[ It's funny, really, how some things change: and how some things remain, almost terrifyingly, the same. He hadn't expected their room at the haunted inn to look so jarringly similar to his memories; and he remembers quite a bit about the Gold Saucer, actually, despite the obvious state he had been in when they arrived there. He remembers the incessant, headache-inducing music, the exhausting trials of the chocobo racing, the silly gondola ride and the heat of his embarrassment. He remembers the little jump scares and strange tricks in the haunted inn--he remembers falling asleep, with his friends tucked in around him in their beds, and thinking that maybe, in some way, things weren't so bad. He wasn't alone, at least.
He's not alone here, either, even when Tifa disappears into the bathroom to get ready. A part of him feels like an idiot: in the hanging mirror on the wall, decorated around the edges with silver stoning meant to imitate some sort of grave headstone, he looks at his reflection and sees the same stupid kid that couldn't just spit out what he felt, the same stupid kid that had to be dragged into everything, the one that never really fixed anything, or helped anything, and just made things worse. His hair still looks the same, properly styled and something of a mess around his face; his clothes are starkly different, chosen with much consideration by both Cid and Vincent before he left Edge and--yeah, maybe that was something of a mistake on his part, but who else did he have to ask? Definitely not Yuffie--and most definitely not Barret, either.
He doesn't look old, but he feels like he looks ridiculous, wearing a deep blue turtleneck that sticks and fits to his frame, a thin leather jacket tossed over it and black jeans that feel like they're hugging in every place they can, belted at his waist with the sweater all neatly tucked in. Even his shoes feel strange: gone are the dirty boots he wears for deliveries, instead wearing a pair of smart dress shoes that he would never be able to fight in. The thought makes him a little nervous. What if they get into some kind of trouble? Should he bring a sword? How is he going to defend Tifa without a sword?
With his hands on his hips, he's debating going back down to the garage where Fenrir is parked--but Tifa says Cloud? and he freezes, turns and looks sheepish, and when his gaze falls on Tifa, he looks even more sheepish still. She looks beautiful--and he looks like the guy that parks her car for her and fetches her her keys. Rueful, he nearly even smiles. ]
Are you going to be warm enough in that?
[ It's not as cold here, but there is the hint of a winter chill--he crosses the room, already shrugging out of his jacket so that he can put it, practical, over her shoulders, and at least that doesn't feel strange. He's used to taking care of her: that much, he figures, he can do without any questioning. ]
Put this on for now. [ And then he tilts his head towards the door, reaching for the handle: it gives a recorded, spooky little laugh as he twists the knob and opens it, something that makes him nearly roll his eyes. ] I'm ready.
[Tifa finds it almost charming how, even when the rest of the world has changed outside, so much of the Gold Saucer has managed to remain the same. It's exactly as she remembers it from their last stay at the Inn—the candelabras washing the entire room in their dim, flickering lights, the mini-guillotines that she's still sure serves a double purpose besides being mere decorations, with how sharp the blades are, the stickers of cheeky ghosts stuck to the bathroom mirrors, and of course, how could she forget the god-awful jump scares in any given drawer that promptly makes her slam it shut in embarrassed frustration.
Somehow, it's comforting in its eccentric way that this place could manage to make her walk in the footsteps of the past so easily and still fascinate her.
And although this is so far from the romantic date she had always dreamed of for them, she'd rather not ruminate on their lack of options and take what she can. The fact that they're here at all after the mess the last few weeks has been makes her that much more grateful that they are now, and Cloud being here and dressed up with her for a silly night at the Gold Saucer is more than she could have hoped for in such dreary, trying times.
So when she finally rounds the corner, stepping out fully into view, Tifa's eyes round out with surprise, the crimson cuts in them glimmering with awe and adoration when she sees him and realizes... when was the last time she'd seen him so dressed up? When he wasn't in those baggy pants and dirty boots covered in the mud of a long day's work? He would often come home smelling of motor oil and the countryside—flowers and rain and wood, and she would bask in all of its masculine glory when she stood near enough, but there's something about him that sends a flutter through her stomach that only grows when he smiles at her. And when he drapes his coat over her shoulders, she can't help the one that spreads wide across her face, rippling over cheeks and into her eyes.]
I'll be fine!
[Cloud always was good at taking care of her, even when she insisted that he not. He worked so hard, pulling long hours every day and yet, he still found time in those last hours of his day to make sure that she was comfortable. She's always appreciated him for it, even when she shrugged him off or shooed him away from the kitchen as she washed the dishes and closed up shop for the night.
Hugging the coat around herself, Tifa only laughs at the door's spooky cackle and the subsequent roll of Cloud's eyes before she passes through. She had already been startled by it once when they arrived, but it wasn't going to fool her twice.
She stops, however, before they can get another step from their room, where the brighter lights flush her out and saturate the pink in her cheeks.]
... You look nice.
[Tifa knows that he's gone far out of his element for this, but she needs to make sure that he's aware how much she appreciates that he's trying. How much she appreciates him. Heck, he's even picked an outfit that matches hers, just like she asked. And she knows that somewhere, deep down, is still that awkward fourteen-year-old boy who just wanted to be noticed.]
Do I? I feel like I look like some part-timer here.
[ It's said with a wry note of humor, begrudging, but he appreciates that she says anything--even if he guesses it's likely just Tifa being kind to him, noticing how out of his element he is, or how much he needs to at least be reassured before they step out into the crowds of people. That's one thing he's never liked about this place: and one thing that, surprisingly, hasn't changed at all. In fact, he wonders if there are even more people here in the Gold Saucer than before--people trying desperately to find distractions from the way the world is, now, with the threat of destruction and the pressure of rebuilding, and the looming, terrifying shadow of geostigma threatening to wipe them all out for good.
They haven't really talked about it, since that night at the inn, and it's something he's grateful for. Nothing has really changed--his arm aches, from time to time, but the splotch of dark, painted across his skin, hasn't gotten any bigger, and he hasn't felt it really affecting anything unless it's been a particularly long day and he hasn't stretched properly before work. Here, too, he doesn't notice it: it's tucked safely underneath the sleeve of his sweater, after all, and Tifa won't be able to see it, or feel it, even if she reaches out to touch him. Maybe a part of that is wishful thinking, on his part; maybe he's falling into the same traps that everyone else is, seeing this place as an escape from reality, even just for the night.
With their door shut, and his hand testing the handle on the outside just to assure that it's locked, he drops his arms down, awkwardly, uncertain of whether he should offer one to Tifa or not. ]
I was thinking we could...maybe try out some of the new rides, or whatever, first.
[ He mumbles this, slightly, as they make their way down the hall--at the stairs, he lifts a palm, gestures for Tifa to go ahead of him so that he can, practical and firm, watch her back, as though she even needs his protection when there's no one else that he can see inside the place to begin with. ]
There's a carousel, I don't know if you'd like that.
[ Ruefully, he reaches up to adjust some of his hair before he hops off the last stair, at the bottom, and darts forward--he pushes the door open for her, gesturing her out into the cooler air of the Gold Saucer itself. It's hard to remember that he should be doing all these things for her; mostly he assumes that Tifa is too capable to want some guy doing this or that for her, not wanting to insult the respect that he has for her power: but this, he figures, is different. She should be treated like the beautiful woman that she is; and he feels like he fumbles over everything. ]
[Tifa pauses again at the bottom of the stairs after a descent in amused silence, her steps light and airy, almost as if each one carried the smile she was wearing along in them. She catches him at the bottom, looking so sheepish as he plays with his hair, and that's when Tifa finally takes him by the arm to link with hers. Already, she can feel how tense he is, even through his layers. She gets it—she understands, if her own timid demeanor gives him any reassurance of that, her eyes not quite able to look at him at first when she stops him from moving any further into the crowds passing in and out of the Gold Saucer.
Cloud has always put her first, no matter the situation, be it in battle or in their quieter days now. She appreciates that he's always looking out for her and acknowledges that it's just how he is—it's what comes naturally to him, but there are times when she wants to look out for him too. Silly as it is to think so much about it when it's down to something as trivial as what ride they should check out first at the Gold Saucer, after having just left the haunted house inn, but with the way he so self-consciously asks her for her opinion, she doesn't want him to feel forced into doing something he'd rather not.
So, with a tilted head, she lets her gaze fix on his, her lips pulling into a wider, patient smile.]
You know, we never got to do these kinds of things when we were kids, huh?
[Never mind that they were never particularly close growing up, but maybe if there had been opportunities, they could have been. Circumstances just never allowed for it.
Honestly, Tifa isn't opposed to the idea of letting her inner child run free tonight. At least, when it comes to the rides and the games—she doesn't think she would be as embarrassed as Cloud to be seen on a carousel, or playing the new arcade games that they've added, and for a moment, she wonders to herself... Was this a good idea in the first place, coming here? With the way he is, there's the small twinge of worry that twists her heart in her chest, and she worries that this might be asking for too much from him, no matter of whether he's here or not.
That isn't to say that she doesn't appreciate him for being here, and for putting in as much effort as he already has so far—she does!—but...
[ --a jolt, distant, in the back of his head, like a headache that's threatening to come on at the thought; it makes his eyes squint for a moment, a breath to let it pass and then it's gone again. Despite everything, and despite the way that Tifa had, in her own way, guided him back to himself in the end, there are still those moments where it feels like all of his memories are harder to reach, now, as though the pathways that he's forged towards them, with her help, still get overrun with weeds and fallen leaves at times, making them easy to stumble on. There's the even the urge, at times--and this is something that he's never admitted to her, something that he's never admitted to anyone--to sink back into the comfort of pretending that those lively stories Zack told him, the ones that rattled around in his head when his eyes stared blankly ahead, are closer to the truth, are things he actually lived through instead of things he simply had to imagine. At least that way he'd be a lot cooler, wouldn't he? Then again, what kind of First Class SOLDIER would he have made?
A clumsy one. There's a hint of a smile, rueful, on his face, as he shakes his head and guides them down the path. Tifa takes his arm so easily; he doesn't even fight against it, doesn't shrug her off or try to walk ahead of her. Their pace matches, neat and comfortable, and he doesn't stray away from it like he might have before. ]
Yeah. We didn't really have any of this stuff. Best we could do was sit on fences and pretend they were chocobos.
[ An embarrassing thought--his cheeks color, faintly, but it's relatively good-natured. ]
Let's see what it's like. I guess they added a bunch of stuff, but that seemed... easy. [ Much easier than more of the rollercoaster rides or even the other more active games they added in, like laser tag and the haunted maze. ] Good place to start, anyway.
[ Or is it? The closer that they get to it, the more that he can see the crowds starting to fill out; surprisingly, there are a lot of couples, sure, but a lot of families, too. The distant sounds of music and children cheering seems oddly comforting, in some ways, as though everyone around them is paying too much attention to their own enjoyment to bother staring at them. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders starts to relax--especially when he sees the carousel in their sights.
