[ It's embarrassing, really, how easily his body reacts to her, how something as simple as a hand on his thigh means that all the muscles in it contract, tensing and twitching up through the rest of him until it settles in his stomach. He's used to the flutters, being around Tifa, but this feels like something different: different from sleeping under the stars with her, when they'd been on their bid to save the world, different from slumping over onto each other in exhaustion on the Highwind, or tucked together in an inn room too small for them and the rest of their crew. Her warmth bleeds in against his side and robs him of the will to say anything; too many words, and Tifa might move away.
His hand, twitching, grips over the seat of the gondola. She's trying so hard, too, and he should at least be meeting her halfway, shouldn't he? Forcing himself to talk is one thing, something that he hasn't done in such a long time, with the way their lives have turned out; being physically present with her is something else entirely. Usually he's a half a world away, trapped in his own memories, too subdued to really force himself to recognize what's happening around him.
His fingers curl into a fist and then, patient, flex back out again, before he lets his arm slide down.
There isn't much room there, between Tifa's back and the back of the seat, so it's awkward, but when his fingers ghost against her slender waist, he knows he's done something, finally, put some effort forward into it all; with a careful squeeze, he encourages her in closer to his side, keeping his eyes trained pointedly on the lights and sights outside. He doesn't want to look at her expression; he isn't sure what he'd find there. ]
...A good date spot. Or whatever.
[ He's trying, okay.
His lips curl up, deprecating and almost playful, but he finally wills himself to look down at her: ]
Better than trying to take a girl out to her own bar. Guess I could stand to learn a few things. [ And then, looking away just as quick-- ] For the next date, anyway.
[Tifa feels his hand shift and she moves—only slightly—to allow him some space. To silently encourage him to reach out to her the way she's been wishing he would for... years. Since the day of their reunion on that train platform one fateful, rainy night. Since that night at the water tower in a faded memory, when she had looked at him and realized in that moment what she wanted. Almost ten years is a long time, and even now, she has to recall how to breathe when his fingers squeeze her hip.
It could be instinct that makes her slide closer—as close as she can get without pressing him right up against the side of the gondola, but close enough that she feels his warmth immediately wrap around to envelop her, a wave of heat descending over her skin with it. It's such a small, cramped space made even tinier by their closeness, and she swears that if she isn't careful, she might just spontaneously combust on the spot.
Tifa lets her eyes move to sneak a glance at him as he keeps his own out the window, and it isn't until he speaks that she remembers she's staring, or that her thumb is digging into the inner side of his leg, and she tries to pull her gaze away in time, but he's already looking at her. The pulsing rings of green in his eyes and that crooked, boyish smile of his captures Tifa, holds her captive until he steals them away again, leaving her to flutter her lashes up at him in surprise at what he has to say.]
... Next date?
[As if this is brand new news to her, which shouldn't be surprising given the direction this one seems to be going in, but it's hard to mask it, even as that initial surprise fades into a smile.]
What sort of spots do you have in mind? [Quickly, she adds:] I wouldn't say no to Seventh Heaven, you know.
[Cloud could take her anywhere and she's sure that she would be just as happy, but she doesn't think a night in would be so bad, either.]
[ Tifa's fingers are pressing so hard into his leg that he wonders, briefly, if he said something that he shouldn't have--she sounds so surprised, repeating his words back at him, that he's forced to look at them, examine them as though worried he might have actually spoken out of turn. In some ways, maybe it isn't fair of him to assume that he would get another shot at this: maybe it isn't fair for him to declare himself a spot in her schedule, to elbow his way further into her life when all he's done so far by being a part of it is let her down. But she's been so keen to keep going, so kind to him the whole night, that he thinks maybe it's okay, at least this time--maybe, even if it's just for his sake, she's willing to go along with it.
There's a faint swallow, his throat bobbing with it, but faced with the questions, he isn't sure what to say. There had been plenty of places he'd seen, in their travels, thinking idly that being alone with Tifa at them, instead of surrounded by their friends, would have made for a good time; there had been beautiful places, quiet places, places that he'd seen Tifa smile at that he thinks maybe she would have enjoyed, too. There are, of course, places that he'll never return to, and places that he knows she'd never ask him to: he isn't particularly keen about returning to Mideel so soon, and of course, places that remind him of the Ancients are out of the question, no matter their lonely beauty.
So, it's with a faint, heartful sort of chuckle that he admits: ] I'd just like somewhere we can be alone, I think.
[ And that might be too much for a second date, and that might be admitting too much; wistfully, his gaze continues to focus on the lights past the window, wondering. ]
Especially if...If we can't find a way to... [ It's not the sort of thing to talk about on a date, no matter the validity--he swallows again, finds his hand is gripping Tifa's side just as much as her hand clutched at his leg. ] I want to take you somewhere you don't...feel like you have to work, too.
[ There's a hint of humor in his voice. ] But if you want it to be Seventh Heaven, then you're going to have to let me be the one behind the bar.
[She can see the gears turning in his head, and the cords in his neck strain when he swallows past his thoughts. Years spent at his side, Tifa knows when he's walking himself through something and working to come up with what to say to her—he's done it countless times tonight alone. She never quite understood why he does it; there's nothing he could say that would upset her, but Tifa never questions it. She's patient, as always, and waits for him to sort it out.
And when he finally does, her heart soars, leaping up into her throat until she feels she might accidentally spit out any one of the hundreds of butterflies that are sent into a frenzy in the pit of her stomach. Immediately, she recalls the last night they had been alone together, up north when she had insisted she join him on a delivery just so she could spend more time with him. She missed him, and deep down somewhere in the depths of her desires, she hoped it would turn into a "date", but it never felt that way. It was just another job still, and Tifa was there for the ride.
This, on the other hand...
She draws herself out of that with a sharp intake of breath, and a different sort of flush in her face as she echoes his laugh.]
Think you got what it takes, huh? Remind me to put you to the test anyway.
[Regardless of what they call it, and honestly? Even if it weren't a date, she's eager now to see what Cloud could do behind the bar. What he's learned from her over the years of running the place together. She tries to imagine it, and it stirs a heartfelt giggle from her that she buries behind a hand and her hair as it tumbles over across her shoulder and in front of her face.
It dies away, fades into a sigh again, and the rubies in her eyes glimmer with newly sparked anticipation as they look around at the four walls of the gondola that surround them, and as she listens to the distant noises of the Gold Saucer below.
Alone... Is that really what he wants?
Eventually, her eyes will connect with his again as they wander back, but she can't quite bring herself to look directly into them as she shifts in the seat at his side.]
[ There's a distinct memory he has, sitting alone in the bar, back where it had been originally--before the tragedy of the plate fall, before any of that, when he'd been convinced of his own stupid pride and his own stupid ability, something he had stolen from Zack, something that didn't even belong to him at all. Tifa had been behind the bar, mixing him up a drink, twisting and moving the shaker around like it had been an art, or some kind of dance; he'd been enamored with her then, just as he's enamored with her now, but the movements and the ratios and all the tiny little things that go into making a good drink had never been lost on him. It's something fun, he thinks, and that may be why she enjoys it: creating something beautiful, just like the ruby drink she had poured out for him, one that reminded him distinctly of her eyes. He wants to be able to instill that sort of feeling in her, too; he wants her to sit with her chin in her hands, enjoying being served instead of always looking out for someone else.
