#[ μ ] – εγλ 0010 - 0015.

[makoblue]

tifa gives him a smooch for valentine’s day (i’ll send another thing in later <3)

Kisses aren't unusual, nowadays. Chaste kisses, hello kisses, goodbye kisses, something more kisses. This time seems different. Cloud can't quite put his finger on why, other than Tifa has that meaningful look in her eyes that means he should know why. That's never a good sign.

His eyes narrow briefly, his fingers strum over Tifa's hip where he's holding her. He's buying time. Thinking, trying to figure out the significance of today's date. His job being what it is, keeping track of time is important. Timeliness is a key performance indicator. Attributing meaning to certain days, however, is another issue entirely.

February fourteenth. Something about it...All the decorations in the storefronts, the red heart window decals, the chocolate gift boxes, dinner specials. They make sense suddenly, for all that the answer has been staring him in the face all week.

No wonder Reeve gave him a strange look when Cloud hadn't given a straightforward answer as to what his Tuesday evening plans were.

It's today.

"Happy Valentine's, Tifa."

Hopefully the delay in his response time goes unnoticed. Hopefully he's improving. He can salvage this.

"I heard LOVELESS is having something of a resurgence. There's a new themed cafe opening in town..."

[makoblue]

From her peripheral vision, Tifa can spot the alarm clock on the nightstand next to their bed. The time reads 11:59 PM and she doesn’t look away until several seconds pass—feels a bit longer—until the time changes and she lets out a soft breath, one she wasn’t even aware she was holding in when the time now reads 12:00 AM.

Her eyes flutter closed as she turns her head ever so slightly and places a chaste kiss to Cloud’s brow; it’s more her lips pressed against his forehead as she whispers out, “Happy new year,” feeling like now she can actually sleep as the faint noises of celebration can be heard throughout Edge.

Cloud has been lying on his back staring sullenly at the ceiling for the past several hours since the fireworks started up outside. Noise, lots of it, and for what? All so people can celebrate the tick of the clock as it goes from one day to the next and tear down their paper calendars hanging off their walls the moment the ball drops?

The faint line creasing his brow relaxes when Tifa adjusts the position of her head on her pillow and leans over to give him a kiss.

"Happy new year," he murmurs back, seeking eye contact in the same moment that a shower of sparks outside their window briefly illuminates their bedroom on the second floor of Seventh Heaven. Cloud smiles as the room goes dark again, and the silence lasts long enough for him to hear the sound of their quiet breathing as he pushes his nose against Tifa's cheek. "Maybe we can afford soundproofing next year."

[makoblue]

@crimson-elegy​-- continued from (x)

Time. He's had time every step of the way here to collect his anger, to carry it with him like layers of folded steel. Time enough to replay too many horrific scenarios in his head, the beginning and the end. To warp fear and lingering guilt into a cold fury.

Everything that has been taken from him– ripped away, burnt into bloody cinders, until his palms bleed with eight, crescent-shaped marks clawed into his skin, until the pain explodes with tears darkening fabric, until he finds himself carrying the last rites for the people who deserved to outlive him. He wants to hurl all that pain at Vincent, however irrational, it feels right to give his anger direction; a target that could absorb his rage without bending or breaking.

Someone who intimately understood what it felt like to have a monster wrapped so tightly into your psyche, ensō, an imperfect circle with no beginning and end. 

Right now, Cloud doesn’t want to understand. He wants to be angry. To lose himself to one emotion or another, to give up this illusion of choice. Violence is satisfying. A shower of wood splinters and flashes of bared teeth, two bodies caught in a ricochet from one wall to the next.

Vincent’s molten-gold gaze is not enough to temper him, nor the sepulchral tremor of a voice that ought to have the hairs on his neck standing on end. He knows, logically, that he should wisely wear a fear that is visceral, so primal that it stretches deep into his bones. 

What he finds, beside his rage and tension and so many other things, is anticipation. 

When the veneer of control finally shatters, Vincent is both terrifying and intoxicating. Fury ignites into desire, a bleed of one extreme to the next as they become a tangle of limbs aimlessly shoving away derelict furnishings and moth-eaten upholstery. 

Not enough oxygen in the room. In his lungs. 

