Work Text:
Tifa watches the moon as it dances overhead, moonlight skipping across the water in speckles—a thin film of silver between her and the other side.
It’s not that she’s never surfaced before. She’s plenty familiar with the push and pull of the water here. Of the feeling of the sun on her head, soaking into dark locks. Of the wind slapping her face and sea spray kissing her cheeks. Of course, she’s not supposed to know. But what Father doesn’t know won’t harm him.
So why does she hesitate now?
Father’s already made it quite clear that he doesn’t care what she thinks. Doesn’t care that she wants to join the Royal Guard. Doesn’t care that she wants to learn to fight. Ever since Mother died, Father’s been nothing but afraid - as though every shadow in the great big sea was going to swallow her up too. And the seas are so full of shadows.
But maybe, if Tifa had known how to fight, Mother would still be here and Father wouldn’t have to be so scared.
Wasn’t she scared now, though?
Turning, Tifa peers down at the dark abyss yawning out beneath her, cut only by weak shafts of moonlight scattering across the surface. Her tail flicks out behind her - brown with mottled greys, thick with muscle. She knows she’s far from home. Far from the bright, warm, glittering depths of the merpeople’s capital. But wasn’t that what she wanted? To get away from it all and catch her breath?
Tifa turns away again, a little more abruptly this time, her hair whipping out in front of her like dark waves of their own. Reaching up, she shoves them aside and pushes up towards the surface. She breaches the waves with a gasp, hands reaching up to swipe away salty seawater from her eyes. As she cracks them open again, she realises with a jolt that she’d gone much farther than she’d thought. It seems swimming blindly into the dark has that sort of consequence.
For the first time in her life, Tifa sees land . A small spit of it lies right ahead of her, with shores that gleam white beneath the moonlight, craggy rocks jutting out from the sea and crawling onto land on either side of the beach, every dark rock haloed by ghostly seafoam. Behind it, even more land stretches out to the horizon, looming like some distant shadow.
Tifa bobs on the surface. Each lull of water pulls her in closer and closer. Technically, if she doesn’t move, it doesn’t count as going on land, right?
She curls her fist. She’s being silly. These childish thoughts aren’t befitting of a Royal Guard. And Father or not, she is going to join their ranks.
Pursing her lips, she drops back into the water, disappearing with a silent plip of water. This time, Tifa swims ahead with purpose and doesn’t look back.
Eventually, the ground draws up closer to her, until the grains of sand skim along her belly as her tail stirs up a cloud behind her. Before long, it becomes too shallow to swim, so Tifa reaches her hands out and digs small fingers into fistfuls of the sand. She takes a deep breath, squeezes her eyes, and concentrates hard.
A moment later, her pelt falls over her shoulders with a heavy flop. Her knees crash onto the sand, and she can feel the sea tugging more insistently on her newfound limbs. Suddenly, the wind and night feel colder against her skin.
She pushes up onto her feet, staggering and clutching her pelt around her shoulders. It clings to her, dropping to her knees and wrapping close around her thin frame. Beneath her pelt, her thin, turquoise shirt sticks unpleasantly to her torso.
Tifa struggles against the tide as it tries to coax her back to sea. Walking underwater and walking on land were two completely different things. Everything here is so heavy . Her foot sinks into the sand with each step, as though the ground itself is trying to swallow her up. Then, a particular insistent tide washes in and the ground is swallowing up her foot. She trips forward, squeaking as her hands flail out, pelt slipping from her shoulders—
Only for something impossibly warm to grab her hands.
When Tifa looks up, the first thing she notices is his eyes. Which are blue in the way the ocean is blue in the mornings, sunlight filtering through kelp leaves drifting in an underwater breeze—all blues and greens and...warm.
Then she realises he’s human .
Her own eyes widen as she gasps, reeling back in shock. Her pelt slides off her shoulders and flops onto the shore with a wet slap.
His eyes widen, too. He lets go of her, hands flying up to cover his eyes as he staggers back. “Ah—sorry!” he says, spinning on his heel a little frantically.
Tifa snatches her pelt up from the ground and wraps it around her shoulders again. Her heart races so loud in her ears, she can hear it clearly over the waves. A human . Right in front of her! Not as some distant thing that exists only in her books or on her teachers’ tongues. A proper one—living, breathing, with only two legs, and dressed nearly from head to toe. With hair the colour of sunlight, tied back so a bit of it sticks out like a stubby tail, stray strands catching the breeze in a way she’s never seen before.
“You...You’re not supposed to be here,” the boy says with his back still turned. “I thought your people didn't come on land?”
Feeling more secure now that she has her pelt around her again, Tifa straightens up and eyes the boy from behind. His clothes are odd to her. A white shirt and something dark blue covering his legs. A black belt sits around his waist. More curiously, there’s something shiny nestled in his hair—like a large, silvery ring.