It's a tall order, though, and he's long since drained himself of all that feigned confidence, all that boasting of skills that didn't even belong to him, in the end. In some ways, it's like he'd been drunk before, lost in fabricated memories that told a story that wasn't real; now, he's sobered up to the reality of his own shortcomings, though at times he still just wants to run away from them. Just like the stigma that throbs in his arm from time to time--it's a constant reminder of how little he's really managed to accomplish in life at all.
For Tifa, though, he'll try it--for Tifa, he'll bury himself in drink recipes and cocktails just to make her smile.
When her eyes connect with his again, one of his brows lifts in question. She's right, though: they are alone, and with another swallow, he falters, unsure of how to act. There aren't any kids waiting outside to bang on the doors and force them to leave, no helpful friends around to nag or nudge at him or embarrass him with stories. There isn't the risk of danger, or anything looming on the horizon but the lights of the Gold Saucer, almost hopeful in the way they twinkle in earnest. It's his chance, perfect and laid out for him--and, as always, he hesitates, as though uncertain that it's real.
His free hand stretches, moves almost timidly to touch at her cheek--it feels so stupid, the slow way he runs his thumb along her jaw, but the way his breath catches as he leans in is even stupider; his eyes close immediately, and he uses the brush of their noses to find her mouth with his, kissing her softly, gently, as though sure that she'll pull away. ]
[She feels silly the moment that she says it, sillier still when he moves, only because she isn't sure what she meant by it now that it's all happening. It feels too surreal, and perhaps that's the part that makes those words seem so trivial. The fact that they even need to be alone at all to share this with each other, after all these years—anyone else might look at them and scoff. She can hear Cid and Yuffie teasing them, Barret asking what took so long, and Vincent might simply roll his eyes. After all this, and all Tifa had to say was "we're alone" for it all to become real.
For her dreams to come crashing into her all at once—the same ones she's held onto since she was just a girl on top of a water tower.
They've been through too much not to, and she's silently scolding herself for waiting for too long.
But those thoughts are shoved away by the brush of his thumb along her jaw, and the sound of his breath catching like it's music to her ears. She freezes, like she's afraid that anything else will ruin this moment, that she'll awaken from all of this to find herself back in her bed in Edge with Cloud sound asleep next to her. Everything goes still except for the light flutter of her lashes and the even lighter brush of their noses.
It isn't as if this is the first time they've ever shared an intimate moment together. There were kisses on the cheek, the touches of their hands behind the bar, the lingering stares, and even quiet words exchanged in the dead of night... but this is new, unexplored territory for both of them. Sure, there might have been one in the booth, but this one... this is for real, with nothing to interrupt, no prying eyes, no kids to come bursting through the door...
Just Tifa, Cloud, and the twinkling lights outside.
She meets him halfway, her lips parting ever so slightly with eager anticipation, and her own breath catches in the moments before they touch, and it's so much sweeter than she could have ever imagined. For all the mako that pulses through his veins, for all the strength behind the man in front of her, he's careful. Gentle... His lips so surprisingly soft, more than she imagined, in the hundred times she went over how this first might go in her head.
Tifa's are tentative and shy and testing. She tips her head just so to press them a little more firmly to his, and her stomach gives a flutter, and her heart feels like it might soar, kept tethered in place only by the reticence in her movements. At some point through it all, she doesn't realize her hand has found his shoulder, her fingers digging lightly into his muscles as she clutches to him like she's afraid she might float away in this sudden, warm wave of bliss.
It's only with a smile that he'll be able to feel, and a breathy, happy laugh that she pulls away, but she maintains the closeness they've found.]
...
.... Cloud?
[She doesn't even know why she's saying his name, asking like it's a question, but it's like she's searching for something—a confirmation that this is really, truly what he wants.]
[ It isn't the way he expects it to go, either: mostly because he hadn't expected it would ever go at all.
How much of that is true, and how much of that is still rooted in the insecure wonderings of a boy hoping to make something of himself, hoping to be the sort of hero that a beautiful girl deserved? How much of that is his own ego, dragging him back, clawing him away from the one person he's wanted so badly, the one person that he's wanted to press himself up against in the darkest of moments? And how much of it is the stigma, burning beneath his sleeve, reminding him that he only has so long left to wonder these things?
Tifa's lips are soft, and warm, just like her skin: carefully, his thumb gives way to his fingertips, which gives way to the palm of his hand, and he cradles her jaw, there, slides down to take the side of her neck, underneath the curtain of her hair. For a long moment, there's only the kiss to think about, and the way it pulses blood through his body in a way that's both embarrassing and envigorating; it feels like so much time passes, and yet no time passes at all, and by the time that Tifa draws back, slightly, he can feel the shadow of her smile against his lips, even without it there.
He clears his throat, a little--it creaks, sounds a little rusty, and with a slight, embarrassed apology, his hand slides, drops down and folds itself, shyly, into her lap instead. ]
Yeah. [ It's the answer to her question: the way she always says his name, like she's wondering if he's truly there. Gently, he supplements it: ] It's just me. Just me, here.
[ Does that make it better, or worse? When he finally opens his eyes, there's Tifa's beautiful face, there, framed by the lights outside--and his chin ducks, embarrassed of the heat on his cheeks. ]
...Better than I expected. [ --is what he finally says, and there's just the faintest hint of a crooked smile, as he finally wills his blue-green gaze up to meet hers. ] Wow.
[Cloud's blues connect with hers, only for a second, but it's all Tifa needs to feel like she's succumbing to that clear, cerulean ocean tide that violently crashes into her. Like she's close to sinking deeper into it, and for once, she wouldn't mind. It's a lot to take in—all the little things he doesn't say in the way he looks at her, smiles for her, in the glistening of the fireworks in his eyes when they erupt outside their gondola for the first time that night...
And then everything that he does say out loud.
She's barely had the chance to catch her breath by the time he provokes a laugh out of her—or an amused huff that will tickle his face, and her hand fumbles away from his shoulder, falling to bump against his where it sits folded on her lap. Manicured nails glide ever so lightly over his wrist, across the exposed skin of his arm that slips out from beneath the sleeve hiding the stigma before she curls it over his, tight, as everything she's feeling coils up in the tips of her fingers.
Everything she's pent up for so, so many years. Her affection, anticipation, eagerness, all the things she was too shy or too afraid to tell him. It's hard not to let it all spill out of her now. Difficult to not lay them all out on the table, and to lay herself out bare for him to read at last, if only so that he could know with certainty that he's always had her attention but they've come this far. She doesn't want to scare him away now.
Tifa is blushing, though she's sure she's never stopped, but the way the lights, dim as they are, shine on them, she knows that it's painfully obvious because as she peers up at Cloud from beneath long, dark lashes, she sees that his cheeks have coloured to a pinkish hue too, mixed with the blues and greens of the fireworks bursting outside the gondola's window.]
