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The healing rain of the sky is still a cacophony to Cloud after the events of Advent Day.
He’d be a being of falsehood if he claimed that he didn’t believe the cure of all ails still laced the water. Even a year after being put into a fight of confession with Sephiroth once more, and defeating his Remnants, he still hopes that the thunder booming on the roof of Seventh Heaven will protect them. If Cloud lets silent static overtake him (nothing like the blaring touch of Jenova), he thinks he hears a twinkle of familiar laughter out in the rainfall that patches his heart together.
Cloud lets himself hear it in a way he never used to do, for her.
The annual mark of Advent Day wasn’t a celebration; Tifa is wary of her own steps around the bar, which only makes Denzel’s attempts at helping her clean up more insistent. Barret’s eyes never leave Marlene so much as he can help it, and Cloud can tell that the man is doing everything in his power not to hide his little girl away and flee.
Cloud wants to reach out, wants to remind Barret that we’re your family and we don’t have to be afraid anymore. A golden gauntlet clasps onto Barret’s shoulder before Cloud has the chance.
Vincent, always a blown out fire because of Yuffie, along with the matters of the people around him, knows how to curl deep into everyone and anyone. “Reeve has asked me to spread the word of him bringing your favorite for dinner… after he remembered.” He speaks low, above Barret and careful not to mince his words.
Cloud isn’t surprised when Barret’s body slumps into relaxation, and his forever molded grin shows on his face.
“Knew we could count on ‘im this time! Ain’t that right, Marlene?!” At Marlene’s hum of agreement and ever broadening smile, Barret twists just to lay his flesh hand on Vincent’s arm. It’s a tugging action of affection that leaves all empty holes filled. “Thanks for that, Vince.”
At Cloud’s spot in front of the serving table, he feels a reminder that they’re all here in the same place, both at once and not in any time at all, and it holds him around himself like a cover.
This is what Advent Day serves as: a reminder for plentiful death and the fact that he and his remaining family have not yet been claimed by its hands. He can understand Barret’s fear a little better now. As Nanaki’s burning tail flickers at the commotion Yuffie makes in the kitchen, and Cid plops down in the stool next to him with a swear, Cloud’s grip on his glass cup tightens.
He craves to hide these people in a place with a lock and key, where no reaching evil—without any exception of himself—could ever get to them again.
Cloud knows the scolds and talking-tos he’d get from this thought wouldn’t be enough to stifle him. Tifa would place her hand on his cheek, telling him softly, (“you’re a part of us, too”) and even the children would agree with her. Perhaps in a world and time where he’s easier, both in mind and heart, he’d believe her every word like he once had as well. But how does anyone expect him to be easy, mind and heart, when pieces of this place have been nothing but hard? Cloud can’t be fought with his rounded edges and soft flint—Not after how many times he’s nearly lost the members of former Avalanche and whoever dared to join them.
Not after the two spaces in the room, begging to be filled by people that he can no longer touch or hear or keep safe, glare at him wildly.
Cloud’s clothes begin to feel too tight on his skin, causing him to bristle in his seat and wince. He can feel his chest rising up and down a little faster than what would be considered normal for him, and has to let his grasp on his drink go once he hears a faint crack.
(And it’s not that he hates to be seen this way, no. His vulnerability has long passed over them and spit out of Cloud more times than he can count. There’s no shame in his bones as long as the gang has any say in it. It’s rather the way that Cid, in all his troubled glory, has stopped grumbling beside him and looks at him with a face of disguised, pinched worry.
“Ya doin’ alright there, kid?”
It’s the way Tifa has stopped washing the dishes and passing them over to Denzel to dry when she hears this. She’d locked up early today, just for us, she’d said, and the thought of ruining her peace makes him scowl.)
The room falls silent. Tifa’s in front of him behind the table before Cloud can even register it.
“Cloud, are you holding up okay?” She asks him, in that all-loving tone she has reserved for him. “If we’re being loud, we can—”
Cloud shakes his head to cut her off, most likely a little too vigorously.