“Well, just don’t tell anyone then,” she replies, wondering if there’s some sort of way she’s supposed to talk to a human. If there is, she doesn’t know it. But speaking of anyone else...Tifa casts a wary glance around the beach. It’s a small stretch of sand, flanked on either side by towering rocks while a particularly tall one sits right in the middle, hiding the stretch of beach from view of the mainland. A few windswept trees cling to the rock face, bare shrubs dangling on the cliffside. It’s empty from end to end. “...Are you alone?”
“Yes,” the boy replies plainly. “Can I turn around now?”
“Yes.”
Tifa watches as he turns back to face her. They’re still standing in ankle-deep water. He has his bottom coverings folded up around his calves, bare feet half burrowed in the sand—just like hers.
“I’ve never met a merperson before,” he says, blue-green eyes fixing on her.
Tifa narrows her eyes a little. “Are you going to hurt me?”
The boy blinks. “Why would I?”
“Father says humans always hurt us merfolk,” she purses her lips, her gaze flickering aside for a beat before returning to the boy. Was this another thing Father has been lying to her about?
“Not always . I won’t hurt you.” He pats his hands down over his front and along his belt. “See? I don’t have anything to hurt you with.”
Tifa hugs her pelt a little closer around herself, scanning up and down the boy’s form a couple of rounds before nodding. “Okay, I believe you,” she says, before extending a hand out from behind her pelt. “My name’s Tifa.”
This time, it’s the boy who hesitates. He looks down at her hand, brows furrowing just slightly before he lifts his own up and gingerly takes her. “My name’s Cloud.”
Like before, his hand is warm in hers. And dry. She gives it a shake and promptly lets go. “It’s nice to meet you, Cloud,” she says, retracting her hand back behind her pelt. Bewilderment flickers across his expression as he looks down at his hand, and then back up to her. Tifa blinks plainly at him. He looks like he’s about to say something...but nothing comes.
Tifa glances aside, then back to him, brows furrowing slightly. “Well...I’m going to go,” she says, clutching a little closer to her pelt. There isn’t much space to really go much of anywhere , but she hadn’t risked her hide coming onto land just to stand and stare at a boy. Turning, she brushes past him and starts marching her way further up onto land, picking up her feet and plonking them down into the sand with a little too much force. Gods, walking on land is weird .
The sound of footsteps following in her wake prickles her ears. Tifa pauses mid-step and flips a look back at Cloud from over her shoulder. “Why are you following me?”
“Where are you going?” he asks, wide, curious eyes still fixed on her.
“Onto land, can’t you see?” she turns ahead again to continue walking further up the shore, heavy drops of sea water dripping from the tips of her pelt.
“You are on land now. There’s not much else to see on this side of the beach.” His replies are quick. He’s still following a few paces behind her. “Why are you sneaking on land anyways?”
Tifa shrugs. “I’m escaping.”
“From?”
“A beast in the ocean. Very terrifying stuff. You wouldn’t know.”
Cloud hums. She hears his footsteps pause. “...I guess not.”
Tifa slows down and looks back at him. He’s standing still a few paces behind her, his eyes turned out towards the sea. It’s only now that she notices that he seems about the same age as her. Moonlight glitters in his hair, caught in the odd, silvery disk still nestled in it. “What’s that in your hair?”
Cloud blinks and reaches a hand up to touch the ring. “This?” When Tifa nods, he seems to hesitate for a moment before shrugging, eyes dropping to the ground between them and the divots her stomping has left in the sand. “It’s a crown.”
A crown? Like the ones that the King and the Princess wear? But this one looks so much different than theirs. Is it because he’s human? Wait. Didn’t that mean—?
“Are you a prince ?” she asks, carmine eyes stretching into discs.
Cloud shrugs again. He doesn’t speak but she can see the answer on his face. A human prince! In the flesh!
“What are you doing all the way out here?” she asks, turning to face him more fully. “Shouldn’t you be in your palace?”
“I don’t have a palace.”
Tifa narrows her eyes at him. “Well, I don’t know what the human word for it is. But you know what I mean,” she huffs. Then, shaking her head, she looks past him and all around. Like he’d said, he really is alone. “Where are your guards? Servants? Why are you alone?”
He reaches a hand up and rubs at his cheek, gaze still wandering somewhere off to the side. “...I’m escaping. A beast on land. You wouldn’t know.”
Tifa can only stare at him, well aware that he’s just thrown her own words back at her. Behind him, the shadow of a continent looms large and dark. She presses her lips into a thin line and sighs. “...I guess not,” she says, gaze focusing on him again. She’s never seen her own King or Princess before, so she doesn’t know what royalty is supposed to look like. But right now, this human prince looks small. In a way that feels familiar. “Then I guess we’re escapees together. I just wish we’d escaped to somewhere more interesting,” she says in a lighter tone, giving the sand a pointed kick.
