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It had been two days since they’d slipped through Shinra’s fingers, escaping Kalm through the musty tunnels beneath the town. When the heavy wooden doors creaked open, they were greeted by a breathtaking expanse of green rolling toward the shimmering ocean on the horizon. The crisp air hit their lungs like a tonic, stunning the group into silence. Wildflowers swayed in the breeze, and lone trees stood like sentinels, their gnarled branches resisting the wind that whispered across the open plains.
This land was steeped in history. Long before Midgar’s towering shadow darkened the region, the grasslands had been the agricultural heart of the western continent. Though the age of mako had turned the page on those days, remnants of humanity’s relentless quest to harness energy endured—a crumbling watermill that once served local farms, the rusted blades of a giant windmill groaning in the wind. Once praised for powering Kalm and the neighbouring settlements, these inventions now retired into the land, engulfed by lush vegetation that wound its way into every nook and cranny. Gaia was reclaiming these engineered masterpieces inch by inch—its quiet defiance a stark contrast to the cold fluorescence of Midgar still faintly visible to the north.
The group had taken refuge at the nearby Chocobo Ranch, run by the sprightly Choco Bill, whom they had re-encountered as they explored the grasslands. He’d offered them space on the upper floor of the chocobo barn to lie low, watched over by his grandchildren—Billy, ever the young entrepreneur, and Chloe, whose sweet nature quickly endeared her to them. During those two days, Cloud and Red learned the art of chocobo capture, while Barret, Tifa, and Aerith ventured to hidden shrines and lifesprings in hopes of gathering intel for the road ahead.
By the third morning, it was time to move on. But before they left, Aerith suggested doing something kind for their hosts—especially Chloe. Despite her young age, she had catered to their every need with quiet diligence, offering obscure directions and gifting them a generous stash of gysahl greens to tempt the wild yellow feathered creatures into submission.
Tifa had always admired Aerith’s knack for noticing the little things—the quiet kindnesses that others so often overlooked. She never forgot those who helped them. That warmth, that attentiveness… it was one of the first things that had disarmed Tifa back in the sewers of Sector 6. Aerith had threaded her way into the gaps of her emotional armour and breathed a familial warmth back into her veins—a closeness Tifa hadn’t felt in years.
When Chloe lit up at the idea of a flower crown, it was decided: they would detour to a grassy plateau to the northwest, known for its wildflowers. The fields were beautiful this time of year, rich with a whole host of blooms. But as they walked, the distant silhouette of Midgar began to rise on the horizon—dark, familiar, and far too close.
It felt soon. Too soon.
The memory of the Sector 7 plate’s fall loomed large in Tifa’s mind, a shadow that even the vibrant grasslands couldn’t dispel. The contrast was almost cruel—the vegetation of the grasslands thriving so freely, while an entire sector had been crushed beneath twisted steel. That bitter dissonance clawed at her, the same way it had when she stood above the smouldering remains of Nibelheim, her childhood home, nestled in the peaceful rocks of Mount Nibel.
She closed her eyes. The scent of smoke returned unbidden, curling in her throat. Screams echoed, far away and impossibly near.
A gentle brush against her arm rescued her from the painful memory.
She opened her eyes to find Cloud beside her, looking stoically up towards the same towering shadow she was facing.
His head turned softly to her.
“You ok?” He asked, a subtle hum of concern permeating his voice.
Tifa met his gaze briefly. They were shinning in the bright light of the open planes, they seemed a little clearer than they had in recent times. When she’d confronted him in Kalm, they’d seemed overcast, but now they were sky blue - though the shadow of mako still gleamed at their cores. Was he thinking what she was thinking? Did he remember the smell, the screams?
Tifa wanted to tell him she wasn’t okay. That she hadn’t been okay for a long time. That since Sector 7, since Nibelheim, something inside her had been quietly splintering. She wanted to tell him that she knew he wasn’t okay either. That he’d been acting weird. She tried to confront him in Kalm, but she couldn’t reach him.
They’d danced around the truth like it was a landmine.
Their hometown was gone. Burned to ash. Their parents, their friends, their lives—lost. And still, they hadn't said a word—at least none of any substance.
She opened her mouth—but the words caught, locked behind her teeth. Her body held them in place, as if bracing for impact. Zangan’s teachings echoed in her mind: discipline, restraint, control. Emotions could be weaponised, but never allowed to wield you.
She breathed in. Long, slow. Let the air anchor her.
“Yeah…” she said at last, her voice barely louder than the breeze.
It was a lie, of course. A flimsy shield. She didn’t expect it to convince him—and it didn’t. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer, reading the gap between her words and her silence. There was a flash in his eyes—concern, maybe—but then, as always, it vanished behind the mask he wore like a second skin.