... Wow to you, too.
[How many times has he left Tifa at a loss for words tonight? How many more will he, she muses to herself as she bites down, stopping her smile from spreading too wide. She's tipping her head again and brushing her lips over his, and it's far too tempting now that she's had a taste, but she's testing—wanting to see how far she can push before one of them shies away from it.]
[ There's a part of him that hopes she doesn't actually want an answer to that question--because his answer would be the least flattering picture of himself, and the last thing he wants to do now is draw Tifa in to focus on his flaws. He should, though, shouldn't he? If anything, he should be proving to her why she shouldn't take this risk with him, why she should be with someone safer, for her, someone more capable of taking care of her. He doesn't know how much longer he'll have: long enough to get some things right, he imagines, and while Tifa's certainty of finding some way to stop the stigma is unwavering enough that he's tempted to believe it, it still doesn't feel quite real to think that in all this time, all he had to do was lean in to touch her gently and bring their lips together in a firm, undaunted kiss. Surely it hadn't always been that easy. Surely he hadn't just been an absolute idiot this whole time--
A part of him wants to wince at the idea of himself. He'd always been so foolish, so determined that he could never be what was right for her, that he could never be enough, and that watching over her, even from a distance--or from behind the foggy helmet of a Third Class lackey uniform--would be enough to satisfy him, just enough to where he might feel he deserved it. To have Tifa's hand touch his, soft and sure, and to have her lips come in for another soft kiss, gentle, almost languid: it's surreal, like he can't quite believe that they've come to this point despite everything.
It makes his chest ache. The fireworks outside the gondola are beautiful, but Tifa is so beautiful it feels like his heart might break just looking at her. Careful, his mouth meets her in a third kiss, and then, testing his luck, a fourth, soft and slow, drawing back just enough to bow his head between them, their foreheads nearly brushing up against each other. ]
...Because I'm an idiot. [ He says it with a deep, almost playfully sullen breath; he can imagine Zack ruffling his hair and saying the exact same thing, affectionately. ] I'm sorry.
[ And more than that--he's sorry for what happened, sorry for the pain, sorry for everything he caused to the one person he never wanted to hurt. ]
In any case, we... I know the ride'll be over soon, but...
[ --but it's hard to move apart from her, and gently, in her lap, his hand curves over hers, his thumb running carefully over her fingers, holding them like they're precious. ]
[Those third and fourth kisses... They do nothing but make her wish and search for more.
She always wondered, thought about, dreamt of what it would be like to kiss Cloud Strife—that boy who has held her heart for years, who she's always wished to reach out for but never thought she could. Since the rainy day in Midgar, it had been a thought that burned in the back of her mind. Now, here she is, sharing several as he peppers her sweetly with them, and it's leagues better than what her imagination could ever hope to come up with. His lips are so surprisingly soft, his kisses so astonishingly gentle and careful, like he's afraid he might break her—so much that each time he takes another from her, she feels she might melt away right in his arms...
So when he edges his lips away to answer her before she can still a fifth kiss, she's left feeling a twinge of frustration. Hypothetical or not, of course he would answer. Silly boy, she thinks, as her lips gently touch against his cheek, finding the corner of his lips to press to while she shakes her head at him.]
You're not.
[Tifa would never think of him that way, and she would nudge him for it if her hands weren't so busy weaving her fingers through his with the intention of never letting them go.
But his reminder is a painful one, and her frustration makes way for disappointment. Soon, they'll be forced to leave this little world in the sky they've made for themselves. Soon, she'll have to leave the close company of his warmth that she's grown so comfortable wrapped up in. She can already feel their descent back to the ground, and Tifa wishes she could wish on the fireworks to make this last just a little bit longer...
When she leans back from him, it's with the hope to catch his gaze, and she nudges him with a soft but encouraging voice.]
... But what, Cloud?
[Pleading with him to say what it is he means to say before they're forced to leave. Hoping that he's thinking the same thing that she is...]
[ Cowardice is a friend that he is familiar with, one that begs for him to stop talking and simply sit, in silence, waiting for the ride to finish. Perhaps it's not so much cowardice as the desire for self-preservation; there are so many things that he could say, and so many things that he could ask for, and yet they're so terrifying that it may be better not to ask them at all. How awkward would it be if he wanted something Tifa herself didn't want, and then he made a fool out of himself, asking for it to begin with? Out of shame, he would likely have to move, so as not to be a burden to Tifa; she would feel sorry for him, with her warm heart, and then he would have really messed things up. Denzel and Marlene would be caught in the crossfire, and all because of a stupid thing he said with stupid intentions.
But Tifa's voice sounds--almost frightened, in a way, like she wants so badly to encourage him to say whatever it is that she isn't certain he'll get it out before the ride touches the ground again. Swallowing, he settles his gaze in on their hands; Tifa's fingers wind around his tightly, as though she doesn't want to separate anymore than he does, and the fear and cowardice and worry that she won't want the same things that he wants seems to all melt away into the touch. She kissed him back, after all. Why would she do all that just for nothing?
With a breathless laugh at himself, frustrated, one of his hands lifts from Tifa's, if only to briefly pinch the bridge of his nose. ]
Sorry, I'm just... I feel like an idiot.
[ At least he has the courage to admit it. With another wry smile, he lets his hand drop back down; still, he won't quite lift his chin to look at Tifa, as though that much might knit his lips shut for good. ]
But would... If it would be...Do you think it'd be okay... Or, I mean. [ Get it together, Cloudy! ] Do you want to go on another date? With me?
We could be... [ His throat gives out, dry and painful, and he swallows again. ] Dating. If that's alright with you.
[She's patient as ever—that boundless ocean of it knows no limit with Cloud, and so she listens with a gentle, unwavering smile that accompanies that curiosity that has her eyes shimmering a vibrant red. Whatever he wants to say, it's both important and a touch awkward, which is why she encourages him with a silent squeeze of their fingers together. A signal that no matter what it is that he wants to say to her, it's not going to push her away or change her mind on a decision she had made long, long ago.
And now he's finally saying it, like he's read her mind. He's asking her the thing that she hoped for as she climbed up the water tower with trembling hands and a pang of hope in her heart ten years ago.
Another date. Dating. Like a real couple.
Sure, they share a roof, they are raising Marlene and Denzel together, and have gone through the motions before, but giving it a name was their next big step that both had been too afraid to pursue.
Yet, for all the millions of times she's dreamt of this moment, Tifa feels woefully unprepared for him actually asking her. He stumbles through his words, and she wishes she could be a steadier presence for him, to offer some stability for them both to stand on while they work through this quiet, private moment together, but with each word that spills out of Cloud's mouth, she feels the colour in her cheeks brighten, and like she might swallow her tongue if she dares try to speak, or like she might spontaneously combust if she dares to meet his eyes.
Maybe it's a good thing that he can't either.]
You mean like... [Boyfriend and girlfriend? It's what she wants to ask, but those words dry out in her throat.] I... I mean... I'd... really like that.
[There's a sudden lurch of the gondola that breaks Tifa from the spinning in her head, and she peels her gaze from their hands to the windows, and she can see them approaching the ground.