It's huge: he expected it to be, and the line isn't remarkably long, given the size. There are all sorts of shapes to ride, chocobos and unicorns and phoenixes, even some large monsters to climb inside, horses and pretty gilded carriages, too. Ruefully, he pulls Tifa a little closer to his side--a group of kids goes clamoring past them, as the announcer over the intercom notes that there's only a few minutes left to pick the perfect mount. Carefully, his blue-tinted eyes slide over to her: he studies her for a moment, his lips pressed together. ]
... Ladies' choice. [ That's what Zack would do, right? That's what gentlemen do? ]
so sorry for the delay! slowly but finally getting caught up 🥺💕
[It's so hard to choose any one thing when there are so many to pick from, but with the announcement echoing through the hall that the line will close, she knows she's running out of time with each moment her eyes flick over the carousel, pausing at each one to consider her option to where she knows she's being overly meticulous about it. She has the right of it, though—in her own head, justifying it by reminding herself of how long she'd been waiting for this night. It wasn't at the Icicle Inn, or the days they thought they could make it out here only to have to rebook. It wasn't even after they stopped Sephiroth, or when Cloud reclaimed his memories.
Memories of those starry nights in Nibelheim, when she sat at her window, wondering where he was, what he was doing, and what it would be like to take him by the hand, and pull him onto a cheesy carousel ride with even cheesier music.
"One minute remaining!"
If she's going to do this—go on a date with Cloud Strife, then she would do everything in her power to ensure that it was as perfect as it could be, right down to the smallest, most trivial details like which mount she should choose.
The rubies in her eyes glimmer with intent as they watch the families and couples climb aboard, options growing slimmer the longer she takes until at long last, she takes Cloud by the hand, her grip as light as the colour that powders her cheeks when she leads him to a two-person chocobo. Adorning its white, metallic plume are red and pink roses that glisten under the blinking lights, with eyes as green as the mako that still burn in Cloud's hardened gaze... This one is, without a doubt, built for a couple, if the others like this being occupied are sign of that at all—they're seated so close together, her nose nuzzling into him, or his arms tight around her waist...
"If everyone could please be seated!"
The booming voice throws her out of that too-brief daydream to a lump in her throat. Clearing it, she snaps her hand free of Cloud's and gives the two-seated saddle a clap.]
Y-You first...
[Is this truly what would render the once-confident Tifa Lockhart into a puddle of embarrassment in front of her crush? Perish the thought...]
[ A part of him had been errantly hoping that he might get away with one of the less embarrassing mounts--but as Tifa takes his hand, tugs at him gently to circle around the base of the carousel, he doesn't fight her at all, doesn't find it in himself to even bother offering suggestions. It's the right thing to do, to let her choose: none of it really matters to him besides that they're together, after all, and he feels like girls have more of an opinion when it comes to these things, like they want their memories to be perfect. His own memory has always been more like grated cheese than anything else: slim and pieced-together, falling apart just as quickly as he tries to gather it. He hears the announcement but doesn't pressure her to make a choice; but when he's left with what she's chosen, a gurgle of embarrassment comes out of his throat, something that he quickly remedies by clearing it.
Well, this--this is--well. It's something that he feels like someone might use as a wedding train, a beautiful, white-plumed chocobo with all sorts of flowers braided, in plastic, around it, hardened by the enamel. A part of him wants very badly to turn around and walk right out of the whole enclosure; he can feel his cheeks threaten to burn, and even as he looks to Tifa, he sees that even she is blushing as she pats at the double-seated saddle. He balks at it, once, and then swallows.
This is about doing what he has to, isn't it? And he has faced far worse, has put his bravery and courage to the test with far more than just one small, measly carousel ride.
So he palms a hand on the enamel back of the chocobo, presses a foot into the saddle and swings himself up onto it; he opts to take the front seat, given that the back is slightly elevated, as though to allow Tifa a more proper view. Almost comically, his hands reach with automatic movements for the reins--they're of course literally glued down to the ceramic creature, and he fumbles, blushes, clears his throat and instead awkwardly pats his hands against the neck of the chocobo. ]
...Let me know if you need help.
[ He says, wryly, twisting his gaze down to her: and look at that, he even smiles, helpless. ]
[In light of all their fumbling through things, Tifa finds herself still endeared to him, and the giggle she never meant to free looses itself before she can stop it when he reaches for those plastic reins. In her own embarrassment, she likely would have done the same, so there's no judgement in her eyes when his gaze meets hers—only the same adoration she would offer him every night when he returned home after a long day on the road. There is, however, a bashfulness in hers as her own confidence is knocked down another peg when she looks at the saddle, then down at her dress and heels, and she shrinks into his jacket still draped over her shoulders.]
She is...
[Tifa is self-assured about a lot of things—put her behind a bar and she can mix up the best drinks her side of Midgar has ever tasted, or on the field next to Cloud where they'll no doubt put up a hell of a fight, but it's him seated atop a damn white chocobo that makes her question everything she's ever known she could do. That's turned her into a bashful, wordless mess on the floor of a carousel as the music turns over inside her head.
She appreciates that he allows her the moment to try and find her footing again, and a way up onto the chocobo herself. She gets as far as swinging the coat from her shoulders and over the back saddle before she feels the carousel lurch under her feet. The music comes back into focus, sharper and louder than she remembers it being that it taunts her, and there's a flicker of panic before she stretches a hand for him, searching for his to keep herself from falling.
If Cloud feared he would make a fool of himself up here, he thought wrong. Never in a million years, however, did Tifa think she would. She's always so sure of herself, or at the very least, tries to appear to be. She should have accepted his the help the first chance she got, but instead she stood there, the dummy in love that she is, and admired the man on this plastic white chocobo as she extended to him her heart instead of her hand.
So in awe of how heroic and gallant he looks on its saddle that she had forgotten all about the announcements the attendant had made hardly a minute ago giving the warning.
[ He watches, mildly, as she swings the jacket up onto the back of the chocobo--that much, at least, has him relatively reassured that she knows what she's doing, and like always, he can count on her to help herself. It's not that he doesn't want to help her, but: he's danced around Tifa and Yuffie, even Marlene and, perhaps once, long ago, Aerith, and their desires to at least try things for themselves before getting any help, especially from him, and he's learned a thing or two about stubborn women and their miraculous ability to do pretty much anything they set their mind to. He has utter faith in Tifa, and looks instead, after a moment, to the head of the chocobo; almost comically, he runs a hand down the length of its neck like he might if it were real, as though he has to soothe the beast before they take off on their ride.
And really, maybe they both should have listened better--his eyes, icy, catch sight of the slight lurch of the carousel beasts in front of him as they start to move, and he realizes, immediately, that the base is moving too; he can hear the music start to slowly rev up, as though it works along the same motor as the ride itself, and whipping his head around, he sees the helpless, worried look on Tifa's features. No, he's not going to leave her there to fumble--no, he is not going to ruin this date by being as clueless as he always is.
Swiftly, then, he hooks one arm around the chocobo's neck, balancing himself while the other reaches, and it's not Tifa's hand that he takes, but rather, the bend of her arm, bracing at her elbow; he's never been more grateful for the strength that the poison in his veins brings him, where he can lift Tifa up off her feet and bear the weight of her as he pulls her up onto the chocobo, but it's an awkward stretch, and he can't really figure out how to swing her into her own seat--so he slides, slightly, moves back as the carousel starts to pick up speed, and really? When Tifa ends up sandwiched between his own lap and the head of the chocobo, he only just barely has the good graces to flush in embarrassment. At least she isn't stuck running to keep up with him, or tripping on the moving platform; frowning, he braces his arms at either side of her to keep her from falling off, with the way she sits sideways there. ]
...This thing really picked up speed. [ --is the lame thing he mumbles, nodding; certainly the carousel is moving quicker, now, but it's not like it's a rollercoaster or something. Still: it's enough that there's a slight breeze in his face, moving both his hair, and moving Tifa's, around slightly. ] You okay?
[It happens in the wink of an eye, or maybe the rest of the world really has slowed down around her. Cloud moves so fast that she barely registers those movements, only hearing the gasps of those on the mounts nearest them, as if the two of them were putting on a show and they were the audience. She feels his grip on her arm, and her immediate impulse is to wrap her own around his. The rest of the carousel is a blur as she's hoisted up onto the chocobo's saddle, her own reflexes kicking in to help...
... Only for Tifa to find herself crammed in between Cloud's knees and the plastic bird's head.
Her other hand clutches at his shirt, balling the fabric into a fist to keep her from losing balance. As her brain tries to piece the chain of events together, she forgets where she is in those few seconds it takes when she feels his hair tickle her face and under the carousel's scrutinizing gaze mixing together with his more concerned one, she feels like she might collapse beneath it. This is, without a doubt, the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to her in as long as she can recall, and if it weren't for Cloud holding her up, she might have chosen to run off instead of getting on.
Cloud's question brings her back, and her hand snaps away from his chest, freeing him from her iron grip to rest over his arm instead. Her gaze drops to her lap, and to her one shoe that she can feel slipping from her foot, staring at it as if it was the most horrifying sight.
Her conviction hardly wavers, nor does her confidence, but if that high heel falls...]
Yeah... [she finally answers through an exhale.] Yeah, I'm good.
[The breeze is enough to cool off the heat that immediately lights up in her cheeks so there's that, at least.]
I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. I guess I wasn't listening to the announcements...?
[Is that what it was? Clearly, she hadn't been listening to anything at all, in that case. Never mind. Flip that into a rhetorical question.
Her fingers give his arm a squeeze.]
I shouldn't have taken too long to decide, but... least there's never a dull moment, right? Off to an okay start!
[She definitely sounds like someone who is trying to convince herself of something she doesn't fully believe in.]
[ It works in tandem, as it always does, with them: he sees the flushed look to Tifa's face and, in some ways, the panic that lights up in her eyes, as though she would have much rather had him push her off the carousel entirely instead of lifting her up. There's a part of him that's conflicted by it--after all, what else could he have possibly done? There had been little time to consider the alternatives, other than get Tifa up here or leave her be, and maybe he had been clumsy about it, and maybe he should have thought twice about it.
Now, instead, Tifa is stuck in the place between his thighs and the neck of the bird--and maybe it's that part which is embarrassing, maybe it's that she's sitting side saddle instead of looped properly on the ride, but he can't figure out how to move her without reaching for her legs and that is definitely something too much for a first date, and his shoulders go tight. He doesn't even realize that she has her hand, fisted into his shirt, until she lets it go: and it feels strange, almost, as though he had gotten so used to it that he doesn't like the change.
A swallow, then, hard--he has to make this right somehow, has to make her feel better about it, but--well, what would someone like Zack do, in this instance? What would a girl like Aerith do, to ease the discomfort, the embarrassment? Even now, he can't do these things alone; even now, he still relies on so many other people to help him get anywhere that he's supposed to be.