SOLDIER composure. Cold, efficient, untouchable.
He gave a small nod, accepting the answer she hadn’t really given, then turned and began walking toward the meadow, its flowers spilling into view over the rise. Their colours were almost too bright against the muted ache in Tifa’s chest.
She watched him walk away, the quiet tread of his boots fading into the grass. And instead of longing, a flare of heat bloomed in Tifa’s chest.
Why doesn’t he ask more? Why doesn’t he care to know how I really feel?
She wasn’t expecting an outpouring—Cloud was never that person—but something. A question. A look that lingered long enough to show he really saw her.
But no. Just a nod, then his back again.
She folded her arms tightly across her chest as she followed, keeping her distance. When they reached the meadow, it stretched before them in an explosion of colour—wildflowers dancing in the breeze, their soft petals swaying as though rejoicing in the sun. It was the kind of scene that might’ve once lifted her spirit. But now, it felt almost mocking.
Aerith, by contrast, was radiant. Her mood had brightened more with each passing hour since leaving Kalm, and now—among these flowers—she was in her element. Her movements were light and full of life, almost like she was dancing, brushing her hands through the blooms with a childlike glee.
Tifa could barely bring herself to step into the light.
She plonked herself onto a shaded rock just beyond the edge of the field, folding her knees up to her chest, chin resting atop them. The sun couldn’t quite reach her there, and maybe that was the point. She began to fidget with her shoelaces, pretending not to care that the others were beginning to spread out across the meadow.
“Good idea!” Barret called over to her. “Let the experts handle this one.” He made a show of stretching his back before deliberately turning away from the field of flowers and joining her in the shade.
Red XIII padded over next, settling beside the rock with the slow grace of a creature who'd seen far too much to get excited about flower-picking. “I believe I’ll sit this one out as well,” he said with a faint hum. “It’s more enjoyable to watch.”
Tifa raised her head slightly, casting a sideways glance at him. There was something odd in his tone—something knowing? She looked toward the field, brows gently knitting together.
She watched the two figures now moving through the wildflowers—Aerith and Cloud.
Aerith had taken the lead, guiding Cloud with a hand loosely curled around his wrist. She was laughing gently about something he’d said—or maybe something she’d teased him into saying—and Cloud, though expressionless at first, let a small, reluctant smile break through.
Tifa’s fingers paused on her laces.
She watched the little moments unfold: the way Cloud paused to hand Aerith a particularly vibrant bloom, his fingers brushing hers just a moment longer than necessary. The way Aerith tilted her head, her expression soft and open, as if sharing a secret meant only for him. Their quiet laughter, carried on the breeze, felt like a language only they understood.
Up close one might miss it, but from afar, the dance between them was clear. Tifa saw the glances they stole when the other wasn’t looking, the natural rhythm of their movements syncing without thought. And then—finally—their eyes met.
She didn’t need to hear the words to know something passed between them. They lingered in that gaze—it felt like an age—and when Aerith looked away, her blushing cheeks betrayed her. She tried to hide behind a smile, plucking a flower and tucking it into the lapel of her jacket.
It was dawning on Tifa, slowly and inexorably—this was more than kindness. More than friendship.
She’s falling for him.
He’s falling for her.
Tifa’s breath caught.
She recalled how Cloud had once described their connection: he’d saved her; she’d saved him. Round and round it goes. She’d known then that something was up—but now, seeing them like this, it was undeniable. This wasn’t just something in the air. This was real. This was the beginning of something.
A heat stirred in her chest again, but this time, it didn’t flare into anger.
It settled. Heavy. Achey.
She realised it wasn’t anger she was feeling anymore.
It was sadness.
She remembered how shattered she’d felt when he’d fallen from the Sector 5 reactor—how her world had tipped sideways with the thought of losing him again. And then, when she saw him chasing her carriage in Sector 6, her heart had nearly exploded. It hadn’t just been relief. It hadn’t just been missing him.
It was love.
She loved him.
And now, she didn’t know if she had the strength to pretend otherwise.
From her vantage point, she noticed every subtle exchange between them. She tried to look away, but her gaze was drawn back, again and again. Each small interaction felt like a confirmation of everything she’d been trying not to see. Cloud—so often guarded and distant—seemed lighter around Aerith. More himself. And Aerith… she had that warmth, that effortless pull. She made people feel seen, understood.
Tifa could feel it herself—that pull.
And it only made the jealousy burn hotter.
If she really understood me, Tifa thought bitterly, she’d know it wasn’t supposed to be this way.
It was supposed to be her and Cloud. He had come back for her, hadn’t he? After the Sector 5 reactor, they were meant to go out together. She’d even picked an outfit based on his suggestion - “something exotic” he’d said with a twinkle in his eye. That night was supposed to be the start of something… wasn’t it?
