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‘Tifa?’
A brittle, quivering voice, and Tifa’s heart nearly stops.
Because it doesn’t make any rational sense – and she can’t even begin to explain any of it – but there’s literally no dismissing what’s in front of her eyes right now. The pale skin shivering in the water; the limp, wet hair plastered against both sides of an all-too-familiar face; the slender arms crossed over a slightly hunched torso in an obvious attempt to ward off the cold.
Aerith should be dead. Which is why Tifa’s back here on the anniversary of said death, after all, in the heart of the Forgotten Capital, carrying little more than the clothes on her back and a wealth of cherished memories in her chest. Aerith’s death should be a given. It should be known.
That is, until Tifa had curiously picked up that smooth sphere lying abandoned at the edge of the water, and Aerith had suddenly, shockingly broken the surface of the lake as soon as the unidentifiable Materia was all but cradled in Tifa’s fingers.
She doesn’t understand.
‘… It’s so cold,’ Aerith says, a helpless chill in her breath.
Then again, there’s no need to understand.
Tifa dives into the water with every bit of hesitation well and truly thrown aside.
Something gnarls in her chest, like a tangled knot, the entire way home.
But she shakes her head – shakes that numbness and shock clean off her shoulders. In the end, this isn’t about her. Not when Aerith’s somehow come back from the dead. Not when Aerith’s somehow here.
‘Tea?’
‘Yes please,’ Aerith sighs, gentle and modest and every shade of genuine in her grace and gratitude. Eyes damp and gleaming like they’re kindling with life. Every breath stirring from her lips, from her presence, like she’d never been gone.
Tifa clamps her teeth down on that thought, and puts the kettle on.
For whatever reason, Aerith’s half-translucent, and Tifa can’t exactly shake that off.
A streak of pastel pink stirs in the corner of her frame of vision: butterfly wings flitting weakly toward her window sill like there’s nowhere left for it to go.
‘The bathroom’s upstairs,’ she says, biting on her lower lip. ‘A hot shower might do you good. Cloud’s away for a few weeks on a job and taken Marlene with him, so things are gonna be a little quieter than usual around here, but—’
‘—Tifa? Who are you talking to?’
She spins on her heel; comes face-to-face, suddenly, with Denzel goggling straight at her with wide-eyed confusion from across the kitchen counter.
Staring only at her, like he can’t see Aerith standing right next to her.
The only answer she can give is a blank stare.
Light rain patters against the windows as soon as they’ve both settled in.
‘… Like, this shouldn’t be possible,’ comes out of Tifa’s mouth before she can even stop herself. She takes in a shuddering breath and slides down a little in her chair, almost reeling.
Aerith dips her head somewhat, absentmindedly scratching at her wrist.
‘Are you unhappy to see me?’
‘No. Not in the slightest. Seriously, I’ve never been happier to see you,’ Tifa clarifies in an instant, every word genuinely and sincerely meant. ‘Sorry, it’s just – I’m sure you can understand that, like, it’s not exactly every day that somebody just comes back from the dead. It’s kind of a lot for me to take in right now.’
‘Well, for the most part … it’s not like this world’s lacking in magic and miracles, or anything. When monsters, summons, and gods exist, I’d be willing to believe that anything’s possible.’ Aerith peers calmly out the window, prompting Tifa to follow her line of sight; the butterfly from before shifts its wings somewhat feebly, its movements dull and subdued. A rather odd, uneasy sight, but Aerith reaches out to graze the back of her knuckles softly against Tifa’s hand, gentle and reassuring. ‘In any case, I’m here now.’
Tifa pulls in a delicate sip of her own tea for a moment, before releasing a long, full exhale.
‘I’m glad.’
The faint smile that unfurls across Aerith’s face as she picks up the picture frame is tender, with maybe the smallest hint of poignant.
‘Who’s this?’
‘That’s Shelke,’ Tifa answers, resting loose fingers casually on a cocked hip. ‘She had to stay with us for a little while, but she’s gotten her life together and moved out since. Now it’s just me, Cloud, and the kids.’
‘Looks like a happy family.’
Tifa nods at that, warmth flowering to life in the pit of her belly. ‘Yeah. We are.’
‘The kids look like they’re over the moon to be here,’ Aerith continues, setting the picture frame back down onto the dresser and turning to look at Tifa meaningfully. ‘So are you and Cloud now …?’
‘No. Holy wow, no,’ Tifa answers, emphatically shaking her head like she can’t stress the point enough. ‘A lot of people think that because we’re basically inseparable, but no. No way. We’re just a couple of best friends saving money by living together and doing our best to get by. Y’know, while taking care of two actual kids in the process.’
Aerith nods appreciatively at that, but doesn’t say anything in reply.
‘… Now that you’re back,’ Tifa raises a purposeful eyebrow, ‘we could potentially update this photo, once Cloud and Marlene are back from their trip. Provided you’ll actually show up in the picture, of course.’
‘Yeah, I’m not sure about that right now,’ Aerith says in quiet amusement, pointedly looking down at her semi-translucent hand. ‘But hey, if my current condition improves, I’d definitely love to. Count me in.’
If possible, the soft heat in Tifa’s stomach ends up blooming even more.
‘Well, isn’t this cozy,’ Aerith huffs out a faint, breathy laugh. ‘Your bed’s nice. I almost feel like a little girl at a slumber party.’
