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soloplayersab · 7 years ago

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Ostinato

os•ti•na•to (ˌɒs tɪˈnɑ toʊ) n., pl. -tos. a musical pattern, as a melodic figure, repeated continuously throughout a composition. [Italian, from Latin obstinātus, stubborn, past participle of obstināre, to persist; see obstinate.]

Inspired by Tifa's Theme from Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children, composed by Nobuo Uematsu.

Ostinato by solo player sab

On the days Tifa allowed herself to succumb to the bittersweet sting of nostalgia, she found herself at the piano.

Humming a soft tune, she grazed two fingers along the length of its keys, noting the various fingerprints of traveling pianists who had paid visit to her humble Seventh Heaven. Most nights, the instrument was left alone by patrons busy with their food and drinks, but sometimes – on those rare occasions when a musically inclined customer took notice of it – the piano in the corner sang beautiful melodies that stole the attention of everyone on the floor.

She sighed, dreamily. Those nights were her favorite. A small smile teased her lips as her pinky pressed a key lightly and the note – F, was it? – chirped from the soundboard and echoed faintly through the empty bar.

Tifa loved the sounds of a piano, and yet, very few of the fingerprints that marked those keys were her own.

Perhaps it was the memory of her childhood – so painfully happy – that kept her away; or maybe it was the stark contrast of her battered, scarred knuckles against the delicate, white keys that served as an agonizing reminder of how violently she was torn away from her innocence.

Perhaps, quite simply, it made her miss her mother…

Four low notes – F, C, F, A – rolled out from her fingertips in slow succession, tones ascending softly as it resounded a familiar arpeggio. F major, she recalled.

The notes dissipated and the room went silent as Tifa paused, remembering. It had been some time.

She shifted her left hand and repeated the four notes with slight tonal variation. F, C#, F, A#...

They were the first few notes of the last piece her mother had taught her. She didn't even remember the name of it, but it was the only composition she remembered from her childhood lessons. Tifa sighed again. She wondered what Mama would say to her now, with her sloppy fingering and lousy form. It had been a lifetime and still, she could hear her faint motherly chiding.

Again, her left hand repeated, F, C, F, A…

As the top note reverberated through and dispersed into air, Tifa's left hand slid off the keys into her lap. She eyed the higher pitched notes on the right hand side of the piano and recollected, clearly, a different sequence: the distinct five-note motif that made up the melody of this song. She remembered loving that tune as a child; she loved playing it more than anything else; recalled her right hand dancing playfully across higher pitched keys. That melody was what made this song so recognizable. It was iconic.

But, there was something that time and age and experience brought to her that made her partial to the lesser heard, less noticeable bass line in the left hand; that ascending four-note repetition; that gentle ostinato – that's what her mother called it.

There was just something about it…

"Why did you stop?"

Tifa smiled and wasn't all that surprised by her new spectator. After all, she wasn't the only one who knew this song from her childhood. She knew without turning around that Cloud had made himself comfortable on a bar stool nearby, as he usually did on these kinds of days.

So, she played.

The five-note melody of her right hand echoed pleasantly through the room in mezzo-piano while the warm four-note sequence of her left echoed in response. Fingertips danced across black and white keys as the repeating bass line ostinato seemed to carry along the tender and wistful melody in euphonious crescendos and decrescendos.

Maybe that's it, she pondered as music filled the room.

It was the way the bass notes repeated throughout the song in a low and steady pace that felt so familiar. While the main melody evolved and progressed in numerous transpositions and variations, the ostinato persisted in its continuous, repetitive sequence; loyal to the melody, carrying it along, never leaving its side.

It was so characteristically her.

Tifa thought of the man sitting behind her and the journey they shared saving the Planet. She thought of the trials they faced and the people they lost. She thought of his evolution into the hero he was now and her role in his story…

And in that moment, Tifa realized that she never really felt like a hero. She did not brandish a mighty sword that could slay Sephiroth, nor did she possess other worldly powers that could stop Meteor and cure Geostigma. She was no ex-SOLDIER nor was she a Cetra.

No, she wasn't one of the heroes…but she was always there:

Through lost memories and broken identities; "…And that's why I told you about the AVALANCHE job. I wanted to be with you and watch you…"

Through bouts of Mako poisoning; "…I don't care about anything else, only Cloud…I…want to be by his side…"

Through the Lifestream; "…Let's go have a look, Cloud. I know it's not easy…I'll be here for you…"

Through Geostigma; "…Don't run! We can help each other, I know we can..."