This time, when she looks up at him again, she’s caught off guard by the sudden smile on his face. It’s small—just the barest upward quirk of his lips, but it’s there nonetheless. So humans can smile, too.
“It’s not so bad,” he says, beginning to step up to her again. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
He ends up showing her a lot about this tiny spit of land. There are shells and bits of glass buried in the sand, rounded and polished to a shine by the push and tug of ocean waves. There are clams too, and crabs like she’s never seen. Everything moves differently on land. Everything looks different too, without the water to scatter light every which way. He shows her the seafoam, and shows her how to kick it up into the air so the bubbly tufts catch the breeze and fly. He shows her the difference between wet and dry sand. She learns that the human word for ‘palace’ is ‘castle’, and that he lives in a castle further inland. Then, he shows her how to build one out of sand, and how easily it can topple over.
Tifa doesn’t realise that time is passing until she sees pinks and pale yellow begin to peek up behind the sea. They’d been walking along the shore then, clumps of sand stuck between their toes and clinging to their ankles.
“I have to go,” she says as she turns away from the sunrise to look over at Cloud.
“Back to the sea? I thought you were escaping a beast?” he asks, jabbing a stick he’d found earlier into the sand ahead of himself, before stepping forward and yanking it up again.
Tifa worries her lower lip and shrugs. “The beast is probably asleep by now. I think my father is going to worry if I don’t go home.” She glances up at him and reaches a hand up to push an errant lock of hair out of her face. Her hair had long since dried, and she’d learnt that the wind really liked tousling it at every opportunity. “Are you going to stay here?”
Cloud jabs the stick in the sand again and sighs. “No, I have to go too,” he says, leaving the stick standing in the sand. “I don’t want the whole castle worrying,” he adds, brushing his palm on the front of his shirt.
Tifa slows to a stop and nods. “Okay, well..” She tucks her hair behind her ear before hastily thrusting her hand out to him. “It was nice meeting you, Prince Cloud. Thanks for playing with me.”
Cloud’s eyes widen as he looks down at her extended hand. But he lifts his own and clasps hers, giving it a small shake. “Just call me Cloud. I don’t want to be a prince out here,” he says, squeezing her hand before letting go. His gaze lingers on her for a moment before flickering aside as he reaches up to rub his cheek. “Will I see you again?”
Something in her chest does a funny little quiver. A feeling she doesn’t understand. But it’s so small that Tifa is quick to forget it. “I guess I’ll need somewhere to hide from the beast. And here is good.” Tilting her head a bit, she looks up at the moon hanging overhead. It’s already beginning to fade in the face of the rising sun, but it’s still round and full. Tifa lifts a hand up to point towards it. “The beast attacks every time the moon is either full or empty. So I’ll come here on those nights to escape. How’s that?”
Cloud follows her finger up to the moon before he nods. “Sounds good to me.”
“And how about your beast?” she asks, lowering her hand back down.
He tilts his head, eyes still on the moon. “Mine...is the same,” he says as he looks back down at her with that same, faint smile. “I’ll be here.”
Tifa regards him for a moment before taking a small step closer and leaning in. “Promise me?”
The surprise is more than obvious on his face, blue-green eyes widening as they flicker about her face. “Um—” he says, then slowly nods his head. “I promise.”
A bright smile breaks on her face as she pulls back. “I’ll see you later, Cloud,” she says, quite pleased with herself now. A secret hideout with a secret friend. A human prince, no less. She knows she can’t, but she wishes she could tell her friends back home.
“I’ll see you later too...Tifa.”
She tosses him another smile and lifts a hand up in a short wave. When she sees him do the same, she turns and finally wades back into the water—further and further out, until the waves lap at her collar. Tifa turns her head back to see that Cloud is still standing by the shore, watching her. That funny feeling flickers faintly in her chest again, but she thinks nothing of it and releases her grip on her pelt. It sinks down into the water, wrapping around her again. She turns ahead, takes a breath and dives down into the ocean deep, her tail flipper flicking up into the air behind her before slipping into the water.
When the night next swallows the moon whole, Tifa sneaks away to the same spit of land and finds Cloud already waiting for her. And again, when the moon rises full and proud once more, she returns and he’s there.
The two meet with each ebb and flow of the moon, until Tifa’s lost count of how many cycles it’s been since the first time. Until one day, Cloud is ever-so-slightly taller than her. Until one day, the size of his footprint in the sand is ever-so-slightly bigger than hers. Until one day, she starts noticing the way drops of water sticking to the curve of his neck look like starlight dotting his skin, or that sometimes she catches his gaze lingering a little too long on her, and the sight makes her face flush and her heart race for reasons she doesn’t understand.
Until one day, she runs up onto land, hastily tying her pelt around her waist as she kicks up sand and water. “Cloud! Cloud, guess what?” she grins as she flounders up to the bewildered prince, who is sitting on top of one of the craggy rocks by the shore.