To start, he slides his hips forward; Tifa may be uncomfortable, squashed so solidly with her hip against the ride, and though he knows this will be absolutely awful, it seems like the better alternative--and for a moment, his face is smooth, as though he's so focused on moving his body correctly that he can't consider anything else. One arm, looped around her waist, lifts her up: plants her more properly, more fully, in his lap, sat on one of his thighs with her legs over the other, and he's mumbling, sure, but at least he's done it-- ]
This might help.
[ Zack would have laughed in his face, at this point--but the point, really, is that he's trying. ]
...I feel like I just kidnapped a princess, or something. [ Even embarrassed, there's humor seeping into his voice--he winces, keeps one arm looped around Tifa's back while the other settles on the chocobo to hold their balance. The ride continues on around them, and the breeze feels nice, and the speed eventually evens out; the song that blares over the speakers is the kind of typical, almost annoying carousel music that he would expect, but at least he can feel the other people around them having a good time, and it makes him feel less obvious, less noticed. Even his lips twitch, almost a smile: ] Don't try to get away, or anything. It'll make me look bad.
[The only thing that Tifa can think to do after all that is to cling to him, her arms going around his shoulders as soon as she's placed solidly on his lap with such ease that the movement was almost alarming. From here, all but Cloud is blocked from view—most importantly, the looks of the other riders are hidden behind his broad shoulders and the large plastic tail plumes of the chocobo, and without those, it makes it easier for her to focus on finding her composure again, at least.
When the initial wave of embarrassment finally diminishes, it makes way for a newfound relief, and Tifa loosens her firm grip on his shoulders, just enough that she can lift her head from them after having not realized it had tipped there in the first place. Just in time to catch the smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and it attracts an uneven one of her own. When Cloud smiles, there's something so infectious about it. It could be that it's so rare that he does, these days especially, that when she is lucky enough to spot one, it means that much more.
What means more than that, however, is that she can see how hard he continues to try to turn it around, and how flawlessly he's able to. He should really give himself more credit—if Zack were here right now, he'd surely give Cloud a slap on the back for that bashful peal of laughter he attracts out of her.
A giggle that transforms into a playfully dramatic gasp of feigned surprise partway.]
And where, Ser, are you and your steed taking me!? And what could you possibly want with a princess?
[She'll play along and play it up. She feels a bit silly doing it, especially with that conventional, uninspired carousel music playing, and she looks ahead, her hair blowing back to tickle his nose, to hide the redness burning across her face from him, but at least it draws her mind away from what transpired. They can still get this date back on track.
And then, much to her surprise, the valiant steed gives a hollow kweh, kweh! to the beat of the music.]
[ Pained, he repeats the words, dryly: even with the way that Tifa continues to play along, as though nothing quite so terrible has happened, and even with the way that he's desperately pleading for this date to go well, for Tifa to make the kind of memories that will hang around with her likely longer than he will, he can't help but be himself, can't help but roll his eyes up to the gilded roof of the carousel above him as though he can seek some sort of guidance from somewhere. He's the one who started it, after all, so he's definitely the one that's going to have to finish it, too--and Tifa's laugh blossoms something up inside of him, something warm, something that pangs at the thought of her smile going away.
So he lets out a breath, steadying himself: and the chocobo beneath them gives a mechanical kweh!--and he laughs, actually laughs, unable to stop himself. It's like the embarrassment and the sudden burst of courage he gives himself to try to play along (because that's what he should do, that's what Zack would do, and absolutely what Aerith would do, and even Yuffie or Barret or even Cid would tell him the same thing) just makes him realize how absolutely ridiculous it all is. When would he have ever been caught on a carousel? When would he have ever been the one to offer?
The laughter dies down, and his breath tinges with a groan; the arm he has around Tifa's back tightens, slightly, just enough to give her a squeeze. ]
Clearly she's been promised away to some terrible bad...guy. [ Listen, no one said he was good at this. ] And so I guess I came to save her.
[ He can feel his cheeks heating, slightly: he glances at Tifa, and then turns his chin to his shoulder, as though he's checking over it to see if anyone is pursuing them. ]
Unless you want me to take you back, Princess? [ There's a glimmer of amusement in his gaze, though his expression is as smooth as usual. ] I thought I was saving the day.
[Jessie would laugh at them both for their improvisational acting skills, or lack of them, but this is the first time that Tifa has heard a laugh like that from Cloud in so, so many days. Weeks, maybe. It makes her stomach flutter and her heart thump wildly in her chest, as if the sound of it always breathes another year of life into her. She'd argue that they both seemed to be having fun with it, and that's what this was all about in the end, right? It isn't as if they're putting on a show for anyone but themselves.
Fondly, her attention is fixed on him, and she watches him with every bit of self-control she has to bite back her growing smile, eager to see what he responds with, or if he does at all. And when he adapts the role, or tries his best to, she can't help but lean into it, and into him, her body falling flush against his chest.]
'Tis true. [Her voice is as dramatic as the small hand flourish she accents the line with, and it presses to her forehead.] I was to be whisked away to another kingdom as um... part of a truce? [Is that a thing? These are the sorts of stories she reads in those romance novels she has stashed away under her bed.] Our kingdoms were to be joined, but...
[She can't believe these words are coming out of her mouth, least of all in a time and place like this, and she hardly keeps herself together without fumbling over them.]
... But he wasn't my one true love.
[Her eyes dart away from Cloud again, drawn to the chocobo when it kweh's again with such impeccable timing that she wonders if it can really hear them. Tifa clears her throat, hardly audible over the carousel music when it switches to something faster as the ride picks up more speed.]
And I have decided that it will be my quest to find him. So, um... hi-ho!?
[What do people say to their horses when it's time to go? If he couldn't tell, she is also trying way, way too hard.]
[ He can't help it--his lips curl up into a bewildered smile, and he wants to laugh again, wonders if it might hurt Tifa's feelings and decides against it. But she says hi-ho to the chocobo that's beneath them, like it might actually respond to such a thing; and really, even though they're both terrible at it? He feels like Tifa is a much better actor than he is, by far. She has ideas for this thing, whatever this thing is: and she says she's looking for her true love, and that...
The ride picks up speed, and he wants to argue that it's just the movement there, the sudden lurch into, that makes his stomach drop--maybe it's the way that Tifa drapes against his chest, the way that his arm circles tighter around her back as though he has to keep her safe. There's really little risk to either of them falling off, at this point, even with the increased momentum: but he still feels like it's his job to protect her, his job to ensure that she doesn't even worry about it, doesn't even consider it something that could happen at all.
He shouldn't ask it, either, and he knows better--Tifa always turned her gaze towards the other boys in town, back in Nibelheim, and he had never stood a chance. No matter how hard he tried, or how much he yearned to be near her, it just never worked out that way; even after joining SOLDIER, all he had done was make himself a burden to someone else. And it feels unfair, really, to hope for it, to wonder if the way that she turns her gaze up to look at him means anything, to pray that she isn't still thinking of someone else as the one that got away or anything, so:
There's a soft clearing of his throat, as though he's trying, desperately, to find that blank persona that he usually leans towards, to mask his emotions off his face. ]
So how do we find your one true love? What does he look like?
[ A soft puff of breath, and then muttered, almost playfully-- ] Don't tell me he's tall.
[There's a long pause that follows—a pointed one—as she looks back at Cloud, her eyes taking in every part of him that she can see. The tips of his blond hair, the cerulean pools of his eyes, the way his lips are so desperate to bite back the smile that she knows is there, hidden beneath that carefully sculpted guise he often wears. She isn't so easily fooled, of course. Tifa knows better, she always has. She knows Cloud, or so she likes to think, and that his playing along has its own allusions behind it, too.
If only it were so easy for her to voice her feelings more directly to him. She wishes she could, and she tries to string together words that might, but when she notices she's been staring a little too long, and realizes how close they actually are—did she shift somehow when the ride picked up speed?—she's filled with her own new fit of embarrassment. She could pray that he hasn't noticed, but he was always so aware of everything. Sometimes aware of her, even when she didn't want him to be.
But she started this, so now she feels she needs to see it through to its end, whatever "this" is, and whatever the end of it might be. She's put them into this fairy tale, into a story of being whisked off away on the back of a chocobo, but this is a bit silly all things considered, isn't it?
Tifa Lockhart shouldn't need to pretend to tell him what she's feeling...
With a thoughtful hum and a fresh flush in her face, she affords a shy peek over her shoulder until their gazes meet again, and a very sudden, very inconvenient giggle forces its way out of her.]
Not that much taller than me.
[As for where to find him...]
I doubt he's that far at all, but he'll be a little hard to find. I hear he's kinda shy. But... keep on the lookout for blond hair and... blue eyes... like the ocean.
[That's something a princess might say about her One True Love, right?]
[ It isn't like he's an idiot--at times it feels like he should be, given how little he knew about the world, and how little he knew about himself, and sometimes even when he's talking with Tifa, or talking with any of the others, it feels like he knows less and less about the world, like he understands so very little in the great scheme of things. Vaguely, he remembers the way that others used to tease Zack for being a bit of an airheaded sort of guy, at times; but even he thinks that Zack understood far more about the world, and even more, that he knew emotions and people much better than he could ever attempt to. There are things that women do that continue to mystify him--there are things about social graces and manners that he struggles to get right. Yuffie scolds him, often, for those sorts of things he does wrong--like when he doesn't know how to give a blanket statement compliment, or when he doesn't know how to reassure a girl when she's struggling. Tifa's never complained about those things to him.
So it should register, really, that she must be talking about him. He thinks it, for a split second; after all, the combination of hair color, and eye color, can really only be a few people in Tifa's life, and someone shy? That narrows it down even more. Still, he's never really heard someone describe his eyes that way, something so romantic; the closest he thinks he's ever come to such compliments had been Aerith's soft murmur, telling him how pretty they were.
Then again, he thinks that must have only been, in hindsight, because they reminded her of Zack.
Still, sheepish, his chin ducks down, and in the next circle of the carousel he sees himself, a brief glimmer of his reflection, in part of the mirrored panels of the center contraption; no, his hair hasn't miraculously changed color, and no, his eyes haven't faded into some other color, as though the mako could just simply drain out of them. Embarrassed, he cants his gaze back to Tifa--there's a bright voice that announces over the speakers that there's only one minute remaining of the ride, and he mumbles the words practically into the announcement, like he wants them to get lost there. ]
You'd call it true love? [ --is what he says, like he can't quite believe it himself, but the ride is starting to slow down, some, and he finds his arm getting tighter around Tifa, like he's reluctant to let her go. ] It's...
[ A swallow. He's still terrible at this. ] Maybe you found him. Here. Then what?
[He can wish all he likes for his words to be drowned out, but Tifa feels as if each one of her senses has been increased tenfold. She can feel every small movement he makes, and the music of the carousel is dampened by the sound of his breathing, and the low rumble of his voice beside her. She wondered what he might say, or if he would manage to find his words at all, and now that he has, she's having a difficult time finding her own voice with how her heart beats so fast that it lodges itself in her throat.