She was a rhythmic ostinato on a sheet of music; steady, supportive, encouraging; gently pushing along a melody that didn't always stop to wait for her but would always need her.

The final chord of the piece resonated affetuoso – "with feeling," her mother had taught – as Tifa caressed the ivory keys at its conclusion. She sat motionless and gazed at her blemished knuckles, enjoying the soft reverb of the last note. She wondered if Mama could hear it now.

"I bet she could whoop some butt as nicely as she played the piano, too."

Tifa glanced over her shoulder at Cloud, a crinkle in his eye and his expression soft and encouraging. Her cheeks dimpled as she responded, amused, "If you thought Papa was scary…"

"I wouldn't stand a chance against Mrs. Lockhart."

She grinned. Cloud hopped on his feet with a light thud and sauntered over to where Tifa sat. He gave her a playful nudge with his hips and she giggled, scooting over to make room for him on the piano bench. Cloud lifted two index fingers to the keys and tapped out a laughable rendition of Chopsticks. He looked up at Tifa eagerly for approval and she laughed, swatting his hands away lightly. He beamed, proud of the reaction he prompted, before the two of them fell into a comfortable silence.

It was reassuring knowing she wasn't alone in answering nostalgia's call. Cloud had probably emerged from the garage – likely tinkering with Fenrir – upon hearing her play. He almost always stopped what he was doing to come listen. Tifa wondered if he did the same when he was a boy in Nibelheim.

"Look, Tifa," she remembered her mother cooing, in that warm, velvety voice she would never forget, "you have an audience." Eight-year-old Tifa would look over her mother's shoulder, out her window, and make out the faint image of the boy next door, leaning his disheveled blonde hair against his own bedroom window, listening.

That boy always seemed so sad, for some reason. Tifa always wondered if her piano playing made him feel better. She had hoped so.

After some time, Cloud muttered, "That song really feels like home, y'know?"

"What, Chopsticks?"

Cloud chuckled and shook his head. "No. Your mother's song."

"Ah." Tifa looked down at her hands. "It does."

Half-consciously, her left hand found its place back among the keys. A low ostinato echoed once more: F, C, F, A –

Suddenly, the five-note melody rang out in sequence – C, A, G, A, C – and Tifa looked up, startled, at a grinning Cloud whose right hand lingered on the corresponding keys. Tifa smiled. She forgot that she had taught him parts of this song, awhile back.

It was a simple piece – minimalistic, at best – but Tifa felt that nothing was more fitting.

Because as a fighter, she did not carry a sword or hold any special powers; she defended the Planet with her fists.

She was not a symphony orchestra featuring brass, wind, and string instruments performing epics in a grand theater; she was a modest, upright piano humming intimate ballads in a little girl's bedroom.

Cloud took Tifa's hand tenderly in his own and touched his lips to the scars of her knuckles, partly in quiet understanding but mostly in unspoken gratitude. She blinked up at him as the corner of her lips curved and she lowered her hands to the ivory keys to play for him once more.

She was not an iconic melody that defined a musical piece; she was the sturdy bass line; the unwavering foundation allowing the melody to run its course.

"After this…I think I'll be okay. Because I have you this time."

"You've always had me."

She was, and always would be, Tifa Lockhart of Nibelheim; the ostinato to the melodies of her life; steady as the beating of her heart.

Author's Notes: It used to frustrate me, as a kid, that Tifa's Theme was so…unadorned in comparison to everyone else's. It wasn't until recently, however, that I really listened to the composition and was so moved by the subtlety of it. That "four-note sequence," in particular, really struck me and all of it just felt so perfect for her. So, as you can probably tell, this story also serves as my own personal analysis of Tifa's Theme.

To those who have an expertise in music theory: please be kind. I haven't played the piano since I was 8 or 9, myself, and I did my best to research the proper terminology (side note: I spent 6 hours investigating whether the "four-note sequence" was an arpeggio and was STILL unsure which is why that term only came up once in 1500 words). Truth be told, I'm not even sure if "ostinato" is the right term (BUT I DAMN WELL HOPE SO). But I'm not here to argue – you'll probably be right anyway – and frankly the essence of this story isn't so much the proper terminology but rather the way the music sounds and what can be derived from it.

Thank you for reading! I sincerely hope you enjoyed.

