coughed violently under his palm, you were too dazed to keep struggling. “Now I’m gonna have to do this the hard way,” he sneered.

As you fought the tears welling in your eyes, still reeling from the punch to your solar plexus, you suddenly thought of Cloud–he’d warned you about this exact thing, and had you listened? Would you ever see him again? Would you ever see anyone again? But as Damian yanked open the buttons of your cardigan, in the fog of your fear, you knew that, even if you could, there was no one around to hear you scream. You shut your eyes.

Damian pressed you up against the wall with his body. His breath reeked of foul whiskey, and it was oppressively warm against your neck. He used one knee to force your legs apart, reaching up under your camisole with one hand as the other still gripped your throat.

“Let her go.”

Even before your eyes opened, you knew whose voice it was–now you wanted to cry tears of joy.

Damian lazily tilted his head to look over his shoulder at the newcomer, but didn’t release you. “Who do you–”

It was Cloud, looking more pissed than you’d ever seen him in your life: his brows were furrowed deep, his eyes so dark with rage, so bright with intensity, you swore the mako rings in them were actually glowing. He looked more than human, almost wolflike, you thought, the way his angular face twisted in that ferocious snarl. He already had Hardege brandished in both hands, the muscles in his arms visibly taut in fury and anticipation, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Cloud was terrifying.

Terrifying to people with brains in their skulls, apparently–because Damian just said: “I remember you–you’re that punk from Sector 7. Heh–guess the plate missed a few jackasses on the way down.”

“Now.” You figured Cloud was holding back because of you–if he came in swinging, he could just as easily slice you in half with his sword as he could Damian. He’d clearly had no compunction dispatching the two other goons, as they were nowhere to be found.

“What is it with you? You try to f*ck with every audition? What, you got some kinda white-knight-savior-complex or somethin’? Go shove it up your ass, kid. This is Corneo’s turf–so just run along now. You can have her after he’s stretched her out.”

With a roar, Cloud lunged forward, his eyes absolutely feral–but when you choked out a gasp as Damian squeezed your throat, he stopped dead, eyes narrowing in even deeper rage and hatred. Then Damian drew a knife out from the holster at his lower back. “She’ll still work with a few scratches…” he sneered as he dragged the flat of blade up your thigh, the sensation of the cool metal on your bare skin making your erratic heartbeat pound even faster. “So you just stay right there and watch her get it from a real man, and maybe you’ll learn somethin’.”

For the first time, Cloud looked directly at you. You told him with your eyes that you were alert–that you trusted him. Then, you managed to open your mouth beneath Damian’s grimy hand, and bite down hard. When he cried out and let up on your neck just the smallest bit, you took the freedom it gave you to ram your knee into his groin, yelping as it made the blade at your thigh slice into your flesh. Then it clattered to the ground when Damian stumbled back, doubled over as he clutched himself–it was all the opportunity Cloud needed.

Your eyes were closed in pain from your numerous injuries–so you just heard the blunt, sickening sounds of metal cleaving flesh as Cloud brought the thug down with brutal precision. It reminded you how truly ruthless he could be, when he wanted to. By the time you’d blinked, it was all over: Damian was reduced to a moaning heap on the ground, blood pooling over the concrete as it poured from his wounds.

It registered somewhere in your mind that you should have felt relieved, now that you were safe–but you could tell by the way your hands were shaking, and the way your mind was a vacant void that you weren’t alright. The feeling of Damian pressed against you, trapping you, choking you, feeling you, was seared into your skin like a hot iron brand. The mangled body in front of you, coupled with the coppery smell of the blood, was compounding on how light-headed you felt from the oxygen deprivation.

“I’m going into shock…” you mumbled to yourself, making your diagnosis as you stared down at your trembling hands. Your vision was dim, reduced to a narrow tunnel in front of you.

Suddenly, your knees gave out. The sound of something metal clattering to the ground rang out moments before you felt yourself surrounded by something warm and solid–it was Cloud, catching you against his shoulder just in time to keep you from collapsing onto the concrete. You heard the quiet shink of what sounded like him returning his sword to his back. Then your head spun when your feet left the ground, as he lifted you up into his arms and sprinted away, his leather boots leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the pavement.

When your eyes could no longer stay open, the smell of blood and sweat and Cloud consumed you–you simply let your head fall against his chest as everything went black.

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

You didn’t remain out of it for long–because when Cloud entered your apartment, the sudden brightness of the ceiling light snapping on jolted you awake. He carried you to the bed and laid you down gently, adjusting the pillows behind you so you sat upright, before he disappeared into the bathroom.

As your senses slowly returned to you, the first thing that came back was the pain: your neck ached from where Damian had gripped you, your gut throbbed where he’d punched you, and your thigh burned as blood poured out of the gash from his knife. You looked down in horror to see the blood had soaked your jean shorts, and was now beginning to stain the bed sheets. Then the bathroom door burst open, and Cloud reemerged with some washcloths and what looked to be a first aid kit in one hand–your first aid kit, you realized–augmented by an orb of green materia in the other. You looked up at him as he crossed to your bedside, but he didn’t meet your eyes. You pondered if you should say something, but had no clue where to begin. The two of you hadn’t spoken since your outburst earlier that night, what must have been hours ago by now–something needed to break the ice again.

Cloud sat on the edge of the bed by your hip. Without a word, he reached over and held the back of your knee, turning your thigh as he examined the fresh slice there. Retrieving one of the disinfecting wipes from the packet in the med kit, he began washing away the blood with short, purposeful swipes. You hissed at the sting, but he didn’t react. He studied the cut again once it was clean.

“It’s not deep.” So, those were the first words…

After placing a pad of gauze over the cut, Cloud lifted you up at the knee to rest your foot flat on the bed, bending your leg so he could wind the bandage roll around your thigh. His touch was firm and purposeful, and you found it reassuring. Cloud’s work was meticulous, his movements done with a silent, almost mechanical efficiency–he was no stranger to patching up wounds. Even in your pain and exhaustion, it occurred to you that you were the nurse here, and you were more than capable of dressing a wound like this. Why was Cloud insisting on doing this himself? Maybe you hadn’t woken from your unconsciousness after all. Try as you might not to, you couldn’t help staring at Cloud the entire time he worked. His face was speckled with blood, his clothes were blotched with it, but he seemed unharmed, to your relief. But you could feel this…tension radiating off of him, like he was a tripwire ready to go off at any moment. It kept your mouth clamped shut. He hadn’t looked you in the eye since he’d rescued you. He still had the remnants of that murderous ice in his gaze, and you didn’t know what to say in the face of such intensity.

The sound of the medical scissors cutting the bandage brought you back, before he tied off your fresh bandage in an efficient knot. Cloud’s attention then moved up to your stomach. He paused for one hesitant moment, his hands hovering over your clothed abdomen, before he rolled up your cardigan and undershirt, bunching the fabric up just below your bra. You couldn’t help the gasp you let out. There was a large purple bruise already beginning to form just above your belly button, with a ring of smaller, greenish bruises fading in around it: a rich tapestry of misery. You tentatively reached a hand down to feel it, yelping in pain the moment your fingers touched your skin. Then you jolted when Cloud gently pressed one of the washcloths to your stomach, this one pleasantly warmed with hot water. Your eyes closed and you sighed as the heat soothed you.

While you lay there, holding the washcloth to your belly, you noticed Cloud had stopped his ministrations. Once you gathered the courage to open your eyes, you found him still sitting there next to you on the bed, hands balled into fists on his knees. He was staring at some spot below your face. “...Cloud?” Your voice was so cracked and hoarse that it could barely be heard, and barely even sounded like his name. Still, it seemed to break some sort of spell.

“I don’t–I don’t want to touch you there.” Cloud’s voice was hard and quiet as he glared down at his hands. He didn’t want to touch your neck, you realized–such a personal, vulnerable area, that had only recently been cruelly mistreated at the hands of Damian. It made you want to cry all over again, made you want to throw your arms around him and never let go all the days of your life.

“Is it…bad?” you ventured.

Cloud didn’t answer–but that was an answer, too.

“I-I can use the materia on my neck, if–”

“No. You’re too weak to be using materia.”

You dropped your eyes, yielding to his intense stare and cutting voice. “It’s okay, Cloud…it’s okay, if it’s you.” Then you closed your eyes and tipped your head back onto the pillows, exposing your neck, giving him permission.

After another pause, you heard a soft clinking sound as he took hold of the materia. Then, you felt the gentlest pressure of his open palm as he lay his hand across the valley between your collarbones, careful not to squeeze at all with his fingers. You wondered when he’d taken his gloves off. As he cast the magic, you felt its tendrils seep into your skin, and the pain slowly diminished, though didn’t fully disappear. You sighed in relief. The moment Cloud was done he pulled his hand away and repeated the process on your stomach and your thigh. You were still aching and sore and tired, but you were leagues better than when he'd first brought you back to the apartment.

Cloud didn’t stay put for long. He stood up, channeling his agitated energy into gathering the utensils and discarding the waste. What’s going to happen now? Besides somehow procuring a fresh new pair of bedsheets, you and Cloud would have to get into this bed together to sleep tonight. How could you, when you were both like this? It was agonizing not knowing what he was thinking. And besides, you hadn’t thanked him yet for unquestionably saving your life.

So when he went to retrieve the materia on the nightstand, you gently grabbed his wrist. “Cloud–” But he easily jerked free from your grip, making his way toward the bathroom.

“Please.”

It made him stop, his back still facing you. You noticed his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. “Please, say something…” You wanted honesty, even if what he said was angry or mean–you just needed him.

Cloud whirled around to glare at you, eyes bright and intense. “You want me to say something? How about, what the hell were you doing–what the hell were you thinking?!”

“Are you…are you mad at me?”

“You’re damn right I’m mad at you! I told you it’s dangerous here, and you go wandering around at night anyway? Drunk?! And go into some dark alley by yourself?! What would have happened if I hadn’t been looking for you?!”

“You–you were looking for me?”

“Yeah–” he shot back, “I was worried you might get into trouble on your own at night–at least one of us thinks about stuff like that!” You just stared at him, cowed by his anger. But how else could Cloud have been there to rescue you so quickly?

He came looking for me… You thought to yourself in a daze. Even after I–

Cloud suddenly turned his back to you again. “And I’m–”

Your gaze snapped up to stare him. Now it wasn’t anger–there was something else in his voice.

“...I looked everywhere for you.”

His voice was suddenly quiet, strained. “I kept running, but I couldn’t–” Cloud seemed far away, like he was talking more to himself now than anyone else. His head ducked sideways, shoulders taut. All you could do was stare at the back of him. There was a pause before he could go on. “I–I heard you scream–” his eyes squeezed shut as he winced, as though he were in pain, his voice tight with emotion, hard, but also frail. Your eyes were wide as saucers–you’d never seen Cloud like this. A long, heavy silence hung in the air.

“…I’m sorry.”

Your voice, small and infinitely fragile, seemed to pull Cloud from his inner turmoil. He looked back over his shoulder to see your face so open and pained, your eyes wide and shining. You saw his shoulders sink, felt some of the tension radiating off of him slowly drain away. “…I know,” Cloud replied quietly, turning his body to face you once more. “I just need–you need to be more careful, okay?”

When he met your eyes again, you nodded. “I will be, from now on–I promise.” And you meant it: even if the bruises all over your body hadn’t gotten the lesson through, the pain in Cloud’s eyes was something you never wanted to cause ever again. More than anything, you wanted to ask Cloud to come over and hold you. You wrapped your arms around yourself instead. “Cloud…” you ventured, “a-about earlier–”

“Let’s leave it until tomorrow, okay? We’re both exhausted.” From the look in his eyes, you could tell he wasn’t without remorse, either.

“Okay.”

There was a stretch of silence before Cloud spoke again. “We need to change the sheets.” He was already making for the dresser, voice sliding back to its normal, business-like tone.

“I didn’t know those were in there,” you remarked when you saw him pull a folded square of clean white fabric from the bottom drawer, voice still a bit subdued.

“Can’t help I’m the only one who puts stuff away around here,” Cloud grumbled in his completely dry, completely flat way–but you didn’t mind in the slightest. You watched as he turned to face you, then stood dumbly beside the dresser. “Can you stand? Or…?” His eyes fell to the floor.

You moved to climb out of bed, but instantly cried out, clutching your stomach as even the slightest movement made you double over in blinding pain. Eyes still squeezed shut, you heard the sound of Cloud’s brisk footsteps growing louder. Your eyes popped open, peering up at his rapidly approaching figure, your cheeks flaring as you realized what he intended to do. “Oh–n-no, really Cloud, it’s–!”

Despite how careful he was as he positioned his arms, one wrapped around your waist, the other underneath your knees, how slowly he tried to lift you, it still aggravated your stomach, and you saw the way his brows pinched when the movement made you wince. It took only a few purposeful strides before Cloud was depositing you in the armchair in the far corner. Then he went back to the bed, setting to work removing the old sheets caked in layers of dried blood, and replacing them with the new ones. You gingerly tried to pull yourself up to stand, hoping to do so while he was distracted. But the moment one foot touched the floor–

“Don’t move.” He hadn’t even looked over, hadn’t even stopped tugging the sheets over the bed–damn SOLDIER.

A few moments later, Cloud returned to collect you from the armchair, gathering you up with the same gentleness and care as before. He quickly crossed the room and set you down once again atop the fresh sheets and blankets so you were seated on the edge this time, feet on the floor. “Can you…uh…do you need me to–?”

Oh. Could you change out of your blood-soaked clothes and into your pajamas without assistance–that’s what he was asking. Your face burned molten hot. “Y-Yeah. Maybe just bring me my pajamas? I-In my duffel bag,” you stammered.

He did as you asked, laying them on the bed beside you before moving to the bathroom. “Tell me when it’s okay for me to…” he trailed off, hand carding through his hair before he ducked inside and closed the door behind him. His bashful chivalry made your heart squeeze. You moved slowly, wincing in pain with every action, but you managed to peel off your dirty, bloody clothing and change into your pajamas. You set the soiled clothes down on the bedside table and called out to let Cloud know it was safe to return. The bathroom door opened a few moments later, and he wordlessly made his way to his side of the bed. As you climbed into the covers, you couldn't take your eyes from his back where he sat on the edge, the quiet clinking noises of the buckles and clasps of his pauldron and harness as he removed them not quite filling the oppressive silence.

The awkwardness of getting into bed beside each other had dampened (slightly) as the weeks had gone on–but for some reason, tonight you felt just as nervous as the first night. He took up his usual position, and you yours: him lying on his side facing away from you, while you lay on your back, staring up at your reflection in the mirror. Exhausted in mind and body from the events of the day–you hadn’t even mentioned Rufus yet–you closed your eyes, ready for sleep to take you.

But they snapped open again–how had you forgotten? You turned your head to look over at him, heart thundering so loud in your chest you were sure he could hear it in the dead silence in the room. “...Cloud?” you ventured.

You heard the covers rustling as he rolled over to face you, propping himself up on one elbow. “You need something?”

The light from Wall Market coming in through the blinds was just enough that you could see Cloud in grayscale, and he could see you: you knew by the way he was gazing down at you intently. Without thinking it through, you reached forward to gently cup Cloud’s cheek in your hand, barely resting against his warm skin. He let out a small, startled grunt at the contact–but he didn’t pull away.

“Thank you.”

You didn't know why you murmured it, why it almost felt like a secret, something too precious to let leave the space between you–as if you needed to keep it from the world, though there was no one around to possibly hear it. With the slightest brush of your thumb over his cheek, you withdrew, gingerly rolling to your other side before you shut your eyes. You’d done this because you weren’t brave enough to hold Cloud’s gaze, to see his reaction to your sudden expression of tenderness. After a few still moments, you felt the sheets move behind you as Cloud settled down once more into his usual position, his back facing you.

You heard it as you were falling from wakefulness into sleep–so quiet and gentle, you couldn’t be sure you hadn’t dreamed it:

“…You don’t need to thank me.”

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

Gritting his teeth, Cloud ignored the throbbing in his side and the burning in his knee as he shoved his way through the crowded streets of Wall Market.

He didn’t know how long he’d been running, turning corner after corner, never catching even a glimpse of you. You’d just left the Honeybee Inn–where else would you even go? Was he just overreacting? Why hadn’t he just taken Barret’s offer and accepted the damn PHS?!

He stopped by the hotel to catch his breath. Maybe he should head up the street to the chocobo ranch, to ask Sam if he’d seen you. Cloud was trying to ignore the panic tearing at his insides–if anything happened to you, he didn’t know what he’d–

Wait–that smug, slimy voice…he knew it–It was…Damian. Cloud recognized it from their brief meeting back in Sector 7, what felt like a lifetime ago. Then, nearly drowned out in the clamor of Wall Market’s main street, he heard your voice–and his chest constricted.

Dammit–where are you?! Cloud turned in a circle, eyes frantically scanning everywhere–but he couldn’t figure out where the voices were coming from. It wasn’t until he saw two grimy looking men come down from behind the hotel, stop at the entrance to the small courtyard that Cloud finally worked out where you must be. He strode up to the thugs, murderous fire in his eyes.

“Keep moving, pretty boy!” one of them sneered. Then, from somewhere behind the two men, Cloud heard your scream for help pierce the night air–pierce him–and everything stood still. It was immediately cut short by the sickening sound of a fist connecting with flesh, and he felt like he was going to be sick. Cloud snarled, his vision briefly flashing white, his body coursing with adrenaline. The thug grinned at him. “Just taking care of some business for the Don. Now piss off, before we–”

In a blur, Hardedge was in his hands, and Cloud came down on the man with a punishing slash, dislocating the man’s shoulder and severing his trap muscle in one blow. The thug crumpled before his friend even registered what was happening. With two more swipes, he took out the second lackey, already running past him up the hill before the man’s body hit the ground.

“…Now I’m gonna have to do this the hard way.”

Just as he rounded the chain link fence, Cloud froze. His heart leapt when he saw you, eyes closed, tears sliding down your face as the man gripped your throat, forced your legs apart with one knee as his other hand slid up your shirt.

Cloud’s vision tunneled. “Let her go.”

When the man lazily turned his head to look over his shoulder at Cloud, Rufus Shinra flashed him an icy smile.

Cloud’s eyes flew open, inhaling sharply as he startled awake. He sat up in bed and looked around, but the room was dark and still. Then he looked over at you–by some miracle, he hadn’t roused you from sleep. He blinked hard, trying to compel his breathing to slow down.

You hadn’t looked in a mirror yet–but Cloud could see all your injuries. The worst was your neck. It was hard for Cloud to look at: there were inky purple bruises on either side where Damian had gripped you, and deep red marks where his fingernails had punctured your skin, amid all the other scratches. You had a lovely neck, Cloud thought–though he’d never realized it before: to see something so lovely and defenseless so marred and abused, to see you hurt like that on such a tender, vulnerable part of you…it burned Cloud alive.

As he gazed at you, Cloud realized that even though he’d saved you, that you were lying next to him now with only minor injuries–that anger hadn’t really gone away. And it wasn’t really even the anger that was still rattling him, no. When he’d heard you scream, he’d been…afraid.

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

You awoke the next morning to the smell of blood, and opened your eyes to a fresh crimson stain on the sheets next to you.

The sight made you jolt upright, as if you’d been doused with ice water. Then you noticed Cloud, hunched over as he sat on the edge of the bed, hand clutched to his side, trying to stifle his hisses of pain.

You suddenly felt like the worst friend (and nurse) in the whole world: In the gauntlet of escaping from Damian and co., and even after Cloud had patched you up, your soreness and exhaustion had made you completely forget that Cloud had been gravely wounded just a few hours prior. After you’d yelled at him, hurt by his continued effort to keep you at a distance, you’d only give him enough treatment to make sure he wouldn’t die before you’d stormed out into the night: But running all over Wall Market, then fighting three armed thugs before carrying you across town could hardly have been good for his tender wounds. Seeing him in pain made you feel sick.

“Cloud!” You rose to your knees on the bed, reaching a hand forward, but catching yourself just before it made contact with his shoulder.

Cloud barely turned his head when you said his name. “I-It’s nothing. Think I just…irritated it…”

You felt your heart squeeze. But you remembered how this had gone before: so you made yourself take a deep breath. You climbed out of bed, wincing at the throb in your stomach from your own injuries (what a pair you two made, huh?), then circled round to his side of the bed. There was fresh blood soaking his sweater, staining the arm wrapped around his abdomen. Even though his face was contorted in pain, his eyebrows raised in surprise when you knelt in front of him, placing your hand ever so gently on his knee.

“Cloud–” He peered down at you through one squinting eye. “I hate seeing you in pain…” Your brows pinched in compassion as you looked up at him. It was true. “If you let me stitch the wound, the healing materia will work better–you’ll heal better. Will you let me help you, Cloud?” Your voice was as soft and sincere as could be. And when he nodded, you couldn’t help the small smile that lit your face. “Okay.” You stood up and gathered all the pillows on the bed, piling them up behind him. “Lay back for me, if you can.” Then, placing a hand on his shoulder, you guided him to prop himself up against the pillows. Before, you’d been a nurse first, friend second–this time, you were determined to be the reverse.

Most of the supplies you needed were already on Cloud’s bedside table, where he’d left them after tending to you last night. But when Cloud hissed as he settled back onto the pillows, you decided there was something else you needed to do first. You entered the bathroom and cranked the faucet on the sink, leaving the water to heat up as you crossed the room to your duffel bag. After opening a zipper on the side, you rifled through the small pouches within, each filled with a different dried powder, until you found the one you were looking for.

With a brief scan of the room, you realized the only cup you had in your apartment (since it had no kitchen) was the one you’d gotten with your takeout last night. Luckily, you’d only put water in it, so it wasn’t too unsanitary. Taking it to the bathroom, you filled the cup with the now hot water before returning to Cloud’s bedside. Even with his face scrunched up in discomfort, you saw the curiosity in his eyes as he watched you set the cup down on the table beside him, and shake some of the red powder into the water, dyeing it the color of wine as it dissolved.

“I wondered–” he rasped, startling you, “why you keep dead grass in your bag…”

He really has such a way with words… “It’s not grass–” you chided good-naturedly, “these are herbs that have medicinal properties. I worked with Dr. Baker in Sector 5 before I moved to Sector 3. Here–” you lifted the cup for him to take. “This should help with the pain.”

You watched him take a tentative sip, which quickly morphed into a long gulp as he savored the warm, sweet liquid. “Not bad. What’s in this?”

“Willow bark, mostly, some Curiel root–with a bit of Rolanberry, for the taste.” You were pleased with yourself as he took another sip, the furrow in his brow relaxing just a bit. With that taken care of, you hastened back to the bathroom, ransacking your apartment for the last remaining towels and washcloths not completely ruined by blood or poison or grime. You wet the washcloths down in the sink, making sure to use warm water–just as Cloud had done for you. When you finally sat by his hip on the edge of the bed, settling in to begin the real work, your eyes dropped to your lap.

“Do you–do you need me to help you–?” Great professional manner there. But by the way your eyes flicked to his shirt, Cloud understood what you were trying to ask. He winced as he sat up and peeled the blood-soaked sweater off, placing it on the bed next to him.

You’d seen plenty of people in various states of undress in the years you’d cared for the sick and injured of Midgar: but all your training and experience had utterly failed to prepare you to see Cloud’s bare chest for the first time. You lambasted yourself for admiring someone while he lay in pain, a nasty gash tearing open his right side–but admire you did. Cloud was lithe rather than brawny, but his chest was smooth, well-built and deliciously toned with compact, efficient muscles. Your heart was thundering in your chest.

When Cloud called your name like a question, you blinked, cheeks flaring molten hot. “Here!” you said a bit too quickly, pressing one of the warm washcloths to his chest, wiping away the blood. Once you’d cleaned around the slice, you replaced the cloth with one of the wipes in your med pack. Cloud hissed and shifted as the disinfectant stung him, but there wasn’t anything you could do but finish cleaning it quickly.

Reaching once more into your medical kit, you suddenly froze, looking at Cloud as it dawned on you. “I’m so sorry, Cloud–I don’t have anything to numb it…” How could you have forgotten to pack something so important? You mentally made a note to go to the pharmacy to restock your supplies at the very first opportunity.

But Cloud just nodded grimly. “I’ve had worse. Just do it.” You nodded, and prepared your tools.

You cleaned the needle in a cloth that had been soaked with some of the alcohol solution from a bottle in the kit, before threading the Grashstrike silk thread through the eye. Now you really needed your professional instincts to kick in–but the fact that you were patching up Cloud, who was staring down at you from above his glorious chest as you bent forward and lowered your hands to his abdomen, was making you nervous. You took a breath to focus yourself as you took your needle driver in your right hand, and the forceps in the other.

“Breathe in.” The first suture was the worst–hearing his sharp hiss as the needle punctured his flesh was hard for you. But as you fell into the routine, your training and experience did kick in, and you began to expertly close the wound, deciding two layers of interrupted sutures would be needed to repair the muscles and the skin. In your nursing experience, you’d often found it helped the patient to get them talking during procedures people found unsettling, which usually involved needles–like stitching a wound or drawing blood, for example. Not wanting to discuss anything heavy while he was enduring your work, the stain on the bed gave you an idea.

“I’m guessing there isn’t a second set of sheets in the drawer, is there?”

You heard Cloud grunt softly, not expecting you to speak. “No more towels either–” he managed through the pain. “Hope Andrea isn’t…keeping a tab.”

You smiled, eyes never leaving your hands. “Gonna be hard to explain why we need towels and bedsheets–he’ll think you’ve got me working overtime.” He let out a sharp exhale that was a close enough approximation of a laugh.

“You’re still not going to get another shirt, are you?” you teased lightly after a few more sutures.

“Why mess with perfection–” he rasped, the final word morphing into a hiss as you tugged on the thread. You apologized sympathetically, even though it wasn’t a mistake.

“Well, at least your near death experience has humbled you.” You felt your insides warm at his self-assured grunt. You were vaguely aware of the way Cloud’s eyes were fixated on your hands as you worked, expertly maneuvering the scissor shaped driver in tandem with the forceps to close off each suture in quick, efficient knots, his gaze raising and lowering with the rhythmic movements of your hand as you pulled the thread through each stitch–but you couldn’t think about that now, or you’d lose your nerve.

“I use Grashstrike thread because it’s organic,” you explained–not that anyone asked you to–“the stitches will dissolve on their own over the next few weeks, no removal necessary–that’s why they work so well with materia. People think the silk is poisonous, but it’s not–the Grashstrike coats the silk with poison when it spits it at an enemy, but it can be harvested in a way that makes it totally safe.” Cloud just listened, occasionally letting out small hisses or grunts of discomfort. Eventually, you reached for the scissors and trimmed the excess thread, a six inch track of sutures running from Cloud’s lowest rib to the crest of his hip bone.

“Okay, the worst part’s over–you did great.” You lay the needle down on the bedside table and wiped your hands with one of the washcloths. Now that the most pressing injury had been attended to, you rose to your knees to examine the three slash marks on his upper back, just over his left shoulder. The skin around them was tinged slightly green, you noticed. “Is this how you got poisoned?”

“Venomantis,” he answered. You burned to ask him where he’d run into such a monster, but you held back: there would be time for questions once he was patched up. The wounds were painful, but scabbing over nicely, not deep enough to cause alarm: you decided all they needed was simple bandaging and a once-over with the healing materia.

“If it’s not too uncomfortable, could you…could you sit up for me? I–I need to wrap the bandages…” you trailed off. Cloud nodded, grimacing as he pulled himself up from the pillows, bringing his gorgeous torso even closer to you.

Now that he was sitting up, you felt your face flush as the height difference between you became apparent once again. You shuffled until you were kneeling beside him on the bed. Placing one hand lightly on his shoulder blade to anchor the cloth over the gauze pad, you began winding the bandage around his upper body. Cloud tried to lift his arms helpfully with each pass of the bandage roll, but his injuries limited his range of motion. Though you did your best to not touch his bare skin, your hands kept gliding over different parts of his chest and back as your arms orbited his torso, passing the roll from hand to hand, smoothing the cloth down as you went. You thought you heard his breath hitch when you would lean over him as your arms encircled him from behind, your cheek far too close to the crook of his neck, your breasts occasionally brushing up against his arm or back.

Then, the first task complete, with a hard swallow, you shifted to kneel in front of him again. You had no choice but to settle between his legs, which he opened wider to accommodate you. Your hands slid lower, and you began to bandage the gash you’d just sutured above his hip bone, finding it difficult to get enough oxygen. In the process of circling the bandage around his lower belly, you were pressing and tracing lightly at the skin just above the belted waistband of his pants, dangerously far below his belly button (he’d removed his harness along with his shirt), all the while trying not to appreciate his narrow waist and the deep lines of his muscles under your fingertips (and failing miserably). As you worked, you couldn’t help but notice how smooth and warm his skin was, how there were times when your faces were far too close as you leaned over his shoulder to pass the bandage roll behind his back, and your hair would brush over his skin, or his would tickle your neck. His scent was intoxicating, even beneath the sweat and blood. Cloud kept his head turned sideways, tilted down to stare sidelong at the bedsheets, and you did your best not to stare at him as you worked–where else were you supposed to look? You should have struck up some sort of conversation to allay the awkward silence–to stifle the heat rising inside you–but you were lost in the haze that hung in the near nonexistent space between you and Cloud. The task couldn't have taken more than a few minutes, but it somehow felt so much longer. In the silence, the only sounds were your shaky breathing and his gentle grunts. When you finally finished tying off the final knot, your hands were resting lightly on the crests of his hips.

Managing to stifle your traitorous urges–he was a patient, dammit–you pulled your hands from him, breaking the spell. “Y-You can lie back now, thanks,” you murmured, your voice way too breathy. After he sank back onto the pillows, you noticed Cloud squirmed a bit, hands folded strangely in his lap over the fly of his fatigues, shifting his legs as if he couldn’t get comfortable, before he finally settled. You thought it was odd, but then his movement reminded you–

“Oh–what about your leg?” You’d noticed last night that he had come through the door with a limp. But now your stomach was doing somersaults inside you–as much as seeing Cloud shirtless had scandalized you, how on Gaia were you going to handle him–?

“S’only bruised. Just needs another pass with the materia.” His eyes were glued to his hands in his lap, voice gravel rough, and he shifted his legs again. Had you ever seen his cheeks that flushed? You reminded yourself you’d already overstepped before, back in the private suite, and clearly, the proximity was making him uncomfortable now, too.

Berating yourself for the way your head was filled with thoughts that would certainly cost you your medical license, you decided not to press the issue, and simply nodded. “Anything else I can take a look at?” When he shook his head, you retrieved the green orb of healing materia from the table, and once again cast the Cura spell, hand resting next to the line of sutures you’d just placed. His skin was pleasantly warm, not feverish, you noted–a good sign. His stomach was hard under your touch, and the urge to slide your hand down his abs, down that faint line of hair until you reached–you yanked your hand back.

Deciding that changing the sheets could wait, you simply let Cloud rest, his eyes closing as his head tipped back into the pile of pillows propping him up, while you busied yourself cleaning your tools in the bathroom sink and piling up the dirty towels in the bin in the closet. But Cloud’s eyes popped open again when he felt the sudden weight of your knee on your side of the bed, looking at you in confusion as you leaned over to grab his discarded sweater from where it lay next to him. Not wanting him to feel you were hovering, you quickly retreated to the leather armchair in the far corner, taking your med kit with you.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, since you won’t let me be your Honeymama, and buy you a new shirt–” you joked warmly, “I’ll just have to mend this one for you. This thread isn’t the best for clothing, but it’s flexible and strong, and it’s transparent, so it shouldn’t look too bad–at least until we can find some real thread.”

“Not that different from mending flesh, huh?”

You smiled at his remark, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Cloud’s eyebrows knit together as your expression suddenly sobered. “My mom taught me how to sew,” you murmured, eyes glued to the rip in his shirt where you were beginning your first backstitch. It was quiet for a few moments as you worked, lost in your thoughts.

“…My mom tried to teach me, when she was still alive. Never had the patience for it. Wish I’d paid attention now–comes in handy for a SOLDIER to be able to patch up his uniform in the field.”

“I’ll bet,” you replied, not quite able to sound cheerful. But you were touched that he was reaching out, in his way, acknowledging your hurt–a hurt you both shared. Silence settled over the room once more. Even with his head ducked as he studied his hands, you could see the way Cloud was eyeing you as you worked at his sweater. The words from the previous night–said and unsaid–hung in the silence.

“Cloud–”
“I meant it.”

When you looked up from your lap, you found him already gazing at you, eyes bright with an intensity you weren’t expecting. Your brows pinched for just a moment, wondering if you’d misheard him. “Huh?”

“W-What I said, that night–I meant it.” The first time he’d said it, it was as if it had spilled out of him. The second time, he seemed to lose his nerve, his eyes dropping to his hands in his lap.

You immediately felt your cheeks flush. “O-Oh…”

“I’ve been fighting in the Colosseum,” Cloud said suddenly. “That’s where I’ve been going at night. And sometimes, while you’re working.”

Your hands stilled. That did explain how he’d gotten such severe injuries. How had it never occurred to you before? He’d been so adamant you stay away from there, so vocal about how dangerous it was, you’d just assumed he would heed his own warnings and steer clear of the place. This seemed so simple–why had Cloud insisted on keeping it from you so vehemently?

“I had to settle a debt with Madam M,” he continued.

“…A debt?” You felt as fragile as glass.

He lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I-It was to pay for your dress, the stuff you wore for your audition with Andrea,” Cloud explained. “Madam M doesn’t do anything for free. So I compete in the Colosseum, and she places bets on me until I’ve paid off the amount.”

He was doing it for you? You gazed at him, eyes wide at how touched you were. “Cloud, I–”

“–That’s the only business between me and Madam M.” You would have expected Cloud’s eyes to drop away at this point, but he held your gaze, as if trying to get something across to you.

Your face grew molten hot. “O-Oh, I see…” It did all add up–the conversation you’d overheard outside the Honeybee Inn, from that first night: she’d been reminding him of his financial obligation to her. That was the “arrangement” she’d been talking about. “But, Cloud,” you went on gently, “I still don’t understand why you wanted to keep that a secret from me. They’re my clothes, you should have let me help you–”

“No–that’s why I didn’t tell you. Wall Market is dangerous–you should know that by now.” His voice softened as he said that last part. You reflexively lifted a hand to your neck, the ghost of Damian’s grip seared into your skin. “The Colosseum is the most dangerous place here, besides the Mansion. I don’t want you anywhere near it. I’m the SOLDIER here, I-I’m supposed to–” he suddenly faltered. “It’s my job to protect you.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest at his words. But then his cheeks flushed, and he added, “T-That’s why Barret put me on the mission–right? I wouldn’t be a good teammate if I let you get mixed up in the underworld here. You’ve got enough to deal with.” Even though you disagreed with his methods, you understood Cloud’s intentions. He’d been trying to help, in his way. He hadn’t even told you he’d entered into such an agreement to pay for your dress, not even taking credit for doing something so nice for you–and so dangerous for him.

“You seemed…okay with how we were doing things–keeping to ourselves,” Cloud went on, unsure of each word as it came out. “It looked like you were sleeping when I got back–I didn’t know you’d figured out I was leaving at night. You’re always so nice, and…I didn’t–I didn’t think it bothered you, that we weren't telling each other stuff. Not until…”

You couldn’t help your small smile. “I was pretty clear last night, wasn’t I?” He didn’t quite smile, but his eyes grew a bit brighter when he met your gaze.

It was at that moment you realized that, all this time, you hadn’t been reading Cloud right. Or rather, you’d been looking in the wrong places: You’d been fixated on what he said–or rather, all the things he wasn’t saying. But you’d failed to notice his actions: how he’d watched over you from a distance since your early days as a Honeygirl–even though anyone could tell he desperately wanted to avoid the Honeybee Inn at all costs. How he’d agreed to pretend to be your client, just to give you an excuse to get away from the men whose attentions made you sick. How, from your very first shift, whether he went to work with you or not, he always made sure to walk you home each night, and later, eat dinner in silence beside you, too.

And even after you’d poured your anger out at him, accused him of lying to you, told him to leave, he’d searched for you through the streets of Wall Market, had saved you from Damian without a moment’s hesitation. He’d carried you home and cared for you with such tenderness, revealing vulnerability you’d never seen in him before. And–as you knew now–all the while, he’d been risking his well being in deadly bloodsport to pay for the clothing that had helped you fulfill your role in the mission.

How, even when he left in the middle of the night, he did his best to be in bed beside you when you woke up.

And as you took in his words, you found yourself looking back at your own behavior since you’d come to Wall Market: sort of on reflex, you had been doing your best to not let on to Cloud he was hurting your feelings. You’d never been brave enough to let him know you were awake when he came creeping back into the apartment after another late night. It wasn’t until you’d come home in hysterics after that night at work with Ethan, and Cloud had had to force out of you what was bothering you, that you’d admitted your difficulties. You realized you’d always been like that: one to avoid conflict and confrontation, always putting the harmony of a relationship over your own needs. And just like after Ethan, you’d waited until it had reached a crisis point, and the incident last night had sent you in a fury, caused you to storm out and make a string of rash and poor decisions. And you reminded yourself that once you'd opened up to Cloud back then, let him know how you were struggling, he'd asked what you needed, changed his behavior right away. Cloud had been in the background the whole time, offering you his understated but abiding support. He had been there for you, in his way.

Then your eyes drifted to the wall closet to the left of the bed. When it had been too hard for him to tell you what he felt, he’d placed that rose at your ear, he’d shown you that you two were alright. You’d been listening, but you hadn’t been watching–and Cloud showed through his actions the things he wasn't saying. A surge of gratitude and warmth bloomed in your chest as you brought your gaze back to him. If it were somehow possible, you felt yourself falling even more hopelessly for him. It didn’t excuse everything he’d done, the knucklehead–but you could see his intention hadn’t been vicious: there hadn’t really been an intention at all.

“But I see now that was wrong. It was wrong to keep it from you. I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings, but I know I did. Things are going to be different from now on, okay?” Cloud finished. “No more secrets.” You gave him a small smile, a gentle nod: okay. But there was something else you had to say, something you’d been meaning to ask.

Your eyes fell to your hands. “Cloud…the reason I–” you started, unsure of your words. You decided to back up. “When I left, after…” Thinking back to your outburst seemed like recalling something from a dream, even though it had happened only yesterday. “I went to the Honeybee Inn.”

“I know.” You looked up at him in surprise. One hand rubbed the back of his neck as he looked down.“I came looking for you. I wanted to–we needed to talk.” Wanted to…apologize?

“Oh…”

“I saw you leave–that’s why I was following you.” Did that mean he’d seen you with Rufus? You decided that discussion could wait.

“The reason I didn’t head straight back here,” you continued, “was because of the…the misunderstanding we had. After I left, I just…I wasn’t ready to come back. So I just wandered around, and then–well, you know what happened.” Your fingers were nervously fiddling with the neck of his sweater as you explained. His expression was unreadable. You took a deep breath. “If there’s anything we should learn from the past few days, it’s that we…we aren’t always a very good team. We’ve gotten by so far, but we’re going to need to trust each other for this to have any shot of succeeding.” You looked up at him again, but his eyes were glued to the bed sheets. Now came the hard part.

“I want to know you, Cloud…” Your eyes dropped and your cheeks flushed just as his eyes snapped back to you. It was this back and forth, your eyes always on one another, but never at the same time. “We–we only spend time together when it directly pertains to the mission. We’re trying to do this separately. But we can’t do this in parallel–we have to be able to really work together.” When he didn’t respond, you qualified: “Of course, I won’t force you–I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to, if I can help it.”

“What are you suggesting?”

Heat returned to your face. “I think we should spend some time together–not on mission, just…just–”as friends? “–so we can be more comfortable around each other. What do you think?” Though your voice was soft, your heartbeat was loud in your ears.

Clouds eyes were wide, almost startled at your request. In the soft morning light, you could see his cheeks were slightly pink, and the sight made your heart ache. Even coated in a sheen of sweat from his injuries, his eyes tired from a tormented night’s sleep, he was beautiful to you. His gaze swept the bed for a few agonizing seconds, the silence crushing you. Then his hand was at the back of his neck again. “Maybe…maybe I could show you around Wall Market. Give you a tour or something.” Your heart squeezed at the way he looked in moments like this, when he suddenly became years younger than when he wore his usual, hard expression.

“I’d like that.”

“We could use a team-building exercise–after you’ve recovered,” he qualified, the faintest glimmer of playfulness in his eyes.

“Okay. Same goes for you, too.”

Bolstered by his reception of your speech, and as the magnitude of all he’d done for you–from the first night in Wall Market to last night–sank in, your more tender emotions surged within you. “Thank you, Cloud. For being there for me, for walking me home, keeping me safe–for everything. I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier. And I’m sorry about last night. It was wrong of me to keep it all in, expect you to know what was going on in my head. I should’ve said something a while ago, instead of letting it build up like that…”

"If I'd known, how it was–I would have done it differently," Cloud offered in return. Then he shook his head. “But we’re supposed to be partners. I should have told you.”

“And I…I don’t think you’re a liar…” Your eyes dropped and you nervously tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “You’ve been risking your neck for me, and all the thanks you got was me yelling at you…” It wasn’t nearly enough, but you didn’t know what else to say.

“Don’t worry about it–s’all part of the job.”

When you looked up, saw the small smile pulling ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth, you couldn’t help but return it. With that, Cloud settled back on the bed and took another sip of his drink, and you picked up your needle once more–returning to a different kind of mending.

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

“Your roll, Baroness,” the woman remarked to you coolly, wrapped in the haze of the cigar smoke that hung in the air.

From your place seated across Cloud’s lap, when he reached forward to grab the trio of dice from the table, his face was so close, your nose nearly brushed his cheek. Settling back in the chair, he offered them to you, resting on his open palm. You flicked open the navy blue fan in your hand, which you used to conceal your face as you leaned in to blow on the dice for good luck.

When you had proposed that you and Cloud spend some time together, this is not how you thought your night would turn out.

You awoke that morning to the sound of running water.

Sitting up in bed, the covers slid down to your hips as you lifted your arms over your head, stretching out the morning stiffness. You were in one of your favorite old white t-shirts, so ratty at this point, you only wore it as a pajama top these days. When you pulled off the blankets and your feet hit the floor, you saw your bare legs–you were only in your panties. You’d definitely gone to bed in your usual shorts–what was going on?

Padding over to the bathroom door, the faint noise of the shower running grew louder. You almost felt like you were in a trance, not thinking, only acting–at least, that’s what you told yourself as you reached for the doorknob. When you turned it, you found it was unlocked, and you were stepping into the bathroom, a haze of steam clouding your vision.

Well, not clouding everything.

Because at the sight of his pale skin and blond hair in front of you, you were left in no doubt whose blurry form lay behind the opaque glass of the standing shower.

For someone with the enhanced senses of a SOLDIER, it seemed Cloud didn’t hear you approach over the hissing of the water stream. So when you grabbed the handle and opened the door to the little shower, he was completely and utterly shocked. He could only let out a series of stuttering, mortified grunts as you stepped over the lip and closed the door behind you, never taking your eyes from his bewildered face. After patching him up from his injuries sustained fighting in the Colosseum–when exactly was that again?– it wasn’t the first time you were drinking in his glorious chest, but you were no less stupefied by him. He bore no wounds, no bandages, no evidence of his recent difficulties. As the water ran over his glistening skin, he was somehow even more enticing than he’d been then. He was lithe and sharp, rather than brawny–and he was perfect.

At last, Cloud managed to stammer out your name, alarmed and confused. But you noticed that despite his shocked expression, he couldn’t help how his eyes began to flicker wildly over your form, still clad in your shirt and panties. Under the spray of the shower stream, your hair was quickly growing damp, clinging to the nape of your neck–but that wasn’t the only thing clinging to you. The thin fabric of your shirt was already soaked through by the water, warm against your skin. You could feel how it hugged every line, curve, and crease of your body, a pathetic excuse for covering. It easily betrayed the black fabric of your panties, the lace band across the top; the grooves of your hip bones, the indent of your belly button–the outlines of your breasts, the first signs of your excitement straining in twin peaks against the fabric growing sheerer and sheerer by the second.

It was there Cloud’s gaze got trapped as you reached forward, behind him–and picked up the charcoal gray bottle of Junon Pine, on the shelf built into the wall of the tiny shower. You were already separated only by a few feet of space, but you heard his breath hitch as you leaned in to reach around him, soaking your shirt even more the when movement briefly brought you directly under the water. Popping open the cap, you let the viscous green body wash pool in the palm of your hand. Once you’d closed it again, you simply let the bottle clatter to the linoleum floor–neither of you seemed to even notice. When you took a step forward, you gazed up at him, waiting. It was clear what you wanted to do: but what did he want you to do?

As you closed the scant distance between you and Cloud, he stared at you with wide eyes–but he didn’t back away. He didn’t move as you slathered the soap between your palms, the first froth of bubbles appearing. With so much perfection before you, where to even begin? He didn’t flinch when you rested one hand on his forearm just above his elbow, cupped the tricep at the back as you slid your palm up, leaving a thin trail of soapy bubbles in your wake. Curving over the slope of his shoulder and into the crook of his neck, his head tilted ever so slightly, giving you more skin, the barest indication he was melting under your touch–as though he hadn’t reduced you to ashes long ago. He didn’t even breathe when you repeated the action with your left hand until both were resting over his sharp collarbones, then dragged them down his chest at once, your breathing already ragged. His muscles were hard, but his skin was smooth, so soft and smooth, save for the rough stretches of the pearlescent scars that dotted him–and as the musky pine scent of the body wash filled the air, the thick, heady tang of arousal began to swirl in the steam.

Neither of you spoke–could speak–in the trance-like state that lay between you, panting as you lathered every jagged line and hollow crease on Cloud’s arms, chest, shoulders and back, your movements slow and indulgent, and he let you. It was just the insistent hissing of the running water further overwhelming your addled brain. You couldn’t look into his eyes, not when you were doing this. You were somehow embarrassed, but also too painfully turned on to even consider stopping for a moment. Your bodies were close–but not touching, not besides your hands on his skin. You knew that even the slightest contact would unleash the torrent, and you'd be undone. It's not that you didn't want it–oh, you wanted it–but neither of you had a plan: you just didn't want it to stop. Hands resting at his neck once more, you glided over the peaks of his shoulder blades, rode the notches of his spine down his back. When you rubbed your palms together to gather more suds, this time, you placed both hands in the nooks just below his armpits, cresting the hills and dips of each of his ribs as your slippery hands skimmed down him until you finished at his hips, let your hands fall away. The soap ran in trickling rivers over his perfect form, darkening the wispy trail of hair that ran below his navel, the foam channeled down the deep grooves of his obliques as they cut across his sharp hip bones. You nearly felt dizzy from the want, delirious with desire.

Cloud said your name again, quiet this time, rough–and in the scalding hot shower, it made you shiver.

The pretense of washing him growing ever flimsier, now you simply placed one hand at his stomach, letting only the pads of your fingers graze him as you drew a center line upward. It made his head tip back, his Adam’s apple cresting beneath the skin at his throat–but his eyes couldn’t leave you.

Suddenly, Cloud grabbed your hand where it lay over his sternum, and your breath hitched. He kept you there, pressed to his chest, as he took the last, small step to bring himself impossibly close to you. As he crossed under the water, it sent the bubbles racing down his body. You shouldn’t have watched them scatter down, down down, down his hips, wrap in rivers around his thighs–but you did. The skin around his neck and collarbones was stained with ruddy blotches, as were his flushed cheeks. When you managed to drag your gaze back up to his face, you could see how the water droplets gathered at the ends of his eyelashes, rolled over his soft lips–which you only now realized you were staring at. Then Cloud brought his free hand up, resting it at the curve of your hip. He moved up, palm flat, rucking up the sopping fabric of your shirt as he slid beneath it to grip your bare waist. Your breasts felt heavy with desire beneath the heavy fabric of the soaked shirt. Giving you a squeeze, his eyes flicked to your lips, absolutely hungry.

“My turn.”

You could only nod in silent begging for him to follow through on his words as Cloud took hold of the hem of your shirt, slowly dragged the drenched fabric up and up. You didn’t even realize you lifted your arms to help him until he let the garment drop to the linoleum with a dejected, wet plop at your feet–only your panties (soaked–but not just with water) left keeping you from him. The shirt had covered nothing–but without it, you somehow felt exposed, far more than you should have. The maelstrom of your arousal was truly frying your senses: the steamy air was too hot, the water too smooth as it cascaded over both your bodies, the scent of Junon Pine in the air driving you mad with its musk–his musk. You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard, the heat in his eyes threatening to burn you alive.

“Do I pass?” you asked softly as his gaze was lost on your (almost) bare form. It was all for him–couldn't he see that?

Cloud gave you a smirk that nearly made you moan all by itself. He grabbed your hips hard, yanking your front flush to his, letting you feel all of him before he leaned in–

The sound of a door opening jolted you, and your eyes flew open–to find your own reflection staring back at you, cheeks flushed scarlet, a faint sheen of sweat dotting your forehead.

You sat bolt upright in bed, the covers falling to your hips–past the weathered old gray tank top you’d changed into to go to sleep last night. You even saw your black shorts peeking out from beneath the blankets, all pieces of your pajamas present and accounted for. Wait–no…but what about–?

“‘Bout time you woke up.”

The sudden sound of the voice made you suck in a sharp breath, eyes darting to your right. It was Cloud, standing in the open doorway of the bathroom, dabbing at his neck with a white bath towel. Doing everything in your power to hide how your chest was heaving, your eyes raked over him, noting how his hair was freshly styled–though still a bit damp–his face oddly shiny. Oh–the sound of his shower through the door–the damn scent of that Junon Pine–must have…incorporated themselves into your dreaming…

The movement of Cloud flicking his head at something across the room caught your attention. “Cream with two sugars, right?” His voice was still a bit rough from sleep, and it was not helping you get a grip.

Following his gesture led your gaze to the dresser: and sure enough, there were two disposable paper cups perched on top of it, faint wisps of steam seeping through the hole in the black plastic lids. Still a bit off-kilter from being so abruptly ripped from such an awfully nice dream, your mouth hanging open slightly in your daze, you looked to Cloud again, still eyeing you from the bathroom doorway, swiping the hand towel across his left cheek. Your eye naturally followed the movement down his sharp jawline–that was when you noticed the faint streaks of white foam on his chin and neck, and it fell into place: he’d just been shaving, too. The sight of him after doing something so mundane, yet so masculine, had your heart hammering in your ribs. No need for the coffee–you were fully awake, now.

It had been nearly two weeks since he’d come back injured from the Colosseum, and five days since his last match to fulfill his contract with Madam M, so he no longer needed to be out until all hours: and one of the many pleasant side effects was that it allowed you both to fall into a more consistent, and more harmonious, routine together. It had also allowed for the mutual discovery that Cloud was quite the morning person–and you were not. You could still remember the first time last week he’d come through the door early one morning, coffee in hand, and his wry smile as he responded to your bewildered expression where you groggily sat up in bed, eyes bleary and hair mussed from sleep: “You look like you need all the help you can get.” His new penchant for going out to grab coffee was half to help you greet the day, half to give himself something to do while he waited for you to grudgingly greet it. How could such a small, simple gesture make your heart flutter like this?

Suddenly realizing you hadn’t actually answered him, you blinked hard before you hastily met Cloud’s gaze. The faint glimmer of mirth in his eyes (combined with the scent of his body wash hanging in the air) was truly frying your circuits, and all you could do was let out a weak noise of agreement. While it occurred to you that these mundane habits were things Cloud must do regularly, you’d never seen him doing them. As he stood in the bathroom doorway, toweling off the last of the aftershave, you couldn’t help but notice the paleness of his smooth skin, the warmth in his blond hair, the way his eyes gleamed in the morning light. He was so gorgeous to you it almost hurt. Then your eyes drifted down–and you noticed the appalling condition of his clothing. In contrast to the immaculate state of his freshly washed face, skin, and hair, his clothing was a blood-stained, tattered mess: The navy blue of his SOLDIER’s uniform did a fair job masking the blood and grime, but combined with the numerous rips and tears you’d stitched up, his overall appearance was haggard at best.

You suddenly flung the covers off you, crossing to your duffel bag. Cloud watched with a curious eye as you grabbed the bag and dumped the contents on the bed. “What are you doing?”

“Making a hamper–it’s laundry day.”

After you gathered up your own dirty clothes from your side of the closet–careful not to disturb the rose where it was tucked away there–you crossed to the bathroom and shut the door behind you to change out of your pajamas and otherwise get ready for the day (you had to make sure to discreetly bring a new pair of panties with you–it was fortunate you’d be able to wash the ones you were currently wearing after the excitement of the dream you’d just had.) When you opened the door again, arms full with both your old clothes and the used towels (still damp from his shower–down girl), you took one step to return to the bedroom–and froze. As you began to peer at your surroundings in the bathroom, Cloud noticed your curious behavior and looked over at you. Standing in the small room, something about it felt off, but you couldn’t figure out what it was–then it clicked.

“Hey, Cloud–do you usually take cold showers?”

You knew you’d used the bathroom after him numerous times as you took turns sharing the tiny space. And as far as you could remember, you usually stepped into a room thick with warm humidity, and often had to wipe down the mirror with a towel before you could see your reflection in it. But the air was cool and dry, and there wasn’t any condensation on the mirror or the shower door. How odd…

When you peered out at Cloud, who was now shouldering your laundry-filled duffel bag by the bed, his face suddenly flushed–which it hadn’t been from the shower, you realized. “It’s a SOLDIER thing–” he grumbled. “Helps us keep our endurance.”

How had you never noticed before? But you didn’t press him further as you met Cloud at the door, smiling in thanks when he offered your coffee for you to take. Then he held the door open for you, and you both descended the stairs to Wall Market, the streets already bustling with activity.

It didn’t occur to you until you were standing in front of the open washing machine in the laundromat that the only clothing Cloud had was what he was wearing.

While you just stammered dumbly, Cloud simply yanked a white tee shirt and gray sweat pants from the bin of freshly washed clothes belonging to the man napping by the machine next to yours before heading into the bathroom to change. When Cloud reemerged, the ensemble somehow fitting him perfectly (damn him), you began shoving your own clothes into the machine to avoid raking him over with your eyes.

He tossed his fatigues in once you’d finished loading your own clothes, before leaning back against the wall next to the row of machines as you added the detergent and adjusted the knobs and dials. You were actually using two washing machines: one for your regular laundry, the other for the clothing, sheets, and towels that had been bloodied from the incidents last week. As you pressed the ‘start’ button and the machines began to hum, you sat in one of the metal chairs running in a row down the center of the laundromat, Cloud leaning against the wall opposite you.

“Should be about twenty minutes.” Cloud just nodded in response.

Neither of you spoke for a while after that, but somehow, you didn’t mind. After so many takeout dinners spent side by side in companionable silence, it no longer felt quite so awkward. You knew it was what Cloud preferred, and you hardly minded. Though it had taken a few mishaps and misunderstandings to finally see it, you realized you’d fallen for a man of action, not words. But as the rumbling sounds of the machines filled the void, you felt your cheeks growing warm despite yourself. It was so, well…domestic. Seeing Cloud in such normal, civilian clothing, doing his laundry with you–it was like…well, like something you would do with your boyfriend.

“Hey, uh…” The sound of Cloud’s voice made you blink, and you looked up at him. He was peering at you with a guarded expression on his face, a strange tentativeness in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“The night you went to the Honeybee Inn, after you…left.” Your head co*cked in curiosity as you waited for him to continue. “I told you I followed you there, right?”

You nodded. Why is he having such a hard time with this?

“I…I saw you come out. You were with…a guy.”

Of course–how had you forgotten to mention it to Cloud? “Oh–right. I guess I never told you, but, yeah, that’s Rufus. He says he works for Shinra, pretty high up apparently. I’ve been meaning to tell you about him, it just never seemed like a good time.”

Cloud studied you for a few moments. “You…know who he is?” His tone was carefully neutral, like he was trying to hide that he was attempting to get something out of you.

Your brows furrowed. What a question to ask. “Not at all, no, besides what I just told you. When he found me, um…” Did you really want Cloud to know you’d been crying that night? “He found me alone there, and noticed that I was…upset. He cheered me up, bought me a few drinks–he seemed nice enough, if a bit intense. He hasn't been back in town since that night, but he said he wanted to see me again this weekend.”

Cloud made sure he had your eyes before he continued. “That was Rufus Shinra. The new president. Son of the former one.”

You stared at him in disbelieving silence, even after the washing machines beeped and the wash cycle ended. “…What?”

“I figured you didn’t know, but…” Even in your surprise, you noticed a look of…relief? passing over Cloud’s features, which you found odd.

“Holy Shiva…”

“Yeah.”

As the magnitude of it hit you, you felt frozen. You’d involved yourself with the new president of the entire Shinra company–not in your wildest dreams did you think you’d ever get close to someone on that level. Not to mention you also felt like a complete idiot for hearing of a man named Rufus working for Shinra, and failing to put the pieces together. This was the man who sat atop the whole despicable operation, who headed the organization responsible for all the suffering the people you loved had endured. This man was truly reprehensible, and you’d sat and had a drink with him, thought he wasn’t all that bad. Recalling how you’d acted in your former ignorance made you feel sick. As you were trying to get over your shock, Cloud had stepped off the wall in order to load the clothing from the washing machines into the dryer, his eyes flicking back to you every few seconds as he gave you a chance to get your grip.

“Cloud…” He startled at your voice (mostly because he just realized he was holding a pair of your lacy black underwear, and hastily tossed it into the dryer before you saw them in his hands). Your voice was quiet, your eyes wide in shock and trepidation. “What do we do?”

He answered without a moment’s hesitation. “Easy–we pack up and go home. You did your best. You’ve been scoping out the Honeybee Inn for over a month–no one can say you didn’t try.”

“But…”

“It’s way too dangerous–for you and me.” There was a long silence then, you staring at the floor, Cloud’s gaze boring into you.

“We’re…we’re never gonna get a better chance,” you murmured without meeting his eyes.

“There’s no way you’re considering this.” A statement, not a question.

But, to your surprise…you were. If you didn’t…what would it all be for? “This is why we came here, Cloud. Avalanche knows Shinra has something big planned–something bad. This might be their only chance–”

“I don’t care about Avalanche–I care about you.”

Your eyes snapped up, at both the severity of his tone, but also, the sentiment of his words. His cheeks flushed under your gaze. “It’s a crazy risk–for both of us. If he figured you out, you’d be dead, or worse. And he already knows me–I fought him on the rooftop the night we rescued Aerith, remember?”

You knew Cloud was right. But it was because of that night on the rooftop–at least, the way it had been described to you–that there was a fire burning inside you. Because of the way Shina had treated Aerith all her life; because they kept humans and all sorts of creatures for their horrible experiments, because they were killing the planet without a single shred of remorse; Because they’d sat idly by when their own negligence had caused the Sector 6 plate to drop, taking your parents from you for the rest of your life, then deliberately caused the same catastrophe in Sector 7, killing your friends and countless other innocent people.

Because Rufus had had every intention of killing Cloud on the rooftop that night.

“You don’t have to stay on–i-if you don’t want to…” Your voice was softer than you’d meant for it to be. He let out a small, agitated grunt. It was true: Cloud should not be anywhere near Rufus. And even if you were willing to take the risk, you couldn’t put Cloud in such obvious danger. “I care about you, too. You’re right, it’s way too dangerous for you. But I’m–”…nobody. “–But I have a chance. We have to take it. You can go back to Sector 3, have them send Arin for backup instead, o-or maybe Draye. You’ve done your job, Cloud–you got me in at the Honeybee Inn. I would feel better knowing you’re safe.” The idea of being parted from Cloud–of this strange, shadow life you’d been living with him coming to an end–made your heart ache, but that was nothing compared with your desire to protect him. It was a hurt you were more than willing to bear, if it kept him safe. “I can–”

“–Don’t be ridiculous.”

He was still standing over by the dryer a few feet away, arms folded. Your heartbeat was faint, your pulse rapid–you were glad you were sitting down. Had you…had you heard him right? “No way in hell I’m leaving you here.” You shook your head, opening your mouth to further protest, but Cloud didn’t give you the chance. “This is our mission. I know it’s dangerous–but if you’re staying, I am too. It’s…it’s up to you.”

You looked down at your hands as you considered, only the rhythmic whirring and humming of the machines around you pervading the silence. Had you really thought this through? Were you being insanely reckless? (well, obviously yes). You’d be putting both your lives at risk. But the only way you, The Planet, everyone on it–and Cloud–would truly be safe, was if people were willing to stand up to Shinra. You couldn't do anything as impressive as Cloud was able to: but you were determined to do what you could.

“…I want to try.”

He just held your gaze for handful of heartbeats. Seeing the sincerity in your eyes, Cloud nodded once. Then he went back to loading the wet clothes into the dryer–and just like that, the mission had truly begun.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

“Cloud–look.”

You'd come to a stop outside the door of the laundromat, back on the streets of Wall Market. Cloud was just behind you, carrying the duffel bag full of fresh laundry. Once he was standing next to you, he followed your gaze down to the main square. You were looking at two Shinra security guards strolling past the hotel. This was certainly a new development–the first time you’d seen any sort of Shinra presence in Wall Market since you’d arrived a little over six weeks ago.

“Just what we need…” he grumbled.

“Why now, do you think?”

“My guess would be Rufus.” Cloud’s eyes never left the two guards as they stopped to chat by one of the food stalls. “They probably want to make sure the streets aren’t too rough while the president is in town.”

“Right…” You’d only just made your decision to continue with the mission–maybe this was some sort of warning, or ill-omen. Not that you’d ever been the superstitious type before…Rufus had told you he would be back in Wall Market on Saturday, and would be returning intermittently for the next few weeks on some sort of business. It was already Thursday, meaning you only had a few more days of freedom before your mission entered the most critical–and dangerous–phase. It was moments like these you wished you could've chosen Palmer instead–at least he was dull, pliable. Rufus was sharp, astute–this would have to be your greatest performance, or it’d be curtains.

Wanting to block the upcoming ordeal from your mind as long as possible, you shot Cloud a smile and asked, “So, now we're both feeling better, have you decided what we’re gonna do for our ‘team-building exercise’ yet?”

He gave you a wry smile in return. Cloud opened his mouth to deliver what you were sure was some dry retort–

“NNNOOOOOOO!!!!”

You both jolted when a blur of a man came barreling down the street, blowing past the two security guards, heading straight for you. Cloud–only just reslotting Hardedge onto his back after changing back into his fatigues–dropped the duffel bag in his left hand and thrust the free arm in front of you. He took a step forward, his right hand gripping the hilt of his sword, scowling as he scanned for threat. Then you recognized the man:

“Johnny?”

He bolted past you before he registered someone had spoken to him, screeching to a halt a ways down the road before turning back to see who’d called out to him. “Hey guys! Cloud–bro! How’s it goin’?” The clear distress in his downcast tone had you bracing for impact. You opened your mouth to greet Johnny–

“What are you still doing here?!” Cloud’s stormy voice cut you off, clearly quite agitated to see his former neighbor. You were puzzled for a second, until you remembered Cloud mentioning he’d run into Johnny briefly at the Honeybee Inn a few weeks back.

“It’s awful, truly awful–I’m so glad there’s someone else from Sector 7 here to commiserate with me…” He was panting out his words as he caught his breath. You and Cloud were just looking at him, bewildered. “But hey, with your, uh, connections, maybe you two could help me out!” It was at that moment a movement in your peripheral vision drew your eye, and you noticed the Shinra security guards were now studying the three of you, though they hadn’t moved from where they were loitering by the food carts. You nudged Cloud with your elbow, but, of course, he was already aware of the situation.

“Keep your voice down–” Cloud snapped. “What happened?”