‘You can come closer, you know. Get snug,’ Tifa replies pleasantly, the edges of her mouth quirking upward little by little. She shifts a bit lower in the bed, lifting the blanket that’s covering them both in welcoming invitation.
Aerith grins in reply, soft and pretty against the nighttime dark – and with that, she shuffles in, slowly tucking her face into the crook of Tifa’s neck and boldly winding an arm around Tifa’s waist.
Somehow, even in her half-presence, Aerith’s skin is warm; even half-transparent, she’s somewhat solid to the touch.
Tifa drifts into sleep with Aerith’s limbs tangled into hers and a mild, lingering fragrance of flowers spilling into her lungs.
A subtle, tentative touch to the wrist; a muted, inquisitive graze to the shoulder.
And for the first time, it’s clear that maybe Aerith’s return hadn’t come as smoothly as Tifa had thought it might’ve, after all.
‘… You okay?’
‘Ah – yeah, I’m alright,’ Aerith suddenly says, halfway through sweeping curious fingers over her own hipbone like she’s wondering if she’s really alive, awake, real; in some ways, it’s simultaneously intriguing and heartbreaking to see. But then she delicately clears her throat, and pulls her hands away from herself. ‘Just trying to get my bearings in order again, I guess.’
All in all, it’s not like Tifa herself is overwhelmingly sure that this is actually happening, that her hopes aren’t just hopes and that Aerith being back isn’t just her imagination running wild – but for now, she supposes she’ll take it anyway.
Her eyes flick distantly over to the window sill; even several days on, the strange pink butterfly seems to still be sitting there, and not much about its slowed movements are doing anything to make her feel at ease.
‘It’s only been a couple of days. You can take as much time as you need to readjust,’ she replies with reassurance, licking her own lips to wet them. ‘Whatever happens, I’ve got your back, okay?’
Aerith’s next exhale comes out quivering, but she unrolls her spine straight. Gives a resolute nod.
‘Yeah. I appreciate it.’
‘… C’mon, you’ve been digging in there for, what? Like forty minutes now?’ Tifa says with a hint of mellow cheer. ‘I know I said that you could borrow whatever you wanted to, but seriously, you’re gonna look cute as hell in any of my stuff. I don’t even have that many outfits to start with. Show me which one you picked already.’
‘Okay, okay. I’m coming,’ Aerith answers with the tiniest dash of amusement, and strolls out at last from behind the wardrobe door.
Rays of golden sunlight pour in through the open bedroom windows, dripping over her skin like honey as soon as she’s stepped into view – and Tifa’s jaw can only sink open at the sight. Because of course Aerith would make a beeline for the one and only summer dress, light and sweet and frilly, that Tifa owns. And of course she’d look cute and full of life in its bright, pale white. Like an actual angel.
‘I take it you like it?’ Aerith says, mouth tilted in a smile that’s almost teasing.
Heat trickles over Tifa’s collarbones; she swallows hard.
Liking it is probably the understatement of the year.
‘Yeah,’ she simply nods, throat hoarse. ‘Keep it.’
Aerith hums, casually clicks her tongue.
‘Huh. So where would this one go?’
Tifa straightens up and turns around in surprise, wiping a beadlet of sweat from her forehead. She’d been so focused on the task at hand that she hadn’t even heard Aerith come downstairs, nor expected her to be standing there; all at once, she’s met with the sight of Aerith clutching at a glass bottle that she’d obviously plucked from one of the boxes of liquor that’d just been delivered to the bar that morning, while inspecting it with mild interest.
‘Ah. You should rest,’ is the first thing to automatically come out of her mouth in reply. ‘Sorting this stuff out can get pretty taxing—’
‘—Which is why you probably need help, right?’ Aerith picks up a second bottle and blinks at her like she’s pointing out the most obvious thing in the world.
There’s an unusual edge to the underbelly of her voice, though, that Tifa can hear clear as crystal – a kind of spark, maybe. Almost like she’s determined or resolved in some way; almost like there’s a deep-rooted itch to just do something. Almost like she just wants to work again, live again, in spite of everything.
And for the second time in as many days, Tifa can’t help but nurse that tiny flicker of hope that this is all really happening. That she isn’t actually losing her mind and hallucinating Aerith being here. That there must be a good explanation for why Denzel can’t see Aerith – why no one can see Aerith except for her.
Whatever sentiment she’d intended on expressing before dies between her lips.
In any case … what Aerith’s just said isn’t exactly wrong.
‘… Hmm. Okay, well, you can put the gin up on the very left over there,’ Tifa says thoughtfully, pointing to the wooden shelf behind Aerith’s head. ‘I keep all the wines over here, so you can hand me that other bottle you’ve got. After that, I’m happy for you to start on the next box.’
Aerith slowly but visibly brightens at that, smile blooming little by little across her face like radiant sunshine.
For whatever reason, that suddenly gets the quiet throb of Tifa’s blood-beats reverberating up against the peak of her throat louder than she’d ever have expected.
Either way, they manage to get the bar fully restocked in just under two hours together, and somehow, it ends up feeling more like soothing leisure than like any work at all.
For a while, Aerith doesn’t say anything.
‘… I get it,’ Tifa pipes up eventually, squirming right where she’s standing. She releases a little cough, and rubs the back of her neck with some measure of nervousness. ‘He was your first love, back in the day.’
‘That was a long time ago.’ With that, Aerith finally pivots on her toes, turning away from the old buster sword. ‘It hasn’t been like that for what feels like forever, now. But still, it’s strange. He was the last person I talked to, actually, right before I was pulled out of the Lifestream and brought back here.’
