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“Finally!”
Lamps illuminated the private bedroom. Rustic decor welcomed the ladies—quite the departure from the city’s industrial aesthetics, topside and the slums. Tifa admired the interior from the doorway as Aerith bellyflopped onto a bed.
“What a relief!” she said, a touch muffled by the bedding. “So glad we can sleep in proper beds tonight.”
Tifa chuckled and approached the other bed. “We certainly earned it after that hike from Midgar.”
“Right?!” Aerith peeked over a pillow, kicking her feet. “Kind of exciting, too.”
“Exciting? How so?”
“Well, sharing a room with you? Feels like we’re having a sleepover.”
She hesitated while kicking off her boots. When was the last time she had one of those? Since she was a kid? Since Mom was still around, most likely. Simply one of many occurrences that stopped happening after Nibelheim. And since Cloud recounted the incident in painstaking detail, Tifa’s thoughts screamed at her about—
“Not that I’d know.”
Tifa cocked her head. “What’s that?”
Aerith partially hid behind her pillow. “I never... had a sleepover before. It’s a nice idea, though, yeah?”
Whatever plagued Tifa drifted elsewhere.
“I think,” she replied, “we should make the most of this sleepover.”
Aerith perked up. “Seriously?”
“Of course! Inns usually have complimentary items. We could treat ourselves to a late-night spa session.”
Or at least try to. Hard to truly relax when whispers of the past taunted her soul. But it was like Aerith said. It was a nice idea. A welcomed distraction, too.
And Tifa found it difficult to deny Aerith anything as of late.
“Sign me up!” Aerith sat upright, wiggling in anticipation. “So, where do we start?”
In truth, the inn’s toiletries were sparse in comparison to Midgar’s topside, but anything seemed divine after walking to Kalm—well, most of the way. They took turns with the shower, washing off the grime from their travels until vanilla and lavender permeated the room. They flaunted their respective bathrobes like fashion models, only to double over giggling in front of the mirror. Tifa brushed Aerith’s hair while they waited for clay facial masks to set. They cleaned up their nails, trading stories about all the times they broke them and vowed to keep them short. Nothing over the top, but indulging with Aerith soothed Tifa more so than the thick creams they lathered on.
“I feel like a pampered princess,” Aerith declared from the bathroom. “A girl could get used to this!”
Tifa sat on her bed, fussing with her bathrobe’s belt. Not the softest mattress in the world, but who was she to complain? “It wasn’t much, but I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“I guess I shouldn’t get too used to it.” Aerith strolled out of the bathroom, patting her clean face with a towel. “Who knows what will happen down the road.”
Her eyes fell from Aerith’s. She wasn’t wrong. Living in the slums conditioned Tifa to never take anything for granted.
“But for now?” Aerith plopped down on her bed, facing Tifa. “I’m happy I get to share this with you.”
“Really?”
“Really!” She bounced on the mattress, then pouted. “Wish the bed was softer. It’s stiffer than my poor back! Ugh, I shouldn’t complain. Rather have this over a dirt floor.”
“Do you....” Tifa winced. No, I shouldn’t push it. Besides, it’s late and—
“Hmm?” Aerith leaned forward to catch her gaze. “Do I what now?”
“Um, well....” Tifa smoothed her hands over one another. “If you’re still feeling stiff, I could... help? Maybe?”
“You mean—” She flicked her attention to those fidgeting hands. “—like what you did in the other room?”
“Only if you’d like to.”
“If it’s you?” Warmth radiated in both her lips and eyes. “I’d love to.”
Words lumped in Tifa’s throat. Aerith scooted onto the bed and beckoned for her. She gingerly approached, as if any sudden motion would shatter the moment. But Aerith didn’t flinch.
Instead, she shrugged off her bathrobe—revealing just her shoulders—swept long damp hair over a shoulder.
“W-what are you doing?” Tifa asked.
“Hmm?” Aerith glanced at her. “Is this not how you do it?”
Tifa gawked.
“I remember at the Wall Market in Sector 5,” she explained, “Madam M’s place had instructions printed out for first-timers. Something about undressing to your comfort level? Guess it’s easier to massage that way?”
