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Meteor was gone, but it wasn’t enough. The Lifestream prevented the planet’s demise and turned a blind eye to the survivors of the near-apocalypse. Tifa poured her soul into securing victory. They won. The fight was over, yet it had only begun. Most returned home to recover and rebuild. Tifa didn’t blame them, but what home was there to return to? She already experienced that loss before.
Standing in the ruin that was Midgar, she wondered if it was even her place to help.
She never expected to run into him, of all people. How the Turks survived puzzled her, though she refrained from asking; despite Shinra’s collapse, their former association hung over them like a phantom.
“I don’t need your help,” Tifa reminded Rude every day.
He tilted his head in her direction, sunglasses blocking whether he looked to her. “I know.”
And yet he showed up every morning to assist with debris cleaning and meal prepping and building reconstruction. The sight of him left Tifa huffing and storming elsewhere. After everything he did, he thought he could help? As if that would make things better?
“Why are you still here?” she demanded a month after Meteorfall.
People came and went—strangers and friends, alike—but Rude stayed. He paused amidst painting an exterior wall. White dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows—perhaps the most casual she had ever seen him. Everything else hadn’t changed, even his silent demeanor.
“The building won’t paint itself,” he offered.
Tifa groaned and smacked her face. “No, I mean… you!” She gestured at him, her impatience evident. “This wasn’t your home and yet you’re here.”
Rude averted his gaze and adjusted his sunglasses. “Maybe I’m trying to find someplace to call home.”
“And helping people who hate what you are—”
“What I used to be,” he politely corrected her.
Tifa rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t change what happened.”
“No. You’re right.” His entire body faced her. “It doesn’t. But I can change my future.”
“And you think that’ll work?”
The corner of his lips quirked up. “One can hope.”
Rude returned to his painting and Tifa stood, staring a hole into his damn body. It didn’t change the fact he stayed in the rubble and helped those in need—those who had every right to despise him. Tifa scoffed whenever his words echoed in her mind until it came as naturally to her as breathing.
It wasn’t until they looped through her thoughts for the millionth time that she paused and reconsidered. Tifa gazed over the reclaimed destruction. Something small, yet humble. No need to replicate an urban sprawl; the people simply required a home to call their own.
She envied that sentiment. Sure, she had a modest apartment and most knew her by name, but was it home? Whenever Tifa pondered on the notion, she drifted to Nibelheim and the vast countryside nestled at the bottom of a mountain range. She longed for the fresh air and the chilly nights and the simple luxuries the cities abandoned for ease and commercial quantities. No matter her efforts and willpower, Midgar was never home. Not in the sense she wanted it to be.
The deeper the realization sank in, the more she looked beyond the reconstruction and smiling faces. Maybe where she belonged was beyond that, past the mountains and ocean. Perhaps it was tucked in the clouds and stars. Tifa sighed and kept busy, hoping it sufficed to distract herself. It never lasted.
Especially not when Rude snuck up to assist her.
She still glared at him, but held her tongue. He offered to take over cleaning dishes, collecting tools, and organizing recycled scraps so she could relax.
“I don’t like sitting around and doing nothing,” Tifa grumbled to herself one day.
From the way he slowed his actions and glanced in her direction—seriously, damn those shades—she was convinced he heard her. But Rude never replied. Typical. Then again, so were his kind gestures day after day. Tifa anticipated them, even if she refused to admit it.
Everyone else moved on with their lives, but Rude stayed, always following her lead. She wondered if he considered it an unspoken bond between them as much as she did; so long as she helped, so would he. Or maybe it was different from his perspective. Whether it was a path to redemption or a means to combat boredom, Tifa was unaware.
She almost didn’t want to ask, out of fear it would shatter the illusion—that he would leave.
Why would I care if he left? Tifa argued with herself late at night. He used to be the enemy. I don’t need him in my life.
She thought that. Believed it, even. Until one morning he wasn’t there.
Tifa expected not to notice his absence, but the weight clung to her stomach. Subtle movements from the corner of her eye brought a hitch in her throat; every time she pivoted, she never found him. All that remained of Rude were ghosts of memories she refused to relinquish.