“What?”
“I got in! I got into the Royal Guard Academy!” Tifa wastes little time in telling him, hoisting herself up onto the rock beside him with practised grace, turning around midair and sitting herself down close enough beside him that her arm nestles against his.
Cloud shifts away but gives her a small smile nonetheless. “Really? Congratulations,” he says. “Your father is finally alright with it?”
Tifa hums, tilting her head and kicking her legs out in front of her. “I’m sure he will be. He won’t have a choice but to be alright with it.”
There’s a beat of silence where, even without looking, Tifa can perfectly picture the sort of deadpan look Cloud has turned towards her. But she pretends to not notice. All the way until he lets out a puff. “Maybe you should wait until you start before you tell him, so you know some self-defence first.”
Tifa laughs and shakes her head. “I already know some now ,” she says, smiling over at him. “But that’s a good idea. Maybe when I start, you can help me practice. You’re learning some too, right? As part of your princely studies?”
Cloud shrugs. “A little bit. Mostly with a sword though.” When he turns a look her way, it’s with a quirked brow. “Will it be helpful practising with a human? Fighting is probably different underwater.”
“It is different. But I heard that they’re starting to look for merpeople who can fight on land too. So I thought I could get a head start.” Tifa turns her eyes down to watch her feet as they swung to and fro in the air, stopping just shy of her heels bumping against the rough rock. “I hear some talks are going on between our royal family and the humans. Father says they may be looking to start building relations, so that’s probably why they’re looking for more merfolk who do well on land.”
Once she finishes speaking, Cloud is quiet for a little while. Tifa lifts her head up to look over at him. She’s just about to ask him if something is wrong when he finally speaks up. “Then, I guess it makes sense that they’d want more of your kind,” he says. His words are plain. Even now, it’s sometimes difficult to tell if it’s because he’s hiding something, or if he’s just speaking normally.
Tifa chooses not to linger on it. Cracking a smile, she bumps her shoulder against his. “Come on. Practise with me. It’ll be fun! I can show you what I know already,” she adds, hopping off the rock and stepping a little further onto the beach.
“What? You haven’t even started classes yet!” Cloud points out as he follows after her. When Tifa turns back around to face him, shifting her feet apart and squaring her shoulders, she can see a perplexed furrow between his brow. “There’s nothing you can actually show me yet.”
If that’s a challenge, it’s one Tifa is already rising up to meet. Her only response is to run up towards him, lift up one foot and then twist around as hard as she can, swinging her leg out towards him.
“Wha—!” Her leg slams into his side. Cloud grabs onto her with both hands, staggering back. His foot snags on uneven sand and, suddenly, with another short cry, he’s sent tumbling back onto it.
But Cloud forgets to let go. So as he falls, he yanks her down with him. Tifa yelps as she’s pulled down to the ground. She hits the sand face-first, grunting as some of it flies up into her mouth. Her legs crash onto his chest, punching out a strangled gasp from him.
Tifa scrambles up, sand getting all over her legs and pelt as she moves off him and pushes up onto her rear. “Cloud! Are you okay?” she asks, turning wide eyes over at him.
Cloud is laying on his back, one eye wincing shut. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he mutters as he pushes himself up onto one elbow, his other hand rubbing at his stomach. “Ugh…you weren’t supposed to kick… so hard .”
Tifa has the decency to give him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to do it so hard. I just…er, lost control.”
“I’ll say.” Sitting up fully, Cloud turns a bit of a look over at her, clumps of sand sticking to his hair and all along his back. “How about we start practising after you start your classes?”
“That’s probably a good idea,” she says, reaching out to brush some of the sand off his back. “I won’t hit as hard next time, promise.”
Cloud scoffs. “We’ll see about that.”
And so they begin to practice. Every meeting begins with a brawl that doesn’t end until one of them is on the ground, frantically pounding the sand in an I give, I give . Then they start keeping count, finding a tucked away bit of rock and carving their score into the stone—each one a pale, ashy line etched into dark rock beneath a crudely carved ‘C’ and ‘T’. Slowly, line by line, growing in tandem with each other, crawling down the length of the rock face, the number of lines under each column never straying more than one or two ahead of the other. A perpetual tie for years and years.
Then, the number of lines marring the rock starts to slow. As Tifa grows busier with her guard training, and as Cloud is tangled deeper and deeper in royal responsibilities, their meetings grow sparser in kind. Until it’s only by the light of the full moon that they meet—and even then, Tifa’s spent a fair number of those nights milling alone on the empty stretch of sand, perched on familiar rocks, toes dipped into the sea, waiting for a prince that never comes.