“Uh, r-right.” Tifa swallowed down her anxiety. “Makes sense.”
Nothing but silence swelled between them.
“So,” Aerith drew out, “are we still going to do this or—”
“Y-yes! Sorry! I—” Tifa scooted closer. “This is fine.”
Nodding, Aerith returned her head to center. Bare skin awaited Tifa’s touch.
“Let me know if it’s too much, yeah?” Tifa said.
Aerith simply nodded.
Inhaling deeply, Tifa placed her hands up on rigid shoulders. That alone made Aerith groan.
“Barely even started,” Tifa chuckled out, “and you’re like a brick wall.”
“That bad, huh?” Aerith grumbled.
“Well, we have been on our feet all day.” She sank further into Aerith, testing out her pressure to best undo those dense knots. “And the past few days in general have been....”
“A lot?”
That’s an understatement, but yeah. “Take some deep breaths and try to relax.”
Aerith complied. With each audible inhale and exhale, Tifa caressed her upper back. Something slow and firm, but never forced. Just enough to loosen those muscles and hopefully relieve Aerith of any aches. As she maneuvered from one shoulder to the other, Aerith cooed and lolled her head. Wisps of wavy hair lined her neck.
Heat surfaced on Tifa’s cheeks. What would Aerith do if she used her lips instead?
“That feels divine,” Aerith purred. “You do this often?”
She snapped out of her reverie. “Not really.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She bit her lower lip and rubbed the nook of her neck. Tension met her fingertips alongside a pleased moan.
“Guess I work mostly with my hands,” Tifa reasoned. “Bartending, martial arts....”
“Playing piano, apparently,” Aerith added.
That gave her pause.
“I didn’t know you were a musician! I’d love to hear you play someday.”
“I... can’t really play anymore.” Along with many other things.
“But do you want to?”
What Tifa wanted, though....
She withdrew from Aerith. Gripping the edge of the bed, Tifa focused on breathing, on anything that wouldn’t remind her of what she lost.
“Tifa?” Of course Aerith crawled to her. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” The reply gushed out, despite her efforts. “I’ll be fine. Just... tired.”
Aerith bumped shoulders with her. “Would you like a massage?”
Recoiling, Tifa locked onto those vibrant green eyes, inches from her own. Half-formed words sputtered on her tongue and nothing more. Apparently, that was the perfect incentive for Aerith to sit behind her.
“Here,” she said. “Let me help.”
“A-Aerith, you don’t have—”
“Tifa.”
Perching her chin upon Tifa’s shoulder, Aerith spoke, the words lacking her usual playfulness.
“I want to.”
So she sighed and yielded to her.
The bathrobe slid off her shoulders. Dark hair tumbled to the side. Warm breath teased her exposed skin, then warmer hands. There were calluses on her palms, as well—no doubt from a lifetime spent gardening and traversing the slums. She gasped lightly at Aerith’s sturdy grip, digging into sore muscles until they softened.
“Too much?” Aerith asked.
“No.” Tifa closed her eyes and resisted the urge to melt into her arms. “It’s good.”
Honestly, it was more than good. It was amazing. And if Aerith had been clumsy in her approach, Tifa refused to complain; spending time with her—alone, at that—was already a treat. So she basked in the moment. Clung to it, even. Akin to a dream, she never wanted it to end.
“Feeling better?” Aerith asked upon finishing.
“Definitely.” Tifa stretched her arms overhead and cracked her neck. “Now you’ve got me believing you’ve done this before.”
She chuckled from behind. “Nah, I’m like you and use my hands for... well, everything! Guess I’m used to that.”
Tifa dropped her own into her lap. She flexed long fingers, also speckled with calluses. The memory of acquiring her first one—the outer edge of her right thumb—washed over Tifa. All those piano lessons were bound to wear her hands down eventually. She hated it back then, hated the rough patch that kept reappearing, regardless of how often she applied lotions and a pumice stone. Her mother had insisted it was best to embrace it—something about hard work and appreciating her efforts. All Tifa saw was ugly skin.
Now? She wished she had cherished that and more before it faded away.