“I was going to leave town, bro–really, I was! My sister is out in Costa del Sol, she’s got a room at her place I can stay, and I–” Your eyes kept flicking over to the two security guards. Cloud hissed in frustration at Johnny’s prattling. “It’s my car, bro–” Johnny finally said. “I just needed the money for fuel–a-and maybe a little pocket money, but–there was this guy, he bet me for five grand bro, I couldn’t pass it up! But I didn’t have anything to bet besides my car…”

You and Cloud looked at each other. You weren’t rolling your eyes physically–but you were in your heads. Used to these sort of antics with Johnny, Cloud just let out an exasperated sigh, and grumbled, “Alright–we’ll help you. If you promise you’ll leave town as soon as we get your car back.”

“Scout’s honor, bro! I mean, I never was a scout, well, I was for a day when I was eight, but–”

Cloud cut him off. “–This guy you lost the car to–what did he look like? Where was he?”

“Weird get-up, dressed like a cowboy. He had this gold coin–we flipped it for the gil.” You and Cloud exchanged glances again: Sam. You were able to wrangle out of Johnny a description of the car and the keys, as well as the last location Johnny had parked it.

“Johnny–” you said finally, making your voice extra sweet, “we just need you to lay low right now, okay? Do you have a place you’re staying in town?”

As Johnny’s attention was pulled to you, he seemed to relax a bit, his eyes softening. “I-I’m crashing on a friend’s couch, near the pharmacy. It’s a bit rough, but, it’s nothing.” You opened your mouth, but he held up a hand: “No, please–there’s no need to worry about me. I wouldn’t want a gentle, innocent young lady such as yourself to get mixed up in such dirty affairs!”

You looked over at Cloud, eyes just as mirthful as yours, and it made it even harder for you not to laugh at Johnny’s melodramatics. “I am worried about you, Johnny–” you went on, going along with his bravado, “that’s why, knowing you’re somewhere quiet and safe, well…that would really put my mind at ease. Cloud will take care of this in no time, right?” You looked up at Cloud, a playful glimmer in your eyes that didn’t match the doe-eyed innocence in your voice. A smile twitched on Cloud’s lips, but he suppressed it.

“Oh, you sweet angel–I will return to my couch at once! And there I will wait for you!” And with that, Johnny took off down the road again. Hopefully, it would be enough to keep him out of trouble until you could get him on his way. When you looked back to Cloud, his eyes were on the security guards at the other end of the street. Luckily, they had lost interest in the three of you, and were resuming their walk down the main thoroughfare.

“That could have been bad…” you breathed. Tifa had briefed you on how Johnny’s big mouth had gotten him detained by Shinra before, and it had been her and Cloud who had freed him–though Johnny never knew that detail.

Cloud nodded. “We gotta get that car back, tonight.” You’d told Cloud Rufus was to return to Wall Market this Saturday, and it was already Thursday. You two needed Johnny out of the city–preferably out of the continent–before then.

“Right. Let’s drop this off, and head over to Sam’s.”

“Well now, if it ain’t Wall Market’s golden boy–and his golden girl.”

Sam’s baritone drawl cut through the evening air as he descended the steps from his ranch. You could see the colors of the sunset in the sliver of sky visible from the opening in the plate above you–where Sector 6 used to be…That meant you didn’t have much time to track down Johnny’s car.

You smiled bashfully at Sam's remark, but Cloud just got straight to the point. “You bet a guy for five grand earlier today–used his car as collateral.”

Sam didn’t miss a beat. “Real squirrely fella–red hair, poor fashion sense. He a friend a’ yours?”

“Unfortunately…” you muttered, and it made Sam chuckle.

“Look, we need to get his car back so he can leave town,” Cloud went on. “How much gil would it take for you to sell it back to us?”

Sam shifted, moving his weight to one leg and placing his hands on his hips. “No can do, kid–just handed the keys to Delphine, over at the club room–I ain’t always got Lady Luck on my side, neither.”

“You lost the car already?!” You couldn’t help the incredulity in your voice.

“What can I say, little missy–I love rollin’ the dice in life.”

“Where can we find this Delphine?” Cloud asked.

“She runs the most exclusive gamblin’ den in town,” Sam explained. “Her club is on the upper floor of the hotel, but you need an invitation to get in.”

Cloud let out a exasperated grunt, but you decided to press on. “You’ve got an invitation, don’t you?”

A playful glint came to Sam’s eyes, and it made your stomach lurch. “Yes ma’am, I do. And you’re gonna ask me if I’ll lend it to ya, aren’t ya?”

“Well…”

“I get it. How’s ’bout you and me make a deal?” You and Cloud looked at each other, both apprehensive. Then Cloud nodded for him to continue–but when Sam’s gaze turned to you, you heard the soft irritated grunt he made under his breath.

“You have yet to take me up on my offer to come meet my birds–” Sam remarked. “If you promise you’ll come visit, maybe let me take you for a ride, I’d be happy to let you borrow my invitation for the night.” Beside you, you heard Cloud let out an agitated hiss. It was obvious from the tone of Sam’s voice that this wasn’t just an innocent offer to bond over the joys of chocobo husbandry. From the moment Sam had fixed his gaze on you the night of your audition, he’d never hid the hunger in his eyes, the wicked sweetness in his drawl as he laid it on thick. But what choice did you have?

“I probably won’t be able to this week…” you began, “but–I will.” With a nod, Sam disappeared back inside the ranch.

“You don’t have to do this–” Cloud groused, one hand clenched in a fist at his side. “You said it yourself, Sam’s trouble.”

“We don’t have a choice–we’ll have to worry about it later.” Soon Chocobo Sam returned with a small black piece of paper with gold trimming, the letters inked in a golden, cursive script. You thanked Sam and turned in the direction of the hotel.

“–Just one more thing.” The sound of the rancher's voice made you turn back. “You’re gonna be goin’ up against one of the most prodigious gamblers in all a’ Midgar. And forgive me for sayin’ it, but…you two ain’t no good at anything that ain’t playin’ straight.” What was it Madam M had said? Never play poker, my dear…

“What’s your point?” Cloud snapped.

“Word ’round town is there’s a way you can guarantee your victory at the tables–given your particular background.”

“What is that supposed to–”

But you cut Cloud off. “–We’d appreciate any help we can get.”

“It’s called ‘the Secret Weapon’–set a’ dice.”

“What’s so special about these dice?” you asked.

“They’re made from a special type a’ crystal, only found in the mines where mako comes outta the ground–not quite materia, but close enough they can be controlled by materia.”

“Controlled by materia?”

“Influenced by luck–” Sam explained, “or even manipulated, if you got the right gear.”

Your eyes lit up. “We could fix the dice!”

Sam smirked. “Yes ma’am. Would make gettin’ your car back a cakewalk.”

“Where can we find the Secret Weapon, then?”

“Last I heard, Benny down at the materia shop had ’em. I’d start with him.” You thanked Sam, who gave you a sly smile and a tip of his hat before you and Cloud took off toward the southeast section of Wall Market. It wasn't long before you both came to a stop at the front entrance to the materia shop, just up the street from Madam M’s parlor.

“You sure about this?” Cloud asked.

“Why not stack the deck in our favor?”

He smirked. “Or the dice.”

As Cloud opened the door to the materia shop, allowing you to enter first, the sickly sweet smell of mako wafted over you. You looked around, marveling at all the rocks, crystals, gemstones, and materia scattered on the shelves, preoccupied with your surroundings–until you looked down in front of you, and stopped in your tracks. You had nearly just stepped on a man with sunglasses on (indoors and at night), sprawled on a rug on the ground, surrounded by more geological merchandise.

“Why hello there, miss–you seem like the type to be in tune with the energy...”

You blinked, unsure of what to make of his remark. “Um…yes! Well, we were told you might have The Secret Weapon?”

The man jackknifed upright. He shushed you, lowering his sunglasses to peer at you before looking side to side, as if checking for eavesdroppers–in this empty room. “Not so loud, baby–it’s called secret for a reason.”

Cloud stepped forward from behind you, a scowl etched on his face. “You got it or not?”

The man rolled onto his back, lazily staring up at the ceiling, his detached tone bordering on utter disinterest. “No. Didn’t have the materia to use with the dice, so I sold them off to the man who owns the clothing store.” With an annoyed scoff, Cloud turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Wait–you don’t have Manipulate materia?” you asked. “But…this is a materia shop, right?”

“Manipulate isn’t a naturally occurring materia,” the shop owner explained, still gazing at the rafters. “Gotta get it from Shinra–and even they don’t have very many. Bert apparently got his hands on one through his contacts in the company, since he fits most of the brass for their suits.”

Before you even had a chance to thank the shop owner, you heard the bell over the door, indicating Cloud was already back on the street outside. But as you turned to follow him, a certain orb of topaz Command materia caught your eye on one of the shelves, and you decided to buy it–just in case. Then, with a hasty goodbye, you rushed to catch up with Cloud.

“Screw this,” Cloud snapped over his shoulder when he heard you come out of the materia shop. "I know what these people are like–we don't have time for some stupid game!"

All this running around was reminding Cloud of his first time in Wall Market, when–also because of Johnny–he’d been dragged all over town, doing pointless errands for the nutjobs who called Wall Market home. Every moment that passed Johnny’s car would be floating further down the river of grime and corruption, and would be even harder to salvage. Cloud hated being in Wall Market, hated how caged in he felt here, and not just when he was literally penned up in the Colosseum: he couldn’t just pull out his sword and get his way–he had to grease palms, make deals, perform quid pro quos–all things Cloud detested. He was a SOLDIER, for Odin’s sake. You’d already had to agree to a “date” with Chocobo Sam (though the term was far too innocuous for what Cloud was sure Sam really had in mind.) Astrals only knew what else all these old men in town would try and ask from you…

The sound of you calling his name made Cloud turn back, your face lit by the soft lantern lights criss-crossing above the street. You suddenly looked especially delicate, innocent–what the hell had Barret been thinking, sending you here? Cloud had been doing everything he could to keep you away from the seedy underworld of Wall Market–now Johnny was practically begging you to dive in headfirst.

No–he would handle this. “Just give me the invitation go back home, okay? I’ll find this Delphine, and–”

“–No.” The quiet firmness in your voice caught him off guard. But when he looked at your face, it wasn’t anger Cloud found there. Determination, yes, but also…fragility. “I-I want to help…” He studied you for a moment. Then the vulnerability in your eyes made sense to him: he’d been keeping stuff like this from you, shutting you out, which you had taken to mean he was pushing you away. Maybe he had been, at first–but he also didn’t want to hurt you anymore, either. Cloud saw in your eyes the plea you were too afraid to make: please don’t send me away. You wanted to feel trusted, to feel included, maybe even needed–he could understand that.

Cloud huffed, some of the tension leaving him as he relented. “Alright–we'll track down the dice. But if it gets dangerous, if I tell you to run, you run–got it?” Your eyes lit up as you nodded, and it made Cloud smile, despite himself. Watching you tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, Cloud was caught in the way your pretty eyes gazed up at him, warm and soft, the way your cheeks pinched so sweetly when you smiled, the way the lantern lights cast a sheen on your hair. Shiva Almighty… With the decision made, Cloud turned and began to walk back toward the main street, you falling into step beside him.

“...You were right, you know.”

Though he was puzzled by your statement, he didn’t let on. “Usually am,” Cloud replied with a shrug, pleased at the eye roll he got from you. “What do you mean?” he finally asked.

“This is stupid.”

The bright mirth in your voice made him look over to study you, and he blanched when he saw the grin on your face, heard you chuckle–what about this could possibly be funny? "But when in Wall Market, right?" you remarked, giving him another playful, cheery smile.

Cloud felt his shoulders relax even more as he briefly smiled back, before he ducked his gaze to the cobblestones. Maybe this time, this Wall Market odyssey wouldn’t be so bad–because this time, you were here. And for as complicated as his feelings toward you were at the moment, one thing was certain: he enjoyed your company far more than spending even a minute with Johnny. It was nice to have someone around with a like mind; someone who could laugh at all of this–maybe make him laugh at himself sometimes, too.

Chapter 24

Chapter Text

Now Cloud was really starting to think the universe was messing with him.

The two of you had made the walk down the main street to the clothing store, where Cloud recognized the son of the owner standing behind the counter–and once again, his father was somewhere in Wall Market, lamenting the loss of his 'Inspiration.' You’d agreed to bring the old man (what was his name again–Bert?) back to his son, and the young man promised he would make sure his father helped you out however he could. It was so painfully similar (key word being painful) to his experience last time, Cloud’s observation from his first night felt more apt than ever: these people seemed to live in suspended animation, reliving the same parties–and problems–night after night. It had been your idea to start at the weapons store just up the road, to find out if the owner had seen in which direction the old man had gone. Cloud was currently seated with his arms folded on a bench at the foot of the short hill that led up to the shop, watching while you questioned him. After a brief exchange with the shopkeeper, you purchased a Gothic Bangle, which you would need to house the Manipulate materia you were trying to obtain.

With the transaction completed, you turned to walk back down the hill. Cloud rose from the bench–but his brow furrowed when he saw you pause, scanning the ground as though considering something. Then you went back to the counter and talked with the owner some more. That was odd… After another conversation–much longer than your initial inquiry–he saw you open your purse again and hand the man a substantial amount of gil, before you finally shook his hand and walked back down the short slope to meet up with Cloud. When you told him the shopkeeper hadn't seen Bert, the two of you turned toward the main road to resume the search.

“What was that about?” he asked as he walked beside you, head flicking back in the direction of the store, referring to your strange interaction with the owner.

“I was just asking about the accessories.” Cloud glanced sidelong at you. You'd definitely done more than just talk to the man–and why hand him a king’s ransom in gil, only to walk away without merchandise? “Anyway–you think Bert could be at the Colosseum?” you asked.

“He’s probably getting drunk somewhere, if it’s anything like last time,” he shot back dryly. As you both returned to the main road, it crossed Cloud’s mind that there was no way for you to know that–or that there even was a last time. Though he appreciated that you didn’t pester him for an explanation, he felt a bit bad that he’d told you so little, even after so much time.

“Okay, well, there’s that one diner down the street, right? We…could…”

The sound of your voice trailing off made Cloud pause. He looked back to find you’d stopped in the middle of the main road, your wide eyed stare fixed on one of the buildings. He called your name, asked it like a question, but it wasn’t enough to divert your attention. Only when he came up next to you did Cloud realize what you were gaping at.

Oh hell no. He reached for your arm to drag you away–if anyone here noticed him–

“–Hey, Cloud!”

sh*t.

Though it registered somewhere in your mind that Cloud had willingly initiated contact by grabbing your arm, that fact was drowned out by the sight of at least half a dozen absolutely giant men in skin-tight spandex barreling toward you. They came over from the open entrance to some sort of workout facility nestled between the Colosseum and the clothing store on the main street. You knew for a fact you'd never seen the place before–because you never would have forgotten it. With jovial greetings and hearty pats on Cloud’s poor back, the guys eagerly ushered the two of you inside the gym, industrial lights and austere concrete walls housing nearly every type workout equipment, as well as two square boxing arenas in the center of the large open space. As they jabbed the punching bags or spotted one another at the weight lifting benches, cheered each other on as they labored at the pull up bars, the grunts and shouts of men working out and sharing masculine camaraderie filled the space–as did their odors.

“Cloud, do you–do you know these guys?”

It was the man who seemed to be the leader, who’d introduced himself as Jules, that answered you. “Cloud is always welcome here! After he beat Ronnie and Jay in a good ol’ fashioned squat competition–” Jules explained, “he’s one of us.” You couldn’t help but look at Cloud with an incredulous grin on your face: squat competition? There was a story here that you were dying to know. Cloud ran a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at you. After Cloud told everyone your name, you were put through a whirlwind introduction to all the men gathered around Jules. While most of them were at least a few inches taller than Cloud, they all absolutely towered over you, and though they were all friendly and relaxed, you were still glad of Cloud’s presence next to you.

“I, uh–” Cloud began, one arm reaching to rub at the back of his neck, “I’ve been working out here, during the day–and sometimes when you’re at the Honeybee Inn.”

“Oh, Cloud–” Jules cut in, opening his arms in an inviting gesture, “Jay’s been itching for a rematch–what do you say?” The other men cheered in approval, and you thought you might expire on the spot.

Cloud was quick to answer him. “Maybe another time. We’re trying to find the owner of the clothing store–you seen him tonight?”

“Well, what a coincidence!” Jules remarked in his warm way. Though his muscular build made him intimidating, he had a kindness in his cat-like eyes that put you at ease all the same–a lot like Andrea. “Bert’s here!” Your eyes both went wide as saucers.

Jules pointed to the back corner of the room. There was a wiry old man sitting in a chair in the corner, sporting glasses and a charcoal gray dress shirt beneath a lighter gray apron, looking quite sorry for himself. “Wha–why?” you blanched.

“Said he lost his ‘Inspiration’–we thought spending some time with the guys might lift his spirits!”

You and Cloud excused yourselves for a moment, and the two of you walked over to the old man. “Um, sir? Are you Bert?” you began.

The man looked up at you with bleary eyes, clearly well past tipsy, the stench of beer on his breath. He squinted at you. “I’ve seen you before…somewhere…”

“O-Oh, well, I work at the Honeybee Inn.”

“Yes! I remember now! You danced with Andrea a few weeks ago! You were magnificent! A work of sensuous art in motion!”

You flushed in embarrassment. “Thank you, but, um–”

“Ah! The Honeybee Inn!” Bert lamented. “The font of my Inspiration…”

You looked at Cloud for help. Taking your arm (for the second time, you logged), he pulled you aside to explain. “His 'Inspiration' is a VIP Card for the Honeybee Inn. He lost it last time I was in town, too–had to work with Johnny to get it back for him.” You stared at Cloud in absolute bewilderment, and his cheeks flushed. “I’ll tell you later, okay?” he snapped, clearly a bit embarrassed. “Let’s just give him my card–Andrea can get me another one.” Your eyes fell to the floor then, and Cloud instantly picked up on your drop in mood. “What is it?”

“N-Nothing, it’s just…” The realization was hitting you now, of all times. “It’s just that…you might not need it anymore. I mean, with Rufus coming into town now, you probably won’t be there that much…” You were surprised at how sad that thought made you. It wasn’t just that Cloud had been your guardian at first, protecting from the worst creeps at the Honeybee Inn–but he’d become your companion there, too, talking over your drinks as you canoodled in a booth after your shows, sometimes with various members of the Trio joining you, or letting yourselves sprawl out on the plush couch in your private suite, finally able to let the act drop–well, the one Cloud knew about, anyway. And even back when he’d been keeping his other activities secret from you, the private suite was the one place you had any chance to spend time with him, as forced and awkward as it had been at first. But now, all that was going away–and being replaced with Rufus.

Seeing your crestfallen expression, Cloud let out a grunt that conveyed a desire to offer comfort, but no idea how to execute it: a lost, confused vocalization. You shook your head to clear it before you met his eyes again. “Sorry–yeah, let’s see if he’ll take your card.” But when you smiled at Cloud this time, it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Without waiting for any reply, you simply walked back over to where Bert was still seated in the far corner of the gym.

“Um, sir?” you asked again as Cloud rifled through his pockets. “Is this your Inspiration?”

Cloud held out his VIP card to the old man, and it made him light up in delight. “Yes! Yes that’s it! Oh my dear girl, you’re an angel from above–a bee from the sweetest flower!”

You let out a weak, polite laugh. “Y-You’re too kind. But, um, actually–”

The old man sprang up, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, a bit too tight in his inebriated state. “You Honeygirls are the greatest gift in Midgar, bringing joy to all who need it! We’ll spend the night together, I’ll make sure you drink only the finest–!”

“–Back off.” Cloud’s stormy voice made the man freeze.

You were now able to extricate yourself from Bert’s grip, which had gone slack. “Actually, sir, we were hoping you could help us track down something called ‘The Secret Weapon’?”

It took a moment for the man to pull his eyes from Cloud where he was glowering at him, arms folded. “Y-Yes, of course, my dear–” he finally sputtered, “I-I've got it back at my shop–come meet me there, a-and I’ll have it ready for you!” With that, the man shuffled his way through the gym and back outside, before disappearing down the road.

But as you made your way toward the exit–Cloud three steps ahead–you paused when an amethyst glimmer caught your eye: on a large folding table pushed up against the far wall, among the protein shakes, hand towels, and champion belts scattered over its surface, was an orb of Luck Up materia. When you called out to Cloud, he turned back to you. “What is it?” he asked impatiently. You noticed the way he was shifting on his feet, adjusting the hilt of Hardedge over his shoulder, like he was itching to keep heading for the door. He’d said he spent lots of time in here–what was it about tonight that was bothering him so much?

“One of these guys has a Luck Up materia. It would probably help to have one of those if we’re going to be gambling, right? Maybe we could–”

“No–no way in hell–” Cloud’s eyes went wide in alarm, looking around frantically, and your brows furrowed. What on Gaia was going on with–?

“–I’m sure Jay would be happy to challenge you for the materia, Cloud–and the bragging rights!” Jules proclaimed with a playful glint in his eyes. Your face fell slack in horror when you realized he’d overheard you. As the other men all began cheering and egging Cloud on, his face immediately began to flush.

“Oh! N-No, that’s not–!” you tried to object.

Then Jules turned to you. “What do you say sweetheart? Let’s sweeten the pot–” he proposed, arms theatrically outstretched. “How ‘bout a kiss for the winner, huh? Just a peck on the cheek!”

“W-What I meant was–!” You felt the color draining from your face. You’d intended to ask if you could buy the materia–but as the men continued their good-natured taunting, and Cloud reluctantly squared his shoulders, unable to look in your direction, you realized it was too late to save him now.

Chapter 25

Chapter Text

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Cloud's sudden, harsh remark made you jolt as he came to an abrupt halt at the foot of the steps to the clothing store. You paused just behind him, minus one VIP card–but plus one orb of Luck Up materia.

He just blurted it out, as if feeling your eyes on him during the entire walk over here–which they were. In your defense, you hadn’t actually said anything–neither of you had spoken since Cloud had stormed out of Jules’s gym, not even waiting to claim his prize, instead leaving you to receive the materia before you two had walked over here in silence, not quite able to break the ice after what had just transpired back at the gym. When you didn’t answer, Cloud finally turned around. As soon as he made eye contact, you burst into giggles, and it made his cheeks flush even hotter. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just–” He was scowling, arms folded, bracing for whatever you were about to say. Clearing your throat, you composed yourself enough to calm down, but not enough for the gleam in your eyes to disappear. “I’ve never seen you like that before.” You were telling the truth–though it was only after you two had left the gym you were able to laugh about it.

When it had become clear the guys weren’t going to let the rematch go, Cloud had removed Hardedge from his back and shoved it into your hands (nevermind that the sword was taller than you, the edge resting on the floor as you clung to the hilt), before sauntering up the steps into the boxing ring. A burly man in a red and black spandex suit, his blond hair cropped in a sharp undercut–Jay, you presumed–soon joined him, shuffling around and shaking out his shoulders once he took his place next to Cloud, in the way men did when they were getting ready to compete. But not Cloud: he just stood there coolly, placing a hand on his hip as he endured Jay’s taunting.

Even though the two men had their backs to you and the rest of the onlookers, you’d been around him long enough to recognize the shift in Cloud’s bearing, the way he held himself when he was gearing up to perform, and it always made your knees a bit weak. He didn’t boast or bluster as other men did, didn’t make a show of himself–he just put his head down and went to work: you didn’t need to impress when you were impressive. Then Cloud turned his head to the side to run a hand through his hair. You saw his gaze flick back to you for just a fraction of a second, before his head snapped forward, and he tilted it side to side as he loosened himself up. But even from that brief glimpse, you’d seen that his cheeks were a deep shade of pink: perhaps he wasn’t quite as unbothered as he was trying to seem.

“Friendly competition is what men live for!” came the cheery voice of Jules, now standing next to you, folding his arms casually as he spoke. “It’s how we make each other better. Cloud has helped me teach my guys some important lessons on that–steel sharpens steel, as they say!” From where you were cowering behind Cloud’s sword, you could only nod meekly in agreement, swallowing hard as the whistle blew, and the competition began.

You remembered your heart stopping, the blood draining from your face. Half of you wanted nothing more than to stare–the other half wanted to sink through the floor and melt into the Lifestream, never to be seen again. “They’re…um–” You tried to come up with some quip to appear unaffected, but it was a hopeless endeavor. Despite your very best attempts to govern yourself, you were incapacitated: the smooth movements of Cloud's back and shoulder muscles rippling beneath his sweater as his body contracted and relaxed, the faint sheen of sweat beginning to gleam on his arms, the small grunts of effort he was making as the competition wore on, it was truly too much for you–and that wasn’t even mentioning his lower half. Even criminally concealed in those baggy pants, with every backward hinge of his perfect hips as he sunk low pulling the fabric snug, Cloud was a specimen to behold. If only you’d had summoning materia with you–maybe Ramuh would take mercy, and smite you with a lightning bolt for the way you were ogling your completely platonic comrade-in-arms as he fell into a smooth and efficient rhythm with each squat, quickly leaving poor Jay in the dust. It was embarrassing how mesmerized you were, the heat you felt watching his pelvis rocking in that hypnotic pendulum, back and forth, back and forth–

Blinking hard, it was as if someone turned the volume back up, the taunts and shouts of the crowd suddenly a cacophony around you as the world came back into focus. Your gaze darted around to the spectating men cheering on the two competitors, and you suddenly felt very small–and very out of place. “Maybe I should go…” you murmured under your breath. “This is a place for guys, I-I’m totally intruding…”

“Not at all,” Jules reassured you warmly. You jolted at the sound of his voice: you’d really just been talking to yourself. “Besides–” he’d said with a wink, “self-improvement is a great motivator for guys–but it’s not the best one.” Your eyes fell as your face grew even warmer. “And if word around town is true, you’ve seen Cloud break a sweat before!” Jules's teasing insinuation filled you with horror. When you gaped up at him, he laughed. “Andrea is my brother, you know!”

“Glad one of us enjoyed themselves.”

The sound of Cloud’s biting tone made you blink. Returning to the present, you saw the way he was eyeing you warily, and you finally figured it out. “Wait–you know I’m not laughing at you, right?” He glared sidelong at the ground, his only response one of his unamused grunts. “Oh come on, admit it! That was pretty ridiculous–” you chuckled, “only in Wall Market, huh?” Cloud continued side-eyeing you, still hesitant to let his guard down. You were being honest: you weren’t laughing at Cloud, not really. Or, not for the reasons he was thinking. It was the dissonance of watching your ever stoic, self-dignified Cloud do something so, well…not. And that wasn’t even including the way he’d avoided your eyes when he’d descended from the ring in victory, yanking the sword from your hands as he stormed out of the gym, unable to speak to you until, well, right now. How had he managed to look so hot, but also so damn cute? It was frying your circuits.

As he scowled at you, you were fighting to stop the smile pulling at your lips. Cloud shot back defensively, “SOLDIERs challenge each other to squat competitions all the time when they’re off duty. I’ve done that loads of times–quit making such a big deal out of it.”

“Did you win against the other SOLDIERs, too?”

He had one hand on his hip, head co*cked back confidently. “You really need me to answer that?”

“You were pretty impressive back there.” You saw Cloud blanch, caught off-guard at the sincerity in your voice–he wasn’t used to receiving a compliment delivered so plainly. “Must have gotten a bit more mako in your glutes than the other guys!” When you dissolved into giggles–since when did you get so giddy? you wondered–you noticed how Cloud’s bristliness didn’t abate at your attempt to lighten the mood (neither did the adorable blush on his cheeks). But for as absurd as you found it all, you hated the idea of him thinking you found him worthy of ridicule: you knew how self-conscious he really was, beneath that standoffish exterior he maintained. And you didn’t find him ridiculous–anything but.

So you cleared your throat to get your grip. “Cloud–” you began again, a bit more serious this time, “for the last six weeks, I’ve been dancing on stage in a bee-themed leotard and popping out of giant cakes for a living–as you well know!” you finished with a good-natured chuckle. And he did know–he’d had a front row seat to pretty much every show you’d performed in, right from the very first night, Odin help you. No one knew what you’d had to do here better than Cloud. He didn’t quite relent, but you saw Cloud’s features relax ever so slightly, before his eyes darted sidelong to the pavement, as if he were also a bit bashful at the thought of your ahem, employment. “I’m the last person that could judge you for doing something a bit silly. We’ve both had to go out of our comfort zone here, hm?” He looked up, and the warm sincerity in your eyes made the tension in his shoulders ease.

But you couldn’t help when your smile turned playful again. “And believe me, I know what it’s like to have everyone staring at your butt, too!” Dissolving into giggles once more, you swanned forward to the short flight of steps into the clothing shop. Cloud grunted in surprise, glaring at you indignantly as you passed.

“Whatever.” But when he clambered up the steps after you, he was fighting the smile twitching on his lips.

Then Cloud came to another abrupt stop halfway up as a thought worked in his mind–then made his cheeks flush hot all over again: Does she mean she was…at my–?

When Cloud reached the ground level of the clothing shop, his brows furrowed into a scowl as he scanned the space: among the garment racks and tables, he didn’t see you or the old man Bert anywhere. He’d only taken his eyes off you for a few seconds before he followed you inside–where could you have possibly gone? He began heading for the counter to ask the owner’s son where you might be, but before he got there, a movement in the back corner caught his attention. Cloud saw you emerge from behind a white curtain on the far wall of the shop that seemed to conceal some sort of back room. At first, he was confused–and then he was furious.

How were you wearing lipstick?! You certainly hadn’t been before. His brow furrowed in bewilderment as his eyes scoured you wiping the red pigment off with a tissue. But then the curtain moved again, and Bert appeared right behind you, a wide grin plastered on his face, and Cloud’s vision tunneled. While he vaguely registered you were also holding a small black pouch–no doubt containing the dice and orb of materia the shop owner had promised you–it only meant there was even less holding Cloud back from marching up to the old man and clobbering him with his sword.

“Hey–!”

When you noticed him storming across the shop, reaching for the hilt of his sword, you hurried forward, blocking his path, hands raised in placation. “Cloud, wait–!”

“What did he–”

“–Bert wanted my autograph,” you explained. “He had a picture of me from my audition at the Honeybee Inn–I had a...a favor to ask him, and he agreed to help if I signed the photograph.”

“You don’t need lipstick for that!” he fumed.

Suddenly bashful, your eyes fell. “He wanted me to, um…kiss the picture, along with my signature. But that’s it, Cloud–really, I’m fine.” Cloud was glaring over your shoulder at the old man, who was shaking the photograph to dry the newly inked autograph as he admired it, completely oblivious to the young man with the giant sword seriously contemplating his murder not ten feet away.

It was the gentle pressure of your hand on his arm that brought Cloud’s searing gaze back to you. Anger and adrenaline and hormones still coursing through his system, he couldn’t help but notice the way the lipstick–a dramatic shade of red that was somehow perfect for your complexion–made your lips impossible to ignore. And the way the pigment was smeared at one corner of your mouth where you’d stopped halfway through wiping it off–it was making him feel…unstable. You were close enough that Cloud had to tilt his head down just a bit to look in your eyes, emphasizing the height difference between you. He was finding it hard to think straight.

Cloud squeezed and released his fist at his side to channel the anger out of his body. “Are we done here?”

“I got the dice and the Manipulate materia,” you answered. He abruptly headed back toward the entrance. “Cloud–wait.” The sudden nervousness in your voice made him turn around. “Bert–I-I mean, the owner of the shop–” you amended, seeing how you saying the owner’s name made Cloud’s eyes spark once more, “he said this Delphine, well…”

“What?” Cloud snapped, trying to stifle his residual frustration.

“She only allows the most important people into her club room, apparently.”

“We got the invitation, that’s what matters, right? Besides, I’m the champion of the Colosseum–should be important enough for her.”

“Y-Yeah, maybe, but, well, that won’t be enough for her to let me in…” you continued. “And besides, we probably shouldn’t use our real identities for this–or our fake ones, either.”

It vaguely registered somewhere in Cloud's mind that your reservations made a lot of sense. But the way you were having a hard time holding his gaze (why couldn’t you just take that damn lipstick off already so he could concentrate?) was making him uneasy. You were clearly about to tell him something you knew he wouldn’t like. “Just say it.”

“He said we'll need to look the part. If we’re going to pretend to be rich and glamorous enough to pass at Delphine’s…we’re going to need new clothes.”

Cold dread settled over Cloud as he bit back a groan: for a request like that, there was only one place–one person–to go.

Chapter 26

Chapter Text

“I’m starting to think you might be a little obsessed with me, Cloud!”

Cloud fought the urge to roll his eyes as Madam M sauntered out from behind the counter in the entrance room of her massage parlor, flashing him a doe-eyed smirk. “You only just paid off the last ensemble I provided, yet here you are! I hope this isn’t just an excuse to see me…” she cooed, batting her fan at chest level.

As he scowled in agitation, you stepped forward beside him. “Madam M? I never thanked you for giving me the outfit I wore my first night on stage.”

“Happy to do my bit,” she purred magnanimously. Cloud decided not to press the fact that she had made him risk his life in the Colosseum for the past month as part of her bit–he figured pointing that out would not aid with the current situation. “But from your appearance here, it would seem you need my help once again,” she remarked–a statement, not a question.

“Well…yes,” you continued.

Madam M looked straight at Cloud. “I take it you don’t want a dress to get her into the Mansion this time?”

He saw the way your face went slack with shock as you stared at Madam M, trying to absorb what she’d just said. Right–you still didn’t know the story from last time. Then you looked at him, your wide eyes asking for an explanation. But when Cloud simply shifted his weight on his feet, folded his arms, you blinked away your astonishment and pressed on. “Um, actually, we’re going to Delphine’s club room tonight, and–”

“My word! It seems you two really have made yourselves at home here,” she teased. “Next you’ll be telling me you’re trading emails with Don Corneo!”

Hardly, Cloud thought.

You laughed politely before you went on. “Well, she has something that belongs to a friend of ours, and we need to win it back–”

“–and you need a suitable disguise in order to get inside,” Madam M finished for you, fluttering her fan lazily as she paced her small lobby. You didn’t answer, instead looking up at Cloud for reassurance. The woman shrugged, her reply nonchalant: “Alright.”

You looked at her, eyes wide. “You’ll help us?”

“Though it’s so rude of you to ask me on such short notice–” she teased, “I think I have exactly what you need.”

Finally Cloud spoke up, voice hard and flat. “What’s the catch?” He braced for impact.

She shot him an almost mischievous grin. “You should know that better than anyone, Cloud! It won’t be something worthy of an audition, but I think I have just the thing. And since you both will be needing clothing, including late fees, well…it’s going to be half a million.”

Your jaw fell open, but Cloud just nodded grimly–he’d figured the amount would hurt.

“But you’re in luck!” she continued. “There’s going to be another Corneo Cup this weekend–we just got the official word yesterday. And I’ve also learned Corneo has declared there will be a new audition soon–my colleagues and I are to begin the search for candidates in the next few weeks. An audition and a Cup–the last time that happened was when you and Aerith were in town,” Madam M remarked, her cat-like eyes bright with wicked enthusiasm. “It’s certainly going to be an exciting weekend!” You and Cloud looked at each other, equal unease in your expressions. “If you truly are in need of my clothing, the Cup will be the perfect opportunity for you to pony up, as they say,” the Madam finished. “So, do you want my help, or not?”

You turned to face Cloud, still standing with his arms folded. “Cloud–no. No way. You shouldn’t put yourself in so much danger for something like this. We’ll go back to the shop on Main Street, maybe–”

“You think Bert’s rags will be enough to get you through the door to Delphine’s?” Madam M snapped at you. “I knew you were naive, but I didn’t think you were stupid.”

“I can’t ask you to do this, we’ll just–”

“–Not like we have a choice,” was his terse reply. You opened your mouth to protest further, but Cloud instead looked at the expectant Madam M and said: “Alright.”

“Lovely!” she cooed.

“But first–tell us more about this Delphine,” Cloud continued. “She’s not someone I ran into last time.”

“Was she ever part of the Trio?” you chimed in. “Is she close to Corneo?”

“Not one of the Trio, no–Delphine never had the eye for what he likes. But they are close business associates: besides her highly successful private club, Corneo runs his winnings through her books, and she oversees all the betting that takes place at the Colosseum, of which he gets a substantial cut.” So even if she wasn’t a member of the Trio, Delphine still held considerable power here in Wall Market, Cloud judged.

Then he saw your eyes spark as you realized something. “Wait–does that mean she’ll recognize Cloud?” His gaze flicked over to you: he was impressed–it was a smart question to ask, one he hadn’t considered himself.

“Not if you use an alias, she won’t. The only way she’s ever seen Cloud is as a line item on her ledgers–she has bookies who see to the betting operations on the ground, and rarely watches herself anymore.” That was a relief. With that, Madam M moved out from behind the wooden counter, shifting to the matter at hand. “Now, since I assume you won’t want my help with your preparations, Cloud–I’ll bring your clothing out here for you to change into while I see to your darling friend here.”

Cloud saw your eyes go wide as Madam M came up behind you, her fan at your back as she led you down the hallway toward the back room of the parlor. “If I had more time–” she mused with a disapproving sigh as she looked you over, “I might be able to do something about that hair, but–we’ll just have to do what we can.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

The exchange made Cloud’s eyes fall to the back of your head as he studied the subject in question. Cloud didn’t think there was anything wrong with your hair–quite the opposite, he realized. But he hastily pulled his eyes up when you turned back to give Cloud one last nervous look, before Madam M ushered you into a room down the hallway. She briefly reemerged to hand Cloud a black garment bag on a hanger, her voice sharp and stern. “Same rules as last time–take a peek, and you’ll regret it.” Then her iciness melted with a giggle, and the woman swanned toward the hallway. But just as she reached the circular entryway, she turned back. “Oh, and don’t bother with the ties on the side of the dress–they’re just for decoration.” He blanched at her abrupt statement, but she just shot him a devious smirk: “It has a zipper down the back.” Madam M left Cloud to puzzle over her words as she headed back to the room she’d left you in.

Letting out a sigh of dismay, as he began to unfasten his pauldron, realizing he’d once again struck a deal to put a pretty girl in a pretty dress, Cloud wondered if his earlier conclusion was wrong–maybe he was the one stuck in suspended animation.

“Do tell Delphine I say hello!” Madam M jokingly called from the massage parlor’s open doorway as the two of you made your way back out onto the street. “I’ll be paying her a visit myself in the next few days–to place my bets on you,” she said to Cloud. Then you two watched the door slide shut before you turned and headed down the road.

From where you were walking next to Cloud, you were finding it hard not to drool: he was in a jet black suit with a crisp white undershirt. The tux followed the sharp lines and angles of his lithe frame so perfectly it was painful. When his head turned to meet your gaze when he noticed you staring, you fought the urge to fuss with your skirt, with the pins in your hair. It wasn’t that you didn’t like how you looked–but though you knew Cloud didn't return your feelings of attraction, you couldn't help your self-consciousness under his gaze.

She’d put you in a kind of dress you’d never seen around Midgar much before (what had she called it? a cheongsam?), clearly meant to emulate the fashion of faraway lands: it had a high collar and short cap sleeves, a tear-drop shaped keyhole at the neckline revealing just a small amount of cleavage, the luxurious silk fabric sensuously hugging your curves until the dress skimmed straight down your legs. It was a deep navy blue color, with flowers embroidered all over in shimmering silver thread, a matching silvery lace wrap resting at your elbows (how could this possibly add any warmth?). There was an almost liquid effect to the decadent fabric when you moved, highlighting the hollows and creases in your form. The hem ended just above your ankles, showing off the strappy black heels on your feet. The dress had the illusion of a wrap closure, a line of small fake clasps running from the collar and snaking around your right breast, snugly outlining the profile of your waist down your side until it ended at the wicked slit in the skirt at your upper thigh. The slit meant your right leg (and your lacy black stockings) were all too visible. Your hair was pinned in an updo that sat at the base of your head, a few loose locks framing your face. She’d kept your makeup simple, save for the dramatic lipstick she’d put on you, a deep berry-red shade cool enough to complement the dress. And as the final touch, she’d even given you a navy colored hand fan to tie the outfit together.

You’d commented on the exotic look of the ensemble back in the dressing room, and Madam M had told you that was by design: she’d said Don Corneo was originally from Wutai, and had many contacts there in manufacturing and shipping. “Giving you a bit of foreign flair will help you win her over: Delphine tries to come off as a worldly woman–but she’s from Midgar, born and raised. She’s just like Andrea, Sam, and I in that way–good at putting on a show. She’ll be eager to impress what she thinks is a wealthy foreign traveler–and to part a gullible tourist from their gil.” After she made sure you two were up to her standards, you’d asked Madam M to have your normal clothes first taken to Andrea at the Honeybee Inn, where he would then have them delivered to your apartment–you appreciated that she didn’t ask why they should be sent on such a circuitous route.

As the two of you walked side by side down the street now, drinking him in from the corner of your eye, it dawned on you Cloud still had Hardedge on his back–he must have kept his harness on, under his suit jacket. “You’re bringing your sword?”

“We have no idea what we’re getting into.” He was certainly right about that.

After another stretch of silence, you jolted when Cloud suddenly asked, “You guys sure took your time getting ready–took forever last time, too. What is it you do in there?”

You chuckled. “You don’t wanna know.”

He grunted in wry amusem*nt. “Probably not.” Usually, when Cloud made remarks like that, it meant he didn’t have anything more to say–but that wasn’t true this time. Just as you ducked your gaze back to the cobblestones in front of you–

“She read your palm?”

You blinked hard, eyes wide when you peered over at him. “H-huh?” How did he know? Had Madam M told him way back when they’d spoken after your audition? Did she say something to him when she’d brought him his suit just now? What if she’d told what she’d seen in your reading–what it apparently said about you and him? Your heart was already beginning to pound faster in your chest, louder in your ears. You couldn’t help how your voice wavered: “Y-Yeah…yeah, she did.”

“Madam M read my palm the first time I met her, too,” Cloud continued unperturbed. “Seems like it’s a thing with her.” Then he turned his head, looked right at you. “Your hands tell her anything good?”

You held his gaze as the memory surfaced: after she’d led you back to the parlor's main massage room, after she'd helped you into your dress and seen to your hair as you sat before the large vanity made of a dark, rich wood in the back corner, you remembered how Madam M had you turn on the stool so she could sit beside you and paint your nails in a navy blue polish that reminded you of Cloud’s SOLDIER uniform. She hadn’t let on for what felt like a long time as she first trimmed, then buffed your nails. It wasn’t until she began applying the base coat that she remarked suddenly: “You clearly haven’t acted on the advice I gave you before–can you at least tell me you’ve been thinking on it?”

The masseuse's sharp tongue wasn’t a surprise to you anymore, not after spending so many nights in her presence after your shows at the Honeybee Inn. But her words had made you blanch all the same as the memory of her staring down at your palm with that perplexed look on her face flashed in your mind: I wouldn’t leave it too long, if I were you.

“...They told her I needed a manicure, apparently.”

That made Cloud smirk, emitting one of his amused grunts before the two of you lapsed into silence once more. It was a straight shot down the road from Madam M's to the main plaza, and the hotel soon came into view across the square. “You got the invitation?” Cloud asked finally when you reached the steps to the hotel. Rifling around in the silver clutch Madam M had given you, you handed it to him. He turned to head up the steps, but you called out for him to wait, and he turned back, brow furrowed in confusion when he saw you still rooting around in your clutch.

“I almost forgot–just need one second.” You retrieved the Gothic Bangle from within your bag before you began to fuss with the silver bracelet on your right wrist, one of the matching pair Madam M had given you. In order to enact your scheme, you’d need to swap it with the bangle you’d purchased at the weapons shop, so the Manipulate materia would be ready to use. The bracelet came off easily enough, but when you went to put the bangle in its place, you were having a hard time getting it secured around your wrist. You’d gone with an older, refurbished bangle rather than a new one because it cost less gil–but it seemed it was a bit banged up, and the catch on it didn’t quite line up right. Grimacing as you fumbled with the clasp, in your struggle you absentmindedly lifted one leg, planting one high-heeled foot on the step next to you so you could anchor your wrist on your thigh as you worked. Your bent leg parted the slit in the dress, the gap riding so high up your thigh it nearly exposed your underwear. Great–it was awkward enough baring your legs in your fishnets and leotard at work: but doing so out here on the open street, in these stockings no less–you tried not to think about it.

Suddenly, you heard Cloud emit a strange, guttural noise where he stood just in front of you–some sort of strained grunt that sounded like it got caught in his throat. Still concentrating on the bangle, from the corner of your eye you vaguely saw him shift on his feet, his head sharply ducking sideways as he fussed with his sword on his back. Must be impatient to get this over with, you figured. But at last, you secured the clunky old bangle. Part of the difficulty was that you’d put it on so the materia slots rested along the inside of your wrist, instead of the outside as the bangle was meant to be worn, to better conceal your gear: the two yellow orbs and single purple orb of materia inserted into the accessory looked out of place with your ensemble, but it couldn’t be helped. Dropping your foot from the step, the silk settling back over your leg, you watched Cloud clear his throat as he stiffly pulled at his tie and adjusted his cufflinks like a teenager in his first tux for the prom, and your chest squeezed at how cute he was. Though he was clearly a bit uncomfortable in his formal attire, he looked like the dashing hero in one of those old spy movies Biggs used to love–and Jessie loved to watch just to drool over the leading men. Though most screen actors couldn’t boast of having a badass sword on their back as part of their suave look, you mused.

When at last it seemed you were both ready to head inside, you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, eyes skittering to the cobblestones. This is what you and Cloud had been running all over town for, lining the pieces up to pull this ruse on Delphine: now that it was here in front of you, your heart was racing. Just when you'd thought you had your mission in Wall Market figured out, it managed to throw something brand new at you yet again. “So, um…you said you’ve done stuff like this before, yeah? These types of card and dice games, I mean.”

He nodded. “SOLDIERs play 'em for spare gil in their down time, so I’m familiar with most of the popular ones. Never gone up against a club-owning cardshark, though,” he finished with a wry smile. It should have been the opposite, but you found the fact that Cloud was also doing something new to him somehow comforting.

“Sounds like you should take point, then,” you answered with a smile of your own.

“I cast the dice, you cast the magic?” The sight of Cloud smirking back at you in his suit made your knees weak–if he were a spy interrogating you, you’d sing like a bird.

With that, you two walked past the greeter and through the hotel doors. Perhaps the only benefit of your employment at the Honeybee Inn was that you were no longer completely inept at moving in high heels, and so you managed to swan into the lobby with a modicum of poise. “We’re here to visit the club room,” you announced coolly to the attendant behind the desk–a statement, not a request.

“Do you have an invitation?”

Cloud handed him the black card, and the man studied it for a moment before his eyes scanned the two of you. You fanned yourself lazily as you tried to appear unperturbed, but were glad of the means to cool your face off as your heart thundered in your chest. Finally, the man gave a curt nod, returning the invitation before he came round the desk and escorted you and Cloud down the hallway to the vestibule in the back. On your left was a door with two metal stanchions placed on either side, a velvety red rope hanging between them barring off the entrance.

“Enjoy your evening,” the man said as he unclipped the rope and opened the door, gesturing with one hand for you and Cloud to enter.

As always, you waited for Cloud to go first–so when he stopped next to you and softly cleared his throat, you looked over at him in surprise. He wordlessly lifted his elbow, offering you his arm. You knew it was part of the act, because he was trying to appear the sophisticated gentleman–but you couldn’t help the heat that seared your cheeks. Wrapping your arm in his, you two began the ascent up the spiral staircase, only the clicking sounds of your heels on the wood echoing in the quiet. Until–

“…We could just kill Johnny.”

You peered over at Cloud, meeting his gaze–you were pretty sure he wasn’t serious.

Chapter 27

Chapter Text

After a brief pause at the top of the stairs to solidify your cover story, Cloud opened the door for you to walk through first, into whatever awaited you in Delphine’s club room. The smell of whiskey and cigars immediately assaulted your senses as you entered the space. You suddenly almost felt a strange sense of comfort, as it reminded you of the Honeybee Inn. That’s a scary thought–maybe you’d been in Wall Market a bit too long…

The room was large, divided into two levels, with low ceilings and dim lighting. The lower level was an open area almost completely taken up by a large octagonal table with wood trim and bright green fabric over its surface–no doubt where the gambling took place. There were only a few steps that led up from the lower floor to the upper, where a fully stocked bar ran along the far wall, the bottles of top shelf liquor and empty glasses on the wall behind the counter gleaming under the low lighting. A well dressed server stood behind the counter shaking a tumbler. The three hard looking men seated around the gambling table turned to look at the new arrivals. They were all wearing some combination of dress shirts with suspenders or neck ties. Studying you and Cloud, their eyes watched you with both wariness and interest, especially as they raked up and down your figure. You were suddenly even more glad of Cloud’s arm for support.

“Well! Who do we have here?”

The sudden sound of a woman’s voice came from the back corner. Through the haze of the cigar smoke, it took a few moments for her to become visible as she sauntered past the bar and down the stairs to the lower level. She had dark brown hair that spilled in lush waves over one shoulder, a stole made from the cream colored fur of some poor animal wrapped around her pale, delicate shoulders. She was wearing a red gown with a plunging neckline and thin straps, the shimmery fabric of the material glinting as she moved. She looked like some old time movie star, dolled up in heavy makeup and red lipstick, and you noticed the way her sharp, cat-like brown eyes dragged over Cloud much longer than was strictly necessary. It made you grip his forearm just a bit tighter.

You opened your mouth to speak, without even needing to consult Cloud. It wasn’t something you would realize in the moment, but you’d conclude later that you two had seemingly divided up certain tasks between you, depending on what was required: when it came to talking (and especially sweet talking), that was when you would step forward–and that’s exactly what you did. “Hello! I hope we’re not too late–we’re in town visiting a friend, and he said we simply must spend an evening at Delphine’s.”

“A friend, you say?” She was studying you like a cat eyeing a particularly interesting mouse.

“When we told him we had plenty of gil we wanted to get rid of, Sam was generous enough to lend us his invitation for tonight.”

Her eyes sparked–it seemed you’d passed the test. “Sam is a dear friend,” she cooed. “Among…other things.” You felt your face grow a bit warm–after your nights at the Honeybee Inn, you were shocked you were still so ingénue. “As I'm sure you've heard, my name is Delphine," she said, resting a hand on her chest. "I welcome you both to my humble little club. Your timing is perfect–we’ve only just started for the evening,” Delphine purred. “We thought we’d shake things up tonight. How do you feel about a few games of Cee-Lo? I don’t usually play with dice, but we wanted a break from poker.”

You raised your eyebrows in simulated interest. “How exciting!”

The middle aged woman took a step back, gesturing with one arm for you to join her and the other three men. You and Cloud, still arm in arm, made your way over to the gambling table just as she took a seat on the far side, and beckoned to the bartender to bring another round of drinks. Cloud tilted his head ever so slightly to whisper to you: “We’re going to need to swap the dice.”

With your free hand, you gently stroked Cloud's arm (absolutely necessary for the ruse), the counterfeit dice wrapped tightly in your fist, passed off by also holding your fan in the same hand. “Just play the first game clean, and let me have the first roll in the next game.” When Cloud shot you an inquisitive look, you hissed back, “Bert showed me a trick.” He scowled–but before Cloud could make his thoughts known on that revelation, you’d reached the table, and he pulled back one of the wooden chairs and took a seat directly across from Delphine.

“Speaking of friends–” she remarked suddenly, her eyes moving over Cloud as he sat, “who’s this angel you’ve brought with you?”

“He happens to be my fiancé,” you answered breezily. Then an idea popped into your head: without thinking it through, you smoothly sank into Cloud’s lap, crossing your legs where they rested across his thighs as you draped your arms around his neck. While the fake engagement was part of your cover story, the PDA was not something you’d discussed with Cloud prior to entering the club–how he kept his cool, you had no idea. You felt his right arm reflexively wrap around your middle, hand settling snugly at your waist–don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it–

“Really…” Delphine mused. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.” The bartender had arrived by now with a tray of glasses filled with what appeared to be top-shelf bourbon, coming up behind you to reach over your shoulder and set a glass down next to you. You flicked open your fan and raised it to your chest–you realized leaving your hands in your lap risked exposing your materia.

“We’re from Wutai–” you answered with a shrug, “engagement rings aren’t the fashion there.”

“Wutai! My, you’re far from home! What brought all the way to Midgar? Shopping for a wedding dress, hm?”

Getting married to Cloud...don't think about, don't think about it, don't think about it–

As the man next to Delphine took up the three dice on the table and began his roll, you took a sip of your drink both to calm your nerves, and also give you more time to assemble your story. It registered somewhere in the back of your mind that the party was using a set of dice identical in appearance to the three you'd acquired from Bert, the standard white and black coloring (though Bert's only looked that way because they had been painted over to hide they were made of crystal), and you nearly sighed in relief at the realization. “We’re here on business, actually.”

“Cheers to another female entrepreneur!” Delphine playfully raised her glass to you in a toast before she took a long sip. “I can tell from your gorgeous dress that you’ve done quite well for yourself.”

“My family has traditionally been in shipping.” Cloud was seemingly on autopilot next to you (or more accurately, underneath you), rolling his dice and calling his hands all while you and Delphine engaged in a different sort of game.

“Traditionally, hm?”

“With the expansion of mako energy across the continent, we’re thinking of diversifying, getting into automobiles–manufacturing, not just shipping.”

“The future is now!” she quipped with that ever present smirk on her face. “You’re going into a tough climate–Shinra has the market cornered on automotive.”

“Which is why my fiancé wanted us to take a vacation to Midgar, to buy me a car–as a wedding present,” you replied, fussing with Cloud’s suit collar at the mention of your beau. “I’ve got contacts in the Corel area who can get me materials at a fraction of what Shinra's paying. Cars shouldn’t be just for the well-to-do: I want to make them for people in the slums, too, not just for topsiders. Who are they to know we’ve…refined the manufacturing process?”

“What a noble endeavor,” she chuckled.

“But I need a Shinra model for our…R&D, if you will,” you continued, shooting Delphine a smirk as cunning as any of hers. You knew in Wall Market, the higher you climbed, the more corrupt it got–so you hoped posing as someone scheming to make inferior, counterfeit automobiles for unsuspecting poor people would be enough to pass muster. “But ever since the war, well, it’s been so hard for us Wutaians to get anything. So I figured, why not go straight to the source?” By now, the game was down to just Cloud and one other man–was there anything he wasn’t good at?

“And have you found your…prototype yet?” she asked.

“Not yet–If you know of anyone who’d be willing to part with one, do let us know.” The man next to Delphine groaned then, and Cloud reached forward to claim the gil on the table. He’d won the first game–now it was your turn.

“…Your man isn’t much of a talker, is he?” Delphine remarked suddenly. She co*cked her head as she studied Cloud. Her tone was neutral, but the question felt a bit loaded all the same.

You couldn't help the giggle that burst out of you, accidentally far more genuine than anything you had said since you walked in the door. Turning your head, you found Cloud's eyes already on you, his face so close to yours. “He never has been,” you answered fondly. Holding each other's gaze, momentarily overcome with a sudden surge of affection–no doubt enhanced by the liquor in your system–you gently cupped Cloud’s cheek with one hand, briefly stroking your thumb over his skin before your good sense returned, and you withdrew.

“You wanna play this round?” Cloud finally spoke up, his voice gravel rough.

“Oh gosh, you know I’m terrible at these sorts of games!” you cooed, laying it on thick with a flutter of your lashes. “Maybe just the first roll?”

“If I may–” Delphine cut in, “I came into possession of a pretty nice vintage Shinra Model C just this afternoon–won it off our friend Sam in a coin toss.”

“I take it you didn’t use his coin, then?” you answered playfully, informing Delphine you were wise to Sam’s signature ploy.

“He knows better than to pull his tricks on me,” she purred. “What do you say we play for it?” As she spoke, she lifted a hand to signal to the bartender, who brought over a set of beat up car keys matching the description Johnny had given you. “If you win, you’ll have your prototype–and if I win…” You braced for impact.

Then her eyes fixed on Cloud. “I want your sword.”

“Wh-why would you want that?” you said, fighting to stay in character, trying to pass off your surprised stutter as a scoff of indignation.

She answered with a nonchalant shrug. “Does it matter? It must be valuable, given that he hasn’t taken it off since you came in.” As you stammered, trying to assemble a response, she continued breezily, “It’s either that, or a night with your fiancé–your pick.” Delphine took a long sip of her bourbon then, eyeing you over the rim of the glass. Her voice was smooth, sanguine, so it took you a second to register what she’d just said. Even though your wager was fake–win or lose, Cloud wasn’t even yours to give away–the blasé way she made such a request rattled you. You didn’t mean to, but your hand on his suit lapel clenched, fisting the fabric.

“You can have the sword if you win,” Cloud snapped.

“You’d pick a hunk of metal over me?” she pouted, mock hurt pulling her dolled up features. “You don’t want me? Not even a little bit?” But then she suddenly giggled, that wicked gleam returning to her cat-like brown eyes. “Your loss, then. There’s just one thing I’d like to ask, before we get started.”

“Y-Yes?” You cursed yourself for the way you hadn’t quite recovered.

“What are your names?”

You and Cloud looked at each other. sh*t! How had you not decided on names?! “He’s Cl–Claus. His name is Claus.” Ignoring the bewildered look Claus gave you, you turned to Delphine, one hand resting amorously on his chest. “His last name doesn’t matter, trust me. But my name is Drosselmeyer–Helena von Drosselmeyer, Baroness of Shinobi.”

The name came to you in the moment, vaguely remembered from a conversation with your mother about a distant great-aunt who may have been from Wutai (or was it Mideel?). You knew you were getting your places, ethnicities, and naming conventions all jumbled, but given Madam M’s description of Delphine, you hoped her lack of worldliness would save you. The middle aged woman just studied you for a moment, as you tried to meet her gaze with a cool, confident stare of your own.

“Roger–” she suddenly called out, “another round of drinks, if you please.” She then tossed the car keys on the pile of gil at the center of the table, a new brightness in her feline gaze. “After you, sweetie.”

Now was your moment–you had to do this right, or the whole charade would be over. You followed Bert’s instruction from when he’d handed over the dice in the back room: first you cupped your fingers, keeping the knuckles straight, your three dice pressed between your pinky and pointer finger in the small pocket you’d created. As you swiped your hand over the genuine dice on the table, you released the false dice from your fingers, then used your thumb to sweep the real dice into your palm, executing the transfer in one fluid motion. Got it! Continuing to sweep your hand back toward you, it was a bit awkward–you had to push the fake dice off the table into your non-dominant hand while still holding the genuine ones to make the transition look natural, before you were able to withdraw your dominant hand and use it to press the real dice against your thigh. But the move had gone off as smoothly as you could have hoped for–the first step was complete: only what felt like an endless number left to go.

“Like this?” you asked Cloud, trying to come off as the ditzy heiress as you took up the fake dice. His arm still wrapped around your middle, you felt Cloud's right hand squeeze the bend of your waist, his thumb stroking your lower back. When he leaned forward over your shoulder to explain the rules to you, he cupped his other hand over your knee. Both of you looking down at the dice in your hand, Cloud explained the rules of Cee-Lo, told you that the best rolls were either three of all the same number–triples, he called it–or 4-5-6, covertly informing you how you would need to use your Manipulate materia.

“Just do your best, okay honey?” The unexpected use of the endearment, combined with his warm breath on your neck, his rough voice humming in your ear, almost made you drop your counterfeit dice.

For this first round, you decided to just roll the dice clean, without using any materia: not just to avoid suspicion, but also because you wouldn’t be able to focus on the spell you needed to cast while rolling–you had to hope your Luck Up materia would carry you through.

1-2-3. Great. Only the worst roll in the game.

Delphine hummed in mock sympathy as she reached for the dice, easily rolling a better trio. “Round one goes to me.” Only two rounds left–now was the time to put your thumb on the scales.

“Your roll, Baroness,” the woman said coolly, wrapped in the haze of the cigar smoke that hung in the air.

From your place seated across Cloud’s lap, when he reached forward to grab the set of dice from the table, his face was so close, your nose nearly brushed his cheek. Settling back in the chair, he offered them to you, resting on his open palm. You flicked your fan open in your dominant hand, which you used to conceal your face as you leaned in to blow on the dice for good luck.

Or at least, that’s what it looked like: from behind the panels of the fan, you drew on your magic reserves, and breathed: “triple.” You saw a shimmering green sheen slide over the surface of the dice, then fade as the crystalline dice absorbed the magic. After you cast the spell, you straightened, giggling at Cloud as you batted your fan beneath your eyes in an attempt to pass off your strange action as the flirtatious behavior of a lovestruck fiancée. With another slight squeeze of your waist, Cloud shook the dice and tossed them, you fluttering your fan lazily over your chest as you looked on.

4-4-4. A triple–a very solid roll. Now Delphine either had to roll a higher triple, or a 4-5-6 in order to win. As she shook the dice, you noticed her long red fingernails–more like claws, you thought. In your nervous concentration, you’d absentmindedly let your fan fall until it was resting in your lap, instinctively wanting to cover the genuine dice still pressed between your hand and your thigh. The sound of a glass suddenly landing on the table in front of you startled you, not realizing the bartender was right over your shoulder. You quickly brought the fan back up to your chest as Delphine tossed your substitute dice and failed to roll a sufficient trio–round two was yours.

Cloud presented the dice to you once more. You considered not going for one of the high rolls he had told you about to diminish suspicion, but this was also the moment of truth: if you left it up to fate and lost, there was no guarantee she’d challenge you again–not to mention, you’d then have to figure out a way to get Hardedge back, too, on top of Johnny’s car. So when you leaned in and enchanted the dice, you decided to go big.

4-5-6.

You let out a girlish cheer, making Cloud stutter when you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him. Delphine took her loss well, with a sanguine shrug of her shoulders and a simple, “It seems Lady Luck was on your side tonight, sweetheart.” You reached for the keys–

“Or should I say, Lady Luck Up–since you’re using her materia.”

You looked over at the bartender standing behind Delphine’s shoulder flashing you a smirk. Damn. He must have noticed your bangle and blown your secret. “I can tell you two are tourists–” Delphine went on, her voice darkening with every word, “because you clearly don’t know that I’m the one who sets the odds in this town." You opened your mouth slightly, your panicked brain half considering trying to reason with her. But when two burly security guards in black tuxedos emerged from the back room behind the bar, you quickly abandoned that train of thought.

Suddenly both of Cloud’s hands were gripping your hips tight, all but hauling you off his lap and shoving you toward the door, springing up and drawing Hardedge the moment he was free. “Go!”

You took off without hesitation–but you quickly skidded to a stop when you saw another security guard blocking the only exit, your arms out to the sides to keep your balance as you tottered in your Odinforsaken high heels. “Um–Cloud…?”

His eyes darted over, and he hissed out a curse when he saw your predicament. After slashing at one of the gamblers to fend him off, with one hand Cloud gripped the edge of the betting table and upended it in one swift motion, sending a flurry of playing cards and gil scattering all over the floor. “Take cover!”

Dashing back to him, you dove behind the makeshift bunker as Cloud squared off not only against the three security guards, but also the three other men who’d been gambling that night. He was careful never to move too far away from you, hovering in a protective half circle around where you were crouched against the overturned table. But despite the odds, you knew what they all didn’t: it was the height of stupidity to bet against Cloud Strife. And sure enough, he quickly began to wear them out, only needing to land a few hits on any assailant to call their bluff. When Cloud had gotten enough of an upper hand that most of the men were either worn out, or knocked out, he shouted for you to make for the exit. With Delphine shrieking at her guards to get up, you all but sailed down the spiral stairs and through the lobby, Cloud right on your heels, neither of you slowing down until you’d left the hotel far behind you.

