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It is to Aerith's surprise now as they're laying together in a makeshift bed in the abandoned airship, that Tifa's muscles are a lot softer than they once seemed. As Aerith grazes her hand over Tifa's hips to come to an eventual rest at her naval, she lies spooning her slumbering friend and presses her cheek into her back.
The first time that Aerith caught herself staring at Tifa was in the cellar of the Honey Bee Inn. They'd known each other for all of twenty seconds, and Tifa merely asked who she was. Being left speechless isn't something she is used to feeling. It's perplexing.
By society's standards, she's the dictionary definition of beauty. A cascade of raven black hair spans the length of her back, with rich dark red eyes and a heart stopping smile to boot. Her slender hands clasped over her mouth and she's in a state of utter disbelief as Aerith outs the awkward blonde woman standing by the stairwell as Cloud Strife. Hesitantly stepping toward him, her hair falls behind her and reveals a surprise. Tifa's shoulders are a lot broader and more rounded than expected of a typical woman.
Very little about Tifa Lockhart is typical. She's a country girl from Nibelheim who found her way to Midgar via a mysterious aide, in the aftermath of the most nefarious cover-up operation in recent memory. Something had caused Sephiroth to go rogue. He torched the small town; Tifa and Cloud were two of the few to make it out of the inferno alive. Tifa joined AVALANCHE – an Eco-terrorist faction – shortly after she recovered from Sephiroth's parting gift – a life threatening stab wound precariously close to her heart.
For the record, it was not Cloud who lead the charge into the heart of Shin-Ra Electric Power Company Headquarters, after Aerith was captured while trying to protect a small girl named Marlene. It was Tifa.
Marlene is held dear by Tifa, though they're not mother and daughter – or related at all outside of the bonds of friendship and loyalty. Still, Aerith mustered every ounce of energy she could while shackled in the back of the cabin behind Tseng, to project her voice over the roar of the helicopter's propellers – she had to let Tifa know that Marlene was safe. Tifa didn't know her at all back then and had no reason besides human decency to risk her life on her behalf, but in the wake of the flying vessel's imminent departure – Aerith heard candid desperation in Tifa's hoarse voice. She promised that they were going to come back to get her. And they did – by the skin of their teeth.
Curiosity got the better of her once more, while they were engaged in their high speed chase down the highway across and out of Midgar.
Barret was hunkered in the bed of the pickup truck, firing rounds at the rogue infantry left chasing them as Tifa steered the truck with a remarkable sense calm in the midst of chaos while Cloud swung his behemoth sword at the stragglers as he balanced on a motorbike - exceeding the posted limit by double figures. At this speed, it's a wonder how they're able to both navigate the extensive overpass system as landmarks seem little more than a blur of colour as they're hurtling through a slalom-like series of turns and twists in the road. There's little that Aerith or the red cat-like creature named Red XIII, can do to help. Feeling perhaps a little foolish given the situation and nothing to do but hope they don't end up in a fiery crash, she steals another glance. Those shoulders were indeed still there.
Not a product of optimal lighting conditions or a figment of her imagination running free; as Tifa grasped the wheel to wrench the vehicle around a blind corner and they're thrown against the cabin (and thus praising the high heavens for seat belts), they appear once more. One hand holding the wheel straight as they exit the turn, the other on the shift lever, thrusting the car into a higher gear as her left foot eases into the clutch and the other boot standing firm on the accelerator pedal – Tifa's forearm extensors flex and stiffen under the load of another turn charged with inertia.
Good god, is Tifa smiling?!
This time, Aerith is sent sliding into the younger woman, instinctively grabbing onto anything to hold her steady - and that something happened to be Tifa's bicep. She doesn't hear Tifa the first time when she asks if Aerith is okay.
Quite frankly, it's possible that Aerith is a little starstruck.
“You okay?” Tifa repeats, quickly scraping her hair out of her vision.
Aerith laughs lightly, her voice a little shaken, “Yeah... you drive like this isn't your first rodeo-”
Tifa purses her lips, the corner of her mouth twitching to smile. A quick glance gives Aerith a once over, “What gave me away?”
No, definitely starstruck. Being flattened under the anvil of a developing crush is probably a better way to describe her current state of affairs. Tifa isn't at all like any one of the stacked men she has met over the years – turning out to be really quite shy on a one to one basis, and seemingly oblivious to her quiet charm rather than into herself and what she looks like. Aerith would be surprised if the pupils of her eyes aren't fucking heart shaped, because Tifa has some nerve making a simple self assured smile look so god damn sexy. In hindsight, she probably didn't even intend to either - which kills her.
Privacy wasn't a commodity at all– not while chasing Sephiroth across the continent. Being strapped for cash and having limited camping supplies meant doubling up whenever sleeping arrangements were to be made. Cloud and Barret didn't seem to mind each other's company as much now, and it was the unsaid word that Tifa and Aerith would share; leaving Aerith delighted if not a little hot under her collar given the way that Tifa's compassionate and kind temperament are beginning to sink anchors into her heart.
And, she's beautiful.
Tifa was always quite modest, even as quickly as their friendship took off. She discarded her clothing soon after they retired nightly, promptly changing into which ever over-sized shirts they have remaining that are clean enough to wear for bed. She usually dressed quietly, and tried to minimize interaction. Aerith wholly respects that; didn't ask or pry.
She promises that she had looked over to half-dressed Tifa because she was sneezing, meaning to bless her. Her intentions and actual reaction deviate the moment her eyes find a strong and wide back, marbled with cords of muscle – all highlighted in the ambient lighting. Her mouth is completely dry and her heart has taken flight, so she grasps for her water and gulps – only to gasp when Tifa stretches suddenly. She coughs - which causes Tifa to spin with concern written into the crinkles around her eyes, and Aerith blushes hotly after spluttering. She tries not to zero in on her best friend's physical features, though she hasn't had very many friends in the first place; so Tifa is perhaps the only exception.