But she waits anyway. Until the sunrises as the seabirds begin to caw. Only then does she slip back into the sea, thinking that she’s wasting her time with these meetings. These remnants of their childhood, now long behind them. Because of course he’s busy. She can see that even the merfolk’s royalty are growing increasingly encumbered with building these human relations. Where anxious glances over the state of those relations had now grown to become whispers—rumours that floated down the pristine, coral-lined halls of the royal palace.
The princess is to marry. The alliance with the humans is to be consecrated. Soon. Soon.
To whom? A human prince. Which one?
Tifa stops listening after that.
It’s a waste of time. These days, Cloud hardly ever shows up anymore. But Tifa returns to that same spit of sand anyways, as though lulled by the moon’s pull.
But on one particular full moon, Cloud does come.
Tifa doesn’t notice his approach at first. She sits atop a familiar, barnacle-laden rock. She hasn’t even bothered shedding her pelt yet. The tips of her tail tip and sway idly against the water’s surface. Her hands are stretched out behind her, propping up on the rock as long, dark hair tumbles lazily over its craggy surface. She’s just come off a shift at the palace, so she’s still in her guard’s attire—black, scaled pauldrons capping her shoulders, the same scaled armour covering her chest and stomach beneath the fur-lined border between human and seal. Purple fabric criss-cross over her collar, while a reddish headband nestles in her hair, pushing back most (but not quite all) of her hair.
Her trident lays on the rocks beside her. The standard issue weapon for guards of her rank. Sleek and silvery, adorned with the guard’s insignia in the middle of the widest prong, while a shorter, triangular blade sits at the bottom end of the shaft.
“Long time no see.” The sound of his voice doesn’t fully startle her, but she does sit up and turn wide eyes over her shoulder. Cloud’s plodding along the shore, drawing up to the rocks. He’s more dressed up than she’s ever seen him. Black jacket with leather belts strapped over his middle. A red tie at his collar, and a similarly red sash tossed over his shoulder, pinned by some sort of snarling creature. His dark blue trousers are rolled up as usual, and he clutches a pair of brown leather boots in one hand, while the other brandishes a rather fancy- looking sword.
“I didn’t know we were supposed to dress up tonight,” Tifa says as she drags her eyes back up to meet his. The blue-green of them is still familiar, even if the face around them has changed—sharper, older, with a downward quirk taking up permanent residence on the corners of his lips.
Cloud sighs as he drops his boots down on the sand beside the rock, carefully out of reach from the reaching waves. He jabs his sword into the sand as well, twisting it a bit so it settles deep into the ground and stays upright after he lets go. “I only just escaped from a party,” he explains, motioning for her to move over on the rock. When she does, he hops up and settles down on the stone beside her. “Been too many of those lately.”
“You too, huh? The palace has been busy with those too,” she says, sweeping her tail up to fold it on the rock against her side. “I’m always posted on the outside perimeter, so I don’t know much of what’s going on. But it sounds like it’s big.”
Cloud tilts his head, pulling one knee up and dropping the other foot down to skim the water’s surface. He doesn’t say anything more. There’s a furrow between his brows, and she’s halfway certain his frown is deeper than ever before.
Tifa counts the waves that crash up against the rocks. By the fourth crash, they’re still sitting in silence. She props her hands up on either side of herself and taps her finger against the rock. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about work-related business? “...You haven’t shown up the last while. Is everything okay?”
He hums, eyes fixed on the ocean in front of them. “Yeah, I know. Everything’s fine. Just busy.” He lets out a breath. “Sorry I missed so many.”
“It’s okay. I still like coming out here, anyways. It’s nice to get away from it all still,” she says before chuckling a bit. “Or it’s just a force of habit.”
“Mmm. That would make sense.”
She counts six crashes of the waves against the rock before she speaks. “So…your sword is new. I haven’t seen it before,” she says, glancing over at the sword in question. Unlike her rather plain, rather utilitarian weapon, his sword is more elaborate, featuring an indigo grip and guard, where the colour drops down to run along the outer edge of the blade itself. The royal insignia sits proudly on the chafe. The metal is pristine—hardly used—as moonlight skims across its surface.
“I got it a couple weeks ago. A gift from a friend,” he explains, in the same plain voice he’s used this whole time. His eyes are still fixed on the waters ahead, in a way that’s starting to feel deliberate now.
“A gift?” Tifa repeats, blinking and leaning forward to try and catch his eye. “But your birthday isn’t for a while. What’s the gift for?”
This time, she sees it when he looks away, eyes flickering off to the side. He parts his lips for a moment, then closes them again. The frown returns, even deeper still. Is there something wrong with her question? She hadn’t thought it’d be so difficult to answer. He couldn’t be avoiding her, could he? Because why else would he have come all the way out here, knowing that she would have been here? If he isn’t trying to avoid her, then why is it that he can’t seem to bear even looking at her? Frustration wells up in her chest. It’s been months since she’s last seen him. The day he does finally show up…and this is how it’s going to be? She wants to say something about it, but the words lodge in her throat. She wants to reach up and take his chin and make him look at her. But she can’t. Because however many years it’s been, and however close they may be, the differences between them remain a yawning, uncrossable pit.