“You guys are fine, I’m fine. I just—I need…” What does he need? Lightning crackles outside. The shaking voice of him wants to tell Tifa that he needs to revive the dead, maybe, but he knows that’d worry her even more. Although, it wouldn’t be the craziest thing he’s done to date. “I’m gonna go get some air.”
It’s raining, they want to say. It’s raining and we don’t want you to feel it alone.
Nanaki’s tail wraps around his leg when he stands up. He nudges the muscle with his head in temporary parting and says, “We will be here, Cloud.” In the manner in which Nanaki speaks, with such reverence, makes it hard to believe how young he is in his species under the reality of being much older than Cloud. It makes the man’s hand strain against the urge to reach out and hold.
“I know.”
With that, he makes sure to smile at every part of his family as he rushes out of the bar.
Cloud knows where he’s going, and doesn’t want to think about what happened last time he was there. He’s afraid that if he does, he’ll never get to see her in any time again. Cloud hops onto Fenrir and the engine rumbles to life beneath him. He holds no weapons on his back today, yet it doesn’t make the weight on his body any lighter than before. With no warning or threat to call for on Advent Day, Cloud was left with his own misguided feelings, solemn ones that couldn’t be taken down with any number of swords he owned.
He doesn’t look back when he starts to drive away from his home in the rainfall, for he’s sure it’ll lead him back in before he’s ready to return.
—
The ride to the Sector 5 undercity is smoother than Cloud expected it to be. While Midgar is still being rebuilt and is in its worst state, the bustling of the residents is too much in comparison to Edge. Most people in Midgar can barely afford to live in the city, let alone move to any place else where conditions are better.
Seeing reactors never failed to make Cloud feel sick in the past, but the lack of them now is somehow worse than their threatening presence ever was. He shakes these thoughts away in order to hold them back from barreling him. However, when he’s parked in front of the slum church in holy, heart-felt guilt, he lets everything consume him all at once.
Droplets of rain run down his face and soak through his clothes. He takes his goggles off with a shiver, and decides to park Fenrir inside with him.
The inside of the Sector 5 slums church never fails to astonish Cloud. After living in it for a few weeks during the time of Geostigma, he figured he’d seen every little thing there was to it. He might’ve been wrong, for he failed to notice the intricate carvings on the wood of the broken pews, or the lack of insulation in the walls, and the soft silence accompanied by his steps. The flower bed, usually chaperoned and doted on by various children of the slums, were by themselves today.
Cloud supposes the children are with their families for Advent Day, if they had one.
In the middle of the flowers rests a physical relic once torn from his soul, stolen in a beat of grief. The Buster Sword has never lost its shine in all the years Cloud had it with him. When Cloud placed it at the death site of him, the fallen man it was passed down to, he didn’t expect it to collect the wear and tear that was never meant to touch it.
(Cloud doesn’t mean to make Zack Fair’s memory sound like nothing, even in his head. It’s simpler to pretend that he meant so much to the world that he tried to protect, but nothing to Cloud. He doesn’t wish to know the meaning of the word. He has wanted to cry his praises ever since he lost the amalgamation he forced upon himself after Zack left, just for his own damned sake.
Cloud thinks this must be selfishness.)
With regret churning in his stomach, all Cloud can do is fall to his knees in front of the sword, let his forehead rest against the cold metal, and pray. Pray for the forgiveness he’s already been granted forevermore — let it stick, he pleads with a lifeless sword in a living church, and starts clasping his hands together until they ache. Cloud prays to the guts of the Planet and all the summons or aeons alike that may hear him. He prays until the strength of his mutters leaves him breathless, and even then, with twisted speech and an even worse heart, he doesn’t stop.
He figures the Planet must be sick of hearing him now when a sharp pain hits his head, and Cloud has to calm himself down when he remembers that he is free of Jenova. This can’t be her. Jenova’s touch cannot be compared to Gaia’s, not when she is delicately firm against him and his Spirit flares stronger in him. She makes her way into his veins like a welcome caress, Cloud wondering of it idly, is this what Aerith felt? Is this what Aerith still feels?
