Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The air of Midgar's Sector 6 slums seemed different today, heavy with expectation as Cloud followed Aerith through the twisting, narrow streets toward Wall Market. Tifa had been taken by Don Corneo—Cloud knew the man’s reputation, the sick things he did with the girls he chose. Just thinking about her locked away in that gaudy mansion made his stomach knot. He’d do anything to rescue her, tear through every wall if he had to. And yet, what he was about to do felt different. It wasn’t just discomfort or embarrassment; it was something deeper. Everything felt charged, humming, and Cloud couldn't quite shake the feeling that today was going to change something fundamental.

Aerith, meanwhile, seemed positively giddy, her eyes sparkling, her laughter quick and easy as she tugged him along, her grip firm around his wrist.

"Come on, Cloud! You're dragging your feet," she called, glancing back at him with a grin.

Cloud let out a quiet huff, his brow furrowing. "I’m coming," he muttered, more resigned than annoyed. "You sure you’re not taking this a little too lightly?"

Aerith slowed her pace just enough to match his, her smile never faltering. "It’s not that I’m not taking it seriously. It’s just… I’ve got a feeling this is going to work out. And besides—"

She gave his arm a playful tug, making him stumble. "—how often does a big, brooding SOLDIER like you get the chance to dress up all fabulous?"

Cloud's cheeks flushed, and he glanced away. "It’s for Tifa. That’s all that matters." There was determination in his eyes when he said her name, even if a part of him couldn't ignore the strange combination of emotions roiling in his chest.

Aerith’s voice softened as they turned a corner, neon lights beginning to spill across their faces. "I know. And it's amazing that you're doing this for her. But maybe… this will be amazing for you too. Let's have a little fun, okay?"

"I said I'd do it, didn't I?" He tried to sound unaffected, but there was no hiding the tension in his voice, the slight edge of uncertainty. "Whatever it takes."

"That's the spirit!" Aerith's laughter was soft, almost melodic, as she turned her gaze forward. "A dress, makeup, the whole look—you’re going to make such a pretty girl, Cloud..."

Cloud didn’t answer. But something about the way she said it lingered, curling in the back of his mind like smoke. The bustling streets of Wall Market stretched out before them, bathed in the garish neon lights of a thousand signs. The air was loud with the murmur of people, the calls of merchants, and the distant strains of music. Wall Market was infamous—a place where secrets were traded, where indulgence reigned supreme, where anyone could find themselves lost in excess and fantasy. And today, Cloud was about to find himself lost in a way he hadn't expected.

***

The Honey Bee Inn loomed ahead, its signature lights casting a warm, almost inviting glow over the cobblestones. Aerith turned to look at Cloud, her expression a mix of excitement and mischief. "This is it," she said, her grip tightening on his arm. "You ready?"

Cloud took a deep breath, nodding. He didn’t feel ready, not in the slightest, but there was no turning back now.

Andrea Rhodea, the flamboyant and charismatic host of the Honey Bee Inn, was waiting just beyond the door, his eyes lighting up the moment they stepped inside. His gaze immediately flickered over Cloud, a flicker of curiosity and something sharper—an artist recognizing raw material. Aerith didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, her smile bright. “Andrea, meet Cloud,” she said, her grin blooming with delight as she gestured back at him. “This is the guy I told you about. He needs a transformation tonight—something spectacular.”

Andrea tilted his head, taking Cloud in with a slow, deliberate gaze. “Oh, honey, look at you,” he said, voice rich with theatrical wonder. “A diamond in the rough—no, a butterfly still in its cocoon. But don’t worry. We’re going to set you free.”

Cloud blinked, uncomfortable under the intensity of Andrea’s attention. His shoulders tensed slightly, but he stood his ground.

Andrea stepped in closer, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve got good bones. Serious eyes. Stoic. Deliciously conflicted. Mmm. I can't wait to see what softness looks like on you.”

Cloud opened his mouth to protest but found nothing to say. He wasn’t sure why, but something about Andrea's words sent a ripple through him—like a thread being tugged loose inside his chest.

Andrea extended a hand, theatrical and inviting. “Come now, darling. Let’s see what we can uncover beneath all that armor.”