She can feel his arms tighten around her, and he'll feel her tense up now, her shoulders squaring and her fingers balling the fabric of his coat as she tries to swallow past the butterflies that have surged to life inside her.
Here she was, hoping that she could be the one to play it cool for both of them, but her search for an answer is rendering her into a flushed mess.
The ride has already started to slow, the breeze that moved against them growing gentler, and she needs to find something to say now, before she loses her chance. Before she loses that courage that she had snatched from out of the air...]
Then we...
[The announcement rings again, interrupting her with its perfectly inconvenient timing, the music fades, and the ride comes to a stop with one last metallic "kweh!" from the chocobo that chimes along with all of the other cries of the mounts, but this one feels so... disappointing. Like it's taunting and teasing her for not saying something sooner, and that she'd blown it completely, and in spite of knowing that she hasn't—that Cloud has always been so patient with her, she can't help but feel guilty about it.
With a sad noise in the back of her throat—somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, Tifa shifts to give him a little room, and to peer back at him expectantly, her eyes glinting with all the things she wishes she had said sooner.]
Then we find something else... [is all she gives him at first.] That didn't feel very long.
[Time flies when one's having fun? Of course the one time she wishes she could have made it last a little bit longer... but the night is still young.
With a flush, she lowers her gaze to where her hand frees his arm. Guess it's time to get off and give the people in line a chance, but Tifa makes no effort to move first.]
[ And it doesn't feel right, really, to end it like this. It doesn't feel like this should be where it goes, because Tifa had been right on the edge of saying something to him, had been trying to muster it past her own lips, and he would have waited all night there, seated on an unmoving plastic chocobo, would have given her the whole night if she had needed it to say what she felt. Once again, it feels like he's made a mistake somewhere: like maybe if he hadn't fumbled so much, maybe if he had picked up on the whole game of it quicker, maybe it would have made a difference.
As it is, now, he doesn't want to embarrass Tifa by having her hang around on him, seated in his lap, when one of the staff will surely come along to shoo them off--so he clears his throat and nods, committed to the task of at least helping her down. He steadies his arm around her, carefully, before he slides back on the bird; it's easy enough to drop down onto his feet on the platform, and then it's easier still to come for Tifa with both hands, to take her by the waist and simply pluck her off the mount as though she weighs nothing at all.
When he places her down on her feet, again, he realizes how--silly that must have been, to not even ask if she needed help and to simply do it for her. He can feel his neck get hot, a faint pink color of embarrassment warming the shells of his ears. ]
Come on. I think we have to go this way.
[ And is he overthinking it, again? Carefully, he reaches for one of Tifa's hands--he takes it gently, holds it with his own and uses it almost as an excuse to guide her behind him, making their way off the ride and out along the barrier to the exit. People are watching them, but it's the way that people watch anyone who moves past them; still, he feels embarrassed, like he's not meant to be seen with someone as pretty as Tifa.
At the exit, he gently guides her in front of him--and lets go of her hand, to allow her to move through it first. ]
Any idea where you want to go next? [ --is mumbled, lowly, where he's nearly at her back as they walk. ] I'm sure we'll find your true love again.
[Tifa had been prepared to climb off the mount herself, readjusting after he'd hopped down to make it easier, except she all but freezes when she feels his hands grip her hips to hoist her down with such ease and care that it somehow surprises her. It shouldn't—she'd be careless to admit that she didn't like when Cloud took charge like that, but she can see how red his ears are, emphasized by the bright lights, and so she lets him have the moment, following along silently behind him with a small, albeit crooked smile, her hand in his.
Until it isn't, and her fingers feel noticeably colder when they slip away.
Rather than grab for it again, she chooses to walk along with the crowd to stay out of their way. Fortunately, they were some of the last off the carousel and are bringing up the rear, and it's easy to find a safe enough spot for them to stop, and it's there where his question gives Tifa pause.
She hadn't thought about what would come next. It was her idea to come all the way out here, and with so much to do, there's no shortage of fun activities for them, but her mind still whites out and draws a rare, brief blank. It's still reeling from the interruption, and she feels as if her entire groove (or what little of it she had to begin with) is thrown off balance, that sweet, blissful exchange cut too short by the inconvenient timing of the ride... It takes her back to a time years ago, when she had hesitated on that gondola ride, and she wonders—if she hadn't, would they be here today? Would it have been awkward, or would she have hesitated to say the words that have been on the very tip of her tongue since then?
After everything, she has no reason to be afraid, so why is this so hard for her? For them? She can sense the same disappointment in the way Cloud carries himself now, too.
And so, she reaches across to take his hand in hers again, not simply because it will buy her an extra second of time, but because in that silence, she realized how much she misses it, and how much she prefers to have it than to be free to roam about on her own. She holds it casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as she gazes around first, before throwing him a demure glance.]
... I wonder if we'll find him in the arcade.
[Maybe something more active will take their minds off their blunder and set them back on course?]
You up for some games?
[She hopes so, because Tifa is already dragging him in their direction, towards the blinking lights that aptly spell out "A R C A D E" up ahead.]
I remember you were really good at that snowboarding one.
[ It's a hard mix of emotions to describe, and he's never really been any good at describing them, anyway, when Tifa takes his hand again. She does it so casually, so simply, that he wonders why he couldn't just muster up the courage to do exactly the same thing. And it's silly to him, really, that there are people who claim to marvel at his bravery, as though fighting Sephiroth or even the sheer act of surviving, after that sword had been wrenched through his middle, could be considered brave, and not just simply the will that everyone has to keep living, to not submit to the terrifying shadow of death. It takes a whole different kind of bravery to be able to do what Tifa just did: and why is it that he's never even been able to do something like that at all? Sure, he may have taken her down from the ride without thinking much of it, but that had been different. He'd been helping her, in some way, instead of just being a hindrance.
For a moment, his gaze goes down to their hands--but he's afraid that if he draws too much attention to it, she might wrench it back. He hangs his hand there loosely, instead. ]
The arcade sounds good. [ --is what he manages to get out before Tifa is simply dragging them in that direction anyway. With a bit of a playful grimace, he takes a couple double-steps to catch up with her, walking at her side instead of stretching their arms out by the distance. He can remember the last time they were here fairly clearly; Tifa even brings it up, which earns a groan. ]
...Don't joke around. I fell off that three times.
[ --which had been its own heavy cross of embarrassment to bear. ]
After you.
[ He stays at her back, their hands still linked, as he lets her in ahead of him--immediately, there's the loud sound of the various game machines, all the beeping and all the music offset enough from each other to make a loud cacophony. He winces, slightly, but it's not too much of a bother--before, the arcade section had been some small thing, but now they've clearly expanded it to include more machines and different types of games. Carefully, he scans the perimeter--a couple brushes past them, and he moves closer to Tifa's back to allow them to exit.
Pressing his lips together, he nudges at Tifa's shoulder. ]
How about there? [ It is not, gratefully, the snowboarding game: it looks to be some kind of horror game, the sort where the players sit inside a shrouded, vehicle-shaped console, and use the plastic guns inside. ] No one seems to be using it.
[She only offers him a knowing grin when she hears him groan, and she won't poke fun at him much more than that. Yuffie had outdone them all, to absolutely no one's surprise, and bragged about it for hours afterwards, but at least he beat Cid who likely would not have let him live it down if he hadn't, and Barret almost broke the machine when he couldn't make it past the first jump, so he was out of the running from the start. He had a leg up over all of them, including Tifa, if only by a small margin at the end when she slipped up and only made herself more flustered.
It's a memory that she can recall as if it had happened only yesterday. After everything that they had been through, it was that night of respite that she looks back on fondly.
Rather than look around the arcade herself, she finds that she's watching Cloud over her shoulder instead, and as his gaze roams around the arcade, she's mesmerized by how the blinking neon lights twinkle to heighten and highlight the green streaks within the blue of his eyes. It's such a small, simple thing, but she's always loved how bright and blue they are, bursting with colour.
It's the nudge to her shoulder that tumbles her back to the entrance of the arcade, and she darts her gaze forward, lips parting in silent surprise when she spots it. The fact that he's taking the initiative to choose one at all is surprising, yes, but it's the warm feeling that spreads from her chest up to rosy her cheeks that gets her most. Elation? Contentment? He's still trying, and she isn't going to waste a second to let him know just how excited she is about it.
Tifa takes the lead again, leading and weaving him through. She only appraises it for a beat before she climbs into the truck-shaped vehicle, and when Cloud joins her, she scoots over towards him. Even if the bench is long enough to comfortably fit at least one more body, she gets comfortable where her knees and shoulders touch his.]
You know how to shoot a gun?
[Picking up the red one, she aims it at the black screen in front of them but shoots her coy look to Cloud.]
Haven't tried myself, so I might need you to show me.
[As if this is anything close to a real one. She knows that they're uncomplicated, made of cheap plastic, but she's going to take this zombie (or is it ghost?) hunting game very seriously, she's decided.]
[ There's a sense of relief when Tifa deems the game acceptable--already his eyes had been hunting around the perimeter of the arcade looking for substitutes, perhaps the moogle story game or even one of the stuffed animal catchers that would likely start to frustrate him after spending too much gil on it. He'd do it for Tifa, of course, and the thought of having a tangible souvenir to take back with her, after the end of their date, something that she would be able to keep on her bed, or on the table beside it, is soothing. It would be something to remember him by, at least, or if she hated it, a good present for Denzel or Marlene, though maybe he should think about getting them something special in the end. A keychain, perhaps, from the haunted hotel? His thoughts are moving so quickly, anxious and nervous and determined to focus on anything--he hardly recognizes that he's being pulled towards the game he'd pointed out himself.
With a glance, he looks at the interior of the game console, hidden behind a half of a curtain; Tifa ducks inside and makes herself comfortable, and warily, he follows in after her.
The bench is wide, surely comfortable enough for two people, but Tifa's hip presses up against his, the line of her leg mapped out with the line of his own, and when their knees touch, he feels his stomach flip, a strange, nervous churning that makes him want to move away. Any other time, and he would--it's polite to have space between them, but more than that, he wants Tifa to be comfortable, yet something in him says that it would be stupid to move away, and he doesn't. Their legs rub together and he looks at the screen, reading the game title with a face that says it's absolutely absurd: Midgar Mako Monsters, with some opening introduction video of strange oozing zombie-creatures, all in dated SOLDIER garb. His eyes roll over to Tifa.
There's a faint, tight-lipped smile on his face: ] They taught us all how to use them. At least I think they did. Back in Third Class.
[ His memories of that time are still--hazy, but ridiculously, his body knows what to do. He palms up the blue gun and tilts it in Tifa's direction, smoothing one of his fingers along the top of it to show her where the sight is. ]
Just try to line this up the best you can, and keep your hand steady. [ Surprisingly, there's a bit of amusement in his voice, as he tilts his head towards her, the end of his gun knocking almost playfully with hers. ] Luckily there's no kickback on the plastic models.