He wishes he could ask her.
Something in the way Gaia curls herself around his veins and his blood alone makes him turn his head up. He’s being warmed up from the wet rain and chill air, Cloud realizes. She curls tighter, making him blink.
“What’s wrong?”
Cloud doesn’t think of the possibility of a response coming back to him, of course, which makes the sudden shuffle of boots behind him scarier than he’ll ever admit. His instincts always speak faster than his logic nowadays (Yuffie’s claims are ones of ‘old age’), so Cloud’s first thought is to leap over the hilt of the Buster Sword and shield himself with the sheer size of it. He’d never think of pulling it from its spot of memorial, but swears quickly at not bringing the Fusion Sword along with him.
Cloud sees the figure before he can comprehend that he’s staring at a person.
Shoulders held down by scratched double pauldrons greet his vision. They’re ragged and worn, like they’ve fought in too many battles and have been the bearers of bruises. It must be safe to say that they have, in the sorrow that hangs from heavy hands. The tightly threaded uniform on the body makes Cloud feel lightheaded, and he doesn’t miss the scar on that face, this oh so bright face, which makes him feel even warmer. The mark of an X blinds the spot—two criss-crossed matches that have burned skin and brought down purgatory on whoever lit them.
Cloud’s heart drops to his stomach, and his ready arms fall limp to his sides.
“Zack.”
His voice fails him at the end of the name, but Zack smiles at him, unwavering.
It hasn’t changed since the last time Cloud saw that smile amidst all the rubble around him, metaphorical and literal. He doesn’t know why he expected it to, unless the Lifestream keeps people pliant and unchanging, much like their souls.
Cloud would be more wary if it wasn’t for the way he met Aerith once more, so many weeks prior to this. Zack has never been hostile or hard with him; gentle touch and soft-spoken reassurances are what have met between them. Being carried and cared for by this man through an entire continent, just to have his fall as a SOLDIER for Cloud, is enough to remind him that this is Zack. Cloud has no wariness for the man standing before him and could fall into his arms without being asked twice, if he could only move.
As if reading his thoughts, Zack comes to Cloud first. His steps aren’t confident, but they’re not quite nervous either. His Zack is softer now, more lithe, and even the armor on his shoulders isn’t enough to make him stumble. Cloud isn’t sure if it’s his soaked skin or not that makes him shudder.
“Hey, sunshine.” A ring of light circles Zack’s head as he speaks. “Long time no see, huh—?”
He’s cut off when Cloud pushes a strong hand to his beating chest. Cloud puts pressure against him a little harder, a little desperately, but Zack doesn’t seem to budge. It’s as if Cloud is waiting for his hand to go through the SOLDIER uniform, through the warm skin, and through his heart.
“You… You’re,” There’s a distant look in Cloud’s eyes. “Are you…?”
“Real? ‘Course I am, Cloud.”
Zack’s hand, bare and without a glove, comes up to rest atop of Cloud’s on his chest. There’s a gleam in his eye, looking at Cloud like he’s a thing of all shiny and gold jewels that he’d keep treasured in a box. Zack’s skin is warm and flushed with life, making Cloud think that maybe, somewhere out there, he was never taken to the Lifestream so soon.
“See? In the flesh!”
Cloud nods, dumbly. He can feel every word in his mouth fall back down through him.
Zack squeezes his hand. “Didn’t think I’d let Aerith have all the fun, did you?” He says, his smile is now something more teasing, perfectly one of a budding teenager that Cloud first met.
That must be what finally makes Cloud fall apart.
There’s a lump forming in his throat at the mention of Aerith, and just the thought of Zack arguing with the Planet—of all life—to come see him again makes his legs feel weak. He’s stronger than this, is supposed to be stronger than this, but Cloud can’t seem to hold back the sound of a sob coming up his lungs.