Tifa answers with nothing but silence, and can almost hear the echoes of her own breathing rippling altogether too loudly beneath the vast, broken roof of the church.
‘… I get it, too,’ Aerith adds after a while, slow and cautious. ‘I know you guys didn’t get along when you met.’
‘And I regret that often. It was never Zack’s fault, and I’m willing to admit that. I was angry, and I think I just needed to blame whoever was within reach, right then and there – it’s one of those things where grief just kinda brought out the worst in me at the wrong moment, I think.’ Tifa scrapes her heel idly against the cracked wood under her feet, shuffling in place. ‘But anyway, this isn’t about Zack, and it isn’t about me, either. It’s just … I’m so sorry, for real. If I’d known what’d happen when I’d found that weird Materia just lying there near the water … I mean, the last thing I’d ever want to do when you were already laid to rest is to take that peace away from you.’
‘You gave me a second chance at life.’ Aerith reaches out sideways, then, to slip warm, reassuring fingers into Tifa’s own. Too sturdy and solid to be a figment of Tifa’s imagination – or, at least, Tifa would like to think so. ‘I’m going to live it.’
Aerith squeezes, and Tifa can feel the comfort and solace of the touch pulsing all the way up into the valves of her own heart.
‘Cherry whiskey sour, coming right up,’ Tifa calls out, quickly reaching for a clean glass. Her eyes drop momentarily to where Aerith’s seated right by her feet, leaning casually against the back of the bar counter, and she purses her lips in thought. ‘Hey, you absolutely sure you don’t wanna just hang out upstairs instead? Bar’s gonna get even noisier with the night crowd soon and I wouldn’t want you to feel like you have to stay with me for my whole shift.’
‘All good, I promise.’ Aerith grins, looking up from her book long enough to stroke a single knuckle affectionately against the jut of Tifa’s knee. ‘Believe me, I’m exactly where I want to be.’
Tifa can barely hear the clamor of the bar patrons over the thundering in her ears.
Maybe, just maybe, her next inhale catches a little bit in her chest at that.
The momentary trail of heat against her knee lingers all night long, in the end: an unforgettable lick of warmth, a tender slip of relief, a secretly thrilling distraction during a humdrum, mundane work shift.
‘—Be back later, Tifa.’
The cool leisure in Denzel’s voice as it rings out from the front door is nothing less than pleasant to Tifa’s ears, putting her immediately at ease.
‘Okay. Shoot me a message if you’re not gonna be home until late,’ she calls out in reply, only to be met with a somewhat peculiar look once she’s turned back to Aerith. ‘… What?’
‘Is it really okay that you’re juggling this—’ Aerith swings her hands around a little, as if gesturing toward everything in her surroundings as a whole. ‘—You know. Like, the fact that you have to act like I’m not here because other people can’t see or hear me.’
Tifa sucks in a quiet breath at that.
She’d known that the matter would’ve needed to be broached at some point.
In any case, every single one of Aerith’s words and actions since her return from the dead have been drenched in earnest personality and soul anyway, from what Tifa’s seen – an organic warmth behind each wisp of laughter; a natural inquisitiveness behind each focused glance; a genuine hesitancy behind each spoken concern. Gaze and mouth expressive, hands firm in their grip, voice steady and sound like she knows she’s real even when Tifa doesn’t have the proof to verify it for sure beyond the shaky footing of her own starry-eyed hopes. It’s a struggle to even consider every moment and every smile as possibly being a complete fabrication of her mind, especially when she can almost vividly sense Aerith’s presence resonating in the marrow of her own bones, grounded and stable and more comforting than she knows how to put into words.
‘… I am if you are,’ she answers eventually, swallowing around the knot in her throat. ‘I’m sorry for having to pretend like there’s no one here. I know it’s not great. For the time being, I don’t know how to explain all this to Denzel, though. I don’t know if I even should.’
‘I’m not upset about that at all. Just worried that it might be tough on you,’ Aerith says gently, enough to get the tiniest sliver of warmth kindling and pooling in Tifa’s belly. She then resumes putting her ham and cheese sandwich together, before slicing it neatly in the middle. ‘I saw him in his room the other day, when he had the door open. He was cleaning a long metal rod that kind of reminded me of my old one. Is that his weapon?’
Her fingers visibly hesitate a little over the bread knife, and Tifa chews down on her cheek.
Because at the time that Aerith had died, they’d been in the middle of fighting a war. And for even the most delicate hands to still itch with the past resonance of that struggle, to still retain a vivid muscle memory of the weapons that they’d held and all the blows that they’d dealt, isn’t a particularly surprising notion to Tifa at the end of the day.
Sometimes, she can still feel the echoes of an old battle-quiver in her own fingers, too.
‘Yeah,’ she says slowly, soft and straightforward. ‘It’s amazing what that kid’s been through. What we’ve all been through.’
Aerith dips her head in a single nod of agreement. ‘In any case, we’re all here.’
I’m here.
Somehow, everything around them had managed to slip into a temperate picture of peace before they’d even known it. A sunlit sky; yellow flowers bursting up from a glass vase; a mouth-watering fragrance of fresh slices of meat; curling steam from a loaf of hot-baked bread. And on top of all that, there’s maybe what seems like a little more solid color in the planes of Aerith’s cheeks nowadays. And in Aerith’s eyes. And in Aerith’s entire face in general.