Once you both were back outside, to no one’s surprise, Cloud immediately outpaced you. After following behind as he snaked his way through Wall Market’s crowded, winding roads, you almost ran into him when he suddenly stopped halfway down a seemingly random side street. “In here!” he said, directing you to a narrow opening in the cinderblock wall next to you. You ducked inside, shuffling along the tight passageway until you found yourself in a secluded back alley, the cobblestones covered in puddles and random scatterings of loose straw. Spotting a stack of wooden crates at the back, you plunked down and removed your high heels from your aching feet, both of you too out of breath from the exertion to speak for several minutes.

“Dammit!” Cloud snapped eventually, one arm still braced against the alley wall. “All that bullsh*t and we didn’t get the keys!”

When you let out a weak, winded, laugh, he scowled at you. “How the hell is this funny?!”

“I…I never–” you panted, “I never told you…what my…what my third materia was, did I?” You held up your wrist, showing him the three orbs gleaming in your bangle: “Luck…Manipulate…and Steal.” With that, you tossed something toward Cloud, which landed with a jangling sound at his feet.

It was a set of car keys.

When you dissolved into bright, breathless laughter, Cloud just folded his arms and let out an exasperated huff, only the smallest of grudging smiles pulling at his lips–but it was enough.

Chapter 28

Chapter Text

“Almost forgot what rust looks like.”

Cloud wasn’t really serious–but after being cooped up in town for so long, he was no longer used to being out here on the winding, debris lined roads that branched out from Wall Market. The scrap created misshapen silhouettes in the darkness, only infrequent lampposts providing small pools of light along the way. It felt strange to be surrounded by the towering piles of rubble and ruins, to see so much of the steel sky over his head, to no longer be constantly packed in with so many people on the narrow streets of Wall Market. With only the scuffing of his boots and the soft sound of your footsteps rupturing the eerie silence, the world seemed too quiet without the ever present racket back in the town. How was it that Wall Market felt like the real world to him now, and the real world like some half-remembered dream land?

From where you were walking beside him, Cloud saw you weakly smile at his wry remark–a more subdued response than he'd been going for. He also saw how your eyes weren’t quite focusing on him. “Y-Yeah. Home sweet slums…” Your quiet, thin voice made him study you. You’d already dropped your eyes back to the ground: that was odd… He’d been around you enough by now to know you were generally a bright and outgoing person, with a cheery disposition. And tonight, despite all the absurd tasks and ridiculous deals you’d both had to make, he’d watched you take it all in your stride–you even seemed to be enjoying yourself. Until…until you’d left Wall Market, and made your way through the old remains of Sector 6, the piles of rubble and debris looming on all sides. What had changed?

After returning to your apartment to change out of your formalwear and back into your normal clothes, you and Cloud had set off past Sam’s ranch and out of Wall Market, through Evergreen Park and down the road that led back to Sector 5. There was a point where the road forked, a short detour branching off from the main path leading to the stream that eventually flowed past Aerith’s house. Johnny had told you he'd parked his car by the water there before coming to Wall Market, because he thought it would be less likely to be damaged or stolen farther from the town. During the long walk, Cloud had noticed that both of you had mostly stayed silent, mostly because you weren't offering much conversation. Part of him was enjoying the peace and quiet, the (relatively) fresh air outside the Market–and the fact that you two were almost to the waterside, and Johnny’s Odinforsaken car–but the silence felt different somehow, too, not as contentful as it usually did.

“…Cloud?” The sudden sound of your soft, hesitant voice rupturing the long spell of silence made him blink hard. He looked over at you. “Are you really going to fight in the Corneo Cup?”

“Deal’s a deal.”

“I’m sure we could work something out that isn’t so dangerous…”

He grunted a humorless laugh. “You don’t know Madam M.” Cloud certainly wasn’t thrilled about it: he had only just ended his previous term of servitude to the domineering masseuse. But it couldn’t be helped now.

“Sounds like it’s a big deal–the Cup…” you remarked absentmindedly.

“They don’t come around very often–the Don decides when they happen. The fights are tougher, the monsters are more ferocious than regular matches. Makes the betting even crazier.” Cloud saw you open your mouth to say something. He’d also been around you long enough to know you were going to ask him to change his mind, to consider his safety. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate your concern for him–he just knew he didn’t have the option to heed it. Not to mention he had a request of his own on his mind–now came the part he’d been avoiding.

So Cloud cut in before you could speak. “–Which is why I want you to promise me you won’t go.”

“But–”

“I know we’re supposed to work together from now on–” he continued, trying to sound firm, but also gentle, given your strange low mood, “but you have no idea how rough it gets at the Colosseum, especially when there’s a Cup–and I won’t be able to protect you. I have to focus on making it out in one piece, and it’ll be harder for me if I’m also trying to look out for you.” When you didn’t answer, Cloud scanned your face. He could see how his request was a disappointment to you, that you wanted to protest. While his own wellbeing was heavy on his mind, his concern for your safety was sincere: the Corneo Colosseum was rowdy on a quiet night, and a lone girl in the stands was bound to run into trouble–but it was more than that.

When Cloud called your name, you looked up again, seemingly drawn by the seriousness in his tone. “You heard Madam M. There’s going to be an audition soon.” This was the news Cloud had been dreading. Starting next week, Corneo would be looking for his next ‘bride’: not only would attending the Cup put you just down the road from his mansion, but the Colosseum would be swarming with Corneo’s lackeys, from the Trio at the top to the hired thugs at the bottom, all no doubt scanning the crowds for any pretty girl the Don might like. Going there by yourself would be all but inviting someone to drag you up to the Mansion–and that was the one thing Cloud would not allow. Unlike his debt to Madam M, it didn’t matter the cost: even if that cost was bruising your feelings.

In the dim light, he saw your pretty eyes go wide–but he pressed on. “It would be a bad idea any night–but now it’s going to be even more dangerous. I'm asking this because I'm trying to keep you safe. You need to promise me you won’t go to the Cup. And that you’ll come straight home after work from now on, no more wandering at night–and that you’ll stay away from the Mansion, no matter what.”

Cloud’s gaze was earnest, intense, his mako eyes boring into you. Though neither of you brought it up, he could tell you also had the incident with Damian on your mind. With only a short moment of hesitation, you leveled your gaze with his. He could tell from the look in your eyes you knew he was right, and that you didn’t hold it against him. You simply said: “I promise.”

Cloud’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly then, and he gave you a nod. It didn’t resolve his trepidation over the upcoming tournament, but it took the edge off–at least he wouldn’t have to worry about keeping an eye on you in the crowd. But instead of resuming your usual chatter and joking, Cloud noticed the way your eyes slid to the ground again, the strange somberness in your mood still present. He gazed at you sidelong–he didn’t like seeing you like this–really didn’t like it–but he had no idea what to do.

After a few more minutes of silent walking, you two finally came to the point where the pathway diverged. Turning left to take the road that led down to the water, Cloud figured Johnny’s garish red convertible would jump out immediately against the gloomy piles of debris, even in the dim light of the streetlamps. But as you and Cloud separated to explore the area, it didn’t take long for you two to figure out what had happened:

He’d parked his car here because he thought it wouldn’t get stolen–another L for Johnny, then.

“Unbelievable! What do we do now?” As you vented your frustration somewhere behind him, something unusual on the dirt road caught Cloud’s eye. He crouched down to study it more closely, hearing your footsteps as you came up to peer over his shoulder. “What is it?” He was examining a pair of long grooves etched into the dirt, each about ten inches across, snaking back to the main path, then veering left toward Sector 5 and out of sight. Tracks? What kind of animal would leave prints like this–a pair of Zolom? But the tracks ran perfectly parallel to one another–no way any living creatures could move with that level of uniformity. Then it clicked.

“Whoever the thief is,” Cloud said as he rose to his feet, “I don’t think they got very far." He turned back to you to gesture at the strange lines. "These are tire marks. Looks like they just pushed the car to wherever they’re stashing it–we’re not dealing with criminal masterminds here.”

“That is pretty stupid–why not just hotwire it?”

“And if these tracks lead where I think they do–” he went on, already making his way back up to the main road, “I’m pretty sure I know who we’re dealing with.”

“Another old friend from your last adventure in Wall Market?” Your voice was soft, hesitant–maybe a little hopeful. Cloud flicked his gaze to you. A dry smile sliced his face, but he didn’t bite. Still, seeing the way your eyes were lit with faint hope he would tell you, only to see it go out when he didn’t elaborate–but he wasn’t ready to share all that. Not yet. So he just wordlessly began hiking back up to the main road.

But when he veered left, heading in the direction of Sector 5, you stopped. “Isn’t Wall Market this way?”

“Look at the track marks,” was all Cloud said. Sure enough, the strange imprinted lines continued up the road away from Wall Market. He heard your footsteps as you trailed behind him for a few more minutes until he stopped at another crossroads, a chocobo station sign marking the intersection. Instead of continuing straight ahead, toward Sector 5, Cloud followed the tire marks down the rough path on his right that peeled off from the main road. It looked like it was barely used, the way forward littered with metal plates and hunks of concrete–but it was familiar to Cloud.

As you followed him down the less-trodden pathway, what you couldn’t have known was that the debris had been disturbed since Cloud’s last trip through here with Aerith, when she’d shown him this shortcut (or longcut) to the old park just outside Wall Market. Back then, there’d been a large hunk of concrete blocking the path to the collapsed expressway–which is where Cloud was heading–and he and Aerith had had to crouch down to shuffle underneath the mass in order to enter the ruined structure. But this had been cleared away–probably by the thieves so they could move the car through here, Cloud figured. In no time, the now open entrance to the expressway loomed just up ahead. Cloud continued forward, through the derelict opening in the structure and onto the asphalt floor.

“Why would they stash a car here? It’s just a…dead…end…”

Cloud heard how you trailed off, but he was too focused on scanning the expressway for monsters or other potential threats pay attention to it. When he strode forward onto the cracked pavement of the defunct highway, beams of moonlight streaking through the gaping holes in the dilapidated ceiling, Cloud was transported back to another night long ago, after he’d woken up in a church, surrounded by flowers, and met a girl who would soon become one of his closest friends. Then he shook his head to clear it, reminding himself to focus: this wasn’t memory lane–it was bandit highway.

Cloud’s ears perked up when he heard the distant echo of men laughing somewhere up the road, but the debris covering the expressway meant he couldn’t see them yet. He jogged forward until he came to a large slab of asphalt torn up from the road, standing perpendicular to the ground, the wavering light of a fire on the other side dancing over the ground around it, casting long streaks of amber light across the pavement. Cloud crouched behind the slab, using it as makeshift cover as he peered around it, scanning the terrain ahead.

The first thing he saw was what could only be Johnny’s obnoxiously red convertible with its roof cover on, gleaming in the firelight some twenty feet away, parked close to the right side wall of the expressway. In between his hiding place and the car was an open area free of debris, a campfire blazing on the left, numerous rough looking men sitting around it. So his guess had been right–Beck, Butch, Burke, and their ragtag group of bandits must have seen the car and decided to bring it back to their hideout. It was odd for them to make camp on this end of the expressway, but Cloud figured they had given up pushing the two-ton car all the way down the road to their usual haunt near Evergreen Park. His eyes danced over the scene in front of him, devising a strategy to retrieve the car. The debris on the far side was too dense to escape that way–not that you two could drive the car through the derelict expressway even if you did. So, that meant the only option was to go back the way you'd come in, and escape through the entrance behind you.

He looked back over his shoulder to give you the plan. “Okay–”

Cloud blinked hard–you were nowhere to be seen.

How did this keep happening to him?!

Chapter 29

Chapter Text

Cloud was somehow both confused and annoyed–okay, and maybe a little worried.

He’d just assumed you were still right behind him, keeping quiet so as not to alert the bandits to your presence where they were camped on the other side of the asphalt slab he was crouched beside. But you were nowhere to be seen. It was just a short walk up the road to this point–how could you have possibly gotten lost? Nevertheless, he felt his pulse quicken. A bit irritated at having to turn back, he withdrew from his hiding place and jogged back down the expressway, ducking back onto the debris lined trail outside.

Luckily, Cloud caught sight of you right away, and his shoulders eased. You hadn’t wandered far. In fact, you hadn’t wandered at all: he found you exactly where he’d last seen you–frozen in the same spot on the path, just outside the entrance, staring up at the massive structure of the expressway overhead. Cloud opened his mouth to tell you to get moving–but something in your eyes made him pause. You weren’t gazing up at the expressway with awe or delight–you looked like you were staring up at a monster that was about to devour you.

His brow furrowed. When even calling your name didn’t get your attention, Cloud quickly strode back to you. “Hey-you okay?” Your face finally dropped to meet his, your mouth hanging open slightly as you struggled to respond. What on Gaia was going on with you? “What’s wrong? You afraid it’s going to come down on us?”

“I-I…” The stunned look on your face was really starting to unnerve him.

Cloud tried to bring your focus back to the task at hand. “Johnny's car is just inside–there are some bandits guarding it, but they shouldn’t be a problem.”

“B-Bandits?” Though this new information seemed to finally get your attention, Cloud noticed your eyes were glassy as you looked at him. Why was this so difficult for you all of a sudden? You’d handled every curveball tonight with ease, even mirth, to Cloud’s admiration. How was the sight of a big hunk of rubble–in a city practically made of rubble–making you lock up so badly? Something about the fear in your eyes was making his stomach twist. But as he studied you, Cloud was at a total loss what to do about it. Besides, it was already well past sunset: if you two wanted any chance of actually sleeping tonight, you needed to get this over with.

So Cloud addressed you again, said your name with more force behind it. When he gently grabbed your shoulder, you seemed to get your grip. “S-Sorry. I’m ready now.” As you strode past him, Cloud decided to walk a few steps behind you this time, to make sure you actually made it into the expressway. Then he jogged ahead to the protruding strip of asphalt a ways up the road, waving you over to crouch beside him.

You and Cloud were huddled behind a slab of the road that jutted up from the floor, giving you cover as you both peered around it to survey the bandits’ camp. Your heart rate was still a bit rapid, and your mind was still a bit clouded from earlier, but as you studied the bandits in front of you, their mean, rough looking faces, the light from the flames glinting off the various weapons strewn about the campfire around them, the stakes of the situation began to clear your muddled thoughts. When you both ducked your heads back behind the slab, Cloud leveled his intense gaze on you, clearly in full SOLDIER-strategist mode.

"So, what's the plan?" you whispered.

“Our only option is to get the car out the way it came in," Cloud began, voice also hushed where he was crouched close in front of you, turning his head to briefly indicate the entrance behind you. "I'll create a distraction to buy you some time to get it going. You got the keys?” You nodded. Cloud reached over his shoulder to adjust the hilt of Hardedge, leaning back to peer around the slab again, clearly gearing for action. “Okay–I’ll make some noise, then you–”

"–Wait," you hissed, placing your hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Cloud's head snapped forward again to look at you, eyes bright. You saw his brow furrow in confusion as you shook your head, surprised at your rare show of resistance. “If there's a fight going on, I'll have a harder time getting near the car. And if they see you coming, they’ll go to defend it–I might not be able to get to it at all. Give me a head start before you create the diversion.”

Cloud answered with a quiet grunt of assent and a curt nod, a show of confidence in your proposal. “Once you start the engine, just get out of here–don’t wait for me. I’ll meet you back at the park, okay?”

The idea of leaving Cloud to fend for himself against a gang of armed bandits was horrifying to you, but you didn’t see any other alternative. You suddenly berated yourself for your ordinariness–if only you could wield a sword like Cloud, or make some explosive mines like Jessie, which you could lay out to incapacitate the bandits before they even knew you were there. But–as you were so constantly being reminded–you were nobody: all you’d done tonight was kiss a photograph and wear a pretty dress. So you simply nodded your agreement. Your gazes still locked, when Cloud saw the slight pinch in your brow, saw your shoulders rise then fall as you took a deep, nervous breath, he gave you a firm nod of encouragement. His level-headed, confident composure made you feel a bit more courageous–like he always did. With that, you you rose to your feet and set the plan into motion.

Instead of walking around the left side of the slab (which would send you straight toward the bandits) you instead headed right, toward the far wall, searching for a way to go around their camp, rather than through it. Luckily for you, there was just enough room that you were able to shimmy along between the concrete wall and the dense thicket of metal plates, rods, and other structures that littered the expressway. When the maze of debris ended, you peered out into the open area of the bandits’ camp to plan your next route. Most of the bandits seated around the campfire by the opposite wall had their back to you, the ground around them littered with empty beer bottles as they talked. The only potential cover was one hunk of concrete with twisted metal rods jutting out from one side, about halfway between you and the car. You managed to crawl over to it undetected, but the final stretch would be completely out in the open. You briefly looked back to scan the sea of rubble behind you, hoping to catch a glimpse of Cloud for reassurance, but no such luck.

Taking one deep breath to steady yourself, you shuffled forward while remaining in a crouch, doing your best to keep a low profile. You were about halfway between your concrete shelter and the car, so close to your destination when you began to consider if you might be able to start the car quickly enough to avoid a fight altogether–you certainly liked the idea of sparing Cloud the risk of injury. But surely they would notice the movement of someone opening the door, if not–

Then your foot landed on what you thought was a secure plate of metal–but when it slid just a bit under your weight, it let out a loud screech as it grated against the asphalt beneath it. sh*t! You winced, immediately knowing you’d blown it. “What wuzzat?” A few of the bandits rose to their feet as they all began looking around to locate the source of the noise. You noticed three of them were wearing strange black cloth masks that covered their entire faces, only eye holes cut out of the fabric, each with a white symbol painted over the mouth–probably the leaders, you figured. Your instincts were keeping you crouched to the ground, as if taking cover behind empty air would somehow save you.

“Lookie here, boys! Caught us a burglar!” a shrill voice rang out. It was one of the leaders–a bald man wearing a leather harness complete with straps, sort of like Cloud’s SOLDIER belt, you mused–dark glee in his beady eyes when he spotted you. He was flanked by the two other masked bandits on either side as the trio slowly began creeping toward you.

“Is that a chick?!” The second–was that a green mohawk tied back on his head?–piped up, scratching his temple with the butt of his knife. You finally rose to your full height–not that that made you much more imposing.

“Hey Beck–” said the third man in a face mask, also bald, his gangly frame sporting a long sleeve shirt that didn’t even reach his nipples, lucky you–“I think she’s tryna steal what we’ve rightfully stolen!”

“No honor among thieves these days, Burke–what a world we live in!” Beck lamented, tossing his knife from hand to hand as he advanced.

“Sorry little lady, but this car’s ours,” Burke sneered, “and for having the audacity to think you could swipe it from Beck’s Badasses–”

You suppressed your sudden urge to snort–were these guys for real? But the seven men were closing in on you, drawing their knives and other sharp objects, and you swallowed hard. Where in the name of the Planet was Cloud?!

It was Beck who finished the statement: “–I think you owe us some reparatory reimbursem*nt!”

You blinked. …What?

“Duh…Repository repayment?” the one with the ponytail mohawk chimed in, clearly the slowest of the trio.

“Yeah, that's right!" Beck answered his comrade.

"It's like, uh, remittance for our restitution!” the third–Burke?–added shrilly.

When did this become ‘Loveless In The Scrap’? Your eyes flicked over to the car, assessing if you could make it before the bandits overtook you. It was your only chance: maybe you could get inside and lock the doors in time before–

Shink!

You winced when a thick, metallic slicing sound tore through the expressway, making your ears ring, and the bandits yelp in surprise. When you opened your eyes, you saw the familiar sight of Hardedge sticking up out of the floor, ruddy sparks still dancing around the blade where it gouged into the asphalt between you and your assailants. For a moment, everything was still, everyone too stunned to react.

"Huh?" Butch called out. "Wha...Where did–Gah!”

Before the sound of the sword slicing into the ground stopped ricocheting off the walls, Cloud came sailing through the air and landed in a crouch on one knee next to his weapon. He moved so fast, it was all a blur: Cloud yanked the sword free and swiped the green-haired bandit all in one smooth arc, sending the petty criminal flying across the open space before he slammed into the far wall of the expressway with a loud "oof!" and crumpled to the floor.

Cloud's head snapped sideways, his fiery gaze meeting yours over his shoulder. “Go!”

And all hell broke loose.

You took off for the car, cursing your shaking hands for fumbling the keys as you tried to unlock the door while Cloud faced off against the more than half-a-dozen bandits. Amid the sounds of combat and chaos, of the bandits' jeers and taunts mixed with Cloud's grunts exertion, the sounds of metal clashing against metal or cleaving into flesh, you heard Mohawk Man yell out: “H-Hey! That chick’s got the keys!”

“Don’t let her get away!” Topless Wonder yelped. That made you look up from the car door with a gasp, eyes dancing over the battle zone, heart racing, fearful of an oncoming attack–until a surge of movement to your left caught your attention.

You watched Cloud stalk across the pavement and place himself squarely between you and the bandits, a fierce scowl etched on his face. Taking up his combat stance, gripping Hardedge in both hands, the shadows in the low light of the expressway slid along the lines of the taut muscles in his arms and back as he leveled his sword at the mob. “You should be less worried about her–” he called out darkly, “and more worried about me.” Then Cloud let out a roar, clobbering two more enemies with another brutal slash. Now assured you'd outsourced your security to a reliable agent, you returned your focus to the garish red convertible in front of you.

When you finally felt the key turn inside the lock with a mechanical click, you hastily yanked the door open. It turned out Johnny’s car was a vintage model that didn’t have two separate seats in the front, but rather a long padded bench for both the driver and passenger to sit on. After ducking below the roof cover and flinging yourself onto the bench, not forgetting to fasten your seatbelt (your mother raised you well), you stabbed the key into the ignition, praying to every Astral you could remember for the car to start. When it roared to life, you yanked the gearstick and slammed on the gas. With all the rubble and debris littering the expressway floor, you had no choice but to maneuver the car toward the gap on the far side–which meant you’d have to drive straight through the melee. Fortunately, the sight of a car barreling toward them at top speed was enough to make any bandit still on his feet dive out of the way–these men were criminals, but you certainly didn’t want to kill anyone, and definitely not over Johnny’s stupid freaking car.

But just as you hit high speed, you caught sight of Cloud far away in the center of the open space, and you suddenly stomped the brake pedal with both feet, bringing the car to a screeching halt. All the bandits were now sprawled on the ground around the campsite, moaning at their numerous injuries. But at that moment, a new opponent–a truly massive brute with only his giant hands for weapons–lumbered onto the scene, growling like he was part Xenene. You watched Cloud sink into his Punisher stance, his back to you as he prepared to face off against the hulking man. He'd told you to leave him behind–but you couldn’t bring yourself to follow that order.

You leaned across the seat to push the passenger door open. “Cloud! Get in!” He whirled around at the sound of your voice. Without hesitation, Cloud sprinted to the car. Grabbing the roof above the open door with one hand while holding his sword in the other, he swung his body inside, landing on the bench beside you before he tossed Hardedge into the back. Just like those spy heroes in the movies…

He slammed the passenger door shut and looked over at you. “Drive!”

“Seatbelt!”

Cloud gave you a petulant glare–and yanked the belt across his chest.

Then you stomped the gas pedal to the floor, tires screeching as the convertible all but flew down the expressway and back along the rough trail that connected to the main road, the body rocking violently, tossing you both side to side as the car plowed over the rocks and debris in its path. You barely cranked the wheel in time to make a hard left turn at the intersection, kicking up a cloud of dust before you were racing into the night. What had been nearly a half-hour journey on foot now only took a few minutes to traverse, and it was no time at all before the familiar scene of Evergreen Park came into view up ahead.

After you eased the car to a stop in the center of the playground and cut the engine, you rested your forehead against the steering wheel, knuckles white where you were still gripping it, both of you fighting for breath as the adrenaline coursing through your systems only now began to wear off.

“Are…are you okay?” Cloud panted.

“I think so–” you gasped. “Are you okay?” He nodded. “You’re always saving me…”

“Somebody’s got to.”

“I didn’t think…being a criminal would be this hard…”

“You’re not half bad at it–maybe Wall Market's rubbing off on you.”

“You…you were right–” you remarked suddenly, still winded, meeting Cloud's gaze with a new gleam in your eyes.

“How do you figure?”

“We should have…we should have just killed Johnny.”

There was a pause, the two of you just staring at one another. Then you both broke into breathless laughter, wheezing and coughing as you came down from the rush. If anyone was owed some reparatory reimbursem*nt, you thought to yourself, it was you two. But you couldn’t have cared less: hearing Cloud laugh made it all worth it–every minute, every moment.

Chapter 30

Chapter Text

As you sat alone on the car’s bench seat, the rhythmic squeaking of the old, rusted swings swaying in the wind outside was the only sound in Evergreen Park. You’d volunteered to be the one to bring Johnny here to hand off the car, but Cloud had insisted he go instead. Not brave enough to tell him why you wanted to do it yourself, you simply had to honor his request that you lock all the doors and wait for him and Johnny to come back.

You hadn’t told him it was because sitting in this playground you’d spent countless hours running around in as a child was making you feel sick. You were trying your best not to get lost in the memories this place conjured–once happy, but now, marred by pain and sadness–but you weren’t succeeding. From the moment you’d left Wall Market and ventured into the pathways surrounded by the scrap and rubble that had once been your home, all you wanted was to be anywhere but here. So when Cloud returned with Johnny, and you unlocked the doors and stepped out of the car to hand over the keys, you couldn’t quite put a convincing smile on your face.

After a tearful thank you and goodbye with Johnny (the tears were only on one side–and it wasn’t yours and Cloud’s), he finally fired up the engine and disappeared into the night, his destination the city gates of Sector 5, which would take him out of Midgar (for good, with any luck). And perhaps unsurprisingly, Johnny had given you nothing in return for the lengths you’d gone to to track down his car.

“Okay!” you exclaimed abruptly, a bit too brightly, trying not to spend a moment longer in this place. “Guess we should head back. I’m exhausted–I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten…” Though you were trying to sound chipper, even you could hear that your heart wasn’t in it.

“…Wait.” You turned back to Cloud, unable to help how your heart was racing. “Not ‘til you tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Huh?” You couldn’t have heard him right.

Cloud reached one hand to the back of his neck, eyes sweeping the ground. “Ever since we left Wall Market, you’ve been…you’re acting different. Like something’s upsetting you.”

Never play poker, my dear… There was an internal struggle inside you: being surrounded by all these monuments to the losses in your life–the collapsed expressway, the winding roads between the mountains of rubble that used to be your home, this abandoned playground–was making you wistful, making you needy. But you didn’t want to open up only for Cloud to turn away, or say something that accidentally hurt your feelings. It had been a surprisingly nice evening so far, in spite of everything–you didn’t want to kill the mood. Even after all this time, you were still careful never to ask Cloud for more than he was willing to give. “I-It’s nothing, really. It’s just been a long day, that’s all.” With another smile that didn’t reach your eyes, you turned from him again, intending to make your way back to Wall Market, its lights creating a soft, blooming glow in the night sky ahead.

“…You’re from Sector 6, right?”

You stopped dead in your tracks. And there it was–he’d said it out loud. How did Cloud even know that? You couldn’t remember ever telling him–he’d never given you the chance, never bothered to ask. For a long moment, you just remained where you stood, your back to him, eyes on the ground, the opposing tides of your head and your heart roiling inside you.

But something inside you gave, then. Letting out a deflated sigh, you walked over to the swingset and sank into one of the seats. Your shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on your hands in your lap. “That’s why I freaked out, back at the expressway. They were building it for my sector. My dad was a project manager overseeing the construction. They never found–” Your voice choked out. But then you remembered where you were–who you were talking to. “I just…I just wasn’t expecting to see it, that’s all. Sorry…” Why you were apologizing, you weren’t sure–but your mind wasn’t really all there, either. With your eyes downcast, you didn’t see the way Cloud was watching you intently.

“I used to play here all the time, when I was a kid–” you went on, more to yourself than to anyone else. “This is where I met Aerith,” you remarked wistfully, the memory bringing a small smile to your lips. “She was drawing flowers on the ground with chalk. She was all by herself, and I thought she looked like she needed a friend. When I came over, she asked if I wanted to draw, too–we've been close ever since. I…I try to avoid this place as much as I can. I haven’t been back here in years…”

Then it all just came out of you, your eyes glassy and far away, your voice raw as you slipped into your memories. No matter where you’d landed as you bounced around Midgar following the destruction of your home and the deaths of your parents, taking nursing gigs wherever anyone would hire you, you always made sure to studiously avoid the remnants of Sector 6. You always stuck to the main roads between the sectors, and never traveled past Sector 5–which had been easily done, when you’d thought you’d never need to venture anywhere near Wall Market. And as your oldest friend, Aerith knew to never offer to bring you out here, either. And even when Marle (an old friend of your late mother) had introduced you to Tifa about three years ago, and then you met Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge among others in Sector 7 through her, you would refuse to take the train whenever possible when you visited, to avoid its inevitable route past Sector 6 on its way there, opting instead to hitch a ride on Jessie’s motorike or go the complete the opposite way around Midgar. Not that you’d ever told anyone that–until now. “Sorry–I’m rambling…”

The soft creaking sound of Cloud sitting down in the swing next to yours made you look up from your shoes. “Were you there? When it…?” His question startled you again. Cloud never asked questions like this.

You held onto the chains on either side of your swing, gently rocking forward and back as you shook your head. “I was working topside, in a hospital on the Sector 1 plate when it fell–I’d only just finished my nursing course at the time. I felt the ground shake a little, but, I didn’t think anything was wrong…Then they started bringing in people I knew, and I didn’t know why. I…I didn’t put together what had happened until I saw the news on the television in the waiting room.” A bitter smile came over your face as you remembered your naivety. “I’d only been out of school for a few weeks, and all of a sudden, I was helping the doctors try to save the lives of my neighbors, my friends…” Your eyes screwed shut, wincing at the memories–the panic and chaos, the sounds of people screaming and crying, the coppery smell of blood. You remembered standing in front of the porcelain sink in the hospital’s employee bathroom–it wasn’t like you had a home to go back to anymore–eyes puffy as you scrubbed the blood and dust from your patients caked on your hands, buried under your fingernails, like the rubble wanted to seep into your skin.

“I–” Your eyes still fixed on your hands, Cloud looked over at you when your voice finally cracked. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to my parents. I had my life, I lived in a world that I knew, that I could understand, and then...it was all gone.” There was a long moment of silence then, all the world quiet and still. It made you remember who you’d opened up to, made you come back to yourself. “Sorry–” you sniffled again, wiping at your cheeks with the sleeve of your shirt. “I know it doesn't do any good to cry about it. Gods, you must think I’m so pathetic, can we just–”

“That’s not true.” Cloud’s voice, somehow earnest and gentle, made you look up. Blinking away the tears blurring your vision, you found him watching you intently. “Being strong doesn’t mean you don’t hurt.” Now it was his turn to gaze down at the ground. “I didn’t…I didn’t get to say goodbye, either. Sephiroth burned down my hometown, when I was still in SOLDIER. I was there, when it happened. But by the time I got there, my mom–it was too late. I’m not sure you do get over it–or if you just…don't look back.”

You knew from your own experience (and from your shared friends) that Cloud never talked about his past. The fact that he was doing so now, in an effort to connect–it made your already cracked heart fracture even more in your chest. “…I’m so sorry, Cloud. I truly am.”

Then you saw him lift his head, his features tight, eyes glassy as he stared at something across the park. Following his gaze, you noticed he was looking at the gates to Sector 7, still overflowing with scrap and debris–another memorial of rusted metal, another tragedy caught frozen in time. How could such a plain little park hold so many memories, so much hurt? It was like the crossroads of your life, all the pain and loss piled up on this plot of dusty ground. As you watched Cloud beside you, you realized that though neither of you had ever acknowledged it, this place held a hurt you both shared–a secret dearly held, ever unspoken, ever out in the open.

“…I miss them too,” you murmured suddenly. “Jessie, Biggs, Wedge–I didn’t get to say goodbye to them, either. I didn’t know that many people in Sector 7, but…I wish they were still here. I wish your mom was still here. There are so many people who should be here…” You started to choke up. “Why…why am I, and they’re not?” Your voice broke as your eyes welled up anew, your anguish at the senselessness of it all threatening to consume you. “After that day, I felt so small, so…helpless–most days, I still do. I’m still here, but I can’t move forward–I’m not–I’ve never been brave enough. I’m still here, but I can’t do anything. I feel frozen. All this time, and I’m just…stuck.” Your lower lip began to tremble as you stared down at your hands clutched together tightly in your lap, the tears welling up as the fragile thread holding you together threatened to unravel completely.

“Doesn’t look like that to me.”

Cloud’s sudden remark, quiet but determined, pulled you back from the brink. When you looked over at him, he was gazing at you again. “When the plate fell on Sector 6–you did everything you could. You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

You exhaled a short, bitter laugh. “Brave is the last thing I feel.”

“You saved countless lives that day. And you didn’t give up after that, either–you joined Avalanche, right?” With a sniffle, you managed a small nod. “You want to make a difference. You wanted it to matter–what happened. That’s why you joined–that’s why you’re here now, why you took this mission.”

Cloud’s eyes fell away, sweeping the ground, like he was figuring out what to say–or rather, how he wanted to say it. He didn't look up, but when he continued, his voice was somehow even rougher, even softer. “...I know how hard this has been on you.”

When you didn't respond, he managed to meet your gaze once more, and the two of you simply stared at one another in the silence. The profound depth conveyed in that simple statement nearly made you start crying all over again. Because it was true: Cloud had been constantly by your side for almost two months now, watching you through every performance, every shift. He’d listened to you the night you came home crying from the strain, carried you home to bed after Damian had assaulted you. Just today, he'd had every reason to leave, to bow out when you decided Rufus had to be your target, and chosen without hesitation to continue, to stay with you instead. He’d woken up beside you every morning, fallen asleep next to you each night. Every quiet walk, every sold out show, every cup of coffee, every takeout dinner: nearly every moment–and every one that mattered–he’d been there. Cloud did know. The realization made your chest squeeze, your eyes well up anew: He has been watching, all along… It acknowledged the strange bond that now lay between you, another secret unspoken–until now. And it was yours.

But Cloud wasn’t finished. “You could have quit, packed up and gone home–but you didn’t.” Then his head ducked away before he murmured, “You didn’t give up–on the mission, or…or on me.”

Cloud looked over at you again, determination returning to his features. “That’s not being stuck–none of it is. Looks like moving forward to me.” You just stared at him, taken aback at how he’d read you so astutely, put all your pieces together in a way you never had, never dreamed he could. He didn’t just see you–Cloud saw right through you. As you got lost in his eyes, you realized Cloud understood your past struggles as precious few did, your present ones as no one else ever could: him recognizing it, even in his terse way, was almost overwhelming. You didn’t know how long you just gazed at him, too overcome for words, and him at you, finding a harmony in the silence between you that had always been there, waiting for you to listen.

Wiping a stray tear from your cheek, you looked up to the stars then, twinkling through the gap in the plate overhead. “Sometimes I feel like I’m still lost in the rubble, you know? Like I’m trying to make it through each day. I’m surviving, but I…I want to get back to living.” The fall of the plate often felt like the turning point of your life–or rather, the point of no return, the deciding moment around which everything else hinged. You were doing your best, but you weren’t sure you’d really moved on–or if you ever could: lost in the rubble you’d never actually been trapped under, but trapped by it all the same. But as you looked into Cloud’s eyes, and he looked into yours, what you found in them told you this feeling he knew, too–and the striking, resolute young man you'd always idolized, always admired from a distance, no longer seemed so impossibly remote: it made you feel just a little less alone in the world, a little less cold in the evening chill.

When it came to you, you gave Cloud a small, hesitant smile, your voice barely above a murmur: “Maybe…maybe we both need to get back to dreaming.”

The fragile light in Cloud's eyes went dim. He didn’t answer you this time: he just went back to staring at those dilapidated gates–but maybe that was an answer, too. His features still tight, still pained, you could tell it was more than just sadness in his eyes–it was guilt. You couldn't make any sense of it: how could he lay so much at his own feet? After all he’d done, how could he only see himself as not good enough? It made your heart ache. Your mouth fell open slightly, wanting to offer something, but not knowing how. Before you could find any words for him, you lost the opportunity: his momentary flash of frailty smoothed away, Cloud met your eye again with a slight flush on his cheeks, hard to make out under the lamp light. “Just…don’t be so hard on yourself, okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Then the smallest of wry smiles lit Cloud’s face. “Besides–anyone willing to have a drink with Rufus Shinra is brave in my book.”

That made you let out a watery chuckle, lost in the gentle warmth in his eyes. And to your surprise, Cloud held your gaze long after you thought it would drop away, as if he were determined not to give up on you. You gave him a tender smile, said it with the soft adoration in your eyes: thank you.

After letting out a deep exhale, you finally stood up. “C’mon–you wanna go get a drink or something? I think we’ve earned it.”

The swing let out a creaking sound as Cloud rose from the seat beside you. He just shrugged, answered with a smirk and a nonchalant toss of his head: “Could go for something to eat.” But the warmth was still in his eyes, mismatched with the coolness in his voice. With that, the two of you crossed the park, headed toward the narrow pathway that would take you back to the entrance to Wall Market in the comfortable silence you'd both grown so accustomed to. But while the two of you were slipping back into your usual selves as you walked side by side, you could feel that the moment you’d shared had left its mark.

You looked to Cloud at your side, to the stars over your head: and suddenly, it felt like a perfect night for dreaming.

Chapter 31

Chapter Text

“No way–braids?”

Where he stood perpendicular in front of you while you were seated at the small table, as he squared up, Cloud turned his head and shot you a rueful smirk that said: Way. Then with a flick of his wrist, the dart struck the board.

You and Cloud had returned to Wall Market from Evergreen Park to find the town even more busy than when you left, the nighttime revelry truly reaching fever pitch. Cloud had taken you to a bar (not the Honeybee Inn, you’d both vehemently agreed), where you were now finally getting some food and drinks as you played rounds of darts. It was nice to decompress after the unexpectedly eventful day you’d had. Cloud hadn’t even finished his first drink before he suddenly launched into the story of his first adventure here in Wall Market with Aerith and Tifa–without you even asking him to. The details were still a bit sparse (it was Cloud telling it after all), but even the condensed version he gave you beggared belief: from having to cut a deal with Madam M after being turned away from the Mansion, to fighting something called the Hell House in the Colosseum; not to mention his first encounters with Jules and Bert, and his equally heartburn-inducing quest with Johnny. But most unbelievable of all…

He was at the part in the story where he was finally telling you how he’d become friends with your boss, Andrea Rhodea: how Aerith had proposed that Cloud disguise himself as a woman in order to gain entry to the Mansion with her and rescue Tifa. He told you that after he’d impressed Andrea with his dancing abilities on stage (something you’d have chopped off your own arm to see), the Honeyboys and girls had outfitted Cloud in a dress, complete with makeup and braided hair extensions. As he told the tale, you gawked at Cloud with some unholy mix of bewilderment and amazement. You tried to conjure the image of him in your mind, but it truly confounded your imagination. Cloud’s cheeks were bright red at this point, his eyes remaining fixed on the dart game as it grew harder and harder for him to look you in the eye. “Then Andrea gave me an invitation–and that’s how me and Aerith got into the Mansion.”

“Did he–” Cloud eyed you like you were a bomb about to detonate. “Did Corneo–you know…pick you?” He just let out a stuttering grunt, eyes skittering to the floor–but that was all the answer you needed. You tried to suppress your giggles, and failed miserably. “No wonder you didn’t want to come back here…”

“Yeah.”

As much as his whole ordeal amused you, it made you see Cloud in a whole new light–and not because he didn’t normally wear rouge. The Cloud you knew was comfortable in his role, in the identity he’d crafted for himself since his defection from Shinra, the lone-wolf turned merc. He liked solving problems with few words, and many swings of his sword. But to rescue Tifa, he’d had to do things you knew had cost him dear: he’d had to compromise himself, his dignity. You knew just how hard that must have been for him. It made you admire him all the more: whether it was storming the freaking Shinra building, or dancing onstage before walking through town in a dress–when it came to the people he cared about, there wasn’t anything Cloud Strife wouldn’t do.

Even after he’d finished his account, you could tell he was still having trouble meeting your eyes. You realized you were probably the first person he’d ever told this story to, and you felt strangely honored at such a mark of trust. “Not everyone would have done all that for a friend, Cloud.” There was solemn admiration in your voice. It wasn’t enough, but you knew any outpourings of praise would just make him even more uncomfortable. So you simply gathered your darts from the table and squared up for your round. Cloud just shrugged in response–but it was enough.

After landing a bullseye and two hits inside the bull, you retrieved your darts and returned to your seat. As Cloud took up his own darts and prepared to throw, there was a question you were burning to ask. “Cloud–Why…Why did you tell me all that? Why now?”

He shrugged again. “Just wanted to,” he answered quietly, almost solemnly, as he threw the dart. It was so Cloud it made your chest squeeze, and suddenly, the act of brushing past him as you exchanged places was a bit too much for you.

When you landed two bullseyes and a near bullseye in quick succession, Cloud sat back in his chair, folding his arms with a bright look in his eyes. “You’re good at this.”

You smirked at him as you yanked your darts free. “You ever looked at the leaderboard in Seventh Heaven? You may be the champ of the Colosseum–but I’m the champion of the dartboard.”

“We’ll see about that,” he shot back as you and he exchanged places once more.

“I even won Wedge’s Luck Up materia!” you bragged.

“Could have used it tonight…” Cloud remarked dryly.

“I didn’t think I’d need it here!” Though now that you thought about it, the fact that you’d left the materia at home, but Jay had conveniently had one to challenge Cloud for, well, that had been pretty lucky–for you, at least. “Though, I’m starting to think mine doesn’t work…” you muttered ruefully, more to yourself than anyone else. Your eyes drifted over the other patrons in the bar, your tipsiness loosening your tongue. “All this time, and I still haven’t gotten lucky…”

“–sh*t!” Cloud hissed sharply under his breath moments before you heard the sound of a dart hitting something that definitely wasn’t the dartboard. Realizing what you’d said, your head snapped to look over at him, cheeks molten hot. He was yanking a dart out of the wall–where it was lodged in a poster of Stamp.

“Pin the military helmet on the dog?” you quipped in an attempt to save face as you shuffled past him to throw your own darts. Cloud sat down and took a long sip of his drink, his eyes scouring you over the rim for just a moment before darting away. You were too mortified to laugh. He clearly did not want to know–best to pretend you’d never said it. But as your mind drifted to the question of whether Cloud had ever–now it was your turn to throw an errant dart, though yours managed to still hit the actual dartboard. But given how awkward he was around the other Honeygirls–and well, in general–it was possible his figurative Luck Up materia was no good either.

After kicking Cloud’s butt in a best of three, you both finally slumped back into your chairs to simply savor your drinks. “Wedge used to love darts…” you murmured suddenly.

“Almost as much as those damn cats.” Somehow, the bite in Cloud’s tone wasn’t convincing.

You giggled. “I remember Biggs used to challenge him every Friday night–and he never cracked the top 8.” A warm, wistful smile lit your face as you recalled the many nights you’d spent with your friends in the original Seventh Heaven when you came to visit, often crashing at Jessie’s place when one of her roommates was out, or packed in with Tifa in her twin bed at Stargazer Heights.

Cloud surprised you when he added: “Johnny would challenge Tifa and Jessie almost every weekend–to try and impress them.” Despite the fact that he would sit up at the bar in the far corner of Seventh Heaven–both the old and the new–just as often as you were there, you didn’t expect Cloud to be that observant. He so rarely showed interest in anything, especially in those early days when he, Tifa, and Barret had first moved to your sector after the platefall.

“Too bad Tifa’s amazing at darts–and Jessie was, too,” you rejoined with a grin.

He nodded. “No one misses shots like Johnny.”

Though you laughed at his quip, you couldn’t help feeling a small sting. Johnny had carried on his tradition of challenging girls to darts matches in the new Seventh Heaven in Sector 3. What Cloud didn’t know was that there was a bit more to it than just showing off: Johnny would bet the girl to go on a date with him, if he won. You couldn’t help but feel dejected by the fact it seemed Cloud had never noticed that you were also one of those lucky–or unlucky–girls Johnny would frequently challenge. Did Cloud really find you so…forgettable? But you decided to try and block out that fact, just for tonight.

“Here’s to getting out of the line of fire!” you toasted, lifting your glass, a nod to what you’d accomplished in the last few hours. With a wry smile, Cloud tapped his against yours, eyes fixed on you as he sipped. You didn’t how much longer the two of you sat there, chatting and laughing (or rather, you laughing, and Cloud sometimes giving a terse grunt or chuckle that was his version of mirth). There was an ease between you that hadn’t truly appeared since that first night in the private suite, that first false start, in what had since become…friendship.

When Cloud called your name, you tried to look at him–you really did. But everywhere your eyes landed, they slid off course before correcting. When you began to topple, and grabbed the railing for support, you heard the small grunt he made somewhere to your left. It was sometime past midnight, the two of you approaching what you thought was the metal staircase that led up to your apartment–but in your condition, it was hard to be totally sure.

Your brows furrowed as it finally dawned on you: “I…I think I might be drunk.”

“You’re figuring that out now?”

“Well, it’s never happened before!” It was true: as a nurse, you were always careful to stay well hydrated when imbibing, to always make sure you didn’t exceed your admittedly poor alcohol tolerance–and despite drinking every night at the Honeybee Inn, that was work, not recreation: it was too stressful for you to truly let yourself go. But that wasn’t true tonight. As the time had slipped by, distracted by the warmth of the alcohol, the warmth of your newfound ease with Cloud, you’d wanted to keep the feeling going–wanted to cling to it. You didn’t realize until now that meant you’d gotten lost in your cups, not just in Cloud’s eyes.

“You…you need any help?” His voice was strangely rough.

As you looked to the ground, watching it begin to rotate beneath you, you had to fight your urge to look up at him. “No! No, really, I am not that–I’m fine–” But when you tried to lift your leg to take the first step of the staircase, you missed it entirely–Ramuh, smite me now…

A hand clamped tight around your upper arm, stopping you from landing flat on the metal stairs. “Easy…”

“Th-Thanks…”

“You’re already gonna have a headache tomorrow–wouldn’t want to add to it with a concussion.” But there was a new amusem*nt coloring the gruffness in his voice.

When you felt the iron grip on your arm release, you mustered your faculties to attempt another ascent. “Thank the gods I don’t have to work tomorrow, huh? There’s no way I’d be able to–Oh!”

You cried out when you suddenly tipped backward, worried you'd somehow lost your balance–but you never hit the ground. You let out an embarrassing, breathy gasp, eyes unfocused until you were able to acclimate to the change in your posture: there was an awfully warm, awfully solid frame at your shoulder, and you were curled up so nice–It took you a moment to realize Cloud had effortlessly scooped you up into his arms. He staunchly refused to make eye contact as he began to carry you up to the third floor, his steady, purposeful footfalls emitting sharp rapping sounds on the metal stairs. One arm slung around his neck, the other resting on his chest, you couldn’t help how you stared at Cloud, realizing his face was way too close for your current level of intoxication. The angle was actually similar to the way you’d been situated on his lap back at Delphine’s–also not a helpful thought at the moment. “Wh-what are you doing?!” you blanched.

“Would’ve been waiting all night for you to get up on your own.”

“I resent that!”

Even with his head facing forward, you saw the slight smirk that brought to his face. His skin was so wonderfully warm (or was that yours, hot from intoxication?) And while your vision was slightly compromised, it meant that your other senses were heightened, and the scent of him–pine and leather and something else all his own–thrown onto the pile only muddled you further–made you flush with a different kind of heat. The way Cloud had lifted you so easily, so unceremoniously, the fact he was carrying you up to bed… what were you, a heroine in a romance novel? Might not be such a bad gig…

After he got you both to the top of the stairs, Cloud had to pause in front of the door, still holding you in his arms while you fumbled with the key. You were caught in a fit of giggles as you struggled to execute the simple task of unlocking the door in your tipsy state, and Cloud scoffed impatiently each time the key skittered across the keyhole until you managed to line it up properly, only making you giggle even harder at how strangely endearing you found it. Once you’d turned the knob, Cloud pushed the door open with his shoulder, kicked it shut with his boot, and the familiar sight of your small apartment greeted you, only the lamps on the tables casting a soft, incandescent light in the space. You hazily registered the sight of your new dress and Cloud's tux hanging in the wall closet on the left wall, as well as the bag containing the dice and Manipulate materia perched on the dresser to your right.

Then something else about the room caught your eye, made you gasp. “Cloud! We forgot to make the bed!” you exclaimed, tapping his chest with your hand, urgently needing to draw his attention to this alarming fact.

“But…you never make the bed.”

“I…I don’t?” When you heard his quiet chuckle, it made your chest bloom with new warmth–just as your face grew hot with embarrassment.

Perhaps it was lucky you hadn’t made the bed–Cloud was able to lay you down without needing to move the blankets. Even in your addled state, you could feel how gently he did it, taking his time to place you on the mattress, rather than simply dropping (or even throwing) you onto it. Not that that would’ve been so bad…Get a hold of yourself! Cloud left you there and ducked into the bathroom, returning with a cup of water from the faucet. “You need to drink this.” It crossed your mind that as the nurse, you knew he was right, and that you should have been the one to say it. But instead, you simply gulped down the water. Being nearly horizontal, only propped up by the pillows, was making you feel drowsy–it hazily registered you were still in your clothes, your makeup, but…who really cared about all that, anyway? Where he sat at the edge of the bed by your hip, Cloud watched you set the empty cup on the nightstand, roll to your side to face him.

You gave him a serene, hazy smile. “You’re always saving me.”

He smirked. “Somebody’s got to.”

“…Thank you.” Today had been wonderful–and he’d given it to you.

After he let out a dry chuckle, his voice was low, rough. “You won’t in the morning.”

Your eyes narrowed in a playful smile. “Are you enjoying this?” you shot back. To you it sounded like you weren’t slurring your words–but judging by the way Cloud’s eyebrow raised, you couldn’t be sure.

“It’s just…I’ve never seen you like this before.”

You somehow met his eyes–all four of them (what did they put in those drinks?!) and when Cloud gave you another smirk, you knew he was echoing your words to him from after the squat competition. You giggled at the realization. But when Cloud rose to his feet, your arm shot forward, your hand gripping his wrist to keep him from leaving. His head snapped back to look down at you, eyes wide. “I mean it, Cloud…thank you.”

He seemed to understand this time, because he didn’t push it away–he just nodded. There was a moment of silence, then. Even in your tipsiness, you suddenly remembered another moment of silence you’d wanted to fill, a moment of kindness you wanted to return. You willed your muddled mind to focus, prayed you could put it all together–you never would have said it sober, but that hardly mattered now. “What you said, back at the park–it’s true for you, too. About being brave…about not giving up.” When he just stared at you in wide eyed bewilderment, you pressed on. “You went up the pillar,” you continued, not cogent enough for a preamble, “you fought ‘til the very end–no one could have done more.”

You heard his soft grunt of surprise when Cloud realized you were talking about Sector 7. Then his gaze fell away. “…It wasn’t enough.”

“You gave people more time to get out–like Marlene. Then after that, you saved Aerith.” A sudden surge of affection–even admiration–for Cloud suddenly welled up inside you, ignited by the night you’d had together, fanned into a blaze by the alcohol in your system. You’d seen the way he’d stared at the gates to Sector 7, back in Evergreen Park–you knew he carried the guilt with him always, and it baffled you as much as it distressed you: he’d risked his life trying to save the pillar and all the people threatened by it. Before that, he’d saved Tifa from the Mansion, and afterward, rescued Aerith from the Shinra building, your two closest friends. He was brave and kind, shouldering his hurts in silence as he tried to keep pushing forward. He was so wonderful, yet, he just couldn’t see it. No matter what incredible things he did, he always felt like he wasn’t good enough–and it made you ache.

“And even after everything you’ve been through, everything they’ve done, Shinra, Sephiroth–you’re still fighting, so they’ll never be able to hurt anyone else again. You never give up, even when it’s hard, or you get scared. You’re one of the bravest, most hopeful people I know, Cloud.” You paused for a moment, studying his sullen eyes, seeing in them the doubt he wasn’t saying. Through all his hardship and loss, he was still here–he was hoping for a better future, striving to bring it about. “...After what you said, back in the park," you went on, "I think I’m learning you can look back, but you have to keep moving forward. You don’t have to forget the past to move on from it–leaving it behind isn’t the same as letting it go completely, you know? You can visit sometimes, take a seat and look around, but…you can’t live there, anymore. And being here, with–” you caught yourself before it came out: with you. “Being here has made me realize that. I can walk toward something again. And I...I want that for you, too. I realized I don’t want to be stuck back there: I want…I want to be right here.” There was a pause then, the silence heavy, charged. He’d managed to hold your gaze during your little speech, but now his eyes fell away once more. The bedroom suddenly felt very small, and Cloud very close. “And…I’m sorry.”

That pulled his gaze back to you. “What for?” His voice had grown quiet, matching yours.

There was something else Cloud had revealed to you tonight: though you were sure he’d had no intention to. “That you don’t let other people see you like–like this.” You saw him blanch, heard him grunt in surprise. You'd always admired Cloud for the things you could glean from a distance, the things apparent to anyone who met him: his looks, his strength, his bravery. But in all the time you'd been here with him–and tonight most of all–Cloud had shown you those glimmers of himself he tried so hard to conceal, more precious to you than any treasure: his quiet kindness, his unwavering determination, his loyalty and dedication to the things he believed in, the people he cared about–but you could see in him always the profound insecurity underneath it all. You'd struggled to make sense of him: why was he so vigilant for even the slightest put down, the tiniest judgement, as he had been after the squat competition? Why did he go through the world as though he always had to prove something–always had to prove himself? And you realized he must have learned at some point that he had to. “You push people away because you think they’re going to do it first–you do it before they can reject you, before they can hurt you. Because…because you don’t think you’re good enough.” Your brow furrowed in compassionate sympathy. “And I’m sorry for that.”

“Why would you be?” It was barely above a murmur, now.

You knew you two weren't close enough for this, that it wasn't your place: but you were drunk, and you adored him–and right now, that was all that mattered. “I’m sorry the world made you think that way. Think that you need to." Peering up at him, you earnestly shook your head. "Because you don’t. You–You’re…” Then your eyes fluttered, as a wave of drowsiness brought on by your intoxication suddenly made you lose your thought.

“…Tired.”

With that one word, he moved away. His wrist easily slipped from your grip, and your arm fell to the bed. You also didn’t fully register what you’d just said–and the way Cloud’s cheeks had flushed and his eyes darted away when you did. The tide of your tipsiness quickly carried you from your train of thought, and all you could focus on now was how nice it felt to be in bed after a long day. Just as your eyelids were falling closed, they popped open when you heard the water begin to run behind the bathroom door–after a squat competition and two full-on brawls, Cloud certainly deserved a second shower. As the masculine scent of his body wash slowly filled the air, it was embarrassing how much it destabilized you. You smiled as you remembered waking up to him in the doorway, toweling his face off. Had that really been this morning? You couldn’t believe how much had happened since then.

When Cloud eventually reemerged from the bathroom and sat on his side of the bed, you flopped onto your back, seeing two images of yourself in the mirror before they condensed into your reflection, eyes bleary and cheeks flushed. “What a day, huh?” you chuckled.

“I think that counts as a successful team-building exercise,” he remarked with an amused lilt to his voice.

“You sure know how to take a girl out for a night on the town!”

“Did say I’d give you the grand tour.”

You giggled again, rolling to your side to face him as he settled beneath the covers beside you. It came out softer than you meant it to: “…Good night, Cloud.” He gave you a nod before he turned off the lamp on the bedside table, and the excitement of the day finally gave way to sleep.

When you awoke the next morning, still curled up on your side, you opened your eyes to find Cloud sprawled on his back, one elbow thrown up by his head where it lay tilted toward you on his pillow–the first time he’d ever slept without facing away from you. You savored the opportunity to drink him in: the adorableness of his bedhead, the soft sound of his slow breathing, the way his brows were relaxed in sleep as they never were when he was awake, the peaceful expression on his face making him look years younger.

Maybe Johnny had given you something in return, after all.

Chapter 32

Chapter Text

As evening rolled around, you and Cloud were seated across from each other at the foot of your shared bed, steaming takeout boxes filled with rice, chicken, and veggies in your laps. It was Saturday night–time for the Corneo Cup. While these dinners were normally shared with light, easy conversation, tonight you'd both eaten in near total silence. You couldn’t help how your eyes kept darting over to the clock on the nightstand, the minutes slipping away until you’d have to part with Cloud. The quiet tension radiating off him was palpable, his hard gaze rarely lifting from his meal. When you'd asked if he was okay, he'd answered simply: "Just trying to focus." Right–of course he would be preparing himself for the trial ahead. A few more silent minutes went by.

"The rules don't make sense–" he remarked abruptly, meeting your gaze again. "You never know what's gonna be waiting for you in the ring–and the fight is never fair. The Don watches every tournament, and he can put his thumb on the scales whenever he wants." You remembered Cloud telling you back in the bar how it had been Corneo's whim to tack on an extra match after Cloud and Aerith had technically won the Cup–against the formidable Hell House, no less. "Don't have any backup this time, either." That made your own eyes drop to your takeout box. You knew it was merely a statement of fact–but you couldn't help how it made you feel like–

An echo from a night long ago clattered in your head–Cloud's voice, so cold and unfamiliar then: a liability.

When you both were done eating, you gathered up the empty boxes and chopsticks as he tipped his head back, downing the rest of his water. Once you’d finished cleaning up and returned to the bed, you both just sat there, looking at your hands. “Cloud…” You had to ask him–just one more time. “You don’t have to do this.” His brows furrowed. “It’s going to be really dangerous, and I…I don’t want you to get hurt…Maybe–Maybe there's some other way we can settle this.” It just didn’t sit right with you, taking on a debt and forcing someone else to repay it–again. It wasn’t like Cloud got any benefit from you having not one, but two skimpy outfits.

“I’m not looking forward to it either, but I can’t back out now. And even if it weren’t for Madam M, word's gotten out that I'm in town–it would be out of place for me not to show. With Rufus visiting so often, we shouldn’t do anything that might arouse suspicion.” Then a new brightness sparked in his eyes, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Besides–” he added with a flick of his head, “I know this nurse, pretty good one, too–she’ll patch me up if I need it.”

You smiled. “Oh, really? And does she work for free? If she’s that good, she probably doesn’t come cheap.”

“I’m not the one with a primetime show at the Honeybee Inn–I think you might be more famous than me at this point–definitely get paid better.”

“I could talk to Andrea–we both know he’d love to hire you!”

“Don’t remind me…”

The playful dismay in his voice made you giggle. “If things had gone better at Delphine’s, I could have put a few gil down on you,” you teased. “Though, I don’t know–” you hedged, narrowing your eyes and cupping your chin as you gazed at him as if thinking it over, “you look like a poor bet to me…”

“Loading dice, stealing cars, placing inside bets–you’re practically one of the locals now.”

You chuckled. “Well, even if you are a bad bet, I’ve stocked up on all my medical supplies–I really should start a tab for you!”

“Can’t wait to give it to Barret for ‘injuries sustained on the job.’” You giggled at his unique, dry brand of merc humor, noting the pleased smirk it brought to his face. It shouldn’t have been endearing–but it was.

"W-Well, for what it's worth," you remarked, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, "I've seen you fight before, Cloud–you're gonna be just fine, I know it." His eyes flicked up to yours, and you gave him what you hoped was a reassuring smile–but you knew you couldn't conceal the worry in your eyes, the tightness in your features. The fact that this Corneo Cup was enough to trouble Cloud Strife made your chest feel tight. In the short gap in the conversation that followed, when your eyes reflexively darted to the clock again, you sobered: he really needed to get going soon. So you scooted to the edge of the bed and pushed yourself upright–you’d been trying to find the right moment to do it, and now might be the last opportunity. Doing your best to ignore the nerves fluttering in your stomach, you made your way to the dresser. Cloud watched you open the second drawer, brow furrowing at the sound of crinkling before he saw you retrieve a square-shaped parcel from within, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine.

“I, um…” Your cheeks were warm before you even mustered the courage to turn back to him. The parcel held close to your chest, you sat back down on the edge of the bed. “There was some other stuff I got, with my supplies–for you.” Cloud’s eyes widened when you offered the package to him. He had the expression of a chocobo caught in the headlights of a truck, and you couldn’t help but smile. After he gingerly reached forward and took it from you, Cloud laid the present across his knees. Your heart beating hard in your chest, couldn’t help how you were staring at him as he carefully undid the knot securing the twine around the parcel, pinching the edges of the brown paper between his fingers to peel apart the folds to see what you’d gotten him. There was something cute about how hesitant he was, how he unwrapped the gift with respectful efficiency, doing only the minimal amount of manipulation required rather than tearing it apart like an excited kid opening presents on Christmas morning.

When the present lay open in his lap, his head snapped up to look at you in surprise. “How did you–?” What he found were three new sets of his own SOLDIER fatigues, sweater and pants in first-class blue, all in his size–you’d even managed to include new pairs of leather gloves.

“This is what I was talking with the owner of the clothing store about on Thursday–the favor I asked him, when we were in the back room,” you explained. Remembering his reaction back in the shop, you decided against reminding Cloud that placing a lipstick kiss on the photo along with your autograph for Bert had also been part of the due recompense. “I have no idea how he had a supplier for these, but, it is Wall Market, after all.” As he examined one of the shirts, you went on: “I know you said you don’t want anyone buying you clothing, but–well, I figured…the champ needs to look his best, right? A-And besides–” you stuttered, averting your gaze under his stare when he looked from the sweater to you, a nervous, playful smile pulling at your lips, “I can’t keep fixing up the clothes you’ve got now–they’re practically falling apart.”

“...These are genuine SOLDIER uniforms alright." His voice was quiet, low.

“W-Well, except for the boots–Bert said you’re on your own for those. And there’s…there’s one more thing you missed.” When your nervous gaze flicked down to the remnants of the present still in his lap, the sheets of brown paper fanned open like the petals of a flower, Cloud’s brow furrowed in a flash of surprise before he followed your gaze back to the present. He carefully lifted all the folded sets of sweaters, pants, and gloves away, set them on the bed beside him to find another even smaller parcel, about the size of a matchbox, separately wrapped in paper and twine. The few seconds it took him to carefully pull the knot apart, shift the paper aside, felt like an eternity–what would he think? Maybe you’d gone a bit overboard–

“An earring?”

Your cheeks got even redder when he looked at you with that bewildered expression on his face, the question bright in his eyes: why? “No! …Well, yes.” In his right hand, affixed to a small cardboard holder, was a single post earring. "But it's not just jewelry-it's got properties that will help you in combat."

As he studied it, Cloud murmured, “Doesn't look like much–s'almost exactly like the one I have now.” He was right: it was simple, gunmetal gray stud, just a bit purple tinged compared with his current one, a slight murky amethyst sheen sliding over the smooth surface when it caught the light.

“I-I know it doesn’t look like much, but...its core is infused with a Phoenix feather.” Cloud’s eyes widened in astonishment when his gaze snapped up to look at you–he knew just as well as you what that meant. Phoenix feathers (complete feathers from a mature Phoenix, not the less potent but more common juvenile's down) were incredibly rare: it was hard to find more than a handful on the entire continent–which is partly why you’d had to fork over so much gil back at the weapons shop to commission the earring, when you and Cloud had first stopped there in your search for Bert. “The reason it looks so much like your earring is because I had the guy at the weapons shop coat it in mythril steel." You explained how the half dome of the earring underneath the coating was clear glass, displaying the tiny tufts of the feather contained inside giving off a faint, constant glow, like the embers of a fire. “There is some practical use for it: he said the heat from the feather inside will burn the coating away when the magic is activated, so you’ll know it’s been used up. And the steel will boost your magic power, though not by much.” Then a small, tender smile lit your face, and you said with a chuckle: “But really, I did it because I figured you wouldn’t want anything too flashy or colorful. I think he gouged me on the customization, but, oh well."

