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“Looks like you’re having fun!”
Tifa looks behind her abruptly. Last time she checked, the gym should be empty, but when she turns she indeed finds Aerith staring back at her. She smiles, getting up to the ring, climbing up herself and happily accepting Tifa’s hand.
“I’m just releasing stress,” she gestures towards the punching bag behind her, laughing, albeit a little nervous. Why? Her heart had simply sped up with Aerith’s presence. “Did you need anything?”
“Oh, no, I’m just here for you. Biggs said I could find you here, so here I am,” Aerith looks around the room like she’s trying to find something. “You don’t happen to have an extra pair of gloves, do you?”
“Uh, I think I do! Do you want to train?”
“Better than that, I wanna fight you!” she exclaims happily. Tifa takes a step back. “Originally, I came here to ask you if you wanted to come buy stuff with me, but this is sooo much better.”
“Fight me?” Tifa doesn’t have an interest to fight Aerith at all, but she lights up again. “Oh, I don’t want to pick up a fight. This is very much stress-relief, that’s all.”
Aerith looks at her up and down and vaguely gestures at her legs. “You have weights on your legs, Tifa, I think you want a fight.”
Tifa looks down at her legs—she briefly forgot she had those on. She had been here to pick up a fight, but not towards anyone else—mostly with herself. Sleep has been hard, nightmares have been frequent, and as much as she loves managing the bar this is what truly brings her to life; simply dropping her energy on training.
“Sure,” Tifa gives in, because it’s always hard to deny Aerith. She always had a mischievous way of sneaking into her life, Tifa found it hard to want to say no to her propositions. “Be warned, I hit hard.”
“I’m aware! I’ve seen you fight, remember? You really know how to throw a punch.” Aerith adopts a fighting stance. “No holding back.”
Tifa holds back, of course. Not because she’s afraid of hurting Aerith—if anything, if one of them got hurt, it would probably be Tifa: Aerith’s strength wasn’t meant to be underestimated. It’s fun to fight her, anyway, her style with her fists is so much different than in normal battles. Aerith fights dirty. It’s unpredictable, because even someone like Tifa has movements she falls back on, a pattern that she respects and a style she likes to stick on.
Aerith fights dirty in the way she doesn’t stick by any rules. Sometimes her defense is a little sloppy, but she keeps up with Tifa almost effortlessly, and wearing a dress. It almost feels like dancing, either way, with the way they only block and attack. It’s not a fight—it’s just them having fun.
They do call it a tie eventually. Aerith sits on the ground once they’re done, slightly out of breath. “Jeez, Tifa, haven’t you been working out for hours now? How are you so in shape?”
Tifa smiles at her. “Come on now. I know you’re lying. You’ve fought longer and harder back then.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” immediately, she’s back to normal. So easy to swap between moods. “Are you feeling better? Come sit with me.”
Tifa does so, and god, was she sweating too much? Did she even smell okay to be so close to Aerith? Once she does, though, Aerith doesn’t mind snuggling closer to her, head resting on her shoulder. Her hands envelop Tifa’s own, sighing happily.
“So? Are you any better?”
“Yeah, lots. Thank you.” She squeezes Aerith’s hand back. “I guess it’s just… hard, getting used to everything again.”
“I understand. Did you know I know way too many methods to relieve stress?”
“How so?”
“Well, growing up, I needed to get my mom’s head off all her stress, as well as my own. I have many techniques.” Aerith turns to look at her, “But I figure you and I could just kiss.”
Tifa breaks out laughing. “That’s a solution, yes.”
“So can we?”
She’s already turning to her to meet her lips halfway. All at once, the stress finally leaves her, sighing into the kiss. Aerith’s hands are the furthest thing away from soft; they’re rough, and yet so tender when they cup Tifa’s face. Without it getting too soft and too tender, Aerith bites down on her lip playfully, making them both laugh. “See? Already so much better.”
Tifa nods. “You didn’t lie about that.”
“I know other methods, too,” Tifa gives her a look. “Jeez! Not anything dirty! We could just pick up flowers. Go out and walk together. Maybe pay a visit to the orphanage! The kids will like you soooo much more than Cloud.”
“You think so?”
“You’re my girlfriend. That gives you automatic like-pass. I’m an important figure over there!”
“Of course you are,” Tifa smiles, “Thank you.”
Stretching, Aerith stands up, pulling Tifa up with her. “I still want a market date, y’know. I came all the way for this.”
“Can I shower first? I must stink.”
“Only if I can join.”
“You’re absolutely shameless.”
Tifa does let her join, though.
“Have you ever been into the language of flowers?” Aerith asks, holding the basket as Tifa fills it with more flowers. “Or just picking them in general?”
“Can’t say I have,” Tifa answers honestly. “I’ve always appreciated them aesthetically, and that’s all.”
The honesty is clearly appreciated. Aerith grins, handing her one flower—small, yellow. She eyes it curiously, expecting Aerith to elaborate on its meaning, and luckily she does.
“This is a dandelion,” Aerith leans over it a little, pointing at the petals. “See? This one is different to the flower Cloud gave you.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember now! Does this mean anything different?”
“Yup! This one means happiness. I’m giving it to you.”
She takes it gratefully, tucking it behind her ear, and Aerith pecks her cheek in approval. Okay, if wearing flowers meant her girlfriend giving her more cheek kisses, then she’d start tagging along more.
“Some kids like some flowers for their appearance, but it’s funny—whatever they choose, it seems to fit them perfectly. Some flowers can mean hope in the darkest times. Others can simply represent youth and good times. Don’t you think that’s a nice thing?”
Tifa hums in approval, gently picking up some flowers. “It’s curious how they are a language of its own.”
“It makes them fun to talk to them!”
“Do they talk to you back?”
“Most of the time, yeah,” Aerith says, completely serious, and Tifa believes her. Of course. “This might sound weird, but…”
“Mm?”
“Don’t we owe it to the planet to think everything has a language of its own?” Aerith sighs, almost nostalgic, almost hopeful; “Maybe if we speak to everything—if we consider everything to be like flowers, maybe slowly, we’ll reach the peace we want so badly.”
Before Tifa is able to reply or even think of an answer, Aerith breaks into a short laugh. “Sorry, got carried away. What do you say we bring these to the orphanage now?”
Nodding, Tifa holds her hand.
“You know, I don’t mind you sharing your thoughts with me. I love listening to you talk.”
That earns her another kiss. “Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.”
The best way to release stress, at the end of the day, might just be a good hug. It’s almost crazy how well Aerith fits with her; how there seems to be something so soothing about Aerith herself—she was a hurricane in so many ways. Except, in times like these, Tifa got to be at the eye of the hurricane: calm and quiet.
Aerith tightens her hold on Tifa slightly, nuzzling closer to her chest. “You’re warm.”
Fingers thread through Aerith’s hair. Long and soft, impossible to resist it, and the more she touches her the easier the stress melts.
“You too,” Tifa leans in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Hey… thanks.”
“Oh? For what?”
“For being you, really. You help me in everything more than I could say.” Bringing her for a short kiss, she notices Aerith smiling as soon as they pull apart. “What’s so funny?”
Settling on her chest once more, she sighs softly. “I could say the same about you.”