It’s almost easy to forget the spent, unhurried movement of pink butterfly wings at the window sill when there’s so much of everything else.
‘Say aah,’ Aerith says playfully, almost purposefully, while holding the corner of her sandwich up to Tifa’s mouth.
And Tifa isn’t really sure why that’s sending a simmering flush of heat over her clavicles and ears, and making her heart pound like a drumbeat in her chest, but she takes a little bite of Aerith’s offering of food anyway, and is pretty grateful for the bone-deep contentment settling in all her limbs right now.
A light giggle, somewhat smothered by slender fingertips. ‘You’re not very good at this, are you.’
‘I basically never braid my own hair, so I haven’t exactly gotten any practice.’ Tifa gently pulls on a wayward tangle of brown strands, huffing at its slippery attempt to escape her palm. ‘Sorry if I’m not doing a great job. I’m starting to think that even Barret would probably be better at this, if he’s done it for Marlene enough times.’
An unexpected silence meets that sentiment, though, and a sudden realization catches Tifa off-guard.
‘… Do you miss them?’ she continues in a tender murmur, sliding her hand reassuringly over Aerith’s shoulder. ‘Should I maybe try to get everyone here together so you can see them?’
‘When I’m ready, yes.’ Pliant fingers reach up, then, to loosely interlace with Tifa’s own, which almost instantly gets Tifa’s pulse racing out of the blue. Though all things considered, for her to have that reaction around Aerith nowadays doesn’t seem to be anything new. ‘They won’t be able to see me anyway, so maybe give it a little more time. For now, I’m happy enough like this. I mean, with you.’
Aerith’s hand is warm against Tifa’s own, and Tifa notices, then, that her skin definitely seems less see-through than before.
Her lips curve tremulously into a smile.
‘… You know what,’ Aerith says whimsically, light and cheery. ‘This almost feels like a date.’
Tifa nearly chokes on the half-chewed bit of pastry in her mouth.
‘I haven’t actually been on a picnic in a while,’ Aerith presses on, seeming not to notice Tifa’s temporary moment of crisis. She gives Tifa’s cheek a casual, playful poke with her little finger, before grazing a single knuckle against the angle of Tifa’s jaw on the way down; an affectionate, unthinking action, almost as if it’s second nature for them, almost as if they touch each other like this all the time. ‘Thank you for taking me out here. It’s so nice and peaceful.’
Head tilted sideways, brows slack and grin resting easy on her face, she seems almost overwhelmingly fond.
And then, completely out of the blue – everything suddenly falls into place.
Tifa’s breath drains straight out of her lungs.
Because it makes sense … this makes sense. With all the history that they’ve had behind them as it is; with all the moments that they’d been craving to share more of together even since before Aerith’s abrupt death had stolen that time away from them; with all the indescribable ways that Tifa’s thoughts and sensations have been left stirring lately, ever since Aerith’s recent return—
—Just like that, Tifa can tell that she’s straight-up done for.
The realization alone is enough to stun her like a lightning strike, to send her head into a rattling spin. It’s strange, in a way, to be coming to this kind of revelation, to be abruptly made aware of such stark feelings, right in the belly of the drylands – so close to the exact spot where Zack had died.
One door closing; another door creaking open.
From here, where they’re seated on the picnic blanket, the smattering of yellow flowers smudges the corner of their frame of sight, springing up from the crumbling earth only a short distance away. Almost within reach.
But there’s a certain soothing calm to the view over the cliffside; to Aerith being here with her, sitting so close that they’re almost curled up together; to the tranquil, leisurely quiet of their surroundings. And with that, the tension in Tifa’s shoulders starts to loosen, and the taut edge to her nerves eases enough that she knows she’s beginning to wind down just a little. Bit by bit. One breath at a time.
After all, Aerith had said: It hasn’t been like that for what feels like forever, now.
Swallowing her food, and maybe her messy jumble of emotions along with it, Tifa throws back a subtle, mellow smile.
‘Of course.’ Reaching out, she moves to slip a wisp of soft hair back behind Aerith’s ear, and somehow, there’s a lot less nervousness behind the simple gesture than she’d anticipated feeling. ‘We all deserve a chance to chill. You most of all, what with all the household chores you’ve been helping me do while Cloud’s away! I’m more than happy to take you out and do this more often, if you want.’
‘… Mmm,’ Aerith hums, eyes fluttering to a serene close when Tifa’s fingers inadvertently brush against her cheekbone. ‘This kind of feels familiar.’
The vivid memory of caressing Aerith’s face as she’d sat unmoving, propped up lifelessly against rows of wooden planks and slumped over in stone cold death, creeps as slow as ice into Tifa’s veins all of a sudden.
Her next inhale cuts in sharp.
Despite her own worries and insecurities over the possibility of all of this being nothing more than a wild hallucination, it sure feels mind-blowing and incredible to think of it as real, too. Because it’s more or less an impossible miracle for Aerith to have been able to come back, for the two of them to be able to spend any more time together like this at all: a more unbelievable outcome than Tifa could’ve ever imagined. A luckier fate than she could’ve ever hoped for.
Clenching her teeth tightly shut, she can barely help unwittingly thinking back to the unfortunate butterfly at her window sill – for having been perched there as long as it has, it’s a marvel that it’s even still alive; then again, it’d seemed all the worse for wear when she’d walked through the kitchen earlier this morning. For a fleeting moment, she wonders if it’s got any real chance.
