Chapter Text
Cloud returns to Seventh Heaven to find it silent.
“I’m back,” he says to the empty bar. Nothing replies. He frowns.
Cloud shuts the door behind him, the click of the wood slipping shut echoes. “Tifa?” The lights are all off, unused chairs still tucked neatly into tables. “Denzel? Marlene?”
Nothing.
The air prickles at his skin. His footsteps are too loud - too heavy. They echo off quiet walls that make his chest clench.
He’d just finished his deliveries for the day. It’d been a busy day, so he’d had to leave early in the morning, slinking out the door just as Tifa had made her way down the steps with sleep still clinging to her skin. He’d told her he’d be back for dinner, and to wait for him. She’d hummed and kissed him goodbye through a yawn. It’d all been perfectly normal.
Until now.
Cloud steps into the kitchen first. It’s entirely empty. The dining table is clear. There’s nothing on the stove but, at least, he isn’t surprised by that. Tifa wouldn’t have left anything on the stove on.
He turns sharply on his heel, and heads up the stairs. His boots scuff the wood. The sound is a little frantic. He knows he’d finished up quicker than expected, and that he’s early to return, but even so - Seventh Heaven has no business being this quiet. The kids should be back from school by now. They should be on the dining table doing their homework, filling the halls with bickering as Tifa prepares for opening up in the kitchen.
Instead, dust drifts - lazy, too lazy - in muted afternoon rays that slip through window panes.
Maybe the office? Maybe Tifa is doing some paperwork and the kids are doing homework up there to accompany her? His feet carry him over to his former bedroom before he can decide. The door is ajar when he nudges it open, only to find that the room is empty. The kids’ desks are a mess of strewn paper and lonely pencils, but it’s the same mess that it’d been in for the past week.
He whirls around.
Mako enhanced hearing strains, but for all the pain and grief the mako in his blood has caused, it’s utterly useless now. All it does is make the silence scream louder.
Cloud opens the kids’ bedroom door. The drawings pinned to the wall beside it flutter with the force of the door swinging open. The only thing to greet him are Marlene and Denzel’s bed, both haphazardly made.
He spins on his heel, leaving the door open as he crosses the hall to the remaining place that he hasn’t checked. His heart is thudding in his ears. Why is he getting so worked up? Because he’s never seen Seventh Heaven so empty? So dark? So void of the life and laughter that’s been sustaining him this whole time?
Cloud grips the doorknob, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s almost too afraid to open it. There hasn’t been any signs of a struggle anywhere. Surely, nothing bad could have happened? He takes a deep breath, forces his eyes open, and turns the knob. This time, he pushes the door open gingerly.
Their bed is immaculately made.
That’s it.
Cloud grips the doorknob tighter, his ring digging into his finger. A thousand what-ifs flood his head. Too many of them end in red that slides down the edge of a blade, dripping onto old wood. The colour that stains his gloves, that streaks ashen skin and melts in rain. That blooms across white fabric in visions where he doesn’t know if it’s real, or fake, but where he knows the cold panic that clutches at his throat is real.
The same icy grip that squeezes at his neck now.
Cloud lets go of the doorknob with a strangled breath. He fumbles into his pocket, fishing out his phone. Why didn’t he think of doing this earlier? He’s letting panic mar his thinking. All he has to do is pull up Tifa’s phone number and call her. Tifa always picks up.
The dial tone drones and he hears a familiar ringtone answer his call from somewhere downstairs.
It’s getting harder to breathe.
Cloud stuffs his phone away. Everything is okay. It’s okay - isn’t it? Nothing says that it’s not. Nothing except the silence, and the dark walls that creep closer. He grabs the handrails of the steps, shoulder bumping into the wall. Part of him is desperately clinging to the signs that things are alright. It’s just quiet. Tifa is probably just out. Maybe Denzel and Marlene are playing somewhere and all three of them lost track of time. Everything is where it should be. It’s okay .
Part of him screams louder. They’re gone. Someone got them outside Seventh Heaven - on the streets, maybe. And he hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t been around to protect them. Again. His second chance, and he’s fucked up, just like that. They’re gone. They’re gone and he’s alone again.
He makes it down the stairs and drowns.
It slams into him and snatches the ground from beneath his feet. Cloud manages a step away from the stairs and nothing more. He’s fighting for every breath through the ice cold clench around his throat while everything else spins and burns. All he can hear is the howl of blood. His shoulders scrape the wall, one hand flying out to brace against it, fist curled so tight that his leather glove creaks.
There’s no ground beneath his feet - just an empty cavern that yawns and drags him down, down, down to where he was always meant to be.
“Cloud?”
His eyes snap open.
For a second he can’t see anything - only blurs of colour that don’t register. Next thing he knows, there are hands on his shoulders. They’re warm, calloused. The colours that fill his vision are familiar. Ivory. Chestnut. And then - carmine.
“Ti..fa?”
She’s propping him up, brows furrowed in deep worry. “Cloud? Are you okay? What happened?” Her eyes flit over his form, searching for some injury on him. But there’s none, of course, because they’re all in places she can’t see.