[ One of his hands goes down, feeling for the coin slot in front of them--then it's just a matter of paying for the both of them, and the game screen comes to life; the bench vibrates, a blast of cool air and loud, overbearing horror music coming from the devices above them in the console. There appears to be some sort of 'story' to the game, however silly--something about the mako reactors leaking into the piping of the Shinra building, infecting all the SOLDIERs there and turning them into zombie-like creatures; surprisingly, it doesn't bother him. It's not like he doesn't know what the mako makes him, anyway, and something like this--well, it isn't too far from what had happened anyway, in the end.
Still, Tifa will likely worry--he offers her a faint, sidelong smile. ]
[Tifa studies him, watches as his fingers coil around the gun, and she mimics his instructions and movements one by one. Finger on the trigger, lifting to aim—she probably has horrendous trigger discipline, never having held one in her life, and while it is just a silly game with sillier plastic guns that could break if she held them too tight, the idea of impressing and surprising Cloud with even a grain of skill in this game is what motivates her. Not that she has anything left to prove to him, but she'll do whatever she can to get one of those cheeky grins out of him. And as she lets the back of her hand graze his when he bumps the ends of their guns together, she's thankful for the washed-out colours on the screen as the game whirrs to life that mask the redness blossoming across her cheeks.
Diligently, she tries to listen to the speech, to the voice that sounds like it's trying too hard to be like the late President Shinra's, as he explains the purpose of the game. It's almost immediate, that twisting in her stomach; that sinking feeling that maybe this is a bad idea when it goes on about the mako leaks, and it transforming the people inside into "monsters". Just as he imagined it would, it hits a close to home that Tifa does worry, but when she casts that inevitable sideways glance of concern to Cloud, she sees that smile of his—although faint, it's still as bright as ever in her eyes—and it puts her at ease.
Once again, he proves how patient and how willing he is.
So, she lifts the barrel of the gun to eye level on his go, and as the truck's engine roars in the speakers surrounding them, the truck jerks, and it sends her reeling back on the bench, surprised, as it spits them out on the streets of Midgar—or what used to be Midgar—with Shinra's tower as the backdrop. Sirens blare, and spotlights bear down on the city as its low-poly citizens scream and run in that stiff way old video games tend to do as they run for their lives.
She can already feel her heartbeat quicken with anxiety and anticipation. Tifa is, admittedly, a bit of a scaredy-cat when it comes to the horror genre, jump-scares especially. Cloud will feel her move an inch closer, with the tension coiling up in every one of her muscles, with her knuckles turning white under her hold on the gun's grip.
It should have been expected. She should have seen it coming. Their very first zombie leaps out in front of the screen with a hiss with a speed uncharacteristic for being dead, and rather than shoot it, Tifa's shriek echoes through the console, and a hand drops from the gun to grab onto Cloud instead.]
[ The introduction had been loud enough, but now, here, as it begins to introduce them to the actual gameplay, he feels like it's so noisy he won't even be able to hear Tifa talk over it--his stomach twists a little in discomfort, as though maybe this is a bad idea, the kind of stupid thing that only a stupid guy would ask a girl to play with him if he didn't know any better. He should have aimed for something lighter, like winning her a toy out of one of the crane games or even those motorcycle racing games that would likely be boring for the both of them; or maybe he's speaking too soon? It's not like Tifa has had too many chances to ride on the back of Fenrir, after all, mostly because he's been too embarrassed to have her pressed up against him--mostly because he'd been worried that she might touch his arm in the wrong spot and feel him wince. She might get a kick out of being able to race him on one of those, so why had he picked this one?
The monsters don't bother him, and admitting to himself that he nearly became exactly like the things that slither across the screen in the opening video just makes him shake his head. As always, it's easy enough to compartmentalize when he has other things to worry about; in fact, it's the sight of Midgar and the Shinra building that affects him more than the comparison of mako-zombies to the mako-drenched SOLDIERs that Shinra made themselves. It's been a long time: mostly those images live only in his memory, knitted together with all of their travels and the faces of all of their friends, and sometimes, looking at Edge, it feels like some sort of uncanny half-hearted reproduction, as though bits and pieces of Midgar remain, but twisted and changed out of proportion.
He's distracted enough that he doesn't realize how close Tifa is, and when the game finally gives up the ghost and a zombie leaps into the corner of the screen, he aims his plastic gun at it--but Tifa collides with him, shrieking, and he's distracted. There's the sound of its wailing call as it hits both sides of their screen; the health meters in the corner go down.
With an almost laugh, cursing under his breath, Cloud shoots at one zombie--and then the next one. Carefully, and wordlessly, he wraps his arm across Tifa's shoulders, pulling her in succinctly to his side. ]
Don't think I can take them all out alone. [ --is he actually making a joke? It feels like in the relative darkness of the little cabin of the game, he's capable of things that would otherwise make him cringe out in the daylight. Protecting Tifa is something that comes so naturally that he hardly thinks on it; keeping an arm around her to hold her out of danger is practically instinct. ] We've got this. Grab your gun.
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He's not alone here, either, even when Tifa disappears into the bathroom to get ready. A part of him feels like an idiot: in the hanging mirror on the wall, decorated around the edges with silver stoning meant to imitate some sort of grave headstone, he looks at his reflection and sees the same stupid kid that couldn't just spit out what he felt, the same stupid kid that had to be dragged into everything, the one that never really fixed anything, or helped anything, and just made things worse. His hair still looks the same, properly styled and something of a mess around his face; his clothes are starkly different, chosen with much consideration by both Cid and Vincent before he left Edge and--yeah, maybe that was something of a mistake on his part, but who else did he have to ask? Definitely not Yuffie--and most definitely not Barret, either.
He doesn't look old, but he feels like he looks ridiculous, wearing a deep blue turtleneck that sticks and fits to his frame, a thin leather jacket tossed over it and black jeans that feel like they're hugging in every place they can, belted at his waist with the sweater all neatly tucked in. Even his shoes feel strange: gone are the dirty boots he wears for deliveries, instead wearing a pair of smart dress shoes that he would never be able to fight in. The thought makes him a little nervous. What if they get into some kind of trouble? Should he bring a sword? How is he going to defend Tifa without a sword?
With his hands on his hips, he's debating going back down to the garage where Fenrir is parked--but Tifa says Cloud? and he freezes, turns and looks sheepish, and when his gaze falls on Tifa, he looks even more sheepish still. She looks beautiful--and he looks like the guy that parks her car for her and fetches her her keys. Rueful, he nearly even smiles. ]
Are you going to be warm enough in that?
[ It's not as cold here, but there is the hint of a winter chill--he crosses the room, already shrugging out of his jacket so that he can put it, practical, over her shoulders, and at least that doesn't feel strange. He's used to taking care of her: that much, he figures, he can do without any questioning. ]
Put this on for now. [ And then he tilts his head towards the door, reaching for the handle: it gives a recorded, spooky little laugh as he twists the knob and opens it, something that makes him nearly roll his eyes. ] I'm ready.
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Somehow, it's comforting in its eccentric way that this place could manage to make her walk in the footsteps of the past so easily and still fascinate her.
And although this is so far from the romantic date she had always dreamed of for them, she'd rather not ruminate on their lack of options and take what she can. The fact that they're here at all after the mess the last few weeks has been makes her that much more grateful that they are now, and Cloud being here and dressed up with her for a silly night at the Gold Saucer is more than she could have hoped for in such dreary, trying times.
So when she finally rounds the corner, stepping out fully into view, Tifa's eyes round out with surprise, the crimson cuts in them glimmering with awe and adoration when she sees him and realizes... when was the last time she'd seen him so dressed up? When he wasn't in those baggy pants and dirty boots covered in the mud of a long day's work? He would often come home smelling of motor oil and the countryside—flowers and rain and wood, and she would bask in all of its masculine glory when she stood near enough, but there's something about him that sends a flutter through her stomach that only grows when he smiles at her. And when he drapes his coat over her shoulders, she can't help the one that spreads wide across her face, rippling over cheeks and into her eyes.]
I'll be fine!
[Cloud always was good at taking care of her, even when she insisted that he not. He worked so hard, pulling long hours every day and yet, he still found time in those last hours of his day to make sure that she was comfortable. She's always appreciated him for it, even when she shrugged him off or shooed him away from the kitchen as she washed the dishes and closed up shop for the night.
Hugging the coat around herself, Tifa only laughs at the door's spooky cackle and the subsequent roll of Cloud's eyes before she passes through. She had already been startled by it once when they arrived, but it wasn't going to fool her twice.
She stops, however, before they can get another step from their room, where the brighter lights flush her out and saturate the pink in her cheeks.]
... You look nice.
[Tifa knows that he's gone far out of his element for this, but she needs to make sure that he's aware how much she appreciates that he's trying. How much she appreciates him. Heck, he's even picked an outfit that matches hers, just like she asked. And she knows that somewhere, deep down, is still that awkward fourteen-year-old boy who just wanted to be noticed.]
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[ It's said with a wry note of humor, begrudging, but he appreciates that she says anything--even if he guesses it's likely just Tifa being kind to him, noticing how out of his element he is, or how much he needs to at least be reassured before they step out into the crowds of people. That's one thing he's never liked about this place: and one thing that, surprisingly, hasn't changed at all. In fact, he wonders if there are even more people here in the Gold Saucer than before--people trying desperately to find distractions from the way the world is, now, with the threat of destruction and the pressure of rebuilding, and the looming, terrifying shadow of geostigma threatening to wipe them all out for good.
They haven't really talked about it, since that night at the inn, and it's something he's grateful for. Nothing has really changed--his arm aches, from time to time, but the splotch of dark, painted across his skin, hasn't gotten any bigger, and he hasn't felt it really affecting anything unless it's been a particularly long day and he hasn't stretched properly before work. Here, too, he doesn't notice it: it's tucked safely underneath the sleeve of his sweater, after all, and Tifa won't be able to see it, or feel it, even if she reaches out to touch him. Maybe a part of that is wishful thinking, on his part; maybe he's falling into the same traps that everyone else is, seeing this place as an escape from reality, even just for the night.
With their door shut, and his hand testing the handle on the outside just to assure that it's locked, he drops his arms down, awkwardly, uncertain of whether he should offer one to Tifa or not. ]
I was thinking we could...maybe try out some of the new rides, or whatever, first.
[ He mumbles this, slightly, as they make their way down the hall--at the stairs, he lifts a palm, gestures for Tifa to go ahead of him so that he can, practical and firm, watch her back, as though she even needs his protection when there's no one else that he can see inside the place to begin with. ]
There's a carousel, I don't know if you'd like that.