#cloti #tifa lockhart #fanfiction #fanfic #final fantasy vii #ffvii

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soloplayersab · 7 years ago

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Waiting for Her to Come Home

by solo player sab

There was something bittersweet about the white, whimsical snowflakes dancing against the black, looming sky.

Tifa Lockhart, remembering to exhale, blinked as her breath took shape in the brisk air, averting her gaze from the sky and shaking her head softly to displace the snowflakes collecting on her brow.

In spite of the endless black sky above, the snow floated down carelessly, meeting a vast, white blanket that gave the ground an almost heavenly glow. So much snow blanketed the streets that it lit every crevice of the dark city.

It was a silent, visual dichotomy; dark, yet bright; lonely, yet hopeful.

A small smile tugged at her otherwise tightly pressed lips as she gazed at the sight and she wasn't sure if it was a smile of genuine warmth or of chilling bitterness.

This walk around the block where the second Seventh Heaven resided was a new routine after closing time for Tifa, and while one would think this time to herself would be a welcome solace, her thoughts – quite frankly – were probably just as rowdy as her boisterous customers.

There was something different about tonight's routine, though, and Tifa knew it.

Sighing, she shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets as she half-mindedly kicked a mound of snow while turning the corner, her footsteps crackling softly under her boots. This was the longest, and therefore her favorite leg of her walk. Every night, she would take her time on this stretch, as two more turns would take her back to the bar; back upstairs; back to her room, which was only across the hall from –

Tifa sniffled as her nose grew cold in the air, wrapping her scarf around the bottom half of her face. She felt a relieving warmth as she breathed into its cloth.

It's not like she was trying to avoid it, she had always justified on these walks. It's just, lately, she was comfortable with being by herself. She had the company of the kids, of course, but otherwise, she was alone. She would get up in the mornings by herself. She would get the kids ready for school, clean the house, run the bar; she lived her life while raising two others, all by herself.

But it was fine, and it was normal, and she was used to it. She had grown used to it.

It had been a few months now since Sephiroth's emergence and subsequent downfall, and although everything seemed to end happily ever after and a certain swordsman was back at the Seventh Heaven, back in her life, Tifa didn't know why she couldn't get used to that.

This is what we all wanted, she mused, her eyes falling to the ground and tracing her footsteps. He's home now. Everything is okay now.

But something wasn't okay and for some reason home didn't feel like home to Tifa. Not anymore.

Cloud Strife had been nothing but wonderful since his return and the kids, naturally, were overjoyed. He resumed Strife's Delivery Service but only took jobs that didn't take him very far for very long. He helped Denzel with his math homework and cooked – with minimal success – Marlene's favorite rice dish when Tifa had her hands full with the bar (Marlene said it was the the thought that counted). He continued to gather ingredients and even helped with serving drinks when things got a little too busy.

Every night like clockwork, however, Tifa would send Cloud upstairs an hour before closing. Nagging him to "rest for his early morning deliveries," she refused to relent until Cloud, with a begrudging nod, walked upstairs silently. It wasn't until she heard his bedroom door close that Tifa was free to resume her nightly routine of cleaning up, locking up, and walking out.

Tifa had done something else tonight, too, but she pushed those thoughts away quickly. Not now, she ruminated. She would deal with that later.

Sighing again, her eyes wandered back up to the sky. It was the same as it always was: the same sky she gazed at while she waited for him upon that well as a young girl in a village long gone; the sky they sat under one evening in the shadow of the Highwind, before that perilous battle; the same sky she gazed at through the window at Marlene and Denzel's bedsides, waiting for him, wondering if he would ever come home...

But he did come home, and everything was okay now. Tifa was glad the kids had convinced her not to convert Cloud's room at the time she had initially intended. They had been right – he came home – and it was convenient that his room was there, waiting for him.

She flinched. Convenient.

That's all I ever really am, aren't I? Tifa stopped in her tracks, the tightness she had felt in her chest bubbling up into her throat as she swallowed slowly, her eyes falling from the sky and her gaze losing focus and dispersing into nothingness.

She was about halfway down the block and she stood silently, staring at nothing, remembering the sight of a younger Cloud who had lost his mind in Mideel.

How convenient was it for him that she didn't, couldn't leave him there? That she insisted on the rest of the group going on without her so that she could stay behind and care for him?

And how convenient was it that she was with him as they both toppled into the Lifestream, and despite her own fear and pain, she single handedly pulled him back to reality?