He lets his head fall lamely against Zack’s chest, who can immediately sense his distress and pulls him closer. Zack folds his arms around Cloud’s shaking body like a barrier. It pulls a gasp out of Cloud, one that makes his breath catch in his throat and the knot in his chest feel suffocating. He has to cough to let it loose, but the pain of it makes him sway. Zack steadies him, “Hey, woah, careful—Oh, you’re freezing, sunshine!” Cloud seems to cry even harder at the care, resulting in Zack practically having to force himself not to panic. His palms run up and down Cloud’s arms in an effort to calm him down. “Hell, I didn’t mean to make you cry… ”
When Zack rests his chin on the crown of Cloud’s head, his body physically crumbles. He’s sure he’ll meet the floor of the church again until Zack’s hands around his shoulders tighten.
“Don’t worry, I got you. I’m sorry.”
Zack says it like it’s simple. Like it’s not tearing Cloud apart from the inside out and gnawing at every bit of him. The consequences of this are going to catch up to them eventually. If he has Zack now, then it’s a guarantee that he won’t have him later. And that thought in itself hurts in a way Cloud’s never felt before. He doesn’t think to ask the Planet for more time, as she’s already given Cloud more than he has ever asked for, here in Zack’s arms, but wishes he could take her by the hands and beg for anointment.
(What has begging ever gotten him?)
Cloud wants to write to death, an address being nothing more than a door, and beg, please let him stay. You have so many others—why is he important to you?
For the same reasons he is important to you.
Cloud already knows this answer.
Zack’s cheek is now smushed against Cloud’s head when his hands come up to comb through the damp hair. Cloud grasps the back of Zack’s shirt. He’s afraid the man entwined with him will slip away into green light, or even another hue, this time around.
Zack sighs softly. “You think so loud sometimes, sunshine.” His finger twirls around a wet lock of blond.
Cloud whimpers and it’s painful, like he’s been stabbed with the force of each divinity over and over again. It’s all he can get out.
He’s coming to an abrupt feeling of pure exhaustion now, buried in Zack’s chest. He must have tired himself out with being plagued by the dead, he thinks. It’s meant to be a joke. Cloud didn’t think of counting either the seconds or minutes that he’d been bawling his eyes out, can’t think of feeling any embarrassment for crying in the arms of a person that saw him in his near death and said, I will save you. He lets himself go slack between the warmth and the will of the world.
“Cloud?” Zack is met with silence. His nimble hands are at Cloud’s shoulders again to coax him up, almost begrudgingly. “Come back to me, buddy.” The worried edge in Zack’s voice—oh, his voice—is what gives Cloud any reason to look up. Zack sagging in relief when their eyes meet is worth it.
“For a minute there, I thought…” He pauses.
Cloud raises an eyebrow the best he can in his drowsy state. It’s an old, silent move of encouraging Zack to express what he’s feeling, and to say, “Talk to me. Talk to me or you’re sleeping on the couch we don’t have, in the house we don’t have, in the life we don’t have.”
And, as if hearing the words, Zack laughs. It’s warm and it’s hearty and Cloud can feel the sound in his bones. Zack’s chest vibrates with the force of it against his own, a skin-tight tune held together by whatever heartstrings Cloud still has. It’s been too long since he’s heard it.
Zack’s head is thrown back in the air when he’s finished with his fit. “Cloud! I haven’t seen that look in ages!”
Anyone else would think that the Zack in front him at this moment is… feral. It’s the only way Cloud can put it affectionately. Except the only difference is that he’s not anyone else. Zack’s eyes are blown wide and his sharp-toothed grin is nearly contagious, Cloud can’t help the small smile on his lips. His laughter, treading into light chuckles, is so achingly familiar that Cloud’s hands wring together behind Zack’s back. To Cloud, the Zack in front of him, at this moment, could only be described as lovely.
“Not even from Aerith?” Cloud says on the brink of a whisper, teasing. He had to clear his throat before opening his mouth, which didn’t seem to help the rasp in his voice anyway.
He wants to say so many things, yet none at all.
“Definitely not from Aerith,” Zack smirks. “She has her own just for me. And speaking of, how ‘bout I tell you what you wanna hear when we get you dried up, yeah?”