Without him around, Tifa’s workload doubled. Without him around, Tifa’s annoyances simmered and shifted to other areas, like the kids pelting her windows with pebbles and the man across the street never picking up after his dog and the adjacent neighbors unable to speak below a yell. Without him around, Tifa’s mind wandered, thinking of where he was and how he was doing. Furthermore, she wondered if he thought of her, just like she was.
And if he was, then why the hell did he leave?
She replayed memories of their time together, both before and after Meteorfall. Rude frequented Seventh Heaven enough for her to notice, yet his quiet demeanor meant nothing beyond drink orders. Rumors had spread of Shinra rats poking their noses around the slums; by then, Rude stopped making his rounds for the usual rum and tonic. When they met again, Tifa greeted him with a fist to the face. The battle to save Sector 7 blurred, but she never forgot the agonizing realization of the silent regular being the Shinra scum after all.
Even then, he never harmed her. Not then, not now. She remembered yelling at him when he showed up to help the survivors of Meteorfall. But why? None of the damage was his doing—not this time. Even then, he was simply the messenger, a guise he donned no more. And yet Tifa berated him, withholding the burning desire to punch him again, and he absorbed her wrath. Day after day.
“I don’t need your help,” was what she had said.
“I know,” was always his response.
The truth was the workload minimized by the time he left; it only overwhelmed Tifa due to her lack of drive and effort. Having him around… it made a difference. And there was little to help with.
What Tifa truly needed to work on was a matter only she could fix.
The survivors of Midgar reclaimed their home while she contemplated where her heart belonged. People asked when she would rebuild Seventh Heaven and offered assistance, if needed. Each time, Tifa forced a smile and declined. Her replies puzzled her, but each day without Rude, the fog gradually lifted until it clicked.
By then, she packed what little possessions she had and left. Few bid her farewell and wished her luck on her journey, wherever she was going. The destination eluded Tifa, but her heart didn’t belong in Midgar. Not anymore. Maybe I’ll know once I find it, she thought en route to Junon. Somewhere quiet, perhaps. Where no one knows me and I can start over.
Life since Nibelheim wasn’t even a life; she survived, unaware of what the days brought. No long-term plans, no life goals to accomplish. Tifa wanted to live, yet she had forgotten how. She thought of that upon reaching Junon’s docks—what she lost and never recovered. Material objects were replaceable, but living without a care in the world? One did not stand quickly after trauma and shock. She needed to relearn: to walk, to run, to laugh, to breathe, all of it.
A boarding call boomed through the speakers. She froze, people passing by to file onto the ship. Tifa held a single, one-way ticket. Maybe she should have stayed in Midgar and make the best out of a horrible situation. Her brows furrowed together—wasn’t that what she had done before? Back when Zangan left her in recovery, he deemed Tifa his strongest student, that she would pull herself together and figure it out. Because of that, he left her alone. She wished he hadn’t; she needed help, more than she realized.
But she survived. It wasn’t the life she wanted, but she persisted.
She eyed her ticket, then the blue skies above. Her heavy pack dug into her shoulders and her sore feet ached in her worn boots. Closing her fist over the ticket, she approached the ship and ignored the screaming doubts and anxieties whirling in her mind. She was tired of sitting around and allowing life to pass by; sometimes the bravest act wasn’t found in battle, but by simply doing something.
As the ship drifted into the ocean and Junon shrank in the distance, Tifa braced against the railing and remembered saying something similar when Rude was still around.
She savored the trip to Costa del Sol this time around. No need to sneak off the ship or hide amidst the crowd. Tifa’s only worries were taming her windblown hair and finding food. After that, a place to stay for the night. The rest she could figure out in the morning, if at all.
Tifa ambled about the streets, a sight for sore eyes amidst flashy tourists with her drab, threadbare attire. The beachwear in various boutique windows caught her attention, but her grumbling stomach nudged her elsewhere. Posters and flyers adorned the vibrant buildings, advertising getaway tours and real estate opportunities in the broken world. Tifa ignored the leads and followed the rich scent of tropical fruit and spices.
The open venue was structured like a cafe from the topside of Midgar, yet the shelves stocked with alcohol said otherwise. Rustic meals filled the plates at each table. Finding a seat proved to be complicated, though Tifa spotted one towards the end of the bar.