... Right. It's almost over. Her heart twists around itself with disappointment, and she suddenly feels the need to say everything all at once.]
Cloud... [His name is more breath than voice when she says it, and now she feels like she might burst into flames.] Can we... Can we go back to our room...?
[ It reminds him of how things used to be, the way that thoughts and visions and pictures would fly through his mind, twisting up memories and confusing them with others. The headaches would drill a hole through his skull and then he'd be somewhere else, and then back in the place where he started, everything would be different. In the same way, he imagines the gentle way that Tifa would squeeze his hand and turn him down; he's waiting for it, his breath baited between clenched teeth, spiraling into the thoughts and plans of how he would even politely react to such a thing, how he would maintain their friendship, how he would try his best not to do the thing he always does, and run away. It's so distracting that he almost doesn't realize what she says.
And what she says--that isn't what he expected, at all. She's agreeing to it, almost like it's something she's wanted to, something she's been waiting for him to say, and all the breath rushes out of him, his head dizzy with disbelief. How could it have been so easy, all this time? Just like the kiss that he'd always been afraid to take, just like her hand that he'd been afraid to twine his fingers with: despite his stupid words and stupid methods, she actually wants to do it. A part of him wants to laugh, and even a part of him would cry, if he were the same kid from years ago--but he squeezes her hand, and the smile on his lips is hard to fade.
--Until, of course, she speaks up again. His chin lifts, eyes that swim with a slight twinge of worry to them; is she feeling unwell? Too many rides? Tifa's always been so strong to him that he doesn't think she'd struggle with anything like that, but-- ]
Yeah...Yeah, of course. [ Another gentle squeeze to her hand. ] Looks like we're here, anyway.
[ The gondola is swinging down to the platform again, and the staff open the doors--carefully, Cloud ducks his head and steps out ahead of her only so that he can use their joined arms to keep Tifa steady as she exits, reaffirming that her feet are firmly on the ground before he loosens his grip, as though to allow her to break free from his hand if needed.
There's a nod forward, towards the winding path that will lead them down to the inn. ]
[Tifa's bottom lip catches between her teeth. The way he always worries about her like this is sweet—she can take care of herself just as well, but when he looks at her that way, or when he becomes so careful with her, as if she were the most fragile glass flower in the world, it makes her heart swell and flutter in her chest. Even if he won't say it, she can see it... She can sense it the same way she could anticipate his movements when the two of them were sealed in battle side by side.
After all these years, not much has changed.
So, when she feels his grip loosen, she takes it upon herself to tighten her own, carefully weaving her small fingers into the warmth of his, threading them together so that she's locked to him, and him to her before they start back the way they came.
And at his first step, she laughs and quietly teases him.]
... Not fast enough.
[The crowds do wonders to mask the thundering of Tifa's heart in her own head, but she can't help but wonder if Cloud can hear it with his enhanced senses. She isn't even sure why it's so, or why she asked to go back in the first place. There's still so much to do around the Gold Saucer, all these new attractions that weren't here last time that she had made plans to see, and that she looked forward to seeing! But those desires are far eclipsed by the single one that surges new inside her—the same one that has her walking right up at his side, and the same one that wishes that all of these people would disappear and leave them all alone because the longer she stays in that pocket of his warmth, the more she yearns to kiss him more. To test and try new things...
And now that she has, she can't bring herself to think about anything else.]
I just... [Her voice is small beside him as they walk.] I'd really like to be alone with you...
[For as long as she can remember—that was all that Tifa Lockhart has ever wanted, and now, she's finally found the courage to say so. Found that courage pressed on his lips like it had been there waiting for her to take all along...]
[ There's an embarrassed wince--a part of him had almost been worried about that. ]
...Sorry. I won't go so slow.
[ It isn't like he means to belittle her, or to mask her own strength, but more that he's worried that maybe all the excitement of the evening has knocked something out of her, or that all the talk up on the gondola has maybe taken too much out of her; it isn't shameful, at least in his eyes, and his own body feels a little like he's been through battle, with all of his uncertainty and nervousness wiped clean, the spot where it had all festered inside of him miraculously empty and raw. In some ways, he feels so light all of a sudden, like so much of his concern and worry has been lifted up with the gondola, far away from him and his thoughts. The lingering fear of what the stigma will do, for now, seems to have been pushed aside; all he feels is Tifa's hand, tightening in his, and it draws a smile.
He's embarrassed to find that he's misread the situation entirely, but that doesn't surprise him, either. For as well as he knows Tifa, and for as good of friends as they are, he knows that her thoughts and feelings about him are definitely a blind spot for his own understanding; he can never quite figure those out correctly, as though always determined to expect the worst. He knows that Tifa is a woman that he doesn't deserve, but if she wants him--he can't very well refuse, can't find it in himself to be a good enough person to do so. As they continue to walk, pitching back up along the slight hill that will take them back to the inn, he finds himself smiling, something stupid and boyish. ]
...Funny. I'd like to be alone with you, too.
[ Because it's been so long, hasn't it? Days like this are usually entangled with their friends, or with the kids, or with the space that he forces between them--it's been so long since they've been alone like this, together for a whole night without any interruptions.
The thought makes his throat a little dry; his heart rabbits up in his chest, and as they approach the main doors, he doesn't detach from Tifa, using only his free hand to pull the door open for her to walk through first. ]
Why don't you head up to the room? I'll be right behind you, promise.
slides back into your inbox... i'm so sorry for taking eternity 😭
[His response earns a light peal of laughter from her—a warm one that spreads from her heart through her chest and straight into her cheeks before it leaves her. The closer they get to the doors, the more her heart begins to feel like it, too, might erupt into a flurry of butterflies maddened by the anticipation of what's to come. Not that she has any presumptions of what could happen, but simply the thought of being alone with Cloud Strife anywhere could make a girl's whole heart explode...
Would make Tifa Lockhart's explode.
So, when he holds open the door for her, she can feel that breath catching in her lungs again, enough to make her gasp out loud—something she had tried so hard not to do just now.
But when he suggests that she go on ahead...
Just as she's about to walk through, she stops, fingers tightening in between his.]
Wait. Are you not coming up with me?
[Had she said something wrong? Did she make him feel something? Maybe doubt, or regret? Was he afraid to be alone with her? Of course she's wracked with nerves—she always is when this sort of opportunity presents itself because it so rarely ever does—but that didn't mean that she didn't want to be alone with him. If anything, it only made her want it more. To be able to be themselves in the silence and privacy of their room, without the sights and sounds of the Saucer, loud and bright and so in the way of their own thoughts. It's easy for them to get drowned out when there are so many different things to focus on.
So, Tifa looks at him with just a touch of confusion in her hopeful eyes.]
[ He can see it in her eyes, the sudden flash of confusion, that shimmer of worry that he sees often there, swimming in the depths of her gaze; she's concerned again, and it's his fault again, and he realizes like an idiot that those words were meant to be more reassuring than he thinks they came out as. Why had he said them at all? He does that so often: saying things without actually explaining them, giving excuses when he should be giving something a little more concrete.