The soothing care is back in Zack’s voice like it never left.
Zack takes Cloud by the hand and puts some air between them when they walk away from the flower bed, much to Cloud’s dismay. Zack moves to check the bottom of a pew for stability before sitting him down on it, crouching at its level while never letting go of Cloud’s hand. He starts murmuring, mostly to himself. “There’s gotta be some dusty blanket around here… always prepared…” Zack stands and turns to look at Cloud. “Will you be okay down here while I search the basement, sunshine?”
Cloud squeezes Zack’s hand subconsciously.
He wants to say no, loud and clear that no, he probably couldn’t stand being away from Zack for more than a few minutes and be able to handle it right now. It doesn’t make him feel pathetic; he’s afraid of how much he wants to cling to Zack when the man wasn’t here yesterday, and hasn’t been alive for the past three years. He’s still not alive outside of the Lifestream, with Cloud holding his hand and hoping he wouldn’t have to let go again.
A poor thing to hope.
Zack seems to see right through him. “Hey, no, I’m still here.” He takes their conjoined hands and puts them up to Zack’s chest in a sating gesture. “…Right here.”
Cloud blinks away any unshed tears.
“I don’t mind if you tag along, because I’d take you anywhere, but I’ll be quick!” Zack reassures.
In the end of it, Cloud lets Zack go and is left with himself in the pew, though not without a parting kiss to the cheek. The leather of his clothes is still wet, near soggy, and his hair doesn’t feel any better being stuck to his face. He doesn’t doubt that rain pouring off of him is seeping into the wood of the pew, making Zack checking if it’s stable be all for nothing. He might wake up with a pseudo cold in the morning, when he’s home in bed again in summer heat that can’t rival Zack's own.
Cloud doesn’t realize he’s dozing off until he catches Zack’s heavy footsteps coming near.
There’s a quilt in his hands that he’s shaking out and blowing on to clear dust. It’s an endearing little thing that Cloud feels a surge of fondness for.
Zack wraps it around his shoulders and the front of his body, pushing any loose ends into the crevices of Cloud’s limbs. It makes Cloud want to reach out and tug the man impossibly closer, putting a kiss to the corner of his mouth or pinching his cheeks to be a simple bother.
He doesn’t move at all.
Zack stops doting on him and sits next to Cloud on the hard pew. He draps an arm around sunken shoulders and goes to hold Cloud’s hand a second time with the one that’s free. Once he’s settled, Zack sighs, and it’s heavy. He looks like he’d rather run as far as he can instead of talking about what troubles him. Cloud finds that he doesn’t mind, he’s patient for whatever need be. He’d gladly wait another few years for Zack.
Zack traces a pattern on the quilt covering his arm. He inhales before saying, “When you… went limp, like that, I…” His face is suddenly serious. “It made me think back to when you were sick, y’know. After the labs.”
(Cloud remembers how Zack, while they were on the run, had never called the mako poisoning forced into his blood anything but ‘sickness.’ He didn’t want to make Cloud feel like any sort of burden because of being tortured—what Zack had called “this and that” in terms of being picked and prodded at—for years, so the only way to make it uncomplicated was to call him sick. Like Cloud was a cold-ridden child and not a newly birthed man ready to die.)
Cloud tenses up at the words, but inclines his head to let Zack continue.
“I’m not sure if you remember anything when all that happened and,” Zack chuckles bitterly. “And I don’t expect you to, Cloud. I wish I didn’t remember! But the way you got so tired like that—like you were sick again, it got me all worried.”
“Zack…”
All Zack does is spare him a smile. “I started thinking, maybe the Planet put me somewhere worse than the end of the line had been for me. Maybe I did something wrong or—or she didn’t think I was fit for the Lifestream anymore, fit to be some sort of guardian with Aerith. I thought she sat me down to visit you just so I had to relive what happened to us.” He says, face falling. “As a lesson, or… something like th—“
“You got us out.”
Zack stops. “What?”