Cloud hesitated, shifting slightly, then felt Aerith’s warm presence beside him. “Don’t be nervous, Cloud,” she said, her voice soft, filled with teasing affection. “You’re going to be beautiful.”

With a quiet breath, Cloud stepped forward, his stomach tight with nerves. He had to do this for Tifa—that much was clear. That thought grounded him, kept his boots moving. But even as he tried to hold to that purpose, something twisted in his chest. The fluttering in his stomach, the pounding in his chest—he told himself it was just nerves. Just the pressure of the moment. And yet, as Andrea smiled and took his hand, leading him deeper into the inn, past the sweet perfume and murmured music, Cloud felt something else stirring. Something he couldn't quite name.

Andrea led him to a private room in the back, and Cloud stopped short in the doorway. The space exploded with unapologetic femininity. Mirrored makeup tables glittered under warm bulbs, crowded with powders, palettes, and compacts. Racks of dresses filled the room, erupting in feathers, sequins, and silk in every color imaginable. Perfume and hairspray hung thick in the air. It was dizzying, overwhelming—a dreamscape of color and texture. And somehow, Cloud couldn’t look away.

The muffled sounds of lively music and clapping filtered through the walls—clearly, a show was underway tonight. “Just trust Andrea, Cloud,” Aerith called out, already elbow-deep in the nearest rack of gowns, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” She pulled out a shimmering red number, held it up against herself with a playful smirk, then laughed and slipped it back onto the rack, already reaching for another.

Cloud swallowed hard, his stomach in knots. "You're really into this, huh?" he said to Aerith, trying to sound casual, though his voice came out a little tight. She beamed at him from behind a plume of chiffon, too excited to even tease. Cloud looked away, focusing on the mirrored vanity and racks of silk. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling—only that his heart was racing and his skin felt too warm.

Andrea clapped his hands. "Alright, darling, first things first—we need to get your measurements. Can't dress a masterpiece without knowing the canvas."

Cloud hesitated. "Can’t you just find me a dress that fits?"

Andrea raised a sculpted brow. "Darling, this isn’t about finding just any dress. It has to fit perfectly, flow just right, look flawless. I have a reputation to uphold."

He looped the measuring tape around Cloud’s chest, smiling as he added, "And besides—you’ve got a lovely figure. It’d be a crime not to tailor something that shows it off."

Cloud's ears tinged pink. "Just get it over with."

Andrea smirked. "Oh, we will. Aerith, dear, write these down—bust, thirty-nine." Cloud flushed deeper at the word "bust," feeling exposed despite being fully dressed. "Waist, thirty-three. Hips—mmm, thirty-seven."

Andrea stepped back, giving Cloud a thoughtful once-over. "Alright," he said, snapping the tape back with a practiced flick. "Now we get you into some lingerie, then we’ll see what styles work best."

"On it!" Aerith chirped, immediately rummaging through a drawer. Cloud looked between Andrea and Aerith, who was . His voice came out flat, incredulous. "Lingerie? Seriously?"

Aerith pulled out a matching bra and panties set in black satin, then a pair of sheer thigh-high stockings. "Seriously," she said with a wink, holding them up. "This disguise has to be foolproof if we're going to get you in front of the Don." She giggled, undeterred by Cloud's look. "Really. It's all part of the look. Don’t worry—you’ll get used to it."

Cloud crossed his arms, frowning. "I don’t want to get used to it."

Andrea waved a hand dismissively, already guiding him toward the dressing room. "That’s what they all say. Now, into the dressing room, darling." He handed Cloud the black satin lingerie along with a flowing robe of deep violet silk. "Slip into these, and we’ll see where the magic begins." 

Cloud took a deep breath and stepped into the dressing room, pulling the curtain closed and pausing for a moment to steel himself. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror—his familiar, battle-worn features staring back. Slowly, he began to undress, setting aside the tough, utilitarian layers of his usual uniform. When his fingers brushed over the black satin lingerie Aerith had picked out, he hesitated, swallowing hard. The fabric felt foreign and soft, like a secret he wasn't sure he should be holding. like crossing a line he hadn’t known existed.