With a soft squeeze of her hand, a gentle reassurance, he shakes his head. ]
Of course I'm coming up with you. I was just...
[ His free hand lifts, a soft, gentle point towards the front desk; there's a couple there clearly checking into their room, and the sound in the lobby is rather quiet other than the warm level of their voices and the occasional screech from one of the decorations hanging above one window. With a sheepish smile, he continues: ]
...thinking of asking if we could get room service sent up. A bottle of...something. Wine.
[ It's embarrassing to have to spell his own plans out, clumsy as they are; he hadn't been thinking that far ahead, more concerned with the immediate first steps of getting Tifa safely up to the room and then beyond, but it makes sense that she would want to know, and that she would be concerned. After all, it's almost like he's turning his back on precisely what he said before.
With a faint shake of his head, he tightens his grip on her hand, giving it another squeeze. ]
I don't mind just coming up with you instead. I just thought since we're on vacation... [ A small, bashful sort of smile. ] ...and we could stand to celebrate a little.
[She thinks she's just felt her heart skip several beats all in a row.
Tifa has always teased Cloud—perhaps sometimes ruthlessly—for how thoughtful and acute he's become to everything she does. She's always thought it cute that he paid so much attention to all of the details, and Tifa tries her best to do the same for him. Even if they may not realize it at times, they know their way around the other so well that it sometimes catches her by surprise... like it has just now.
Wine? Is the first thing that she says, stupidly dumbfounded by it all, like a deer caught in headlights, but it doesn't take long for that surprise to sink in, and for it to soften into an equally timid smile.]
No, it's okay...!
[She wants to reel her question back in and swallow it back up. She feels silly and terrible, like she's just ruined a perfectly good surprise that he had planned for her, but instead, she's quick to correct her course, squeezing his hand in return.]
I'd... I'd really like that.
[Meaning to signal to him wordlessly, Tifa allows her fingers to loosen around his hand.]
I think we should celebrate. It's not often we get to come all the way out here like this.
["Like this" being alone without the kids in tow. She loves Marlene and Denzel with all her heart, but being here with Cloud without having to worry about them has been something she hadn't realized she needed until she finally had it.
Though, the implications of that—her own self-imposed implications—have her heart racing in her chest and her cheeks glowing with colour.]
[ It doesn't worry him, the way that Tifa's fingers loosen--and in a way he's grateful for it, as though it proves once again that she has trust in him, that she's willing to extend herself that far for him. With a soft, careful squeeze, he drops his hand away, almost awkwardly sliding it down into his pocket instead; he worries a little that he might try to walk her back to the room anyway, hand at her back, and that would absolutely ruin both her graciousness with the situation and his own words.
With a small, bashful smile, he nods, indicating that she should go ahead and take the steps back up all the way. ]
Promise I'll be right behind you.
[ And it isn't a difficult promise to make--or keep, either. Even as he makes his way back down into the lobby, the couple ahead of him doesn't take too long to check in, and his conversation with the front desk is brief. There is room service, he finds out, but it's a little expensive; he had been expecting that, of course, and doesn't mind shelling out for the sake of celebration. With the order placed and the promises of the staff to knock and leave the wine outside the door, he hurries back to the staircase.
With a slow breath to calm his nerves, he forces his steps to be more measured--by the time he makes it to their door, he thinks he's mastered the art of looking cool and collected, carefully seeing himself into the room and closing the door, gently, at his back. ]
Tifa? [ He decides it's safer to call out to her before accidentally surprising her in a less positive way; he gently moves to hang his jacket up in the small closet, at least, getting rid of his shoes at the door. ] Don't tell me something in the room gobbled you up.
[ It's wry and almost bemused, as he moves forward further into the room. ] That would be just my luck, you know.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
His hand, twitching, grips over the seat of the gondola. She's trying so hard, too, and he should at least be meeting her halfway, shouldn't he? Forcing himself to talk is one thing, something that he hasn't done in such a long time, with the way their lives have turned out; being physically present with her is something else entirely. Usually he's a half a world away, trapped in his own memories, too subdued to really force himself to recognize what's happening around him.
His fingers curl into a fist and then, patient, flex back out again, before he lets his arm slide down.
There isn't much room there, between Tifa's back and the back of the seat, so it's awkward, but when his fingers ghost against her slender waist, he knows he's done something, finally, put some effort forward into it all; with a careful squeeze, he encourages her in closer to his side, keeping his eyes trained pointedly on the lights and sights outside. He doesn't want to look at her expression; he isn't sure what he'd find there. ]
...A good date spot. Or whatever.
[ He's trying, okay.
His lips curl up, deprecating and almost playful, but he finally wills himself to look down at her: ]
Better than trying to take a girl out to her own bar. Guess I could stand to learn a few things. [ And then, looking away just as quick-- ] For the next date, anyway.
no subject
It could be instinct that makes her slide closer—as close as she can get without pressing him right up against the side of the gondola, but close enough that she feels his warmth immediately wrap around to envelop her, a wave of heat descending over her skin with it. It's such a small, cramped space made even tinier by their closeness, and she swears that if she isn't careful, she might just spontaneously combust on the spot.
Tifa lets her eyes move to sneak a glance at him as he keeps his own out the window, and it isn't until he speaks that she remembers she's staring, or that her thumb is digging into the inner side of his leg, and she tries to pull her gaze away in time, but he's already looking at her. The pulsing rings of green in his eyes and that crooked, boyish smile of his captures Tifa, holds her captive until he steals them away again, leaving her to flutter her lashes up at him in surprise at what he has to say.]
... Next date?
[As if this is brand new news to her, which shouldn't be surprising given the direction this one seems to be going in, but it's hard to mask it, even as that initial surprise fades into a smile.]
What sort of spots do you have in mind? [Quickly, she adds:] I wouldn't say no to Seventh Heaven, you know.
[Cloud could take her anywhere and she's sure that she would be just as happy, but she doesn't think a night in would be so bad, either.]
no subject
There's a faint swallow, his throat bobbing with it, but faced with the questions, he isn't sure what to say. There had been plenty of places he'd seen, in their travels, thinking idly that being alone with Tifa at them, instead of surrounded by their friends, would have made for a good time; there had been beautiful places, quiet places, places that he'd seen Tifa smile at that he thinks maybe she would have enjoyed, too. There are, of course, places that he'll never return to, and places that he knows she'd never ask him to: he isn't particularly keen about returning to Mideel so soon, and of course, places that remind him of the Ancients are out of the question, no matter their lonely beauty.
So, it's with a faint, heartful sort of chuckle that he admits: ] I'd just like somewhere we can be alone, I think.
[ And that might be too much for a second date, and that might be admitting too much; wistfully, his gaze continues to focus on the lights past the window, wondering. ]
Especially if...If we can't find a way to... [ It's not the sort of thing to talk about on a date, no matter the validity--he swallows again, finds his hand is gripping Tifa's side just as much as her hand clutched at his leg. ] I want to take you somewhere you don't...feel like you have to work, too.