Messy kisses and nipped skin between mouthfuls of air, unbuckled fastenings and a long trail of torn, unwanted clothing.  

But this is not unwanted. Chisel and hammer, driven straight into the cracks to give form to something he had never seen before. Wilted anger and wonder, spent as frosted breath and bare skin on the cold stone floor. 

“...I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid of you.” 

Come what may.

[makoblue]

@calamitysshatteredson​ liked for a starter:

Rumors and hearsay in the past few months. Cloud hasn’t been around to look into it very deeply. With the world still in environmental turmoil after swearing off the convenience of mako energy and surviving the fallout of Meteor Fall, business has been booming. Dark roads make for dangerous traveling, especially with monsters openly roaming the routes between towns. 

He’s several hundred miles out on his current delivery when his phone buzzes in his pocket. A quick glance at the understated and dimly glowing display next to his right hand tells him the caller is Tifa. Not unusual, though the timing is odd considering he had only left town no more than a few hours ago. Engaging handsfree mode on his cellphone, Cloud eases off on Fenrir’s throttle so that the roar of the engine isn’t so obvious over the phone.

“Cloud! I think you need to come back… That rumor we kept hearing around town? It might actually be him…” He hears her, clear as the cloudless sky in his wake. The undertones in her voice are portents of the calamitous adversary they thought dead. As the blood in his veins runs deadly cold with settling thoughts, Cloud knows he has to go back. He has to make sure.

Fenrir’s engine whines loudly as he shifts down to first gear. A quick twitch of the handlebars throws the bike into a pendulum-like movement that slingshots into a sharp u-turn in the middle of the road that kicks up a wild cloud of dust and gravel. 

It couldn’t be. After all, he watched him die…

Too close to 7th Heaven. An apartment on the second floor of a building not far off the north side of the city center. One of the first habitable structures that were completed after they evacuated Midgar and survivors began picking up the pieces of their lives. Priority housing had been granted to the elederly, children, and other vulnerable groups. But that’s where witnesses claim they saw him…The fear and worry knot his stomach as Cloud sits parked underneath the stairs that zigzag up the side of the building. His Fusion Sword stays dormant under the panels at either side of Fenrir’s front wheel.

Taking a sharp breath to steel himself, he grits his teeth and dismounts to climb the stairs to the second floor. The door. It looks like every other door on this floor, though somehow he expected that it shouldn’t. He stares at the number bolted at eye-level in front of him and then the peephole from which the inhabitants could be watching him right now. Eventually, the reel of various excuses and possible scenarios playing out in his head run out of film. He curls his hand into a loose fist and plays out a distinct staccato with the back of his knuckles against the plated metal door. His head comes up quickly when he hears the hinges swing back.

“Hi, my name is...”

[makoblue]

she comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and rests her head on his back between his shoulders.

"You’re like a barnacle.”

Doesn’t Tifa know how difficult it is to move around in a kitchen when there’s someone clinging to you? He makes a big show of twisting around to try and catch a glimpse of her before ‘giving up’ to pry loose her arms enough for him to turn around and drop his chin on the top of her head.

“My crab cakes are going to burn, you know,” he points out without the slightest ounce of urgency.

Nights where Cloud is home to cook are a rare occurrence. All the more reason to make it a little special. Deliveries provide ample opportunity to think of different recipes to try with the added bonus of convenient procurement for any unusual ingredients he might need.

To Cloud’s credit, his first few attempts were just edible and he’s only improved since then...with helpful tips from Tifa here and there. He has half a hope that the apron helps her take him more seriously.

[makoblue]

@heavensfists --

early mornings. this is when she realizes that they both seem to have a moment for themselves before the chaos of the day catches up to them. before rechecking routes for deliveries; before going downstairs to start breakfast and the last minute prep before the lunch rush; before kids have eaten and brushed their teeth and are dressed, they have this - a handful of minutes that can possibly sum up to less than an hour where they're alone.

one bathroom is tight for four, sometimes five, people living under one roof, but they've managed. she hears the faucet going and knows that he's already up, beginning his day. tifa doesn't shy away when she lets herself in and closes the door behind her. reaching for her toothbrush from its cup, she wets it before adding toothpaste onto the bristles.

it's such a mundane thing, perhaps even inconsequential, and she can hear denzel's voice in her head telling her about the importance of dental hygiene as if it's the most important topic in the world. technically, he's not wrong, but the thought almost makes her sputter out a laugh and it's obvious that she's trying to suppress a grin.

before she begins brushing her teeth, she looks at cloud and that almost grin turns into a soft smile; she can see their reflection in the mirror from the corner of her eye.