He called out, "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely!" Aerith’s voice floated back through the curtain, accompanied by the rustle of fabric as she kept browsing the racks. Her confidence sounded effortless.

"Don’t worry, darling," Andrea added from the other side, his voice warm and reassuring. "You're in good hands. Just trust the process."

Cloud took another breath, steadier this time, and picked up the panties. As he slid them up his legs, the silky fabric sent a shiver through him, gliding over the light roughness of his leg hair, then settling snugly around his hips and between his legs. He paused, stunned at how good it felt—cool, smooth, and oddly comforting.

Then, slowly, he reached for the stockings. They felt even better than the panties—soft and almost electric against his skin as he rolled them up his legs. The fabric clung smoothly, hiding the fine hairs, reshaping his legs with a subtle grace. He caught his reflection again and blinked. From the waist down, he looked like a woman—no, like a girl who would turn his head if he saw her on the street. Legs like that would’ve caught his attention.

He tried to shake the thought away, but the sensation of the panties and the stockings—how they hugged him and made him feel somehow… elegant—was hard to ignore.

He'd come this far. Time for the bra.

He picked it up and slipped his arms through the straps, adjusting it over his chest. The sensation was strange—not uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. Almost... comforting. It fit snug against his skin, the soft material brushing his chest in a way that made him shiver.

But fastening it was another story. He fumbled at the back, fingers clumsy, the unfamiliar motion frustrating.

"Aerith?" he called, a little too quickly. "Can you, uh... help?"

There was a pause, then the soft patter of footsteps. "Can I come in?"

Cloud hesitated, heart racing. "Yeah."

Aerith slipped behind the curtain, her expression lighting up as she took in the sight of him.

"Oh, you’re starting to look gorgeous already!" she said with a grin.

Cloud blushed, averting his gaze. "I don’t feel gorgeous. I feel..." His voice was low and hesitant, his posture tense. "I don’t know how I feel."

Aerith softened, stepping closer. "Hey, I know this is different," she said gently, fastening the hooks at his back with practiced ease. "But you’re doing this for Tifa. That’s brave, Cloud. Not many people would go this far for someone they care about. I really admire that."

She handed him the satin robe, and Cloud slipped it on gratefully, his face warm as her fingers brushed his back. "Thanks, Aerith," he murmured, a slight smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

Aerith smiled back instantly. "There it is! I knew we could have some fun. Now let’s get you ready, princess."

Cloud groaned softly and rolled his eyes, but the faint smile lingered as he stepped out through the curtain, only to be met by Andrea's appreciative whistle.

"Well now—those legs," Andrea said, giving an approving nod. "You’ve got a set to die for, darling."

Cloud flushed but said nothing, avoiding Andrea’s gaze. The robe swirled around his thighs as he moved, not quite concealing the shape beneath. He was led to a makeup table, the large mirror purposefully covered with a draped cloth. Andrea motioned for him to sit.

"Let’s save the reveal," Andrea said with a knowing smile, guiding Cloud into the chair. "Trust me, it’ll be worth it."

Aerith stepped in beside him and gave his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. "You’re doing amazing," she whispered, before turning with a hum and disappearing into the racks again, the soft rustle of fabric behind him keeping the air alive with anticipation.

Andrea set to work, pulling a makeup palette close. "Close your eyes, darling," he said gently, his tone more focused now. Cloud obeyed, and the first soft touch of a brush to his cheek made him flinch slightly. It was an alien sensation—light, deliberate, unfamiliar. Andrea worked quickly but with care, dusting powder over Cloud’s skin, tracing soft lines of color around his eyes, and delicately brushing on mascara.

Cloud sat stiffly at first, the sensation strange—intimate—but not unpleasant. It was... nice, in a way. Calming. Like being cared for. He found himself relaxing slightly into the rhythm of it.

Andrea noticed. "See? Not so scary. There's something powerful about letting yourself be seen in a new light. You might surprise yourself."

Cloud didn’t reply, but the faintest nod gave him away.

Andrea moved on to lipstick, a soft rose shade that left Cloud’s lips just a little fuller. "There," he said, stepping back, eyes gleaming. "You’re already halfway to stunning."