[ There's a hint of humor in his voice. ] But if you want it to be Seventh Heaven, then you're going to have to let me be the one behind the bar.
no subject
And when he finally does, her heart soars, leaping up into her throat until she feels she might accidentally spit out any one of the hundreds of butterflies that are sent into a frenzy in the pit of her stomach. Immediately, she recalls the last night they had been alone together, up north when she had insisted she join him on a delivery just so she could spend more time with him. She missed him, and deep down somewhere in the depths of her desires, she hoped it would turn into a "date", but it never felt that way. It was just another job still, and Tifa was there for the ride.
This, on the other hand...
She draws herself out of that with a sharp intake of breath, and a different sort of flush in her face as she echoes his laugh.]
Think you got what it takes, huh? Remind me to put you to the test anyway.
[Regardless of what they call it, and honestly? Even if it weren't a date, she's eager now to see what Cloud could do behind the bar. What he's learned from her over the years of running the place together. She tries to imagine it, and it stirs a heartfelt giggle from her that she buries behind a hand and her hair as it tumbles over across her shoulder and in front of her face.
It dies away, fades into a sigh again, and the rubies in her eyes glimmer with newly sparked anticipation as they look around at the four walls of the gondola that surround them, and as she listens to the distant noises of the Gold Saucer below.
Alone... Is that really what he wants?
Eventually, her eyes will connect with his again as they wander back, but she can't quite bring herself to look directly into them as she shifts in the seat at his side.]
... We're alone now, you know...
no subject
It's a tall order, though, and he's long since drained himself of all that feigned confidence, all that boasting of skills that didn't even belong to him, in the end. In some ways, it's like he'd been drunk before, lost in fabricated memories that told a story that wasn't real; now, he's sobered up to the reality of his own shortcomings, though at times he still just wants to run away from them. Just like the stigma that throbs in his arm from time to time--it's a constant reminder of how little he's really managed to accomplish in life at all.
For Tifa, though, he'll try it--for Tifa, he'll bury himself in drink recipes and cocktails just to make her smile.
When her eyes connect with his again, one of his brows lifts in question. She's right, though: they are alone, and with another swallow, he falters, unsure of how to act. There aren't any kids waiting outside to bang on the doors and force them to leave, no helpful friends around to nag or nudge at him or embarrass him with stories. There isn't the risk of danger, or anything looming on the horizon but the lights of the Gold Saucer, almost hopeful in the way they twinkle in earnest. It's his chance, perfect and laid out for him--and, as always, he hesitates, as though uncertain that it's real.
His free hand stretches, moves almost timidly to touch at her cheek--it feels so stupid, the slow way he runs his thumb along her jaw, but the way his breath catches as he leans in is even stupider; his eyes close immediately, and he uses the brush of their noses to find her mouth with his, kissing her softly, gently, as though sure that she'll pull away. ]
no subject
For her dreams to come crashing into her all at once—the same ones she's held onto since she was just a girl on top of a water tower.
They've been through too much not to, and she's silently scolding herself for waiting for too long.
But those thoughts are shoved away by the brush of his thumb along her jaw, and the sound of his breath catching like it's music to her ears. She freezes, like she's afraid that anything else will ruin this moment, that she'll awaken from all of this to find herself back in her bed in Edge with Cloud sound asleep next to her. Everything goes still except for the light flutter of her lashes and the even lighter brush of their noses.
It isn't as if this is the first time they've ever shared an intimate moment together. There were kisses on the cheek, the touches of their hands behind the bar, the lingering stares, and even quiet words exchanged in the dead of night... but this is new, unexplored territory for both of them. Sure, there might have been one in the booth, but this one... this is for real, with nothing to interrupt, no prying eyes, no kids to come bursting through the door...
Just Tifa, Cloud, and the twinkling lights outside.
She meets him halfway, her lips parting ever so slightly with eager anticipation, and her own breath catches in the moments before they touch, and it's so much sweeter than she could have ever imagined. For all the mako that pulses through his veins, for all the strength behind the man in front of her, he's careful. Gentle... His lips so surprisingly soft, more than she imagined, in the hundred times she went over how this first might go in her head.
Tifa's are tentative and shy and testing. She tips her head just so to press them a little more firmly to his, and her stomach gives a flutter, and her heart feels like it might soar, kept tethered in place only by the reticence in her movements. At some point through it all, she doesn't realize her hand has found his shoulder, her fingers digging lightly into his muscles as she clutches to him like she's afraid she might float away in this sudden, warm wave of bliss.
It's only with a smile that he'll be able to feel, and a breathy, happy laugh that she pulls away, but she maintains the closeness they've found.]
...
.... Cloud?
[She doesn't even know why she's saying his name, asking like it's a question, but it's like she's searching for something—a confirmation that this is really, truly what he wants.]
no subject
How much of that is true, and how much of that is still rooted in the insecure wonderings of a boy hoping to make something of himself, hoping to be the sort of hero that a beautiful girl deserved? How much of that is his own ego, dragging him back, clawing him away from the one person he's wanted so badly, the one person that he's wanted to press himself up against in the darkest of moments? And how much of it is the stigma, burning beneath his sleeve, reminding him that he only has so long left to wonder these things?
Tifa's lips are soft, and warm, just like her skin: carefully, his thumb gives way to his fingertips, which gives way to the palm of his hand, and he cradles her jaw, there, slides down to take the side of her neck, underneath the curtain of her hair. For a long moment, there's only the kiss to think about, and the way it pulses blood through his body in a way that's both embarrassing and envigorating; it feels like so much time passes, and yet no time passes at all, and by the time that Tifa draws back, slightly, he can feel the shadow of her smile against his lips, even without it there.
He clears his throat, a little--it creaks, sounds a little rusty, and with a slight, embarrassed apology, his hand slides, drops down and folds itself, shyly, into her lap instead. ]
Yeah. [ It's the answer to her question: the way she always says his name, like she's wondering if he's truly there. Gently, he supplements it: ] It's just me. Just me, here.
[ Does that make it better, or worse? When he finally opens his eyes, there's Tifa's beautiful face, there, framed by the lights outside--and his chin ducks, embarrassed of the heat on his cheeks. ]
...Better than I expected. [ --is what he finally says, and there's just the faintest hint of a crooked smile, as he finally wills his blue-green gaze up to meet hers. ] Wow.
no subject
And then everything that he does say out loud.
She's barely had the chance to catch her breath by the time he provokes a laugh out of her—or an amused huff that will tickle his face, and her hand fumbles away from his shoulder, falling to bump against his where it sits folded on her lap. Manicured nails glide ever so lightly over his wrist, across the exposed skin of his arm that slips out from beneath the sleeve hiding the stigma before she curls it over his, tight, as everything she's feeling coils up in the tips of her fingers.
Everything she's pent up for so, so many years. Her affection, anticipation, eagerness, all the things she was too shy or too afraid to tell him. It's hard not to let it all spill out of her now. Difficult to not lay them all out on the table, and to lay herself out bare for him to read at last, if only so that he could know with certainty that he's always had her attention but they've come this far. She doesn't want to scare him away now.