“Finally,” she muttered, shrugging off the backpack before collapsing into the highchair.
The bartender appeared before she caught her breath and took her simple order of, “Some tap water and chef’s choice for food.” She heaved out a sigh once the bartender left, folding her arms on top of the counter and slumping forward. Countless people chatted, their voices mixing with the white noise of the ocean. A gentle breeze sifted through and the shade offered reprieve from the noon sun. She could relax. She could—
“Tifa?”
Her eyes snapped open. Lifting her head, she looked to the origin of the sound. The voice was familiar, yet the face wasn’t.
Not at first.
The man sitting next to her didn’t wear a tailored suit; the loose, button-down blended with the locals and beachgoers alike. He wore cargo shorts and sandals instead of dress pants and matching shoes. Even the relaxed posture was indicative of one who basked in their surroundings, no longer working arduous hours. It didn’t hide the aspects Tifa recognized, however: the multiple earrings, the trimmed goatee, the clean-shaved head.
But without his sunglasses, Tifa almost believed anyone but Rude addressed her.
Her breath caught and eyes widened. “Rude?!”
She swore his lips quirked, but it was the softness in his brown eyes which left her heart skipping. Had his gaze always been gentle? He carried a variety of sentiments in his eyes alone, transforming his otherwise stone-cold expression into something kind and inviting.
“Hey,” he replied, as mellow as ever.
“Hey?” She fluttered her eyes. “That’s all you’re going to say?” He looked elsewhere briefly and she swore blush colored his cheeks. “Geez, you up and disappear without telling anyone and then I find you in Costa del Sol, of all places.”
“Didn’t want to burden you,” he said before sipping his drink—his usual, Tifa noticed, albeit embellished with a tiny umbrella.
“You can’t just leave like that without saying goodbye.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Parting her lips, Tifa caught herself and thought better. The irony struck through her and she laughed. A small smirk flashed across Rude’s lips, disappearing behind his glass.
“Sorry, I just—” Tifa sighed heavily. “—I didn’t realize I was going to miss you until you were gone.”
“You missed me?”
I said that out loud, didn’t I? Tifa buried her face into her hands and groaned.
“You don’t need to say that to make me feel better,” Rude said.
“No,” Tifa muttered through her fingers. “I mean it.”
“Really?”
She spread her fingers to reveal her ruby eyes. “Yeah. Really.”
He smirked, sipped his drink, and said nothing more. The bartender returned with a glass of ice water for Tifa. Her fingertips traced the rim. The silence suffocated her more than the humid air. For once, she longed for Rude to speak, to say anything to her.
“What are you even doing here?” Tifa eventually asked.
“Not obvious?”
“I mean it, Rude.”
“Settled down here. Seemed like a good place to start over.” Rude looked her over. “You?”
Inhaling deeply, Tifa nodded. “Yeah. Same. I mean, I don’t know if I’m going to settle here, but anywhere is better than Midgar, I guess. I just… need to find someplace that feels like home to me.” Bitter laughter graced her lips. “I sound like a lovesick ballad, don’t I?”
“No.”
Sweet and simple and to the point. You haven’t changed. “Thanks for listening. Um… I’ll leave you be so you can drink in—”
“Are you sticking around?”
Tifa blinked. “Here? For now, yeah. Until I figure out something better.”
Rude nodded, as if regarding the wisdom in her words. He poked his tongue out to run across his lips and Tifa flinched from the shiver running up her spine. His eyes returned to her. Tifa froze, unable to look elsewhere. Had he always regarded her like this, like only she existed?
“Hey,” he said, shifting to face her.
Tifa tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and bit her lower lip. “Hey.”
“You mind if I buy you a drink?”
There was a softness in his question that radiated through his body language and burned in his eyes. Something timid, yet genuine. For all the rage he provoked from her, nothing but a tender warmth filled Tifa’s heart. They weren’t living in the past; they lived in the present as two wayward souls in search of a home. Well, Rude found what that meant to him. Tifa hoped she could say the same for herself.
Until then, she smiled and tilted her head. “As long as you don’t mind a girl with expensive taste.”
For the first time, she witnessed him smiling. “Not at all.”