Doubt crept in, curling like smoke around her memories.
Had she imagined it all? Read too much into things?
No—she remembered their exchange in her room in Sector 7. The way his gaze had lingered on her body, just a beat too long. She should have said something then. Made her feelings clear. The tension had been thick enough to cut.
She should’ve kissed him.
But she hadn’t.
And now, it felt like her moment had slipped through her fingers.
Her thoughts drifted back to the first time she met Aerith—in Don Corneo’s dungeon. Even then, Aerith had been familiar with Cloud. Too familiar. Tifa had asked him, outright, if there was something going on between them. She couldn’t remember his exact answer now—but it didn’t matter.
Because now, everything made sense.
Aerith wasn’t just charming. She was stealing something from her—her best friend, her anchor, her love.
Tifa slid off the rock and stretched out on the grass, letting the full warmth of the sun wash over her. Her arm came up to shield her eyes—ostensibly from the light, but really to hide the tears pooling beneath her lashes.
One escaped anyway.
She felt its burning trail roll down her cheek, tracing the quiet ache beneath the surface.
For a moment, everything stilled. The jealousy, the anger, the sorrow—they all quieted as she forced herself to breathe. To steady. To think.
Aerith.
Sweet, kind Aerith.
Of course it made sense. She was everything Tifa wasn’t. Open, playful, intuitive in a way that pulled people in. She made things easier just by being there. Of course Cloud would gravitate toward that light.
But it wasn’t just that. Tifa cared about Aerith too. Over the course of their journey, she'd come to see her not just as a companion—but as a friend. A best friend, even. The lines between admiration, affection, and jealousy had blurred, leaving her confused.
Aerith’s story wasn’t any less painful than her own. Or Cloud’s.
They were just a bunch of lost orphans, weren’t they?
Scraps of memory and grief stitched together, trying to make sense of a world that had taken their parents and left them half-formed. When love is ripped away so young, it deforms you. It makes you believe you'll never be whole again.
So why shouldn’t Aerith like Cloud? Why shouldn’t Cloud like her?
Tifa didn’t own him.
Why couldn’t she be happy for them both?
The confusion didn’t vanish—but it softened. Her breathing slowed. The tears stopped. The sun warmed her skin and dried the last of her sadness.
For a while, she lay there in silence, suspended in that in-between space where pain had passed, but clarity had not yet settled.
Then a shadow moved over her.
“Tifa?”
She opened her eyes. It was Cloud again, standing above her with that same flash of concern he’d shown earlier.
She bolted upright, brushing grass from her clothes, trying to gather herself before he could read too much in her face.
“Uh… this is for you,” he said, holding out a small bouquet of white daisies.
Tifa blinked, stunned. She took the flowers, unsure of what to say.
“Aerith said you’d like the way they smell,” he added.
Ah.
So it wasn’t what she thought. Not what she had hoped.
Still, she offered a small, accepting smile and lifted the flowers to her nose. Their scent was light, fresh, comforting.
“She thought they might make you smile,” he said.
A subtle smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
And in that moment, Tifa understood.
He wasn’t offering his heart.
He was offering kindness. Connection.
A gesture, not a promise.
“Thank you,” Tifa said, mustering as much warmth as she could.
He responded with a quiet nod before he turned away.
“We’ve got enough now to make Chloe’s crowns,” he added over his shoulder. “We can start heading back.”
Tifa nodded, but didn’t answer. She watched him walk across the meadow, the bouquet still clutched in her hands.
Her thoughts wandered. To promises. To gestures.
To the one he made all those years ago at the water tower in Nibelheim—to come save her if she was ever in danger.
Back then, it had sounded like something carved in stone. Something eternal. But perhaps that promise had been fulfilled by now?
But then there was the yellow flower. A lily.
He’d handed it to her when they reunited at Seventh Heaven, fresh from the chaos of the bombing mission in Sector 1.
It was a symbol of reunion.
At the time, it had felt like a promise too—that after all the years and all the loneliness, they would be together again.
Her fingertips brushed the delicate petals of the daisies. Where had he even found that yellow flower she wondered. In Midgar, where nothing bloomed?
It had felt like fate.
But maybe it was just coincidence. Just another kind gesture.
Not a vow.
Not a promise.
She brushed the last of the grass from her clothes, squared her shoulders, and turned toward the trail the others had taken.
The sun was high now, warm against her back. The breeze tugged at the hem of her skirt and her hair waved behind her.
She took a steadying breath.
Whatever had passed between them—real or imagined—it didn’t bind him. It didn’t bind her.
There were no promises to keep.