Tifa is blushing, though she's sure she's never stopped, but the way the lights, dim as they are, shine on them, she knows that it's painfully obvious because as she peers up at Cloud from beneath long, dark lashes, she sees that his cheeks have coloured to a pinkish hue too, mixed with the blues and greens of the fireworks bursting outside the gondola's window.]
... Wow to you, too.
[How many times has he left Tifa at a loss for words tonight? How many more will he, she muses to herself as she bites down, stopping her smile from spreading too wide. She's tipping her head again and brushing her lips over his, and it's far too tempting now that she's had a taste, but she's testing—wanting to see how far she can push before one of them shies away from it.]
Why did it take us so long?
no subject
A part of him wants to wince at the idea of himself. He'd always been so foolish, so determined that he could never be what was right for her, that he could never be enough, and that watching over her, even from a distance--or from behind the foggy helmet of a Third Class lackey uniform--would be enough to satisfy him, just enough to where he might feel he deserved it. To have Tifa's hand touch his, soft and sure, and to have her lips come in for another soft kiss, gentle, almost languid: it's surreal, like he can't quite believe that they've come to this point despite everything.
It makes his chest ache. The fireworks outside the gondola are beautiful, but Tifa is so beautiful it feels like his heart might break just looking at her. Careful, his mouth meets her in a third kiss, and then, testing his luck, a fourth, soft and slow, drawing back just enough to bow his head between them, their foreheads nearly brushing up against each other. ]
...Because I'm an idiot. [ He says it with a deep, almost playfully sullen breath; he can imagine Zack ruffling his hair and saying the exact same thing, affectionately. ] I'm sorry.
[ And more than that--he's sorry for what happened, sorry for the pain, sorry for everything he caused to the one person he never wanted to hurt. ]
In any case, we... I know the ride'll be over soon, but...
[ --but it's hard to move apart from her, and gently, in her lap, his hand curves over hers, his thumb running carefully over her fingers, holding them like they're precious. ]
no subject
She always wondered, thought about, dreamt of what it would be like to kiss Cloud Strife—that boy who has held her heart for years, who she's always wished to reach out for but never thought she could. Since the rainy day in Midgar, it had been a thought that burned in the back of her mind. Now, here she is, sharing several as he peppers her sweetly with them, and it's leagues better than what her imagination could ever hope to come up with. His lips are so surprisingly soft, his kisses so astonishingly gentle and careful, like he's afraid he might break her—so much that each time he takes another from her, she feels she might melt away right in his arms...
So when he edges his lips away to answer her before she can still a fifth kiss, she's left feeling a twinge of frustration. Hypothetical or not, of course he would answer. Silly boy, she thinks, as her lips gently touch against his cheek, finding the corner of his lips to press to while she shakes her head at him.]
You're not.
[Tifa would never think of him that way, and she would nudge him for it if her hands weren't so busy weaving her fingers through his with the intention of never letting them go.
But his reminder is a painful one, and her frustration makes way for disappointment. Soon, they'll be forced to leave this little world in the sky they've made for themselves. Soon, she'll have to leave the close company of his warmth that she's grown so comfortable wrapped up in. She can already feel their descent back to the ground, and Tifa wishes she could wish on the fireworks to make this last just a little bit longer...
When she leans back from him, it's with the hope to catch his gaze, and she nudges him with a soft but encouraging voice.]
... But what, Cloud?
[Pleading with him to say what it is he means to say before they're forced to leave. Hoping that he's thinking the same thing that she is...]
no subject
But Tifa's voice sounds--almost frightened, in a way, like she wants so badly to encourage him to say whatever it is that she isn't certain he'll get it out before the ride touches the ground again. Swallowing, he settles his gaze in on their hands; Tifa's fingers wind around his tightly, as though she doesn't want to separate anymore than he does, and the fear and cowardice and worry that she won't want the same things that he wants seems to all melt away into the touch. She kissed him back, after all. Why would she do all that just for nothing?
With a breathless laugh at himself, frustrated, one of his hands lifts from Tifa's, if only to briefly pinch the bridge of his nose. ]
Sorry, I'm just... I feel like an idiot.
[ At least he has the courage to admit it. With another wry smile, he lets his hand drop back down; still, he won't quite lift his chin to look at Tifa, as though that much might knit his lips shut for good. ]
But would... If it would be...Do you think it'd be okay... Or, I mean. [ Get it together, Cloudy! ] Do you want to go on another date? With me?
We could be... [ His throat gives out, dry and painful, and he swallows again. ] Dating. If that's alright with you.
no subject
And now he's finally saying it, like he's read her mind. He's asking her the thing that she hoped for as she climbed up the water tower with trembling hands and a pang of hope in her heart ten years ago.
Another date. Dating. Like a real couple.
Sure, they share a roof, they are raising Marlene and Denzel together, and have gone through the motions before, but giving it a name was their next big step that both had been too afraid to pursue.
Yet, for all the millions of times she's dreamt of this moment, Tifa feels woefully unprepared for him actually asking her. He stumbles through his words, and she wishes she could be a steadier presence for him, to offer some stability for them both to stand on while they work through this quiet, private moment together, but with each word that spills out of Cloud's mouth, she feels the colour in her cheeks brighten, and like she might swallow her tongue if she dares try to speak, or like she might spontaneously combust if she dares to meet his eyes.
Maybe it's a good thing that he can't either.]
You mean like... [Boyfriend and girlfriend? It's what she wants to ask, but those words dry out in her throat.] I... I mean... I'd... really like that.
[There's a sudden lurch of the gondola that breaks Tifa from the spinning in her head, and she peels her gaze from their hands to the windows, and she can see them approaching the ground.
... Right. It's almost over. Her heart twists around itself with disappointment, and she suddenly feels the need to say everything all at once.]
Cloud... [His name is more breath than voice when she says it, and now she feels like she might burst into flames.] Can we... Can we go back to our room...?
no subject
And what she says--that isn't what he expected, at all. She's agreeing to it, almost like it's something she's wanted to, something she's been waiting for him to say, and all the breath rushes out of him, his head dizzy with disbelief. How could it have been so easy, all this time? Just like the kiss that he'd always been afraid to take, just like her hand that he'd been afraid to twine his fingers with: despite his stupid words and stupid methods, she actually wants to do it. A part of him wants to laugh, and even a part of him would cry, if he were the same kid from years ago--but he squeezes her hand, and the smile on his lips is hard to fade.
--Until, of course, she speaks up again. His chin lifts, eyes that swim with a slight twinge of worry to them; is she feeling unwell? Too many rides? Tifa's always been so strong to him that he doesn't think she'd struggle with anything like that, but-- ]
Yeah...Yeah, of course. [ Another gentle squeeze to her hand. ] Looks like we're here, anyway.
[ The gondola is swinging down to the platform again, and the staff open the doors--carefully, Cloud ducks his head and steps out ahead of her only so that he can use their joined arms to keep Tifa steady as she exits, reaffirming that her feet are firmly on the ground before he loosens his grip, as though to allow her to break free from his hand if needed.
There's a nod forward, towards the winding path that will lead them down to the inn. ]
Let me know if I'm walking too fast.
no subject
After all these years, not much has changed.