"you know i love you, right?" she says and leans a little closer to kiss him on the cheek before starting her morning routine.

Routines are comforting. A sequence of well-planned, predictable events. Predictable means normal. As close to normal as their little mismatched family can get.

Cloud is half-staring at the network of water stains on the mirror when he notices Tifa is looking at him while she’s brushing her teeth. Scrub scrub scrub. He smiles back at her through the minty foam that collects around the corners of his mouth and a toothbrush that doesn’t quite stop moving.

That’s not fair. His brow furrows, his hands and face are still occupied. He can’t reciprocate without making a fool of himself. Cloud finishes his two minutes of mandated brushing, rinses, and gives Tifa a little frown to make his displeasure known. “Could’ve waited ‘til I finished,” he grumbles, resting a hand at the small of her back and leaning over to press a kiss against the back of her neck while she washes her face. “I love you too,” Cloud says back, allowing the warmth of his words to ghost over her skin. He hopes it tickles.

Leaning back, he gives her a neat, playful pat on the seat of her pants and makes for the door. “See you downstairs.”

[makoblue]

@heavensfists​--

it starts out as any other morning, where she wakes up before everyone else. some habits just stick, and being the first to rise seems to be second nature by now.

turning over, as gently as she can so as to not wake him, tifa smiles fondly at cloud sleeping next to her. it’s been enough years together that she knows his ticks and his tells, somehow even being able to figure out what kind of day it’s going to be. she’s been steadily working on letting him, and others, know what she’s feeling rather than bottling up inside. it’s never always clean or goes the way she hopes it does, but tifa thinks she’s all the more better for it.

this morning, in the pre-dawn light, however, is not one she wants to disturb with talk even though she loves hearing cloud’s voice. this morning, as stealthy as she can be lying right next to him, she inches a little closer until there’s no distance between their bodies and reaches over as her hand brushes away some of the flaxen spikes of his hair away from his brow.

moments like this, not as frequent because of their schedules and what the days’ demand of them, are precious to her. inching closer still, her nose gently bumps against his and places soft kisses beneath his eyes and his cheeks, making her way down to his lips. she intends to wake him up with her kisses and see where this day will lead them, though she’s very content to stay in bed all day.

“happy birthday,” she whispers against his mouth, smiling into each kiss as she also thinks about how, last night, she had made a cake and is now sitting in the fridge and ready to be served for tonight - as well as planning to make cloud’s favourite for supper tonight.

Cloud has become, by necessity, a light sleeper. Sharing space and acclimating to sounds and smells besides his own has been a bit of an uphill battle. The mind can rationalize, with perfect perspicuity, that this separate entity is not hostile, perfectly safe to allow into his personal space, and even a step further, one he would choose to lower his guard around.

With enough time, the body can adjust to any number of things. That includes, without any sense of optionality, being able to sleep through the night with Tifa next to him… or more accurately, with Tifa curled behind him like his own little nighttime backpack.

He does not rouse until he feels the sudden change in weather. Today's forecast, apparently, calls for a moderate shower of kisses.

Finally, Cloud opens his eyes, flickers of mako-blue and wakefulness overtaking the last remnants of sleep. "Mm...Here I was hopin’ you'd forget," he muses, tipping his head forward to bury his face more closely against Tifa's.

Another year older, another year wiser. Hard to believe what passes for 'normal' nowadays.

This morning, Cloud has no particular desire to get out of bed and prepare for the day (how convenient, he has no deliveries planned for this time of the week). The light filtering in through the blinds, how it bounces off Tifa'a face and illuminates the ruby red of her eyes, makes it seem like she's glowing in the early sunrise. He admires her: the back of his knuckles tracing along the curve of her cheek, pathing lightly over her collarbone, and down the valley of her waist under the sheets.

"You have something planned," he accuses her abruptly-- he recognizes that self-pleased smile.