Dry lips press firmly together, clamping down on all the unnecessary regrets that she’d long since locked away in the dark corners of her chest.
There’s no time for any of that guilt anymore. Not now, not ever.
She says nothing in reply.
She jerks awake one night to a damp heat burning at the corners of her eyes and warm, sturdy arms wrapped snugly around her shoulders.
‘—It’s okay,’ Aerith murmurs immediately into her temple, spilling hot wisps of breath into her hair. ‘It’s just a bad dream. I’m right here.’
Tifa shudders out a shaky breath, and fumbles to hold on to Aerith’s back with a white-knuckled grip through the daze and the aching.
It stings a little more than she’d expected it to, maybe. Not so much the shameless stares and too-loud whispers that she’ll get from strangers on the open street whenever Aerith’s apparent invisibility slips her mind long enough for the two of them to start happily chatting together; not so much the confused looks that she’ll get from Denzel at home and the way he’ll pointedly try not to comment on every strange thing that he’s picked up on from her behavior lately. Not so much the careful way in which he’d asked no questions when she’d requested eating dinner together only every other day, without so much as explaining her intent behind it – that is, to keep Aerith company for meals on those alternate days, given that they can’t really all dine together with how things are. He’d simply accepted when she’d brought it up, which is likely for the best anyway, seeing as she has no idea how to even start telling him the reasons why.
She can handle all of that just fine. Pull herself together just fine, in the face of everything.
That is, up until now, apparently. In the wake of one single bad dream about coming home to a silent, empty house and reaching the dreadful epiphany that Aerith’s miraculous return had only been a product of her own pastel-colored fantasies all along.
Biting down firmly on her cheek, she coils her fingers tightly into Aerith’s pajama shirt and tucks her face into the junction of Aerith’s neck and shoulder, forcefully swallowing down the tremulous unrest lingering in her throat; no, she can’t think like this. Not when there’s still a tendril of hope. Not when she can literally almost feel Aerith’s heartbeat underneath her fingertips right in this very moment. Not when she’s only just come to realize her feelings for Aerith a few days ago: a profound eye-opener that’s terrifying but exhilarating all at once.
‘… Do you wanna talk about it?’
‘No. Thanks, though,’ she says in reply, purposefully keeping her voice level. ‘Don’t worry. I’m fine.’
She tries her best to mean it.
‘… These two, dear?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Tifa confirms, extending a hand to pass the vendor some gil, and decisively plucking the two matching necklaces from the display table. ‘Busy day today?’
‘Could stand to be busier. Not a lot of people tend to come to the markets at this hour, but getting a breather’s always nice, too,’ the old lady answers, eyeing Tifa with meaningful, curious interest. ‘Good choice. You buying this for someone special?’
Heat trickles down the back of Tifa’s neck, over the jut of her cheekbones.
At the end of the day, maybe Aerith’s presence in her day-to-day life was always going to end up having far more of a visible effect on her than she’d ever really have come to expect.
‘Well … you could say that. I just hope she likes it.’
‘—Are you kidding me? I love it,’ Aerith gushes later, once Tifa’s finally home for the day; inexpensive chain slung around her throat and butterfly-shaped pendant laid flat in her palm, she immediately raises the new necklace all the way up to eye level, openly admiring it as if it’s anything more than a handmade trinket from a streetside marketplace, as if it’s everything in the world that she could possibly hope or ask for. ‘Oh, gosh, it’s so pretty. For real, I could honestly kiss you right now.’
Tifa deliberately lets out a little cough before anything stupid could potentially bubble up out of her throat in response to that.
Really, at this point, she wouldn’t willingly give any of this up even if none of it were to turn out to be real.
‘… I figured it suited you. Suited us,’ she says modestly, twining the fingers of both of her hands together behind her back, and inwardly shaking off the mental picture that Aerith’s just managed to give her without seeming to even realize it. ‘I mostly – just felt like buying it for fun. I know it isn’t much.’
‘It’s from you. It’s everything,’ Aerith grins brightly enough to light up the entire room, and reaches out to lightly tap her fingernail against the matching pendant hanging over Tifa’s chest in indication. ‘I’m glad you bought two so we can match. Feels perfect, for some reason. Feels right.’
And Tifa couldn’t agree more.
In all honesty, her mouth had been working faster than her brain when she’d suddenly blurted out, ‘You want any help with that?’
Aerith tosses Tifa an appreciative look in reply, enveloped by curling wisps of steam with her skin glistening damp from the shower and her hair hanging in wet locks over her shoulders.
‘… Yeah, sure,’ she answers, swiveling a little on her feet to allow Tifa better access.
Maybe this had been a bad idea, in one way or another – or maybe it hadn’t; Tifa isn’t exactly sure anymore. Not when Aerith’s openly exposing the smooth plane of her naked back to Tifa like this, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Not when Tifa has to drag in a long, full-chested breath to brace herself before reaching both hands out to the graceful curve of Aerith’s spine. Not when Tifa’s fingers are unwittingly quivering as she takes her time to pull up the zipper of Aerith’s dress, slowly and attentively, inch by inch by inch.
She doesn’t even realize that her own face has managed to flush itself rosy until Aerith unexpectedly huffs out a single quiet exhale of amusement while eyeing her intently through the bathroom mirror, murmuring: ‘You’re so cute, you know that.’
And oh, Tifa’s definitely screwed.
Even in the evening, the church seems radiant beneath the silver moonlight.