Your voice grew quiet, then. "The Phoenix core means the earring grants immunity to fire damage–" you went on, "but, more than that…” Unable to hold his gaze, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, your eyes fell to your hands clasped in your lap. “It means that if anything happens to you, it will…it will bring you back to life again.”

There was a pause, where neither of you spoke. Then Cloud said your name hesitantly as he looked up from the earring to you, eyes suddenly solemn. “You didn’t need to do all this. It must have cost a fortune.” He was right again: this had pretty much drained all the money you’d earned as Honeygirl. But seeing the surprise in his eyes, the flush on his cheeks, clearly a bit uncomfortable receiving gifts–made it worth it.

You shook your head. “I’m happy to do it. It was no trouble–and you really do need new clothes!” you chuckled. “And the earring, well…I know it’s not my job,” you said with knowing smile, alluding to the fact that he was the contract bodyguard here, “and I hope you’ll never need it, but I–” Then you grew serious. “I just want to keep you safe.” Cloud’s gaze fixed on you at that last part, studying you with an emotion in his eyes you couldn’t read. “…Will you wear it?” You didn’t mean for your voice to go so soft. He just nodded.

It was something about the moment, but you couldn’t parse what it was: maybe it was the weight hanging in the air between you, the knowledge you were about to send him off into danger–the way merely speaking your intention somehow didn’t feel like enough. Caught up in a sudden surge of tenderness, without thinking, you scooted next to Cloud before you gently took the cardboard holder from his hands. It was obvious what you intended to do, but Cloud still let out a bewildered grunt under his breath, his eyes wide in alarm as he scoured you. You tilted your head as you gazed up at him expectantly, waiting for him. After a moment, he ducked his head to face forward again, eyes fixed on his lap, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. He shifted around slightly, squared his shoulders, hands resting on his thighs before his body went very still. Placing both hands on the bed, you shifted to your knees to give yourself a better vantage point. Now you were perpendicular to him on the bed, while he sat on the edge, facing the far wall. Then you leaned in. You'd eaten mostly in silence, but suddenly the quietness in the room was stifling, the soft sounds of the bed rustling and creaking beneath you, of your heart fluttering in your chest amplified in short distance between your faces.

First you reached up and removed his current earring, pinching the back and twisting the clasp loose before resting it on the blankets. Then with one hand, you gently brushed aside the hair framing his face, your fingers gliding over his soft skin, tracing around the shell of his ear as you tucked it out of your way. Fighting not to let your touch linger, you busied yourself removing the new earring from the holder before you cupped his jaw with your non-dominant hand, anchoring yourself as you inserted the post into his ear. A gentle, affectionate smile came over your face as you murmured: “Don't worry, I made sure one earring would be potent enough.” You went slow, careful, not wanting to cause him any discomfort. Cloud tilted his head to the side to help you place it, his gaze studiously fixed on the bed. A stud for a stud, you thought as you secured the back, an out-of-place grin creeping onto your face as you settled back into your previous position on the bed. You decided to attach Cloud's old earring to the now available cardboard holder so he wouldn't lose track of the small object, glad to have something else to focus on other than him after being so close.

His head still ducked, Cloud’s eyes flicked over to you. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing–I’m glad you like it.”

Cloud leaned back casually, resting his hands on the mattress behind him to brace himself. “So, this mean you’re my Honeymama now?” he ribbed, a playful smirk on his face as he referenced your previous quip.

“Whatever you want me to be.”

You’d meant for it to come out as a joke, but there was something to your tone that made him study you for a moment. “I, uh–I should probably get going,” Cloud stammered, a dusting of pink over his cheeks. Your eyes fell. This is why you should never play poker. Then he got up, grabbing one of the neatly folded new uniform sets and heading into the bathroom to change. When he came out, he simply made his way over to where his sword was propped beside the bed and began checking over his equipment and materia, before finally pulling on one of the new pairs of gloves, the fresh leather letting out quiet creaking sounds as he flexed his fingers. When Cloud finally placed his sword at his back and crossed to the door, you suddenly felt panic rising in your chest, even though you didn’t know why–he had faced so many battles, so many enemies, this would be nothing, right? A few hours at most and he’d be right back here, in bed beside you–and if he needed any tending, you’d make sure he was good as new. But the idea of him going into that arena, full of people gleefully waiting for him to fight for his life…Even though he hardly needed your help in combat, part of you wished you could be there in the ring with him.

“Cloud–”

He turned to look back to you, his hand on the doorknob.

“I know I won’t be there, but…I’ll be cheering for you.”

You saw the small smile that brought to his face, a mirror of your own. Then Cloud gave you a curt nod and a short grunt of assent–and with that, he disappeared through the front door. And the spell was broken: you let out a deep exhale, setting to focusing your own mind before looking over at the clock: 10:48. Where had the time gone? You needed to get ready yourself. Hurrying to the closet, you retrieved your uniform hanging inside its black garment bag and departed into the night, heading for–where else?–the Honeybee Inn.

Chapter 33

Chapter Text

Cloud was going to kill you.

Not literally, of course.

You’d arrived at the Honeybee Inn, uniform in hand, ready to start what you thought would be a normal night at work–well, except for the fact that Rufus was planning to see you here tonight. Your stomach was churning. Where should you wait for him? Here in the lobby? Back in the Drawing Room? Would he want to go to the private suite? And thanks to the Cup, Cloud wouldn’t be around, if he…you did your best to shove down that train of thought.

Upon entering the central vestibule, across the fountain you’d found Andrea waiting outside the door to your dressing room. After politely asking how you were, he got to business: “As I’m sure you know, there is a Corneo Cup to be held this evening–I thought you might like to accompany me, along with Deira, Louise, and Marin.”

Recalling the promise you’d made to Cloud, you answered without hesitation. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Andr–Andy, but, I think I’d rather just stay here tonight.”

You froze when your usually easygoing employer folded his arms and countered: “If it were solely up to me, my dear, I would have no complaints. However, Don Corneo has a special guest in town, whom he is hoping to entertain tonight–it is our friend, the young Mr. Rufus. He has requested your attendance personally.” Your blood ran cold as ice. “We’ll be leaving at half-past–it is my understanding the gentleman will be waiting for us there, in the Box. Myself and the other members of the Trio will also be there, if it’s any comfort.” With that, he swanned off, leaving you to get ready.

Of course Rufus was the ‘high-profile’ guest Cloud had heard about all those weeks ago. Your eyes squeezed shut. sh*t. Cloud had insisted that the Colosseum was dangerous, that it was the last (well, second to last) place in town he wanted you anywhere near. And now you’d have to go there during a Corneo Cup no less, with Rufus, staying on mission and in disguise while watching Cloud fight for his life. You looked at the clock on the wall: 11:03. That jolted you from your thoughts–there was no time to waste. But instead of ducking into the changing room, you dashed to the exit, sprinting back to your apartment–there was something you had to do before you left for the Colosseum.

After bursting through your front door, you headed straight for the dresser, once again rummaging through the drawer until you retrieved a second paper-wrapped parcel. Sliding off the twine and tearing open the paper with none of Cloud’s meticulousness, you laid out its contents on the bed beside you. Cloud’s gifts hadn’t come cheap, but they hadn’t completely drained your savings, either. You already had the Gothic Bangle from your outing two nights ago, so all you’d needed were the three new materia to equip it with–you’d even spent the extra gil to get them at their highest levels: Cure, Cleansing, and Barrier.

After securing the bangle to your wrist, you reached for one of the black wrist cuffs that was part of what could laughably be called your “suit.” You manipulated it, pried at the fabric with your fingers until you felt the secret slit you’d sewn into the inside of the right cuff. Pulling back the opening, you slipped it over the bangle so you could wear it into the Colosseum secretly–and thus, use the materia undetected. Finally, rising from the bed and rifling through your duffel bag, you pulled out your last remaining Ether and downed the entire bottle, restoring your magic reserves to full strength. Your preparations were complete–now all that was left was to hurry back to the Honeybee Inn before the party left for the Cup. But as you went to toss the empty Ether bottle into the bin beside the bed, you paused when a flash of crimson on the far side of the room caught in the corner of your eye.

Your gaze landed on the closet, where you spotted the rose hanging where you’d left it to dry–in your haste to grab your uniform and get to work, you’d forgotten to conceal it. Crossing to the closet, you cupped the velvety soft petals in your palm just for a moment, before tucking the flower back behind your clothing once more.

Cloud would be alright–you’d make sure of it.

The sight of Corneo’s gleaming red palace looming atop the hill ahead of you made your stomach lurch. Luckily, you veered right before you got too close, into the lobby area of the Colosseum.

As you turned off the main street, you, Andrea, and the three other Honeygirls were suddenly swarmed by fans and admirers as the party made its way through the gaudy waiting area, with its bright red carpets and walls, the decor dripping with gold gilding. Your group was waved through by an usher standing in front of an elevator at the back of the open space. As you all got inside, your employer punched a quick passcode into the number pad on the wall before pressing the up arrow, and the doors slid shut before the elevator began its smooth ascent. The other Honeygirls giggled in excitement, maintaining their giddy, buzzing demeanor as they had the entire walk over–try as you might, you were too lost in your head to join in.

But when one of the Honeygirls called your name, you blinked hard, eyes returning to focus. “Cloud’s going to be out there, you know!” Marin teased. Though he offered no comment, you saw Andrea fold his arms where he stood in the corner, flashing you a knowing, feline smirk.

“And Rufus is here, too–looks like you’re going to have your pick!” Louise giggled. Your cheeks flushed at their good-natured ribbing. Lucky me… But when the elevator doors opened again, you quickly forgot all about it as your mouth fell open in amazement.

You’d only ever seen the massive structure of the Corneo Colosseum from the outside, and its grandeur was just as imposing within. Inside it had a lofty, vaulted ceiling, with large industrial lights shining down. But what struck you most was the crowd: you’d never seen so many people gathered together in one place in your life. Nowhere else in Midgar–maybe on the whole planet–could so many people all be piled on top of one another, and the racket was overwhelming. Peering down into the ring itself, you saw a group of what looked like bandits fighting against a trio of Grashstrikes. The acoustics of the arena made it so the sounds of hissing and shouting and weapons slicing flesh were loud, immediate, like you were in the ring, rather than high above it.

The sudden barrage on your senses had you frozen where you stood–so you jolted when you felt someone touch your forearm, but relaxed when you saw it was Andrea. Gently taking your wrist, he tucked your arm into his elbow with a reassuring smile, guiding you down a long, narrow walkway to a large balcony perched high up in the stands. At this distance, you could see the structure was designed to look like an ornate pagoda, three white paneled walls topped with a pointed red roof, trimmed with equally bright red paint, matching the color of the railing that ran across the large gap at the front of the pagoda where the fourth wall would have been, giving open viewing into the ring below. You took a deep breath as you made your way to the open air suite, what you figured must be ‘the Box.’ The balcony lay on the side of the arena directly between the two large monitors perched over the gates where the opposing combatants entered and exited the arena, allowing for an impressive, unencumbered view of the action. You couldn’t help but feel self-conscious parading over the heads of so many people in your work uniform, leotard, stinger and all–you just had to hope the carnage below kept the crowd’s eyes otherwise occupied.

As you neared the balcony with your employer, you saw that situated in the center of the space were three ornate wooden chairs in a row, thrones in all but name: Madam M was curled up in the chair on the far right, and the other Honeygirls were buzzing around the chair on the left, clearly reserved for Andrea. The middle chair was also empty–but that was likely because Chocobo Sam was conversing with Rufus Shinra. He was back in his usual white coat, standing with his back to you in front of a fourth chair, even more gaudy than the rest, that had been placed in the position of honor in front of the other three, giving him an unobstructed view over the railing and into the ring below.

As Andrea released your arm and took his seat, Chocobo Sam tipped his hat to you in greeting. “Evenin’, Baroness.” Sam gave you a wicked smirk and a sly wink, and you felt your face instantly flush–so, word of your failed heist at Delphine’s had gotten back to him after all. But he didn’t press it further, simply sauntering over to take his seat.

Rufus saw you approach his chair, and stepped forward to take your hand. “I’m so pleased you could come.”

Not like I had a choice…But you greeted him warmly, and asked what he thought of the place.

“I don’t care for mobs–but I do love a good hunt.” You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. Then you and Rufus both walked to the front of the Box, right up to the railing overlooking the arena far below. As you both stood there, you peered down into the ring, trying to seem nonchalant as you checked to see if Cloud had somehow appeared without your realizing it. “The tournament has only just started–the real contenders won’t be out for a while yet,” Rufus said, as if he knew what was on your mind.

“I see…”

“May I get you a drink? Some wine, perhaps?”

You turned back to Rufus, forcing a smile onto your lips. “Wine would be great.” When he asked if you preferred red or white, you chose red. As he made his way to the back corner of the Box, where an attendant was stationed behind the four chairs, you took a deep breath. Focus! Leaning onto the wooden railing, you pretended to watch the fight going on below.

All too soon, Rufus was by your side again, a glass of deep crimson wine in each hand. “It’s Malbec,” he remarked as he handed you one of the glasses. “I prefer Merlot myself, but one can hardly be choosy in a…venue like this,” he added with a smirk.

“Not much of a connoisseur myself,” you chuckled. “Usually when I drink wine, it’s out of a box! Not that I drink much, anyway.”

“Outside of your work, you mean.” You pulled your eyes back up to Rufus standing beside you. He was watching you with that steely intensity in his eyes.

“R-Right, yeah,” you conceded, forcing a smile.

Rufus studied you a moment before he remarked: “You’re a puzzle to me. You can’t stand wearing high heels–have terrible taste in wine–” he ribbed good-naturedly, “and you say you don’t even like to drink–and yet, you work at the Honeybee Inn. Why would you choose such a profession, I wonder.”

sh*t. The chaotic atmosphere in the Colosseum combined with the stress of fulfilling your mission–on top of your anxiety waiting for Cloud to appear–was throwing you off-balance. Why had you been honest about something like that? You scrambled to come up with an answer. “Well, the money’s good, for one thing. I love dancing, too…” That was true–though not the type you did at the Honeybee Inn. “And the men aren’t half bad, either,” you finished with a flirtatious smirk, raising your glass in a mock toast, holding his gaze as you took a sip of your wine.

“It would seem you’ve found your calling on the stage,” he answered back.

“You…you’ve seen me perform?”

Rufus nodded. “At the Honeybee Inn. I had my eye on you for weeks–there just wasn’t ever the right moment to formally introduce myself.” You shivered, but not out of delight. Does that mean he’s seen me and Cloud together in the lounge? you wondered. “You’re a captivating performer–there might be a career for you at the theater in Sector 8–maybe even the Gold Saucer.”

That made you genuinely laugh. “Maybe you’ve had too much to drink!”

“That was no jest–you really are quite something to watch…” He lazily traced his fingers down your arm. “…And I suppose you’re not a half-bad dancer, either.” His voice was dark with desire. Your cheeks flushed, more out of unease than any sense of attraction, but Rufus picked up on it, smirking as he took another sip of his wine. You tried to come up with a reply, but the ghost of his touch was wreaking havoc on your nerves. Just when you opened your mouth to–

“LLLLLLadies and gentlemen!”

The voice booming in over the loudspeakers startled you so bad you almost dropped your wine glass. The large green gates to your right slowly opened, and two garishly dressed men sauntered into the center of the ring: one sporting an orange puffer vest (also with nothing else on underneath, reminding you of Damian–were shirts banned from the Corneo thug uniform?) and a bleach blond mohawk, the other wearing a green jacket, his severe undercut of dark hair swept back into what looked something like a shark’s fin.

It was the dark-haired man who began with a theatrical sweep of his arm: “Now that the preliminary matches have concluded, it’s time for the main event! For this first round, we’ve got a new challenger for you–”

The man in the vest cupped his hands to his mouth like a makeshift megaphone, artificially making his voice high and shrill to interject: “–More like a lamb to the slaughter–”

“–A lamb going up against the The Lone Wolf, The Carnivore of the Colosseum, the contender who climbed his way to the top in the last tournament–”

Then together at full volume: “The reigning champ–Cloud!”

Your eyes snapped to the other large gilded gate on your left when it slowly began to open–and sure enough, Cloud’s familiar form emerged, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he sauntered to the center of the ring to deafening applause. He’d gone with Hardedge, you noted. Good strength, but not great for materia–you hoped he knew what he was doing.

“My, it’s not often you see a sword like that.”

You gasped at Rufus’s amused words, jolting as though you’d been electrocuted as the realization ripped through you: Rufus had seen Cloud before, when he and your friends had rescued Aerith from the Shinra building just under a year ago. Had he even known Cloud’s name, until now? You bristled, scrambling to come up with a plan: it was imperative not just for Cloud’s safety, but the safety of your mission, that Rufus believed you and Cloud were barely acquaintances, enjoying only, ahem, only a physical relationship, and certainly no shared ties to Avalanche or any of your other shared friends.

“Word is he just showed up out of nowhere, last time there was a Cup,” you remarked casually. “Swept the whole thing on his first go.”

“Are you a fan of his career, then?”

You looked up at Rufus. His tone was neutral, sanguine, but his eyes were piercing into you. “Hardly. But he’s a lover, not just a fighter–but you knew that already,” you cooed. You were referring of course to the night Rufus had seen you and Cloud entering the suite together.

“He’s one of your…private clients.” A statement, not a question.

You nodded. “Given his winnings from competing, he can afford to be a regular–a highly sought after one, too.”

“I’m not surprised he went after you–” Rufus remarked, eyes bright in a wolfish way that had your stomach turning, “you’re certainly the greatest prize in Wall Market, as far as I’ve seen.” Your body betrayed you when your cheeks flushed (though it felt weird being called a prize). You turned your gaze from Rufus’s icy stare to watch the match–at the moment, Cloud was easily getting the upper hand on some brute with a chain mace–but you couldn’t lose your nerve now: you had to do your best to protect Cloud. You couldn’t let on that watching him fight for his life had your heart racing, and your hands on the brink of shaking. That even though you knew his supreme combat abilities were unmatched, that he’d faced hundreds of battles by now, each hit Cloud took was making it harder for you to breathe–that if anything happened to him, you didn’t know what you’d do. So, it was time to put on a real performance.

Leaning down to rest your elbows on the wooden railing (trying not to think about your embarrassing stinger sticking up behind you), you pretended to be apathetic, almost bored, at the sight of the death match taking place below. And when you spoke, you worked to sound as flirtatious–and disinterested–as possible. “Most people think it’s a stage name–Cloud. Even I don’t know his real one. He’s not much of a talker,” you said, a genuine smile pulling at your lips: that part was true. “Not that we do much talking, anyway…” you flashed Rufus a grin as you sipped from your glass, drawing blatant attention to your innuendo, noticing the faint ruddy imprint of your lipstick on the rim when you finished.

“Well,” Rufus began again, something dark in his voice now, “when it’s just you and I in the ring, you’ll see who the real champion is out of the two of us.” He traced his fingers along the bare skin of your shoulder blades, and you had to tamp down your urge to shudder. Then your eyes went wide as his hand moved to your jaw, tilting your chin up to meet his face. Rufus’s sharp eyes flicked down to your lips. You were frozen, paralyzed, prey caught in the trap of the hunter.

The sound of a mobile phone ringing startled you. Rufus, as unshakeable as ever, simply dropped his hand from your jaw and reached into his breast pocket to retrieve his PHS. It was an odd looking thing, not like any you’d seen on your patients, either in the slums or up on the plate: instead of a flip phone with buttons, it had a single transparent surface that looked like glass, a blue light illuminating the device from within. He tapped an icon on the screen before raising it to his ear. “What is it?”

After a few seconds, he excused himself, withdrawing to the far side of the balcony to attend to the phone call. Thank the Astrals–it gave you a moment to catch your breath. During your perilous tête-à-tête with Rufus, the tournament had been humming along in the background. You immediately felt guilty for not keeping an eye on Cloud–but Rufus was so intense, so discerning, it took all your concentration to converse with him while maintaining your cover–and your composure.

When you looked back down to the arena, Cloud was still in the ring, but the opponent was different–he must have won the last round. The screens on either side of you now read “semi-finals”, showing he’d actually gone through a few matches. But that was the Cloud you knew: preferring to hit hard and fast, to end fights as efficiently as possible, as much as the crowd might prefer a slugfest. Though he was a bit far away, when you scanned him, Cloud looked mostly unharmed, apart from a few scratches. The close-up view on the monitor allowed you to see the sheen of sweat on his brow and arms (down girl). He was also breathing hard by now, the only sign the long marathon of battles was wearing on him. Right now, he was squaring off against two Bombshells. That must be why he was so fatigued, constantly running and dodging to avoid their unpredictable streams of fire.

At that moment, one of the Bombshells surged forward, bashing into Cloud, and he slammed back against the arena wall with a strained grunt. You sucked in a sharp breath. It was the perfect opportunity for the second Bomb to act, inhaling mightily, expanding in size before spewing a column of molten fire straight at Cloud. You lost sight of him in the blaze, and your mouth fell open as you nearly let out what what would have been your cry of distress–but you managed to catch yourself just in time as you remembered your surroundings–and the company you were with. Still, you couldn’t help how you reflexively leaned forward over the balcony, as if it would allow you to catch sight of him in the column of flames. Your hands squeezed tight around the cool metal railing, your knuckles going white. Would you need to cast Cure? You had to hope he could hang on, because you didn't have anywhere store any Phoenix Downs (or anything useful) in your laughable excuse for a uniform–and Cure was useless on someone already knocked out–or worse. And it might be hours before you could see to his burns back home...After what felt like some of the longest seconds of your life, the Bombshell finally ran out of fuel, and the flames ceased. Please be alright, please be alright–

At first, you weren't sure you were seeing things right: because when the smoke dissipated, standing there, not a spiky hair out of place, was Cloud. Cloud himself seemed surprised too, looking down at his un-singed arms in surprise. Of course– how could you have forgotten? You grinned: your earring had worked! Worth every last gil. On the monitor, you saw a wickedly handsome smirk slice Cloud’s face, and he lunged, emboldened by the realization all his careful evasion was no longer necessary. From there, it was only a few quick seconds before his two opponents literally went up in smoke, and the crowd erupted into rabid applause. In all your glimpses of Cloud in battle, you couldn’t help but marvel at how strong he was, how brutally efficient he could be. He was almost graceful, in a way that you didn’t think combat could be, until you’d met him. You could never revel in violence, but his confidence and competence made you shiver, only made him even more masculine and attractive to you.

As he placed a hand on his hip, stoically basking in the cheers of the crowd, you closed your eyes and silently thanked Ifrit–just in case–before Cloud strode back through the red gates as they closed behind him. That just left the final match. You absentmindedly rubbed at your cuff, feeling the rounded contours of the materia underneath the flimsy fabric. Just one more, and it would be over–Cloud would be safe again. Briefly glancing over at Rufus, you were relieved to see him still on the phone, clearly deep in a serious conversation. You set your now empty wine glass down on the small table next to his chair before instantly returning to the railing, waiting for Cloud to reappear.

When the gates opened and your champion re-emerged once more, clearly refreshed and ready for action, the crowd was incensed, and the announcers did nothing to cool them down. “And just like that folks–” the man in the green jacket began, “we’ve come to the finale, the pièce de résistance–”

“–But you’re not gonna want to eat this dessert–”

“Once again, Cloud has triumphed in every match–another clean sweep for the champ so far!”

“–if he’s on drugs, at least give me some!–”

“And now, to close out another Corneo Cup, we’ve brought in a beast never before seen in Midgar–”

“–he’s not talking about my ex-wife–”

“All the way from Gaea’s Cliff–”

“–you don’t want to know what the shipping rate was–”

And finally together, with dramatic flourishes of their open arms: “The Malboro!” As the opposite gates slowly opened, you saw Cloud square his shoulders, readjusting his grip on his sword.

Bahamut below…The giant green monster slid out from its den, innumerable tentacles undulating, a sickly green vapor pouring from its gaping maw. While the Malboro was large and slow, it made up for it with its terrible breath: it was deadly poisonous, and one inhale of its gas would inflict all the status ailments on the unlucky opponent, leaving them at the mercy of its giant tentacles, which were large enough to crush bone with one blow, or simply grab the stupefied prey and drop it into its gaping mouth, never to be seen again. Even if Cloud had some sort of armor protecting him from one or two of the status ailments, the rest of the Malboro’s abilities would still be enough to take him out. Though you were no great tactician, it was easy to see that the monster's massive size meant it dominated the floor of the combat arena–that would put Cloud at terrible disadvantage by greatly hindering his mobility. And due to its hulking mass, the creature had what felt like endless stamina–this would be a long, grueling ordeal, and that was the best outcome. You were incensed at how wrong it was, to make a single human fighter (even an enhanced one) go up against such an abomination alone in such unfavorable conditions: but then Cloud's words to you back in the park rang in your mind: "The rules don't make sense. You never know what's gonna be waiting for you in the ring–and the fight is never fair.” Of course–this wasn't about putting on a clean contest: it was about giving the bloodthirsty crowd a spectacle, presenting a matchup sure to send the betting into a frenzy. This was Wall Market, you reminded yourself through gritted teeth–when did anyone here ever play fair? Your stomach roiled with nerves as Cloud surged forward, and you could only helplessly watch as the battle began.

Judging by the way he was constantly running, constantly moving as best he could around the giant monster and its seemingly innumerable tentacles, you guessed Cloud didn’t have equipment well-suited to this battle. He seemed to want to stay near the beasts’s flank–to avoid its mouth, you figured. Your hands were gripping the railing so tight, your knuckles were white. If you tried to help, you might startle him, make him falter or lose his focus (not to mention, alert him to your presence at all). If anyone could take out this monster on their own, it was Cloud: but you couldn’t help the suffocating terror that gripped you as you looked on. You were waiting to see if Cloud could manage on his own, watching for the smallest indication you might need to assist with a spell from your materia.

But then the sudden feeling of a hand at your back made you gasp, and you bolted up straight in surprise. “My apologies–work demands I be available at all times.”

You forced yourself to look away from Cloud to Rufus, plastering a smile on your face just as the Malboro let out an inhuman shriek below that made the rafters shake. “I understand.” You were trying to keep your voice from shaking, too.

With his elbow propped on the railing, Rufus lazily tilted his head to look down into the arena. “He’s certainly got his hands full.”

“How does Corneo find these monsters?” you wondered incredulously.

“He’s from Wutai, originally–makes it easy to stock the Colosseum with creatures that seem exotic to the citizens of Midgar. But many come from Shinra as well, usually rejects from our Public Safety or Research and Development departments.”

That would explain why they’re so formidable, you thought to yourself. “I-Is that what brought you to Wall Market? Business with Corneo?” It was a risk, but you were near lightheaded with fear, so you weren’t able to come up with anything more innocuous to ask.

“Not about circus animals, no. But yes, Shinra does sometimes liaison with the Don–his connections to the black market can be useful.”

Your eyes dropped as you searched for something to say, before you noticed Rufus still had his phone in his hand. “I’ve never seen a PHS like that before. I-Is that for Shinra employees?”

He nodded, lifting it up for you to see. “Designed and manufactured by Shinra, not available for commercial use–only granted to the highest levels of leadership. The older models were good for email, but that was about it–we’ve switched our filing systems to all-digital, so this phone has become my life, unfortunately.” As Rufus slipped the device back into his breast pocket, you made a mental note of the information he’d just shared with you. “But I don’t want to talk about work–that’s why you’re here…” he shot back. Your hope that the phone call would cool his advances wasn’t panning out.

"I-I thought Don Corneo would be here tonight–th-the Cup being named after him and all..." You were desperate to try and deflect his attentions.

"Oh, he's watching all right. From my understanding the Don never shows his face–but that doesn't mean he isn't viewing from some secret location. I'm told he spectates every fight. Only he decides when the Cup is truly done–and only he has final say on the matchups as well." You cast your eyes around the Colosseum, at the formless, faceless mass of the crowd around you, then to the far-too-cute avatar of what had to be the Don on the massive monitors—the possibility that Corneo could be watching it all right now–maybe even watching you–did not help your eviscerated nerves. And realizing he had been the one to force Cloud to fight this monster all by himself only made you more glad you'd never been so unlucky to see the Don’s slimy mug in person. "It's the same charade he puts on with women, if what I’ve heard of his pathetic auditions is to be believed–he likes his prey nicely lined up, penned in for him to pick off." Then the heat in Rufus's cold eyes returned. "He takes no joy in the hunt–not like I do." You pretended to be coy by dropping your eyes–but really, it was so you could look back down to Cloud.

Rufus followed your gaze. “The Champ done in by a rookie mistake–how poetic.” He sounded almost bored.

“W-What do you mean?” It took all your willpower to keep your voice level.

“Cutting the tentacles doesn’t stop it–and the Malboro’s blood is poisonous, just like its breath. In an enclosed space like this, it just makes it even harder to move around without getting afflicted. If he steps in it, he’ll be dead in minutes without an antidote.”

Looking back to Cloud, you saw him crouched near the far wall. It was clear even from your vantage point he was panting, winded from outrunning the monster’s foul breath and oozing slime. You too were finding it hard to breathe. Your left hand instinctively reached for your right wrist, for your bangle–but how could you do anything, with Rufus watching you?

“Can I get you another glass of wine? Or something stronger, perhaps?”

The whole night–and even now, with Cloud truly fighting for his life in a harrowing battle–Rufus was acting like he was watching a tennis match on a summer day: pleasant, if boring–like he could care less about any of this. Seeing someone so cool and unaffected by round after round of brutal, needless violence was deeply disturbing to you. I do love a good hunt–and for the first time tonight, Cloud was no longer the hunter.

“Thank you, yes,” you answered, flashing a serene smile on your face. Rufus walked back to the attendant to order your drinks.

The moment Rufus’s back was turned, a sudden shriek from the monster and surge in the crowd's screaming made you whirl around. What you saw made you gasp in horror: Cloud’s skin was tinged a sickly green, clearly afflicted with poison, squinting through the pain with only one eye open, a bitter grimace contorting his face. He was clutching at his side–he wasn't doing that before! The Malboro loomed over him, reared back, opened its massive maw–but it seemed Cloud was too battered and tired, too sick from the poison to get away. No, no, no, no– It had to be now–you knew you only had time to cast one spell before the monster’s breath overtook Cloud, and he’d be wiped out.

You gripped your right wrist where it rested on the railing. Half praying, half casting, you made your choice, closed your eyes, and breathed: Resist!

Just as the word left your lips the Malboro’s noxious green vapor enveloped Cloud, and you felt your heart stop. The crowd gasped in disjointed unison. Your nerves were so overwrought, you felt lightheaded. Please– you pleaded with every god you could remember and no god in particular, Please–!

When the Malboro finally let up, your gaze seared into the fog, desperate to see Cloud. If you’d failed, he’d be a sitting chocobo. Or rather, a dead chocobo. What if you hadn’t cast it in time, what if you’d made the wrong–you gasped along with most of the people in the Colosseum.

There–! It was Cloud, standing tall, no longer incapacitated by poison as the white bubbles of your Resist spell danced around him. The crowd exploded into wild cheering–and you slumped against the railing, breathing out a shaky sigh of relief. You’d made it just in time. On the monitor, you saw Cloud blinking, a dazed expression on his face–only you knew him well enough to know this was the sign he was marveling at how he wasn’t dead. You also knew you were already on borrowed time–but this was the final match, and you were going to give Cloud everything you had. Taking another breath, you murmured two more spells in quick succession: Curaga. Manawall. As the verdant tendrils of the healing spell seeped into his skin and the purple plates of the barrier rose up around Cloud, you felt your knees nearly buckle from exhaustion, and you seriously worried you might faint after using so much magic so quickly. Your job done as best you could, you tried to be inconspicuous as you supported yourself against the railing, fighting to catch your breathing without looking like you were.

“Quite a reversal of fortune.” When you felt Rufus’s hands grip your waist as he came up behind you, you couldn’t help how you jolted at his touch, your nerves still as taut as a trip-wire. His hands slid down your back, dragged down your hips, stopping just above your rear–then he began untying the fastenings of your Honeygirl stinger, his movements cold and efficient. Even in your exhaustion, you suddenly wanted nothing more than to jump into the ring and run to Cloud–run anywhere. “Let’s get this off–you can hardly sit down with this ridiculous thing on.” It was a statement, without even the slightest consideration for your input.

“But, Rufus–there are only four chairs...” you wondered aloud. He just continued undressing you. You sucked in a breath when one particularly gruff yank on the fastenings embarrassingly jostled your backside. Swallowing hard, you felt dread close around your throat like a vice: you knew Rufus Shinra liked owning things–but now you were starting to fear you were becoming a possession, too.

Not good…

As the Malboro let out a deafening screech, Cloud could only stare up at it through one squinting eye. His side throbbed from when the creature had bashed him into the wall–he didn’t need a nursing degree to tell from the sickening crunch on impact that he’d probably broken something–or a few somethings. His head was pounding and his stomach churning as the poison from the monster’s slime invaded his body. He knew he’d managed to wear the Malboro down, that he only needed a few more good slashes to take it out, but he wasn’t sure he could pull it off. The times Cloud faced a Malboro before, he’d had two of his friends with him, helping to inflict damage or cure the poison–but he was on his own this time. He cursed himself for using up his last Remedy in the quarterfinals against a stupid Sahagin. Through the fog of his pain-addled mind, Cloud suddenly thought of you. Who would tell you what had happened? You’d be sitting in your apartment, waiting for someone to come home who might never come back. He gritted his teeth. Focus. He commanded his body to move as the Malboro loomed over him, prepared to douse him with its breath once more–but his shaking limbs would not comply. Cloud shut his eyes, and the gas poured over him.

From behind his closed eyelids, his vision went white. But rather than feeling the sting of the poison, his muscles relaxed as he suddenly felt the blissful absence of it. He opened his eyes and looked around, trying to understand: as the green gas swirled around him, Cloud felt nothing–except disgust at the horrible smell of the monster’s breath, that is. He was surrounded by a serene mist of white bubbles: a Resist spell? But he certainly didn’t have the magic reserves left to cast it. Then the fog cleared, and the crowd broke out into mad cheering as he rose to his full height once more.

But how–? Most civilians didn’t have materia, let alone know how to use it. And he knew the Trio would never intervene in a fight–Don Corneo would see it as trying to tamper with the betting. Then, to Cloud’s further bewilderment, the soothing, verdant wisps of a Curaga spell enfolded him, and he felt his cuts, gashes, and bruises fade away. So he wasn’t imagining it… And when the purple screen of a Manawall appeared before him, he felt another surge in strength as he was made whole again.

It's her. Your name surged into his head–there was no one else it could be.

Cloud lunged sideways, rolling before he landed in a crouch. He furiously scanned the crowd: Where?–but under the glare of the lights it was impossible to make out any individual face in the sea of people all around him. Shifting his attention back to the Malboro, Cloud took off running, hoping to use his temporary buffs to flank the wounded beast and finally finish it for good–but he only made it two steps before he stopped dead, boots skidding on the floor. Something had caught his eye up in the balcony area directly across from him, where he knew the Trio sat. His body went rigid, and he nearly dropped his sword in the dirt. The clamor of the crowd suddenly seemed like it was coming from underwater, warped and far away. He suddenly felt so nauseous, he might as well still be poisoned.

With his enhanced senses, Cloud’s vision was sharp at distances most people could only make out with binoculars: so he had no trouble seeing you, peering down at him with fear in your eyes, perched on a gilded throne, on display for all the world to see–sprawled on Rufus Shinra’s lap.

Chapter 34

Chapter Text

“My word–you’ve certainly become quite the showman!”

Cloud looked up from where he was seated on the blue bench in the basem*nt of the Colosseum, recovering his strength.

It was Madam M, of course, fluttering her fan as she swanned into the small room. “Letting everyone believe you were finished–no magic left, no way to recover from the poison, only to be caught in the monster’s deadly breath, oh–!” She brought the back of her hand to her forehead, still holding the fan, a melodramatic display of fear. Cloud fought the urge to roll his eyes. Then she continued her pacing. “Just to emerge from the mist unharmed, casting a triple ward on yourself before leaping into the air and felling the beast with one mighty blow. You led us to believe it was all over, just to prove your dominance in the final moment–a truly masterful performance. You were a celebrity before, Cloud, but I dare say you’re a Wall Market legend, now!”

Cloud didn’t respond, remaining hunched over on the bench, glaring down at his boots, elbows resting on his knees. His silence was in part because he was hoping Madam M would lose interest and leave him be: but it was also because her story wasn’t quite true. It hadn’t been a performance–anything but. He’d been in real danger of losing that fight. And Cloud was sure it had been you that had cast those three spells, saving him from the jaws of death–literally.

“…And you did it all while managing not to lose your head, literally and figuratively–I thought you’d surely be green with envy, if the poison hadn’t done it for you!” Madam M giggled.

Cloud just kept his baleful gaze on the floor.

“Oh come now–you must have seen your dear friend, up in the Box with us. Rufus was on her like–well, like flies on honey!” Madam M remarked, amused by her own quip. “I’m not one to insist on discretion, but my word–” she fanned herself as if she were scandalized, “he couldn’t keep his hands off her, put her on his lap and everything, right in front of you and all of Wall market. I do hope you two haven’t had a tiff…”

Cloud’s lip curled in a frustrated snarl. Yes, he’d seen it. When Cloud had spotted you in the box, his vision had gone red: Rufus had had you draped across his lap, one hand trailing up your stocking-clad thigh, the other twirling one of the locks of your hair around his finger as he whispered something in your ear. As if that weren’t bad enough, then you’d turned your head and looked straight at Cloud. He remembered seeing the fear in your eyes–and feeling like he was burning alive. Then the Malboro had let out another ghastly shriek, and when Cloud turned his attention back to the monster, he’d almost been glad of its presence, glad to have something to hit, to take out his anger on. He’d launched himself into the air, sword raised high above his head in both hands. Landing at the crest of the Malboro’s…body? Head? Everything? he’d plunged his sword deep into the monster’s flesh, the creature letting out one final wailing screech as he killed it. He’d made sure to retreat to the gates as the noxious blood of the dead Malboro seeped over the floor. But as the doors were closing before him, the applause and confetti were as nothing–Cloud was only looking at you.

“You certainly are distracted tonight! Perhaps the champ is jealous after all–maybe the Cup wasn’t the prize you really wanted to take home…” Madam M teased when he didn’t reply.

“It’s not like that.” This was his knee-jerk response when anyone brought up his relationship with you–it was a happy coincidence that it also worked for his cover story.

Madam M giggled, clearly unconvinced. But to his relief, she dropped the subject. “Anyway, I’m sure you know why I’m here.” To irritate me? “Your debt, of course,” she continued. “Your performance tonight earned me far more than what you owed. So, we can consider your obligation discharged–though I’ll miss having you at my mercy,” she cooed. “But for your exemplary service, here–30,000 for you,” she added, handing him the amount, “and one luxury massage from me, on the house, as a token of my gratitude. I look forward to having you in my parlor again, Cloud.” Madam M turned, sauntering toward the exit. But then she stopped in the doorway and said: “That offer also extends to your darling friend, by the way. You should stop in for a couple’s massage–I could give you two a truly unforgettable experience.” Cloud bolted upright then, scoffing as he glared at the woman.

She lazily fanned herself, studied him for a moment. “…Still fighting it, I see. For an ex-SOLDIER, you’re quite poor at picking your battles–I thought you had more sense than that, Cloud.”

“What do you mean?” he snapped. “Fighting what?”

There was a pregnant pause as she watched him in silence. “…It doesn’t matter,” she said finally. “I can tell it’s a battle you’re already losing. I just hope you decide to call, while you still have a winning hand–you never have as much time as you think.”

Cloud folded his arms as he cast his gaze to the side, trying to appear unaffected by her cryptic remarks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Madam M’s usually playful voice suddenly sobered. “No…I don’t think you do.”

Then her face pulled into a sly grin, her usual demeanor returning. “It’s just adorable–you two really shouldn’t play poker.” And with that, she departed, leaving Cloud alone with her words rattling around in his head, jumbling with the surge of adrenaline he was still coming down from. While Cloud wasn’t averse to combat when it was necessary, he didn’t revel in it, either. Being the two-time champion of the Corneo Cup meant nothing to him–he’d only participated because of the mission, because his debt to Madam M had required it, because it would have looked suspicious if he didn’t compete. His head still throbbing from the aftereffects of the poison, his side still sore where the Malboro had battered him, all Cloud wanted to do was go back to your quiet apartment, collapse into bed, and sleep for the next week at least. Well, not all he wanted…

Cloud absentmindedly reached a hand up to twist the smooth metal stud at his left ear. It was still new and pristine, the polished metal concealing the unused Phoenix feather that still burned inside it. It occurred to him that the earring would have been activated tonight, if you hadn’t saved him from the Malboro’s breath just in time. Even now, it was like a small piece of you was still watching over him. A strange mix of emotions roiled inside Cloud: he was frustrated, upset with himself for nearly failing to win the Cup, for not being good enough–but the realization that you had risked so much to save him, it made his chest feel strangely warm, gave him a feeling he didn’t want to describe. It crossed Cloud’s mind that you might think he would be angry with you, because you’d gone against his explicit request to stay away from the Colosseum. But that couldn’t be further from the truth: he figured something must have forced your hand. And how could he be upset when you’d unquestionably saved his neck? But Cloud was agitated, there was no doubt about that, the horrid sight of you in Rufus’s lap looping in his mind, seared into his memory.

But it wasn’t because he was jealous, Cloud told himself–it was far too trivial an emotion for what was at stake here. Rufus wasn’t some dude at the bar who wanted your phone number: he was Rufus Shinra, evil incarnate. The man who could easily have you killed (or worse) if he learned of your real identity, why you were choosing to subject yourself to his odious company. And perhaps most of all, it was the fear Cloud had seen in your eyes as Rufus handled you like he owned you. It was his urge to protect you–and the frustration that he couldn’t–that was tearing at Cloud’s insides. The thought of you and Rufus pulled him up from the bench, and he made his way out of the break room and down to the elevator at the end of the hall. The attendant at the gates was gone by now, leaving him all by himself in the long corridor. After Cloud pressed the up arrow, he began to pace in front of the closed doors as he waited to return to the lobby so he could head for home.

He froze in his tracks. Home? It struck Cloud that, at some point, that’s what he’d come to think of your tiny, single bedroom apartment as: home. it was no more spacious or luxurious than the concrete cell he lived in back in Sector 3–even less so, given that he had to share this unit with another person. The fact that the mission was dragging on long enough that this was starting to feel like real life–when it was anything but–made him feel a bit uneasy. But after so many weeks, it had become his refuge, his place of peace and quiet away from the constant chaos of Wall Market, of the mission. It was the one place he didn’t have to be the illustrious colosseum champion, or the covert Avalanche operative. He couldn’t let his guard down completely–he lived there with you, after all–but it was where he came the closest.

And there was something about the rhythm of it all that made it feel like a life, albeit a strange one: waking up in the morning and spending his days training in the gym, then maybe appearing in the Colosseum after walking you home, after you’d fallen asleep–that’s how it had started. Then, after a few weeks, spending his nights with you inside the Honeybee Inn had added to the cadence, where you two would chat with the Trio, or drink champagne as you talked in the private suite, or he would watch you perform on stage while pretending he didn’t find you so sexy it hurt (which was true even without the skimpy outfits and erotic dancing.) Then each day would end with you walking home side by side, to eat dinner before crawling into bed beside one another. And since the unexpected adventure of retrieving Johnny’s car, Cloud found himself spending more time with you than ever, during the days now too: he would show you different places around Wall Market–you eagerly attending the story attached to each location–watching as you tried various foods at the carts, browsed the souvenirs, always looking for a new nook or cranny to explore with him. The sports bar had become a favorite hangout place of yours, and you often asked to go there for dinner and darts on your nights off. And without really meaning to, his mind drifted back a few nights ago, after you two climbed into bed, having finally reunited Johnny with his car. After your unexpected and heartfelt words for him, Cloud had taken a shower (half needing to wash off all the grime of the day’s adventures, half to put some much needed distance between you and him for a few minutes), but you’d been too tired even to wash off all the cigar smoke and grime you’d accumulated from cheating gamblers and stealing from thieves. Since he no longer had to be out late fighting matches for Madam M, Cloud usually found it easy to sleep next to you–but not that night.

He’d rolled over, propping himself on one elbow, the clock reading well past 4AM as the first pastels of dawn crept through the blinds. You were curled into an adorable little ball facing him. Your messy hair was pressed under your cheek, catching in the morning light, a serene expression gracing your pretty features as you slept. In the solitary stillness of the bedroom, Cloud had finally had a moment to process the whirlwind day you’d just shared. Though he could see the materia and the dice perched on the dresser, could look to the closet and find his suit and your dress hanging there as evidence, everything that had happened since you’d stepped out of the laundromat felt like some kind of dream. Not just because of all the ridiculous stunts pulled, the bizarre people met–but because of you. Even before Johnny had come crashing back into your lives, that day had Cloud seeing you in a new light: he remembered the look of horror on your face when he’d told you the mysterious man you’d met was Rufus Shinra. He’d expected you to jump at his suggestion to pack up and go home, yield to his wishes to call it all of–but you’d pushed back, insisted you see it through. He realized you’d always had that steel in your eyes–you just so rarely felt the need to wield it, let alone make a show of it. People didn’t expect to find it in a sweet, pretty girl like you–maybe Cloud had been guilty of that, too. And even as the demands of that day had only grown more absurd, you’d seemed like you were having the time of your life.

He recalled the warmth in your smile, the lovely sound of your laugh as you took it all in your stride: he’d seen how you put your mind to each new challenge, working with Cloud to figure out how you would accomplish the next goal. With just your wits and your words, you’d actually convinced Delphine you were a Wutaian heiress, been able to sweet-talk the clothing shop owner into giving you some bootlegged uniforms for Cloud, free of charge. You’d had the quick thinking to grab the car keys amidst the chaos at the gambling den, had the foresight to buy the Steal materia in the first place. He’d watched you march straight toward a troupe of grimy bandits, armed only with a set of car keys. He’d been shocked at your glee as you raced Johnny’s twice stolen car down the road. And when he’d had to compete in that squat competition, you’d let Cloud know in your gentle way that you weren’t judging him, weren’t laughing at him, just as you’d done when he’d finally told you how he’d gained entry to the mansion to rescue Tifa. And just when he thought you’d run out of ways to surprise him, you’d grabbed his wrist after he’d laid you down in bed that night, and made him realize you saw things far more clearly than he could have imagined–how you’d just known what troubles weighed heavy on him, and done your best to be there for him. How you’d somehow known exactly what Cloud needed to hear, exactly how to ease the doubts and insecurities that plagued him. Everything you said and did, you somehow conveyed that you understood him, that you accepted him, even admired him. You had a way of disarming Cloud he hadn’t fully appreciated until that night. You didn’t just see him–you could see right through him. Just how many things had you known, yet never let on about?

He remembered the tears in your eyes, the grief in your voice under the evening sky–when you told him about all the losses in your life that so eerily echoed his own, and he’d pointed out you really were a lot braver than anyone gave you credit for–yourself included. You were one of the few people who could truly understand much, if not all, of what he’d been through. He’d left the park knowing that you also knew what it was like to not be able to move on–that while burying your hurt allowed you to make it through the day, it didn’t let you go forward, either. That you both were still living in the rubble of your pasts, struggling to build something out of the ruins.

Maybe…maybe we both need to get back to dreaming.

That was where you two differed–the one path he couldn’t follow.

As he’d lain beside you, gazing at you as you slept, all Cloud could think was: where had this you come from? But then, maybe this is how you’d always been–he’d just never taken the time to see it. To see you. You’d barely spent time together when you weren’t under constant scrutiny, forced to pretend to be people you weren’t. And in your off time, he’d been avoiding you, until only a few weeks ago. But by the time he’d fallen into bed beside you that night, flush with warmth from a few rounds of darts and drinks and stories, it felt like you’d been friends for ages. As your ‘team building exercise’ had unfolded, it felt like you and him were getting to know each other for the first time–and yet, somehow, like he’d known you all along. And though accepting the realization that he truly respected you, admired you–that he considered you a true friend–was only making things harder for him now, it was a night he wouldn’t trade for anything. And now, Cloud wanted to get home to find you there waiting for him, wanted to know you were away from Rufus, that no one was making you upset, or afraid...that no man had his hands all over you.

Standing there in the empty hallway, Cloud struggled to parse the dismayed feeling in his gut at the realization that there probably wouldn’t be another chance for you two to spend time together like that, now that Rufus was in town–guilt, and maybe even…regret? It would be risky to be seen too often in public together. But if the two of you somehow managed to complete this Odinforsaken mission and get back to the real world…what then? Not liking where that train of thought was taking him, with an impatient scoff, Cloud stabbed the elevator button again with his thumb–what the hell was the hold up? But after the doors finally opened and he stepped inside, he got his answer almost immediately. When he disembarked and stepped back into the crimson carpeted lobby, Cloud came out just behind a group of people making their way toward the exit, people he recognized instantly: the burly swagger of Chocobo Sam, a Honeygirl on each arm; the tall, lithe figure of Andrea conversing with Madam M, a third Honeygirl walking beside him. As the party turned left, preparing to walk back down the main street, Cloud wondered if he should follow, see if you had gone back to the Honeybee Inn. But as the group exited through the open doorway, he noticed a few stragglers had paused just outside the entrance, loitering on the main street.

Cloud’s breath hitched–it was you, on Rufus’s arm as he conversed with Chocobo Sam. He saw how you were shivering, how you pulled your shoulders in, your free arm wrapped around yourself in the evening air–you must have been cold in just your Honeygirl getup. He felt a flash of anger at Rufus for not noticing. But Cloud was frozen where he stood: he couldn’t go near you, certainly couldn’t speak to you, much as he wanted to get your attention. The last thing he could allow was for Rufus to discover you two were much closer than you were letting on: Rufus must have associated Cloud with Avalanche after his actions in the Shinra building, so his belief that you and he were no more than casual sexual partners was the only thing keeping you safe, and your mission intact–and Cloud needed to keep it that way. Not to mention the fact that the three of you were blocking the only way back to the outside, so there was little he could do but wait for you both to clear out.

And go to the Honeybee Inn? ...To our suite? Cloud couldn’t help how the thought burned him.

Clearly not much of a participant in whatever conversation Rufus and Sam were having, your eyes began to wander over the numerous people milling about after the Cup, until eventually, you noticed Cloud across the lobby. He saw your eyes light up when you recognized him, and it made his chest feel strangely tight. As you gazed at each other from across the room, you shot him a small smile–but it was wistful, rather than joyful. I wish I was over there, it said.

Holding your gaze, Cloud reached up to gently tug the lobe of his left ear–the one where his–your–earring rested. He gave you a small, solemn smile: Thank you, it said. Seeing the way the gesture cheered you slightly, made your pretty eyes go soft, Cloud felt a warmth he didn’t want to explain.

“Ey, there he is! The two-time champ!”

A sudden shout of a man somewhere in the crowd broke the spell that was keeping your eyes locked. Now that his presence had been broadcast, the people in the lobby began gathering around Cloud, cheering and throwing their confetti for him. Through the shifting sea of faces, he saw you instantly react by tugging on Rufus’s arm, dragging your free hand over the lapels of his coat as you took a step down the road. You were trying to get Rufus away before he noticed the commotion–even without using your materia, you were protecting him yet again. He could only watch Rufus drop his arm to encircle your waist, all too happy to heed your desire to move on. You turned your head to look over at Cloud just one last time, allowing him a glimpse of the worry and fear in your eyes that you couldn’t show anyone else.

Then Cloud watched you go–wrapped in the arm of the wolf–and the grating voice of Kotch echoed in his head: A lamb to the slaughter.

Chapter 35

Chapter Text

“Didn’t get enough at Delphine’s, hm?”

From your place seated across Cloud’s lap, you shot him a smirk that drove him mad–well, more mad than he already felt.

He had one arm wrapped around your middle, hand gripping your waist tight as he held you close. In the dim light from the lampposts around the perimeter of Evergreen Park that managed to shine through the car windows, the satin of your dark blue evening gown shone like water in the moonlight, slid with ease over every curve and crease in sight. It had happened in a blur: one moment you two had been laughing, riding the high of your harrowing escape from the bandits in the expressway; then one high morphed into another, and Cloud had met your eye again, drawn to the wanton gleam in them like a moth to a flame–and the next he was hauling you across the bench seat, your knees slightly bent to fit the cramped space as you lay half curled, half draped across his lap, just as you had been back in Delphine’s club room–on his chair–

Cloud shot you a smirk, equally playful: “Maybe I didn’t.”

One hand resting on his chest, with the other you gently dragged your fingers down the lapel on his suit–like his coat, in the lobby–With a rumbling noise low in his throat, Cloud took you by the waist again, maybe with a little too much force–turned you so you sat square on his lap, your knees between his knees. He heard the breathy exhale you let out, quickly becoming intoxicated with all the little noises you made. “Cloud–” you gasped, “what–”

His eyes were lost on your figure, snugly wrapped in the shimmering satin, the lines of your back and waist, the flare to your hips–your rear nestled so nicely against him–his eyes nearly fluttered closed from the heavenly pressure of you making the pressure in his pants even more impossible to ignore. One of the pins holding your hair in its ornate updo suddenly glinted in the low light, and when he pulled it free, your hair came tumbling loose. Then Cloud moved your hair to one shoulder so he could lean his head forward to your ear: “You want more?”

When you nodded, a needy hum the only answer you could make, he brought the hand from your shoulder to the nape of your neck. He already knew he’d find it there, thanks to Madam M: “oh, and don’t bother with the ties on the side of the dress–it has a zipper down the back.” Cloud wished he could sit back more, get a better view–but you both were crowding the front bench of the covered convertible as it was. Your perfume had to be long gone by now, but with his enhanced senses, it still lingered on your skin, tinged the tang of your sweat, adding to the invisible haze in the near nonexistent gap between your bodies. One hand tight on your waist to anchor you, Cloud eased the zipper down with the other just a few inches, both sides of the neckline slowly parting, exposing the notches of your vertebrae. Getting lost in it all, drowning in his desire, he found himself leaning forward to nuzzle his nose to the base of your jaw, just behind your ear. Your head tipped sideways, offering yourself to him, only him–

I plan to keep you all to myself.

Along with the smug voice, a flash of a hand pawing up your fishnets under glaring lights flared behind his eyes, and with a growl, you gasped when Cloud’s hand landed on your knee hard enough to emit a slapping noise on your skin, gripping you tight as his clenched fingers dragged their way toward your hips. With his other he went back to the zipper, pulling it down, down, down. The higher his other hand climbed, your back arched, your bare shoulder blades just visible through the open back of the dress jutting into sharp relief, your hips squirming with want only adding to the pressure against his pelvis, and it was so hot he nearly growled again. He was so turned on it was getting hard to think straight.

Just as the zipper reached your waist, your hands flew up to press to your chest, preventing the dress from slipping down your shoulders completely. “W-Wait–” The sound of your breathy voice made Cloud freeze, only realizing now he was also panting, too. You turned your head slightly to address him over your shoulder. “Someone might see if you do that while I’m sitting up like this!”

Cloud nodded–not that you could see it. “Right.” Both his hands went to your waist, guiding you to turn again, your back facing the driver’s side this time. Then he brought one up to cup the nape of your neck. It was awkward in the cramped front of the car, but he managed to shift to a kneeling position, cradling your head as Cloud laid you flat on your back on the seat, your head near the steering wheel now. The high back of the bench coupled with the doors and dashboard meant you were sheltered from view–this was a show he didn’t want anyone else to see. “Better?” he asked when you were settled, his rough voice barely above a murmur as he leaned over you. Gazing up at him with those pretty eyes, even more mesmerizing under the heavy makeup you had on, you nodded.

Cloud sat back to rest on his knees, hunched over to keep him from hitting his head on the convertible’s roof cover. He took you in, laid out in front of him, eyes roaming over you, wide with awe. Your hair loose from all the pins of your updo, it now spilled over the seat around you. Your arms lifted to rest on either side of your head, now the unzipped neckline of the dress cut a dark line across your collarbones, exposing the gentle curve of your neck, just the top of the swell of your breasts spilling above the fabric pooled around your shoulders. With each labored rise and fall of your chest as you panted, your breasts strained against the snug satin, the hard peaks of your nipples evident beneath making him feel feral with want. It would be so easy to hook his fingers on the fabric right at your sternum–all it would take was a gentle pull down, and you’d be bare for him…

His face flushed hot when Cloud finally remembered to bring his gaze back up to your eyes, finding another smirk waiting on your equally ruddy face. “You’re…You’re so–” Before, he’d been panting because you two had been laughing so hard–now it was because he was so close to everything he wanted–so close to having you. His cheeks grew even redder as he struggled to form any coherent thought.

He saw your grin widen when he couldn’t put his wonder into words, but it was soft, adoring: I know you, it said. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

Starting to think you really do.

And suddenly, he couldn’t stand it a moment longer–that was why he was doing this in the damn car in the first place: Cloud didn’t want to wait to hand it off to Johnny, to walk all the way home first. He wanted you right here, and he needed you right now.

Don’t want to wait around like a jackass while he’s got his hands all over–

With another growl Cloud folded himself over you, hands slamming down on either side of your head as he bracketed you, and it caused you to let out another stuttering gasp of want. As he shifted forward, he noticed how you automatically parted your legs for him. Cupping the back of your knee, he lifted and bent your leg until your foot was resting on the seat beside him. Then his hand began snaking up the slit in the skirt of your dress, riding up your inner thigh. Cloud was mesmerized watching the dark blue satin rippling like liquid in the dim light. Since he was in his own suit from Madam M, he wasn’t wearing his leather gloves, so as he dragged his hand up and up, palm flat, only the gossamer nylon of your stocking was keeping him from your flesh, each inch he climbed toward your center only making the view even more exquisite. Soon your entire leg was exposed, the black lace wicked against your skin, the gown hiked up to your hip.

“Come here, please–” you gasped suddenly, a broken whine. He blanched when he felt a slight tug on his neck tie as you indicated you wanted him to lower himself down to you–and he was happy to comply. Staring into your eyes again, your face was inches from his, the sounds of both your labored breathing hot on his skin, harsh in his ears. “Gods, I can’t take it anymore–!” you keened. Cloud hissed, grimacing like he was in pain when he felt your hands reach for his belt, the frantic clinking sounds of you working and tugging at the buckle somehow making him even harder. The fact you were going to do it right here, in someone else’s car for Odin’s sake, all your clothes on, everything only shifted aside or pulled down enough to perform the act, it was so hot, so dirty–the fact you wanted it too, wanted it bad, wanted him–Cloud’s eyes fell to your lips, parted and perfect, and he eagerly lunged for them–

"Ah!"

With a strained hiss, Cloud’s shoulders nearly hit his ears when all his muscles seized up, eyes screwing shut as the water went cold.

Now he was back home from the Corneo Cup, the shower was necessary after the long, grueling night–but he hadn’t planned for it to get that hot. He must’ve been more frustrated by the fighting than he’d realized…Cloud forced himself to remain beneath the frigid stream while the cold shower did its job–it didn’t take long. Then he let out a clipped exhale when he finally cut the water. Breathing still labored, he found himself staring at the checkerboard of small linoleum tiles beneath his feet, still feeling off-balance, unable to work out the tension roiling in his gut.

What the hell was Barret thinking?

Cloud was sitting on the edge of your shared bed, facing the front door, cursing Barret for what must have been the tenth time that night, and the hundredth time since he’d come to Wall Market. After the crowds had dissipated and he was able to make his way back to the apartment, Cloud decided to wait up for you. It wasn’t a tough decision: he was so restless, it’s not like he would have been able to sleep anyway. It had been around 1:30 when he’d gotten home, and even after he’d showered and changed into a clean pair of clothes, the apartment was empty when he emerged from the bathroom. He’d been here ever since: sitting on the bed, bent over his elbows braced on his knees, lost in thought, only the soft sound of his foot occasionally tapping in impatience intruding on the infuriating quiet.

He looked over at the clock yet again. 2:42. For all Cloud knew, you were still with Rufus–only now, you probably didn’t have the presence of others to shield you from him. Feeling like a caged animal, Cloud wanted to slash something with his sword, to do something to get the agitation out of his system. He jolted when the doorknob turned, and the door cracked open–finally. But what Cloud saw next only made him feel even more feral.

As you came stumbling into the room, it was immediately apparent it wasn’t just your ineptness with high heels making you shaky on your feet. It seemed you’d crept in hoping Cloud would already be asleep, and thus, wouldn’t see you in the state you were in–but you’d never stood a chance. When you stepped into the dim lamplight, Cloud’s eyes ransacked you with horror: your hair was a mess, matted down in some places and roughed up in others. Your makeup was smudged, your lipstick smeared so much it was nearly gone. There was a long tear in the fishnet stocking on your right thigh, and the ruffled collar of your Honeygirl costume was missing entirely–that meant Cloud could see where your lipstick had really got to: the muted red pigment trailed in blotches down your neck, over your chest, and even along the line of exposed skin at the gash in your fishnets.

Cloud surged to his feet, mouth hanging open dumbly. Your lower lip began to tremble, and something lurched in his chest. You dashed to the bathroom and shut the door before Cloud could think of anything to say. Without thinking it through, he found himself slowly walking over to the door. He tentatively knocked on it with his knuckles, but was met with only silence. If you’d asked Cloud later why he decided to open the door anyway, he wouldn’t be able to tell you–but he did.

When he stepped inside the tiny bathroom, he found you curled up on the floor, back resting against the wooden counter that housed the sink, knees brought up to your chest. The moment Cloud entered the bathroom, you looked up in surprise, like you hadn’t expected him to actually come in, even though you hadn’t locked him out. You hadn’t even attempted to clean yourself up. Softly shutting the door behind him, he knelt down in front of you. As he sank to your level, you furiously wiped at your eyes, as if you wanted to hide the fact that you’d obviously just been crying. Cloud reached for the box of tissues on the counter, pulling out one to hand to you. It was hard to tell who was more spooked–you, or him. Seeing you up close was even worse. Your eyes were red and puffy, your mascara now running in faded lines down your cheeks. The red marks down your neck suddenly reminded Cloud of the bruises you’d suffered at the hands of Damian, and the connection made him feel sick–two times too many. When you uncurled one of your arms from where it was wrapped around yourself to take the tissue, Cloud’s eyes snapped to the lipstick blotches now visible on the swell of your breasts, only half concealed beneath the edge of your leotard, the red harsh against your skin. Rufus had pulled down–the sight burned Cloud alive.

“I didn’t know kissing could feel so–” you rasped suddenly, the glassy look in your eyes telling Cloud your mind was far away. You reached up to gently touch your upper lip, wincing as though the recollection of the most recent contact there pained you. Cloud’s face contorted into something between a snarl and a grimace. What could he do–what the hell was he supposed to do?

“…Are you okay?” He felt stupid for asking: even a blind man could see you were far from alright. But he didn’t know where else to start.

Still not meeting his gaze, you stared down at the crumpled up tissue in your hands. “He didn’t…he didn’t hurt me, if that’s what you mean. Nothing really happened. We…we didn’t–” But before Cloud could feel any relief from that Pyrrhic victory, you murmured, “He didn’t have a condom–that’s why he stopped, before…” You trailed off, eyes screwing shut at what you hadn't said.