Then came the hair. Andrea ran his hands through Cloud’s spiky blond locks and let out a thoughtful hum. "Not a lot to work with," he teased, "but we’ll make magic anyway."

He clipped in a few hair extensions with practiced ease, then began brushing and styling. Cloud became aware of the new weight, the way the longer strands brushed against his shoulders. Andrea gathered sections into soft braids, then tied each with a pink ribbon.

"Pink ribbons for now," Andrea said, inspecting his work with a pleased nod. "Something soft and sweet to ease you into that pretty frame of mind," he added with a knowing wink.

Cloud caught a glimpse of the pigtails hanging over his shoulders, the softened edges of his bangs brushing just in front of his eyes. He swallowed hard, unsure what to think—but unable to look away.

Andrea stepped back, tilting his head as he looked Cloud over thoughtfully. For a moment, even he seemed surprised. "Well, well," he murmured. "You're looking better than I imagined."

He glanced toward the racks. "Aerith, did you pick out the outfits?"

"Of course I did," she said brightly, hurrying over with a bundle of fabric in her arms. Her eyes lit up as she got a proper look at Cloud. "Oh my god, you look amazing! Just wait until you see yourself."

Cloud gave a small, uncertain chuckle. "I don't know about that."

Aerith grinned. "I do. Trust me. And honestly, if you keep this up, I might need to raise my game just to make sure they let me in!"

Her joy was almost infectious, and Cloud found himself smiling back, a quiet laugh escaping. "What, worried I’ll be the prettier one?"

"Maybe," she teased, eyes sparkling.

Cloud chuckled again, but the sound faded as the weight of the moment caught up with him. His smile faltered, and he looked away, grounding himself in the purpose behind it all.

Andrea checked his watch with a flourish. "Time is ticking," he said briskly. "Let’s get you dressed, sweetheart."

Aerith had already hung up a few dresses on a nearby rack, each one more dramatic than the last. One was a rich crimson satin gown with a thigh-high slit and a plunging neckline, its fabric gleaming like liquid fire. Another was midnight blue, strapless and sculpted, with shimmering beadwork trailing like stars down the bodice. A third had a soft champagne tone, draped with delicate mesh and crystals that caught the light like champagne bubbles.

And then there was the showstopper: a gown with a deep purple corset top, sheer black sleeves, and a skirt made of layered, ruffled silk that rippled with every movement. It was equal parts elegance and drama.

Cloud eyed the collection warily. "I only need one dress."

Andrea arched a brow, placing a hand on his hip. "Darling, this isn’t about 'need.' You have to look the part if you want the Don to even glance your way. We’re finding the one that makes them fall over themselves."

Aerith nodded, all bright-eyed encouragement. "Trust us. Try them on. We’ll know the right one when we see it."

Andrea and Aerith exchanged a look, then Aerith pulled the showstopper dress—the violet gown with the corset bodice and ruffled silk skirts—off the rack and held it out to Cloud., her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"This one," he said decisively, running his fingers down the bodice with a thoughtful hum. "We’ll start strong. Now come on, off with the robe."

Cloud hesitated, clutching the edges of the robe. "Can't I just... do this part myself?"

Andrea raised a brow and waved a hand. "Darling, I’ve seen it all before. You can't get dressed in this alone, so come on."

Aerith gave him an encouraging smile from where she stood, already holding the dress open for him.

Cloud swallowed hard, then slowly untied the robe. The fabric slipped from his shoulders and pooled at his feet, leaving him feeling exposed under their gaze. He stepped quickly into the dress, grateful for the distraction of silk and structure as Andrea and Aerith guided it up his body.

The sensation sent a shiver through him—the way the silk skirts slid up his legs, cool and smooth, brushing against the stockings with a silky weight that made him stand a little straighter. As they guided the gown higher, the fabric glided over his hips and settled with a whisper at his waist. His arms slid into the sheer black sleeves, the delicate material like a breath against his skin. Then came the corset—Andrea and Aerith pulled it snug around his torso, and he felt his breath shorten. The dress caressed him, reshaping his frame into something unfamiliar. Something graceful.