Although Tifa has to wonder whether that vibrancy’s largely due to Aerith currently being here, right where she’d always used to linger; right where she’s always loved to be. The church has pretty much always kind of fit her, after all, like the frame to a stunning picture – like she’s the beauty amid the aging wood, the cracked stone, the colorful stained glass.
‘You don’t have to worry about the flowers. I’ve been taking care of them,’ Tifa says softly, taken over by a strange feeling of boldness, fervor, resolve. She isn’t altogether sure of what’s driving her to move her own body right now, wading into the rain-pool with one careful step after another; maybe it’s the summer heat leaking in through the gaps in the broken planks, or maybe it’s something else – but either way, soon enough, she’s kneeling down in the cool water until its ripples are grazing against the knolls of her ribs. ‘… We’ve all missed you while you were gone, you know.’
She doesn’t say I’ve missed you aloud, but Aerith looks up in surprise anyway, promptly extracting her hands from the vast spray of yellow petals as if she can hear the unspoken sentiment loud and clear.
Tifa’s heart hammers in her chest.
For a fraction of a moment, she feels almost exposed underneath the scrutiny. Wide open and vulnerable; layers stripped bare.
She knows, rationally speaking, that barely a handful of seconds have even passed. But somehow, with their stares locked together and their breaths held like this, it almost feels like it’s been an eternity.
With that, Aerith slowly rises to her feet in order to make her way over to the edge of the water, and truth be told, Tifa hadn’t exactly planned any of this. She hadn’t planned for Aerith to shed her own jacket from her shoulders, or for Aerith to also purposefully step into the water without any hint of reserve. She hadn’t planned for Aerith to tread closer, to also sink onto her knees until their gazes meet at proper eye level, to curl soft fingers over Tifa’s elbows like a grounding anchor until she’s all that Tifa sees, feels, knows.
Aerith’s eyes, if possible, seem to glimmer even more brilliantly this close.
Right then and there, something in the space between them shifts, spine-tingling and almost palpable. Or maybe it’d already shifted to this long before now, gradual but sure, before Tifa had even been aware of it.
‘… Hey,’ she starts, enthralled and overwhelmed. ‘Are we—’
‘—Tifa,’ Aerith says at the same time, and just like that, whatever Tifa had been planning to ask withers away at the back of her mouth.
It’s nearly as if time drags itself to a halt.
That said, Tifa definitely hadn’t planned for them to naturally lean into each other like they’re being pulled by gravity; to then, with hearts clearly aching, go on to finally meet in the middle in a sweet, delicate kiss; to think that maybe – just maybe – there’s a chance that she could be falling in love.
‘… You know,’ Aerith sighs shakily into Tifa’s mouth. ‘I’ve missed you too.’
Warm fingertips sweep up over Tifa’s shoulder, tangling themselves into the chain wrapped around Tifa’s neck.
They’re both drenched up to their chests, bathed in still rainwater and silken moonrays, and Tifa can only wonder if they’re the real beauty, promise, and miracle in the midst of it all.
Dropping a pocketful of gil down onto the table, Tifa proceeds to casually unfold her legs, pulling herself up to her feet with a mellow calm. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s my treat.’
‘You’re too sweet,’ Aerith replies, cheeks flushed a vibrant, healthy pink. And a part of Tifa logically knows that she’d been the one to bring about that reaction, but sometimes it’s still surreal to think about – that she actually has that effect on Aerith, somehow; that they’ve now become this. ‘I’ve got to shout you next time. Should we go? Our shift’s gonna start soon.’
‘Our shift,’ Tifa repeats with a quiet laugh, as Aerith moves to get up from her chair as well. ‘Didn’t realize you’d turned into a bartender overnight, too.’
‘No, come on. I know I’m just moral support.’ With that, they move off together; Aerith curls a hand snugly around the hook of Tifa’s elbow, then, pressing in as tight as she can until all of Tifa’s side is warm with her soothing body heat. ‘But wouldn’t anybody want their girlfriend to hang out with them at work sometimes to keep them sane?’
The word feels new, cathartic, dizzying. Softened by a pleasant curve and sensitivity to its syllables and contours in a way that Tifa more than likes.
It’s strange, maybe, to have fashioned a meaningful friendship during an arduous war and thinking that that’s all it’d been. That that’s all it’d be.
Then again, to have Aerith’s death hit her so hard back then is probably a sign that she should’ve known better.
‘Can’t argue with that.’ Tifa pointedly raises a single eyebrow. ‘Gotta have a stress-free work environment to rake in more dough and take you to even nicer places.’
‘Well, I really liked the cheesecake that I ordered today,’ Aerith chirps happily, squeezing Tifa’s arm for emphasis. ‘You wanna try some more cafés around here on the next date?’
Yet another word that Tifa isn’t really used to, but hell if she isn’t liking the sound of it too.
The quick kiss that she plants on Aerith’s temple in response is simply answered with a melodic, trilling hum of good cheer.
‘… So. You end up shackin’ up with Cloud or somethin’?’
Tifa can’t help it – she lets out a sudden burst of laughter, brisk and ringing with disbelief.
‘What is that,’ she says in a watery, humored voice, while continuing to dry the freshly washed shot glass in her hand with a cotton napkin. ‘Where the heck did that even come from?’
