Work Text:
She didn’t know how much she missed the stars until they were gone.
She took advantage of the dazzling nights in Nibelheim; she was a child and didn’t know better. Who did at that age? Her attention span matched the shooting stars—bright, yet fleeting. Plenty occupied the bubble she existed in: games of pretend, piano lessons, flower picking, dress shopping, and more. Life was a marvel to a mere child and Tifa devoured it without thinking.
Maybe if she slowed down, she would have made a wish on the shooting stars she ignored. Maybe they would come true and her parents wouldn’t have died and Nibelheim wouldn’t have burned and she would be anywhere but the home of her enemy.
In the lulls, she glanced up, expecting something than the steel plate blocking the stars. The artificial glow mimicked the wondrous heavens she grew up with, but it wasn’t the same. Even if the plate vanished, she doubted the stars would glimmer amidst the light pollution in Midgar.
But then the plate did fall. The events following the catastrophe remained out of her control. Just like Nibelheim. But when she fled the city with her allies—no, my friends, she corrected herself—she almost forgot to tilt her head back and acknowledge the vast sky.
Once nightfall arrived, Tifa struggled to look anywhere but above.
“It’s really pretty,” Aerith commented, a touch of sadness marking her words.
“Yeah.” Tifa scooted closer to her on the cliff, lost somewhere between Midgar and wherever the next town was, but at least she was in good company. “I forgot how many there were.”
Aerith giggled. “You counted them?”
Tifa smiled—a blend of bitter nostalgia and wistful hope. “Not then, but I’m going to. Starting now.”