Cloud stares at him. He tries to make his eyes look hard, glaring in a way that carries no heat. It takes him longer than he’d like to speak. “It wasn’t our fault. You got us out of there, Zack. You got… me out.” He wants to say it again; he needs Zack to understand.
He needs Zack to know.
What Cloud means isn’t strictly said for one place. There doesn’t mean the Shinra labs or Hojo’s cruel hands. It doesn’t mean the burning fiery of Nibelheim that once held his lost teeth and scraped knees, or the last bits of time where he had himself fully, unbroken and clean. It will never mean the trail to Midgar where Zack sent him the last, everlasting smile before all traces of his existence were burned from every part of Cloud that wasn’t visible.
There is anything and everything that tried to arm them with death, and what is still trying.
Zack meets his eye. Neither of them speak for a few specks of time. And then Zack is blinking, like he’s letting Cloud’s words sink into his flesh. He shakes his head to clear reverie, and his signature smile is something more utterly fond and relaxed on his face.
“What would I do without you, sunshine?”
“You don’t have to think about that. You’re with me.”
“For now” is left unsaid.
With Cloud tripping over his own feet in an attempt to stand up again, merely a disgruntled face in the burrow of an old quilt, Zack proposes (nearly pleads; Cloud’s stubbornness is an innocent wound) that he rests. His hair has mostly dried by now, save for the pieces that have a mind of their own when Zack goes to smooth them down. The ribbon on his left bicep is no longer stuck like sad, faulty glue.
(There’s a certain feeling of peace that washes over Cloud when his head lays on Zack’s shoulder. He’s missed Zack. He has missed him more than he’s been able to bear, and the quiet adoration behind that longing dances inside of him.)
Before Cloud lets sleep touch him, he has to make sure he’s not already dreaming. “You’ll still be here, won’t you?” He wants to be loud with the words, but hearing the desperation in his voice makes him bite his tongue.
“What was that, buddy?”
Cloud clamps his eyes shut. Out with it. “Don’t go. Not yet.” He lets the tension seep from his body. “When I wake up, then…”
Zack cups the back of Cloud’s head in vow. “I’ll be here, Cloud.”
—
Cloud’s being shaken awake, albeit as gentle as being shaken can be, in what felt like a blink. He hurriedly shoots up and reaches for a blade that’s not next to him or perched on the wall closest to him. It takes him a second or two to remember that he’s not home in his room across from Tifa’s, and the evening sun scorching his eyes isn’t from the bar’s upstairs windows. The only real threat that has cursed where he’s at now is the green light pouring off of Zack like a border, glowing around him as a taunt.
No.
“Cloud,” Zack’s voice is burned with a want of resistance. There’s a quiet, anxious tremble buried deep within it. “I think my visiting hours are over.”
Once he sees that Cloud is awake, he takes a few hobbled steps back. He’s holding an arm around his middle and is halfway doubled over like he’s been clawed at. Too much is taken out of Cloud in order to shake away images of Zack’s once bullet-blown chest, red and black all over. He throws the quilt off of himself in one swift motion, taking no time in catching Zack with his arms and falling to their knees together.
Zack laughs breathlessly, nervous and haunting. There’s no humor or contentment hidden in this, lacking what usually laces bits and pieces of his Spirit. There’s nothing in his birdsong at all.
“Shit, is it hurting you?” The dejected sound that Zack makes against his shoulder gives Cloud another reason to cry again. A hot anger is bleeding inside every part of him, yet the Planet pulls the rope of Zack’s soul without ceasing. “Why is she hurting y—?!”
Zack shakes his head wildly. “She’s not! She’s—Cloud, please, the Lifestream is just taking me back, and I’m…” He swallows harshly. “I’m scared. I’ve never been able to do this before. This isn’t like when I died, I don’t—I don’t know if I’ll be back with Aerith this time, and leaving you…“ Zack doesn’t finish.