[ Ruefully, he reaches up to adjust some of his hair before he hops off the last stair, at the bottom, and darts forward--he pushes the door open for her, gesturing her out into the cooler air of the Gold Saucer itself. It's hard to remember that he should be doing all these things for her; mostly he assumes that Tifa is too capable to want some guy doing this or that for her, not wanting to insult the respect that he has for her power: but this, he figures, is different. She should be treated like the beautiful woman that she is; and he feels like he fumbles over everything. ]
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Cloud has always put her first, no matter the situation, be it in battle or in their quieter days now. She appreciates that he's always looking out for her and acknowledges that it's just how he is—it's what comes naturally to him, but there are times when she wants to look out for him too. Silly as it is to think so much about it when it's down to something as trivial as what ride they should check out first at the Gold Saucer, after having just left the haunted house inn, but with the way he so self-consciously asks her for her opinion, she doesn't want him to feel forced into doing something he'd rather not.
So, with a tilted head, she lets her gaze fix on his, her lips pulling into a wider, patient smile.]
You know, we never got to do these kinds of things when we were kids, huh?
[Never mind that they were never particularly close growing up, but maybe if there had been opportunities, they could have been. Circumstances just never allowed for it.
Honestly, Tifa isn't opposed to the idea of letting her inner child run free tonight. At least, when it comes to the rides and the games—she doesn't think she would be as embarrassed as Cloud to be seen on a carousel, or playing the new arcade games that they've added, and for a moment, she wonders to herself... Was this a good idea in the first place, coming here? With the way he is, there's the small twinge of worry that twists her heart in her chest, and she worries that this might be asking for too much from him, no matter of whether he's here or not.
That isn't to say that she doesn't appreciate him for being here, and for putting in as much effort as he already has so far—she does!—but...
To comfort him, she squeezes his arm.]
You want to check out the carousel?
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[ --a jolt, distant, in the back of his head, like a headache that's threatening to come on at the thought; it makes his eyes squint for a moment, a breath to let it pass and then it's gone again. Despite everything, and despite the way that Tifa had, in her own way, guided him back to himself in the end, there are still those moments where it feels like all of his memories are harder to reach, now, as though the pathways that he's forged towards them, with her help, still get overrun with weeds and fallen leaves at times, making them easy to stumble on. There's the even the urge, at times--and this is something that he's never admitted to her, something that he's never admitted to anyone--to sink back into the comfort of pretending that those lively stories Zack told him, the ones that rattled around in his head when his eyes stared blankly ahead, are closer to the truth, are things he actually lived through instead of things he simply had to imagine. At least that way he'd be a lot cooler, wouldn't he? Then again, what kind of First Class SOLDIER would he have made?
A clumsy one. There's a hint of a smile, rueful, on his face, as he shakes his head and guides them down the path. Tifa takes his arm so easily; he doesn't even fight against it, doesn't shrug her off or try to walk ahead of her. Their pace matches, neat and comfortable, and he doesn't stray away from it like he might have before. ]
Yeah. We didn't really have any of this stuff. Best we could do was sit on fences and pretend they were chocobos.
[ An embarrassing thought--his cheeks color, faintly, but it's relatively good-natured. ]
Let's see what it's like. I guess they added a bunch of stuff, but that seemed... easy. [ Much easier than more of the rollercoaster rides or even the other more active games they added in, like laser tag and the haunted maze. ] Good place to start, anyway.
[ Or is it? The closer that they get to it, the more that he can see the crowds starting to fill out; surprisingly, there are a lot of couples, sure, but a lot of families, too. The distant sounds of music and children cheering seems oddly comforting, in some ways, as though everyone around them is paying too much attention to their own enjoyment to bother staring at them. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders starts to relax--especially when he sees the carousel in their sights.
It's huge: he expected it to be, and the line isn't remarkably long, given the size. There are all sorts of shapes to ride, chocobos and unicorns and phoenixes, even some large monsters to climb inside, horses and pretty gilded carriages, too. Ruefully, he pulls Tifa a little closer to his side--a group of kids goes clamoring past them, as the announcer over the intercom notes that there's only a few minutes left to pick the perfect mount. Carefully, his blue-tinted eyes slide over to her: he studies her for a moment, his lips pressed together. ]
... Ladies' choice. [ That's what Zack would do, right? That's what gentlemen do? ]
so sorry for the delay! slowly but finally getting caught up 🥺💕
Memories of those starry nights in Nibelheim, when she sat at her window, wondering where he was, what he was doing, and what it would be like to take him by the hand, and pull him onto a cheesy carousel ride with even cheesier music.
"One minute remaining!"
If she's going to do this—go on a date with Cloud Strife, then she would do everything in her power to ensure that it was as perfect as it could be, right down to the smallest, most trivial details like which mount she should choose.
The rubies in her eyes glimmer with intent as they watch the families and couples climb aboard, options growing slimmer the longer she takes until at long last, she takes Cloud by the hand, her grip as light as the colour that powders her cheeks when she leads him to a two-person chocobo. Adorning its white, metallic plume are red and pink roses that glisten under the blinking lights, with eyes as green as the mako that still burn in Cloud's hardened gaze... This one is, without a doubt, built for a couple, if the others like this being occupied are sign of that at all—they're seated so close together, her nose nuzzling into him, or his arms tight around her waist...
"If everyone could please be seated!"
The booming voice throws her out of that too-brief daydream to a lump in her throat. Clearing it, she snaps her hand free of Cloud's and gives the two-seated saddle a clap.]
Y-You first...
[Is this truly what would render the once-confident Tifa Lockhart into a puddle of embarrassment in front of her crush? Perish the thought...]
no worries, take your time 💕
Well, this--this is--well. It's something that he feels like someone might use as a wedding train, a beautiful, white-plumed chocobo with all sorts of flowers braided, in plastic, around it, hardened by the enamel. A part of him wants very badly to turn around and walk right out of the whole enclosure; he can feel his cheeks threaten to burn, and even as he looks to Tifa, he sees that even she is blushing as she pats at the double-seated saddle. He balks at it, once, and then swallows.
This is about doing what he has to, isn't it? And he has faced far worse, has put his bravery and courage to the test with far more than just one small, measly carousel ride.
So he palms a hand on the enamel back of the chocobo, presses a foot into the saddle and swings himself up onto it; he opts to take the front seat, given that the back is slightly elevated, as though to allow Tifa a more proper view. Almost comically, his hands reach with automatic movements for the reins--they're of course literally glued down to the ceramic creature, and he fumbles, blushes, clears his throat and instead awkwardly pats his hands against the neck of the chocobo. ]
...Let me know if you need help.
[ He says, wryly, twisting his gaze down to her: and look at that, he even smiles, helpless. ]
She's a tall girl.
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She is...
[Tifa is self-assured about a lot of things—put her behind a bar and she can mix up the best drinks her side of Midgar has ever tasted, or on the field next to Cloud where they'll no doubt put up a hell of a fight, but it's him seated atop a damn white chocobo that makes her question everything she's ever known she could do. That's turned her into a bashful, wordless mess on the floor of a carousel as the music turns over inside her head.
She appreciates that he allows her the moment to try and find her footing again, and a way up onto the chocobo herself. She gets as far as swinging the coat from her shoulders and over the back saddle before she feels the carousel lurch under her feet. The music comes back into focus, sharper and louder than she remembers it being that it taunts her, and there's a flicker of panic before she stretches a hand for him, searching for his to keep herself from falling.
If Cloud feared he would make a fool of himself up here, he thought wrong. Never in a million years, however, did Tifa think she would. She's always so sure of herself, or at the very least, tries to appear to be. She should have accepted his the help the first chance she got, but instead she stood there, the dummy in love that she is, and admired the man on this plastic white chocobo as she extended to him her heart instead of her hand.
So in awe of how heroic and gallant he looks on its saddle that she had forgotten all about the announcements the attendant had made hardly a minute ago giving the warning.
Yes, Tifa definitely needs some help...!]
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And really, maybe they both should have listened better--his eyes, icy, catch sight of the slight lurch of the carousel beasts in front of him as they start to move, and he realizes, immediately, that the base is moving too; he can hear the music start to slowly rev up, as though it works along the same motor as the ride itself, and whipping his head around, he sees the helpless, worried look on Tifa's features. No, he's not going to leave her there to fumble--no, he is not going to ruin this date by being as clueless as he always is.
Swiftly, then, he hooks one arm around the chocobo's neck, balancing himself while the other reaches, and it's not Tifa's hand that he takes, but rather, the bend of her arm, bracing at her elbow; he's never been more grateful for the strength that the poison in his veins brings him, where he can lift Tifa up off her feet and bear the weight of her as he pulls her up onto the chocobo, but it's an awkward stretch, and he can't really figure out how to swing her into her own seat--so he slides, slightly, moves back as the carousel starts to pick up speed, and really? When Tifa ends up sandwiched between his own lap and the head of the chocobo, he only just barely has the good graces to flush in embarrassment. At least she isn't stuck running to keep up with him, or tripping on the moving platform; frowning, he braces his arms at either side of her to keep her from falling off, with the way she sits sideways there. ]
...This thing really picked up speed. [ --is the lame thing he mumbles, nodding; certainly the carousel is moving quicker, now, but it's not like it's a rollercoaster or something. Still: it's enough that there's a slight breeze in his face, moving both his hair, and moving Tifa's, around slightly. ] You okay?
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... Only for Tifa to find herself crammed in between Cloud's knees and the plastic bird's head.
Her other hand clutches at his shirt, balling the fabric into a fist to keep her from losing balance. As her brain tries to piece the chain of events together, she forgets where she is in those few seconds it takes when she feels his hair tickle her face and under the carousel's scrutinizing gaze mixing together with his more concerned one, she feels like she might collapse beneath it. This is, without a doubt, the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to her in as long as she can recall, and if it weren't for Cloud holding her up, she might have chosen to run off instead of getting on.
Cloud's question brings her back, and her hand snaps away from his chest, freeing him from her iron grip to rest over his arm instead. Her gaze drops to her lap, and to her one shoe that she can feel slipping from her foot, staring at it as if it was the most horrifying sight.
Her conviction hardly wavers, nor does her confidence, but if that high heel falls...]
Yeah... [she finally answers through an exhale.] Yeah, I'm good.
[The breeze is enough to cool off the heat that immediately lights up in her cheeks so there's that, at least.]
I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. I guess I wasn't listening to the announcements...?
[Is that what it was? Clearly, she hadn't been listening to anything at all, in that case. Never mind. Flip that into a rhetorical question.
Her fingers give his arm a squeeze.]
I shouldn't have taken too long to decide, but... least there's never a dull moment, right? Off to an okay start!
[She definitely sounds like someone who is trying to convince herself of something she doesn't fully believe in.]
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Now, instead, Tifa is stuck in the place between his thighs and the neck of the bird--and maybe it's that part which is embarrassing, maybe it's that she's sitting side saddle instead of looped properly on the ride, but he can't figure out how to move her without reaching for her legs and that is definitely something too much for a first date, and his shoulders go tight. He doesn't even realize that she has her hand, fisted into his shirt, until she lets it go: and it feels strange, almost, as though he had gotten so used to it that he doesn't like the change.
A swallow, then, hard--he has to make this right somehow, has to make her feel better about it, but--well, what would someone like Zack do, in this instance? What would a girl like Aerith do, to ease the discomfort, the embarrassment? Even now, he can't do these things alone; even now, he still relies on so many other people to help him get anywhere that he's supposed to be.