Tifa takes a breath and pulls back, straightening up as her hands curl into loose fists at her sides. “Well…it’s a very nice sword,” she says instead.
Not even the sound of the ocean waves can fill the silence that hangs between them after that. Tifa doesn’t bother counting.
“It’s an engagement gift.” His voice is low and soft but it cuts the silence anyways. Tifa can only stare at him, eyes stretching wide. He still isn’t looking at her, is still staring out at the sea, one hand propping up on one knee, fingers rubbing restlessly together. “I’m to be married in two months to…to…”
“To the Princess.” The words are carried on a breath so frail the sea breeze threatens to whisk it away. “So it’s you .”
Cloud nods, then finally lifts his head to look over at her. Right away, she can see the beginnings of an apology forming on his tongue. Tifa sits up and forces as big a smile as she can manage. “Congratulations!” she says, a little too loud. “That’s fantastic. You must be excited. Our Princess is lovely. She’s a Mandarinfish, you know? Most beautiful fins in the whole ocean.” Blues and greens, speckled with warm oranges. Like his eyes, which are fixed on her, and looking so heavy. “I think you’ll like her.”
Of course he will. The Princess is beloved across the seas. So why is it that he’s looking at her like that? Like when he’d tripped and destroyed her sandcastle back when they were children? Like when they spar and he lands a blow that’s a little too hard? What does he have to apologise for?
The trench between them deepens. Its shadow stretches and coils in her chest. It’s always been there. She’s always known. Even if he doesn’t want her calling him a prince. Even if they don’t really talk about his duties. Even if they try and try to pretend like they’re normal . Her gaze flits up to his head, where his silver crown gleams in the moonlight, buried in a messy nest of locks the colour of sunlight. Yes. She’s always known.
“...Thank you, Tifa,” he says eventually, dropping his attention away. “I don’t think we’ll be able to meet again after tonight. I’m going to be busy with the preparations for the announcement and the wedding soon after. Then after that…” He trails off with a shrug. She knows what he means though. It wouldn’t do well to have any married man steal off into the night once a month, even if he wasn’t the crown prince.
Her chest winds up tight. Tonight is the first time she’s seen him in months. And it will be the last time she’ll ever see him.
Tifa takes a breath, sweeping her tail back out in front of her until the waves kiss the tips of her fins. Then, concentrating for a beat, she feels her tail loosen a moment before her pelt drops down, draping over her lap as her toes skim the top of the water. “Then we’d better settle our score once and for all,” she says, swinging her legs outwards to give them a little stretch.
“Our score?”
“Yes, our score. Or did all that princely work make you forget?” Tifa turns up to him, burying everything beneath a cheeky smile. “I beat you the last time we sparred, so we’re plain even now. If tonight’s the last night we’re ever going to meet again, then we should settle our score, yeah? Decide once and for all who’s the better fighter.”
Cloud fixes her with a look. “I’m not dressed for sparring.”
Tifa rolls her eyes ever-so-slightly. “ That’s your excuse? Really, I expected better, Prince Strife.” She says, swinging her legs over the side of the rock and sliding off. Now that she’s older, her pelt stays clinging to her arms and torso, falling down to her calves like a human dress.
“I told you not to call me that,” he says, splashing back down onto the shore behind her.
Tifa chuckles as she turns around, beginning to walk backwards as she makes her way further along the shore to put some space between them and the rocks. Cloud is following after her, taking off his belts first before shedding his heavy, black jacket. She watches as they drop heavily onto the sand, his red cape sprawling out like a bright stain against the pale sand. “But you are a prince. Our princess wouldn’t marry a nobody,” she says and immediately feels a little thrill in her chest when he turns narrowed eyes across at her, one hand loosening his tie with one tug on its knot.
“But we agreed that you wouldn’t call me by my title when we’re here.” His tie flops down onto the sand.
Tifa shrugs as she reaches up and unclasps the heavy, scale armour pauldron from where they sat on her shoulders. She tugs one side off, letting it plonk down onto the sand, followed by the other. “Since when?”
“Since we were children.” He undoes the top few buttons of his shirt and pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, leaving him in just his rolled-up trousers and black shirt now. This is the Cloud she knows.
“But we’re not children anymore.” Tifa slips off her gloves next, letting those pieces of armour drop onto the sand along with the rest. She’s still stepping backwards and he’s still tailing her, a trail of their garments scattered across the small beach. “We’re grown now. I’m a guard and you’re a prince.”
Cloud reaches up to pluck the silvery crown off his head. His gaze is still fixed entirely on her even as he slows and lowers the crown. Then, without so much as missing a beat, he flings it aside. The crown sails through the air and drops heavily onto the sand.