And as Sephiroth fell the first time, how convenient was it that she had nowhere else to go, but to stay with Cloud and assume a motherly role in this makeshift family they created together?

How utterly convenient was it that she was there, able to pick up the pieces, to care for the kids, for their home, when he left them to find his peace?

Without realizing it, Tifa was walking again, this time with a faster pace as the soft crackling of her footsteps quickened over the thin layer of snow. She turned the corner, swinging her weight with unnecessary force, as if fighting off the burden nagging at her shoulder.

And of course, as Sephiroth fell the second time, how convenient was it that she was still there, able to welcome him home with open arms?

Tifa didn't realize how warm she had gotten. With a frustrated grunt, she forcefully unraveled her scarf from around her neck and quickened her stride down the block. Her thoughts were getting the best of her again, but hopefully for the last time.

Another turn around the last corner and Tifa found herself at the storefront of her beloved Seventh Heaven. All was dark save for a soft yellow emanating through the windows, from the Christmas lights that Marlene had been so excited to hang throughout the bar. Tifa liked to leave these on as she took her nightly walks. The warm hue brought her a strange sense of comfort and nostalgia, reminding her of her childhood.

Fumbling with her keys, Tifa slowly let herself through the front door, holding her breath as she locked it behind her as quietly as possible. This was always the most difficult part of her nightly routine: reentering without waking anyone upstairs.

Once safe, she exhaled and slipped her coat off her shoulders, tossing it onto a nearby chair with her scarf. Standing in the glow of the yellow string lights, she glanced around the main bar area, noting everything was as she left it: high chairs stacked, dining chairs flipped on top of the tables, pint glasses washed and shelved away, countertops wiped down, duffel bag at the bottom of the stairs…

Wait.

Tifa froze as her eyes shot back to the brown duffel bag resting at the bottom of the staircase. Brows furrowing, she tilted her head uncertainly. What in the world…

She slowly walked toward the staircase, crouching to her ankles and cautiously picking up the brown strap of the bag. I thought I left this upstairs—

Her eyes narrowed. Someone was there.

In a flare of motion, the martial artist kicked off the stair rail and launched into a back flip, sailing over the head of the intruder in a brilliant display of strength and speed. Impulse taking over, Tifa wound her elbow back as her foot touched the ground, launching her clenched fist with magnificent force at—

Cloud yelped and ducked, throwing his arms over his face. In that millisecond, Tifa snapped out of her battle instinct, gasped and pulled her fist back before making contact with his jaw. The fighter in her left as quickly as she came and Tifa stumbled backward, pulling her weight in the opposite direction that her momentum was taking her.

"Oof!"

Tifa blinked as she fell clumsily on her bottom, gasping for breath as adrenaline pumped through her veins. She stared up in disbelief at her blonde companion standing above her. The bar was dim but the faint glow of the Christmas lights revealed a sheepish look on his face.

"Really, Cloud?" Tifa gasped incredulously, placing her palm on her rising and falling chest.

"I-I'm sorry – I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

Guiltily, Cloud offered a hand and Tifa took it, hoisting herself from the floor as she patted her clothes down, shaking her head and chuckling slightly.

She sighed as she turned to him, "Where did you even come from? I almost decked you – I thought you were a burglar or something."

Cloud shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes falling to the wooden floorboards. "I was checking on the restroom for you," he began, gesturing toward the dark hallway behind him, "Y'know, making sure it was clean." He glanced up at her face and she arched an eyebrow.

"You were cleaning the restroom at two thirty in the morning, Cloud?" Tifa teased with a playful smirk. Just act normal, she urged, like always.

Uncomfortable, Cloud switched his weight from one leg to the other. "I was…looking for something to do while waiting for you to come home," he muttered, staring at the floor.

Tifa's smirk disappeared. She almost missed a beat before quickly blurting, "Oh! You didn't have to wait up, Cloud!" Her voice went up an octave and she chuckled uneasily, "I was just taking out the trash."

"No, you weren't."

Caught off guard, she blinked tentatively at Cloud and his eyes met hers, sternly. He didn't appear to be in any laughing mood.

She swallowed hard. Why did she feel so guilty – like she had been caught for something?

Cloud stared at her with a seriousness that indicated her feeble attempts to make light of this situation were unsuccessful. Without a word, he reached for the leg of a chair resting on top of a table and flipped it upright as he placed it on the floor. Tifa watched as he settled into the chair slowly and heavily, as if he was settling down for an imminent serious conversation…one that Tifa was sure she didn't want to have at this moment.