If he had barely been about to breathe earlier, the relief that crashes into him steals the rest of it away.
Cloud reaches out. In that sliver of moment where he sees Tifa blink in surprise, and where he sees his arms stretch out before him - he thinks it’s a dream. He thinks he’s going to crash into air. That the universe is taunting him in the last beats before it hauls him into the dark.
But his arms find Tifa solid and warm.
“Clo-!” He hears her voice in his ear as he tucks his head against hers. His legs give out, but Tifa’s quick. She catches him - of course she does, she always does - and manages to lower them both slowly to the ground. His knees hit wood instead of shadows.
“Cloud? Tifa? Is something wrong?” Cloud hears Marlene approach. He manages a quick glance - she’s confused and worried, small arms laden with plastic bags. Behind her, Denzel is shutting the door to Seventh Heaven with one free hand, the other gripping a heavier looking bag.
All is well. Cloud shudders with relief.
“No, nothing’s wrong,” Tifa replies for him, because he still can’t find his voice yet. “Why don’t you guys take the stuff into the kitchen? I’ll be there in a second.”
Cloud sees Marlene and Denzel exchange an uncertain glance. This time, Denzel replies. “‘kay,” he says, simply enough, before giving Marlene a little nudge. The kids turn and retreat into the kitchen.
Tifa turns her head just enough to press a kiss into his hair. They’re still crumpled on the floor, but Cloud likes the solid feeling of ground beneath them. She doesn’t say anything, only pushes her hand up to hold the back of his head, blond locks slipping between the cracks of her fingers. Tifa, always patient, waits.
“...Sorry,” he manages.
“Don’t be.”
“I thought that-” he swallows, “-that something happened.”
“Nothing happened, Cloud.” She starts to rub her hand back and forth over the back of his head, carding through his hair, holding him close. “I took the kids to the store and forgot my phone - I didn’t think you’d be back so early.”
His fingers dig into her. He isn’t sure if it’s relief or shame - probably both.
“Everything’s okay.” The way she speaks feels as much like a hug as her arms around him. “This was supposed to be a surprise but...maybe it’d be better if you come and help us instead.” Tifa adds lightly. He can tell she’s trying to distract him from the shadows that still creep the corners of his mind.
Cloud follows her lead. “Help with what?”
He can almost feel her smile. Tifa gives him a squeeze and slowly lets go just enough to pull back, “In the kitchen. You’ll see.”
Her smile alone is enough to let curiousity peek through. Cloud pauses a moment, just to drink in her expression - the glimmer of mischief and excitement in her eyes, the upward quirk of familiar lips, arms that are sculpted with muscle.
“Okay.”
“Great,” she smiles a little wider, and starts to get up onto her feet. Tifa pulls him along with her. “Let’s not keep the kids waiting then. They’ve been very excited.”
When Cloud steps into the kitchen, Marlene almost kicks him right back out. But Tifa swoops in just in time to save the day once again. Meanwhile, Denzel is laughing as he unpacks the plastic bags they’d brought in. There’s flour, and eggs, and fresh cream, and sugar, and strawberries.
“Okay, but you have to at least guess, okay, Cloud?” Marlene waggles a finger at him as he’s washing his hand, and as Tifa is getting more things from the cupboards - a mixing bowl, a whisk, a spatula.
His limbs still feel numb, and his mind foggy; but, Cloud manages a small smile. “Sure.”
Cloud doesn’t end up getting to do very much at all. Tifa instructs Marlene and Denzel on what ingredients to fetch, how much of it they need, what prepwork needs to be done, and how it will all come together. He tries to pitch in, but the kids sweep in before he can do anything - snatching measuring cups and whisks out of his reach before he can grab them, or shoving themselves between him and Tifa so they’re first in line to do the next task. When he tries to do the dishes, Marlene slaps the sponge out of his hand while Denzel sidles up and hogs the sink.
It makes Tifa laugh, so he doesn’t complain.
The chatter and laughter lights the walls, pushes them back to where they’re supposed to be, instead of closing in and pressing into his ears.
It isn’t until Denzel is pouring the batter into a greased tin that Cloud makes a guess.
“A cake?” He asks, and knows he’s right just by the way Marlene lights up in reply.
“Yes!”
“Ah, but what flavour ?” Tifa smiles a little slyly, holding a finger up to him. Marlene giggles when Cloud frowns in thought. He glances at the batter.
“A yellow one.”
Marlene laughs, waving the spatula in her hand, “Yellow isn’t a flavour!”
“Marlene - watch it!” Denzel is holding the mixing bowl over the tin. Thick, pale yellow batter dripping down. He winces an eye shut, a blob of the same batter on his cheek.
“Oh- sorry!” The young girl, at least, looks sheepish.
Tifa chuckles, pushing off the counter to grab a paper towel, “I’ll get you something, Denzel.”
Somewhere along the way, the icy grip around his neck had been replaced with a slow, comfortable warmth. Cloud doesn’t say anything, but he does watch and smile.