‘You look all mushy and sentimental right now, like. Got some gross gooey look goin’ on up here,’ Cid drawls, pointing to his own eyes with the two fingers of one hand. ‘Don’t think I’ve seen you this sappy before. And you’ve got some random new necklace on you. Can’t blame me for jumpin’ to conclusions.’
All things considered, Tifa wouldn’t exactly consider gradually adjusting to being the only person who could see or hear Aerith as having been a walk in the park at this point, despite Aerith hardly seeming the slightest bit translucent anymore; even being in the café earlier that day had involved the two of them purposely tucking themselves away into the booth in the far corner to avoid any prying stares or awkward questions from all the other people around.
But Tifa can feel the arms winding around her waist from behind right now. The hot breath trickling over the nape of her neck. The soft nuzzle in the tiny pocket of space right behind her ear.
A busy, crowded bar full of noise and activity and life, and the universe has somehow chosen to shield Aerith from the eyes of all of the patrons here.
But Aerith hasn’t been shielded from Tifa, and in a way, Tifa knows that counts for everything.
‘No,’ she answers, leaning backward into Aerith’s enveloping touch. ‘But someone did start staying with us recently, so you guessed the wrong housemate.’
‘Okay, I get the hint. You’re obviously not gonna tell me about it right now.’ Cid draws in a noisy slurp of his beer and squints at her, suspicious but knowing. ‘Whatever. Happy to see you bein’ more upbeat, at least. You can spill the beans when you want to.’
The arms around Tifa’s middle fold in even tighter with affection.
After everything that’s happened, she wonders if maybe it is almost time to face the music soon. To let the cat out of the bag and tell everyone about Aerith, if all of this is indeed rooted in reality. Or on the other hand, if it turns out that none of this had been anything more than a waking dream, then …
… Whatever the circumstances may be, though, she’s sure that she can handle it. That everything will work out and be okay, either way.
Right?
‘—Yeah,’ she says evenly, chin raised high. ‘You can count on it.’
‘Bit of flour on your face there.’ Aerith thumbs gently along Tifa’s cheek, evidently swiping the stain away; her other hand playfully squeezes at Tifa’s hip. ‘Honestly, what’ll I do with you.’
‘Now you’re just being a cheeky goose,’ Tifa answers affectionately, poking at Aerith’s ribs with squirming fingers until she’s all but bent over to smother her faint giggles into Tifa’s shoulder. ‘Seriously, we can’t even try to bake cookies for two minutes without you teasing me, how are we gonna get anything done—’
‘—Um, Tifa.’
The unexpected interruption behind her comes out somewhat meek, tentative.
Tifa turns around in surprise; all at once, she’s met with the peculiar sight of Denzel sheepishly shuffling on his feet, and modestly rubbing the back of his neck.
Something about his strange expression immediately halts Tifa dead still in her tracks.
‘… Is, uh – is that who I think it is?’ he’s squirming, flushed the entire way up to the tips of his ears as though he’s just caught them being a little too handsy with each other. But he turns his attention to Aerith anyway, looking for all the world like he’s stuck between curious and uncertain, before nibbling at his lip. ‘Sorry, we haven’t actually met, I’m Denzel—’
‘Aerith.’ Lean fingers start to slacken with obvious bafflement, and before long, Aerith’s let go of Tifa completely, seeming stunned and breathless. ‘You can see me now?’
It’s clear by the way that Denzel’s left gaping in reply that he doesn’t even know how to formulate a coherent answer to that.
‘Both Tifa and Cloud told me that you were dead?’
‘I was.’
With that, Aerith slowly, carefully reaches into her dress pocket; plucks out a bright, glistening sphere that Tifa recognizes right off the bat – the Materia from the Forgotten Capital.
She hadn’t even noticed at the time, in her hurry to get Aerith dry and quickly bring her home, that Aerith must’ve taken it with her. And that she must’ve been carrying it around ever since.
Just seeing it gets a twist of emotion immediately knotting up in her throat.
‘… But how?’
At first, Aerith can only eyeball her meaningfully in reply.
But then, she gently untangles herself from Tifa’s grasp and pulls herself free, before strolling over to the nearby open window. There, on the narrow ledge, Tifa can see a familiar tiny splotch of pink lying against the off-white wood; soft wings stone-still and unmoving, a butterfly now unmistakably dead and gone.
‘Well … I can say that it’s pretty obvious how there’s a lot of manmade Materia in circulation nowadays, to the point where I can totally see how people forget exactly how incredible and powerful organic Materia are.’ With that, Aerith positions the Materia close to the lifeless butterfly, and in a matter of seconds, the sphere starts glowing an otherworldly green. ‘You can use artificial Materia to call on fire and other elements, summon amazing creatures … but the raw stuff’s often pure and unrefined Mako coming directly from the Lifestream, y’know? And there’s a reason why people often call it the River of Life and all that. So – should we be too surprised if I were to be able to use that concentrated magical energy to give a dead thing a tiny bit of my own life, and that’s somehow able to give that thing a place to hook its own spirit energy into to climb straight out of death?’
And then, to Tifa’s utmost shock, the butterfly suddenly springs up from the aging wood in a burst of fluttering wing-beats, spirited and vibrant, very clearly alive.
In the corner of her eye, she can see Denzel jump, obviously startled as well.
For a moment, the only thing she can manage to do is to stare wide-eyed, with all possible sentiments dissipating to nothing on the tip of her tongue. After a while, though, the butterfly flits away and fades oddly into a state of translucency, and just like that, it dawns on her exactly what’s just happened.