To start, he slides his hips forward; Tifa may be uncomfortable, squashed so solidly with her hip against the ride, and though he knows this will be absolutely awful, it seems like the better alternative--and for a moment, his face is smooth, as though he's so focused on moving his body correctly that he can't consider anything else. One arm, looped around her waist, lifts her up: plants her more properly, more fully, in his lap, sat on one of his thighs with her legs over the other, and he's mumbling, sure, but at least he's done it-- ]
This might help.
[ Zack would have laughed in his face, at this point--but the point, really, is that he's trying. ]
...I feel like I just kidnapped a princess, or something. [ Even embarrassed, there's humor seeping into his voice--he winces, keeps one arm looped around Tifa's back while the other settles on the chocobo to hold their balance. The ride continues on around them, and the breeze feels nice, and the speed eventually evens out; the song that blares over the speakers is the kind of typical, almost annoying carousel music that he would expect, but at least he can feel the other people around them having a good time, and it makes him feel less obvious, less noticed. Even his lips twitch, almost a smile: ] Don't try to get away, or anything. It'll make me look bad.
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When the initial wave of embarrassment finally diminishes, it makes way for a newfound relief, and Tifa loosens her firm grip on his shoulders, just enough that she can lift her head from them after having not realized it had tipped there in the first place. Just in time to catch the smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and it attracts an uneven one of her own. When Cloud smiles, there's something so infectious about it. It could be that it's so rare that he does, these days especially, that when she is lucky enough to spot one, it means that much more.
What means more than that, however, is that she can see how hard he continues to try to turn it around, and how flawlessly he's able to. He should really give himself more credit—if Zack were here right now, he'd surely give Cloud a slap on the back for that bashful peal of laughter he attracts out of her.
A giggle that transforms into a playfully dramatic gasp of feigned surprise partway.]
And where, Ser, are you and your steed taking me!? And what could you possibly want with a princess?
[She'll play along and play it up. She feels a bit silly doing it, especially with that conventional, uninspired carousel music playing, and she looks ahead, her hair blowing back to tickle his nose, to hide the redness burning across her face from him, but at least it draws her mind away from what transpired. They can still get this date back on track.
And then, much to her surprise, the valiant steed gives a hollow kweh, kweh! to the beat of the music.]
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[ Pained, he repeats the words, dryly: even with the way that Tifa continues to play along, as though nothing quite so terrible has happened, and even with the way that he's desperately pleading for this date to go well, for Tifa to make the kind of memories that will hang around with her likely longer than he will, he can't help but be himself, can't help but roll his eyes up to the gilded roof of the carousel above him as though he can seek some sort of guidance from somewhere. He's the one who started it, after all, so he's definitely the one that's going to have to finish it, too--and Tifa's laugh blossoms something up inside of him, something warm, something that pangs at the thought of her smile going away.
So he lets out a breath, steadying himself: and the chocobo beneath them gives a mechanical kweh!--and he laughs, actually laughs, unable to stop himself. It's like the embarrassment and the sudden burst of courage he gives himself to try to play along (because that's what he should do, that's what Zack would do, and absolutely what Aerith would do, and even Yuffie or Barret or even Cid would tell him the same thing) just makes him realize how absolutely ridiculous it all is. When would he have ever been caught on a carousel? When would he have ever been the one to offer?
The laughter dies down, and his breath tinges with a groan; the arm he has around Tifa's back tightens, slightly, just enough to give her a squeeze. ]
Clearly she's been promised away to some terrible bad...guy. [ Listen, no one said he was good at this. ] And so I guess I came to save her.
[ He can feel his cheeks heating, slightly: he glances at Tifa, and then turns his chin to his shoulder, as though he's checking over it to see if anyone is pursuing them. ]
Unless you want me to take you back, Princess? [ There's a glimmer of amusement in his gaze, though his expression is as smooth as usual. ] I thought I was saving the day.
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Fondly, her attention is fixed on him, and she watches him with every bit of self-control she has to bite back her growing smile, eager to see what he responds with, or if he does at all. And when he adapts the role, or tries his best to, she can't help but lean into it, and into him, her body falling flush against his chest.]
'Tis true. [Her voice is as dramatic as the small hand flourish she accents the line with, and it presses to her forehead.] I was to be whisked away to another kingdom as um... part of a truce? [Is that a thing? These are the sorts of stories she reads in those romance novels she has stashed away under her bed.] Our kingdoms were to be joined, but...
[She can't believe these words are coming out of her mouth, least of all in a time and place like this, and she hardly keeps herself together without fumbling over them.]
... But he wasn't my one true love.
[Her eyes dart away from Cloud again, drawn to the chocobo when it kweh's again with such impeccable timing that she wonders if it can really hear them. Tifa clears her throat, hardly audible over the carousel music when it switches to something faster as the ride picks up more speed.]
And I have decided that it will be my quest to find him. So, um... hi-ho!?
[What do people say to their horses when it's time to go? If he couldn't tell, she is also trying way, way too hard.]
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[ He can't help it--his lips curl up into a bewildered smile, and he wants to laugh again, wonders if it might hurt Tifa's feelings and decides against it. But she says hi-ho to the chocobo that's beneath them, like it might actually respond to such a thing; and really, even though they're both terrible at it? He feels like Tifa is a much better actor than he is, by far. She has ideas for this thing, whatever this thing is: and she says she's looking for her true love, and that...
The ride picks up speed, and he wants to argue that it's just the movement there, the sudden lurch into, that makes his stomach drop--maybe it's the way that Tifa drapes against his chest, the way that his arm circles tighter around her back as though he has to keep her safe. There's really little risk to either of them falling off, at this point, even with the increased momentum: but he still feels like it's his job to protect her, his job to ensure that she doesn't even worry about it, doesn't even consider it something that could happen at all.
He shouldn't ask it, either, and he knows better--Tifa always turned her gaze towards the other boys in town, back in Nibelheim, and he had never stood a chance. No matter how hard he tried, or how much he yearned to be near her, it just never worked out that way; even after joining SOLDIER, all he had done was make himself a burden to someone else. And it feels unfair, really, to hope for it, to wonder if the way that she turns her gaze up to look at him means anything, to pray that she isn't still thinking of someone else as the one that got away or anything, so:
There's a soft clearing of his throat, as though he's trying, desperately, to find that blank persona that he usually leans towards, to mask his emotions off his face. ]
So how do we find your one true love? What does he look like?
[ A soft puff of breath, and then muttered, almost playfully-- ] Don't tell me he's tall.
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If only it were so easy for her to voice her feelings more directly to him. She wishes she could, and she tries to string together words that might, but when she notices she's been staring a little too long, and realizes how close they actually are—did she shift somehow when the ride picked up speed?—she's filled with her own new fit of embarrassment. She could pray that he hasn't noticed, but he was always so aware of everything. Sometimes aware of her, even when she didn't want him to be.
But she started this, so now she feels she needs to see it through to its end, whatever "this" is, and whatever the end of it might be. She's put them into this fairy tale, into a story of being whisked off away on the back of a chocobo, but this is a bit silly all things considered, isn't it?
Tifa Lockhart shouldn't need to pretend to tell him what she's feeling...
With a thoughtful hum and a fresh flush in her face, she affords a shy peek over her shoulder until their gazes meet again, and a very sudden, very inconvenient giggle forces its way out of her.]
Not that much taller than me.
[As for where to find him...]
I doubt he's that far at all, but he'll be a little hard to find. I hear he's kinda shy. But... keep on the lookout for blond hair and... blue eyes... like the ocean.
[That's something a princess might say about her One True Love, right?]
Have you seen him?
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So it should register, really, that she must be talking about him. He thinks it, for a split second; after all, the combination of hair color, and eye color, can really only be a few people in Tifa's life, and someone shy? That narrows it down even more. Still, he's never really heard someone describe his eyes that way, something so romantic; the closest he thinks he's ever come to such compliments had been Aerith's soft murmur, telling him how pretty they were.
Then again, he thinks that must have only been, in hindsight, because they reminded her of Zack.
Still, sheepish, his chin ducks down, and in the next circle of the carousel he sees himself, a brief glimmer of his reflection, in part of the mirrored panels of the center contraption; no, his hair hasn't miraculously changed color, and no, his eyes haven't faded into some other color, as though the mako could just simply drain out of them. Embarrassed, he cants his gaze back to Tifa--there's a bright voice that announces over the speakers that there's only one minute remaining of the ride, and he mumbles the words practically into the announcement, like he wants them to get lost there. ]
You'd call it true love? [ --is what he says, like he can't quite believe it himself, but the ride is starting to slow down, some, and he finds his arm getting tighter around Tifa, like he's reluctant to let her go. ] It's...
[ A swallow. He's still terrible at this. ] Maybe you found him. Here. Then what?
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She can feel his arms tighten around her, and he'll feel her tense up now, her shoulders squaring and her fingers balling the fabric of his coat as she tries to swallow past the butterflies that have surged to life inside her.
Here she was, hoping that she could be the one to play it cool for both of them, but her search for an answer is rendering her into a flushed mess.
The ride has already started to slow, the breeze that moved against them growing gentler, and she needs to find something to say now, before she loses her chance. Before she loses that courage that she had snatched from out of the air...]
Then we...
[The announcement rings again, interrupting her with its perfectly inconvenient timing, the music fades, and the ride comes to a stop with one last metallic "kweh!" from the chocobo that chimes along with all of the other cries of the mounts, but this one feels so... disappointing. Like it's taunting and teasing her for not saying something sooner, and that she'd blown it completely, and in spite of knowing that she hasn't—that Cloud has always been so patient with her, she can't help but feel guilty about it.
With a sad noise in the back of her throat—somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, Tifa shifts to give him a little room, and to peer back at him expectantly, her eyes glinting with all the things she wishes she had said sooner.]
Then we find something else... [is all she gives him at first.] That didn't feel very long.
[Time flies when one's having fun? Of course the one time she wishes she could have made it last a little bit longer... but the night is still young.
With a flush, she lowers her gaze to where her hand frees his arm. Guess it's time to get off and give the people in line a chance, but Tifa makes no effort to move first.]
Didn't even get to find out how the story ends.
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[ And it doesn't feel right, really, to end it like this. It doesn't feel like this should be where it goes, because Tifa had been right on the edge of saying something to him, had been trying to muster it past her own lips, and he would have waited all night there, seated on an unmoving plastic chocobo, would have given her the whole night if she had needed it to say what she felt. Once again, it feels like he's made a mistake somewhere: like maybe if he hadn't fumbled so much, maybe if he had picked up on the whole game of it quicker, maybe it would have made a difference.
As it is, now, he doesn't want to embarrass Tifa by having her hang around on him, seated in his lap, when one of the staff will surely come along to shoo them off--so he clears his throat and nods, committed to the task of at least helping her down. He steadies his arm around her, carefully, before he slides back on the bird; it's easy enough to drop down onto his feet on the platform, and then it's easier still to come for Tifa with both hands, to take her by the waist and simply pluck her off the mount as though she weighs nothing at all.
