Work Text:
“Hey, Cloud. You must be hungry. Can I fix you something to eat before we go?”
“Sure.”
He watches Tifa as she turns and walks over to the kitchen next to the bar, the tail end of her dark hair swinging back and forth temptingly over the expanse of skin at the small of her back. She reaches up to pull down a frying pan, bends to retrieve a carton of eggs from the fridge, flicks her wrist to heat up the waffle iron. Her movements are swift and graceful. Energetic. Hypnotic.
They’ve just come in from fighting off a horde of those no-longer-invisible, flying, black-hooded ghosts that chased off the flower girl the other night, whirling around Seventh Heaven like a dark cyclone. Now it’s all over—Jessie’s still sulking about her sprained ankle at a table with Wedge, and Barret’s waiting for him and Tifa at the station. It’s time to go.
But Cloud is hungry.
He slept in this morning, like a lazy son of a bitch. He normally prides himself on being an early riser, surely a habit from his SOLDIER days, but now he wonders if he’s getting soft. Skimping on sleep—a growling stomach—they’re supposed to give you an edge, right?
Tifa sets down a plate in front of him, and those hard-ass SOLDIER thoughts are instantly banished.
The first taste is like heaven. His eyes roll back as he savors. How could she take something so basic like scrambled eggs, sausage links, a stack of plain waffles drenched in butter and syrup, and turn it all into the stuff dreams are made of? Or is it only so good because he’s so damn hungry?
His mind drifts back to that hazy afternoon, three days ago. The shape of her face, sliding in and out of focus, anchoring him to reality. Her strong arm supporting him as he took stumbling steps through places he doesn’t remember anymore. Blood, thinned by rainwater, on his hands, on his face, in his hair—blood that wasn’t his. Probably from some battle. It didn’t seem to matter at the time.
What did matter were the warmth and shelter of the bar, the clean dish towel she offered him, the cold water for his parched throat. How she sat quietly and listened to him talk. Not that he had much to say. But she didn’t push him, and he appreciated that. He was so tired.
And hungry. Ravenous. Like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
She heated up a bowl of some wonderful stew she’d cooked the other day—the hearty, stick-to-your-ribs kind of stew his mom used to make, but even better—and he tried so hard not to make a mess as he devoured it like a starving dog. She had the kindness to look away until he was done. There was an odd shine to her eyes as she silently handed him a napkin.
He looked up at her and wondered if this could be home now. Where she was.
“How is it?”
Tifa’s standing in front of him. She’s smiling a bit uncertainly and it’s adorable.
“Amazing,” he says. “As usual.”
Her laugh is like the tinkling notes of a piano. “And don’t you forget it!”
He won’t. She’s so good to him.
Last night, he got back to his apartment well after midnight. The food stalls he’d passed on the way back from The Jessie Job had looked less than appetizing, and Seventh Heaven was already closed for the night. So he lay there on the stiff mattress and closed his eyes, trying not to think about the Midgar Special he’d missed out on. Or that Wedge had forgotten to make good on his offer to treat him to dinner at his place, after Barret had kicked him out earlier. He wouldn’t have minded the cats.
And then, just as he was drifting off, he heard a few raps on the door, and Tifa was letting herself in as if she lived there. Holding a cold drink and a hot sandwich wrapped in a napkin.
“I thought you might be hungry,” she said.
After her comforting presence was gone, his eyes lingered on the door. His stomach was full for the first time all day, but his heart was full, too. Full and warm with the realization that she didn’t want him to leave Midgar.
She wanted him to stay.
And of course he would. Because he’d promised.
Now Tifa’s fidgeting, waiting for him to finish. He wishes he could slow down and taste every last morsel, but instead he falls back on good old SOLDIER habits and scarfs it all down—neatly—within minutes. But he lazily swirls one last soggy forkful of waffle in a pool of syrup before putting it to his lips.
“Ready to go now?”
He looks up at her and nods, that sweet taste melting on his tongue, and suddenly he’s wondering if she would taste like that, too.
Then hot blood rushes to his cheeks, because he realizes that he has no clue what he’d do if he even got that far.
Yesterday they were alone together for the first time, and she got so close. The sight of her appealing red lips, right there, within kissing distance, drove all sense from his mind and all the breath from his body.
Now they’re all he can think about.
They were the subject of the sweet dream he had this morning, when he should have been awake—well, one of the subjects. He shifts in his seat and wishes he were back in his room again, where he can deal with this growing problem before it gets out of hand.
“I just need a minute,” he grunts, looking at the wall. The pinball machine. Anywhere but her.
“Sure. I’ll wait outside.”
She walks around in front of him and he has to look. He hears her sigh deeply as she goes on her cute, bouncy way out the door.
Shit.
There’s no way he’s getting up from this stool. Jessie is sitting right there and she’s the type who would know what’s up.
He needs a distraction.
Wedge catches his eye. “You nervous?”
“Nah. You know me by now, right? I can handle this.”
“Don’t be a hero,” Jessie tells him. “Just get the job done.”
But he needs to be a hero—it’s his reason for living.
He gets up and chats with them for another minute and finally heads outside. Tifa’s leaning against the railing, her arms crossed.
“Alright, let’s get going.” Her fists are rolled up tight and her voice is high-pitched.
And then it hits him. He was so bothered by the sound of her breathing earlier that he failed to notice the signs.
“Sure,” he says. “After you take a deep breath.”
“Huh?”
“I can tell you’re nervous.”
“That obvious, huh?” She inhales loudly through her nose and lets it all out, making him blush again. “Okay, I’m ready now.”
Cloud captures her eyes, rich chocolate with a hint of wine, for just a moment. They’re soft and deep and full of trust. And all at once he knows what he really needs.
He needs to be her hero.
He’s ready for it. She lets him lead the way, and he’s grateful. He knows he’ll have a hard time walking if she goes in front of him.
As they jog toward the station, he starts to think about the mission. Maybe he’ll do some cool SOLDIER stunt that forces her to notice, the way Jessie did. Maybe he’ll snatch her out of harm’s way in a daring feat of strength that will sweep her off her feet and make her weak for him like he’s weak for her. Maybe he’ll even find an excuse to wrap his arms around her and feel her luscious curves pressed flush against him as they roll to safety—
Hold on. What about her?
What about her feelings?
Whatever happens, he’ll be there for her, just like Marle said. He’s going to stick by her side no matter how hard it gets. He needs to do it.
He promised.
For now, he’ll just enjoy being with her.
Even though he’s still hungry.