He takes a breath and holds it in his chest like an anchor, only letting it go when he feels a semblance of calm cut through his fear. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand roughly. Zack looks suddenly attentive to everything surrounding the two of them, at least until he stares off towards a pillar in the church like he’s listening hard for something that isn’t there.
Zack sits himself up away from Cloud’s figure, straightening. “I’m okay.” He says. The words are devoid of any confusion and oath to panic. “I promise, it’s all okay now. I know what’ll happen next.”
Cloud doesn’t understand what he’s saying or what he means, but finds a way to be content with that lack of knowledge when Zack’s hands reach his face. His bangs are being moved out of his eyes with such tenderness that Cloud tears up, burning and benign. Through his blurred vision, Zack is smiling, and Cloud is assured that he will never be able to understand. He can’t figure out how Zack can do something that might hurt so badly, just to give him serenity in the last few ticks they have together.
“My sunshine.” Zack gives him a benevolent kiss to the forehead, seared in all the goodness and yearning that ties it. He’s thieving greens and pretty blues.
Cloud wants to hear that endearment for the rest of his bewitched life. If this must be selfishness, the one that comes with keeping Zack a glance in his head, then he wants to be selfish. He reaches out to grab Zack’s arm, only to retract in dawning horror when it passes straight through the wisps of his soul.
Zack stands up saying, “You don’t have to look, buddy. I’ll see you soon.” He turns away from Cloud, his back already fading and pulling levered towards the hole in the church roof. Cloud notices that the rain has long stopped.
Zack going out the way he came is so dipped in irony that Cloud wants to laugh, keep sobbing. He won’t be able to live on if he does.
It happens fast. Cloud closes his eyes and doesn’t open them, even after the sound of Zack’s breathing is no longer heard harmonizing his. He calls out the man’s name in hopes that it was a stupid trick, a jest that he knows Zack would never think of doing to him.
No answer comes.
Cloud is shocked when numbness doesn’t creep into his fingers and limbs this time. He can move from sitting on his aching knees, reaching out towards Fenrir at the entrance of the church and being able to touch the bike with a solid hold. He doesn’t go tumbling. The clog of double knots in his chest have been untied, now hanging bare inside of him. When he passes through the opening of the slum church to head back to Edge—back home, a whisper tickles his ear. Cloud could recognize the voice from lightyears into space.
He falls through the doors of Seventh Heaven and lands in the embrace of whoever was closest. Nobody else but Tifa could have been so firm in aiding him the way he stands, he realizes. Cloud doesn’t want to let go of her.
“You okay?” She asks quietly, waving away their family behind his back with a solicitude look. The chatter arises again quickly, just as strongly as before. Reeve has managed to join one of their get-togethers, and Cloud can’t lie that he’s relieved to see the man cornered by Yuffie and not a robotic cat in sight.
Cloud can only grunt carelessly into her neck. It’s a short, mortifying noise, yet Tifa seems to understand.
She always does.
“It’s one of those days for you.” She concludes, not much else needing to be added. Tifa pretends to think, humming theatrically and drumming her fingers on his back. “Well… drinks are free.”
It’s a simple suggestion that makes Cloud chuckle. He pulls away from the hug and smirks at her, comfortable guile and playful ribbing on his lips. Tifa returns the look. She squeezes his arm to welcome him home and guides him to the chair he was in before he left, where Nanaki is cleaning a paw in feigned smugness on the floor. It’s as if to say, took you long enough.
Cloud looks around the room, eyes catching on Denzel and Marlene playing tag up the stairs, and how Cid barks at them to watch the infrastructure. Yuffie has given up on pestering Reeve, and is now ‘playing’ pool with Vincent. She’s replaced the balls with her Materia, which Vincent gives a disapproving, paternal glance at. But she’s having fun, so he continues humoring her. Barret has shoved a beer into Reeve’s hands, telling him to, “Loosen up! You look like you’ve got somethin’ stuck up your ass.”
Cloud lands on the two empty places in the bar.
They’re not glaring at him. Instead, they’re inviting him in and swelling with recognition. They speak to him, making him swear that he’ll be good to his heart.
Cloud listens.