“Not right now,” he says and sprints towards her.
He comes at her with one leg swinging up high. Tifa dodges aside, then lunges at him. One punch—two. Each one, he bats aside. It’s less of a spar and more of a dance. His movements are familiar. His hands skim up her arms with each block—warm, surprisingly calloused for royalty, leaving furious heat on her skin.
Cloud ducks low and charges at her. She skips out of the way, grabbing his shoulder and his arm, fingertips digging deep into taut muscle as she diverts his momentum and spins him away. But he recovers quickly—because he knows her just as well. It’s a move she’s practised on him after all, back when she’d first learnt about it from the Academy. His hair tumbles loosely over his eyes, which glitter with an almost too-bright sharpness as he straightens up.
“You’re a prince !” The words tumble out from her in a breathless torrent a moment before he’s on her again, fists swinging. She throws her arms up, feeling his knuckles collide with them as she blocks his blows. They feel harder than usual. Almost enough to match the growing hurt in her chest.
“So shouldn’t—” She barely manages to hiss as she blocks another punch and throws one of her own, only to slam it futilely into his forearm. “—you be—” Another blow from him. She ducks away, his fist just barely brushing her cheek. “—going back to—” She throws a fist up from beneath and clicks her tongue as he dips away. “—your castle?!”
“ You asked to spar!” He grits as he rightens up. “And I wanted to say goodbye. Properly!”
Tifa rears back and whips her leg up from beneath him, but he bends out of the way. The move snatches his breath away, so when he next speaks, it’s almost a rasp. “Would you rather I leave?” When he straightens up again, his hair is all out of sorts. He looks a lot more like the boy she grew up with, rather than any prince. “Just like that?” he finishes in a breath.
Tifa almost wants to glare at him. “No, that’s not what I meant!” She twists around, lifting a leg and sending it hurling towards him. But her shin meets his arm. She drops down onto her feet and lashes out with her other leg—harder, this time.
“ Then ?” he demands, the sound cut short by a grunt as he blocks her kick. “Are princes not allowed to say goodbye now?”
“No!” She knows the conversation is hardly a conversation. But between the fighting and the rising swell of pain in her chest, it’s hard to keep track of everything. Tifa grits her teeth as she pivots on her foot and pushes up, fist flying towards him. “Princes can say goodbye all they want but—” The words snag hard in her throat as he catches her fist with both hands.
His hands are bigger than hers. They envelop her fist and grip on tight. Behind them, his gaze is hard—piercing, the blue set ablaze by flecks of green flame. “ But ?”
All she can hear is the ocean. The water crashing into the sand. It’s so loud it drowns out the sound of her heartbeat racing in her ears. Something in her chest is beginning to falter.
Tifa clenches her jaw, yanking her fist away from him. With a sharp cry, she throws herself at him, ducking low and tackling him to the ground in a purely reckless attack. Over her head, Cloud gasps in surprise and finally loses his balance, sending the two of them tumbling down into the sand. As soon as he’s on his back, she pushes up, pinning him down by his shoulders, and straddling his hips. It’s hardly much of a pin, but she doesn’t care.
Cloud is staring up at her, wide-eyed and breathless. Tifa digs her fingers tight into his shoulders, gritting her teeth as she looks down at him. “But,” she starts, chest heaving with each wavering word. “ You’re not supposed—you’re not—”
Something behind his gaze seems to snap. Suddenly, he’s shoving her off, rolling her over and grabbing her wrists. They splash into the surf just as a wave recedes, the sound of its retreat hissing in her ears as her hair splays out heavily behind her. He shoves her wrists down into the sand, hard enough to dig a divot into it. He’s pressing her down, shoulders rising and falling with effort. She knows what to do to turn the tides of this fight. Knows that she ought to push up—use her legs, shove him off, yank her hands back. But she doesn’t. She can’t move. Not beneath the weight of his gaze.
“Tifa.” There’s a quiver of something in his voice. Cloud dips his head down. Closer. So close she can feel the heat of his breath on her lips. But he doesn’t come any closer. Instead, he pauses just shy of where she wants him—where she’s wanted him for years and years. He glances aside. “I’m…sorry, I—”
Tifa swallows the rest of his words with a hard press of her lips against his. She feels him inhale in surprise. But a beat later, he’s pressing back into her. She squeezes her eyes shut even tighter, parting her lips just enough to suck in a shaky breath before he tilts his head and finds her lips again. Harder still. Closer. Her wrists digging down into the sand even as he lets go with one hand, dropping it down to clutch at the side of her head instead, his thumb brushing over her cheek.
The wave washes in, crashing against her side, tickling her ear. She hardly notices. He tastes so sweet beneath the salty seaspray. With her one freed hand, she reaches up to tangle in his hair, tugging him down closer still. Cloud obliges with a low noise, his weight pressing down over her until all she can feel is his warmth against his front and the cool, damp surf against her back. Until her head spins and her chest aches, but not for want of air.