When he places her down on her feet, again, he realizes how--silly that must have been, to not even ask if she needed help and to simply do it for her. He can feel his neck get hot, a faint pink color of embarrassment warming the shells of his ears. ]
Come on. I think we have to go this way.
[ And is he overthinking it, again? Carefully, he reaches for one of Tifa's hands--he takes it gently, holds it with his own and uses it almost as an excuse to guide her behind him, making their way off the ride and out along the barrier to the exit. People are watching them, but it's the way that people watch anyone who moves past them; still, he feels embarrassed, like he's not meant to be seen with someone as pretty as Tifa.
At the exit, he gently guides her in front of him--and lets go of her hand, to allow her to move through it first. ]
Any idea where you want to go next? [ --is mumbled, lowly, where he's nearly at her back as they walk. ] I'm sure we'll find your true love again.
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Until it isn't, and her fingers feel noticeably colder when they slip away.
Rather than grab for it again, she chooses to walk along with the crowd to stay out of their way. Fortunately, they were some of the last off the carousel and are bringing up the rear, and it's easy to find a safe enough spot for them to stop, and it's there where his question gives Tifa pause.
She hadn't thought about what would come next. It was her idea to come all the way out here, and with so much to do, there's no shortage of fun activities for them, but her mind still whites out and draws a rare, brief blank. It's still reeling from the interruption, and she feels as if her entire groove (or what little of it she had to begin with) is thrown off balance, that sweet, blissful exchange cut too short by the inconvenient timing of the ride... It takes her back to a time years ago, when she had hesitated on that gondola ride, and she wonders—if she hadn't, would they be here today? Would it have been awkward, or would she have hesitated to say the words that have been on the very tip of her tongue since then?
After everything, she has no reason to be afraid, so why is this so hard for her? For them? She can sense the same disappointment in the way Cloud carries himself now, too.
And so, she reaches across to take his hand in hers again, not simply because it will buy her an extra second of time, but because in that silence, she realized how much she misses it, and how much she prefers to have it than to be free to roam about on her own. She holds it casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as she gazes around first, before throwing him a demure glance.]
... I wonder if we'll find him in the arcade.
[Maybe something more active will take their minds off their blunder and set them back on course?]
You up for some games?
[She hopes so, because Tifa is already dragging him in their direction, towards the blinking lights that aptly spell out "A R C A D E" up ahead.]
I remember you were really good at that snowboarding one.
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For a moment, his gaze goes down to their hands--but he's afraid that if he draws too much attention to it, she might wrench it back. He hangs his hand there loosely, instead. ]
The arcade sounds good. [ --is what he manages to get out before Tifa is simply dragging them in that direction anyway. With a bit of a playful grimace, he takes a couple double-steps to catch up with her, walking at her side instead of stretching their arms out by the distance. He can remember the last time they were here fairly clearly; Tifa even brings it up, which earns a groan. ]
...Don't joke around. I fell off that three times.
[ --which had been its own heavy cross of embarrassment to bear. ]
After you.
[ He stays at her back, their hands still linked, as he lets her in ahead of him--immediately, there's the loud sound of the various game machines, all the beeping and all the music offset enough from each other to make a loud cacophony. He winces, slightly, but it's not too much of a bother--before, the arcade section had been some small thing, but now they've clearly expanded it to include more machines and different types of games. Carefully, he scans the perimeter--a couple brushes past them, and he moves closer to Tifa's back to allow them to exit.
Pressing his lips together, he nudges at Tifa's shoulder. ]
How about there? [ It is not, gratefully, the snowboarding game: it looks to be some kind of horror game, the sort where the players sit inside a shrouded, vehicle-shaped console, and use the plastic guns inside. ] No one seems to be using it.
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It's a memory that she can recall as if it had happened only yesterday. After everything that they had been through, it was that night of respite that she looks back on fondly.
Rather than look around the arcade herself, she finds that she's watching Cloud over her shoulder instead, and as his gaze roams around the arcade, she's mesmerized by how the blinking neon lights twinkle to heighten and highlight the green streaks within the blue of his eyes. It's such a small, simple thing, but she's always loved how bright and blue they are, bursting with colour.
It's the nudge to her shoulder that tumbles her back to the entrance of the arcade, and she darts her gaze forward, lips parting in silent surprise when she spots it. The fact that he's taking the initiative to choose one at all is surprising, yes, but it's the warm feeling that spreads from her chest up to rosy her cheeks that gets her most. Elation? Contentment? He's still trying, and she isn't going to waste a second to let him know just how excited she is about it.
Tifa takes the lead again, leading and weaving him through. She only appraises it for a beat before she climbs into the truck-shaped vehicle, and when Cloud joins her, she scoots over towards him. Even if the bench is long enough to comfortably fit at least one more body, she gets comfortable where her knees and shoulders touch his.]
You know how to shoot a gun?
[Picking up the red one, she aims it at the black screen in front of them but shoots her coy look to Cloud.]
Haven't tried myself, so I might need you to show me.
[As if this is anything close to a real one. She knows that they're uncomplicated, made of cheap plastic, but she's going to take this zombie (or is it ghost?) hunting game very seriously, she's decided.]
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With a glance, he looks at the interior of the game console, hidden behind a half of a curtain; Tifa ducks inside and makes herself comfortable, and warily, he follows in after her.
The bench is wide, surely comfortable enough for two people, but Tifa's hip presses up against his, the line of her leg mapped out with the line of his own, and when their knees touch, he feels his stomach flip, a strange, nervous churning that makes him want to move away. Any other time, and he would--it's polite to have space between them, but more than that, he wants Tifa to be comfortable, yet something in him says that it would be stupid to move away, and he doesn't. Their legs rub together and he looks at the screen, reading the game title with a face that says it's absolutely absurd: Midgar Mako Monsters, with some opening introduction video of strange oozing zombie-creatures, all in dated SOLDIER garb. His eyes roll over to Tifa.
There's a faint, tight-lipped smile on his face: ] They taught us all how to use them. At least I think they did. Back in Third Class.
[ His memories of that time are still--hazy, but ridiculously, his body knows what to do. He palms up the blue gun and tilts it in Tifa's direction, smoothing one of his fingers along the top of it to show her where the sight is. ]
Just try to line this up the best you can, and keep your hand steady. [ Surprisingly, there's a bit of amusement in his voice, as he tilts his head towards her, the end of his gun knocking almost playfully with hers. ] Luckily there's no kickback on the plastic models.
[ One of his hands goes down, feeling for the coin slot in front of them--then it's just a matter of paying for the both of them, and the game screen comes to life; the bench vibrates, a blast of cool air and loud, overbearing horror music coming from the devices above them in the console. There appears to be some sort of 'story' to the game, however silly--something about the mako reactors leaking into the piping of the Shinra building, infecting all the SOLDIERs there and turning them into zombie-like creatures; surprisingly, it doesn't bother him. It's not like he doesn't know what the mako makes him, anyway, and something like this--well, it isn't too far from what had happened anyway, in the end.
Still, Tifa will likely worry--he offers her a faint, sidelong smile. ]
Get ready. Here we go.
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[Tifa studies him, watches as his fingers coil around the gun, and she mimics his instructions and movements one by one. Finger on the trigger, lifting to aim—she probably has horrendous trigger discipline, never having held one in her life, and while it is just a silly game with sillier plastic guns that could break if she held them too tight, the idea of impressing and surprising Cloud with even a grain of skill in this game is what motivates her. Not that she has anything left to prove to him, but she'll do whatever she can to get one of those cheeky grins out of him. And as she lets the back of her hand graze his when he bumps the ends of their guns together, she's thankful for the washed-out colours on the screen as the game whirrs to life that mask the redness blossoming across her cheeks.
Diligently, she tries to listen to the speech, to the voice that sounds like it's trying too hard to be like the late President Shinra's, as he explains the purpose of the game. It's almost immediate, that twisting in her stomach; that sinking feeling that maybe this is a bad idea when it goes on about the mako leaks, and it transforming the people inside into "monsters". Just as he imagined it would, it hits a close to home that Tifa does worry, but when she casts that inevitable sideways glance of concern to Cloud, she sees that smile of his—although faint, it's still as bright as ever in her eyes—and it puts her at ease.
Once again, he proves how patient and how willing he is.
So, she lifts the barrel of the gun to eye level on his go, and as the truck's engine roars in the speakers surrounding them, the truck jerks, and it sends her reeling back on the bench, surprised, as it spits them out on the streets of Midgar—or what used to be Midgar—with Shinra's tower as the backdrop. Sirens blare, and spotlights bear down on the city as its low-poly citizens scream and run in that stiff way old video games tend to do as they run for their lives.
She can already feel her heartbeat quicken with anxiety and anticipation. Tifa is, admittedly, a bit of a scaredy-cat when it comes to the horror genre, jump-scares especially. Cloud will feel her move an inch closer, with the tension coiling up in every one of her muscles, with her knuckles turning white under her hold on the gun's grip.
It should have been expected. She should have seen it coming. Their very first zombie leaps out in front of the screen with a hiss with a speed uncharacteristic for being dead, and rather than shoot it, Tifa's shriek echoes through the console, and a hand drops from the gun to grab onto Cloud instead.]
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The monsters don't bother him, and admitting to himself that he nearly became exactly like the things that slither across the screen in the opening video just makes him shake his head. As always, it's easy enough to compartmentalize when he has other things to worry about; in fact, it's the sight of Midgar and the Shinra building that affects him more than the comparison of mako-zombies to the mako-drenched SOLDIERs that Shinra made themselves. It's been a long time: mostly those images live only in his memory, knitted together with all of their travels and the faces of all of their friends, and sometimes, looking at Edge, it feels like some sort of uncanny half-hearted reproduction, as though bits and pieces of Midgar remain, but twisted and changed out of proportion.
He's distracted enough that he doesn't realize how close Tifa is, and when the game finally gives up the ghost and a zombie leaps into the corner of the screen, he aims his plastic gun at it--but Tifa collides with him, shrieking, and he's distracted. There's the sound of its wailing call as it hits both sides of their screen; the health meters in the corner go down.
With an almost laugh, cursing under his breath, Cloud shoots at one zombie--and then the next one. Carefully, and wordlessly, he wraps his arm across Tifa's shoulders, pulling her in succinctly to his side. ]
Don't think I can take them all out alone. [ --is he actually making a joke? It feels like in the relative darkness of the little cabin of the game, he's capable of things that would otherwise make him cringe out in the daylight. Protecting Tifa is something that comes so naturally that he hardly thinks on it; keeping an arm around her to hold her out of danger is practically instinct. ] We've got this. Grab your gun.
kicks down the door!!! sorry for the delay 🥺💞
no worries!! 💞
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slides back into your inbox... i'm so sorry for taking eternity 😭
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