Cloud’s hand clenched into a fist, his brow furrowed deep. Screw intel–he would just kill Rufus. If he even had a soul, sending it to the Lifestream would be a worthier contribution to the cause anyway. But just as quickly as his anger had flared up, it cooled back down when Cloud heard you sniffle. His head ducked sharply to the side, and he let out a frustrated hiss as he glared at the floor, feeling completely lost. Barret had sent him on this Odinforsaken mission to look after you–some job he was doing. Here you were, disheveled and distraught, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped protectively around yourself, unable to look Cloud in the eye. He’d been around you long enough to know you were as fragile as glass, doing your best to hold yourself together. He was still crouched in close to you, one arm braced next to your head, bracketing you with his body.

It wasn’t thought–only reflex: Cloud slowly reached a hand forward, and wiped the tears from your cheeks with the backs of his knuckles, just barely brushing over your skin. But rather than soothing you, the gesture seemed to have the opposite effect: at Cloud’s touch, your eyes crimped shut, lower lip beginning to tremble anew, and fresh tears leaked down your face. He quickly pulled back–nice going, Strife…Why could he never get this stuff right? This was all getting to be too much for him. Maybe she just needs some space... He decided he should go, leave you to cry it out alone–then you let your head fall forward, onto his chest.

Cloud’s body went rigid, and his breath hitched. It registered in the back of his mind that this was hardly a good idea if his goal was to keep his distance from you–but the quiet sounds of your sobbing made him ache. So Cloud just let you fist your hands in his sweater, felt the fabric grow warm and damp as you curled into him and cried. He kept one hand still braced on the sink counter, while the other hung uselessly at his side. His eyes darted around as he remained frozen in a crouch in front of you, thoroughly spooked.

Cloud didn’t know how long he stayed there until you finally pulled back, eyes still downcast. When was the last time you’d looked at him? “Just…just give me a minute, okay?” you murmured. He nodded, rising and shutting the bathroom door softly behind him as he left you to compose yourself. Cloud sat on the edge of the bed, facing the bathroom–how could he do anything but wait for you to come out? When you finally did, your makeup had been removed (from your face and your body), and you’d changed into your pajama shorts and t-shirt. Unable to pull your puffy eyes from the floor, you crossed to the closet to hang up your damaged uniform, your back to Cloud.

“I’m calling Barret tomorrow,” he growled, trying to keep his voice level. “The mission is off–I’m taking you home.”

Your hands stilled. With your back still to him, you shook your head. Why can’t you just look at me?

“It’s too dangerous for you–there’s no way I can just stand by and leave you to that monster. Barret never should have put you up to this!” Try as he might, he was growing more angry with every word.

When you finally turned around, your eyes were still pained–but they were no longer red, either. “I just need to see him one more time.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“–While he was…with me,” you pressed on, wincing at those last two words, “I figured out how I can get the information from him.” Cloud’s response was to let out an agitated scoff. “His PHS–” you explained. “It’s got a port like the old standard-issue phones they used to give to SOLDIERs. I remember Jessie was able to make a device that could download files from those phones undetected. If Barret or Tifa could get it to me before next Monday…” you tucked a frazzled lock of hair behind your ear–one of your absentminded ticks, he registered somewhere in his mind–“then I can complete the mission.”

Cloud said your name gently before he answered, “You were lucky you got away tonight. Next time, there won’t be anything stopping him from–” He couldn’t finish the thought.

“I know…We’ll have to think of something. But I can’t give up now. Not when we’re so close…”

“Are you sure?”

You finally, finally, pulled your gaze up to his. Somehow, even just that brought him some relief. You just stared into his eyes for a moment, really thinking it over. Then you gave him a small nod. Cloud wanted to protest–but if you were willing to keep going, even after what you’d just been through, who was he to stand in your way? He let out a sharp exhale, forced his shoulders to relax, though his fisted hands would not comply. “…Alright.”

With that, you circled the bed to crawl under the covers on your side. But Cloud didn’t move, just sat there on top of the blankets, hands still clenched into fists on his knees, glaring at the floor as he felt you climb into bed. After a few silent moments, when still he wouldn’t move, he heard your hesitant murmur from behind his back. “…Cloud?”

It took him a few moments to respond, his voice hard and quiet. “…I should have been there.”

There was another pause before he continued. “You saved me. And I…I failed you.” Silence filled the room for a handful of heartbeats.

Then Cloud grunted under his breath when he felt the pressure of your hand coming to rest on his shoulder. He twisted back to look at you. In the dim light of the single lamp, he found you propped on one elbow, your features tight with emotion, staring up at him with a vulnerability in your eyes that surely mirrored his own.

You gently shook your head, your voice as soft as your touch:

“Never.”

Chapter 36

Chapter Text

“You look like you need all the help you can get.”

A small smile pulled at the corner of Cloud’s mouth as he remembered your sleep-mussed hair, the hazy surprise and confusion in your bleary eyes as you’d hauled yourself upright and reached for the coffee he offered to you, that first time he’d come back with it in hand early in the morning–over three weeks ago, now.

“I’m too tired to be offended by that,” you’d deadpanned, squinting in the light coming in through the closed blinds.

“You sure you just wanted the cream and sugar?” Cloud had asked. “Not something with a weird name and a bunch of extra stuff in it girls like to get?”

You’d smiled a sleepy smile that shouldn’t have looked as endearing as it did. “Nurses survive on coffee–but only sh*tty breakroom coffee.”

“–That’ll be ten gil.”

Cloud blinked hard, roused by the voice of the teenage boy running the coffee cart. Picking up the two coffees and the bagel, after throwing in an extra gil for the tip, he held a drink in each hand as turned to head back to the apartment, where there was a 50% chance at best you were awake yet–well, probably even lower, ever since…

He grimaced as the memory of you stumbling through the door after the Corneo Cup surged into his mind yet again. He vividly remembered your glassy expression, disheveled in mind and body after being forced to spend an evening alone with Rufus–and hopelessly far away from Cloud. How many days ago was that? Today made six. Had it only been a week? None of the other ones had felt so long…

Cloud knew better than anyone the unreasonable amounts of discomfort and harassment you’d endured as an unavoidable byproduct of the mission–he’d had to sit by and watch firsthand, a nightly performance he’d come to loathe. It had taken him a long time to notice how resilient you’d been in the face of it: he’d always been focused on your tears, your distress–but never how you always managed to wipe them away and keep pushing forward. It’s why he’d been so surprised–and impressed–when you’d rejected Cloud’s demands to abandon the whole thing and go home–twice now. But even though you’d done so after the Corneo Cup, something about that incident was different. Since that night with Rufus, Cloud could see that you were…deflated. It was overt, wasn’t dramatic or provocative–that wasn’t your style. It was by the constant tightness in your features; the way you’d withdrawn into your head, no longer as animated and cheery like you always were, harder to get you to smile, or give him one of your clever quips he’d come to like so much. It was how your bright, pretty eyes were just a bit…dim. He could tell that night–and the gloomy prospect of having to repeat it–weighed heavy on your mind, not that Cloud could blame you. Rufus had shaken you–shaken both of you–badly. Cloud knew it was far more upsetting for you, but…even all these days later, it was still hard for him to recall that night without feeling nauseous. And though you’d reassured him it wasn’t justified, the longer you remained like this, the guilt eating away at him just got worse. He’d tried his best, back there in the bathroom, but he clearly hadn’t done a very good job comforting you–the last six days had proven that.

But with all those prior difficulties, Cloud had always been able to figure out what you needed–he’d always been able to help. And if nothing else, your strong spirit had meant you’d bounce back on your own in no time. But this time, he was at a loss. There was nothing he hated more than feeling useless, and Cloud only felt more so each day he woke up to find you still in low spirits. It made him feel agitated, restless. It wasn’t until you’d changed that he realized he’d gotten used to the way you were–liked how you were with him. He wanted you to be you again–but what could he do?

Just as he began to cross the main square, heading for the street that would lead him back home, a crowd of people flocking together in the open area just outside the main entrance to Wall Market caught Cloud’s eye, their excited chatter at whatever they were looking at grudgingly piquing his interest. Careful to guard the coffees in his hand from the people jostling him as they pushed past him to join the throng, he tried to covertly peer through the gathering to see what the buzz was about, without much success.

“Here for one weekend only! Come one, come all! Hope to see you here again tonight, sir!” A middle aged man seemed to appear out of nowhere beside Cloud, clearly trying to work the crowd as he distributed papers from the stack in his hand. As he spoke, he thrust one into Cloud’s chest, which he had to pin there with one coffee-laden hand to keep it from falling as the barker melted into the assemblage once more. He managed to pinch the paper with his thumb so he could hold it and the coffee as he read the flyer. Then, after folding it up and stashing it in his pocket, Cloud turned and made his way back toward Wall Market, the seed of a plan already taking root in his mind.

“You, uh…You wanna do anything tonight?”

Completely forsaking the book you hadn’t really been reading, when you heard Cloud’s hesitant question as you sat in the armchair across the room, you couldn’t help staring up at him where he reclined on the bed with absolute shock.

It wasn’t that you two never did things: but apart from debating where to go for dinner, any non work-related outings were always initiated by you. They usually consisted of wandering the streets, poking into shops, no real goal in mind–it was about passing the hours until another shift loomed. Though as you two had spent more time here–and more of that time together–you looked forward to it more and more. But given the anxiety of an audition possibly taking place at the Mansion in the near future (a small anxiety admittedly, now you had Cloud at your side these days), and the increased stakes of the mission entering its final phase, you two had come to an unspoken understanding that it was better to venture out less, and only when you knew Rufus would be gone.

I thought he’d be gone the night of the Cup…The thought made your eyes fall to your lap, your faraway gaze landing on the book you hadn’t been paying attention to anyway. Just because you’d chosen to see the mission through–to see Rufus again–didn’t mean you were looking forward to it. The memories from your night in the suite together–his cold, selfish eyes on you, the feel of his oppressive hands all over you, his lips on your lips, on your skin, taking and taking…nothing had really happened, no–but it was the threat of the maybe that you just couldn’t shake: the weight of dread on your chest when he’d closed the door behind the two of you in the private suite, and you’d known there was no way out that wouldn’t blow your cover–and there was no Cloud to make it alright, the one person who made everything alright. You’d gotten so used to having him around that you didn’t realize how much his presence bolstered you–how alone and exposed you felt without him.

And there was something about the prolonged time under strain that made this incident harder to handle than all the others: it was the accumulation of so many difficult nights–though this was by far the worst–that made Rufus’s invasion of you just a bit too hard to bear. You’d thought you’d grown a thicker skin after so many months of handling unpleasant interactions at work, but Rufus had shown it wasn’t as thick as you’d hoped. In the days since the Cup, you’d felt worn down, listless and uncomfortable in your own skin. No one had ever tried to take off your clothes before–you’d never been so exposed on the outside while being so completely concealed from your real self on the inside: you’d never known nakedness to not mean honesty. You were spending so much time pretending to be another girl, one who looked exactly like you, who shared your name, your smile, who had repurposed them for her own ends; She was the mask you wore, the act you performed, the puppeteer pulling your strings. Every person you interacted with here, you showed a different face, a slightly different version, a costume with different colors–even Cloud. It had been taxing enough when it was only to dupe some random man at the bar for a few hours: now your act was the difference between life and death, and not just for you. But underneath the uniform Rufus had pulled down to your hips, the fishnets he’d so badly wanted to take off, underneath the hungry stares and sexy dances, the constant lies uttered with flirtatious smiles, where were you?

The sound of Cloud hesitantly calling your name made you blink hard. You’d sort of zoned out and forgotten he’d asked you a question–it certainly wasn’t the first time this week. Pulling your gaze up, you found him searching your face, brow furrowed. It took you a second to assemble a reply, unable to articulate the muddy feelings inside you, unwilling to burden him with the knowledge Rufus was still bothering you: you didn’t want to seem frail in his eyes, and you didn’t want to exacerbate the misplaced guilt you knew he carried over the episode. Besides, even mustering the desire to venture out of the cramped little apartment for food just didn’t appeal. “I-I don’t know, Cloud…it’s a bit early for dinner, a-and I’m not really hungry tonight anyway. Get whatever you want for yourself.” There was a pause then, his eyes still on you. You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, eyes darting to your lap again.

“…I wasn’t talking about food,” Cloud began again, voice gentle. “You don’t work tonight–and I’m sick of staring at my face in the mirror.” You saw the small smile he gave you from where he sat propped up in bed, clearly a fish for a comeback, the hope his would bring one to yours. Your lips formed the correct expression, but your eyes weren’t in it. Then you swallowed, your mind beginning to form some sort of deflection–maybe asking him to go the pharmacy to top up your bandage supply would give him something to do–but before you could say anything, Cloud pushed on. “How ‘bout we just walk around a bit. We can head back once the sun goes down, if you want.”

Now it was your turn to study him–what would he get out of walking around?–but you found yourself too tired to put up further resistance. “...Alright.” By the time you crossed the room and returned your book to the drawer in your bedside table, Cloud was already by the door, keys in hand, waiting expectantly for you. As always, he held the door open as you walked through it, and then you were back out in Wall Market, the warm afternoon light just beginning to cast the honey-gold sheen of sunset on the rooftops. Conversation was sparse, partly due to Cloud’s nature, partly because you weren’t making much effort to talk. Even his wry remarks about people who passed by, or strange items in the shop windows or streetside stalls weren’t quite enough to pull you out of your head–that’s why it took you so long to figure out Cloud wasn’t wandering as aimlessly and he let you believe.

You two had made your way to the small open market on the outskirts of town, just past Madam M’s parlor. He’d kept close behind you as you perused the carts and stalls, more going through the motions than actually taking any interest in the wares. When you’d had enough, Cloud fell back into step beside you when you turned back toward town. You made to go right–until the soft sound of someone clearing his throat behind you made you pause. When you looked over your shoulder, Cloud was gazing at you expectantly. Then he flicked his head forward, indicating he wanted to keep going straight. What was going on with him tonight? Your brows pinched in a momentary flash of confusion, but you acquiesced to his wishes. It took a few more intersections for you to realize he did have some sort of route in mind, only revealed in his gentle, wordless corrections when you unknowingly strayed from it. You had gotten a better sense of Wall Market after two months here, but in your preoccupied muddle, you weren’t expending the mental energy to keep track of where you were, trusting Cloud to guide you.

So when the familiar sight of the open plaza outside the Wall Market–the area between the south entrance and Sam’s chocobo ranch–suddenly sprawled before you, it jarred you from your reverie. But it wasn’t totally familiar–the large, white canvas sign towering over you where it stretched between two tall poles gave it away, painted in red letters: Brynn’s Traveling Carnival. The space was dotted with similar tall poles, each acting as nodes where long lines of string lights stretched in a haphazard web overhead, bathing the entire space in a soft, white-yellow light. Various wooden booths and stalls ringed the area, with some offering exotic foods, others toys and prizes, and others games to play. Whereas this open area was pretty much empty and quiet at all other times, now the plaza was bursting with people, from groups of friends to couples to even families with children running around, filling the space with the happy burbling of chatter and laughter.

“You wanna check it out?” You couldn’t help how your gaze flicked to Cloud where he stood beside you, watching you intently: this was the place he had in mind? When he saw the incredulity in your furrowed brow, he just tilted his head toward the carnival, a restatement of the proposition.

Following his gesture, you surveyed the merry scene before you. It somehow made you feel even more withdrawn. “I don’t know if I’m up for games…besides, I didn’t bring any gil with me. I’ll just hang back, and you can if you–”

“Don’t worry about that–I’ve got some on me.” When you didn’t reply, Cloud seemed to sense your reluctance. “C’mon–just a few minutes. If it’s lame, we can go for a pizza, okay?” Finally, you nodded, and slowly waded into the plaza, eyeing each stall you passed. His arms folded across his chest, Cloud just walked wordlessly beside you.

At last, you came to a stop in front of one of the games: Whack-A-Moogle. When you turned to Cloud, he simply handed you the two gil you needed to feed into the slot on the machine to get it to fire up. Then you reached for the mallet with its smooth wooden handle and comically sized red leather head, eyes fixed intently on the grid of holes in front of you. The first time the flash of red and white of a Moogle popping out of a hole appeared at the top right corner, you weren’t nearly fast enough to catch it: by the time your mallet jerked forward even a few inches, the plushie creature was gone. Placing your focus on a simple, singular task perked you up a bit, your slow reflexes frustrating you enough to clear some of the fog in your mind. After two more near hits, when a Moogle rose up from the hole in the dead center of the grid, you bashed it square on its snout with a resounding thunk! and you heard the electronic ping from the machine as it tallied your points. Why did that feel so good? Now you weren’t giving your all out of frustration–it was the sense of accomplishment with each successful strike, and the release it gave you, the unfettered chance to act without thinking, to just wind up and hit something.

You weren’t quite smiling when the timer dinged and the machine churned out a chain of 50 tickets for you to rip from the roll, but there was a brightness in your eyes that hadn’t been there before. When you turned back to Cloud, he was already watching you, his arms still folded–you’d almost forgotten he was watching you. “Not bad,” he remarked. Then, with a wry smile: “Anyone I know?”

Rufus’s ice blue eyes peering over you flashed in your mind, and the light in yours dimmed. Cloud grimaced as he seemed to realize instantly he’d messed up. Trying not to make him feel bad for an honest effort, you gave him a small, pinched smile. “Maybe I see why you enjoy the Colosseum a little bit–never knew hitting things could feel kind of nice.” As if trying to be more careful with you, Cloud grunted in amused agreement, but didn’t comment. “You wanna give it a go?” you continued, offering him the mallet. He shook his head, but you didn’t mind–you knew Cloud well enough to expect he’d never take part in something like a carnival.

With that, you moved on, continuing your slow inspection of each attraction you passed by. A few stalls down you stopped in front of a booth with a mosaic of different colored balloons covering the far wall, inflated to various sizes. The man running the booth explained the simple rules: the smaller the balloon, the more points you got for hitting it: the yellow balloons counted for the fewest points, blue for more points, and red the most points. Still not sure you wanted to try it, you asked, “What would I use to–”

But when the man flicked his head to the jar of darts on the far end of the counter, your eyes went wide. You reflexively turned to Cloud, and the smirk he gave you told you he also knew you’d be dying to play this one. At the carnie’s signal, you surged toward the jar, plucking a dart and rolling it in your grip to gauge the weight of it. Then you lined up, sights aimed at a blue balloon dead straight in front of you: with a quick flick you loosed the dart, and the balloon exploded with a sharp pop! And you smiled: you had this game in the bag. Not even needing to look down to the jar to claim each dart, with near mechanical efficiency you aimed for every red balloon in the spread–and you didn’t miss a single one. From your peripheral, you could see Cloud’s eyes following every dart once it left your hand, then returning to you for the next throw, his head snapping back and forth, back and forth, the spikes of his hair wavering rhythmically to the motion. You found it strangely cute. Once you’d popped all the red balloons, you moved on to the blue, but only managed a handful before the carnie yelled out: “Time!” and you had to stop.

“Let’s see…all thirteen red, five blue…” the man said as he tallied up your score. “You just earned yourself seven hundred tickets, missy! You sure got an arm on ya!” he finished with a chuckle as he retrieved a thick roll of tickets from beneath the counter and began unwinding your winnings.

When you finally looked back at Cloud, you found his eyes already on you. “You wanna try?”

He shook his head, a small, wry smile on his face. “I don’t pick fights I can’t win.”

You shot back with a smile, “Ever the tactician.”

“Someone’s gotta be–not like it’s gonna be Barret.” You let out a short, amused hum, the closest to a laugh you’d come in days. After the carnie handed you your winnings, the two of you fell into step beside each other again as you moved on.

“It’s almost scary, how easy you make it look–how did you get so good, anyway?” Cloud asked suddenly, eyes flicking down to the massive strip of tickets wound around your left hand.

“I’d never even seen a dartboard until…three years ago? That was when Marle introduced me to Tifa–she was an old friend of my mom, Marle. Tifa was still only an employee at Seventh Heaven back then, not the co-owner. I started visiting while she worked, and we’d go back and hang out at her place when she got off. That’s how I met her other friends, spending weekends at the bar–didn’t know almost all of them were Avalanche at the time,” you chuckled, slipping back into the memories. “The bar had a tournament every Friday night, just like Tifa used to, before–” you cut off. Before the plate fell. Then you shrugged. “Wasn’t some big strategy: I just played whenever I had a chance, kept going up against whoever was game. Especially Wedge–I have no idea how he was so good! I was so happy the first time I beat him–I was sick of having to buy the next round of drinks for everyone. Money wasn’t exactly flowing at the time.” You smiled again. “I remember Biggs always used to give me pointers–even though I was always way better than him!” you chuckled. “You know how seriously he took...well, everything!”

Cloud nodded in understanding, a small smile on his face, too. “Leave it to Biggs to treat a game of darts like defusing a bomb.”

“He’d stand right next to me, square up to the board, and show me the form-put up his arm, adjust his elbow and all that, point between my eyes and the target: ‘it’s all in the wrist.’” You let out a small giggle at your poor imitation of Biggs’ raspy voice and determined tone. “That was what he always said, totally serious: ‘it’s all in the wrist.’”

The light of the happy memories warmed you at first: but the longer you remained lost in them, you grew cold again. “Tifa kept the tradition going when you guys moved to Sector 3, as I’m sure you know,” you murmured. Cloud frequented the new Seventh Heaven almost as much as you did–you’d never seen him actually participate in the darts matches, but the bar was small, and from his usual vantage point in the far corner at the back of the L-shaped counter, it was impossible he hadn’t noticed. “But with so many fewer people, it just…never quite felt the same.” Your eyes dropped to the cobblestones. “It’s weird what you miss, isn’t it? What you…what you took for granted.”

“Yeah.” Cloud’s tone was equally solemn. You knew he did know, better than most.

The tide of pleasant feelings you’d been riding, a slight distraction from your melancholy, ebbed, and without really meaning to, you slowed to a stop. Your eyes fell, and you wrapped your hands around your forearms, holding yourself. “Maybe we should just head home. I’m just…I’m just not–”

“How ‘bout we have a friendly competition?” Cloud remarked suddenly. It pulled your gaze from the ground. “Say we pool our tickets at the end–loser has to give the winner the prize. You in?”

After studying his steady gaze for a few moments, mulling it over, you nodded. “Okay–to start, how ‘bout you pick the game this time.”

You watched Cloud scan the area before his gaze landed on a booth just up ahead–some sort of sharp shooter, from the looks of it. There were two black guns laid across the wooden counter, and some sort of conveyor belt at the back of the booth, dotted with targets of various sizes. The basic idea seemed to be that as the belt moved the targets from right to left, it was a free-for-all shootout to see who could score the most points. Once Cloud had forked over the ten gil and you two picked up your guns, you peered down the barrel of yours, noticing the bright pink splotches around the rim. “Paintball guns?”

But then the buzzer dinged, and with a groan, the rickety conveyor loop jerked to life, the targets making a rapid journey across the back wall. Your gaze snapped to your right when Cloud instantly locked into a perfect marksman’s posture, the butt of the gun propped against his shoulder, one hand supporting the barrel from underneath as he peered into the scope. The recoil from his first shot barely phased him–you startled at the fierce pop! of the paintball landing a perfect bullseye on the target across from him in an explosion of green pigment. What in the name of–?! Scrambling to not fall behind, you tried your best to imitate Cloud’s stance. You winced when the recoil from your first shot nearly sent the gun pointing toward the ceiling, and the paintball nearly missed the target you’d been aiming for altogether. Just as you started to get a bit of a feel for it, the two minute timer rang out in no time. While you’d managed to not make a complete fool of yourself, Cloud had racked up 800 tickets, while you managed only 200.

As you two walked away, Cloud winding up his ticket roll with a pleased expression on his face, you couldn’t help how you gaped at him. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?” you asked incredulously. “I thought SOLDIERs only used swords!” You’d only ever seen lower level Shinra infantrymen carrying around guns and blasters.

Cloud shrugged. “The entrance exam requires basic combat training–must have included some time with firearms.” A lot of time, apparently. Then he flashed you a wry smile. “Time you’ve clearly never had. Barret never teach you?”

Your mouth fell open, playfully affronted at his jibe. “If you remember, I happen to be a nurse: which means I have a strict ‘no-gun’ policy!” you finished with a smile. Cloud chuckled in wry amusem*nt.

When you came to a stop in front of another booth, so did Cloud. “Alright–how about one more?” you asked, flicking your head back to indicate your choice. “Then we’ll pick a prize and get outta here–I’m kind of in the mood for some pizza.” You hadn’t realized your appetite had returned, but now, sitting down for a meal sounded awfully nice–maybe even a drink or two.

Cloud’s gaze moved over your shoulder, studying the final game you’d selected. It was a ring toss competition, a large wooden board slanting up from the floor at an angle, higher at the back than the front, covered in a forest of wooden pegs, some longer or shorter than others to alter the difficulty. “Seems like an even match.” Which was in part why you’d picked it: so neither of you would feel you’d chosen a game that catered to the other’s particular strengths.

But once you approached the counter, you noticed there was one peg fixed to the back wall itself, painted red, pointing forward at a perfect horizontal angle. Looking to the carnie counting up the six gil Cloud had just handed him, you pointed to the lone peg and asked, “What’s up with that one?”

The man followed your gaze to the back wall. “That’s the hardest one to stick–the ring’ll slide off almost every time. If ya can manage to land a ring on that one, you get an extra 300 points.” You considered the strategy: back in the darts game, you’d prioritized the red balloons first because they awarded more points in the same amount of time. But would it be worth it to pursue such a high risk, high reward strategy this time around? You decided against it. Then you and Cloud once again took up places beside one another, each with a single wooden rod jutting from the counter in front of you, holding a large stack of thin metal rings. The carnie called out, “Start!” and the two of you began.

To your surprise, this one came rather easy to you: sticking to the pegs nearer the bottom, you simply relied on muscle memory to hit the ones that would award you decent, it not stellar, point values with quick, repetitive tosses. Cloud, on the other hand, seemed to be struggling a bit: he kept tossing the rings with too much force, causing them to spin themselves off the pegs no matter which distance he aimed for.

Before you knew it, there was a smile stretched across your face, your eyes bright from the exhilaration. Then a giggle came bursting out of you. “You’re going down!” A moment later you let out a delighted squeal when Cloud suddenly shouldered into your space, stepped between you and the counter and grabbed three of the rings from your stack before moving back to his spot. “Oh, we’re playing dirty now, are we?!” you exclaimed.

“Never said I was a role model–” he shot back as he tossed all three stolen rings with a single flourish, clearly attempting a cool looking maneuver: you both watched how all three fanned out–and all three missed. “sh*t!” When you dissolved into giggles, a smile crept over his face, too. As the seconds ticked by, you managed to hold on to a comfortable lead. You opened your mouth to tease him again, sure victory was yours–

But just as the carnie barked out there were only ten seconds remaining, you noticed Cloud shift in your peripheral vision. You couldn’t help turning your head to watch him loose a ring at a far higher angle than the others. He was aiming for the red peg–the hail mary! When the ring hit the back wall, it spun wildly around the peg, giving off a rhythmic glinting of the metal as it whirled in place. You and Cloud were both frozen, watching to see what would happen. The momentum made the ring creep along the peg, forward, forward–he wasn’t going to be able to keep it on!

But then the ring slowed just enough to rattle back down and finally settle on the wall–an instant win. Cloud smiled a self-pleased smirk, pumping his fist in victory. You threw up your hands, let out an exaggerated cry of dismay, but when he looked over at you, your frustration melted away. “How did you do that?” you asked incredulously, a warm smile still etched on your face.

Shifting his weight to one hip, Cloud folded his arms, and with a flick of his head he shot you a wicked smirk. “S’all in the wrist.” But the co*ckiness softened when his remark made you laugh, warm and bright, and the two of you just held each other’s gaze for a moment, the bustle and activity of the carnival suddenly hazy and far away.

Now it was time to head over to the prize booth. Crossing to the far side of the square, both of you began unfurling your rolls of paper tickets as you neared the counter. “Okay, I’m at an even 1200,” you remarked. “What about you? Did that last game put you over the top?”

“With the 500 from the last game…I have 1300.”

“Well–fair’s fair!” you sighed, magnanimous in your defeat as Cloud handed you his pile of tickets. The two of you peered up at the sprawling display of prizes affixed to the back wall of the booth, ranging from stickers and pencils and packets of gum on the low end, to full sized replica swords, massive toys and stuffed animals, to pieces of jewelry, and even vinyl records on the high end.

Your eyes scanned the prizes as you spoke. “Okay–we’ve got 2500 total, which will get you pretty much anything you want. What’ll it be?” After a few more moments of scouring the prize wall, when you noticed Cloud didn’t answer, you turned to him–and saw the back of his spiky-haired head. “...Cloud?”

His back straightened, and his head whirled to look at you–he seemed to have been focused on something on his other side, but you couldn’t see what. Cloud quickly turned his attention to the prizes. Your brow furrowed: was he alright? Going back to studying the wall, you prepared to offer a few suggestions: there was a replica of a samurai sword you thought he would find particularly cool. You began to lift your hand to point at–

“I’ll take the chocobo.”

Your head snapped to the side, eyes blinking in confusion as you stared at Cloud next to you. If you understood him right, he was asking for the massive plushie of Fat Chocobo, in all its rotund yellow glory, perched high up on the wall, the hefty cost of 2250 tickets scrawled on the tag attached to one of its feet. Your mouth hung open slightly: he…he’d picked a stuffed animal? “You want…the–?”

Under your bewildered stare, you saw his cheeks flush, the ruddiness amplified under the warm lights hanging overhead. Cloud folded his arms, leaned his weight on one hip. He cleared his throat and nodded curtly, unable to meet your eye. You hadn’t pinned him down as the type, but, he was the winner, after all. After you got the attention of the teenage boy running the booth, you pointed to the Fat Chocobo. The young man had to get a step ladder to retrieve the stuffed animal. Once he’d handed it over, it was so large it was a bit much for even Cloud to get his arms securely around it. Try as you might, you were still finding it hard to believe what you were looking at: Cloud with both arms wrapped around the wide midsection of the massive stuffed chocobo. You never wanted Cloud to feel you were judging or ridiculing him, and that was true now–but you were struggling to hold back a snort. His rather stern expression could not have clashed more with the comically large plushie in his hands, its eyes black fabric slits as it grinned its peaceful, happy smile–in stark contrast to the furrowed scowl of its new owner.

“You gonna sleep with that between us? It’s already a tight squeeze as it is!” you ribbed, unable to help yourself. The image of waking up to find Cloud cuddling the portly stuffed animal next to you in bed made you giggle. You opened your mouth, gearing up to tease him further–

But Cloud turned his upper body away from you, toward his right side again, shifting on his feet before he loudly cleared his throat. Then, after a pause, he said a clipped, “Hey.”

Leaning sideways so you could peer around him, you finally realized what he’d been so fixated on earlier–or who. Because standing next to him on his other side was a little girl, no more than seven, her dark brown hair pulled into pigtails on either side of her head, white frills embellishing the pastel blue dress she was wearing. She was so short, her eyes barely made it over the edge of the wooden counter as she peered up at the wall with wonder.

When Cloud addressed her and she noticed the large plushie he was holding, the little girl’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Is that for me?!” she cried out. Cloud didn’t answer–he simply bent down enough to deposit the toy in her arms. It was so large in comparison to her, she nearly toppled backward. The beaming smile that came over her face revealed one of her front teeth was missing, making her somehow even more adorable. “Oh, thank you thank you thank you, mister!” Then the girl waddled away, somehow managing to hold the weight of the massive chocobo. Cloud stood up again, and from over his shoulder, the two of you watched the little girl hurry over to a young couple hanging back a few yards from the stall, who must have been the girl’s parents.

“Look, look! I got the chicky I wanted!” the girl beamed. “I didn’t have enough, but the nice man gave me his!” She was nearly bouncing from foot to foot in her excitement as she turned around to look at Cloud. The parents both followed her gaze to him, and called out their thanks. You couldn’t see his face from where you stood behind him–all you saw was the simple nod he gave them in return. The young girl, refusing to give up her new friend despite her difficulty carrying it, called out “Chicky! Chicky!!!” over and over as the little family melted into the crowd. You were so overcome by the cuteness–of the little girl, and of Cloud–you were just grinning like an idiot at the back of his spiky-haired head.

When he finally turned back to you, you couldn’t help the adoring warmth in your eyes as you gazed at him. He seemed uncomfortable under your stare, and his eyes darted sidelong to the cobblestones, reflexively folding his arms tight across his chest. “Her parents didn’t have the money for the tickets. I knew what it was like not having a lotta toys as a kid, okay?” Why was he saying it like he needed to justify himself, like he’d done something wrong?

“You did a really kind thing, Cloud–you clearly made her day.” When he simply grunted, his posture still a bit guarded, you giggled. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Barret–your rep is safe with me!”

Cloud blanched, head snapping up to eye you warily. When he saw your teasing expression, his shoulders relaxed. “So, you still up for that pizza?”

“Definitely.” With that, the two of you headed for the entrance to Wall Market just ahead, toward the large neon sign at the south entrance backdropped by the rest of the lights of the town. “Do you want to go to the usual spot? Or maybe we could try–”

“–Hey there!” Both you and Cloud halted at the sound of a familiar voice calling your names. “Hey guys! Over here!” Looking to your right, it was Jules and his whole crew of muscly bros waving the two of you over to what looked like another carnival attraction they were gathered around. You knew Cloud liked Jules well enough–so he didn’t put up any resistance when you both started making your way over to him.

“Good to see you two again!” Jules remarked in his warm, good-natured way as you approached. Up close, you could finally tell what all the men were focused on. Standing side by side as you studied it, your and Cloud’s gazes simultaneously traveled up–and up, and up: it was one of those tests of strength, where the participant walloped a small platform with a giant hammer to launch a metal weight up the pole it was attached to, with the goal of getting the weight to hit the large bell perched at the top. It was painted a bright red color, with lines alternating in black and white along one side serving as a measuring guide.

“We’ve been having another competition, man to man,” the body builder continued, opening his arms in a magnanimous gesture. “What do you say, Cloud? Wanna give it a try? We’ve all seen your impressive lower body strength,” Jules ribbed, flashing you a grin that made you giggle–and Cloud flush scarlet. “We know you’re a swordie, but why not put those guns to the test for a change, hm?”

When Cloud’s arresting gaze darted over to you, your eyes flicked to the cobblestones, fighting the smile twitching on your lips. There was a chorus of goading from the men around the two of you, spurring Cloud to take the challenge. When you managed to look up at Cloud again, his eyes skittered away. Then, with a loud clearing of his throat, he began to shake out his shoulders, roll his head–and you knew his answer. Turning to the other men, he remarked co*ckily, “Let me show you how it’s done.” This garnered a fresh wave of cheers and good-natured taunts.

As Jules and his friends all backed away, formed a ring around the hammer contraption, the tall pole with its short runway where the participant was meant to strike the platform that would jettison the weight, you blanched, your mind a bit scattered in all the commotion. You took one step to the right first, toward the back of the contraption, as if to get out of the way and spectate there. But would Cloud really want you staring straight at him as he did this? So you took a stunted step to your left, gaze darting around as you realized you were the only one who hadn’t moved yet. It meant you were way too close, the sole person not in the ring with the other onlookers a few paces back. Looking frantically to Cloud, he had his hands on his hips as he watched you, clearly waiting for you to get settled, cheeks still a bit flushed.

“Oh! I–I’ll just…um–good luck!” you stammered, heels clumsily scuffing the pavement as you backpedaled. The gathered men were courteous enough to let you stand at the front of the crowd, shifting to create a small space for you so you wouldn’t have to watch from behind their giant bodies. You ended up with a view just over Cloud’s shoulder, while he faced the metal pole in front of him.

After walking forward in what you could only call a saunter, you heard Cloud clear his throat once more as he approached the hammer where it lay on the ground. It was nearly as long as Hardedge, with a thin handle and simple metal cylinder for its head. He hefted it up with only a short grunt of effort, resting it on his shoulder before he squared up to the platform. Why was your heart hammering so hard in your chest? You weren’t nervous for Cloud–you knew he could handle this no problem. But then you realized you were overcome by the same strange mix of bashfulness and exhilaration as you had back in the gym before the squat competition–and the feeling didn’t seem so mystifying to you anymore. You should have called out, cheered him on, as many of the others were–but your throat felt clamped shut.

Cloud ruptured the chatter with a loud, determined grunt of exertion and effort–almost like a roar–making a show of twisting back, brandishing the hammer in both hands, before he raised it high over his head and brought it down on the platform hard. It could only have taken a few seconds–but you watched the muscles in his arms tense and ripple, saw the lines of his back muscles and shoulder blades strain beneath his sweater as he moved, and realized you didn’t need any of those silly tickets: this sight alone was the prize you’d get to take home tonight–and into your dreams…

After a loud clunk! the rusty metal weight raced up the pole and crashed into the circular metal bell as though it weighed nothing at all. The deafening clang! of the impact made your shoulders nearly hit your ears as you jolted. While it rang out into the night air, the other men broke out into cheering, some surging forward to thump Cloud on the back as he rested the head of the mallet on the ground, leaning on the handle with one elbow, the other hand confidently placed on his hip as he quietly basked in his victory. You felt your cheeks warm when he finally looked at you, your knees feeling a bit weak.

Setting the mallet back down in front of the platform, when Cloud finally strode back over to you, Jules held up his fist, and Cloud bumped it with the side of his own. “I knew you’d ace it! Nice job, man!” Then he turned to you. “Must be getting boring for you, always being on the sidelines huh? Maybe next time you come by the gym–”

“–I could give this a try.”

Your voice made the entire assembled crowd of burly men go quiet, turning their attention to gawk at you–but none of them were as stunned as Cloud. “Are…are you sure?” Jules asked. “I’m all for challenging one’s self, but the mallet’s awfully heavy, and we wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself!” he continued, genuine concern tightening his features.

Cloud called your name to get your attention. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

But you just gave him a confident smile. “I can get that weight to hit that bell.”

Clearly not comforted by this answer, Cloud reluctantly moved aside, watched you stride up to spot where he’d left the mallet on the ground. As all the guys in the group slowly recovered their senses, began to cheer you on, you saw Cloud fold his arms in your peripheral vision, his brow still furrowed deep, his stern blue eyes scouring you intensely. You swung your arms, rolled your shoulders–you even spit into your palms and rubbed them together for dramatic effect, drawing a round of laughs from the spectating men. But then their laughter abruptly morphed into noises and grunts of confusion when you stepped clear over the hammer where it lay on the ground, not even attempting to pick it up. After a few purposeful strides, you reached the large metal pole itself.

Peering around the back, it took you only a moment to find it: reaching for the metal pin you knew would be there, you cleanly withdrew it with a quick yank, and the pulley system on the contraption began to spin out wildly, the rope quickly unraveling. The bell came whizzing down the pole–and crashed into the metal weight at the bottom with a similarly jarring clang!

You turned to the spectators with a triumphant grin. Jules threw his head back and let out a hearty belly laugh. “And that’s another lesson for you guys!” he exclaimed as all the other bodybuilders let out shouts and cheers of amusem*nt and surprise at your clever solution. In no time, the onlookers were crowding around you, and you gasped when one of the men lifted you off the ground and settled you on his shoulder. Face flushing at being in the spotlight, you just sheepishly smiled as you took in the celebration. After a few moments, the man–Ronnie, you remembered now–set you back down, and you found Cloud standing in front of you, his arms folded, eyeing you with a newfound brightness in his gaze.

Holding up the small metal pin, you gave Cloud a true, beaming smile–the first one you’d had in six days. “What can I say? It’s all in the wrist.”

As the guys assembled around the two of you all chuckled at your remark, Cloud just leaned his weight on one hip, stared at you with an amused smirk. But as you held his gaze, smiled back, it was something more–there was a spark of appreciation you’d never seen in his eyes before, admiration–maybe even pride. Your cheeks flushed hot. It was the ease in his face that caught your attention, the way the furrow in his brow was gone. He suddenly looked so content, satisfied, even…relieved.

And that’s when you figured him out.

After a silent exchange of glances between you, Cloud nodded in understanding, then turned to wade through the throng, and you followed close behind him. As you departed, Jules and the rest of the guys waved you off before the two of you finally crossed underneath the entrance sign and entered Wall Market’s main plaza once more. As you walked beside Cloud on your way to the new pizza place in a companionable silence, you couldn’t help how you eyed him the whole way, unable to shake what was on your mind.

At the bottom of the short set of stairs leading into the pizza parlor, you finally slowed to a stop. “…Cloud?”

The sound of your voice made him pause halfway up, turn to peer at you over his shoulder. Noticing your sudden hesitance, he climbed back down the steps to stand in front of you. “What is it?”

It took you a moment to gather the courage to pull your eyes from the pavement and look into his. He tilted his head as he studied you, a slight pinch in his brow as he waited for your answer. With one quick step forward you closed the gap between the two of you before you gently wound your arms around Cloud's middle, turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest as you hugged him. You heard Cloud’s quiet, stuttering grunt of bewilderment, felt the way his back arched just a bit in his surprise–he certainly didn’t hug you back, but you hadn’t expected him to.

You held the embrace for only a moment before you withdrew to your previous distance, gripping your forearms with your hands to keep yourself from fidgeting. “Thank you.”

“What for?” His voice was strangely rough, quiet, but not really surprised–you’d expected that, too.

You didn’t say it out loud–you didn’t need to. Holding Cloud’s gaze, it got across in your eyes–and even if it hadn’t, he already knew the answer: For cheering me up–for helping me feel like myself again. His strange behavior all day, his persistence, the contentment you’d found on his face after your victory–it all made sense to you now: that was what today had been about. You felt such a surge of affection and gratitude rise in your chest you felt as though it was going to burst.

Cloud lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Just…thought maybe you needed to take your mind off things.”

“It was exactly what I needed.” The two of you shared a small smile, a quiet moment on the loud street, another secret out in the open.

Then your smile widened as you let the depth of the moment recede back beneath the surface. “Well–I think I’m ready for pizza now,” you remarked breezily, moving past him to go up the short flight of stairs. The heavenly smell of the parlor was already filling your senses, letting you know you two were in for a night of stuffing your faces. “Gotta carb up after all that heavy lifting with the bros back there!” you called back to him with a giggle.

Cloud just chuckled in his usual wry amusem*nt as he trudged up the steps after you–but it was more than enough.

Chapter 37

Chapter Text

“Okay–let’s run through the plan one more time.”

Seated on the long couch in your private suite, you were waiting for Cloud to finish pouring your first drinks of the night at the counter on the far side of the room. The two of you had just arrived after your visit to the pay phone outside the hotel across town earlier that afternoon. Careful to go during the daytime–and not when Delphine’s club rooms were open–you’d spoken with Barret over the phone while Cloud stood by your side, gil in hand, periodically slotting more money into the machine so your call wouldn’t disconnect. You filled him in on how the mission had been going so far, explaining how you'd finally settled on your target, and your method of extracting the intel from him.

As you’d neared the end of your report, you suddenly had to jerk the phone away from you as your leader let out a loud string of swear words–you’d just gotten to the part where you told him the 'target' you were going after was Rufus. You and Cloud exchanged silent smiles as you waited for him to calm down on the other end.

“I sure hope Marlene isn’t there!” you’d teased with a chuckle when you were finally able to put the receiver to your ear again.

“She’d be sayin’ the same thing!” Hearing Barret’s voice–always gruff, but somehow, always warm–was so wonderful it hurt. As you laughed, you suddenly realized how much you missed Barret, and all the people you’d left behind. The loving familiarity of your friends was something you dearly missed in cold, strange Wall Market.

You’d asked Barret for the file retrieval device (what essentially looked like a flash drive, from what you remembered Jessie showing you). Once he’d calmed down enough to listen to your plan, though Barret was horrified–but also, grudgingly impressed–that you were going after such a high-risk, high-reward target in Rufus Shinra, he agreed to have an Avalanche comrade deliver the device to you Saturday evening. Rufus had told you the night of the Cup he wouldn’t be back in town again until Monday, so this gave you plenty of breathing room. With Cloud’s input, you and Barret settled on a little restaurant off the main road as the rendezvous point: you and Cloud would meet the contact for dinner, and they would hand-off the device to you before immediately departing. The choice of a public drop-off point was intended to keep the location of your apartment as secret as possible.

“Can it be Tifa? Please Barret, let it be Tifa!” The thought of seeing your long-time friend again, of her giving you one of her warm smiles, one of her tight hugs, was something you seriously needed after all these weeks. It would be so nice to have a friend (well, a friend you weren’t hopelessly crushing on, anyway) to confide in, to make you feel like your normal self, a normal girl, again. Besides, though he’d never admit it, you knew Cloud missed his friend, too.

“No promises, but–I’ll see what I can do.” The warmth in Barret’s voice almost made you want to cry for homesickness. After a brusque but affectionate warning to “take care of yourself, kid”, Barret asked you to hand the phone to Cloud. You walked away a few paces to give him some privacy as he talked with Barret. Trying not to eavesdrop, you pretended to peer around at the sights of the main plaza, already full of people and commotion despite the early evening hour. But your curiosity was piqued when you saw Cloud eventually lean his weight onto one hip, his free hand resting there too, before he let out an agitated scoff, scowling at the ground. His voice was equally agitated as he responded to his friend on the other end of the line:

“–No, it wasn’t my idea…”

“–I said we should go home!”

“…You think I don’t know that?!”

“…Yes, I’ll–…I know what my job is–” Clearly Barret wasn’t happy with your plan…

Suddenly Cloud turned his back to you, hunching his shoulders as if it would somehow keep you from hearing. “Keep it down–” he snapped.

“…It’s going fine…She–No, of course I haven’t–” Why did Cloud sound so flustered?

There was another pause as he listened. “Do you have anything actually important to say?!” Finally, Cloud just jammed the receiver back onto the hook, a bright pink flush staining his cheeks. When you slowly approached the payphone, Cloud turned to face you.

“Everything okay?” you’d asked.

He folded his arms tight across his chest, eyes cast sidelong to the cobblestones. “Forgot how much of a dumbass he is.”

The recollection of Cloud’s scowling face and grumpy tone made you look over at him now, an out-of-place grin spreading on your face. Though the two men were clearly close friends after all they’d been through together, Cloud’s and Barret’s often clashing personalities and irritated jibes at one another never failed to make you laugh, even if it was on the inside. You suddenly wished Tifa and Aerith were here, so you could exchange good humored glances with them. It was already Friday, meaning your Avalanche contact would meet you tomorrow. In the meantime, this was your last shift before you had the weekend off–a mercy from Andrea. That just meant you had one more performance to get through tonight, and then you’d get a much needed vacation. T

“So–” you began as Cloud finally handed you a glass of champagne and settled back onto the couch beside you. Criss-crossing your legs as you sunk further into the plush cushions, you got down to business. “Once we get the retrieval device from our contact, we just lay low until Monday.”

You and Cloud had already informed Andrea of the plan when you arrived for your shift tonight, and what you’d need from him. All the pieces were in place: While you and Rufus were in the private suite, Cloud would hide in the janitor’s closet, located in the hallway just outside the men’s restroom. Using some of the herbs you’d brought in your duffel bag, you would create a diuretic powder to slip into Rufus’s drink when he wasn’t looking. Then, you’d need to get him to leave his PHS in the suite with you when the diuretic’s “medicinal properties” kicked in, and compelled him to retire to the restroom to relieve himself.

“Once he leaves the room, I’ll insert the device and download whatever files are stored on his phone. Then I’ll slip it into my cuff, and that part of the mission will be complete.”

Now Cloud spoke up. “When I see Rufus head back to the suite, then it’s my turn. Andrea already knows what we’ll be doing, so when I–”

But he was interrupted when the door to your suite burst open, and two of your fellow Honeygirls peered through the doorway in a flurry of giggles and squeals. “Oooooh! Sorry to interrupt!” one woman teased.

“C’mon, girl!” the other called out cheerfully. “The show’s about to start, you need to get backstage!”

“You two can pick up where you left off later!” the first said as she flashed you a knowing wink.

After the girls shut the door and buzzed away, you let out an exasperated sigh. When you flopped back onto the couch in dismay, you noticed the small smirk on Cloud’s face. “I hate Fridays,” you groaned.

“Look on the bright side–you don’t have to squat in front of twenty gym bros first.”

“I don’t know, Aerith–” Tifa began hesitantly, “maybe this wasn’t a good idea…”

“Come on, Tifa–” Aerith replied, “it’ll be a fun surprise for them! Besides, you never got to go to the Honeybee Inn the last time you were here–it’s about time you saw the place where Cloud got all dressed up!” she giggled. The two girls were sitting in one of the circular booths that ringed the main stage of the Honeybee Inn. Yes, they were here a day early–and no, they hadn’t told you or Cloud they were coming.

“It’ll be so nice to see both of them again,” Tifa added, thinking of you first. “This all must be really hard on her–I hope she’s doing okay.”

“I’m more worried about Cloud,” Aerith snickered.

“Why?”

“Because he’s been here with her!” Both girls giggled.

“Oh! I see Cloud! Over there, by the stairs!” Tifa pointed across the room, where Cloud was taking a seat in an empty booth, fresh glass of whiskey in hand, and–

“What is that he’s holding?” Aerith asked. From this distance, she couldn't make out the strange white object in his other hand.

“I don’t know–it looks like…napkins?”

“Why does he need so many?”

As if on cue, the lights illuminating the lounge went dark just as the bright lights above the stage snapped to life, and the girls’ attention was drawn to the show. A parade of Honeyboys and girls came leaping and twirling onto the stage in their sleek black and gold costumes to the bright, splashy dance music blaring over the speakers, the changing lights bathing them in a kaleidoscope of colors. “Oh…” Tifa stammered, hands coming up to her cheeks, her face flushing in embarrassment at the garish, over the top display.

“This is what happened last time, before Cloud got up on stage, too,” Aerith said with another giggle, clearly enjoying herself–and Tifa’s bewildered bashfulness.

At some point in the show, two Honeyboys wheeled out a giant three-tiered cake, coated in yellow frosting. Espresso-brown icing ran in stripes along the surface, a giant pair of bee’s wings stuck to the back. The monstrous cake came all the way up to the waists of the Honeyboys who brought it out, truly a massive amount of pastry on display. Two spotlights came to life, swinging center to illuminate the cake where it sat center stage. “That’s weird…” Aerith remarked. “The show’s started, but where is–”

But Aerith didn’t get the chance to finish that sentence–the music swelled, and with a cymbal crash the top tier of the cake popped open like the hatch of a bizarre submarine: and in a flourish of fanfare and frosting, you sprang up from within the cake.

Tifa’s face fell slack in shock, and Aerith clapped and cheered as they watched a Honeyboy come to either side to each take one hand to help you out of the cake, the crowd erupting in rabid applause and raucous wolf whistles. After the two boys bowed and twirled away, you–covered in blotches of sticky frosting and chunks of spongy cake–took over as the star of the show, dancing seductively at center stage as all the other dancers backed you up. What Tifa and Aerith couldn’t have known was that your performance tonight was leagues better than your first–that after so many gigs on stage, this was now second-nature to you: not just keeping the rhythm and remembering your steps, but knowing just how to swivel your hips or push out your chest to make the crowd go wild, how to give a smoldering smile or playful wink at just the right moment to make them fall in love with you again and again. While it never really felt like you, you’d found a way to enjoy it all the same–well, except when it was your turn to take cake duty. How was frosting harder to wash out of your clothing than blood?

“She’s amazing!” Aerith shouted to Tifa over the racket.

“Is that really her?” Tifa marveled in utter astonishment.

Aerith looked away from you on stage, scanning the booths as she searched for Cloud across the room. When she found him again, miraculously, he was keeping his cool composure, reclined in his booth with his arms folded, occasionally taking sips from his drink as he looked on. But the way his eyes were glued to you, dragging over your body in slow, appreciative trails, his unwavering focus on you as if it were a one-woman show instead of a group spectacle, told Aerith he wasn’t as unaffected as he was trying to seem.

“Did Cloud have to do that?!” Tifa shouted.

“I wish!”

Before too long, the dancers struck their final poses as the music crashed to an end. After basking in the thunderous applause, they then filed down from the stage to the lounge to begin their real work for the evening–entertaining their patrons and admirers. Tifa and Aerith saw you pause at the foot of the stage, eyes searching the room as Cloud stood up, waited for you to notice him. And when you did, you instantly made your way to him, a beaming smile on your face as you hurriedly wound your way through the booths.

Even from all the way across the room, the girls could see the gentle warmth in Cloud’s eyes as you came over. Once you’d reached his table, you were twisting side to side as you gestured at yourself, clearly laughing at how ridiculous you looked. At the open invitation to admire your pastry-plastered figure up close, the look in Cloud’s eyes as he raked you over was a different kind of hungry. He was clearly saying things that were making you giggle as your hands traveled your body, brushing away chunks of cake and wiping off streaks of frosting that still clung to your scantily-clad form with the napkins heaped in a pile on the table.

“Guess that’s what the napkins were for,” Tifa mused.

“Hey! Did you see that?!” Aerith exclaimed when Cloud reached a hand up to your hair, dusting off the sprinkles caught in the strands framing your temple, the two of you sporting bashful grins.

“Should we go over?”

“Not yet…”

When the two of you finally shuffled into the booth beside one another, they watched Cloud drape one arm over the back of the seat behind you, angling his body toward you, bringing one leg up to rest his foot on his knee. And after taking a glass from one of the waiters buzzing around the room, you scooted over to Cloud and settled back against his chest as though it were the most natural thing in the world, tracing circles over his chest with your fingertips. Tifa and Aerith didn’t know this was an act, a performance as well-rehearsed as your routines on the dance floor.

“I can’t believe that’s her!” Aerith marveled.

“I can’t believe that’s Cloud,” Tifa rejoined.

While the PDA was for show, the smiles on your faces and the ease of your conversation clearly weren’t–nor was the way Cloud’s eyes fixed on your lips when you took a sip from your drink, or followed the motions of your hands as you talked. And he certainly wasn’t hiding his scowl whenever a man was brave (or stupid) enough to approach your table with a bouquet of flowers to compliment you after the show.

“You think they’re–?” Aerith started giddily.

“I don’t know. Barret said he still hasn’t said anything to her yet, but… I’ve never seen Cloud like this before…” Tifa answered her friend. Unable to wait to see you and Cloud any longer, the two girls sprang up from their booth and wove through the crowds toward your table.

“So–how much for an encore?”

You and Cloud froze, looked around wildly at the sound of a familiar bright, giggly voice, and it took you a full five seconds of staring before your brain registered it was Aerith standing in front of you. And when you two did, your eyes went wide as saucers. You and Cloud both sprang apart as though the contact between you suddenly stung, Cloud nearly spilling his whiskey in the process.

“Tifa?! Aerith?! What–?” you stammered in absolute bewilderment.

“Surprise!” Aerith exclaimed, arms outstretched as if she’d said: Ta-dah!

“Wh-What are you guys doing here?” You rose up from the booth, face still slack with shock as Aerith immediately pulled you in for a tight hug. As she neared the table, Tifa gave Cloud a smile and a wave, as he gave her a nod in greeting.

Then Cloud rose up to stand behind you, arms folding, flashing Aerith a small smile and nod when she finally released you before Tifa explained: “I’m here to give you the stuff you need for your mission. I know I was supposed to come tomorrow, but, well…”

“–After we heard you had a few days off, we decided to come early!” Aerith finished brightly.

“Aerith, you sure you should be here?” Cloud asked. “There have been more Shinra security forces around since Rufus showed up.”

“I can’t just hide in my room forever! Besides, you said Rufus is out of town for the weekend, right? I needed to see my friends!” With that, Aerith wrapped her arms around you again. Her unwavering optimism, her determination to live her life to the fullest, were things you really admired about her. That’s how she’d always been, since you were kids.

Suddenly, your eyes threatened to well up as a surge of emotion overtook you. “I’m–I’m so happy to see you guys…”

“So how are you two lovebirds getting on, then?” Aerith teased when you two pulled apart. “Or…lovebees?”

“Wh-What?”
“No, it’s not–”

The girls giggled as you and Cloud both stuttered in unison. “W-We act like that here as part of the mission,” you stammered out hastily. “Everyone thinks he’s my client, so we can be seen together without drawing too much attention to ourselves.”

“You mean like how jumping out of a cake isn’t ‘drawing too much attention’?” Tifa deadpanned before she broke into more giggling.

Your face went from pale shock to red flush. “You guys saw that?!”

“Aw, come on! You were great!” Aerith beamed as you hid your face in your hands. Now you truly wanted to sink through the floor. “You guys clearly were the perfect choice for this mission–” she teased. “I’ve seen you two on stage, and it seems you both have the skill set for this type of work!”

“Not exactly bombing a reactor…” Cloud remarked dryly.

“It does tip better…” That earned you a small smile from him.

“So–” Tifa began, slipping your arm through hers, “Aerith and I grabbed a hotel room for two nights–we were hoping maybe you could stay with us! What do you say?”

“We thought we’d make it a girls’ weekend!” Aerith added brightly.

You couldn’t help your gaze darting over to Cloud, an unreadable expression on his face. “I’d love to!” While you were sincerely looking forward to spending time with your oldest friends, being parted from Cloud undeniably made your chest ache.

“Tifa never got to see Wall Market, last time we were all here–” Aerith continued. “And since you’re a Wall Market expert now, you can take us to all the best spots!” Happily chatting and catching up, the four of you made your way to the exit of the Honeybee Inn before splitting into two parties: Tifa and Aerith would return to the hotel, while you and Cloud went back to your apartment, where you would pack an overnight bag before heading over. The two of you had decided it was best that even your closest friends didn’t know the location of your hideout here, for their safety as much as yours. As the two girls waved goodbye and disappeared into the crowd, you and Cloud set off for home. Strangely, you both were silent the whole way, even after you both returned home and you began preparing.

“I don’t like this,” Cloud said finally as you packed your toiletries. He was seated on the edge of the bed, next to your open duffel bag. Your hands stilled when he spoke, and you looked over at him. “There’s going to be an audition any day now, remember? And besides, you could run into Shinra operatives anywhere. It’s a risk–especially for Aerith.”

He was right. “I know,” you answered as you folded up your favorite pair of jeans. “I think we’re just going to stay in the hotel room tonight, so we should be fine. And I’ll make sure we stick to the main streets if we do go out tomorrow,” you assured him, echoing his advice to you from when you’d first come to Wall Market all those weeks ago. You smiled then. “And we both know it’s no use trying to talk Aerith out of something, once she sets her mind to it!” Cloud grunted in grudging agreement, but didn’t protest further. Another stretch of silence followed.

“Besides…” Standing in front of the closet, your back to Cloud where he sat on the bed, you suddenly spoke again. It was to yourself, really, lost in your own head, barely above a murmur. Cloud peered over when he heard the unexpected fragility in your voice. “Tifa and Aerith can look after themselves. They’re amazing, just like you. It’s me who’s the liability here…”

As the word crossed your lips, you suddenly remembered that that was what Cloud had called you, all those months ago back in the new Seventh Heaven, back safe in Sector 3 after your first mission together, when he thought he and Barret were alone: a liability. But, well, it was true–if anything happened while you three were out, Tifa could more than handle it with just one of her powerful punches; And if she couldn’t, all Aerith had to do was pull out her staff, and she could easily defend the three of you with her potent magic. But you…you were nobody. You were just an ordinary girl, trying to make a difference–and lucky enough to have some pretty extraordinary friends. Since your back was turned, you didn’t see Cloud’s brow furrow in confusion, his eyes studying the back of your head, the sudden slump in your shoulders.

Blinking hard, you shook your head to clear it. “Gosh, listen to me moping…I think I will take the navy dress,” you muttered finally. When you slid the satin gown from its hanger, you saw a flash of red as your clothes swayed in the closet–the dried rose. Quickly detaching it from the twine tied at its stem, you slipped it into the fabric of your folded dress so you could transfer it to your duffel bag without Cloud seeing it.

“Not to mention,” you piped up as you pulled the zipper on your bag closed, resuming your conversation with Cloud, your usual demeanor back after your brief lapse into melancholy, “we finally have cell phones, right? Tifa and Aerith do, too–we can call you if we need anything.” After the night of the Corneo Cup, Cloud had insisted on asking Barret for PHS communication devices, which Tifa had given you both just before you’d parted ways at the Honeybee Inn.

“I guess.” But Cloud's tone was just a bit too hard to mask his unease.

Your duffel bag slung over your shoulder, you paused in front of the door, hand hovering over the knob. There was nothing left for you to do but leave, but you found yourself hesitant to go. “Well, I guess this is–”

The sound of keys jangling made you cut off. Cloud was on his feet, reaching for Hardedge where he always kept it, propped against the wall on his side of the bed. As he slotted it on his back, he looked at you with a smirk on his face that said: Really thought I wouldn’t walk you over there? Your chest squeezed as Cloud strode up to you, and you stepped aside, reflexively allowing him to open the door, and the two of you ventured once more into the chill evening air of Wall Market. You both maintained light, if sparse, conversation as you crossed town, and all too soon, the hotel came into view. Cloud stopped about a block away–he probably didn’t want all of you to be seen together at the hotel, you figured.

“So, what are you going to do? You finally have a few nights to yourself!” You tried to make your voice sound breezy.

Cloud shrugged. “Not much. We’ve had enough excitement–” he said, giving you a smirk, “kind of looking forward to a quiet weekend.”

“You’ve definitely earned it!” you chuckled.

“You too.”

Your eyes fell to the cobblestones, knowing it was time to go, but not wanting to leave.

“…You be careful,” Cloud said finally, voice quiet.

You nodded. “Try not to get sliced up by any monsters while I’m gone, okay?”

“Long as you don’t go for any more joyrides in stolen cars.”

“No promises…”

After sharing a quiet smile between you, you turned and walked toward the hotel, hearing the sound of Cloud’s footsteps growing distant behind you. When you reached the entrance, you weren’t able to help pausing in the hotel doorway to turn back. To your puzzlement, Cloud wasn’t heading home the way you’d come before: he seemed to be walking toward the main street, where the clothing shop, the gym, and the weapons stall were. That was odd…he’d told you he was going to lie low this weekend. You tried not to let your insecurities prey upon you, to dredge up the hurt you’d felt when he’d kept all his activities from you–Cloud was his own person after all, and he could do as he liked.

You’re not anything to him, you reminded yourself.

You still waited for Cloud to disappear from sight before you headed inside.

Chapter 38

Chapter Text

It wasn’t Cloud’s plan to take a longer way back–but once he’d said goodbye and left you on the hotel steps, the idea of hurrying home to sit by himself in the cramped apartment just didn’t appeal. It wasn’t intentional: the tides of the crowd carried him left rather than right, and soon he was meandering down the winding streets, the apartment only his nominal destination.

Given the hour, the sun just sinking below the horizon, most people were flocking to the Colosseum–and that’s why the current swept him to the foot of the main road, the base of the hill where the Mansion loomed over all before it. As the distant cheering of the rabid crowds rang through the night air, and the faint beams of the spotlights danced in the sky above the stadium, it occurred to Cloud he used to walk like this all the time, on his way to compete in the nightly matches to work off his debt to Madam M–a task he certainly didn’t miss. That was almost two months ago, now–how could everything feel so different in such a brief amount of time? Looking back on his conduct then made him wince: how hard he’d worked to hide it all from you back then, to push you away, even when you were walking next to him on the way home from work, eating a quiet dinner just beside him–lying only a few inches apart from him in bed. Back then, the streets and everything in them had been nothing but monuments to bad memories–but as he resumed walking, Cloud realized those memories weren’t as vivid in his mind as they once were, didn’t sting as sharply as they used to. The bad memories were still here, but after the last six weeks…there were many not-so-bad ones, too.

Cloud blinked when a familiar giggle suddenly rippled in his mind like warm water, then–

“I never knew you had such a sweet tooth!”