Incoherent sentences, excessive fidgeting with her hands – an inability to complete basic human functions. Aerith is a proverbial mess while Tifa is the product of hard work and dedication; she transformed herself into a weapon and need not rely on swords or guns – or anyone. An incentive that she appreciates as a woman in this day and age, but she isn't just feeling admiration: desire, excitement. Arousal.
Tifa has wonderful, naturally occurring proportions; yet all of these muscles and the definition set against her curvaceous frame enhance the femininity she already exudes. Strong and powerful, but oh so soft. She'd kiss Tifa – in the very same way that boys want to.
Her attention is captured by Tifa's obliques before Aerith reels; quickly trying to conceal any trace of panic that she was staring again and this time – Tifa was looking straight at her. Crap – Aerith breaks out in cold sweat. She just had to have noticed where her attention was focused... though her expression is vaguely unreadable and Tifa quirks her head to the side. She smiles when her gaze flits between Aerith's eyes and mouth. She acts like hasn't noticed her mouth hanging open or the swipe of her tongue to wet her lips when she starts chuckling.
“Try swallowing it next time.”
Her heart is in her throat. At some point, Tifa found her way around their bags of supplies and stood beside her - patting her on the back, closer than she really ought to be. Her breath hitches once more as their skin touches lightly. Thankfully, she learned to live for these moments and enjoy the butterflies as they're rampant and boisterous within her stomach cavity. “I did. You're very distracting.”
How much Tifa truly cares about her appearance is a bit of a mystery, though the cheeky little smirk falling behind her hair is telling and alluring. “Try harder.”
Being within a five mile radius of the barmaid's vicinity while fighting was utterly problematic, too.
Grappling her targets to the ground with more grace than seems necessary; delivering a flurry of hemorrhaging punches and a frenzy of high kicks which too frequently expose a lot of leg. Can you blame her, for struggling to remain focused on subduing Hell Riders and Hippogriffs, when Tifa fights with the force of a hurricane around them? All too often Aerith finds herself in breathless wonder; stealing glances once the fight is over and Tifa is preoccupied with massaging her cramping legs or readjusting her skirt (that frankly needs exchanging for the next size up – or switching out with cargo shorts completely. As if cargo shorts would help Aerith's predicament at all).
At one point she had considered splitting off with Yuffie and Nanaki the next time the group reorganized - it wasn't fair on Tifa that she couldn't control her thoughts, especially given as many times as she threatened a botched castration for those making unwanted remarks. The guilt she harbored pertaining to the extent of her physical attraction lessened after she pulled through the coma that Cloud had left her in. The disgraced General hijacked the Jenova cells within him, and commanded Cloud to turn against the Cetra. Barret pulled her aside after she'd recovered. He went so far as to suggest that Tifa's fury toward Cloud had been unreasonable – having never seen her react in such cold blood: even after the loss of Biggs, Jessie and Wedge.
She simply would not listen to Vincent, Barret or Cid as they tried to reason with her - later revealing that the martial artist was the one responsible for having left Cloud unconscious; allowing Aerith to enter his dreams and disclose to him that she had to be the one to thwart Sephiroth. Despite his insistence, she refused to tell him how.
Following a hair-raising and close brush with her mortality in the Temple beneath the City of the Ancients, it was a struggle to find the right moment to confront Tifa about her feelings – the timing had never been right. Yuffie became guilty of third-wheeling them. Their guard needed to remain in place in the Wilderness even as exhausted as they were – injured from the last battle and anxious for the next.
There were a couple of moments, still fresh in her memory - awash with regret that she missed her chance. Watching Scarlet humiliate Tifa had hurt, however she couldn't bare witness to her torture and near execution at the old hag's hand. Choked, desperate pleas escaped her throat as Tifa thrashed against cold steel and leather buckles that kept her restrained in the gas chamber; a taste of revenge came in the form of a satisfying clap and subsequent sting as Aerith's hand made contact with Scarlet's face on top of Sister Canon. Following that; Sephiroth's control over the Jenova cells within Cloud's bloodstream, the manipulation and eventual fracture of his mind at the Planet's core shook Tifa's psychological and emotional resilience. The outlook for the Planet and her friends had been bleak at best: but they overcame.
Those distractions are gone now. Their friends dispersed and returned to their loves ones as they watched and waited to see if she'd successfully called upon Holy. She remained behind with Tifa, who hadn't anywhere to go.
On a lonely evening bathed under the light of Meteor's fireball, Tifa raided Cid's supply of hard liquor – they drank from the bottle and danced barefoot across the deck to the music from a gramophone manufactured before either of them were born, and Tifa looked at her.
Cheeks rosied from alcohol and her chest heaving; Tifa hasn't let go of her hand, nor moved her own from the Cetra's waist. Her fingertips trace Tifa's arms and finally, she gives Tifa a squeeze. The nervous chuckle expels her hot breath against her cheek. She can't tear her eyes away from Tifa's and the gulping sound from her throat is audible enough. The music piece ends, they meet somewhere in the middle. It's the non-verbal communication following suit that declares her desire is reciprocated.
It's not the best kiss she's had – they're both a little all over the place from the booze – but it comes easily. Timid lips caressing hers become more confident, hands splaying over exposed skin and removing all space between them until Aerith soon takes the lead and curls her arms around Tifa's neck, deepening it and inviting Tifa to more. They find themselves on an old mattress, on the floor, soon afterward.