The brunette took a sharp breath in resistance. In an attempt to flip this situation her way, she smiled weakly and said, "All right, you got me." She exhaled another fake giggle, "I was just taking a walk – a quick breather."

"I know."

Tifa paused again, unsure of where to take this conversation next. She caught a glimpse of the duffel bag on the floor behind him. Was it too naïve to think that maybe he didn't see it?

Faintly, she elaborated, "Sometimes I like to take walks after closing – "

"I wait for you every night."

Tifa's brown eyes widened and her voice caught in her throat.

"Oh."

Her mind raced but her thoughts were incoherent. The jig was up. For weeks she had foolishly believed this time to herself was hers only. Was it every night he waited? Of course, that's what he said. What about that one night– yes, every night. Did he hear her the nights she came home crying? What about the night she came home so angry, she wasn't sure her pillow muffled the thrashing of her knuckles quite well enough? Could he hear her the nights she spent with too many bottles of Corel wine, and stumbled upstairs, drunk and despaired? Yes, yes, and yes, probably. Shit, shit, shit.

Forced smile melting away, her eyes stared into his and Cloud noticed that for the first time in months, her eyes were sober, undisguised.

Defeated, Tifa reached for the leg of the chair closest to his, turning it upright and placing it down facing him. He watched her carefully. Silently, Tifa sat and sighed, placing her hands in her lap neatly, waiting for him to start. There was no way in hell she was going to begin this conversation. If he wants it, he can start –

"I found a packed bag in your room."

Tifa winced. First thing out of the gate, she mused, disappointed but somehow expecting nothing less from this man she's known all her life to say a whole lot in very little words.

Her eyes flicked to the duffel bag and returned to his. "Yeah," she replied, simply.

A momentary silence.

"Why?"

Tifa's stomach tightened and she pressed her eyes shut. This was not supposed to happen. She was never supposed to have to answer that question.

What the hell do you expect me to say, Cloud? Tifa thought to herself, rubbing her temples with her thumb and index finger. That I'm tired of being the smiley, spunky Tifa that I'm expected to be all the time? That I've grown so resentful of you? Of myself?

Stillness engulfed the two fighters as they sat silently in the dim bar, lit only with ironic, cheerful string lights that did little to liven the situation. Despite the tumult invading her thoughts, Tifa couldn't get anything out.

"Tifa…" Cloud was stern, authoritative.

"I'm leaving."

The words came out more simply than Tifa expected. Softly, directly, matter-of-factly…She felt a type of armor forming in her chest as the expression on her face hardened, and she stared into his eyes firmly, as if daring him to respond. Frankly, she knew there was very little he could say, and a part of her was curious to see what he would come up with.

Cloud, however, as powerful as he was, seemed to shrink in his chair as all earlier sternness or authority disappeared from him. His eyes softened, glistening over into a look that was reminiscent of a sad young boy. Tifa was a bit startled by his sudden vulnerability and also a tad annoyed. He was supposed to get angry with her. He was supposed to argue with her. He was supposed to say, 'What about the kids,' and she was supposed to reply, 'That didn't bother you when you left.'

Her hands tightened into fists. Don't look at me like that. Don't make this difficult.

"I…" His voice came out soft, sad, pleading, "…don't want you to go."

Anger and dread washed over her and she glared at him, clasping the fabric of her shirt over her chest as if trying to tear out the anguish that suddenly flooded her heart.

"You…" Tifa began slowly, her voice low and hoarse, "are so unfair."

Realizing he struck a nerve, Cloud leaned forward, holding his hands up in a silent plea. "I- I'm sorry," he blurted frantically, "I know, I'm the last person who can say th—"

Tifa cut him off. "Do you remember what you did when I said those same words to you?"

Cloud stared at her, a pained look on his face. He knew where this was going.

"Nothing, Cloud. You did nothing." She looked away, her eyes focusing on the bottles of liquor shining behind the bar. "Did you even know I said it? I was talking to your voicemail, after all, since it was so easy for you to ignore my calls. Maybe you didn't even care to listen to them." The words almost came out like a hiss.

He slid lower in his chair, his arms falling to his thighs. "I did listen…"

"Why is it that when I say that to you, it's so easy for you to do nothing, but when you say that to me, my heart shatters?" She questioned, more to herself than him. "It's so damn unfair."