He didn’t notice when his footsteps slowed to a halt as his gaze fixated on an empty bench off to his right, tucked against the wall of a building. It was easy to miss in the frantic bustle of the street, its plain metal frame unable to compete with the shops and stalls all around it, where everything else either flashed or made noise or danced. He watched two people, a young man and a young woman–clearly a couple–taking a seat on the bench to dig into their freshly served ice cream cones. How can you be unable to look away from something that isn’t even real?

After the young man sat down, he draped his free arm over the back of the bench behind the young woman, and she naturally angled her shoulders to face him. Then when he took the first lick of his vanilla scoop, Cloud watched himself peer at you where you sat beside him, your own ice cream in hand, your eager expression making his eyes go soft as he gazed at you. “Careful!” you interjected, eyes darting to his ice cream cone. “Maybe you should take your gloves off.” You giggled when Cloud blanched at the trickle of melting ice cream snaking its way down toward his hand. His other self watched you reach into your jeans pocket for the small stack of paper napkins you’d grabbed from the ice cream stand–he knew by now your nurse’s instincts meant you never went anywhere without the necessary precautionary equipment. “Here–” you held out your hand, offering to hold his cone, wrapping the base in a napkin as you gingerly took it. Cloud had to sit up and withdraw his other arm before he could remove his gloves and lay them on the bench next to his knee. “But since we’re here, Bert’s shop is just down the road–we could see if he’s got any pairs laying around in the backroom you could grab!” you remarked with a chuckle. Once Cloud had retrieved his ice cream again, you both shared a soft smile, enjoying the fond memory from the last time you’d been to Wall Market.

“Not gonna happen. It’s been, what–almost six months since we completed the mission?” he replied. “Besides, he might want another favor like he did last time.” Cloud couldn’t help the bitter bite that entered his voice: while he’d deeply appreciated the gesture of your gifts the first time you two were here, you were his girl now–no way in hell he’d encourage you to go around kissing pictures for other men anymore.

You just shook your head good-naturedly, finding his protectiveness endearing. “But seriously–” you went on, returning to your previous topic, “how is it we’ve been together since then, and I never knew how much you liked ice cream? That’s already your second one tonight!”

“Not like it’s some big secret,” he remarked wryly as he went for another lick.

“I’ll have to start keeping it stocked in our fridge at home…Guess we never went out for dessert much when we were here–we had to survive on takeout, do you remember?” You gently nudged his shoulder with your own, voice filled with sentimental warmth.

It took Cloud a moment to respond until he finished another bite of his ice cream. “Think I’m more skilled with chopsticks than my sword now.” When his remark made you laugh, he felt the surge of happiness (and maybe a little pride) in his chest, as much as he watched the feeling come over his face where he sat beside you.

“You deserve as many scoops as you like after defeating Sephiroth–who would have thought the big-shot savior of the Planet liked sprinkles, huh?” Despite the flush that colored his cheeks, your heart-melting giggle made it hard for him to think of a comeback–and, well…he had asked for rainbow sprinkles on his scoop of vanilla. Then Cloud watched himself settle back onto the bench, square his shoulders–and saw the way the subtle action made you grin-you knew from all the time you’d spent with your boyfriend by now that it was the sign some sort of wry remark was coming.

His free hand resting on his knee next to you as the other held his ice cream cone, Cloud kept his gaze neutral, tactfully fixed on the tourists walking by the bench, rather than on you smirking beside him. “Can’t give away all my secrets–” he quipped with a shrug and a co*cky flick of his head. “S’all part of my mysterious charm.”

Then you giggled in response to his remark, sweet and bright, and he looked over at you again. “Is that what it is?” you mused playfully, that teasing glint in your eyes as you peered up at him.

Despite himself, his cheeks grew even warmer, and his eyes dropped to his hand resting on his knee, unable to help the nerves fluttering in his chest. Even with his gaze averted, a small smile pulled at his lips. "You tell me."

But all (well, most) of his bashfulness vanished when you responded by scooting the remaining few inches across the bench toward him. Wrapping your free arm in his where it was still braced on his knee, you let your head rest on his shoulder as you snuggled up close. "Definitely." It should have been playful, a continuation of the joke–but your tone was loving, soft, achingly sincere. How did you always know exactly what he needed? Cloud peered down at you, his features relaxed in utter contentment, his chest warm with affection, a small, adoring smile just pulling at the corners of his mouth. The peace of the moment poured through him like rain water–was this what it felt like to dream? To see something crystallize so clearly, to feel that missing piece fall into place? Cloud was frozen where he stood, utterly transfixed. He could stay like this forever–

“–Heeerrre at the Honeybeeeeennnnnnnn, every moment issshhhhh a treat…!”

A sudden impact on his shoulder made Cloud keel forward so hard he nearly fell over, and he had to take a fumbling step to catch himself. When he looked up again, the bench was empty. A middle aged man–clearly well past drunk, but not letting that deter him from very poorly singing the Honeybee Inn’s signature tune–had knocked into Cloud as he stumbled by, and the noise and clatter and light and chaos of Wall Market suddenly crashed back into him, as though the dial for the volume had been cranked up again. With a curt shake of his head to clear it, Cloud continued walking, and the moment vanished–as fleeting as a heartbeat, ethereal as a summer breeze, only the faint dusting of pink on his cheeks betraying it had ever been there at all.

His mind still a bit far away, the next time Cloud bothered to gauge his surroundings, he realized his feet had carried him back to the main plaza, where the hotel sat on the far side. He wasn’t seriously worried something bad would happen to you, Aerith, and Tifa–well, not yet, at least. He briefly considered walking past the chocobo ranch and out of Wall Market altogether for a bit of fresher–if not actually fresh–air, but he decided against it. So instead, Cloud crossed the plaza to make his way down the street that would take him back to the main road–he hadn’t meant to make a loop, but it was the only way to get back to the apartment. As he walked past the small set stairs that led into the hotel entrance, a small smile crossed his lips when he remembered how you and him had burst through those doors and raced off into the night after stealing the car keys from Delphine, how your laugh had made his chest feel warm when you’d revealed how you managed it in the end with your clever thinking–but after a few more steps, the smile dropped. Cloud had paused just in front of the opening in the chain link fence that led to the open courtyard, where he’d found you cornered by Damian. He sucked in a sharp breath–this is where he’d been standing when he heard you scream. Cloud quickly moved on–maybe not all the bad memories were long in the past.

When he reached the foot of the main hill again, on a whim, Cloud decided on a whim to check the Weapons store before heading home, to see if they’d gotten any new items in–and he wanted something to focus on besides the thoughts in his head slowly turning somber. The shop owner, with his burgundy red apron and bright yellow glasses, flashed him a smile when he’d climbed the short incline up to the shop. “Hey, man–great job at the Cup last week! Can’t thank you enough for using one of my swords back there–business has never been better. If you see something that catches your eye, it’s on the house tonight!” Unfortunately, nothing did–the two new swords in stock hardly compared with Hardedge, and while Aerith might have liked one of the staves displayed on the wall, he had no use for it himself. Cloud took a single, slow step to leave, still half in his head, still standing in front of that terrible courtyard–still crouched in front of you on the bathroom floor…

“Actually–” he turned around to face the shop owner stationed behind the counter. “I’m looking for something for someone else…but I’m not sure what.”

“I’d be happy to show you what I’ve got!” the owner replied good-naturedly. “They another sword fighter, like you? Because–” Then the man ducked beneath the counter, procuring a large broadsword with an ornate golden handle, a red gem in the center of the crossguard. “This one’s called Ragnarok–pretty cool, huh? Different vibe than Hardedge, but it’s got stats that any swordie can respect!”

Cloud just shook his head. “Not a sword wielder.”

Unperturbed, the owner replaced the sword. “Well, when it comes to firepower, there’s nothing like heavy artillery!” The man grunted from exertion as he lifted what looked to be a Gatling gun and plopped it on the table, laying its long belt of bullets down beside it. He knew the safety was on, but Cloud still chose to take a step to the side, out of the line of fire of the long barrel.

Your giggle danced in his mind. “I happen to be a nurse, which means I have a strict ‘no-gun’ policy!” Cloud shook his head again. “No guns.”

“A combat purist: I can respect that. If you’re looking for something Colosseum-ready for your friend, what do you think of this?” Cloud snorted when the shop owner stood up from behind the counter once more–holding an honest-to-Odin chain mace in his hands. When Cloud shook his head yet again, the shop owner presented him with a menacing looking battle-axe instead. “How ‘bout this?” An amused smile crept over Cloud’s lips at the thought of you brandishing the massive axe–it was hot in a badass cavewoman sort of way, but in reality, it was out of the question. “If they’re as strong as you, they should have no problem putting these to good use out in the ring. Not to mention the style points for that touch of brutal flair!”

Cloud leaned on one hip, folding his arms over his chest. This was clearly heading in the wrong direction. “I’m thinking more along the lines of defense, rather than offense.”

“I see!” the merchant remarked. “Well, a lance is good for both–nothing like the reach of a spear to keep enemies at a distance after all. This one’s called Flayer–hardcore, right? Almost looks like it’s from Wutai, with the red wood for the rod and the small curved blade on the side of the tip.”

Cloud just shook his head again. “Something a bit more…delicate.”

“Oh, choosing something for a lady friend, then?” the owner shot back with a raised eyebrow. Then he laid the lance on the table to once again duck beneath the counter–how in the world was he keeping all this down there?–and spent a few moments rooting around, strange clunking and clattering sounds filling the shop. “If you want something lighter that won’t sacrifice effectiveness…” He came back up with two wicked looking metal weapons that easily fit in each of his hands. “A shuriken is a good all-rounder for ranged and melee attacks–and it works as a deterrent just on looks alone! You could go with the basic four-point design…” the owner began, tilting his head toward one of the shurikens, made of plain steel with four thin perpendicular blades radiating out, “but I think Rising Sun here would really make any opponent think twice about attacking–I mean, it looks like a freaking chain saw blade!” he finished with a flick of his head to the other shuriken: with its circular shape and the fact its entire outer edge was ringed in sharp, serrated edges, Cloud had to agree with the merchant’s assessment. But it wasn’t you at all.

“How about more discreet–and less…deadly.”

“Nothing would be more portable or discreet than some gloves. Man’s simplest tool is his fist, after all–or Woman’s!” the owner added sagely. He rose up after yet another spell beneath the counter with a few sets of fighter’s gloves in his hand–and a wicked looking pair of brass knuckles to boot. This was the first type of weapon out of the entire lot Cloud considered for even a moment: gloves would be lightweight and unassuming, something a civilian like you could easily and openly carry on your person–more feasible than you hauling a mace around, to be sure. You’d need some lessons from Tifa to be able to put them to any use, but she’d be happy to help out one of her oldest friends. It was hard to imagine you decking anyone, but Cloud conceded you’d already proven you were tougher than he had given you credit for.

But it was the image in his mind of you squaring up, reeling back, the sound of your knuckles crashing into some thug’s nose that tilted his scales against the gloves: the idea of you possibly hurting yourself in the process, dislocating a knuckle or fracturing your hand or wrist every time you tried to defend yourself, was something he couldn’t stand. Besides, you were a nurse–you needed your hands. You needed your dexterity and motor control to treat your patients: Cloud had seen firsthand how precise and meticulous your movements had been when you’d expertly stitched up his gash from the Colosseum. It was just too dangerous for him to consider.

“This person needs something mainly for self-defense,” he clarified.

“Sounds like your friend isn’t much of a fighter after all!” the shop owner chuckled good-naturedly. “No big. Let’s see…the person is lower in skill, delicate build, looking for self-protection, not seeking out violent confrontation, so close range is probably more likely…” he muttered, cupping his chin, eyes scanning the empty counter as he reviewed the criteria. Then– “I’ve got just the thing!”

Cloud couldn’t hide his skeptical expression as he waited for the man to reappear from beneath the shop counter–and when he straightened, his doubts were instantly verified when the merchant unloaded the pile in his arms, the small weapons all clattering over the wooden surface. “Nothing better for self-defense than a handgun, my friend! They don’t take nearly as much training as something technical like a sword, and a pistol or a 9 millimeter would be easy to stash in a purse or–”

“No guns.”

As the shop owner stowed away the firearms scattered over the table, Cloud’s shoulders slumped in dismay. It had been a nice impulse, but there just wasn’t anything–

“…What about that? Up there?” Cloud flicked his head in the direction of the back wall, just over the owner’s shoulder. It was hard to make out the details from this distance, but even from across the small shop, he could see the potential.

The other man turned around to follow his gaze. “Oh! Forgot those were back there. They could work–highly portable, easy to carry and conceal. Good deterrent as well as an effective weapon. Allows for versatility and creativity in use. Perfect for someone who’s good with their hands, precise–someone resourceful, clever, who can think on their feet–sound like the person you have in mind?”

Cloud nodded without hesitation, a small smile pulling the corner of his mouth. “That’s her.”

“Whew!” the shop owner huffed with joking relief. “Was starting to worry I couldn’t help you out after all!”

Cloud just stepped forward to the counter. “How much?”

But his brow furrowed when the merchant shook his head. “Well…see, that one in particular is a custom make–not that the guy who placed the order has bothered to show up for ‘em…”

Now that he had a moment to look at the details, Cloud wasn’t about to let his choice go. “I want that one.”

The other man’s eyes went wide for a moment. He thought it over, then shook his head in dismay. “Nah, man, I told you you could have something on the house…but I had to send out to Corel for the materials, even hired an artisan from Wutai for the embellishments. We’re talking over ten-thousand here.”

Cloud folded his arms, giving the owner a hard stare. “I’ll pay full price–extra, if you want.”

“Must be a pretty special lady, huh?”

Cloud scowled at him. “I’ll give you fifteen thousand,” was all he said, voice blunt.

He watched the shop owner consider the proposal. Then a smile broke out over the man’s face. “How can I say no to the Champion–and an offer like that?” he concluded with another chuckle. “Alright man, you got yourself a deal!” After he and Cloud shook hands on it, the man grabbed Cloud’s chosen purchase where it hung on the wall just beside the register, setting it on the counter in front of him.

Once Cloud had everything he needed, his selection duly bundled up in a black cloth pouch, with a final nod at the shop owner, he moved to finally head back to the apartment for the night–but the sound of the man calling his name made him turn back again. “I just gotta ask–what does this friend of yours intend to do with that? What do you think she’s gonna need ’em for?”

It took him a few moments to think it over, but his answer was utterly serious, even solemn: “Nothing.”

Because if Cloud had his way, did his job, played his cards right…you’d never need them.

And with that, he set off for home, melting into the crowded street once more.

Chapter 39

Chapter Text

When you stepped through the hotel entrance, you found Aerith and Tifa already waiting for you in the lobby. Even though you’d only split up for a short time, Aerith dashed over and threw her arms around you in another giddy hug–but after two months without your oldest friend, you held her tight.

“So–” Tifa started, “you wanna go out, or stay in tonight?”

“I’ve spent almost every night at a bar or club since I got here,” you replied. “A night in sounds like heaven.”

Tifa smiled warmly and nodded. “We thought you’d say that.”

“Tifa brought nail polish, I brought some movies, and best of all–leftovers of my mom’s cooking!” Aerith chimed in.

Your eyes lit up. “Your mom’s food sounds so good right now!” The two girls eagerly led you down the hallway to the hotel room, the second door on the right side of the vestibule area. It had two sets of bunk beds in it, and a small TV perched on a table against the far wall.

“We paid extra to get the room to ourselves,” Tifa explained as you set your bag down on one of the beds.

“I want a top bunk!” Aerith announced brightly.

As you set unpacked your stuff, the girls sat on the other bed, the air in the room practically buzzing with all your shared excitement. The first thing you removed was your navy blue gown, which you slipped onto a hanger and hung up in the closet, fearful of it getting wrinkled from being folded up in your bag.

Aerith gasped when she saw the satin dress unfurl. “It’s beautiful!”

“Where did you get that?!” Tifa asked with astonishment.

You couldn’t help smiling. “It’s a long story.”

Once you were settled in, the three of you began tearing the pillows and blankets off the beds, creating a cushiony oasis in the middle of the hotel room floor where Aerith laid out her mom’s leftovers. Then you all sat down on the pillows to eat and catch up.

You closed your eyes in indulgent bliss as you savored Elmyra’s food. “As good as you remember?” Aerith asked.

You nodded. “Even better–after eight weeks of takeout, it’s divine.” While the girls were dying to hear of your adventures, you made them first fill you in on everything that had been going on back in the real world. Tifa told you Marlene was doing well, that she’d made a new friend at school–and that Barret was frustrated by the lack of progress Avalanche had made in recent weeks. “I bet they miss having Cloud around to help out.”

“You’d never get Barret to admit it, but–yeah,” Tifa said with a smile.

You also begged Aerith to fill you in on Sector 5–you’d lived there with Aerith and her mom for a long time when your parents first died, and apart from Sector 3, it was the closest thing you had to a home, especially given your longtime mentorship under Dr. Baker there. “I remember Oates had the flu when I left. He doing okay?” Aerith told you yes, he was, and that the kids at the Leaf House missed you. “They just miss the lollipops I used to give out when I did their immunizations!” you chuckled.

“My mom asks about you a lot–she’s noticed it’s been a while since you came by.”

Your eyes went wide with horror. “Oh my gosh–you haven’t told her, have you?!”

“That you left town to become a stripper? No, actually!”

“We prefer the term exotic dancers,” you chided to their giggles. “Oh, and speaking of keeping secrets, thanks for telling me about the whole dress thing, by the way!” You slung a pillow at Tifa in amused irritation, making her squeal with laughter. “He only told me last week what you three got up to in Wall Market–you know how stupid I looked?!”

When she recovered enough from laughing to explain, Aerith replied, “It was Cloud who didn’t want anyone else to know! It was hard for us to keep it from you, but, it was his story to tell.”

“If it matters, you’re the first person he’s ever told it to, even a tiny piece of it,” Tifa added. “Even Barret doesn’t know what actually happened.”

“Betrayed by my own best friends!” you lamented melodramatically.

“Hey, you have no idea how hard it’s been for us keeping your secrets from Cloud!” Aerith exclaimed. That earned your other best friend a pillow to the face.

“Being stuck in the middle of all that pining and sexual tension…” Tifa teased. This time she was quick enough to duck out of the way of the incoming pillow.

“There isn’t any tension!” you insisted. “Not for Cloud, anyway…” Tifa and Aerith just looked at you skeptically as you returned to your leftovers.

After the three of you finished eating, Tifa scooted her pillow closer, asking eagerly, “So–tell us what’s happened! We want to know everything!”

Maybe not everything…

It felt strange to look back and piece together all that you’d been through these past weeks. You hadn’t had any reason to put it into words–there hadn’t been anyone to tell. But it wasn’t long into your story before it all came pouring out of you. They listened intently as you recounted your very first performance, comparing notes with Aerith on the different members of the Trio and on how Cloud’s audition with Andrea measured up to yours. Their faces went slack with shock as you described your first dramatic entrance on stage, dropping your red gown to the floor to reveal your black lace ensemble underneath.

“You stripped? Right in front of Cloud?!” Aerith asked incredulously.

“Hey, I was wearing stuff underneath!”

They rolled their eyes when you told them about Cloud’s behavior in the weeks following that first performance, how he would disappear night after night, never telling you what he was up to, until it had finally come out he’d been doing it for you all along.

“Typical Cloud!” Aerith chided–but her tone was affectionate, rather than angry.

“It’s actually kind of sweet, when you think about it…” Tifa mused.

Their mouths dropped when you told them how you and Cloud ended up enacting your fake liaison, after he’d started going to the Honeybee Inn to keep an eye on you. The girls’ eyes widened in giddy disbelief when you told them how you’d had to climb into Cloud’s lap and shove his face into your chest in order to shield him from Director Palmer, both girls breaking into hysterical giggles.

“You’re not serious!” Tifa squealed.

“You go girl!” Aerith suggestively raised her eyebrows, laying it on thick.

“It wasn’t like that!” You protested hopelessly, burying your face in a pillow.

“I can’t believe Cloud didn’t blow a fuse!” Tifa chuckled.

“Oh, he almost did…”

They gasped when you told them how you met Rufus after storming out of the apartment in anger and hurt, watched with horror in their eyes as you recounted getting attacked by Damian.

“I should have taught you some self-defense before you left…” Tifa said, eyes downcast. “But still, thank goodness Cloud found you in time.”

“This is why I’m always telling you not to bottle things up!” But Aerith’s chiding was gentle and sincere, rather than angry–she knew your nature better than anyone.

That episode naturally led you to discuss Cloud caring for your injuries after, and his tenderness made them both comment on how sweet it was. Then, of course, it came to Cloud’s turn to be cared for: “It was lucky we had another spare set of sheets for the bed, after I got all that blood on them. But you remember I said that Cloud came back hurt, from the Colosseum? Turned out he still needed tending, too. I’ll never forget rolling over the next morning and seeing that blood stain on the sheets! We finally had to figure out where the laundro–”

“Wait wait wait, time out–you and Cloud are sleeping in the same bed?!” Aerith cried out.

Tifa was equally floored. “When were you going to tell us that little detail?!”

You blinked hard. You’d mentioned the fact without so much as batting an eye, not realizing no one else would’ve known it but you and Cloud. Then your face flushed hot under your friends’ astonished stares. “It’s not–We didn’t choose it, trust me!”

Then you recounted the long tale of tracking down Johnny’s car, all the twists and turns that had sent you all over Wall Market.

“You got to watch Cloud squat? Lucky you!” Aerith snickered with suggestive raises of her eyebrows.

You should’ve known she’d tease you for that, but you were hopelessly flustered. “I-I didn’t know where to look!”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“Sounds like Johnny hasn’t changed a bit,” Tifa sighed.

“He never means to find himself in so much trouble…” you began.

“Too bad trouble loves to find him!” Tifa finished, and you two giggled.

Then you recounted making your second deal with Madam M for the navy dress you'd brought with you, as well as Cloud's tux, before giving them the play by play of your elaborate ruse to cheat Delphine out of Johnny's car keys.

"Using the fan to hide your magic was so clever. And the way you kept your cool on the fly like that! You were a total badass!" Tifa remarked.

"Totally! Midgar's very own femme fatale," Aerith chimed in. "And taking the Steal materia with you just in case? I never would have thought of that!"

You blushed under their praises. "Thanks, guys. Too bad that it almost worked, huh?" you mused with a chuckle.

"Hey, that's what Cloud's for, right?" Aerith answered with a bubbly giggle. Your cheeks flushed at remembering how Cloud had protected you, hovered around you as you huddled behind the overturned table before guiding you out of the hotel to safety.

Their admiration continued when you got to the part in the expressway, trying to make your way to the stolen car in secret before the bandits had discovered you. Their eyes were bright with astonishment at the part where you and Cloud got away after coming to your rescue.

Tifa put a hand on your shoulder. "You were seriously brave back there."

"Sounds like you two make quite the team!" Aerith beamed.

Your eyes fell to your lap as your heart fluttered. Yeah...yeah, we do. You'd been incredibly nervous, sure, but somehow, it had never overwhelmed you: and you realized it was because Cloud was with you every step of the way. You just knew as long as he was there, you would always be alright. Even in just these two months, you hadn't realized how used to his presence you'd gotten, how deeply you'd come to rely on him. What am I going to do without him, when this is all over soon? You tried to suppress that thought. “The whole thing was a real pain, but, in the end...it was actually a lot of fun.” A warm smile came over your face as memories from that night came back to you: watching how adorable Cloud’s anger was at Bert getting your autograph, the tension of trying to outwit Delphine–the sound of Cloud’s laughter, when you’d gotten the car back to the park; his endearing bashfulness when he’d described putting on a dress; the warmth of his chest as he’d carried you in his arms… Then you chuckled. "Both of us have done so many things neither of us signed up for!"

“I’m still stuck on the whole sleeping in the same bed thing!” Aerith interjected.

You told them how Cloud had listened when you opened up about your past in Evergreen Park, about the painful memories from your life when the plates fell. They stared in disbelief as you told them how Cloud opened himself up in turn, had done his best to connect with you, to encourage you–in his way.

“Cloud never talks about stuff like that,” Tifa remarked.

“I couldn’t believe it either."

“That’s Cloud alright–” Aerith chimed in. “He puts on a show, but, deep down, he’s a big softie.”

And at last, you told them about having to endure a Corneo Cup with Rufus, how you had to watch Cloud compete and pretend you didn’t care about him, how you’d cast a quick Resist spell to save him moments before it was too late.

“I’ve only ever seen Malboros in the Shinra building,” Tifa commented. “I can’t believe they made him fight one all on his own…”

“That’s Don Corneo for you...” Aerith's voice was laced with disdain.

"I can't imagine how hard it must have been, watching Cloud like that while you had to stand up there with Rufus,” Tifa remarked with a shudder. "I don't know if I could have pulled that off without losing my lunch. You did a great job.”

You decided to leave out the details of Rufus’s treatment of you when you’d both gone back to Honeybee Inn that night–and Cloud’s strange behavior afterward. He’d been furious, protective, then insecure, even sweet…but you also remembered how he’d sat there frozen like a statue as you’d used his sweater as a snot rag. Talk about mortifying… As your best friends, you knew that if you told Aerith and Tifa about the incident, they’d be there for you–but you didn’t want to relive it, not again. And besides, everything about that night from the moment you came stumbling back through the door, to finally falling asleep beside Cloud after he’d done his best to comfort you…you couldn’t explain what it meant to you. Suddenly, you realized you didn’t want to. Neither you nor Cloud had even discussed the episode since, but it was undeniably there, woven into the fabric between you. To share that with anyone else…somehow felt wrong. Like sharing it to the world would be to give something away, something precious.

That just left you to inform them of your final plan to retrieve the files from Rufus’s phone, which would bring your strange adventure here in Wall Market to an end: how you planned to drug Rufus’s drink to get him to leave his phone with you while he used the restroom, before it became Cloud's turn to enact his plan to extricate you from the situation.

Both girls again remarked on how clever it was. "The President played by the nurse: turns out you were the perfect woman for the job!" Tifa remarked.

"I just want this whole thing over with so you can come home already!" Aerith added.

As the story that had been building up inside you for almost two months came spilling out, you realized how wonderful it was to finally be able to talk about things. With Tifa and Aerith, you could be yourself. They could understand how difficult it could be for girls in Wall Market. They could empathize with how lonely you felt, as an undercover agent living with a fake identity–as a girl, living with the guy you were secretly crushing on. It made you feel like a normal person when they reacted with shock, or disgust, or disbelief, when the events you described were shocking, or uncomfortable, or unbelievable–you really weren’t going crazy after all. Though as your story finished, you realized that despite your best efforts, you’d mentioned Cloud at every opportunity, every scrap of every detail you could remember from your interactions with him, spending as much time on what he’d been doing, thinking, feeling (if you knew) as the actually relevant information.

“He’s changed a lot since you guys left,” Tifa remarked when you’d reached the end of your account.

“You think so?” You couldn’t help how it made your heart flutter to hear it.

“We haven’t been here very long–” Aerith added, “But even just from the way you two were tonight, you can tell he’s way more relaxed. Like he’s content…happier.”

You felt your face begin to warm, but refused to let Aerith kindle the ember of hope in your chest. “He’s probably just glad it’s going to be over soon…” You looked up to find your friends glaring at you. “What?”

“It’s because he’s been here with you, dummy!” Aerith giggled. “I mean, what else could it be? It’s definitely not the location!”

You couldn’t help the bitter smile on your face. “Don’t be ridiculous. I mean, you guys have seen it–he barely spoke two words to me since you guys moved to Sector 3. Barret had to force him to do this mission–and if he’d had his way, we would have just worked independently. No,” you finished, eyes dimming, “I wouldn’t flatter myself that I’m anything special to him like that.”

Aerith said your name with a scolding tone–“the man brushed sprinkles out of your hair!”

If my mom could hear the things people say to me…

“I know Cloud doesn’t make it easy,” Tifa added, “but his heart’s always in the right place. You can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to–it’s been like that since we were kids. He wouldn’t have done everything he has if he didn’t care about you. It’s what he does that shows you what he’s thinking.” Aerith nodded firmly in agreement.

You looked down at your hands. That was the same conclusion you’d come to. When you needed him, he’d been there for you: whether it was walking you home, looking out for you during your shifts, risking injury to pay for your clothes, protecting you from thugs and bandits, letting you cry on his shoulder…And Tifa and Aerith were two of Cloud’s closest friends after all they’d been through together–who would know better than them? But you knew that if you let yourself get your hopes up, only to be crushed, you’d never recover from it.

“So you mean to tell me you two have been living together, sleeping in the same bed, sitting in each other’s laps every night pretending to be hookup buddies, stitching his wounds shirtless, stealing cars and cheating in dice games, spending every waking moment together, and nothing has happened between you?!” Aerith exclaimed.

Had anything happened?

“Well…maybe there was one thing…”

You stood up from the pillows, walked over to your duffel bag. After gently searching through its contents, you retrieved the rose, its velvety petals a deep crimson now that it was fully dried, cradling it in your palms as you returned to your friends once more, holding it out in your hands for them to see after you’d settled back down onto your pillow.

“Oh, wow…” Aerith sighed dreamily.

“Did Cloud give that to you?” Tifa asked with wonder as she admired the bloom.

You told your friends the details you’d left out the first time: how after Palmer and the two Honeygirls had left, leaving you and Cloud staring at each other in a daze, you’d sprang up from his lap, horrified at how far you’d overstepped. It was finally starting to go right, and then you’d blown it–or so you’d thought. You explained how Cloud had stuttered out an apology for how he’d behaved toward you, even thanked you for looking out for him. Then how he’d crossed the room to sit beside you on the low coffee table, how he’d smoothed your hair behind your ear and placed the rose there, reassuring you with a small smile you’d remember all the days of your life that you two were alright after all, that the tender, budding friendship between you hadn’t been damaged. He’d had such tenderness in his eyes, such gentle affection in his hesitant touch…it was the only thing Cloud had done that you could see as even the slightest step over the line into…something more.

“That’s so sweet…” Tifa cooed.

“Who knew Cloud had it in him!” Aerith said with a playful smile.

“But that was after I’d put as much distance between us as possible,” you insisted. “He wasn’t turned on–he was mortified. All it shows is that he still wanted to be friends.”

But despite your words, a small smile traitorously pulled at your lips as you gazed down at the rose–and though you didn’t tell Tifa and Aerith, the memories from that night in the suite flashed before your eyes: the pressure of his hand on your waist back in the booth, the smooth leather of his gloved fingertips on your skin as he traced your body, how he’d taken your hand and led you to the suite, heat blazing in his eyes; When he’d stared up at you, his face deeply flushed, breath heavy and voice husky as you straddled him, his hands still low on your hips long after Palmer had gone. For someone who wore a mask as often as he did, it hadn’t felt like he was acting.

Then the trickle became a flood, and your mind overflowed with moments between you–so subtle, you’d miss them if you blinked: the shellshocked look on his face when you’d appeared before him wrapped in sensuous red satin, rendering him utterly incapable of speech. His eyes had traveled up your form, frantic and restless, like he didn’t know where to look, but couldn’t possibly look away; How his breath had hitched as your hands slid over his skin and your body brushed up against his while you’d bandaged his wounds; how his flustered gaze had raked over you after you’d let it slip you were still a virgin, back at the bar. You thought of how Cloud watched you every time you went on stage, the look in his eyes that burned you alive, from the first performance to the very last, and every night in between. You couldn’t flatter yourself–but if you did, he looked…hungry.

Then the smile faded away. What did it all really amount to? It was just an accumulation of a thousand infinitesimal moments that your rational mind could explain away, yet refused to let go of. Sometimes you wondered if you’d dreamed it all up, if you were just seeing into his gestures, his words, what you wanted to see, warping the lens to alter the angles. Nearly two months, and what did you have to show for it–maybe a few stares, a few awkward episodes? Nothing that had ever truly stepped outside the bounds of fondness, even friendship.

What you felt for Cloud, it was physical (Shiva Almighty, was it physical), but it ran so much deeper than that for you. Maybe it had been a crush at first, that heady co*cktail of hormones and self-indulgence: but now, calling him a crush seemed too trivial for the feeling in your chest when you rolled over and watched Cloud sleeping in the morning glow beside you; how his presence moored you as nothing else; how him just saying your name, handing you your tube of toothpaste across the sink, leaning forward to swipe a piece of food from your takeout box with his chopsticks, was enough to make your heart race. The way his lips slanted when he smiled, how each one felt like a secret he shared only with you–how his slow, steady breathing in the middle of the night made everything alright.

Cloud made you hot with want, ache with need; But he was no longer just the handsome face you saw in your fantasies: he was your friend, your confidante, the man you shared this false life with–the man you wanted to fall asleep next to in your real one, too. It made his indifference–his rejection–almost unbearable, sometimes. In these past weeks, he’d given you more than you’d ever dreamed of–and yet, it could never be enough. And it was no longer just about what you wanted him to give you: it was what you wanted for him. It broke your heart when you thought of how Cloud saw himself, all the insecurity and self-doubt that plagued him–because deep down, he was wonderful, and not just because he could swing a big sword around, could rescue princesses and defeat dragons: it wasn’t because of what he was, but who. He was kind, caring, brave, even funny. He’d go to the ends of the planet for the people he cared about. Those were the big reasons, but they mattered no less than the small: you enjoyed his company, even when it was just walking beside him, or eating dinner in companionable silence. You admired Cloud, respected him: you cared about him–too much for your own good. You wanted all of him, even the parts he was ashamed of.

You wanted to give Cloud Strife anything he asked for, anything he ever wanted–your tragedy was that it wasn’t you.

Six months of rejection, disinterest, silence–could it really be outweighed by eight precious weeks of…whatever this was? Friendship, to be sure, but, something…more? You placed it all on the scales, reckoned it all up in the balance–looked down at the velvety soft rose in your hands. Did any of it mean anything? But in the end…

“It was…it was just a moment.”

After a long, somber pause, you continued: “You said it yourself, Aerith. He’s had all this time, all these chances, and–nothing.”

After she gently said your name, Tifa ventured, “you haven’t…you still haven’t told him?” These two girls were your best friends–of course they knew of your long standing feelings for Cloud.

“How could I? It would ruin the mission,” you started lamely. But that wasn’t really your excuse, and they knew it. “…We’re still going to be neighbors, once this is all over. I’d never be able to face him if he found out. Besides, it’s not just about me–he’s got enough to deal with: Shinra, Sephiroth, those headaches he gets…He made it clear a long time ago how he feels about me, and it wouldn’t be right for me to make him uncomfortable by pushing him like that again–to burden him with my feelings–feelings he doesn’t share…doesn’t want.”

Your expression grew pained, your eyes dim, as a small, sad smile pulled at your lips–as you resigned yourself to your fundamental truth: “I’m–I’m not the brave one here. That’s his job.”

“Oh, sweetie…” Aerith sat up, wrapping her arms around you. "How can you say that after everything you've accomplished so far?" Tifa nodded in earnest agreement.

“I-I’m fine, really,” you said, blinking away the tears welling in your eyes. “Once the mission is done, we’ll just go our separate ways again. It’ll be just like before–no harm done.” Suddenly, you berated yourself for dredging the issue up yet again.

“This must all be so hard for you…” Tifa soothed.

“Yeah–” you answered with a watery chuckle. “It’s been hard to pretend to be something I’m not for so long. To have all these guys hitting on me, putting their hands all over me, having to pretend I’m into it…”

“Some of my customers at the bar, well–you’ve seen how friendly they get sometimes when they’re drunk,” Tifa remarked. “I know how uncomfortable it can be.”

“Just not the right guy putting his hands all over you, huh?” Aerith teased.

“Aerith!” The three of you giggled, and you could never thank them enough for it.

“Try not to take it personally–it’s hard for Cloud to open up,” Tifa continued, reaching for your hand. “He’s been through alot, he’s lost a lot–so he doesn’t let people get close to him. That’s why it’s amazing just how comfortable he is with you–you shouldn’t dismiss that.”

“Or the fact that he stares at you the entire time you’re in a room together…” Aerith chimed in.

“Well, I mean, I was on stage, Aerith–kind of hard not to look.”

She shook her head. “His eyes were glued to you before, during, and after. And that doesn’t even include all the nights in Seventh Heaven!”

“I know you guys have mentioned that before, but–”

“–But nothing!” Aerith scolded good-naturedly. “You ever noticed all the times Barret yelled at him during your Avalanche meetings because he wasn’t paying attention? Why do you think that is, silly?”

“And whenever you’re in a room together, like when you’re both at the bar,” Tifa added, “he’s watching you constantly–except well, when you can see him.”

Your friends had pointed to these things numerous times before to cheer you up, but you just couldn’t believe them. “He’s here because it’s his job,” you continued. “I told you guys what he said to Barret–he doesn’t…he doesn’t want to be near me.” Your voice nearly broke at that last part. “He said what he really thinks, after the party. And once this is over, he won’t have anything forcing him to stay close to me like this. Everything that’s happened, it’s not…none of this is real.” Aerith and Tifa’s faced pinched in sadness and sympathy at your words.

In the day-to-day rhythm of your life here, it was so easy for you to lose sight of the fact that everything that happened, it was all because of the mission. If it weren’t for these absurd circ*mstances, Cloud never would have become your friend at all. His conversation with Barret behind the closed doors of Seventh Heaven that night was burned into your memory: when he thought no one could hear, he’d said what he really felt, what he wanted your relationship to be–that when it came to it, he saw you only as a liability. That was the real world, not the fantasyland you lived in here in Wall Market, where you could pretend this was your actual life. If he truly felt nothing for you, once his obligation to the mission had been discharged, who was to say he wouldn’t just go back to ignoring you? And even if he did maintain your newfound friendship, you were still stuck in limbo, his hold over you stronger than ever. In a matter of days, hours, you would be right back to where you were–a purgatory of your own heart.

Now it was time for both Tifa and Aerith to put their arms around you, and the three of you hugged it out. “Cloud walked you here, right? When you came over?” Tifa asked. You nodded into her shoulder. “See? He does care about you,” she encouraged in her warm, gentle way–and you loved her for it.

“It’s his job, Tifa,” you countered with a watery chuckle. “You know Cloud–‘I’m just in it for the paycheck.’” Aerith and Tifa giggled as you lowered your voice, grumbled your best Disinterested Cloud impression.

“Well, we’ll have to see if we can make him work some overtime while we’re here!” Aerith teased.

“Nonononono!” you exclaimed bashfully as your friends released you. Then you sobered again. “No…it’s better this way. Cloud and I…we’re friends now. I wouldn’t want to lose that, not ever. If that’s all I ever get to have with him…it’s better than losing him completely. I guess I’ve got that to bring home with me. Oh, that reminds me–” You looked over at Aerith. “I want you to take this with you.”

Her eyes went wide when you offered her the rose. “What? Why?!”

“Cloud doesn’t know I kept it–I’ve been hiding it in the closet,” you admitted with a chuckle. “I don’t want him to find out–it would only make things weird for him. I just want something to remember him by–something to remember all this really happened. Could you hang on to it for me, just until I get back to Sector 3?”

“Of course,” she said, accepting the rose with gentle reverence.

“Sorry–gosh, how embarrassing!” you groaned, suddenly feeling flustered. “You’re only here for two days, and I’m wasting our time talking about a guy.”

“Are you kidding? Talking about guys is what I live for!” Aerith giggled.

“For what it’s worth, you two are always the talk at Seventh Heaven,” Tifa added. “I’ve even got a few regulars with bets down on whether Cloud will ever get it together and ask you out.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re not serious.”

Tifa nodded. “See? You’ve got a whole sector rooting for you!”

“That’s why we’ve got to make something happen this weekend–”Aerith chimed in, “or you owe me twenty gil, missy!”

The three of you laughed, and the warmth in your chest was so wonderful, it almost made you start crying all over again. “I missed you guys so much…” you said with a watery smile. They hugged you again.

“If it’s meant to be, it will happen–I know it.” Tifa was rubbing your back in gentle circles, using her most reassuring tone.

“We’ll make damn sure it does! And well, if not,” Aerith added, “Oates has been crushing on you for years…”

“Aerith!” you exclaimed, hauling another pillow her way.

“Just saying you’ve got options!”

“And there’s always Johnny!” Tifa added. But she was only able to feign sincerity until you met her eyes, and the three of you burst into giggles again.

“And then there’s Rufus…” you murmured grimly, remembering the trial ahead of you.

“Oh!” Aerith exclaimed, eyes brightening. “That reminds me–I came up with a name for your mission, the plan to pull a fast one on Rufus.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, it involves Cloud stopping him from–you know…right?”

“Right…”

“Sooo, how about ‘Operation C-Block’! C for Cloud, and for him–”

“–Aerith!” you squeaked in embarrassment. But as you all went into another flurry of giggles, you had to admit–the name wasn’t terrible.

As Aerith popped a movie into the TV and Tifa scooted her pillow up next to yours, you let your worries and fears fade away, caught up in the companionship, the near constant laughter. After so long in perilous isolation here at Wall Market, where sometimes, it felt like you’d become almost another person entirely–being able to open up to your closest friends, to have them hold you as you cried, make you laugh until your smile hurt–you could feel it healing your soul. How had you gotten so lucky, to have friends like these? And yeah, that included Cloud.

After a wonderful night of painting your nails and watching cheesy rom-coms with Tifa and Aerith, it was well past midnight by the time the three of you climbed into your beds, Aerith constantly peeking at you from her bunk-bed above you, all of you giggling well into the night.

Sometime later, a strange pinging sound from below you made you startle. It took you a few seconds to figure out it was coming from your PHS–something you’d only had for all of six hours. You reached down to fish it out of your duffel bag. Given that it was Avalanche issued, you didn’t recognize the number on the outer display. When you flipped open the phone, the message on the screen read:

it’s Cloud. you doing okay?

You chided yourself for the way a text message had your heart doing somersaults.

“Cloud looking for a late night booty call?”

You jolted when you saw Aerith peering down at you over the metal railing of her bed, bathed in the dim light from your phone screen, a gleeful, mischievous smirk on her face.

“Sh! Tifa’s sleeping!”

“One night apart, and he’s already missing her…” Tifa’s melodramatic voice sighed from the other bed.

You glared at your friend. “He just asked if I’m okay, that’s all!”

“But he totally doesn’t care about you,” Aerith deadpanned.

“I don’t remember either of us getting a text like that…” Tifa mused.

You shot back a quick: Yup! All good! Then immediately winced: That probably sounded so stupid…

Unable to control yourself, you then sent: Goodnight Cloud.

You dropped the phone back into your bag, not brave enough to wait for a response. But of course, the sound of the message tone a few minutes later had you scrambling for it again anyway.

You too.

Chapter 40

Chapter Text

Cloud was sitting on the worn leather armchair in your apartment, glaring down at Hardedge resting across his lap. After saying goodbye to you at the hotel and wandering the streets before making a detour to the weapons shop, he’d finally headed for home, grabbing a box of takeout for a late dinner on the way. He’d eaten in silence, of course, as you two often did–turned out silence tasted different, when you weren’t sharing it.

After the meal, he’d settled in to clean, polish, and otherwise maintain his sword and armor, something he’d neglected to do in the past eight weeks (and was sorely needed after the Corneo Cup). It had become something of a ritual for him, something that should have been menial and tedious, but which he found relaxing, even pleasant: concentrating on a rhythmic, simple task calmed him, focused his mind. It also gave him time to admire his weapon, and he enjoyed bringing it back into its best possible condition, something he was proud to wear on his back at all times. But as Cloud wiped away the dirt, grime, and dried blood from its grooves and edges with his worn old cleaning rag, this time, his mind couldn’t quite settle. His eyes kept flicking to the clock on the nightstand, watching the minutes slowly drain away. The room seemed far too quiet, much too still.

Cloud had spent countless hours by himself in this tiny apartment. At first, he’d savored the peace and quiet, the break from the chaos of Wall Market, the ludicrousy of the Honeybee Inn, the antics of the mission. But then, it had somehow shifted–when, he couldn’t say. Because in all those times of still and quiet, he’d known that you would come walking back through the door eventually. He could see it in his head, right now: you entering the room, dropping your purse on the bed. Then you’d give him one of your warm smiles as you made some admiring comment about his sword (or, knowing you, an obvious ‘big sword’ joke). You’d sit down facing him on the edge of the bed, arms reaching up as you pulled the pins from your hair, letting it tumble down your back and shoulders, asking him questions about his task as you looked on appreciatively. Cloud had to admit, he sort of wanted you to see him doing something he considered cool. Talk about pathetic…When Tifa had proposed that you spend the weekend with her and Aerith, he’d thought he’d be relieved, happy even, for a break from it all–but he just found himself wondering where you were, what you were doing. If you needed him. It was nice to feel needed. Still pathetic.

Cloud scrubbed at the grooves on the sword’s handle and hilt for what must have been the tenth time, his eyes not even on his work as he glared at the clock. 12:52–Probably time to call it a night. Rising from the chair and propping his sword against the wall, he dropped the dirty cloth in the bin in the closet before entering the bathroom to brush his teeth and otherwise prepare to sleep. On a typical night, you might have come out of the shower by now, the bathroom filled with steam and the scent of your shampoo. As you blow dried your hair, you might occasionally blast him with its hot air, giggling as his hair spikes bent in the breeze. He’d scoff, glower at you with an irritated "Hey!"–and it always seemed to make you smile even more. Or you might accidentally bump his shoulder as you leaned down to rinse off your toothbrush in the one small sink you shared, standing side by side, eyes avoiding each other in the mirror as you both brushed. Cloud sank onto his side of the mattress, sat on the edge, his mind still restless and far away.

Then the metallic gleam of the object on his bedside table caught his eye: the PHS. Plucking it from the nightstand, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he turned the device over in his hands. He knew he’d be able to sleep better if he heard from you. He scolded himself–it hadn’t even been one night. Pathetic. You hadn’t reached out–maybe you wanted to be left alone. And it hardly helped his image if he texted you first. But tonight, he was tired of playing such mind games. He flipped open the phone and scrolled to the number Tifa had indicated was yours.

it’s Cloud. you doing okay?

Berating himself for the way his stomach was churning, he startled when the phone pinged not long after he sent his message.

Yup! All good!

Cloud’s shoulders fell as some of the tension twisted up in his muscles abated—he hadn’t even realized it was there. His mission complete, he closed the PHS and placed it on the table once more, then shuffled under the covers, reaching to turn off the lamp on the nightstand. He lay on his side, the familiar view of the wall and the closet murky in the gloom. The darkness only seemed to amplify the silence, the stillness, made his breathing seem much too loud in his ears. Without you there on the other side, Cloud felt free to roll onto his back. He placed his hands behind his head—and forgot that he would find his own reflection staring back in the mirror above him, as if the room itself were trying to rub it in how alone he was. But then Cloud nearly jumped out of bed when the text sound unexpectedly rang out again.

Goodnight Cloud.

The brief message shouldn’t have affected him as much as it did. Cloud realized it was always you that initiated this nightly ritual when you slept beside each other. Something about you keeping it up even in your absence was giving him a strange tightness in his chest–the thought that somewhere out there, you were thinking about him. He pondered what to say in reply, if he should reply at all. But once he realized near eight minutes had gone by, he hastily sent a simple: You too.

Finally plunking the PHS on the table and settling on the mattress once more, Cloud went back to staring at his reflection–and the empty space beside it–until he finally drifted off to sleep.

Cloud awoke in a coughing fit, choking on the smoke and ash clogging his lungs. Not again…

Head throbbing from the polluted air, he groggily pulled himself up onto his elbows where he lay sprawled on the ground. Cloud looked around: just the familiar sight of the world falling apart around him. It was the ruins of Sector 7–he’d recognize the decimated landscape anywhere.

His body aching all over, Cloud managed to rise to his feet and retrieve his sword, which had landed a few feet away. He was in a small oasis in the rubble, a patch of ground in the sea of warped metal, crumbling concrete, and burning wood surrounding him as far as he could see in every direction. But this time, Cloud couldn’t hear Barret screaming in grief and anguish, couldn’t see Tifa anywhere–he was completely alone. So he did the only thing he could: he began to walk.

He frequently had to climb over large pieces of what used to be the buildings of Sector 7, or shove massive chunks of rubble out of his path to advance–not that he had any idea where he was going. There weren’t even the agonized shouts and cries of survivors or rescuers: the only sound was the burning. What if he never found a way out of here? He felt sick to his stomach, and not just from the foul air. He’d been too late, too slow, too complacent–this was his fault. And among the countless lives lost were those of Jessie, Biggs, Wedge–better friends than he'd deserved.

Lost in more ways than direction, Cloud was looking around as he picked his way through the rubble, trying to figure out where to go. Suddenly he felt his foot knock into something—a rusted metal rod jutting from the slab of concrete he was trying to walk around. With a clipped grunt, he went tumbling forward, and without warning his vision went black. In the endless dark Cloud heard strange rustling sounds all around him as he fell, and felt a tiny prick of pain sting his right cheek. It was all over in an instant: but when he landed on the ground, flat on his face–it was soft, not hard. The smell of smoke was gone.

“And I thought SOLDIERs were like cats–always landed on their feet.”

Face still planted on the ground where he was sprawled on his stomach, Cloud’s eyes snapped open. That sounded like– Pushing up onto his elbows, he looked to his left for the source of the voice, high and lovely, warm and playful.

It was you.

Cloud blanched in surprise. As he stared up at you in bewilderment, a gentle smile came over your face, fond and affectionate, like seeing him made you happier than you could say. It was nighttime now, wherever you were: your hair shone, graced with a silver sheen in the moonlight, and he could see the dimples etched in your cheeks. You were sitting on your knees as you gazed down at him, still lying flat out beside you where he’d tripped and fallen. But as he took you in, something about you seemed unusual…what was it? Cloud’s eyes trailed down your form. When it hit him, his eyes went wide in utter astonishment, and he choked out a stuttering grunt.

Though it was muted in the low light, Cloud could make out that you were wearing the red satin overdress you’d worn the night of your audition with Andrea, spilling in ripples over your thighs to pool around you, tied with the black satin sash in a bow around your waist–and he could tell from the valley of bare skin on your chest, from the natural shape of your breasts that you weren’t wearing anything underneath it.

Cloud inhaled sharply at the realization. When he did, he vaguely registered that the air was no longer polluted with ash or smoke–it was clean, lush, fragrant, even. You took your eyes from him to survey the surroundings, and he hastily pulled himself into a seated position, followed your gaze. …A garden? Cloud was no longer on the ashy, debris laden ground of Sector 7. The two of you were sitting on soft, verdant grass, surrounded by blooming flowers of all kinds. It was a clear night sky over his head, and he heard the trickle from an ornate stone fountain a few yards ahead of him. A wall of neatly trimmed hedges hemmed in the space on all sides, with no opening for an exit to be seen. Suddenly the insistent stinging in his right cheek made him bring a gloved hand to his face, wincing when he made contact with the skin on his cheekbone. The pads of two of his fingers came away slick, the crimson color of the blood desaturated yet faintly shiny under the light from the moon and the stars. You were seated on his left–Cloud looked to his right and realized on his other side he had landed next to a large rose bush, densely populated with lush, full blooms filling the air with their watery perfume–he must have caught a thorn on the way down. What the hell is going on here?

Cloud grunted under his breath when he felt the soft touch of your hand cupping his cheek, applying gentle pressure to turn his face back toward you so you could examine him. He flushed under your stare, his eyes darting away, unable to meet your gaze, though he knew you were being so forward because he’d hurt himself. “It’s not serious–and I don’t really have much to help you with out here, anyway. I think you’ll live,” you concluded with a soft chuckle.

You let your thumb gently stroke his cheek–why did your skin have to be so soft?–then a playful smile lit your face. “Someone needs a shave,” you murmured suddenly, your voice full of soft affection. “I’m gone one night, and you’re already letting yourself go...”

With another bewildered grunt, Cloud just stared at you, completely baffled. This had to be a dream. And sure, he’d had dreams that…involved you before–but this was so…so vivid. And this strange setting was nothing like those other ones. And, well, you never really talked this much in them, either–he had you too busy doing…other things. Things that involved your mouth–and his.

You rose to your feet then, and Cloud was hopelessly mesmerized watching the skirt of the dress ripple as it settled around your hips and legs, shining like liquid as the moonlight skid along the satin. He pulled himself to his feet to stand beside you. “Why are we here?” Cloud asked finally. His heart was beating at an alarming rate.

You tilted your head to gaze up at the stars. “I don’t know,” you answered plainly. Cloud looked over at you, took in your delicate neck, the long shadows on the sides created by the moonlight, the grooves of your collarbones in sharp relief. Then you looked over at him, another mirthful smile lighting up your face as you let out a giggle. “It is a bit much, isn’t it?”

Cloud let his eyes rake down your barely covered form. “You’re one to talk.” He normally would never be so bold–but hey, this was a dream, right? What harm could it do?

“C’mon–let’s get outta here.” You turned and made your way across the garden, toward the fountain on the far side.

What the hell? When Cloud began to follow, he saw that next to the fountain was a wooden door, built into the hedges that ringed the small space–that definitely hadn’t been there before. But you strode up to the door without hesitation, glancing over your shoulder just to make sure Cloud was behind you before you pushed it open.

The bright light from the sports bar nearly blinded him, and he brought a hand up to shield his eyes as the clamor of clinking glasses and raucous chatter poured through the open doorway, rupturing the peaceful quiet of the garden. “I got the first round!” you called over your shoulder. “Meet you at our table!”

What if it’s taken? But then Cloud remembered this was a dream–of course it was open for you. It was just a small, circular wooden table tucked into the far back corner, with two plain wooden chairs pushed in on either side, right next to the bar’s dartboard. When he reached it, he removed Hardedge from his back, propped it against the wall before he sat down in his usual chair. This is where you and Cloud had come after stealing back Johnny’s car, and numerous nights since to eat and unwind. It was odd: though he could hear the noises of the lively establishment all around him–the laughter and chatter, the clinking of plates and glasses as though the place were packed–when Cloud looked around, all the other tables and chairs were empty. There wasn’t anyone to be seen, even a bartender–so how you came back with two glasses of whiskey in hand, Cloud had no idea. After he took his first sip–a long one–when he set the glass back down, he found your eyes already on him.

You flicked your head toward the dartboard. “You wanna play a game?” Cloud just nodded, and went up to the machine to retrieve the six darts left stuck in the board by the previous players.

When he walked back over and offered you your three, you suddenly started, “How ‘bout we up the stakes a little, hm?” Your voice was still barely above a murmur–but there was something in the lilt of it that made Cloud’s heart rate speed up.

“What did you have in mind?”

The flush in your cheeks nearly matched the satin of your dress. “How about for every bullseye one of us lands, the other person…” For the first time, your unexpected confidence and boldness faltered for just a moment, and your gaze dropped from Cloud’s. “…the other person takes off a piece of clothing.” And when you looked up at him again from beneath your long lashes, he nearly dropped his glass.

“B-But–!” Cloud was incapacitated by the proposal. “But you’re–you’re just–” His eyes landed on your chest again–while he was fully clothed in his SOLDIER’s uniform, including his gloves and armor, you were wearing only your red dress, and nothing else–not even shoes.

You shot him a smirk that said, I know that. “Should be an easy win then, hm?” sh*t–heat instantly surged through him.

With that, you gestured to the dartboard, allowing him to go first. Slowly turning to face it, Cloud swallowed hard. The new rules of the game made it difficult for him to keep his hand from trembling. None of the three darts in his first round came anywhere close to the center bull–he nearly hit the poster of Stamp again with the second.

When Cloud retrieved his darts and turned around, you were smirking at him. “Like you can do any better?” He tried to come off cool, unaffected–but it came out a bit too defensive. Cloud sank to his chair while you squared up to the board. In the casual, run-down atmosphere of the sports bar, your evening gown made you look far too overdressed, out of place: but the way it was sliding over your bare form, offering brief, shifting suggestions of every curve and crease that lay just beneath it, made it hard for him to care.

You squared up your throwing arm, eyeing the board with a co*cky grin. “You forget, Cloud Strife–I’m the champion of the dartboard.”

Thump–

Bullseye.

Cloud let out a stricken, dismayed grunt. You sauntered to the table. “Well?” You were peering down at him expectantly. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry, but managed to pull himself to his feet.

You stood in front of Cloud, let your gaze roam his body, making a show of deciding what you wanted to come off first. What the hell had possessed you? He folded his arms, his face burning molten hot under your unabashed examination. After a few moments of silent torture, a grin broke out on your face. “I’ll go easy on you this round–armor first.” Cloud reached to his left shoulder–

But you shook your head and closed the gap to him, pulling his hand away. The skin sparked where your hand wrapped around his. “Winner gets to do it.” sh*t. He ducked his head, eyes fixed sidelong on the floor, jaw clenched tight. With his enhanced hearing, Cloud heard clearly the soft clinking sounds as you undid the metal buckles at his shoulder–but he also picked up your breathing, already ragged, and it made him feel a little bit better about himself. Cloud just had to stand there as you first undid the strap to his shoulder, set the heavy metal pauldron down on the table before your hands moved to his chest, worked at the clasps that fastened the straps of his harness. Each fleeting brush of your fingers as you worked, on his chest, then his waist–even with his sweater as a buffer–was agonizing. He helpfully shrugged out of the harness once you were finished, and this too was placed on the table.

You didn’t linger–as soon as you finished, you retrieved your two remaining darts and withdrew. Luckily (or unluckily), you came close to landing two bullseyes, but each of the darts missed just barely. “Alright, SOLDIER boy–your turn.” You sank down into your chair, crossed your legs, the satin skirt snugly profiling your hips and thighs beneath the dress. The pressure below his belt was already increasing, and it had only been one round.

After another long sip of his whiskey to calm his nerves (after which he plunked the glass down on the table just a little too hard), Cloud faced the dartboard once more, taking in a deep breath. Focus. Three darts–three misses. What was wrong with him? Then he watched you stand up, your bare leg momentarily flashing through the slit in the dress as you approached–and he had his answer.

No stockings, either–he wouldn’t have minded the extra steps, if it meant dragging those down your thighs…

Each of your darts made a solid thwacking sound as it landed–you got another bullseye on your third throw. Cloud felt his stomach lurch. “Guess I get to have all the fun...” you sighed playfully, moving to face him once again. No longer wearing his pauldron and harness, Cloud somehow felt far more exposed than he should have as you perused him once more. All he could do was wait.

You made your decision much faster this time: “Sweater.”

Cloud took in a sharp, stuttering breath. He grimaced, fighting to keep his heart rate down as you slowly closed the distance to him. His gaze darted about frantically, eyes wild. You came to a stop inches from his body–but you didn’t reach for him. “Are you uncomfortable? Do you want to stop?” Your voice was soft, achingly sincere. Even that had an effect on him–because it was so…you.

“I want that dress off.”

It was almost a growl, and he saw how it made your pulse quicken at the base of your neck, made your skin there flush. But then you simply lifted your hands, and it took all of Cloud’s willpower to bite back the groan in his throat as your hands settled at his hip bones, as your fingers gathered the material at his waistline, pulled the sweater free from where it was tucked into his pants. Were you going this slow on purpose? It felt like his brain was only half-functional, so he didn’t think it through as he lifted his arms, helping you remove his navy blue sweater. He heard how your breath caught when he was rid of it.

But instead of initiating further contact, you simply allowed yourself to stare for a few moments, cheeks stained pink. Judging by the way your mouth was hanging open slightly, eyes wide, you liked what you saw. But Cloud was also so self-conscious he was finding it hard to stay still under your appreciative gaze. He put one hand on his hip and carded the other through his hair, trying to keep his composure–when you giggled, Cloud looked up to search your face.

“You’re so cute.”

And just like that, the spell was broken. He saw the dimples pinch in your cheeks as you smiled, heard your adorable laugh, and Cloud thought he was going to expire on the spot: because it was so…you.

Gruffly clearing his throat to assert that he was way more macho than cute, Cloud swiped his darts off the table, before he strode past you to the board. The air was cool on his skin as it ghosted over his now bare torso. You kept eyeing him as he lined up, and the sight of it in his peripheral vision was making it hard to concentrate.

His first throw landed in the middle ring–not even close. The second in the circle just outside the bull. This time for sure: he’d get back at you by tearing that damn dress off and–

“Hm…Maybe I should get on my knees when I take your boots off…”

“sh*t!” The third dart hurtled off course, nearly missing the board altogether. Cloud whirled around to glare at you.

“Just thinking ahead,” you remarked breezily, making sure to brush his shoulder as you swanned by him to trade places. His erection jerked in his pants. Not if, when–Shiva Almighty, were you trying to kill him?

Blessedly, you found it in you to not to land a bullseye this round–but neither did Cloud. But on your next turn, you hit one on your first throw, damn you–and the heat in your eyes when you looked at Cloud was lethal. Then your eyes dropped–low.

You took your time walking over to him, moving with slow, indulgent steps. Your eyes were glued to the belts on Cloud’s pants–pants which were starting to feel uncomfortably tight. If you removed that piece of clothing, he’d have nothing but his boxers to hide just how much this was affecting him–like he was doing such a good job at that now…

Your gaze still fixed on his hips, you finally came to a stop directly in front of Cloud. He held his breath. Did you know you were driving him insane? It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying you taking his clothes off (quite the opposite) but it was all just too damn slow. His hands down at his sides clenched into fists as he fought to keep himself composed. Then your eyes finally lifted back up to his–he could see your pupils were blown wide. Just do it already–

“–Gloves.” Flashing him a mischievous smile, you gently took him by the wrist, lifted his hand to begin pulling one off.

f*ck–! Cloud hissed like he was in pain, scowling in frustration. “How are you so…calm?!” In the maelstrom of his arousal, of your relentless teasing, he couldn’t make sense of it.

Your voice was quiet when you answered him. “…It’s a dream, right?” But when you pulled off the first glove, he could feel how your hands were trembling, how hot your skin was against his own.

Once you'd laid both his gloves neatly on the table behind him, Cloud marched past you up to the dartboard and glared at it like it owed him money. His pride was at stake now–not to mention he was so aroused he felt like he was going to combust. Cloud needed to get that dress off you now, so this torture could end.

“…I’m not calm,” you murmured suddenly from where you sat at the table as he got into his throwing stance, staring down into your empty glass. “I’ve just learned how to hide it…to put on a show. But I…you–”

Thump–

Bullseye.

When he heard your startled gasp, Cloud smirked in triumph. But he didn’t want to show just how eager he was: he measured his pace as he walked to the board, took his time yanking each dart free. He turned to give you a wicked smirk. “All in the wrist, right?” All you could do was gape at him. But for all his pretenses, Cloud’s heart was thundering in his chest. It felt like the air in the bar was stiflingly hot. He couldn’t believe he’d pulled it off. Now it was his turn to tease you into oblivion. The thought alone of finally being able to claim his reward was burning him alive.

When Cloud approached you where you were seated at the small table, you were just staring up at him, pretty eyes wide, soft lips parted slightly in utter astonishment. Your hands were frozen, gripping the arms of the wooden chair on either side of you. Despite the mature, risqué overdress, you looked so small, so earnest when you looked at him like that. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one feeling so…overwhelmed. But then again, it was in that very chair you’d let it slip you were a virgin–the real you, anyway.

She’s just a dream–he reminded himself; he didn’t need to feel embarrassed about his woeful lack of experience here.

When Cloud reached you, eyes locked with yours as he gazed down at you in the chair, you were still paralyzed. He took his time placing the darts on the table beside you–but still you were shellshocked. This…this isn’t right. This wasn’t you. So he sank to the ground, came down to one knee in front of your chair. He heard you inhale sharply, eyes still too wide as his gaze leveled with yours. With his heightened senses, he could hear your shaky, shallow breathing, how rapid your heartbeat was, how it stumbled over itself.