All too soon, Cloud pulls back with a harsh gasp of breath.
Tifa nudges her head up, pressing her forehead against his, feeling his chest rising and falling against hers. Slowly, she cracks her eyes open to see that his are still closed, a deep furrow settling between his brows. And he’s so beautiful. Up close, like this. She can see everything. Every curl of his eyelash, every wisp of hair falling over his temple. The slant of his nose and the downward quirk of his lips.
“We can’t ,” he says, like he’s not even talking to her. Cloud swallows before finally opening his eyes, turning a look down at her that makes her feel like she’s drowning. “Tifa, I’m sorry that I’m…That we can’t…”
“Hey Cloud, hey.” She pulls her other hand out from beneath his grasp, reaching up to cradle the side of his face. “It’s okay,” she lies. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Cloud lets out a breath, quietly dropping his head down to nestle it against the side of hers, one hand slipping beneath her neck. Over his shoulder, Tifa stares up at the full moon, feeling the water wash against them once. Twice. Her hand skims over the arch of his back. He presses in closer.
“...I should go.” He’s the first to break the silence.
Tifa turns her head slowly and leaves a kiss on his hair. “Yeah.”
He lifts his head up, sand clinging to his hair, gaze cast aside. “Tifa, listen. I—”
Tifa presses a finger up to his lips. The motion surprises him enough that his eyes finally flicker back to meet hers. She manages a smile. “Let’s just go.”
Cloud hesitates. Eventually, he nods, kisses her finger and pushes up first before he helps her back up onto her feet. They gather up their things in silence. Tifa straps on her armour again, then plucks up her trident from where she’d left it on the rocks. Cloud shrugs on his jacket, but leaves his belt and tie tossed over one shoulder.
“So who do you think won that one?” she asks as she watches him pick up his new sword. She’s already standing ankle-deep in the water, holding the trident idly against her side, propped against the ground.
He shrugs. “I’m not sure,” he says, bending to grab his boots next. “Does it matter?”
Tifa hums. “I guess not.”
Cloud straightens up and looks over at her. They’ve both gotten their things. It’s time to go. Normally, it’s not much of an occasion. Normally, it’s just a ‘see you next month’, or even a plain ‘goodbye’. But now isn’t a normal time, is it? Because he’s standing on the dry shore, the silvery crown in his hair again. And she’s…well.
Tifa’s grip on her trident tightens. She squares her shoulders and forces a smile. “Congratulations,” she says, taking another step back further into the water.
“Thank you,” he says, but doesn’t move.
Tifa lingers for only another moment longer before finally, finally, tearing her gaze away, she turns around and wades out further towards the sea. Further, and further, until the waves lap at her waist.
Her father told her once that if a human cries seven tears into the sea, a selkie will come and soothe their sorrows. It’s a legend, of course. Nothing real . But she wonders anyways: what happens if a selkie cries seven tears into the sea? Does anyone come? Does anyone notice?
There’s a weight on her shoulders. Like something is trying to turn her head back around. Or push her back to shore. To hand over her pelt to him. To give up the sea forever. To run and run and run.
Tifa takes a breath and dives into the water, her tail flicking up into the air behind her.
She can’t tell where the seawater ends, and where the tears begin.
Applause erupts across the dock.
Golden lights sparkle across the dark ocean beneath. Music hums in the cool, night air. A soft breeze sends the frail, white curtains adorning the wooden gazebo billowing out. Royalty of all types are gathered at tables in front of the gazebo are all smiling and laughing, their chatter carrying in the same breeze. Behind her, Tifa can feel the waning heat of the sunset on her back.
She’s as far away from the gazebo as she can get, standing on the edge of the docks with her back to the water, eyes scanning across the scene. There are human guards posted alongside the gazebo to protect the royals seated within it. The merfolk guards are posted along the perimeter to oversee everyone else.
Her gaze deliberately avoids looking straight at the gazebo itself. Instead, she contents herself with turning them up to the sky, where purple waves give way to a deepening night. Where a full moon hangs, round and full, in that abyss.
“That human prince sure is a lucky man.” Her partner, a sea lion type merperson, chuckles. He’s dressed in the same scale armour as her. His pelt clings to his arms and around his torso, dropping down to his calves. His trident is leaning against his collar, hands clasped behind his back. Unlike her though, his gaze is fixed straight ahead, to the lights and laughter.
“Of course. Our princess is second to none,” Tifa replies non-committedly.
“I wonder if he’s any good?” he muses with a hum. “I’m sure he must be if the King accepted this union. But I’ve not met him myself. I heard he’ll sometimes chat with us merfolk guards. Must mean he’s halfway decent at least.”
“Mmm, yeah.”
“Have you met him before?”
Tifa’s gaze is still fixed on the moon.
“No.”