Cloud fell silent. Tifa got up from her seat, unable to sit still, and walked to the bar counter top, placing her hands along the surface with her back facing him. She felt tears brimming but she knew she wouldn't cry. She had no more tears to spend.

"Look, I know why you left and I understand. You needed to find peace and I get that," Tifa muttered, calmly, "And it seems like you found it somehow, and I'm so happy for you."

She paused, turning to face him. "But not everyone got that privilege, Cloud."

Cloud slumped over in his chair, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together in front of his mouth. He seemed ashamed to look at her.

Tears did not flow but the truth did in all its seething glory. Her honesty startled her at first, but it didn't matter anymore. This was the last time she'd see him, anyway.

"Aerith was my friend too."

Cloud grimaced at the name.

"I had guilt, too. Did you realize that? I feel like I failed her, too. But we had to live to be forgiven. Isn't that what we talked about with Barrett? So I held it together. For you, for the kids –"

Suddenly, Cloud stood, his chair screeching behind him. "And I admired you for that, Tifa," he interjected, a sudden courage overcoming him, "You had such strength, the type of resilience that I never—"

"I'm tired of being strong." Tifa's voice cracked out of desperation.

Cloud took a concerned step forward, his hand half-heartedly reaching for her.

"I just want to be weak, for once. I want to run away, too."

Tifa brushed by Cloud's shoulder and fell back into her chair. She placed her elbows on the table and held her head, rubbing her temples slowly. Cloud resumed his seat across from her, putting his arm on the table and reaching for her elbow. He stopped short of touching her.

She stared down at the table. "You know the worst part of all of this, Cloud?" She shifted to face him, looking him straight in the eye.

"I'm jealous," Tifa whispered. "I miss her, I know I've failed her, but deep down, I'm jealous, Cloud! Do you know how twisted that makes me-" The volume of her voice was rising steadily and Cloud could feel the beat of his pulse ringing in his ears. "-to be guilty of her death yet jealous of her memory? But I can't help it, because when it comes to the one person I have left on this Planet, I will always be second best. And since you've come home, everyday is just a reminder of that."

Tifa took a deep, exasperated breath. "I'm being selfish, I know, but I need this now. I'm exhausted, Cloud. I'm tired of being second best; your fall back. I'm tired of my heart shattering at the fact that I wasn't ever good enough for you."

She stood up, with finality. "And frankly, I'm just tired of being the girl waiting in the background of your story."

With that, she grabbed her coat and scarf from the countertop and hastily put them on. Cloud watched, silently, as she walked past him to retrieve her duffel bag from the bottom of the staircase, slinging it around her shoulder.

Tifa's face flushed. What an overly dramatic exit. But she honestly had no idea how else a conversation like this was going to end.

Turning around, she glanced at the back of Cloud's head. She walked past him, mumbling a plain, "Bye," and headed for the front door.

As she unlocked the bolt and pushed the door open, a soft whimper escaped her lips. This wasn't supposed to happen this way. She was supposed to enjoy her last, slow walk around the block. She was supposed to memorize each crevice of this bar she had worked so hard to rebuild. She was supposed to walk upstairs and kiss the kids goodbye on their sleeping foreheads…

Just as she stepped out into the white powder outside, she felt a hand grasp her wrist and she resisted the urge to react defensively. She turned around to face Cloud's glowing eyes and took a few steps back into the empty street. Cloud let go of her wrist carefully, taking a few steps to follow her.

"Tifa…" He started, but stopped.

The brunette stared at him with large, exasperated eyes. As he faltered, she took a step backward, pivoting in the opposite direction to walk away. Bitterness was lodged in her chest. She knew he couldn't follow her forever.

Seeing her slip away, Cloud took another step toward her, calling, "Wait!"

His voice echoed through the empty streets. Tifa stopped and glanced at him half-heartedly.

"Don't you remember?" He whispered, his breath forming in the air. "It was because of you that I wanted to join SOLDIER…" He trailed off but quickly regained his composure. "And, I ended up getting really screwed up, but—" His voice broke into a cynical chuckle and he shook his head, "—but it was because of you that I found myself again. Because of you I survived through all of this."

Cloud reached for her wrist again, limp in the cold. She was only half facing him, but he pulled her tenderly to him.

"Without you, there wouldn't be a story, Tifa."

She took in a sharp breath as a pang of pain gripped her heart. What was he trying to do?