“…You okay?” He saw you blink hard when he spoke, like he’d startled you. You let out a weak noise, like you tried to answer, but it was beyond you. What happened to all that confidence? How could he have possibly read this wrong? But…maybe he had. This was the farthest he’d ever gotten–and it was only in a dream. Pathetic. Cloud had been waiting to see the look on your face when he tore your dress off you, got back at you for the way you’d been torturing him. He wanted you gasping in pleasure–gasping his name. But the last thing he wanted–ever wanted–was to see you distressed, and for him to be the cause.

“You…You sure you want this?” He hadn’t meant to say it so quietly, his own courage beginning to falter. His fingers were tracing your ankle along the hem of your skirt, his voice husky, but serious. Cloud watched your blush deepen, ruddy blotches now trailing down your neck, down the torturous strip of skin between your breasts. The clamor of the bar had faded away; exactly when, he couldn't say–in the intimate silence, your eyes never left his, and his never left yours. Whatever spell hung woven in the air, you both were helpless in its thrall.

Finally, you nodded, pretty eyes still wide, but no longer with shock. “…I want you.” It was so quiet, so sincere, you almost sounded pained. Cloud’s eyes skittered to the floor, the intimacy of the moment suddenly making his cheeks burn. It was just so you: open and honest at the core in that way that came so naturally to you, so easily. If this was a dream, how did all this feel so real?

And if this was a dream, why did he never want to wake up?

Cloud let the hand at your ankle glide up your calf, palm flat, fingers splayed, rucking up your skirt as he bent the curve of your knee, trailed up your thigh. He shifted forward as he did so, and your legs parted slightly to allow him closer. He caught the change of your scent in the air, the salt in your sweat mixed with the remnants of the rose garden, the tang of anxiety replaced with the heady ozone of your arousal (it stroked his ego, just a little bit.) But Cloud wasn’t going to linger here any longer–this wasn’t what had been tormenting him for nearly two months now: he eyed that black satin bow, the only flimsy barrier standing between him and everything he wanted.

I suggest you do the unwrapping next time–it’s much more fun that way. The dress was Madam M’s adornment–he was far more turned on by the girl underneath it.

Cloud pulled his hand from your leg, made no attempt to fix your skirt–he liked the way the satin pooled dangerously high at your hips, a mockery of modesty, a few folds of fabric the only thing keeping you from him. It made him feel strangely feral, possessive, satisfied that he was the one who had you so disheveled. What the hell is wrong with me?

Cloud brought his hand to your hip. The way the sash pinched the dress at your waist, he could see your nipples, hard with arousal, pushing taut and tight against the fabric. f*ck… He rode the swell of your hip to the bend of your waist, his splayed fingers pressed to the slight depressions between your ribs. Then, at last, with his other hand, he let the backs of his knuckles trail from the hollow at your collarbones down your sternum, down along the strip of your exposed skin between your breasts, so soft beneath his own bare hand, heard your quiet gasp at the gentle contact. At last he reached the large black bow at your middle, wrapped one of the tails around his finger, pinching it with his thumb–and you whimpered. With a strained grunt, his hips jerked at the small, needy sound–he was so hard by now it was unbearable. Nestled on one knee here between your parted legs, your hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly on either side of him, faces separated by mere inches, he was so close now he could feel your breath on his cheek, ragged, warm.

“Only you…” you murmured suddenly, breathlessly, desperately. Cloud gritted his teeth, fighting back a curse. How could a dream feel this f*cking good? He couldn’t take it anymore–he began to tug on the sash. The satin grew slack at your waist, your stomach, the top half of the gown becoming as formless as the skirt rucked up high around your thighs as the two sides of the dress began to fall open, an exchange of your shape for your skin: one he was happy to make. Utterly transfixed, Cloud watched the loops of the bow grow smaller, smaller, until it came apart completely, that stretch of bare skin slowly falling wider, wider…Your pretty eyes were fixed on Cloud’s, aroused, open, vulnerable, lips parted and cheeks flushed hot as it revealed the first tantalizing inch of your breasts on either side, pert nipples tenting the loose fabric. As nervous as he was painfully turned on, swallowing hard, Cloud couldn’t help the way his hand was trembling as he brought it up to your shoulder beneath the dress, palm pressed to your bare skin. He began to slide the fabric along the gentle slope toward your upper arm–

“...Hello in there!”

It came warped and distant at first, like the warm, playful voice was coming from underwater. Cloud froze. When the voice called your name this time, your brow furrowed, and he saw your gaze dart up to the ceiling in bewilderment, looking around wildly for the source. What? No–

“Come on, sleepyhead!” The voice was everywhere now, reverberating off the walls as though the bar were in an echo chamber.

“Aerith?” you called out.

A blaring noise ricocheted in his ears, and Cloud jackknifed upright in bed, the covers flying up around him, scowling as he threw up an arm to shield his eyes from the morning light streaming through the blinds. After a moment of groggy disorientation, he glared over at his PHS ringing on the bedside table–the source of the accursed racket.

It was Tifa’s number. “Good morning, Cloud!”

“What?”

“Whoa there–!” she replied with a chuckle. “You just wake up? All those late nights at the Honeybee Inn must be hitting you guys hard–Aerith is still trying to get someone else’s lazy butt out of bed, too!” she ribbed goodnaturedly.

In the background, Cloud heard Aerith’s voice: “Come on, sleepyhead!”

Then his chest constricted when he heard your voice chime in, tinny and distant, groggy and petulant. “What’s the point of a weekend if you don’t get to sleep in?!”

Tifa chuckled. “Must be hard work being a stripper, huh?” Cloud heard her squeal as what sounded like a pillow thumped somewhere in the distance.

“I don’t actually strip!” you shot back.

If he’d had ten more seconds…

“Anyway–” Tifa returned her attention to Cloud on the other end of the line. “We’re all going to spend the day exploring Wall Market together! We thought you might want to come with, if you–”

“–Already got plans.”

“Oh…You sure, Cloud?”

“I’ll be fine on my own.”

He could hear Tifa trying to conceal her disappointment. “Well, if your plans change, just call one of us, okay?”

After he hung up the phone, Cloud plunked it back on the table as he turned to sit on the edge of the bed. He was coated in a sheen of sweat, his heart still racing from…

Only you.

sh*t–Still groggy from being so abruptly woken up, he dragged a hand over his face. The grit of his stubble was rough beneath his palm.

I’m gone one night, and you’re already letting yourself go…

Cloud pulled himself from the bed, not bothering to make up the covers for once, and lumbered into the bathroom, groaning when the overhead light blinked on. First he started the shower–it was gonna have to be cold this morning. Then he cranked on the faucet at the sink, running his shaving razor beneath the water. In trying to get control of his jumbled nerves, his movements were antsy, restless.

But when Cloud finally looked up to the mirror to bring the razor to his chin, what he found in his reflection made him go completely, utterly still.

There was a thin slice marring his right cheek—and a rose-red drop of blood trickling down his face.

Chapter 41

Chapter Text

“So–what do you guys want to do on our big night out in Wall Market?”

You, Aerith, and Tifa had just returned to your hotel room, and were now seated on your respective beds. After a fun day out on the town with your two best friends, with the sun finally sinking below the horizon, it was time to decide how you’d spend the evening. It was Saturday now, and tomorrow, it would be time for Tifa and Aerith to pack up and leave–you all wanted to make the most of tonight.

“Well, you tell us–what is there to do for fun here?” Tifa started.

You mulled it over. “…Drink?”

“Hmm…well…what else ya got?” Aerith chimed in.

“Um…Gamble?”

“Okay! Drink it is then!” Tifa decided.

With that, the three of you all crowded into the bathroom in your hotel room, makeup scattered across the counter as you prepared for a night out on the town. Talking and laughter filled the tiny bathroom as you all shared the mirror. As wonderful a distraction the day’s events had been, your mind kept returning to the dream you’d had the night before. While you were rifling through your bag for your lipstick, it invaded your thoughts yet again.

“You’ve always been a sound sleeper, but this morning was on another level. Out of all the sleepovers we’ve had, I’ve never seen you so hard to wake up! Must have been a nice dream, huh?”

Aerith’s question was innocent, but it brought a searing heat to your face–and between your legs. “I-I can’t remember. Maybe.” But you did remember. Your dream the previous night had been nice. Awfully nice.

It was an unusual one, from start to abrupt finish–you’d been wandering at night, dressed only in your red gown from your audition. Weird choice. Somehow, you had this gut feeling someone else had chosen it, not that that made any sense–but what dream did? You’d emerged into a moonlit garden, ringed in rose bushes and furnished with an old stone fountain burbling in the background. It was a clear, beautiful night. You could have some pretty upsetting dreams–you’d gladly take one as peaceful as this.

But just as you’d sat down in the grass next to one of the rose bushes, remembering your own rose now in Aerith’s safekeeping, you were reaching up to cup one of the blooms, when none other than Cloud had dropped in–literally. He came tumbling through the rose bushes and fell flat on his face in front of you. You’d had dreams where Cloud was…featured before. But they were always less staged, more ordinary: waking up in your bed back home to him pressed up behind you, trailing kisses over your shoulder; or dancing with you slow in an empty Seventh Heaven. Sometimes they were memories that your mind would alter: Still catching your breath in Johnny’s car, Cloud climbing into the backseat, pulling you on top of him to ride a different kind of high, his panting harsh in your ears; or a world where Cloud didn’t find you straddling him repulsive: You were back in the suite, all by yourselves again, and he would grip you tight, pull you closer, instead of away. He’d grab your rear tight, throw you down on the couch and–

But this one was different, and not just because the setting had started like something out of one of those cheesy romance novels your mom used to read. In your other fantasies, Cloud was usually the initiator, the one taking charge–but this time, it had been you. You spent every waking minute suppressing your feelings for him, regulating your every word and action in his presence. It felt nice to show him your desire, to so freely and openly act on it, to have him show you the kind of effect your fake dream self had on his fake dream self. You wanted to drive him crazy for once, instead of the other way around. So when you’d both ended up in the bar, and you’d seen him react to your words, your touch, your teasing, it made you want to go farther and farther, allowed you to do and say things you would never dream of saying to anyone, especially Cloud. But then, you remembered how he’d reacted…

“Do you want me to stop?”

“I want that dress off.”

You’d watched how he’d grimaced, gritted his teeth, how his voice strained and husky as you’d undressed him, like it was so good it hurt. You’d never seen him so affected, so…frustrated. You remembered him asking, “How are you so calm?!” as if he couldn’t comprehend how anyone could endure such teasing. But any pretense of your superiority was utterly void when he had finally landed a bullseye, and you’d realized you’d bitten off far more than you could chew. Faced with the prospect of Cloud undressing you, you’d nearly fainted from the co*cktail of nerves, anticipation, and insecurity. You had no idea what you were doing–and what if he didn’t like what he found when he untied the bow?

But then he’d knelt before you like your very own damn knight (a shirtless one at that), suddenly shy and unsure again, asking if you were okay. It was in the small moments like that the lens would crack, like when he’d run his hand through his hair, trying to look cool after you’d called him cute (which only made him even more so). In this dream he’d been much more hesitant, much more reserved–much more Cloud. The one you’d come to know in these last eight weeks: reality, rather than fantasy. You’d said you wanted him, and you did–the real version.

And finally, this dream stood out for how vivid it all was: How could it feel so electrifying when he’d slid his hand up your skirt, stopping so close to where you wanted him to be? The way you’d had to squeeze your thighs and rock your hips at the pooling heat as he’d played with the bow that held your dress closed, ready to claim his prize for landing the bullseye? And you’d wanted him to–Shiva Almighty, you’d wanted him to. How could a dream feel so...so real? Then it had all gone up in smoke: you’d been unceremoniously ripped from the dream by Aerith calling your name and shaking your shoulders.

But the weirdness didn’t quite end once you'd convinced her you were really awake: when you’d finally sat up in bed and lifted your hands to scrub your face, you’d froze when a strange flash of color caught your eye. On the pad of your thumb was a deep crimson streak–as a nurse, you knew instantly it was blood–shining, freshly dried. But try as you did to wrack your brain, you didn’t have a clue how it had got there. But with no leads to follow, you’d shrugged it off–maybe you’d cut your hand on something without noticing it–and made sure to double wash your hands before you’d brushed your teeth and began your day.

Staring at your lips in the mirror now as you applied your lipstick made you think of Cloud’s lips, of all his soft grunts and stifled moans as you’d tormented him. Get your sh*t together! You’re here to spend time with your best friends. You’d heard of guys taking cold showers to kill their…urges. Maybe you could ask your friends for a few minutes to see if it worked for the opposite sex, too.

When you noticed Aerith holding her PHS up to the mirror, your brows furrowed. You were leaning toward it, tracing your lipstick along the bow of your upper lip as you asked, “What are you doing?"

“Oh, it’s nothing–just want to remember tonight!“ You thought it was odd she was taking pictures on an official Avalanche device, but you didn’t question her.

Besides the added cosmetics, Tifa and Aerith chose to remain in their usual clothing, and you chose a similarly casual outfit from the clothing you’d brought with you. Instead of going with the navy blue cheongsam, you opted for your favorite pair of jeans that hugged your waist just right, and a corset top with a dainty floral print that hit just at the waistband. The top had a sweetheart neckline and a slight puffiness in the sleeves that somehow made the line of your neck and shoulders more dramatic and sharp. The ensemble allowed you to pair it all with your go-to ankle boots (you were savoring every minute you didn’t have to have those stupid heels on.) After spending so many weeks in the same ridiculously skimpy leotard, you wanted to feel like a normal girl–you wanted to feel like you again. For your hairstyle, you decided to stick to your go-to look for maximum confidence.

“I forgot how jealous of your hair I was,” Tifa remarked.

“Same here!” you replied, gesturing to her own jet-black locks.

Finally seated on your hotel bed after lacing up your boots, you gathered your hair with one hand in order to guide it through your top without disturbing the style before you tugged the shirt down over your chest, the fabric clinging to your form. As you stood from the bed and turned to your friends, you heard a sharp clicking sound–and saw it was Aerith snapping her PHS closed. Again, it struck you as odd, but you didn’t comment.

“Okay!” you started, slinging your small black purse over your shoulder. “Ready to head out?” Both girls nodded, and Tifa locked the door behind you before you three exited the hotel and waded out into the crowded main street of Wall Market. The sun had only just set, but given it was now Saturday night, the streets were already packed, and would be until it rose in the sky again.

“So–where to?” Aerith asked you brightly.

“Not the Honeybee Inn, I take it?” Tifa teased.

“Astrals no. Actually, if it’s okay with you guys, there’s a new place I wanted to hit up first. I’ve never seen it, but I hear it’s got good DJs. I asked around and it sounds like it’s in a safe part of town, all things considered. What do you think?”

“Lead the way!” Tifa answered as Aerith nodded.

You and Aerith loved watching Tifa marvel at the spectacle of Wall Market at night, gazing at the strings of lantern lights glowing overhead, peering around at all the shops, stalls, bars and restaurants, as she took in all the sights and smells and sounds that threatened to overwhelm most newcomers. Though you’d all spent the day together out on the town, Wall Market during the daytime was muted and plain compared with the spectacle of the streets at night.

“It’s amazing!” she said in awe.

“And dangerous,” you rejoined. “I don’t need to remind you guys that it’s not safe to be out alone at night. So we need to stick together, okay?”

“We could just call Cloud–he’s got experience as a bodyguard!” Aerith giggled.

It was no difficulty to admit having Cloud here would make you feel much more at ease. But then, that’s how Cloud made you feel day or night, regardless of the circ*mstances. His understated presence was enough for you to know nothing bad could happen to you, that you always had someone you could rely on. “I’d like to give him at least one night to himself…” you muttered.

“Whatever you say…” Aerith teased. You didn’t reply to her though, because you’d finally gotten your trio to the entrance of the new nightclub.

Gaping up at the neon blue sign reading Cloud Nine in rounded, avant-garde lettering, your jaw fell open in horrified astonishment, and any retort you might have had died in your throat.

“Geez–could you be more obvious?” Tifa joked.

“I–No one told me what the name was!”

“I think it’s fate,” Aerith said matter-of-factly before waltzing up to the sleek double doors.

The bouncer at the entrance waved the three of you in without incident. From the top of a short set of stairs leading down to the main floor, you were staring out into a sea of bodies caught in perpetual stop-motion under the flashing lights and blaring music. The large room was mostly open, except for the little clusters of low tables and couches ringing the walls. The bar was across the dancefloor, long tubes of the same blue neon lights running on the wall behind it.

“This place looks awesome!” Aerith shouted over the din.

“Let’s grab some drinks!” Tifa proposed.

The three of you huddled together as you made your way through the crowd of people, the dancers jostling you in their revelry. You simply ignored any men that shouted or leered at the three of you as their sweaty bodies accidentally bumped into you. Two months ago, you would have been horrified, scandalized, probably would have bolted out the door the moment you’d walked in–but after your many nights at the Honeybee Inn, all this only mildly fazed you. Though I would feel better if Cloud were here… You suddenly felt determined to have this night by yourself, to prove to yourself (and maybe to Cloud) that you could manage it on your own. When you reached the bar and ordered your drinks, once the bartender set them down in front of you, you were puzzled to find that though all three tasted like their proper liquors, they all glowed neon blue like the lights in the bar–you hoped you wouldn’t feel sick from whatever was causing it in the morning.

“What should we toast?” Aerith asked giddily, bouncing from foot to foot.

“To the three of us being together again!” Tifa exclaimed.

“Reunion!” the three of you cheered before each taking long sips of your drinks.

“Now come on–” you said eagerly, grabbing each girl by the arm, “let’s go dance!”

“But–” Tifa turned to you, her brow furrowing, seemingly puzzled, “there aren’t any cakes here–how will you know what to do?"

“Hey!”

You and your two friends filed through the crowd until you found a little unoccupied area on the dance floor and made it your own. You didn’t know how long the three of you were out there, swaying and jumping and twirling, all of you laughing as you busted out your best (and silliest) moves. After a while, Tifa decided to run to the restroom while you and Aerith ordered another round of drinks at the bar.

“I’m so glad you decided to come, Aerith,” you started. “I know it's a risk for you, but, I really needed tonight–I missed you guys!” But when Aerith smiled at you and nodded, there was something about it that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She stared down into her empty glass. “Aerith? Is something wrong?"

Her eyes snapped up, as if she’d been lost in her thoughts. “No! I’m good,” she said, trying to sound cheery. But the look you gave her, brows furrowed, told her you weren’t buying it. Aerith’s shoulders fell. “Just…just seeing you and Cloud together…well, not together, but, you know what I mean…it made me think about–”

Oh. Your eyes widened in surprise. Aerith never talked about this, except in the rarest moments, usually on the infrequent occasions she let alcohol loosen her lips. In all the years you two had been friends, you could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d ever mentioned the SOLDIER she’d given her heart to–and who’d never returned to give it back to her. You knew she hardly thought of him much these days, that time had mostly soothed away the sting of her youthful feelings–but as her first love, he would always have a place in her heart, too. “I’m so sorry, Aerith…” you ventured, placing a hand on her arm, desperate to help, but not sure how.

Her eyes were fixed on the ice cubes in her glass. “I just…when he…when he left, I never heard what happened to him. He said it was just going to be a short mission, a few weeks, and then he’d come back–but he never did. I’ve thought about what I would’ve said, if I knew…if I saw him again. It would be different now, than it was then–but I wish I’d said something, when I had the chance.”

You stroked her arm with your thumb to quietly let her know you were there for her. “You can’t blame yourself,” you said. “There’s no way you could have known how things would turn out.”

“I know you’re right…” she said softly. Then she met your eye. “But…you still can.”

You blanched when you grasped her meaning. “Oh…” You smiled sadly. “It’s different, Aerith–you know he cared about you that way, too. Even if neither of you really said it, you knew.” You tried to pour all the warmth and reassurance you could into your words.

“Oh, I think Cloud knows–he’s just being stubborn. All I’m saying, is…you never know what the future will bring. I just think you shouldn’t waste a second of it.”

Suddenly, you felt goosebumps prickle on your skin–what was it Madam M had said the night of your audition? If you truly want Cloud, my dear…I wouldn’t leave it too long, if I were you.

Dismissing the brief feeling of unease to focus on your friend, you wrapped your arms around Aerith then, hugged her tight, and she held you back for just a few moments before pulling away, her cheerful disposition returning. “Every minute, every moment matters, right?” you offered gently, and she smiled at you echoing her oft said words.

Aerith nodded, the warmth in her eyes conveying her gratitude. Then her beaming grin, so familiar to you after so many years, lit her face again. "Gotta look forward, not back!"

“And that means we gotta get out there and dance some more!” you concluded brightly. Wrapping one of your arms in Aerith’s, you used your free hand to grab one of the four freshly poured glasses the bartender had just placed on the counter in front of you before turning back toward the dancefloor. You took a step toward the crowd–but for once, Aerith didn’t budge.

“…Not yet.”

You looked back at your oldest friend, puzzled at the sudden playful lilt in her voice. “Huh?” Wait–why four glasses?

“Should be here riiiight about–”

“What are you–?” But when you noticed her eyes were fixed somewhere over your shoulder, a satisfied smirk spreading over her face, you whirled around to follow Aerith’s gaze. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary: it was just the blaring music, the murky forms of the people on the crowded dance floor between you and the entrance. Wait–

Across the sea of shifting bodies, you blanched when you saw a flash of blond hair, a glimpse of a pale arm–it was Cloud, shoving his way through the crowded dance floor, heading straight for you and Aerith. A sharp scowl severed his face, his eyes bright, maybe even…frantic?

Your stomach dropped into your feet. “Aerith! W-Why is Cloud here?!”

“Because I texted him–looks like you’ve got your chance.”

Chapter 42

Chapter Text

Cloud was already starting to regret asking Barret for the damn phones.

After a shave (and what felt like his hundredth cold shower) Cloud was seated on the edge of the bed, pondering what to do with himself today–and no, not do that with himself. He hadn’t been truthful with Tifa: Cloud didn’t have anything special planned for his 'big day off.'

It’s almost over. Just a few more days, and the job is over.

Tifa and Aerith were only staying one more night: then after a quiet Sunday, the mission would coalesce Monday, when you spent one final evening alone with Rufus at the Honeybee Inn in order to steal all the information stored on the new president's PHS. The moment it was done and Cloud extricated you from the perilous situation, the two of you would pack up and make your way to Sam's chocobo ranch: you would just need to catch the last carriage of the night, and you'd be back in Sector 3 long before the sun came up, safe and sound. After so many weeks of flailing about, the mission had finally crystallized into its final form–and there was no stopping this train you two were on anymore.

The foreign pinging sound of the PHS startled him from his thoughts. The small screen on the outside informed him the text message had come from a number he didn’t recognize–so not from you, then. And what was more, the strange message seemed to have an image attached. Cloud flipped the device open and selected the message. The PHS’s had come a long way in the five years since they began issuing the first prototypes to SOLDIERs, so a crisp image expanded to fill the screen of his phone. He blanched, grunting under his breath: It was a picture of you–still sound asleep in a bed Cloud didn’t recognize, one arm raised above your head, your hair spilling over your pillow, parts of it matted and frizzy from your night’s sleep, the neckline of your familiar tank top riding a bit loose and low over your chest from tossing and turning about.

Grudgingly enamored–but also, bewildered–Cloud sent back a sharp: Who is this?

It’s Aerith. You’re welcome, by the way! :)

These are Avalanche devices. Don’t send messages unless it’s necessary.

Just wanted you to see what you’re missing… ;)

With an indignant scoff, Cloud snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the blanket beside him before climbing out of bed and heading to the dresser for his keys. But Aerith would not take his admonishment to heart: because for the rest of the day, Cloud’s phone was pinging with messages, all containing photos of you, Tifa, and Aerith–but mostly you.

In the first image you were seated beside Tifa in a booth in a diner, a steaming stack of pancakes topped with berries on your plate, which you were eyeing brightly. When he spotted the plain ceramic mug clearly filled with dark, steaming coffee at your elbow, a small smile pulled at his mouth as your usual order popped into his head, memorized after so many mornings of grabbing a cup for you. If it had been you he was texting he'd have replied: Diner coffee hold up to sh*tty breakroom coffee?

Two hours later came a series of images, all from Jules’s gym. The first was of you cheering on Tifa as she engaged in what looked like a pull-up contest against the gym owner. You were petite in any setting, but standing in the crowd of massive bodybuilders, you looked downright tiny. The next was of you, your eyes screwed shut in the most adorable grimace as you struggled to pull yourself up over the chin-up bar.

Couldn’t even get one… Aerith’s caption read. The thought made Cloud smile, in spite of himself.

Then came another of Jules standing next to you in the boxing ring, in a half squat beside you, pointing at your leg, apparently coaching you on the proper form.

Someone's missing the view… ;)

There was a gap of a few hours into the afternoon before a new stream of photos began arriving. Then there was one of you and Tifa standing next to what Cloud recognized were the stables at Sam’s chocobo ranch. Aerith loomed large in the forefront of the shot, flashing the camera a thumbs up while Tifa was calmly stroking the head of a blue chocobo in the image. Next to her, you were wincing as a yellow chocobo tugged on a few locks of your hair in his beak, Sam a blur in motion as he came over to render aid.

Guess Chocobos think her hair looks like some sort of plant… Also, Sam says hi!!

The next came from the other side of town, showing the small ring of carts and stalls in the open area just past Madam M’s massage parlor. You were standing in front of the flower cart, one hand delicately holding the stem of a red rose, the other stroking the petals with the pads of your fingers. The image captured how soft your smile was as you looked over at Tifa, and how pretty your eyes were when you did.

Cloud received the next photo as he ate dinner at the sports bar (though after last night, he could barely look at the dartboard without heat surging through him)–and it nearly made him choke on his food. Even in the light of the setting sun in the background, it was easy to make out Tifa holding–more like dragging–you by the arm into a store, a furious blush on your face as you gazed at the windows with horror. Aerith had made sure the sign overhead was clearly in the shot–Sugar and Spice: Intimate Apparel. The mannequins in the window were sporting all sorts of women’s lingerie, each less practical (and less, well…everything) than the one next to it.

You better thank Tifa and me later ;)

Then, as Cloud was making his way home from dinner under the glow of the lanterns that lit up Wall Market at night, his PHS beeped yet again. It was an image taken in some sort of bathroom, makeup strewn over a white countertop. He could clearly see the three of you standing side by side in front of the mirror, Tifa running a brush through her hair while Aerith’s face was concealed behind her phone in the reflection. He saw you leaning over the counter toward the mirror, mouth open as you swiped your signature red lipstick over the bow of your upper lip. Cloud felt heat sear his cheeks.

Going out for the night–SURE you don’t want to tag along? We’d love for you to come with!

Though Cloud was pretending to be annoyed by Aerith’s persistent intrusions, in truth, he found himself grudgingly amused by this log of your day, wondering with each image what Aerith would send next. He could tell all the photos were candid, never posed–you hadn’t actually noticed the camera in a single one. Seeing you with your friends, so unguarded and natural, was doing something to Cloud–he realized that brightness and warmth that always radiated from you in real life was just as apparent in photos, that being with people you loved only made you brighter. Of course, Cloud wasn’t about to tell Aerith any of this, but he nevertheless fished the phone out of his pocket again a few minutes later at the sound of yet another text coming in.

This time, it took Cloud’s brain a second to parse what he was looking at–and his breath caught when he did. He was looking at the smooth skin of your back. You were sitting on the edge of a bed, apparently getting ready to pull your shirt down, the back and lacy straps of your black bra exposed to the camera, wicked against your lovely skin. The jeans you were wearing pinched at your waist, only making the flare to your hips even more painful. He couldn’t help but appreciate the gentle lines in your back, the sharp slopes of your shoulder blades, your curves emphasized by the way your torso arched. You were all sensuality, without even trying. Shiva Almighty…

His face burning molten hot (though he wasn’t sure why–Cloud saw you in various states of undress all the time), after sending Aerith another message berating her for using official phones for such “stupid” pictures, Cloud decided he was going to stop reading or replying to anything that came from Aerith–if she wasn’t going to take this seriously, then neither was he. As he stepped back into your apartment, locked the door behind him, the last few images Aerith had sent were still on his mind. Just when he was considering taking a cold shower–again–he heard the now familiar text tone go off once more.

He froze. His hand on the doorknob to the bathroom, Cloud glanced over at the phone where he’d tossed it on the bed. He warred with himself for a few moments. Then Cloud sighed, letting his head drop in defeat before he crossed the room and retrieved the device. And sure enough, it was Aerith’s number on the screen. But when he opened the PHS, he found three rapid-fire messages waiting for him–

Emergency.

Please hurry.

Followed by an address.

Cursing in frustration, Cloud was already slotting his sword on his back once again, yanking the key from the lock in the door before he took off into the crowded streets. As he searched Wall Market for the address Aerith had specified, he sent her two texts, each asking her what was going on–both got no reply. That only made his heart pound harder, and his feet move faster. When he finally tracked down the street, he sprinted until he located the building with the correct address. It was some sort of nightclub, the sound of the music within pulsing out onto the street. Nerves already taut as a bowstring, Cloud simply glared at the bouncer outside, who let him enter without resistance.

From his elevated position in the entryway, it only took him a cursory scan to spot you and Aerith across the room, standing at the bar. While neither of you seemed to be in any apparent danger, the way you were hugging Aerith, brows pinched in concern, made Cloud waste no time sprinting down the short set of steps before muscling his way through the mob of intoxicated dancers toward you, the loudness of the music already grating on his enhanced sense of hearing–and his sense of taste.

When he finally broke through the crowd and stormed up the bar, Cloud saw the moment your head turned, and your eyes went wide as though you were a chocobo caught in the headlights of a semi truck–and he was the truck. Registering your distress only made his heart pound faster. He stomped over to you, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. “What’s going on?!” It was hard enough not to stare at your lips due to the lipstick–but after the dream he’d had last night, he found it hard to hold your gaze for even a few seconds–the things he’d said, the things you’d said with those pretty lips–it was just a dream, dumbass.

But when all you did was stammer, strangely as incapacitated as he was, it was Aerith who strode over, a drink in each hand and a grin on her face. “You made it! Now the party can really start!”

“What the hell are you talking about? You said–”

“–I knew you wouldn’t come if I just asked–” Aerith continued cheerily, “but I had to get you to hang out with us somehow.”

Anger burned in Cloud’s eyes. “I thought something bad had happened! You made me run all the way over here–!”

“–I know it was misleading, but, we missed you–didn’t we?” Aerith turned and gave you a pointed look that didn’t match her innocent tone.

When Cloud’s gaze bored into you once more, you shrunk away just slightly. “I had no idea,” you said with a shake of your head. He forced himself to take a breath. Cloud believed you: while this was something he wouldn’t put past Aerith, it certainly wasn’t something you would do–not after Damian, Rufus…

“Oh! Cloud!” came a new voice from behind him. It was Tifa. “I didn’t know you were coming–what a nice surprise!”

“C’mon–” Aerith pleaded, holding out a glass to him, “stay with us–please?”

As he looked at the two girls, then finally, over at you–still eyeing him as though he were a Bomb about to self-destruct–Cloud felt his resolve waver. He was still a bit pissed off–but he also knew it wouldn’t do him any good to put up a fight against Aerith, let alone all three of you. And besides, Tifa and Aerith were some of his closest friends, too–a few hours in good company didn’t sound so bad.

“Whatever.” He snatched the drink from Aerith and threw his head back to take a long sip.

“Woo hoo!” Aerith cheered.

With that, all four of you made the short walk back to the bar. Cloud plopped himself into one of the barstools, facing away from the countertop where the three of you all formed a circle around him. He mostly just listened, nursing his whiskey while you, Tifa, and Aerith talked and joked–but he had to admit, he was enjoying himself. He gathered you must have told the girls that Cloud had shared the story of their last trip to Wall Market: because in no time, everyone was comparing notes, laughing at the ridiculous characters they’d met, at the absurd stunts they’d pulled. Some episodes you and Cloud would recount in tandem, each of you telling the parts you knew best, interjecting with corrections or additional information when the other fell back. In some ways, having Aerith and Tifa there made it easier for him to talk to you: it meant the whole conversation didn’t rest on just your two shoulders. He knew with you three, he could talk if he wanted, and he could just hang out if he didn’t.

At some point, tired of being on your feet, you’d climbed into the barstool next to his, swiveling it so your knees angled toward Cloud, and he found himself resting his forearm on the counter, leaning toward you. Sometimes, he’d notice you looking at him from behind your glass, your eyes always darting back to your friends when you got caught. His eyes eventually found their way to the lipstick stain on the rim.

After yet another time he noticed you staring, perhaps bolstered by the liquor in his system, Cloud decided to pursue it. His brow furrowed: “Something the matter?”

Cloud watched you blanch at his question, pretty eyes going wide. Even in the erratic, murky light of the night club, he was caught on your features, how good you looked. “Oh–” you started, your gaze still fixed on his face, somewhere below his eyes. “No, I–” But you never finished the thought, still staring at the same spot. Why were you so preoccupied all of a sudden?

Cloud felt himself flush under your scrutiny. “There something on my face?” He reflexively wiped his cheeks with the back of a gloved hand.

“Oh, n-nothing like that!” you answered hastily, eyes still wide. Then a strange, puzzled look pulled at your features. “I-It’s just…you have cut on your cheek–that wasn’t there when I left last night. Did...Did something happen?”

Cloud grunted in surprise, bringing his two fingers up to brush the newly scabbed slice on his cheek. This time, there wasn’t any blood on them when he pulled away. Did something happen? Never had such an innocent question felt so loaded… Even from here, he could see how your pupils were dilated as you studied him–a sign of intoxication. The noise and lights suddenly seemed fuzzy, far away as all the intoxicating sensations of the dream came back to him: the lush fragrance of the strange garden, the dress sliding over your form like liquid moonlight, the feel of your hands at his waist–of his hands gripping yours–

”…Cloud?”

With a soft grunt, Cloud’s eyes skittered to the floor. He cleared his throat to try and get his grip. If he met your quizzical gaze, you’d surely know something was up. “Just…nicked it shaving this morning. No big deal.” He was fighting to sound as cool-toned as possible–mismatched with the warmth in his cheeks he hoped you wouldn’t notice.

When you failed to answer, Cloud finally managed to pull his gaze back to you. You seemed a bit far away yourself, still staring at his face. It was the same dreamy expression as when you’d sat beside him like this last night, on the grass under the moonlight…“Well, even from here, I can tell it’s not serious,” you concluded with a chuckle. Then a small smile quirked your lips, a new fondness softened your eyes, like you were recalling a joke only you knew the punchline too. “Still cute, like always…”

It seemed you were as startled by the murmured afterthought as Cloud was. When he stuttered audibly in surprise, you blinked hard, your eyes wide as saucers. You quickly looked away, lifted your glass to your lips. When you brought it down to rest on your knee, you wrapped both your hands around it, knuckles white. Your gaze was unwaveringly fixed on the crowded dance floor in front of you both. A long stretch of silence hung thick in the air, just like the scents of cheap whiskey and even cheaper cologne that permeated the club. “...S-Sorry to make such a big deal out of a nick,” you remarked finally, eyes falling to your glass on your knee. You let out a nervous laugh. “Guess I worry a bit too much.”

”...I don’t mind.”

The gentleness in his tone made you look over at him again from the corner of your eye. Why were your cheeks so flushed now? It wasn’t like you’d been there when he’d fallen through the rose bush. But Cloud’s small smile seemed to ease some of your trepidation. “Must be a bit tipsier than I realized!” you said with a chuckle, clearly trying to sound breezy, but it was just a bit too forced to pull it off.

He shot you a wry smirk. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Cloud saw how your mouth fell open in amused indignation at his reference to the night you’d retrieved Johnny’s car–was it always so endearing, or was it something they put into these weird blue drinks? "That was one time, okay?! I was beating you so bad at darts I had to try and even the playing field somehow!” you countered with a bright giggle.

That made Cloud grunt in surprise yet again, gaze darting over to meet your eyes. He found a strange puzzled look in yours, as if you were searching for something in his–and he realized he probably looked much the same. But before Cloud could think of anything to say, the moment was ruptured when Tifa called your name, and you were pulled back into the general conversation. In his own intoxicated state, the brief exchange soon slipped from Cloud’s mind as he refocused on the lively banter between you, Aerith, and Tifa.

She was just a dream.

Sometime into his third glass, Aerith decided it was time to marshal the troops. “Now that we’re rehydrated, let’s get back to dancing, shall we?” She and Tifa waded back into the crowd hand in hand, leaving you and Cloud to follow. You finished off what was left of your drink and hopped off your stool, taking a step toward the dancefloor. He must have been more buzzed than he realized: because his eyes instantly slid down your back–the way those jeans hugged your ass was awfully nice. But when you noticed Cloud hadn’t moved, you turned back to him, and he quickly hauled his gaze up again.

No longer in Rescue-The-Girls-From-Danger mode, and disarmed by the drinks and lively conversation, Cloud found himself taking in your appearance. While you’d taken to wearing a bit more makeup in the weeks you’d been here, you’d gone all out tonight, thick black lines emphasizing your eyes, framed by long eyelashes. They were striking on a normal day–now they were downright mesmerizing. And that damn lipstick…Your boots didn’t have a heel, so Cloud had to tilt his head down just a little more to look at you, and even that was affecting him tonight. What was it about this moment that was making him so…unstable?

He was still staring at your leather ankle boots when it clicked: because you looked like you. Seeing you in jeans, your favorite boots, it was a stark contrast to the racy fishnets and harsh, mature black leotard you were so often forced to wear. That look was sexy for some people, but somehow, it just looked wrong on you–your normal clothes suited you much better. You were alluring in your bones–you didn’t need the window dressing. And Cloud could see in your posture that you were relaxed, exuding your natural, inner confidence, rather than forcing yourself to be the bombshell, the femme fatale (or bee fatale?). It somehow made you even more alluring…more real. It probably hadn’t helped that Aerith had kept you on his mind all day, giving him glimpses of you in situations ranging from cute and endearing to…tempting. What the hell was wrong with him tonight?

“You okay?” Your question startled Cloud from his wandering thoughts.

“I…I just–” His eyes darted to the crowd behind you. No way in hell he was gonna dance in a place like this–but what was he gonna do, sit here lamely by himself?

“You–You don’t have to stay, i-if you don’t want to.” He saw the way your eyes fell as you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, heard your quiet dismay at the possibility of him leaving. “I’m not drinking much tonight, so I can keep an eye on them, if that’s what you’re worried about…”

“It’s cool–I don’t mind.” He gave you a small, reassuring smile. The bartender had just brought over a fresh drink, and taking it in hand, Cloud pulled himself off the barstool. He saw your face light up. With a nod, you walked toward the crowded dancefloor, but the sound of Cloud calling your name made you face him once again. “I’ll stay, but, I don’t–I don’t dance…” he stated choppily, eyes falling to the floor as his free hand rubbed the back of his neck. While that wasn’t entirely true–Aerith and Andrea could attest to that–it wasn’t something Cloud sought out, either. And the idea of dancing in front of you…

“It’s cool–I don’t mind.”

The warm smile he found on your face when he looked up made his shoulders ease and his heart stutter all at once. With that, you turned from him, and Cloud followed you into the crowd, wondering what he’d just gotten himself into.

Chapter 43

Chapter Text

“Ugh! They’re like…like Tonberrys on a log!”

Aerith huffed, stomping her foot in exasperation as she and Tifa watched you and Cloud from their vantage point on the dancefloor. The two of you had seated yourselves on one of the couches that lined the walls, never once getting up to dance. Though you would occasionally lean in to one another to converse over the blaring music, for the most part, it seemed you two were just sitting there lamely, side by side–Cloud determined to find the secrets of the Planet in the bottom of his whiskey, you stealing glances at him when you thought he wouldn’t see.

“You know Cloud doesn’t like to dance–” Tifa shouted back, “she probably just wants him to feel comfortable!”

“They should be over here with us!”

“Maybe he’s still mad at you for pretending there was an emergency!”

“Our best friend is hot and single–that is an emergency!” She and Tifa both giggled.

“We gotta make something happen, or they’ll never get anywhere,” Tifa remarked.

“I’ve got an idea! You go sit with them until I get back–time for Operation Overtime!” The two friends shared an enthusiastic high-five, and with that, the girls split up, Aerith making her way toward the DJ booth tucked in the far corner, Tifa heading back to you and Cloud on the couch.

Where he was seated beside you (though with a respectable distance of one couch cushion between you), Cloud was doing his best to keep his gaze on his empty whiskey glass and not your legs. With Aerith and Tifa out on the dance floor, the two of you had lapsed into a long silence. It wasn't that he felt the weight of any expectations hanging in the air–but why did it feel so uncomfortable between the two of you all of a sudden? How was it you both found it easier to be truthful in a costume?

When he saw you look up in his peripheral vision, Cloud finally pulled his eyes from his empty glass to follow your gaze. It was Tifa, making her way over to the two of you. When she reached the couch, you offered her the drink you’d been holding for her as she sat on your other side. After the three of you began talking, it wasn’t long before Aerith returned. She called your name with an exasperated tone as she came to stand in front of you, hands on her hips. “Come on! You need to come dance–Cloud can watch our stuff!” she exclaimed. When you shook your head, preparing to refuse, Aerith marched over and grabbed your wrists, pulling you from the couch. “You too, Tifa!” Aerith called over her shoulder. All you could do was look at Cloud helplessly as she dragged you away.

“You sure you don’t want to come? It would make her night,” Tifa remarked. Not needing to say your name to know who she was talking about, Cloud’s eyes snapped to her, surprised at the frankness of her words, before looking away and shaking his head. After a few silent moments, Tifa deemed it a lost cause, and rose from the couch to head back to the dancefloor.

“…Rather just enjoy the view.”

Tifa looked over at him, stunned at the sly smile Cloud was hiding behind his glass as he took a sip. Did he actually just–?

“Don’t you do that enough already?” She saw Cloud blanch, let out a small grunt, caught off guard at being called out. “You think I don’t see what goes on in my own bar?” Tifa asked, a knowing smile stretching across her face. She then glanced over at you and Aerith in the crowd. “Is that really all you want, Cloud? To just…watch from a distance? Is that enough for you? Not just when it comes to her, but…is that how you want to live your life?” And with that, she walked back to rejoin you and Aerith, the three of you laughing as you resumed dancing.

Taking another sip of his drink, Cloud’s eyes drifted over the sea of silhouettes in front of him. Was it enough? To his shock, he realized he didn’t have an answer. As if by providence, it was at that moment the current song ended, leaving a vacuum lasting just a few seconds, filled only with the cacophonous racket of the dancers before the DJ put on the next one. When the new music faded in, Cloud’s body went rigid. His eyes searched the crowd, found you in an instant. Your back was to him, so he couldn’t see your face–but judging by the way you’d suddenly stopped moving, frozen in place while Tifa and Aerith grinned at you, he could tell you’d recognized the song too. And when the beat came crashing in, the three of you began dancing with renewed exuberance. You spun around, your hair a wild fan around you, and a strange feeling of déjà vu seized Cloud. Then a memory flashed before his eyes, and it struck him: you looked just the same as you had that night.

Not the night of the audition back at the Honeybee Inn, no: Cloud had heard this song exactly two times before in his life–and that had been the second. This was the song that had been playing the first time he ever saw you.

It was a dark winter night, back when the new Seventh Heaven in Sector 3 was, well, new: the winds were so strong they were blowing the powder under the plate, blanketing the slums in snow–a rare occurrence in Midgar. Cloud would learn later that you’d been cleaning up at Seventh Heaven while Tifa prepared for an upcoming mission. Avalanche was holding a meeting that night (where, Cloud had been told, his mercenary services would be needed), so Tifa was too busy for the routine tasks of the bar. You, still just a civilian nurse, were happy to help your friend out. So when Cloud had climbed the stairs and pushed through the doors of Seventh Heaven, eager to escape the cold, what he saw rendered him a different kind of frozen.

The bar had only one occupant: the strange girl had her back to the door, lost in her own world. She was taking the broom in her hand along for the ride as she danced in the open space in front of the counter to some song blasting on the jukebox pushed up against the back wall. Cloud had been horribly embarrassed, uncomfortable catching someone in such a carefree, unguarded moment–should he clear his throat? Or quietly slip away? But his bashfulness was quickly subsumed by the fact that the mystery girl dancing in front of him was awfully enticing. He could only watch as she swayed her hips, lifted her arms…But any sexiness in the girl’s dancing was completely incidental, even paradoxical: because she was dancing like a total goofball, inhibitions thrown to the wind in what she thought was an empty bar. She wasn’t trying to show off, wasn’t performing like some professional on stage–she was just dancing for the sake of it.

He’d watched you whirl around in a moment of wild happiness–past and present colliding–then stop mid spin when you realized with horror that you weren’t alone in the bar after all. The smile instantly dropped from your face. Your eyes went wide and your cheeks flushed rosy scarlet as you gaped at Cloud, utterly mortified, completely paralyzed–you were even still holding the broom up. His eyes locked onto yours, impossibly pretty, and he was transfixed–he’d never seen anyone so lovely. And it was something more: it was in the way you radiated joy, eyes bright and cheeks warm and flush with it, how you’d been so happy you almost seemed to be glowing–it all caught Cloud completely off guard, all at once. He was unable to move, to speak, to think, his head fuzzy and his tongue heavy as lead even as the snow swirled into the bar from the open doors behind him, and the winter air bit into his back. Shiva Almighty…

It took Barret stomping through the doorway to break the spell. “Cloud! Been looking for ya man, we need to get started and I’m already–oh!” Then he let out a chuckle when he first noticed you, before he warmly greeted you by name. “Didn’t see ya there–you coverin’ for Tifa?” Your eyes never leaving Cloud, he watched you backpedal until you bumped into the counter of the bar behind you, stuttering out a greeting to Barret. Seemingly unaware of the stifling awkwardness in the air as he made his way to the pinball machine halfway across the room, the older man carried on. “Remember, the offer to sit in on a meeting, see if you'd be interested in joinin' still stands! Either way, better get the good stuff ready–if tonight goes well, we start our next mission in the morning! And don’t worry, merc–” he said with a sly grin, turning his attention back to Cloud, “I’ll make sure you get’cha due recompense.”

With another chuckle, the burly man bent down to reach for the lever underneath the pinball machine which would activate the lift to the secret hideout below. But he paused, as if he’d just realized something, then straightened once more, turned back to the two of you. Cloud was still standing there dumbly, one hand raking through his hair, eyes trying to look anywhere that wasn’t you. You were peering at Cloud from beneath your lashes, hiding behind the broom clutched tightly in your hands.

Barret’s booming voice made Cloud jolt again. “Oh yeah! Guess you two ain’t never run into each other before.” He addressed you by name to get your attention before continuing, “This is–”

“–Cloud.”

Cloud looked up at the sound of your voice as you said his name, playful and lovely–and when he saw the way you smiled at him, he knew he was in serious trouble.

“…And uh, Cloud, this is–”

Now it was Cloud's turn to cut Barret off by answering back your name, folding his arms and flashing you a small smirk, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Well ain’t you two a pair a’ smartasses!”

Now here Cloud was, watching you from afar–always when you couldn’t see, always when you weren’t looking. Just as he’d done that very first night, and in all the months since, when he often found himself sitting in the far corner of Seventh Heaven, drink in hand, gazing at you the whole night through as you made everyone laugh at your jokes, captivated them with your stories, the light in your eyes and warmth in your bearing infectious to all you encountered; Watching you as he’d done the very first night you’d climbed the stage of the Honeybee Inn, when you’d stared back at him like he was the only one in the room, the only one on the Planet. In fact, he caught himself staring at you nearly every moment you were together, no matter where you were, or what you were doing. Like he was staring at you as you danced in the crowd in front of him now.

Is that enough for you?

You’d been vibrant before–but now, lit up by the song blaring from the speakers, you came alive. Cloud watched you twirl once more, a smile of radiant bliss on your face, beautiful, alive, and whole–the truest version of yourself. He realized you never got to dance like this–at the Honeybee Inn, every performance was choreographed, sexualized, just another part of the act you were putting on, the warped version of yourself you pretended to be. But watching you now, this was the you Cloud had come to know–the one he’d always known–this was who you really were. Cloud’s eyes were glued to you, rolling your hips and lifting your arms above your head as you let the music burn you up, make you whole again, and you were so beautiful to Cloud it hurt.

I want her.

It was a reflex, not a thought–so he couldn’t take it back.

But then, he’d always wanted you–from the moment he’d laid eyes on you. That was the truth: shoved down, locked up tight, trampled underfoot–but true all the same.

As he finally allowed his mind to ponder what he’d been desperate to stamp out for so long, Cloud was wracked with indecision–because all he had to do, was nothing: he could sit here and watch, just as he’d always done, and let yet another moment slide through his fingers like the sand in an hourglass. You’d never asked Cloud for more than he was willing to give–something he’d never taken the time to appreciate, until now. It meant that all he had to do was nothing, and the current which had thrown you together would carry you apart again: you’d return home after a successful mission, and it would all be as it was before. Well, not exactly the same–but while the friendship was new, the want for you had never cooled, never dimmed, not in all the months he’d lived in Sector 3, and certainly not since you two had come here. Not in this moment, right now.

Is that enough for you?

Downing the rest of his drink, Cloud rose to his feet, fixed on you as though he were in a trance, palms already sweaty, knees feeling a bit shaky beneath him. He had his answer, it seemed–but what he was going to do with it, Cloud had no idea. He just took a step forward.

Chapter 44

Chapter Text

“Hey, Tifa–!” you heard Aerith call out abruptly over the crowd and the music, taking your friend by the arm, “I think you need to go to the bathroom, don’t you?” Her voice had that profusely innocent lilt that told you she was anything but.

You stopped dancing, your hair brushing over your cheek at the halting of your momentum. Glancing at your two best friends, you noted the strange grins on their faces as they eyed something over your shoulder.

“Absolutely!” Tifa replied far too eagerly, the pair already moving to abandon you.

“But, Tifa,” you remarked, puzzled, “didn’t you just–?” But the two girls had already disappeared, leaving you alone on the dancefloor.

Well, not completely alone–because as you debated going after them, the sudden sound of someone clearing his throat behind you made the world stand still. Your heart already hammering in your chest, it took you a moment before you slowly turned to find Cloud standing there–looking incredibly flustered.

“H-Hey…” was all your dazed mind could produce. What in the name of the Planet was he doing here? Cloud shifted on his feet uncomfortably, his arms folded, eyes downcast. You realized he could only have come over here to dance–but the idea was so absurd to you, your brain was having a hard time reconciling it with what your eyes were seeing. So the two of you just stood there dumbly in the middle of the dancefloor. After a few more moments, it seemed to become too much for Cloud–whatever nerve he’d mustered, it seemed to fail him. With a scoff, he let his arms fall to his sides as turned to duck back to the couch.

“Cloud–” A reflex surged inside you, and you reached for him, not knowing what you wanted, only what you didn't–to let him leave you. One hand wrapped around his wrist, finding the space between his two metal cuffs, while the other seized his hand just below it, your palm pressed to his. But your grip was so weak, it wasn’t actually holding him back. He froze under your touch, head whipping back to look at you. Cloud didn’t move a muscle. He just stared at you, ransacking your face with his storm blue eyes, irises bright from the mako corona around his pupils, wide and wild with alarm, and it was frying your circuits. Your mouth hanging open slightly, it was in your earnest expression, the vulnerability in your own eyes: Please don't go. You struggled to assemble any coherent thought; he wasn’t the only one feeling self-conscious, nervous, flustered: but you could feel that something important was hanging in the balance–hanging by a thread. You’ve got to say something.

“It’s okay–” you called out finally, a playful smile creeping onto your face. “I’m a professional.”

In the deafening din, there was one moment of agonizing silence. Then a small grin slanted the corner of his mouth. Thank the gods–you’d broken the ice. He turned to face you, and you let your hands fall away from him, back to your sides. Only now did you comprehend the consequence of your actions: you were actually going to dance in the presence of Cloud Strife–not from a distance, separated by a mission detail and a stage and the eyes of countless strangers. With Cloud Strife.

Taking a step back, you carved out a little pocket for the two of you in the crowd. How to ease into this gently…You decided to just sway back and forth. And when he began to do the same, you started stepping side to side to the beat. Then he was side stepping too, head nodding ever so slightly to the music. You decided to trick your brain into thinking this was like dancing with Tifa, or Aerith, or Jessie, when she used to dance with you ‘til closing time in the old Seventh Heaven: so you went back to your normal, boisterous dancing, even trying out various silly moves, beaming when you got him to smile.

For the rest of the current song and the next, Cloud didn’t venture much outside of his head bobbing and side shuffling, but you could feel him slowly lowering his guard just a little, his expression relaxing. He eventually started mixing it up by striking badass poses, placing a hand on one hip, or reaching back to grip his sword, a smirk flashing on his face when he got you to giggle. Cloud’s movements were still hesitant, still a bit unsure, but in time, with the help of the laughter and the liquor, the oppressive awkwardness mostly faded away. It was so rare for Cloud to let go, even a little bit: seeing him loosen up and enjoy himself made you happier than you could say. And even if this wasn’t what you wanted–well, all you wanted–you were determined that it would be enough for you.

The next time the song changed, you stopped to catch your breath, face flushed from the movement and merriment. You turned from Cloud to peer through the throng of bodies around you, brow furrowing. “I wonder what’s taking them so long!” You took one step toward the crowd, away from Cloud, wondering if you should go looking for Tifa and Aerith. Even if there was a line for the bathroom, there was no way–

Where it hung at your side, you felt the worn leather, the soft grip of a hand gently taking your own, and your breath hitched. “I-I’m sure they’re fine.” Don't think about any of them–it's just you and me.

You were almost afraid to turn around, afraid to find you were only dreaming.

But you did turn back–and it wasn’t a dream.

Cloud lifted your hand as you stepped toward him and the distance between you closed, his fingers curling as he clasped it palm to palm. His hand was unusually warm, even through the worn leather glove, and you could feel how it was trembling slightly, like how your own heart was stuttering in your chest. Then he brought the other to your waist, applying only the lightest grip to keep himself there. But even that gentle pressure on your middle made your gasping breath rattle out in your windpipe. Cloud hesitantly positioning you triggered a reflex, and your other hand lifted to rest at his shoulder–please don’t be sweaty, please don’t be sweaty, you pleaded with your palms. Locked together, you recognized the posture, remembered seeing your older relatives like this when they danced at family gatherings and weddings–and sometimes, your parents, back when you were a little girl, gazing down from the stairwell as they swayed in the kitchen, when they thought you were asleep.

With one jerking step, Cloud reinitiated the same simple side shuffles and front to back steps as before, still a bit stiff and fumbling. The only difference was that now you were joined together (though he maintained a respectable distance between you.) You were able to match his movements well enough, if not with perfect harmony, your nerves making you feel a bit locked up, your joints feel rusty. Cloud had held you so many times before this: his arm slung over the back of the booth behind you in the main lounge at the Honeybee Inn; or as you two conversed at the counter of the bar in the Drawing Room, his fingers lightly caressing your shoulder as you leaned against his chest; He'd put his hands at your waist before too, the nights you two felt daring enough to let you sit across his lap, usually after too many admirers had bothered you after a show for Cloud's liking; or–after your shared signal–as he finally guided you to the private suite, often garnering shouts and whistles from the crowd as you wove through the booths, as the regulars knew by now it meant the Champ was about to get his real encore. Yet, for all those embraces, all those touches, this one, so much more proper, so much more innocent, was the one that had you trembling, had your senses nearly overwhelmed. But at some point, when he suddenly gave you the slightest push off, keeping hold of both your hands as his arms extended, you naturally stepped backward, hands still connected, before he pulled you back to him. From there, you both seemed to relax bit by bit, your steps growing wider, more fluid. It came on slowly, but you found yourself growing attuned to his slightest cues as he gently guided you to the rhythm of the music.

Eventually, Cloud lifted one arm, and you let him twirl you, your heart doing its own pirouette in your chest. But within moments, it was clear he hadn’t created a high enough opening for you to move through–you had to awkwardly contort and twist in order to complete the spin beneath the arch of your joined arms. When you managed to right yourself, Cloud was unable to meet your eyes as he realized his blunder. You suddenly felt like a teenager again, everything bright and new and exhilarating, as nervous as you were excited. Unexpectedly overcome, a giddy laugh burst out of you–how was this more nerve-wracking than performing on a stage in front of a leering audience?

Because none of those people mattered to you, came the echo in your head–he’s the only one that ever did.

Cloud locked up immediately. Though he didn't take his hands away, you felt his momentum abruptly halt when he came to a complete stop, his body as stiff as a statue, eyeing you warily. “What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, unable to help the adoring smile on your face as you peered up at him. How was he so damn cute? “Nothing–I’m just happy.” And you were.

He blanched, as if taken aback by this plain statement. You felt his limbs relax slightly, but neither of you moved to resume dancing. The two of you were simply staring into each other's eyes, framed in each other's arms, all the world around you murky and far away. Your usual self-control worn away by the alcohol, when your gaze fell to stare at Cloud's lips, it took you far too long to remember the good sense to pull them back to his eyes again-only to see his own eyes flick up a second later. Wait, what?

“...I don’t–I don’t do this much,” he stated choppily, as if he needed to justify something to you.

“Just pretend I’m Andrea, if it makes it easier!” you teased. With a small scoff, Cloud shot you a side-eyed look, still a bit guarded.

“You wanna go sit down?” Unlike your previous remark, your question was completely sincere.

He met your gaze again. “…I didn’t say that.” There was another pause, then, staring at each other once more-back at square one. With a slight shuffle and a soft clearing of his throat, Cloud stepped forward to begin moving again-

A large, intoxicated man came stumbling backward into your little oasis. Just as you realized he was going to crash into you, Cloud instinctively pulled you to him, turning you both to shield you with his back. Head whipping over his shoulder, he scowled after the man as he went bumbling off into the crowd. Looking up at Cloud, you could feel his warmth, the worn fabric of his sweater as your hands rested on his chest, could see the freckles dusting his cheeks, his scent overwhelming your senses. Feeling almost lightheaded, you didn’t fully register that he hadn’t pushed you away again.

“You’re always saving me.” You were only half-joking.

“Somebody’s got to.” He shot you a wry smirk, his voice was laced with his characteristic dry bravado–but it clashed with the ruddy stains on his cheeks. You'd learned to see the cracks in the poker face long ago.

“You really are good at this, Cloud–” you began sincerely–and you meant it. But a sly grin crept onto your face as you finished, “even if you dance like a country boy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped defensively.

Instead of replying with words, you looked away to survey your surroundings. Cloud followed your gaze, taking notice for the first time of the people around you: interspersed in the sea of bodies were couples, couples everywhere you looked–every pair grinding on one another with varying levels of drunken sloppiness, their cavorting in stark contrast to Cloud’s wholesome take on partnered dancing. When you looked at one another again, you and Cloud were both blushing. The raise of your eyebrows said: that’s what I mean.

“That a bad thing?” he suddenly shot back. His eyes were burning with a strange intensity.

“…I didn’t say that.” But for all your teasing, the truth was in your eyes: you loved the gentle, respectable way he handled you, made all the more endearing by its unpracticed sincerity–it was him, and you adored it. But you certainly wouldn’t mind a bit more contact, either, and the new heat that seeped in your gaze seemed to admit as much.

His eyes sparked at your words, mouth falling open slightly with a soft grunt. Even in your inebriated state, it struck you: had you just been flirting with Cloud? You hadn’t really meant to–it had come as a natural response to the gleam in his eyes. Your gaze fell to his lips–with each passing minute, you were finding it more difficult (well, more than usual) to keep your control. You separated yourself from him, and the two of you returned to your partnered dancing, hands in their previous positions. But now, you could feel the movement and energy flowed more easily between you, as though he were slowly growing more confident in himself. By the time the next song change occurred, your two were pushing and pulling as a singular unit, giving and taking with ease. It wasn't showy or dramatic, but the simple frame of his arms, of the effortless way you moved together, nearly had you delirious from the euphoria. Cloud lifted his arm again, and this time, he twirled you with ease. Everything was a blur, a kaleidoscope of flashing lights and murky bodies–

You gasped when the world abruptly stood still, and you suddenly felt a wall, firm and solid, pressed up behind you. No–it was Cloud.

Your muddled brain was only able to piece it together after the fact: he’d spun you around, keeping hold of your hands as he folded you into him in one fluid motion, pulled your body flush with his. Your arms were wrapped across your waist as he held them, and your head reflexively fell back into the crook of his neck. It felt like you two were made to fit together, his shoulders a perfect shelter, your curves nestled into the hard planes and lines of his lithe body. The sensation of your back, your hips, your rear against his entire front jerked the nerves between your legs, and you suddenly felt like you were drowning, unable to get enough air–drowning, unable to get enough of him.

It lasted only a moment before he unfurled you from him once more. But this time, Cloud pulled you close until mere inches lay between you, one hand splayed at your waist, the other gripping yours tight as you resumed dancing in the same formation as before, like the one you’d seen your parents in so many times as a little girl. But they certainly hadn’t moved the way Cloud moved with you now: it was still all simple steps, but now that you were so close in each other’s arms, it was far more intimate–and far hotter–than you ever could have imagined. It was all a blur as one song melted into the next–as you and Cloud melted into each other. What had been proper and innocent before was sensual, erotic, hypnotic. Your hand was sliding up his arm, gripping his shoulder; then it was traveling to his neck, over his chest, fisting in his shirt at his middle. After dreaming of him for so long, it never quite seemed real, even as Cloud's hand ghosted up your ribs, trailed down your spine, sparks dancing at each vertebra, snapping to the lighting rod between your legs. His soft grunts and sharp hitches of his breath should have been drowned out by the din around you, but with his head lowered, his cheek pressed to your temple, all his noises were clear in your ears, warm against your skin. Eventually, all semblance of structure crumbled: now you had both your hands roaming one another as you rocked, swayed, stepped together. Your hands found their way beneath his sweater at the small of his back, clawing at him, clinging to him, reveling in his soft skin, his sharp bones, his hard muscles. It was like the two of you had entered into a trance, helpless in the thrall of the music, in the haze of the scant distance left between you, utter madness, utter bliss. The world fell away; all that existed was movement, rhythm, pressure, heat–and him. Him, him, him, him.

When Cloud had you like this, you’d follow him anywhere: and oh, you did.

Near light-headed by now, you were completely pliant in his arms, lost in the feeling of him all around you, all over you, the intoxicating co*cktail of his body wash and sweat and leather and mako drowning out everything else. It wasn’t perfect, like in the movies–there were times you’d step to the side when he’d meant to step to the back, or his foot would knock into yours. But all these little blunders did was remind you that this was him–that this was real. It was just the two of you, no longer Champion and Honeygirl, no longer undercover agent and accomplice: you were just…people. Young people doing what young people did, desperate and wild. But that also meant all of the walls, all of the smoke and mirrors and lies and excuses you’d always had to hide behind were utterly stripped away. Cloud had said he didn’t want to work with you, didn’t want to be near you, all those months ago–but you couldn’t possibly reckon that with the way he was holding you now, the way his pupils were blown wide when he gazed into your eyes, the way his breathing came ragged and labored against your cheek as your temple rested on his jaw. But you didn't want to analyze, didn't want to bother asking why: for once, you didn't want to think–you just wanted to feel. Tifa’s words echoed into your head: It’s what he does that shows you what he’s thinking.

Cloud spun you again. The angular cradle of his pelvis met your backside, a new steel there waiting for you, and it made your eyes flutter closed in heady bliss. Your willpower truly starting to crumble, your back reflexively arched, pushing yourself into him, and with your knees slightly bent, you let yourself drag against him as you straightened. He hissed like he'd been burned, like he was in pain. Then he righted you, yanked you so close you were chest to chest, fingers fanned out in the hollows between your ribs. He was holding you so tight your blouse rucked up at your waist, and you felt the worn leather of his gloves on your skin–why did you like the texture so much? Only the mooring of the music keeping you tethered to reality, to its tempo Cloud took another step forward, his lithe, muscular thigh parting your legs, claimed the narrow space as his own, and the pressure at your center, the friction he gave you made you gasp into his neck: how could anything feel so good?