While the cake bakes in the oven, the kids hurry off to take a shower. Cloud stays in the kitchen with Tifa, leaning against a counter and watching her whip up dinner. They chat about mundane things - his deliveries, the grandkids of the grocery store owner, how milk has gotten more expensive lately. His soul sinks back into his chest.
By time the kids return, the cake is cooling on a rack and it’s time to whip the cream. Marlene whisks furiously for all of three minutes before complaining of a sore arm. Denzel for five. It’s still liquidy when Tifa steps in.
Two minutes later, the cream is ready.
Tifa taps the whisk on the side of the bowl, before holding it out her audience, “Alright, who wants it?”
“Me!” Marlene speaks up first.
“What! You got to lick it last time.” Denzel’s protest is quick to follow.
Tifa laughs and passes the whisk to Denzel, “How about you two share?” She suggests, reaching her free hand up to brush some hair out of her face. The motion leaves some cream streaked over her cheek.
It doesn’t look like Tifa notices. Marlene is busy asking Denzel to share, while the boy retorts that Marlene hadn’t shared last time either.
Seeing the opportunity, Cloud leans in. He places a hand in the small of her back, and dips in just enough to brush his lips to her cheek. His tongue darts out briefly, just quick enough to swipe up the bit of cream. The little taste sinks sweetly on his tongue.
When he pulls back, it’s to silence. Tifa’s eyes are wide, face rapidly taking on colour.
Marlene breaks the stillness with a peal of delighted giggles.
Denzel makes a face, “ Ew .”
Tifa reaches up, fingers flitting over the particular space on her face. “Th-anks.”
Cloud chuckles, soft and warm, “You’re welcome.”
Everything is back to normal.
Once the whisk is licked clean, Cloud is shooed out of the kitchen with Marlene insisting that he go take a shower. It’s pretty obvious that his family still wants to keep some parts of this ‘surprise’ a surprise. Though, for what occasion, he still hasn’t figured out. Either way, he doesn’t want to ruin their fun, so he leaves them be and gets himself washed up.
When he returns, he finds that dinner is his favourite. Tifa’s specialty curry, ladled over fluffy hot rice that soaks up the sauce, along with a side of her homemade pickled daikon and a gooey-yolked egg. It’s spicy, and leaves Denzel sniffling with a reddened face while Marlene guzzles down a tall glass of milk. But they insist on seconds anyway.
After the table is cleared up, Cloud is sat down at the table while the lights flip off.
The cake arrives in the dark. Tifa carries it to the table - nothing but the glow of a couple candles lighting her features. Behind her, Denzel and Marlene follow with big, wide grins. Marlene is blowing a party horn, the colourful paper unfurling with each boisterous bellow. Denzel is wearing a party hat with a ridiculous pom-pom; they’re carrying the cutlery and plates respectively.
Cloud’s vision blurs. Something hot drips on his cheek, but he doesn’t notice.
Like he hadn’t noticed the date, when he left the house that morning.
Marlene launches into song as soon as the cake hits the table. Denzel rolls his eyes, but pitches in. Tifa sings along a little more quietly, but her smile is warmer than the candle glow filling the hall.
He almost forgets to blow out the candles.
The lights come on again, the faint smell of burnt wicks drifting up as Tifa makes quick work of cutting up the cake. Everyone gets a slice. Cloud gets the biggest one. When he takes a bite of it, all eyes are on him. He can barely taste anything through the lump lodged in his throat, but he glances over at Marlene.
“Strawberry cake. Final guess.”
Marlene scoffs, but laughs anyways.
That night, when Cloud finishes with tucking the kids in, he returns to his shared bedroom to find a freshly showered Tifa already in bed. She’s on her side, looking out the window, laying in a pool of moonlight spilling in through the glass. He shuts the door, watches as Tifa turns to look at him from over her shoulder.
She’s dressed in a silky robe, held together only by a frail ribbon that wraps around the narrow curve of her waist. It’s not her usual pyjamas.
Cloud crawls into bed, settling down behind her. He curls an arm around her middle. He sees a silent question in her eyes in that brief moment before he finds home. He kisses her softly, leaves his thanks in the slow shift of his lips against hers and in the little breaths in between. Her hand slides over his own; their rings clink.
When he pulls back, the question is still in her eyes. But Cloud shakes his head, bumps his forehead against hers gently. “This is enough,” he murmurs.
“Sure?” Tifa asks, “It won’t be your birthday night for another year.”
“Mm,” He kisses the back of her ear, in her hair, then trails down the slope of her neck. “My birthday night isn’t any more special than any other night.” He says, kissing over the back of her shoulder, through the soft silk.
Tifa huffs, lacing her fingers through the cracks of his, “Why’s that?” She asks, but he gets the feeling that she already knows the answer.
He kisses down her spine, “Because-” He stops midway down, and finally tucks an arm under his head so he can lean in and rest his forehead against her back. Cloud tugs her closer, and curls up around her. “-they’re all equal.”
He closes his eyes, hearing the soft amusement in her breaths and the steadiness of her heartbeat. This is how he knows that everything’s okay.
“Happy Birthday, Cloud.”