"I think about Nibelheim a lot, and our promise on that well..." Tifa nodded along slowly, as if saying, me, too. "I was so determined to join SOLDIER, to impress you…but then everything else happened. And I think about how you—" His gaze grew in intensity and he enunciated his words with gentle force, "—you were always there for me. Saving me."

Tifa stared at him, awestruck, chest tightening, wondering where the man of few words went.

Cloud chuckled, "I went away, trying to become your hero…but you ended up becoming mine."

Each word seemed to constrict her heart, one by one.

Cloud took a step back, suddenly realizing how close he was standing to her. Shyness overcoming him once more, he rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze behind Tifa's head at whatever it was that was behind her.

"And you're right, I—I did do a lot of selfish things." He gulped, "I abandoned you and everyone who cared for me. I hurt you so much." Cloud seemed to cringe at his own words, but he proceeded with caution. "But you're wrong about a lot of things, too."

A short silence. All of the words were gone from Tifa's lips as she could do nothing but stand there, snow falling around her, listening.

"For as long as I've known you…you've always been too good for me, Tifa." A blush spread across his face. "You're…perfect. Even in the way you face your demons—your guilt and your anguish." He gestured at the Seventh Heaven behind him. "The way you rebuilt this bar, and how you raise the kids, and the way you take care of me…" As he spoke, his confidence grew and a tint of hope shined in his eyes. "And it was from your strength that I was able to live on."

In an instant, however, Cloud's countenance grew sullen once more. "So when the geostigma got me, it…" His quivering voice faltered and he shook his head with a sudden jerk, "…it just made me realize how imperfect I am. And I couldn't stand to sit here, helplessly, and make you save me again...So I left." Pained, Cloud's expression seemed to beg for forgiveness. "It wasn't about you being second best. It was about me being too weak and undeserving of the only person who matters to me."

Cloud looked at her, hopefully, silently begging her to say something. But heartache, relief, regret, and hope intertwined in a whirlwind of conflicting emotion, and Tifa was paralyzed. She felt as if she was in the Lifestream again, only now it was her who was lost in a discombobulated state of mind, unsure of reality.

"I don't blame you, though," he murmured, then gestured down the street at the path Tifa liked to take, "Every night while I'm waiting for you, I wonder if this is the night you decide to go...and I can't sleep until you're home."

She cringed and cursed herself silently for being so damn readable.

"I knew this night would come eventually, and I know it makes me a hypocrite to ask you to stay, but…" Suddenly, Cloud grasped both of her hands.

She flinched at his touch and looked away. His hands were surprisingly warm in this weather. There was silence again but still, she said nothing.

"Have you forgotten?"

She didn't think Cloud's voice could get any softer, but it did, and it beckoned her gaze back to him.

"You're much more cheerful and strong," he began, and Tifa immediately recognized this reprise of a conversation they had long ago, when they shared a bed shrouded in moonlight. "If you've forgotten the way you were, then I'll be there to remind you."

Back when he had first uttered those words, they had meant everything to her. In the present, she felt a familiar tug at her heart strings. The bitterness held in Tifa's chest began to dissolve, as if the warmth in Cloud's words was a fire melting away the ice. She cursed herself again. This wasn't supposed to happen, either.

"So, please, Tifa. If you need to find yourself, then do it here, at home with me, so I can help remind you."

Tifa's vision began to blur. She was breaking. Shit.

"Please…let me save you, for once."

A single tear threatened to spill onto her cheek but Tifa swatted it away hastily with the back of her palm. She took a clunky step backward away from Cloud, pulling back her hands, the expression on her face despairing and her nose scarlet from the cold. She shook her head vigorously.

Cloud slowly let his hands fall to his sides, a look of defeat dawning on his face. A part of him expected this, but that made it no less painful.

"If you really have to go, then..." his voice continued to quiver, "I'll wait for you to come home. Just like every night, I'll wait for you."

Tifa turned away, her back facing him. Damn it, she thought, frustrated, just walk away, Lockhart. Take a step. You're done with this, remember?

"And just so you know, Tifa…"

She was frozen, unable to move. Walk away. Go. Before he says anything else. There's nothing else he can say.

"I heard you that night..."

Her heart sank. What?

"…and I do. I really do."

Tifa jerked her body toward him, her eyes wide with shock. What is he talking about!?

Reading her mind, Cloud closed the gap between them again, answering, "That night. You had asked me if I loved Marlene…"

Oh, no...