The country boy restraint was gone. From your waist, Cloud’s hands dragged to your hips, palms against the crests of your bones–but it was only a detour. You felt as much as heard a growl thrum in his throat, and then he was gripping your ass, fingers splayed, one thumb hooking in your back pocket, the other hand sliding low to cup you tight at the fullest part of your flesh. His hands squeezed, yanked you forward–and for a moment, the lights went out as your circuits fried. It was hard to explain, but there was more than just desire in the way Cloud held you, rocked with you, into you: it was desperate, possessive, petulantly so, almost jealous–you could live with that. Then your head fell forward into the crook of his neck, eyes screwed shut, your fists curling into the poor, abused fabric of his sweater over his chest, aching to somehow pull him even closer–maybe you were feeling possessive, too. As you rolled your hips into him beneath his tight grip, the hormones and chemicals racing through your veins and addling your brain were dragging you to the edge of a cliff–and if you let yourself fall, you knew you could never climb back to the light again.

Once more, the words of a friend surfaced to seal your fate: Every minute, every moment, matters.

You just wanted to be here, now–you just wanted him.

But then, you’d always wanted him: from the moment you’d turned to find a strange young man with an absurdly large sword staring at you in Seventh Heaven on a cold winter night, mortified someone so gorgeous had seen you doing something so not. You’d thought the gods had sent you an angel, winged in the white wisps of snow at his back, who reduced you to ashes with each look, made you whole again with his every touch.

You’d both stopped moving now, chests heaving, your arms draped at his neck, Cloud’s hands holding your upper back, bodies melded together. When he met your gaze, he let out a dumbfounded stutter at the look in your eyes–he was still only Cloud, after all.

“Cloud…” you panted. His own breathing was labored, his eyes wide and bright, like he was entranced. Your eyes dropped to his mouth–and suddenly, it wasn’t enough to have only his name on your lips. Before your brain could register what was happening, Cloud's head lowered toward you, tilted just a fraction to his right, so slightly, so slowly, it was hard to tell if even he knew it was happening. You didn't see it as much as you sensed it, and your head instinctively began to lift to meet him–

Then a sudden flash of crimson over his shoulder caught your eye–and the moment, fragile as glass, shattered.

Just as Cloud started to lean in, another name fell from your lips:

“Reno.”

Chapter 45

Chapter Text

When you murmured that single word, you felt Cloud's body immediately stiffen around you, saw his head whip around to follow your gaze over his shoulder. “sh*t!”

Taking you by your shoulders, Cloud all but hauled you off the dance floor, buffering you from the crowd as he muscled through the mob, until you both finally broke through and reached the open lounge area around the dance floor again. He didn't stop until he had you pressed up against the nearby wall. He shielded your body with his, one elbow propped on the wall beside your head, caging you in, while the other hand remained fastened to your hip. But Cloud’s posture wasn’t actually the passionate embrace of a paramour: it was really meant to conceal your faces from the hot-headed Turk taking a seat at the bar not twenty feet to your left.

“What do we do?!” Your mind and body were reeling from the abrupt end of your heated moment with Cloud, so you were finding it difficult to assemble coherent thought, let alone complex strategy.

“We gotta warn Aerith–and Tifa.”

“Right.” You reached into your pocket to retrieve your PHS, flipping it open and scrolling through your contacts until you found Aerith’s number.

EMERGENCY. Reno is here! Is Tifa with you? Where are you??

As you waited for a response, you asked Cloud, “Should they go back to the hotel?”

“Aerith should go home–if they check on her house and she’s not there, we could all be in danger.”

“You should go with her, make sure she gets back safe. Take Tifa with you too. You’ll have to stop by the hotel to get their stuff first.”

He gave you a curt nod. “Then I’ll meet you back here.”

You shook your head, and a flash of confusion crossed his face. “No. It’s bad enough if you’re seen with them here, but we can’t let Reno find out I’m friends with you guys. Besides–” Cloud’s brow furrowed when your voice and eyes suddenly fell. “I'm nobody to the Turks. You, Aerith, and Tifa–you’re the ones in danger here. You guys are more important than I am. I’m…I’m just a liability. I would feel better knowing I was able to make sure you got away safely.”

“Stop saying that–” Cloud growled suddenly, banging the outer side of his fist on the wall in frustration. Your eyes went wide as saucers at his outburst. “You’re just as important as any of us–and stop calling yourself a liability!” His eyes were blazing, breath hot on your cheek.

You peered up at him then, and he seemed puzzled by the tightness in your expression. Your usual self-restraint frayed by alcohol, you didn’t think it through when you murmured, “But, Cloud…you said it first.”

“What?”

The sound of the text tone blaring startled you both, and you flipped your phone open again to find Aerith’s reply.

Dammit! We’re still in the bathroom! What should we do??

“They’re in the bathroom,” you repeated aloud. Your gaze was fixed on your phone as you typed out your message to Aerith, relaying the plan in your text as you summarized it to Cloud. “Okay, I’m going to go over to the bar and keep Reno’s attention off the dance floor while you meet up with Aerith and Tifa and get out. That way, if he’s about to see you, I can–”

“–I don’t–I don’t wanna just leave you here.” When you looked up from your phone, Cloud’s expression was strangely tight as he gazed at you, conflicted. His tone was hesitant, uneasy.

“I’ll be fine,” you said, trying to sound reassuring. “Just let me know when you’re on your way out of town, okay?”

There were a few moments of silence between you as you finished typing your text message. Suddenly, you heard Cloud ask: “You coming back tonight? To…”

You looked up at him again. To our place. “I probably shouldn’t,” you decided, as dismayed as it made you to think of spending another night without him. “I’ll just stay in the hotel room by myself, and come back in the morning–it’s the safest option.”

“Just be careful,” Cloud advised solemnly. “Call if you need anything, okay?”

You and Cloud stared at each other for a handful of heartbeats, all the world around you hazy and far away. He didn’t want to leave you, he’d said–you didn’t want him to go. Pushing off the wall, Cloud finally separated from you, his hand dropping from your waist. After so long in his arms, the absence of him suddenly had you feeling exposed, incomplete, like you were missing a vital part of yourself. After one last lingering look, you saw the hard intensity return to Cloud’s eyes, the furrow re-emerge between his brows before he turned, making a detour back to the couch to retrieve Hardedge, slotting it onto his back before he finally vanished into the crowd.

It was time to wake up.

First, you pulled down your shirt where he’d rucked it up with his hands. Then you walked over to the black leather couch you and Cloud had been sitting on, and by some miracle, found your purse lying there as you’d left it. Pulling out your compact, you quickly checked over your appearance. Hair a bit frazzled, cheeks a bright scarlet–how could you look so ravaged, when Cloud hadn’t even ravaged you? You wiped away any smudged makeup and fixed up your hair as best you could before you made your way along the wall toward the bar.

Though you’d spent innumerable hours of your life entertaining men since your recent career change, your heart was hammering in your chest at the idea of having to put yourself even in the same area code as a Turk. You’d only ever seen Reno from a distance: high above from the window of Aerith’s bedroom, or through the gap in the door of the sacrosanct of the church, or behind the walls of the Leaf House as you hid whenever he came to check in on your Cetra friend. But it wasn’t just the danger he posed to your friends that was making you nauseous: unsurprisingly, Shinra had made it near impossible to get any truthful information about the cause of the plate collapse in Sector 6, but through your Avalanche contacts, you’d been able to gather the Turks had played a major role. And you knew for a fact it had been Reno himself who’d pressed the button which sent the Sector 7 plate crashing down on the slums, killing even more innocent people, including some of your dearest friends.

As you approached the L-shaped bar, you found Reno sitting in the middle of the long arm of the counter, which meant luckily his back was to the dance floor as he nursed his glass of dark liquor. Walking past him, you slid into a barstool at the shorter arm of the bar, putting you perpendicular to the Turk, easily in his field of vision. You could feel his eyes on you before you’d even finished crossing your legs and setting your purse down on the granite countertop–but as long as Reno had his eyes on you, that meant they weren’t on the crowd behind him, where your three friends would have to make their escape. You made a show of retrieving your compact and lipstick, pouting into the small mirror as you traced the bow of your upper lip. When you'd finished, you fixed your gaze on the bartender preparing your old fashioned as you came up with your strategy. A small smile pulled at your lips as you thought of Biggs, remembering how he used to walk his teammates through his numerous plans, backup plans, and backup-backup plans before each mission. Silently dedicating your freshly poured drink to him, you rehearsed in your mind a few possible ways to handle the situation depending on how it unfolded.

As the first taste of bitters and whiskey spilled down your throat, the sight of the door to the women’s bathroom opening across the room caught your eye. When it shut again, you saw Tifa and Aerith standing there–and though he was hard to make out in the dimly lit nightclub in his dark blue SOLDIER’s fatigues, you also spotted Cloud’s shock of blond hair as he straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wall beside it. While the restrooms were situated behind Reno’s back on the far side of the dance floor, they were otherwise as far from the entrance as could be–your three friends would have to make it across the entire room without Reno catching sight of them.

You forced your eyes to drop to the drink in your hands, scolding yourself for the way you’d been staring at the friends you were trying to deflect attention away from. As you took another sip, you saw Reno eyeing you as he waved down the bartender for another drink. He flashed you a wicked smirk, and you made yourself smile back, but couldn’t help how your gaze flicked over his shoulder, tracking Cloud unceremoniously muscling his way through the sea of dancers, Aerith and Tifa following in his wake. They were almost halfway across the floor: just a few more seconds and they would be at the stairs leading up to the entrance. Just a few more seconds–

Seeming to take notice of your distractedness, you saw the Turk shift on his barstool, angling to glance back toward the dancefloor. Not willing to take any chances, you slid from your seat, drink in hand, before rounding the counter and heading straight for Reno. Just as he was turning to look over his shoulder, you–pretending to be staring at something on the far wall–knocked into the Turk’s other shoulder as you walked by, spilling your drink down the front of his suit.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You placed one hand on Reno’s arm to further monopolize his attention as he let out an irritated hiss.

The Turk swore as he peered down at the dark stain now marring his crisp white dress shirt and black suit jacket. “Geez, lady! Watch where you’re going, will ya? You know how expensive this suit was?!”

“I know, I’m so sorry–that’s what I get for trying to take my drink to the restroom with me,” you said, scolding yourself. You continued apologizing profusely as you reached for the napkin holder on the counter, proceeding to blot and dab at his shirt as you tried to undo the damage. As you fussed over him, you made a point to also swipe the exposed skin of Reno’s chest, which wasn’t hard to find–did his shirt even have buttons at the top?

“Here–” you began after you’d cleaned him off, reaching to your hip to open your purse, “let me give you some gil so you can get it dry-cleaned.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Reno said with a smirk, propping his chin on his hand, leaning in closer to you. He got over that pretty quick…“How ‘bout you let me buy you a drink, and we’ll call it even.”

Doing your best to sound playful, you shot back, “You’re not a very good negotiator, are you?”

He let out a co*cky laugh. “Don’t got much need for negotiation–not in my line of work.”

Reno asked the bartender to get you another drink while you slid into the open barstool beside him. As you settled in and crossed your legs, you allowed yourself one quick scan of the room–it was enough for you to spot a lone, stationary figure planted at the top of the short flight of stairs at the entrance, raised above the murky sea of dancers that stretched between you–it was Cloud, watching you intently. He was still as a statue, made all the more pronounced in his sharp contrast from the chaotic movement of the club, a hard, unreadable expression etched on his face. Your eyes met for only a brief moment–then he ducked through the door and into the night. They made it. You’d had to resort to Plan C in the end, but it was worth it–now you just had to disentangle yourself from Reno, somehow.

When you had your new drink in hand, the Turk reclined back, his elbow propped on the bar’s counter as he sprawled out next to you. You thanked the Astrals your friends were already gone, because in his new posture, he would have seen them for sure. Even as you were now trying to think of your exit strategy, you consoled yourself with the thought that every moment you detained him here was more time for Tifa, Aerith, and Cloud to put distance between themselves and Reno.

“So not a lawyer, then?”

Reno barked out a laugh. “Yeah right–I’m a Turk.”

You made your eyes widen in surprise. “What’s a Turk doing in Wall Market?”

“Even Turks need a drink and a night off now and then, sweetheart.”

As Reno downed the rest of his glass, you leaned forward onto the counter, resting your chin on your hand. “So–drinking to enjoy, or drinking to forget?” When he smirked, you had to admit, he possessed a certain devilish charm–only rendered unpalatable by his choice of employer.

But then the smirk faded as Reno gazed out over the sea of dancers. “Maybe both.” Shocked at this small offer of honesty, you were caught off guard by his next question. “So, what’s a fine little clutz like you doing all by yourself on a Saturday night?”

“My boyfriend was supposed to meet me here after work,” you lied with a melodramatic sigh, “but he’s taking an awfully long time…”

“Must be a moron,” Reno grumbled, not even trying to hide the way his eyes swept over you appreciatively from behind his glass.

Deciding to change the subject, you asked, “What are you trying to forget?”

And deftly sidestepping your query, he shot back, “How ‘bout you tell me where you’re from.”

The alcohol seemed to be loosing your lips, too: because your own mask slipped then, the playful light in your eyes faltering. “I grew up in Sector 6, actually.” That made the Turk blanch–he sat straight up from his reclined position, his eyes wide. “Guess you’re not the only one drinking to forget,” you remarked ruefully, a sad smile on your face before you took a long sip.

“I’m more interested in getting you to forget about that boyfriend of yours,” Reno said suddenly, leaning in closer to you, his gaze blatantly sliding down to your lips before meeting your eyes. “Doesn't seem like he really makes an effort for ya. What do you even see in him, anyway?”

You opened your mouth, trying to quickly cobble together a fake description of your fake boyfriend's fake attributes, but luckily you were saved by the sudden ringing of your PHS, and you couldn’t fish it out of your purse fast enough. Recognizing Cloud’s number on the screen, you answered it eagerly. “Hello?”

“It’s me. We just left town, we’re about to–”

“Hey baby!” You heard Cloud stammer in utter confusion on the other end, but you had no opportunity to explain your outlandish behavior. “Where are you?! I’ve been waiting forever.”

“What are you–”

“Aw, really? Okay–I get it. But you’re gonna have to make it up to me later…” you said coyly, and you heard Cloud let out a bewildered grunt at your suggestive tone. “Okay, I’m on my way–” It came falling from your lips before you thought to stop yourself: “–love you!” Then you closed your phone.

Reno had been watching you the whole time. “Jerk finally called ya, huh?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, already gathering up your purse, “guess that’s my cue. It was nice meeting you, um…” you trailed off when you realized you weren’t supposed to already know his name.

“Reno,” he said, flashing you a smirk before he reached for a napkin. You watched as he withdrew a pen from his breast pocket, scribbled a phone number onto the napkin before offering it to you. “Whenever you decide to dump that loser–you just call me.”

You accepted the napkin, placing it in your purse. But as you started to walk away, you heard him call out, “Hey–I never caught your name.”

It was a risk, but you turned back, offered it simply.

“Damn–even your name is hot.” The wicked grin he gave you made your face flush. You turned once again, desperate to finally get away.

Even though he’d only just learnt your name, Reno hastily called it out– “–Wait.”

You had no choice but to face the Turk again. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. About…About Sector 6.”

You weren’t sure how to respond–you knew the Turks were responsible for the collapse, but you couldn’t let on to Reno that you did. But even as you tried to give a neutral answer, you found yourself advising Reno as much as yourself, repeating the mantras you so often told yourself to make it through the day. “Just have to keep moving forward, you know? Keep on living…try to be a better person because of it. Because of them... the people that didn't–" Your voice choked out for just a moment before you regained your composure. "...Never too late, right?" Reno raised his glass in a toast, a wry smirk slanting his mouth–but his eyes were surprisingly solemn. With a final smile and nod of goodbye, you turned and made your way across the dance floor, emerging through the doorway into the cool night air of Wall Market.

When you finally shut the door to your hotel room behind you, you’d never been more relieved to find yourself alone in an empty room. Suddenly realizing how tired you were, you hastily went through your nighttime routine before climbing into your bunk bed. You missed Tifa’s laughter from the bed opposite, the sight of Aerith’s cheery face peering down above you: but it was worth it knowing you’d kept them out of danger. You lay there for what felt like a long time, the room eerily silent, lost in your thoughts. Then you startled when your PHS rang out. A text? Your heart was already racing before you’d even confirmed it was Cloud’s number on the screen.

You okay?

Knowing that he was out there in the world–thinking about you–made you strangely emotional. You governed yourself well enough to simply reply: Yeah, all clear–just got back to the hotel. As you lay in your bed, staring up at the bed frame above you, all the events of the day washed over you, and the flood of emotions that had been dammed up while danger loomed, threatened to drown you. But it was your moment of passion with Cloud that your mind kept circling, that kept you from sleep.

You wanted to commit all of it to memory–every minute, every moment: you were still dazed at the fact you’d been able to touch him, to hold him, to worship with your hands the hard planes of his chest, the angles of his hips, the lines of his waist when you’d pressed your hands beneath his sweater, his scent enveloping you as heady as any liquor. And the way he’d put his hands all over you, the feel of his chest against yours, of his hips against your rear, the pressure of him between your legs, his hardness nestled at the crease of your thigh–Feeling your face growing warm, yanking down your panties to find yourself long since soaked with arousal, your thoughts wandered along with your own hands as you relived it all, how Cloud had grown more bold with every sign of encouragement your body gave him. He’d been like the moon, and you, the tides, locked in the push and pull between you, utterly powerless, exactly as you wanted to be.

Your hips writhing and rolling in overwhelming frustration, desperate for the relief that had been denied to you for so long, you finally spread your legs and let your hands slide low, needing to quench the heat burning at your core, his name breathy and wanton on your lips as you pleasured yourself, surrendered yourself to oblivion. Your hands were all you had to relieve the arousal making you ache in your most intimate places–all you could do was close your eyes and pretend they were his instead.

It could never be enough–but at least for a little while, it came close.

Cloud sank onto the edge of the bed, letting out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. Even after he, Tifa, and Aerith managed to exit the nightclub without detection, it had been a tense walk back to the hotel before he’d hired a carriage from the chocobo ranch to escort the girls to Aerith’s house. Now safely back in your apartment in Wall Market, he felt some of the tightness in his muscles finally relax. Pulling his PHS from his pocket, he was dismayed when he found no messages or calls from you–apart from the bizarre conversation you’d had with him earlier.

You okay?

Luckily, your response came quickly: Yeah, all clear–just got back to the hotel.

His shoulders sank as his stress lowered another notch. But even as he took a few deep breaths, trying to focus his mind, Cloud couldn’t diffuse the agitation churning his insides. He felt wound up, a strange tension coiled within him that wouldn’t ease. As usual, he tried to shove it down, to pretend he didn’t know what was torturing him–but he knew.

Just when his compulsion to crush you to his chest and kiss you into oblivion finally overpowered him, Reno had come along to dash it all. And when Cloud had turned back at the entrance to the nightclub to catch one final glimpse of you, the sight of you with your hands on the Turk’s chest, feigning to be receptive to the way he was leaning into you, flashing you a wicked smirk, eyes brazenly raking over you–it made his blood boil even now. Cloud had thought after the walk to the hotel and two trips in the chocobo carriage that his pent up frustration would ebb, and his body would leave him in peace. But he couldn’t have any peace–you’d stolen any chance of that a long time ago.

PHS still in hand, as he deliberated whether to send you another text, Cloud found himself absentmindedly scrolling through Aerith’s message feed from that day. His eyes first landed on the photo of you with your mouth slightly opened as you applied your lipstick; then on the one of you seated on the bed, unable to help drinking in the soft flesh of your curves, the planes of your bare shoulder blades, the lace of your bra, the profile of one breast visible as your body stretched.

His breathing labored, Cloud tore off his armor and shed his clothing into a haphazard heap on the bedroom floor before stumbling into the bathroom. He stepped under the scalding water of the shower–which was hardly tepid compared with the heat building low in his core, the desperate need to let off a different kind of steam. With his head bowed, the water flowed over his neck, down his shoulders, his arms; wrapped in rivers around the small of his back along the sharp lines of his hips, trickled down his stomach, the trail of dusty blond hair there quickly darkening from the damp, the shifting streams finally converging at his center and running down his inner thighs, as though the water were mocking him with your memory, caressing all the places you had touched that night–and the ones more intimate still you had only in his dreams. He briefly considered yanking the lever down to kill the temperature–it would hardly be the first time.

Is that enough for you?

But this time, he couldn’t push it away–because Cloud had finally done more than just watch. Now, Cloud didn’t just have images of you in his head to fuel the wildfire within him: he’d had you in his arms, his entire world stripped down to the scent of your skin, the flesh of your form, the sounds of your desperate gasps and ragged breathing; The feel of your hands sliding up his arms, down his chest, palms pressed to the skin of his bare back when you’d slid them beneath his sweater in the maelstrom; The heavenly pressure of your ass against his hips as you’d rolled into him, of your breasts brushing his chest when he pulled you close; the feel of his thigh, his erection nestled at the juncture of your legs, so close to where he wanted so badly to be it was hard to think straight; And perhaps most maddening of all had been the look in your eyes, pupils blown wide, heated and desirous–but somehow, also so wide-eyed and earnest–as you’d let him handle you, so pliant in his arms, like everything Cloud did was what you wanted more than anything. You’d burned him alive, filled all his senses–all except one: taste.

Cloud hissed, eyes crimping shut. After being forced to break away moments before his lips reached yours, he’d had to watch you perform for Reno, reapply your lipstick, arch your back as you crossed your legs, put your face too close to his as you pawed his chest. Cloud was so damn sick of sitting by day after day, night after night, and watching man after man ogle your perfect body, lean in too close, invade your space; watching as they slung their arm around your shoulder, dragged their fingers on your neck, your thighs. It left a constant feeling that had been tearing his insides apart from the moment you two had arrived here, one that never went away, one he'd never been able to identify. Then a flash of you sprawled on Rufus Shinra’s lap stung him–then of you standing in the doorway after the Cup, your stocking torn and your lipstick branded over your body–his fist slammed the shower wall. No.

He growled low in his throat as it surged through him, made him shudder–not a thought, an instinct: She’s mine.

Hunched over beneath the scalding shower, one arm braced against the wall in front of him, Cloud reached for himself, head tilting back, face pinched in a grimace as he began to stroke himself with his hand, grateful for the first time that he was alone. His movements were desperate, frantic, the white-hot pleasure bordering on pain after so long in captivity. Only his quiet hisses, gasps and grunts, tight and clipped through his gritted teeth, punctuated the dull percussion of the shower stream. The memories of the night’s events scorched his senses, and the fantasies they ignited reduced him to ashes. All his careful restraint was utterly abandoned, and finally, finally, finally, Cloud let the passion which tormented him every moment in your presence and haunted him in every dream you inhabited, consume him. In giving in to it, he was admitting to it–letting it sink into his bones.

He found his release with embarrassing speed, eyes screwed shut, hips jerking and stuttering as strained cries spilled from his lips, slowing his strokes as he came back down until he was eventually left panting and spent, forehead against the wall, the water cascading down his body. His mind was as hazy as the tiny shower itself, drowned in the hissing of the water and the stifling steam. But any relief he felt was only temporary–by allowing it to drag him to the heights of ecstasy and the depths of insanity, Cloud ensured that what had been before, could never be enough again.

Chapter 46

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Cloud…”

Behind his closed eyes, it was the sound of your voice, soft and lovely and honey-sweet. Another one of those dreams?

Where he was curled up on his side beneath the warm, soft covers, Cloud twisted his torso to look back over his shoulder, toward your voice. Blinking away the fog of sleep, when his vision finally focused, Cloud found you gazing down at him, leaning over from where you sat on your side of the bed. The room was bathed in the soft morning light streaming in through the blinds, gilding the edges of your hair, skin radiant in the ethereal glow. He watched your face pull into a dimpled smile, and when he looked into your eyes, irises gleaming like chips of stained glass in the sunlight, he noticed the way your gaze went soft, and your cheeks flushed a rosy pink. Shiva Almighty… Though there was nothing remarkable about your appearance this morning, to Cloud, you looked like some sort of angel. Taking a deep breath, your scent washed over him (had you always smelled so nice?) before he detected some other bitter aroma, which he couldn’t quite identify.

“Miss me?” Voice still achingly soft, there was now a hint of playfulness in your words. Then Cloud registered you were still wearing your clothes from the previous night, and he realized it wasn't a dream, but a reunion.

Shifting to lie on his back, Cloud fought the small smile tugging at his lips. “Not really.”

“Coffee?” you asked, and he finally recognized the other heavenly scent drifting in the air.

“SOLDIERs don’t need coffee,” Cloud grumbled.

But when you withdrew and rose from the bed, it was clear by your amused look as you took in his bleary-eyed face and sleep-roughened voice that you weren’t buying it. After letting out a soft hum of dubious agreement, Cloud watched you retrieve one of two disposable cups from the dresser, circling the bed to place the steaming beverage on his bedside table anyway. Then you returned to the dresser, knelt down, and he heard you pull the zipper on what must have been your duffel bag, your back to him as you rifled through your things. After shoving the covers down his legs, Cloud roused himself enough to sit up in bed, and reached for the cup on the–

Cloud froze. With a stutter under his breath, he hastily yanked the covers over his hips, back up to his waist–apparently he was happier to see you this morning than he’d realized. He seized the cup of coffee and brought it to his lips to save face.

“Hope you’re comfortable–” you remarked brightly, finally turning to face the him again as you rose from your bag and made your way across the space to the bathroom, fresh clothes and towel in hand. “I can’t wait to finally take a shower…”

Head tilted back mid-sip, Cloud’s eyes flew open. He keeled forward with a startled splutter as he nearly choked on his coffee, fighting to stifle the string of strained coughs that followed. You peered back at him over your shoulder with your hand on the doorknob, your brow pinched in curious concern. “Cloud?”

His cheeks flushed hot as he remembered what he’d done in that shower last night: how his thoughts about you, his actions, had been anything but clean. “N-Nothing–it’s fine,” Cloud replied gruffly. After one final clearing of his throat, he managed to mostly regain his composure–though his words were still a bit choppy, flustered, slightly high in pitch for him. “Try not to use all the hot water.” Not that he’d be showering with hot water this morning even if you did…

This seemed to be enough to allay your concern: after giving Cloud the sweet smile of the blissfully innocent, you disappeared into the bathroom. When he heard the hissing sound of water running a few moments later, Cloud’s head fell back against the headboard with a dull thunk, and he huffed out a breath. Then he reached for the cup on the table again. Taking a long sip of coffee, Cloud felt his stomach grow as warm as his face–today he was going to need all the fortification he could get.

“It’s times like these, I wish Biggs were still here…” you remarked wistfully.

“Yeah.”

“What do you think he’d say, if…?” If he were?

You were seated at your usual table in the sports bar, watching Cloud pull his three darts from the board–like he’d done when you’d been here in your dream…Your gaze was fixed on his hands, the long slender fingers, the strong palms, the sheen of the bar lights on the leather, remembering their heavenly grip on–you squeezed your thighs together, eyes darting away. You’d been burned to ash under those hands…

The question made Cloud pause, standing in place facing you from in front of the board, his head tilted down, eyes on the darts resting on his open palm. His brow was pinched, and it was clear he was deep in thought. “Don’t think he’d approve of a distraction like this–he’d say we gotta stay focused. Can’t be room in our heads for anything that isn’t the mission.” His voice was strangely hesitant, and by the end, it sort of sounded as though Cloud were advising himself, rather than conjuring the counsel of his fallen friend.

“Right…” Glancing down to your own hands, you clasped them together in your lap. That was the conclusion you’d kept circling too, all day. Neither you nor Cloud had brought up what had…what had happened at the club Saturday night. You burned to know what it meant–what it meant to him–but the moment just never felt right; or maybe, like in your early days here, you still weren’t brave enough to seize the moment, to make one for yourself. Had you really changed so little in all this time? And the fact Cloud hadn't mentioned the subject either made your throat clam up each time you looked at him. Is it...is it because he regrets it? Wouldn't be the first time after someone had done something reckless while drunk at a club, you supposed.

But you’d both blinked, and now it was here. It was Monday: the last day of the mission–the last day in Wall Market. And as each hour passed, the ordeal ahead of you–of one final night alone in a room with Rufus–loomed ever nearer, you found it harder to muster the courage to talk to Cloud. You would need to be at the top of your game, prepared to put on the performance of your life to pull off what you intended to. Maybe Biggs was right–you couldn’t afford to shake everything up, to lose your focus–to jeopardize your relationship with the partner you needed to make this all work–right before something this momentous. All you were doing was putting it off for a little while longer: it was just past dinner time now, and if the plan worked, the two of you would be on a chocobo carriage headed back to Sector 3 before midnight, in just a few more hours. You needed to close the chapter in front of you before you could feel safe enough to consider what may lie on the next page. But that’s all it was: a delay, not a denial. Surely you would find the courage then...right?

“I wonder what he’d think of the mission, Biggs–what plans he would have come up with,” you mused with a smile–but it quickly dimmed as the loss of your friend washed over you again.

Cloud let out an amused grunt, folding his arms as he leaned on one hip. “Certainly would have been a challenge for him–don’t think he had much experience planning how to seduce people.”

“Probably would have deferred to Jessie–” you joked. “She was the expert!”

He shot you a wry smile, his tone tinged with a hint of mirth. “Self-proclaimed.” But then the smile faded; and when you both glanced at each other, despite any good-natured remarks made at your friends’ expense, you shared a look of unspoken understanding: whatever you may pretend, you both missed your friends terribly.

As Cloud sat down in his own chair and you squared up to throw your first dart of the round, you decided to refocus on the task at hand: in less than twenty minutes, you would be heading to the Honeybee Inn to change into your uniform and start what you hoped would be your final night as a Honeygirl–you just had to outwit and outmaneuver Rufus freaking Shinra first. You’d asked Cloud if the two of you could go out for dinner, despite the risks of being seen together–if you spent the hours leading up to this final ordeal cooped up in your apartment, you might lose your mind–and your nerve.

“So, you talked everything over with Andrea?” you asked as the first dart landed.

He nodded. “Once you’re alone with Rufus, he’ll be waiting for the signal.”

“Operation C-Block,” you chuckled to yourself.

“What was that?”

“Oh, um–it was the name Aerith came up with, when I told her what we’re going to do–'Operation C-Block.'” Your eyes darted away, feeling a bit bashful even as the joke made you smile.

“The C isn’t for Cloud, I take it,” he mused with a playful light in his eyes, a smirk on his lips.

You giggled. “Not unless you want to trade roles!”

“Think I’ll stick with being a merc–seems safer to me.”

But the next smile on your face didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Is that your plan? When…when we get back?” You hadn’t meant for your voice to come out so soft.

Cloud nodded. “Just gonna keep working until we figure out what we’re gonna do next. Keep our ears to the ground for any information on Sephiroth.” He paused before asking, “And…what about you?”

“I did get an offer to join the clinic out in Mideel,” you said, “right before we left for Wall Market.”

“That’s…far.”

“Yeah. I’m not seriously considering it–I’d rather stay where I am. And besides–Midgar's home. I thought about opening my own little clinic in Sector 3, or maybe setting up some sort of mobile clinic, and traveling to different sectors on different days. Astrals know all the slums need the care. That’s…that’s my dream, anyway.”

“You’d be good at it,” he remarked. The two of you shared a warm, quiet smile. Then a stretch of silence fell between you.

“But what…what about you, Cloud?” Your eyes snapped up to him where he was still seated at your table. You were fidgeting with the darts in your hand.

His brow furrowed, a bit confused by your sudden intensity. “I…already said what my goal is–defeat Sephiroth, save the Planet.” A small smirk quirked his mouth, then. “Should be simple enough.”

“That’s your goal, but…that’s not a dream.”

Cloud’s eyes fell to the empty glass he was holding on his knee, his voice quiet. “There a difference?”

The question made you pause for a moment. There was a difference, but it was in feeling–and how do you convey that? “A dream feels…bigger, somehow. Even though dreams can be small, too, I guess. They give you direction: keep you looking forward, moving forward–even when the present, the past...makes it hard to. I-I’m not making any sense…”

“Whatever it is,” Cloud chimed in, “I’ll have time to dream when Sephiroth is dead.”

“But seriously, i-in the meantime, until you do–will you think on it? ...What your dreams are?” You didn’t know why this was bothering you so much, why you had this tugging sensation in your gut, why this suddenly was so important to you. It was a sentiment you’d held since the night you and Cloud had talked so openly in Evergreen Park, surging up inside you. It wasn’t even that you dared to think you could be a part of those dreams one day–but it mattered to you that he had them for himself.

Cloud held your gaze, searching your eyes. He seemed to understand that his answer meant a great deal to you, even if the slight furrow in his brow made it clear he didn’t understand why. So after a stretch of silence, he nodded once, his expression solemn. “I will.” Then it was your turn to nod, before your eyes fell away, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious again. Now you were both simply seated across from one another at your little table, the ambient sounds of the bar burbling all around your little world.

“You, uh…you sure you…don’t want to stay on here?” Cloud remarked after a time. “Andrea loves you so much, he might make you partner,” he joked in his dry way.

“It would probably pay better!” you chuckled. There was another pause then, before you spoke again. “No…” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else, and Cloud blanched at the sudden tightness in your expression, how incredibly worn down you looked. Your eyes fell to the darts in your hand, and they reminded you of your dream in a moonlit garden: was that all this had ever been? “I’m tired of pretending. It’s…it’s time to go back to the real world.” What he couldn’t have known was that you weren’t just talking about dressing up in a costume and popping out of cakes anymore.

“And I’m sick of waiting–” you said suddenly, a new edge in your voice. Your brows pinched as the apprehension you'd been fighting so hard to suppress momentarily broke through.

“Just a few hours to go.” It was clear Cloud had said it to be reassuring, even if he wasn't quite sure how to go about it. But your eyes were still downcast as you bit your lip in your contemplation.

“And then…it’ll all be over.”

With that, you grabbed your purse, leaving a few gil on the table as a tip before heading for the exit. You were so preoccupied, you didn’t even wait to make sure Cloud fell into step behind you–there was just…no putting it off any longer.

Chapter 47

Chapter Text

“Hey–wait.”

“...Yeah?”

As you turned back to look at him, haloed in the neon lights of the entrance to the Honeybee Inn, Cloud was struck by a sense of deja vu: he realized those were the exact words he'd said to you the very first time you’d come to this place before your audition–that you’d looked back at him exactly like this. So much had happened, and yet, it had all brought you both right back to this spot. Nothing had changed–and yet...everything had.

Cloud could feel the anxiety emanating from you: last time, it had been because he’d just informed you you would be dancing on stage with Andrea in a matter of minutes–if only the stakes this time were so trivial. As the two of you made your way to the Honeybee Inn from the bar across town, you’d been silent for the most part, no longer trying to feign a cheery facade. He knew you’d been putting on a brave face all day, trying to distract yourself from what you were about to do.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Cloud offered.

With only a small, half-hearted smile in response, clearly preoccupied with the trial ahead, you turned and entered the Honeybee Inn. He followed you through the crowded lobby until you stopped in front of the the door at the far end, the one that led to the fountain room. This was where Cloud had to leave you–after going through to the changing room to put on your uniform, you would come back out to meet Rufus here in the lobby before retiring to the private suite.

“I’ll be right outside.” He was trying to say it without really saying it: he wasn’t going to let Rufus get what he’d wanted last week, after the Corneo Cup. Your brow pinched with apprehension, pretty eyes nervous, all you could do was give him a small nod in reply. With that, Cloud jogged up the stairs, pausing at the top as he reached the second floor to survey his surroundings.

Your private suite–the one in which you and Cloud had shared so many nights together–was normally one of the rooms on the ground floor off the circular fountain room: but for the purposes of tonight’s plan, Andrea had reassigned you to one of the suites on the upper floor, to better suit the needs of your heist. This floor consisted of only a single long hallway coming off this open landing area, with the janitor’s closet on one side, and the restrooms across from it on the opposite wall. When Cloud spotted the small storage closet just to the left of the stairwell–which Andrea had made sure would be unlocked tonight–he ducked inside. From inside the cramped closet, the air vents on the door allowed Cloud a view of the main hallway, albeit an obscured one. In the tense silence and near darkness as he peered into the empty corridor, he shifted on his feet in his agitation, reached to his ear and began absentmindedly twisting the stud there–your gift–as Cloud’s thoughts began to drift, despite his attempts to focus on the mission at hand.

He hadn’t mentioned the moment the two of you had shared in the nightclub, and you hadn’t pressed the issue, either. It was as if it had never happened. Well, that wasn’t true–Cloud found that night invading his thoughts constantly, felt the embers of that heat flickering inside him every time he looked at you. He’d nearly tipped over the edge, careened past the point of no return, only a twist of fate hauling him back from the brink. Cloud knew what it meant–just not what he wanted it to mean. So he’d just done his best to bury it, at least for now–neither of you needed more things on your mind at the moment: getting through the ordeal with Rufus had to come before everything else. But now that it was here, Cloud’s feelings about the mission finally ending were far more conflicted than he’d expected.

Time to go back to the real world… But that wasn’t the only thing you’d said that Cloud couldn’t get out of his head.

He thought back to Saturday night, what had happened after he’d left you to distract Reno. Once he, Aerith, and Tifa had made it out the door, Cloud led them through the winding streets back to the hotel in mostly tense, oppressive silence, which remained even as the girls quickly packed up their few belongings. When he’d shut the door to the room behind them, all that was left was your familiar black duffel bag, still sitting on one of the beds.

But it was once they were in the carriage, Tifa and Aerith seated on the bench across from him as they rode past the old expressway, that Cloud suddenly remembered your request. “I’m gonna call her–she’ll wanna know we’re okay.”

He’d put the PHS to his ear, only to have a bizarre non-conversation with you when you answered. When you abruptly ended the call–after saying love you! no less–Cloud stared at the phone in bewilderment before slowly closing it again.

“Everything okay?” Tifa had asked.

“Not sure…” Cloud replied, still frowning at the PHS. “She was acting really weird. I think she’s still undercover.”

“Thank goodness we were in the bathroom,” Aerith remarked. “If she hadn’t seen Reno when she did, who knows what could’ve happened.”

“I hope she’s alright…” Tifa added, her brow pinched with worry. A fresh wave of guilt at leaving you to deal with a Turk by yourself roiled in Cloud’s gut. You were his teammate, his equal, his…his partner, in all this–it meant he respected your input, that you two always made decisions together: but maybe he should have pushed his objections harder this time…There was a long pause, only the rickety rattling of the small carriage filling the silence. Cloud leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, still lost in thought as he dissected your strange words over the phone. Then–

“She said something else that was weird–” he started abruptly, brow furrowed, “right after she texted you.”

It roused the girls from their own contemplation, heads lifting to look at him across the carriage. “Something weird?” Aerith echoed.

“It was when we were deciding how to handle Reno,” Cloud explained. “She said that we were more important than her, so she should be the one to distract him. ‘I’m just…a liability.’ That was the word she used.”

“How could she say that about herself?” Tifa wondered with dismay, her caring nature kicking in. “We all love her, she must know that.”

“Yeah, she matters just as much as any of us!” Aerith vehemently agreed.

Cloud nodded in his own show of agreement. “But when I told her she shouldn’t call herself that, she said–” He paused as he remembered the tight look on your face: like you were saying something it pained you deeply to admit. “She said, ‘but Cloud, you said it first.’” Cloud’s eyes fell to the floor between his knees, brow furrowed, lost in his thoughts. “I…I don’t know what she was talking about.”

When neither Tifa or Aerith spoke, he finally looked up again. They both were watching him with uneasy expressions on their faces. “...What is it?” Cloud asked.

Then the two girls looked at one another, sharing a long glance, as if deciding who was going to speak. In the end, it was Tifa who began gently: “Well…apparently, you did say that, Cloud.”

He sat up straight, his eyes sparking in confusion. Exchanging glances once again, this time Aerith spoke up, recounting the night of your welcome party into the Sector 3 Avalanche cell. “She went back to Seventh Heaven after the party to get something…and overheard you and Barret talking.”

Cloud’s eyes went wide. He felt cold dread settle heavy on his chest. “She heard that?” Had you heard the whole conversation? It didn’t seem like it, by the way you acted around him, then and now...

But Aerith soon answered his unspoken question: “She left right after you said it–said she was a liability. She was…she was too upset to keep listening.”

Cloud slumped back against the hard wooden bench. That’s what she’s been thinking, this whole time…You’d been living with him, sleeping in the same bed with him, forced to pretend you were having sex with him, all the while, believing he couldn’t stand you. Your hesitance around him, how you’d tried so hard not to bother him in those early weeks…it all suddenly made sense to him now.

“Cloud…why?” Tifa asked softly. “You’re not a bad guy. Why would you say something like that? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“That…That wasn’t everything I said. I didn’t–she didn’t hear why I said it.”

“–What’s your problem, man?!” Cloud could still hear Barret’s exasperated voice back in Seventh Heaven, watching as the older man paced the bar in front of him in irritation.

Cloud had had his arms folded, barricaded across his chest as he leaned back against the counter, only the dim light from the table lamps illuminating the space. “Nothing–” he’d snapped. “I just don’t wanna be put on missions with her, okay?”

“You only been on one job with her–that ain’t enough for you to judge her yet. She’s just as capable as Jessie, or Biggs, or Wedge was. And she’s the best medic outta all of us, ain’t even close. So what is it?” Barret had raised his arms wide in an open gesture. “We’re all excited to have her on the team!” Then Barret pointed right at him. “The only one that ain’t is you.”

Cloud’s eyes screwed shut. “It’s not–” But he knew Barret was right. Sure, you weren’t a fighter, but there were other ways to be useful. And since you’d spent your time as a nurse taking various gigs around Midgar since your parents had died–so he’d been told by Aerith and Tifa, among others–you certainly were the one with the most medical expertise. He’d even seen you in action, as you tended the wounded who’d ended up in Sector 3 after the Sector 7 plate fell–but Cloud wasn’t making this request based on your resumé.

There was a long pause between the two men. “…I can’t promise you won’t ever be put on assignment together,” Barret relented at last, “but if you want me to keep you two separate, you’re gonna have to tell me why–and it better be a good reason, too.”

Cloud scowled as his head ducked sideways, eyes on the floor to avoid Barret's gaze. “I just don’t wanna work with her, okay?! She’s a liability. She just… she’ll just get in my way.” It was cowardly to pin this on you, but Cloud was hoping to get out of this while saying as few incriminating statements as possible.

“You ain’t never been a good liar Cloud–now come on. Every time she’s in the room wit’ you, you ain’t right. What’s goin’ on?” After all they’d been through together, the man Cloud was closest to by far was Barret–but even so, he felt his cheeks flush as searched for another way to evade answering.

“…You got it that bad for her, huh?”

Though Barret's voice was soft, Cloud’s gaze snapped up at the plain statement–and found his friend giving him a gentle smirk that said: Gotcha. “I knew your head wasn’t in the game last night, but I couldn’t figure out why.” Cloud just scoffed, and glared indignantly down at the floor.

“Why not just talk to her, man?” Barret asked, his voice gentle rather than teasing. “From what Tifa says–”

“–I just can’t, okay?! It’s too distracting to work with her. I don’t–I-I can’t–it’s too hard to be around her." His voice had grown raw as he spoke. "So just do this for me, okay Barret?” There was another long silence.

Eventually, Barret let out a sigh, and when Cloud studied his friend's weathered face, the disappointment in his brown eyes was clear. “Like I said, no promises, but…I’ll do what I can.”

And Barret did–that first mission was the only one you and Cloud had ever done together, some nine months ago. Except, that is, until Barret had assigned you both to this mission. But the reasons Cloud had given then weren’t entirely true. Or rather, they were only half of the truth.

Shifting on the bench in the chocobo carriage, feeling Tifa’s and Aerith’s gazes intent on him, Cloud’s eyes crimped shut, struggling to say it aloud, even after all this time. “I…I didn’t want anyone else in my life. Not after Nibelheim, and the Plate, you getting kidnapped by Corneo, and you getting taken by Shinra–Jessie, Biggs, Wedge…” As his rough voice trailed off, both girls looked at Cloud with softness in their eyes as they pieced together what he was implying. It made him blush, his eyes dart away.

“…It was different. From…From the first time I saw her…” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.“But I–” Neither of the girls spoke, afraid to do anything that might break the spell, make him clam up again. “After that first mission Barret put us on together, I couldn’t…I just can’t. I knew anything like that–with her…it would be too hard.” He looked to the floor again, somehow both embarrassed and ashamed.

It was meant to be sort of a trial run, to see if you were cut out for the work involved in being a member of Avalanche. Cloud had found it odd the cell hired him to help simply infiltrate a warehouse and destroy some microchips to prevent Shinra from updating their weapons systems–breaking and entering (or in this case, breaking and breaking) was far below his pay-grade. Still, a job was a job–and 2000 gil was 2000 gil, no matter how he got it. It wasn’t until he’d climbed the steps to the Sector 3 train station to find Barret, Tifa, and you waiting for him that he realized what he was getting into: Barret wanted a pro there, to compensate for the presence of a rookie on the team.

When Barret had said Cloud’s head wasn’t in the game that first mission, it had been an understatement: even as Barret was blathering away beside you in the otherwise empty train car–eagerly explaining how the cell carried out assignments, their pre and post mission rituals, the chain of command, how to use the various weapons and materia–from where he stood by the schematic of Midgar near the train car’s doors, pretending to study it, Cloud just couldn’t stop staring at you out of the corner of his eye. And when the team had gotten inside the warehouse, it only got worse from there.

It was when the first guard dog came bounding around the corner and spotted you, sinking low on its haunches with a throaty growl, preparing to pounce, that Cloud knew something was different. He’d found himself sprinting back down the corridor at full speed, desperate to leap in front of you just in time to swat the mongrel away with a swipe of his sword, hearing you gasp when he seemed to appear before you out of nowhere. Even though Barret yelled for him to catch up once he’d taken care of the situation, the moment he’d left you to your post guarding the elevator, Cloud couldn’t get his mind to focus on the task in front of him: he’d nearly blown Barret up along with the crates of microchips when he failed to notice he was still setting the explosives before Cloud went to press the button on the detonator, eager to get this over with–to check on you.

And once the group was hightailing it back out of the warehouse to blaring alarms and pursuing slug rays, Cloud found himself constantly looking back to make sure you were keeping up. In one such instance, while his focus was directed back over his shoulder, he’d led the team down a wrong turn–and nearly got himself and Barret fried to a crisp by a flametrooper waiting around the corner as a result, the column of fire spewing from his flamethrower nearly singing Cloud’s nose clean off. “What the hell is wrong wit’ you today, man?!” Barret had shouted before he doubled back to the correct hallway, leaving Cloud to deal with the assailant.

“Hey…are you okay?” Came a new voice from behind him, timid and unsure, and he turned to find you waiting for him. You were panting, forehead laced with perspiration, yet he could see your eyes scanning him for serious injuries, brows pinched in concern. With you gazing at his face, his body, Cloud somehow found it even harder to concentrate on the floor-shaking explosions in the distance.

“Just get out of here!” he’d snapped, not waiting for your answer before he’d yanked his sword off his back, and lunged forward to do battle with the flametrooper. It was difficult for Cloud to wield his sword in the cramped corridor, and the trooper was taking advantage of it, the jet of fire from his flamethrower easily covering large swaths of the hallway. Cloud was guarding behind his sword, hissing when the flames bit into his arms as the trooper blasted him. But when the stream of fire began to abate, he began to consider his options: he needed to get in close so he could–

“–Get down!”

Cloud jolted at the sharp, unexpected sound of the voice, but instantly complied, dropping to a crouch on the ground. He looked up just in time to see you come up from behind him, brandishing a fire extinguisher you’d yanked off the wall, clearly straining under the weight as you aimed the nozzle in front of you. The moment the trooper stopped his stream of fire, your eyes crimped shut before you squeezed the grip on the handle hard, and doused the man, his flamethrower, half the hallway–and the worst casualty of all, Cloud’s hair–in a blanket of thick, white foam.

Cloud surged back to his feet just as you stepped back to give him some room, strangely in sync. Now that the trooper’s flamethrower was just dead weight–and he was preoccupied trying to wipe the foam out of the scopes on his helmet–Cloud made quick work of taking him out (though he had to be careful to avoid the piles of foam on the floor so he didn't slip and fall on his ass in the process). Just as the man’s body was beginning to fade, Cloud startled at the loud, metallic sound of the canister clattering to the floor, and he turned back to face you, both panting as you caught your breath.

“Sorry about–” you huffed sheepishly, eyes flicking up to his newly frosted tips, an adorable blush blooming on your cheeks.

“Whatever.” He tried to somehow look cool while wiping foam out of his hair, but the sight of you watching him beneath your lashes was making his own face warm. Cloud realized now he never thanked you for helping him defeat the trooper.

“You want me to take a look at those burns?” you’d asked, eyes on his injured forearms, taking a step toward Cloud that had him automatically backing up, blanching as he tried to assemble some sort of refusal, his heart racing.

“Are you two okay?!” It was a breathless Tifa, her fists up in her fighting stance when she finally came sprinting round the corner. “It sounded like–” But then her eyes went wide as she took in the foam covered hallway that lay behind the two of you–and the foam covered Cloud standing in front of her. "Wh-What happened here?"

You and Cloud reflexively looked at each other, a new flush staining both your cheeks. Then you gave him a sheepish smile before you answered: "I, uh...I helped Cloud extinguish the problem." The terrible pun had both you and Tifa giggling–and the smallest smirk slanting Cloud's lips as the two of you stared back at one another.

Blinking hard, he then cleared his throat. “No time for standing around–we gotta keep moving,” Cloud had remarked abruptly.

But as you, Tifa, and Cloud set off down the corridor, eventually rejoining Barret and making for the exit, Cloud uncharacteristically had chosen to stay in the rear of the party, rather than leading at the front. When Barret had asked him why later, he’d snapped that it was ‘to cover your sorry ass,’ but Cloud–and now, he suspected, Barret too–knew that wasn’t really true. His concern for Barret’s rear was lukewarm at best: it had been his concern for yours that made him stay behind–concern, and appreciation, which the view had incidentally given him a chance to indulge. But the run-in with the flametrooper wasn’t the end of it, not by a longshot: then there’d been the actual escape. That particular leg of the mission had ensured that by the time the party got back to Sector 3, it was painfully clear (keyword being painful) that you were going to be a major problem for Cloud.

“Barret and I will use this parachute,” Tifa had proposed as the four of you came to a stop along on the catwalk of one of the maintenance terminals for the sun lamps that provided daylight for Sector 3, sliding the harness over her head and shoulders. The four of you had reached the drop point, an opening in the railing that left nothing standing between the party and the slums far below. “Cloud, why don’t you jump with the rookie here,” she said, your old friend flashing you a playful smile. “It is her first time!”

Cloud had ducked his head sideways, letting out a scoff as he crossed his arms. He also remembered you frantically waving your hands, eyes wide. “W-Wait, Tifa, a-are you sure? Why don’t you and I jump together?” Your eyes kept flicking over to Cloud.

“The weight will be balanced this way,” Tifa rejoined. “Besides, Cloud’s done this before–you have nothing to worry about!” Your stammering cut off as any rebuttal died in your throat.

“Rendezvous back at Seventh Heaven after you two land,” Barret chimed in. Cloud was still glaring at the metal plated floor, while you fussed with the buckles on the harness in your hands. “And don’t y’all get sidetracked now, got it?” The smirk on Barret’s face made Cloud want to throw himself over the edge–without the parachute. After she checked over the parachute strapped to Barret’s back, Tifa moved to stand in front of him. Then Barret attached their harnesses with the buckles and clips at their shoulders and hips, and with one final goodbye–a wave from Tifa, and a wink and a grin from Barret–they jumped into the open air and disappeared from sight, leaving Cloud alone. With you. And a parachute.

“So you’ve…done this before?” Your voice was hesitant, still fiddling with the clasps on the harness.

Cloud nodded, his voice a bit rough. “Helped Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge on a raid, before…” It had only been about a month since the plate had fallen. The emotions for Cloud were still raw.

“Is there anything you’re not good at?” came your soft teasing, your eyes still fixed on your hands. He grunted, unable to hold your gaze, but his chest felt strangely tight. “S-Sorry, um–” you continued, “should I put this on first? Or…?” He realized you’d somehow ended up with the parachute too, not just your harness.

“I’ll wear the parachute. Give it here–need to make sure it’s functional first. Just put the harness on.” As he examined the buckles, fastenings, cords, and straps, in his peripheral vision, Cloud watched you stepping into your harness, lifting each foot through the openings, pulling it up to your hips. He didn’t realize his hands stopped moving as he got distracted watching you tighten the belt around your waist, then the ones around the crease of each of your thighs…Blinking hard to regain his focus, after shrugging his shoulders into the parachute, it was his turn to put on his own harness. At last, everything was ready–nothing left to fiddle with, to use to stall for time. It was time to get hitched together.

With slow steps, Cloud approached where you were standing just before the gap in the railing, until he was standing next to you, a little bit back. Cloud cleared his throat, his eyes flicking over to you as it got you to look over at him. Seeming to understand, you closed the distance to him, your own gaze skittish. Once you were standing in front of Cloud, you turned around so your back was facing him. He had an exquisite view–and the sector below wasn’t it. The tight black straps of the harness pinched right at the lines where your thighs met your–he shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought. sh*t–why did the gods get their kicks making Cloud sweat? He took a tiny step forward to close the final sliver distance, nothing but the whirring of the lamps and hissing of the ducts and pipes overhead filling the awkward silence. There was less than an inch of space left between your bodies now, and Cloud had to tilt his head to keep it from knocking into yours. He was chanting over and over in his head that this was a job, dumbass–it was stupid and wrong to take in the curve of your neck, the smooth skin there, to make note of the height difference between you now he was so close.

Cloud gingerly took hold of each buckle on your harness in turn, four in total, one on each shoulder and each hip, using the clips in the corresponding places on his own to attach the two together with mechanical efficiency. He studiously made sure his fingers never actually touched you, reminding himself once again you were a teammate, dammit, and it would be wrong to do anything that might make you feel uncomfortable in such close quarters. But now the only thing left was to…tighten the slack. Cloud cleared his throat, took hold of the ends of fastenings at each of your hips, forced his mind to go blank–then he yanked the straps tight. He heard you let out a small gasp when it jerked you back to him, slotted your backside directly into the cradle of his hips and snugly secured you there. He winced behind you at the sensation, gritted his teeth hard, desperate not to make any sound that might creep you out. Your hair brushed against his cheek, and he took in the scent of your shampoo and your skin, the warmth of your back against his chest, the fleshy fullness of your–don’t think about it. You two were standing at the edge of the ledge, the sprawl of Sector 3 far below.

“A-Are you ready?” you asked, and Cloud picked up on the shakiness in your voice. With his enhanced senses, he could smell your fear in your sweat, could hear your thundering heartbeat. Your knuckles were white as you gripped the straps on your harness at your shoulders–and he could see how they were trembling.

Cloud felt a strange tightness in his chest. “Hey…you okay?”

You exhaled something like a nervous laugh. “I forgot this was how we were supposed to get back to the slums. It's just–I’m not great with heights…M-Maybe I’m not cut out for this after all…”

The previous gruffness in his voice unconsciously softened into gentle reassurance. “It’s your first mission–everybody starts out new. You can close your eyes if you want–I know what to do. When I tell you, you just need to lift your legs, and I’ll handle the rest. Try and relax, okay?”

Bolstered by his words, he felt your back press into his chest as you took a deep, steadying breath. Then you nodded. “Y-Yeah. Thanks, Cloud.” Hearing you say his name gave him a strange warmth in his gut.

He let out a grunt of wry amusem*nt. “Thank me after we stick the landing.” When that made you let out another laugh, and Cloud felt some of the tension in your shoulders ease, saw your white-knuckle grip on the harness relax a little, a small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Alright–how ‘bout you tell me when.”

“Okay. Three…two…one…jump!”

It hadn’t been part of his plan at all–but reflexively, his hands clamped onto both of your shoulders, and off you went. Even with your added weight, Cloud easily took off from the ledge. It was only a few heartbeats of freefall before he jettisoned the parachute, and it became a gentle descent toward Sector 3 below. One hand was still where he left it on your upper arm, the other hanging on to a parachute strap over his head.

“You holdin’ up?” He had to raise his voice just a bit to be heard over the winds rushing past the two of you.

“It’s amazing!” Cloud peered over your shoulder to see you marveling at the ground below, pretty eyes wide with wonder and astonishment. The smallest of smiles twitched on his lips. There was a stretch of silence then, save for the wind, and he realized he felt strangely peaceful up here, a feeling he’d never felt during his other jumps.

Then, all too soon, it was time to land. “Okay–lift up now!” You instantly complied. And also unlike his other jumps, Cloud realized he was much more anxious about this landing than strictly necessary: he found himself not just wanting to survive the landing, but, well, maybe look cool doing it. If he could land you both standing, that would be ideal…

But, of course, his luck didn’t hold: within yards of the ground, a sudden wind gust buffeted the parachute, and you and Cloud were coming in too fast, at an angle too sharp. His boots skidded over the dirt and gravel as your shared momentum slowed to a stop–and then you both went tumbling backward. As the parachute finally deflated behind him, Cloud was left sitting up where he sprawled on the ground–with you on his lap.

“Holy Shiva!” Your chest was heaving as you cried out. His was too, but not exactly because of the clumsy landing. Then you also seemed to realize your current configuration.

“Oh! Um, here, let me–”
“I’ll just–”

You both reached for the clasp at your right hip, and your hands touched. You yanked yours back like the contact stung. “S-Sorry…”

Cloud cleared his throat, then wordlessly began to release the clasps joining your harnesses together. But it quickly became apparent he needed both hands to both anchor the buckles and unclasp them, and so he had to awkwardly wrap one arm around your middle to get a good grip, bringing your body even closer to his in a mortifying parody of an embrace. Now the full weight of the heavenly curves of your hips were all too apparent against his pelvis, how nicely you fit right there, as the soft strands of your hair brushed his cheek–don’t think about it, dammit–he needed to get you off him, fast. The moment you were untethered, you rolled to the side off Cloud and into a crouch before you rose to your feet, brushing the dust off your legs. You offered Cloud a hand to help him up. He didn’t take it.

After a silent walk through the narrow pathways between the piles of scrap around the outskirts of Sector 3, you’d both paused at the foot of the steps of Seventh Heaven. “Sorry again about…” Your eyes sheepishly flicked up to his hair. It was evening now, rapidly approaching sunset, and even in just the porch lights from the bar, the rosy flush in your cheeks had Cloud’s heart feeling like it was still in freefall. But he just eyed you for a moment before he squared his shoulders and entered the bar, leaving you alone at the foot of the steps.

In a gesture of courteousness and civility, Barret had waited until the entire group was back within the walls of Seventh Heaven to lay into Cloud, berating him for being so clumsy, threatening to dock his pay for being so unfocused and careless. You, on the other hand, were allowed to go home early, with a simple thump on the back and a ‘nice work back there’. When the meeting had adjourned and he’d finally walked home, Cloud was thinking about you the whole way, stomach roiling with a strange mix of exhilaration and dread. Numerous times, he’d nearly gotten himself and his friends killed because he was so…distracted: suffice it to say, that had also been the first night he’d executed Operation Cold Shower.

He’d felt the pull even then–the desire to let you in, just like when he’d let Tifa in, then Barret, and Aerith–Jessie, Biggs, Wedge…only with you, it was even more magnetic–more dangerous. It wasn’t just about his traitorous, hormone fueled desire: it was how his throat had constricted when he saw you in danger, the strange, reflexive need to know where you were, to know you were alright. Not just to know it, but to make sure of it. This urge to stay close to you, the way your eyes on him made him want to look away–yet somehow, he hoped that you never would. How your smile, in all its permutations, in sheepish embarrassment, soft admiration, kind friendship, in joyous wonder, made his heart stutter and race, made him want to give you anything you wanted to see you smile at him again. It had been clear even from that first outing what he felt for you was different, strong, so much so it scared him–then and now.

His justification to Barret back in Seventh Heaven, that you would get in his way–that you were a liability–was half truth, half lie, and all excuse. Though not overly fast, or strong, or powerful, you’d proven yourself to be resourceful and quick thinking–traits he’d seen you use here in Wall Market countless times, not to mention your skill as a nurse. You were hardly a liability; You could get better, with time–but more time with you would be worse for Cloud. He was the one making your presence a problem, his…feelings: it was the fact that, underneath it all, he’d really wanted you in his way, that had made him so determined to push you out of it.

So when you’d walked up to Cloud, perched in his usual seat in the far corner of Seventh Heaven during the victory celebration the following night, and you tried to congratulate him on a mission well done, ask where he was from, where he learned to fight like that, he’d simply grumbled whatever answers got you to go away in the least amount of words. He’d felt a pang of guilt at the dejected look on your face when you’d finally given up on him and gone over to Aerith and Tifa instead–but Cloud had been determined to make his bed, and lie in it.

He didn't know back then that he'd be lying next to you, one day.

Returning from the fog of his memories back to the tiny chocobo carriage, Cloud wasn’t able to meet Aerith’s or Tifa’s unwavering gazes. “I thought if I avoided her–got her to leave me alone…whatever was there, my…my feelings would just–go away. Blaming her was just the excuse I told Barret. It was cowardly, but…I didn’t… I couldn’t lose anyone again. I can’t. It’s just better this way.” But now, he knew those words spoken out of self-preservation were hanging over you, tearing you up inside. No wonder you’d been so shocked back in the private suite, when he’d said he didn’t hate you–he’d certainly given you just cause for thinking so.

“Oh, Cloud…” Aerith sighed sympathetically, her brows pinched in compassionate concern.

“But I didn’t know she was listening,” he insisted, eyes bright as he looked over at his friends. “I never intended for her to hear that. I never wanted to hurt her, ever.”

“What are you going to do?” Tifa asked. “It really upset her, Cloud. It’s still hard for her to talk about it.”

“I…I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, ‘I don’t know?’” Aerith exclaimed. “She’s been a real friend to you! You need to apologize! Tell her the truth!” Her admonishments were insistent, not angry.

His eyes were on his hands in his lap. “The damage is done.”

“Even so–you still have to say it!”

Cloud didn’t protest, just let the little carriage descend into silence.

“…You like her, right?”

He blanched, let out a quiet grunt–despite the softness in Aerith’s voice, Cloud was taken aback at how frankly she said it. But his lack of an answer, was answer enough.

“She’s hurting, because of what you said–you have to clear things up.”

“I-I know,” he stuttered, “but then I’d have to…I’d have to tell her why.”

“Cloud Strife, you can be as stubborn as a Fat Chocobo sometimes!”

“Cloud…” Tifa ventured gently, “you don’t–you really don’t want her to know? How you feel?”

His eyes crimped shut, like he was wincing in pain. “I didn’t want to feel it."

“And…now?”

“–I see you’re wearing the lipstick I like.”

Cloud’s eyes flew open as he jolted in the darkness, his sword hilt nearly knocking a bucket off the shelf next to him at the sound of Rufus Shinra's insufferable voice echoing up the stairs outside the closet door, and he was abruptly yanked back to his present circ*mstances. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Cloud forced his mind to clear, like he did before any battle. You needed him now–like hell he was going to let you down.

This is what it had all been for: the final throw of the dice.