“Hey.”
Tender arms swept around her.
“Is everything okay?” Aerith asked.
She blinked rapidly to banish the pinpricks behind her eyelids. “I’ll be fine.”
“If you want to talk... you know I’m here to listen, right?”
But hadn’t she heard plenty from Cloud alone that night? I certainly have. Tifa shifted in Aerith’s arms and traced the folds of her bathrobe. Below the fabric was her sternum—where that scar resided.
And Aerith rested a gentle hand over her own to steady the trembles.
“Tifa,” she spoke into her ear, “you’re safe here. Nothing can hurt you.” She let out an airy chuckle. “I’ll protect you.”
Another time, she might have laughed with Aerith. “It’s just... it’s in the past. I should be over it by now.”
“Says who?”
Tifa scoffed. “Whenever I change clothes or look in a mirror, I always see it. And I remember the incident at Nibelheim and....”
Damn it, this wasn’t how she wanted their sleepover to go. Whatever pleasant memories she shared with Aerith were surely ruined. So much for unwinding and—
Aerith tested the spaces between Tifa’s fingers. Their hands interlocked with a squeeze.
“I wish I could make things better somehow,” Aerith murmured. “I’m pretty good with healing materia, but even that’s got its limitations. I’m sorry, Tifa.”
“Don’t be. You’re not the one who did this to me.”
“No.” She hugged a little tighter. “But I want to help you take your mind off of whatever is bothering you.”
A part of her was tempted to turn into Aerith and lock lips. What would that solve, though? For all she knew, it would create more problems.
But then another notion struck her.
“Would you... um....” Tifa furrowed her brow. “Sorry, this is stupid, but....”
“What’s up?” Aerith swayed with her. “I doubt it’s actually stupid.”
“Can I... show you what happened? My scar, that is?”
No reply. Not even a flinch. Maybe it was a terrible idea.
“If you don’t want to, that’s fine,” Tifa rushed out. “I figured... I don’t know, maybe showing someone—finally—what happened to me would help, like it’s not all in my head and—”
“Of course.”
She stiffened in Aerith’s arms. “You sure?”
“Hiding what hurt you, no matter how long ago it was, can be a heavy burden.” Aerith loosened her arms and pulled away. “You don’t have to carry that alone, Tifa.”
For a moment, she sat there and stared out the window. Then she rose, licked her dry lips, and pivoted to Aerith. Silence loomed between them. Tifa’s heart dared to puncture her ribcage while she fiddled with the bathrobe belt.
Releasing a breath, she tugged on the belt. The fabric sighed open. Nothing lascivious, but sufficient to reveal the scar carving between her breasts.
Blush seared her face, even the tips of her ears. This is stupid, Tifa reasoned, averting her eyes elsewhere. How is this going to make me feel better?
The mattress groaned, then the wooden floor panels. Soft skin brushed the length of her scar. A chill skittered across her spine. Tifa peeked down.
Nothing prepared her for the sight of Aerith bending at the hip to kiss her scar.
A gasp, a skip in her chest. Nothing but static buzzed in her head. Aerith lingered, her plush lips melting further into her body. Then Tifa blinked and Aerith retracted. Her smile right then... it wasn’t her usual one, born from giddy delight. There was something wistful about it, something genuine.
If only Tifa could kiss whatever scars she carried, as well.
“Might be too late for kissing things to make them better,” Aerith said, “but hopefully the thought counts.”
Tifa mirrored her smile while closing her bathrobe. “It does. Thank you, Aerith.”
She shook her head. “If anything, thank you for trusting me enough to share.”
Nothing else was said while they prepared for bedtime. Tifa grimaced; her tank top and shorts weren’t ideal sleepwear. Maybe they could find cheap apparel in the morning with what money they had. A trivial worry, but Tifa rather liked that being at the forefront of her mind. Better than confronting her past again.
But no nightmares greeted her when she finally slept. And when she woke up to Aerith—“I slept like a rock! Hey, want to see what’s available for breakfast? I’m starving!”—Tifa hoped to create numerous memories in their travels and crowd out what branded her years ago.