"You asked me something else before that, too."

Cloud's Mako eyes seemed to glow even brighter and Tifa shivered. Suddenly, she panicked; her breathing, scattered and unsteady; her eyes, darting erratically, from Cloud, to the Seventh Heaven, to the sky, to the snow. A sudden frost overcame her and Tifa's arms wrapped around herself, as if suddenly realizing she was standing in the freezing cold.

Sensing her anxiety, Cloud placed a gloved hand warily on her shoulder. He watched for her reaction, mindful of the distance between them. He moved cautiously and gradually, as if trying to catch a butterfly that could flutter away at any moment.

When she did not react, he slowly pulled her into him, his arms engulfing her shoulders in an embrace.

Stunned, Tifa's crossed arms fell between their bodies to her sides. The side of her face rested at Cloud's collarbone and she could hear the faint beating of his quick, steady pulse at the bottom of his neck.

Cloud was overwhelmed with warmth. He held her tightly as if denied this moment for so long.

"I don't think you realize," he whispered, "how much I l—"

"Don't."

He was startled at the faint voice that emerged. It was the first time she spoke in the seemingly endless time that had passed as they stood in the empty street and if Cloud was honest it hadn't sounded sweeter.

"Don't say it," Tifa repeated, and suddenly her arms trailed up his waist, resting in an embrace around his back.

She wasn't sure what overcame her; those words were probably all that she had ever wanted and hoped to hear. But now that the moment was here, she didn't want them said, as if they wouldn't be real, or they would be taken from her the moment they escaped his lips.

Cloud complied and fell silent. Neither of them realized it had stopped snowing, but the world was still, as if they were the only ones alive on the Planet.

Resolve broken, Tifa felt her knees buckle as her strength escaped her. Cloud held her steadily, knowingly, protectively.

The ice was melting, and for the first time in months, she felt the soft flicker of hope's flame glimmer in heart. It twinkled faintly and uncertainly, like the stars that had revealed themselves in the skies above them.

But the hurt was still there and she couldn't deny the soreness she felt in her chest.

As if feeling it too, Cloud leaned in and spoke softly into her ear, "It will take time, but I'll be patient." He squeezed her shoulders, "However long it takes. I'll remind you of who you are, okay?"

Suddenly, Tifa felt a kiss placed gently on her cheek. It was warm, tender, light, signaling the beginning of something. Tifa pulled back slightly and met his eyes. They were firm; determined.

"You really will?"

Cloud smiled – the kind of smile that made her think everything was fine. But tonight, he wanted her to know it.

"Definitely."

In the next moments, Tifa felt as if she were in a trance. Before she realized it, Cloud was leading her, slowly, back into the Seventh Heaven. Tenderly, he took the strap of her duffel bag off from her shoulder and placed it at bottom of the staircase. Gently, he took her coat and her scarf and led her by the hand to her chair. He scurried behind the bar and fixed her a cup of tea, caringly placing it in on the table surface in front of her.

He tended to her carefully, as delicately as she used to tend to his wounds in the aftermath of the many battles they faced together. But for all Cloud knew, Tifa was wounded right now, and he would handle her with the meticulous care she had always used for him.

Then, he was leading her upstairs, ushering her into her bedroom and looking away as she changed. As she crawled into her covers, Cloud sat at her bedside, touching her hand. She asked him to lie with her and he obeyed, settling into the empty space next to her and feeling comfort in their shoulders touching. They hadn't lied together like this since before he left, and it was the first time in a long time that either of them had a restful sleep.

In the days that followed, Tifa continued her nightly walks, but this time with Cloud at her side, holding her hand, keeping her warm.

On the nights when snow fell, they both took a moment to stop in the middle of Tifa's favorite stretch, watching the light and the darkness above them.

There was something bittersweet about the white, whimsical snowflakes dancing against the black, looming sky.

But as she gazed at the sky, Tifa didn't realize that Cloud was looking at her, waiting patiently.

And he would continue to wait for her for as long as she needed. For as long as she was still hurting, for as long as she still had doubts – in herself and in him – he would wait for her.

And in time, he would help her heal so that her eyes would no longer trail off to the black sky that was her pain.

In time, he would wait for her to find herself, so that one day she'll finally let him say those three words, and she could follow his voice back home.

#cloti #tifa lockhart #cloud strife #fanficion #ffvii #final fantasy vii #fanfic

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