‘I don’t know if the butterfly’s invisible to you now. But given that it’s connected to me, I can just barely see it,’ Aerith says purposefully, looking Tifa directly in the eye. ‘I know this is a lot to take in.’
‘It is, but … god, Aerith. This is what I wanted, y’know? More than anything. For all of this to end up being real, even though I didn’t have solid proof. For me to actually be seeing you and to not have just been losing my mind the whole time. And for your being here to not have been a result of the Lifestream somehow messing up,’ Tifa rasps out, voice coming out unexpectedly tremulous. Wet heat prickles behind her eyes, and she blinks it back, pulling in a shuddering breath. ‘I’m just – wow. You’re really here. You’re here.’
Something like overwhelming relief floods into the pit of her belly; she can hardly believe this is happening.
‘… Yeah, I am. And I believe it’s only because of you.’ Aerith strides back over and reaches out to take Tifa’s hand, before pressing the cool Materia snugly between their connected fingers. ‘Cetra or not, I don’t actually have the answer to all the mysteries in the world, but hey. From what I can tell, this Materia must’ve formed naturally from the Lifestream already equipped to manipulate spirit energies – whether living or dead – and it seems to have linked my life force to yours when you came into contact with it. I guess that’s how I’ve been able to come back, and how I’m alive right now, period. And, well, I’m not draining you or anything, but being directly connected to you like this means I’ll likely die again when you die, which is actually okay with me.’
The pendant at her throat glints, and Tifa can unexpectedly feel the prominent weight of her own matching pendant resting solidly against her own sternum.
A steadfast anchor at her chest.
‘… More importantly, though … I’m sure I’m back because you subconsciously wanted me to be. Looks like the more you wanted me to stay, and the more that I myself wanted to stay, the more grounded in the world my body actually became. Guess it’s why you aren’t the only one who can see me now.’
Aerith squeezes Tifa’s palm, skin flushed with color and life and not a hint of transparency to be seen.
It’s enough to have Tifa welling up even more.
Because everything’s making perfect sense. Just like how living their lives together now makes perfect sense, too.
Without even a moment’s hesitancy, she immediately surrenders to the urge hotly rising up beneath her ribs and leans in, kissing Aerith with earnest fever, unashamed. It pulls a sweet, thrumming laugh out of Aerith’s lips; warm, breathless, everything that Tifa could possibly hope for and more.
In every possible way, Aerith’s here. Aerith isn’t going anywhere.
A thought that leaves her dizzy, leaves her wanting to murmur sweet feelings and sensitivities into the seam of Aerith’s mouth, but she knows she doesn’t need to – so she simply doesn’t. She can already tell, clear as day, that this is enough. And that being with Aerith in general will always be enough, too.
With the two of them side-by-side, there’s really nothing more that they need.
That said, Denzel can only clear his throat in interruption, quiet and polite and just on the edge of slightly shy.
‘… So,’ he starts casually, face fully pink from corner to corner. ‘Guess this means that we should go tell Cloud?’
How’d it take you this long to tell me, the text message reply reads. On my way home now.
‘Well, the bomb’s been dropped,’ Tifa sighs, raising a pointed eyebrow. ‘Cloud’s hurrying home to come see you. You want me to tell everyone else now, too?’
‘Yeah, why not.’ Aerith flaps her hand with unburdened ease. ‘I bet Cid’s gonna have a thing or two to say about that mystery housemate you’ve started seeing, once he finds out you’d actually meant me.’
‘Hey, c’mon now, we’ve been through a lot! We were totally entitled to our temporary bit of privacy. I’m sure Cid’s gonna eventually understand why I was reluctant to be completely upfront from the start. And I’m sure the rest of them will be on board with us, too, once they get over the initial shock.’
‘Well, that’s for future us to deal with, either way. Gotta tackle Cloud first. No doubt we’re about to get an earful.’
‘For sure,’ Tifa huffs out a soft laugh, merry and bright. ‘So, first order of business once he and Marlene are back: an updated family photo of the Strife and Lockhart household, with you now in it. What do you say?’
‘Sounds awesome. Can’t wait,’ Aerith beams, radiant as sunlight. And that’s that.
It’s strange, in some ways, to think of how different this church had been in Aerith’s temporary absence: vast and stunning in its old, fragile beauty, but ultimately empty – a gaping hollow stretch of stagnant air and resonant silence, cracked stone and wood flanked by dusty stained glass, all delicately lovely but resoundingly lonely in every inch of its tremendous space. Already whole and sublime in and of itself, but still made all the richer when it’d been filled yet again by a particular voice and a particular presence. Just like life in general, Tifa knows. That is, once she’d come to decide exactly who she wants to walk it with going forward, anyway.
Aerith shifts a little on the creaking wooden planks beneath her to scoot closer to Tifa, and swishes her legs playfully in the otherwise-unmoving rain-pool.
‘Being pulled out of the Lifestream out of the blue one day sure was a surprise,’ she says, snuggling into Tifa’s side. ‘But I’m so happy I’m here.’
‘It means you have to put up with me now, you know. No takebacks,’ Tifa murmurs with amusement, contentedly curling up against Aerith in turn. ‘If you’re not going anywhere, then neither am I.’
Warm fingers thread into the spaces between Tifa’s, skin pressed against skin, heart hooked into heart.
Aerith turns to meet her eye-to-eye, then, and simply grins.
There’ll never be any regrets, after all. Now, or ever.
‘Good.’