He shifted slightly, and felt it again—his posture adjusting instinctively to the gown’s shape, the way the corset encouraged him to stand straighter, shoulders back. It made him feel different. Not just in how he looked, but in how he moved, how he breathed. Strange… in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Andrea and Aerith shared a glance behind him. Aerith tilted her head. "Do you think..."

Andrea nodded slowly. "You might be right. Let’s try it."

Cloud frowned. "Try what?" he asked, uncertain. He shifted again, tugging lightly at the corset. "It feels a bit weird. Kinda tight."

Aerith grinned wickedly. "Oh, that’s nothing yet."

Andrea’s hands moved to the laces again, fingers sure and quick. "We’re only just getting started, darling."

He began to tighten the corset with swift, practiced pulls, each one drawing the fabric snugger around Cloud's waist. Cloud inhaled sharply as he felt his torso cinch in, his breath catching with the pressure. His spine straightened instinctively, chest lifting slightly with each tug. It was a strange sensation—compressing, sculpting—it made him aware of every inch of his body in a whole new way.

"There we go," Andrea purred. "Look at that shape."

"Careful," Aerith teased. "You’re going to make him blush."

Cloud, already pink in the face, exhaled a shaky breath. "Too late."

Andrea chuckled, giving one last tug. "Perfect. Now hold that posture, sweetheart. It suits you."

Cloud glanced down. The corset’s structure pushed his chest up subtly, hinting at soft curves he didn’t have. His breath hitched again—part from the pressure, part from something else he couldn’t quite name.

He looked up, catching both Aerith and Andrea staring at him.

"What?" he said quickly, his voice tight. "I knew it wouldn’t work. I look ridiculous, right?"

"It’s not that…" Aerith said, her voice softer now. She and Andrea exchanged another glance.

"Maybe some finishing touches," Andrea murmured, then reached into a nearby tray. He clipped a pair of dangling silver earrings onto Cloud’s ears, his touch surprisingly gentle.

"Earrings?" Cloud asked, brow furrowed.

"Trust me," Andrea said. "They draw the eye and frame the face."

Aerith appeared at his side with a delicate necklace, fastening it carefully behind his neck. "Just a little sparkle," she said, flashing him a wink. Then, with a delighted hum, she plucked a small black fascinator from the accessory tray—a delicate piece adorned with a black satin rose—and gently pinned it into his hair, just above his bangs. "There," she said, stepping back to admire it. "Perfect finishing touch."

Andrea crouched and offered him a pair of sleek, low-heeled shoes. "Step in, darling."

Cloud eyed them warily as he slipped them onto his feet. "I thought I was supposed to be trying on the other dresses?"

Aerith raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Oh, now you want to try on the others?"

Cloud blushed, looking away. "I just... I don’t want to look stupid in this one."

"Oh, there’s no danger of that," Andrea said smoothly. He spritzed cloud with a floral perfume, making him blink and then placed a hand on his shoulder and gently turned him toward the mirror. "Take a look."

Aerith was already standing beside it, and with a dramatic flourish, she whipped off the cloth covering the mirror.

It took him a moment to recognize the gorgeous girl in the mirror. The reflection stared back, wide-eyed, a mixture of stunned disbelief and quiet awe playing across her features. There was shock, yes, but also something captivated and curious in her eyes. She looked like a girl—no, a beautiful girl—and somehow, impossibly, it was his own expression looking back.

The expression was transformed by his makeup: shimmering eyelids caught the light, while long lashes framed the stunned wideness of his blue eyes, their usual intensity softened into something gentler, almost dreamy. The mako glow flickered behind a veil of vulnerability. His lips, tinted a soft pink, parted slightly in wonder, breath caught between disbelief and awe. A sweep of blush warmed his cheeks, giving them a gentle flush that softened his features—rounding his cheekbones, smoothing the edge of his jaw—until he no longer looked like a man softened, but a girl made luminous.

His hair completed the picture. Cloud’s spiky blond locks were now softened, ending in silky pigtails that framed his face and draped over his shoulders, each one tied neatly with a pink ribbon. A small black fascinator adorned with a black satin rose was pinned just above his temple, adding a touch of elegance to the girlish styling.