So, when she feels his grip loosen, she takes it upon herself to tighten her own, carefully weaving her small fingers into the warmth of his, threading them together so that she's locked to him, and him to her before they start back the way they came.
And at his first step, she laughs and quietly teases him.]
... Not fast enough.
[The crowds do wonders to mask the thundering of Tifa's heart in her own head, but she can't help but wonder if Cloud can hear it with his enhanced senses. She isn't even sure why it's so, or why she asked to go back in the first place. There's still so much to do around the Gold Saucer, all these new attractions that weren't here last time that she had made plans to see, and that she looked forward to seeing! But those desires are far eclipsed by the single one that surges new inside her—the same one that has her walking right up at his side, and the same one that wishes that all of these people would disappear and leave them all alone because the longer she stays in that pocket of his warmth, the more she yearns to kiss him more. To test and try new things...
And now that she has, she can't bring herself to think about anything else.]
I just... [Her voice is small beside him as they walk.] I'd really like to be alone with you...
[For as long as she can remember—that was all that Tifa Lockhart has ever wanted, and now, she's finally found the courage to say so. Found that courage pressed on his lips like it had been there waiting for her to take all along...]
no subject
...Sorry. I won't go so slow.
[ It isn't like he means to belittle her, or to mask her own strength, but more that he's worried that maybe all the excitement of the evening has knocked something out of her, or that all the talk up on the gondola has maybe taken too much out of her; it isn't shameful, at least in his eyes, and his own body feels a little like he's been through battle, with all of his uncertainty and nervousness wiped clean, the spot where it had all festered inside of him miraculously empty and raw. In some ways, he feels so light all of a sudden, like so much of his concern and worry has been lifted up with the gondola, far away from him and his thoughts. The lingering fear of what the stigma will do, for now, seems to have been pushed aside; all he feels is Tifa's hand, tightening in his, and it draws a smile.
He's embarrassed to find that he's misread the situation entirely, but that doesn't surprise him, either. For as well as he knows Tifa, and for as good of friends as they are, he knows that her thoughts and feelings about him are definitely a blind spot for his own understanding; he can never quite figure those out correctly, as though always determined to expect the worst. He knows that Tifa is a woman that he doesn't deserve, but if she wants him--he can't very well refuse, can't find it in himself to be a good enough person to do so. As they continue to walk, pitching back up along the slight hill that will take them back to the inn, he finds himself smiling, something stupid and boyish. ]
...Funny. I'd like to be alone with you, too.
[ Because it's been so long, hasn't it? Days like this are usually entangled with their friends, or with the kids, or with the space that he forces between them--it's been so long since they've been alone like this, together for a whole night without any interruptions.
The thought makes his throat a little dry; his heart rabbits up in his chest, and as they approach the main doors, he doesn't detach from Tifa, using only his free hand to pull the door open for her to walk through first. ]
Why don't you head up to the room? I'll be right behind you, promise.
slides back into your inbox... i'm so sorry for taking eternity 😭
Would make Tifa Lockhart's explode.
So, when he holds open the door for her, she can feel that breath catching in her lungs again, enough to make her gasp out loud—something she had tried so hard not to do just now.
But when he suggests that she go on ahead...
Just as she's about to walk through, she stops, fingers tightening in between his.]
Wait. Are you not coming up with me?
[Had she said something wrong? Did she make him feel something? Maybe doubt, or regret? Was he afraid to be alone with her? Of course she's wracked with nerves—she always is when this sort of opportunity presents itself because it so rarely ever does—but that didn't mean that she didn't want to be alone with him. If anything, it only made her want it more. To be able to be themselves in the silence and privacy of their room, without the sights and sounds of the Saucer, loud and bright and so in the way of their own thoughts. It's easy for them to get drowned out when there are so many different things to focus on.
So, Tifa looks at him with just a touch of confusion in her hopeful eyes.]
no subject
With a soft squeeze of her hand, a gentle reassurance, he shakes his head. ]
Of course I'm coming up with you. I was just...
[ His free hand lifts, a soft, gentle point towards the front desk; there's a couple there clearly checking into their room, and the sound in the lobby is rather quiet other than the warm level of their voices and the occasional screech from one of the decorations hanging above one window. With a sheepish smile, he continues: ]
...thinking of asking if we could get room service sent up. A bottle of...something. Wine.
[ It's embarrassing to have to spell his own plans out, clumsy as they are; he hadn't been thinking that far ahead, more concerned with the immediate first steps of getting Tifa safely up to the room and then beyond, but it makes sense that she would want to know, and that she would be concerned. After all, it's almost like he's turning his back on precisely what he said before.
With a faint shake of his head, he tightens his grip on her hand, giving it another squeeze. ]
I don't mind just coming up with you instead. I just thought since we're on vacation... [ A small, bashful sort of smile. ] ...and we could stand to celebrate a little.
no subject
Tifa has always teased Cloud—perhaps sometimes ruthlessly—for how thoughtful and acute he's become to everything she does. She's always thought it cute that he paid so much attention to all of the details, and Tifa tries her best to do the same for him. Even if they may not realize it at times, they know their way around the other so well that it sometimes catches her by surprise... like it has just now.
Wine? Is the first thing that she says, stupidly dumbfounded by it all, like a deer caught in headlights, but it doesn't take long for that surprise to sink in, and for it to soften into an equally timid smile.]
No, it's okay...!
[She wants to reel her question back in and swallow it back up. She feels silly and terrible, like she's just ruined a perfectly good surprise that he had planned for her, but instead, she's quick to correct her course, squeezing his hand in return.]
I'd... I'd really like that.
[Meaning to signal to him wordlessly, Tifa allows her fingers to loosen around his hand.]
I think we should celebrate. It's not often we get to come all the way out here like this.
["Like this" being alone without the kids in tow. She loves Marlene and Denzel with all her heart, but being here with Cloud without having to worry about them has been something she hadn't realized she needed until she finally had it.
Though, the implications of that—her own self-imposed implications—have her heart racing in her chest and her cheeks glowing with colour.]
Just... don't keep me waiting too long, okay?
no subject
With a small, bashful smile, he nods, indicating that she should go ahead and take the steps back up all the way. ]
Promise I'll be right behind you.
[ And it isn't a difficult promise to make--or keep, either. Even as he makes his way back down into the lobby, the couple ahead of him doesn't take too long to check in, and his conversation with the front desk is brief. There is room service, he finds out, but it's a little expensive; he had been expecting that, of course, and doesn't mind shelling out for the sake of celebration. With the order placed and the promises of the staff to knock and leave the wine outside the door, he hurries back to the staircase.
With a slow breath to calm his nerves, he forces his steps to be more measured--by the time he makes it to their door, he thinks he's mastered the art of looking cool and collected, carefully seeing himself into the room and closing the door, gently, at his back. ]
Tifa? [ He decides it's safer to call out to her before accidentally surprising her in a less positive way; he gently moves to hang his jacket up in the small closet, at least, getting rid of his shoes at the door. ] Don't tell me something in the room gobbled you up.
[ It's wry and almost bemused, as he moves forward further into the room. ] That would be just my luck, you know.