The added length gave his hair a light, swaying weight that moved when he turned his head—and as he did so, Cloud caught the subtle glint of silver from his earrings, the way the delicate necklace rested just below his collarbone. And then—there was the dress.

The deep violet gown played beautifully with the warmth of his blonde hair and the delicate pink makeup and ribbons. The sweetheart neckline of the structured satin corset was cinched at the waist, drawing in his middle and giving him just the suggestion of a bust. It shaped a graceful, hourglass silhouette that subtly transformed his frame. The sheer black sleeves hugged his arms like whispers, the soft fabric shifting with each breath, while the ruffled silk skirt flowed around his legs, brushing his stockings and the tops of his low heels. With every small movement, the dress shimmered—soft, fluid, alive against him.

Without thinking, he shifted his hips and gave a tiny, experimental twirl. The fabric flared out around him, catching the light and whispering softly as it settled again. It moved like water, graceful and alive against his legs. The sensation was electric, unfamiliar, but strangely captivating. He twirled it again, slower this time, and for a moment, forgot to feel embarrassed. It wasn’t just how the dress looked—it was how it felt. Like it belonged on him. Like it wanted to move with him.

Altogether, it didn’t look like a disguise. It didn’t look like someone playing a part. It looked like a girl—poised, elegant, and strikingly beautiful. And it was him.

Cloud stared at her—and at himself—unable to look away.

It was him, yet somehow, it wasn't. It was a new version of himself that felt both foreign and exhilarating. As he traced his gaze over the smooth lines of the gown, he felt a mix of empowerment and vulnerability—emotions he rarely let himself feel. The person in the mirror looked comfortable, even radiant, in a way he had never imagined possible. A quiet realization settled in—perhaps there was more to him than he had ever allowed himself to see.

“Cloud, you look… absolutely perfect!” Aerith's voice broke through his reverie. She was beaming, practically glowing as she stepped toward him.

Cloud turned, blushing under her gaze. He hesitated. “I... I guess I look alright,” he said softly, voice uncertain but honest.

Andrea raised an eyebrow. “Alright? Darling, please. If that’s 'alright,' I need to redefine fabulous.”

Aerith grinned, circling him as she adjusted the dress slightly on his shoulders. “See? I told you it would work. You’re beautiful.”

Cloud gave a faint, awkward laugh, but the smile that tugged at his lips didn’t fade. His thoughts tumbled over one another, his heart pounding in his chest.

Beautiful. The word felt alien but thrilling, a compliment that went beyond the usual acknowledgment of his strength or skills. He tried to dismiss it, but the way Aerith looked at him—like she genuinely saw something beautiful—made him blush deeper. He hadn't thought of himself this way, hadn't allowed himself to. But here, in this dress, under Aerith's approving gaze, a small part of him wondered if maybe, just maybe, she was right.

Andrea and Aerith shared a subtle look.

"Is he ready?" Aerith whispered, her voice uncertain, eyes flicking to Cloud. Her fingers fidgeted slightly.

Andrea considered him for a moment, lips pursed in thought, before a slow, knowing smile curled across his face. "He’s more ready than he knows."

Andrea considered Cloud for a moment, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Then he smiled. “He’s more ready than he knows.”

Cloud looked between them, a little confused. “Ready for what?”

Andrea stepped forward and took Cloud’s hand gently in his. “You’ll see, darling. Just trust me.”

Before Cloud could respond, Andrea turned, still holding his hand, and led him gracefully out of the room. Cloud, still feeling slightly dazed from the transformation, assumed they were heading out of the Honey Bee Inn entirely.

The hallway was dim as Cloud stepped out, Andrea still holding his hand firmly. The soft click of his low heels echoed against the wooden floor, each step sending a ripple through the silk of his dress. The gown swished gently around his legs with every movement, the sound and sensation unfamiliar but strangely grounding. Andrea gave his hand a small squeeze, and Cloud held tighter without thinking.

Then, a curtain parted—and Cloud realized with a jolt where they were. The hush of the crowd, the sudden heat of the lights, the way the floor seemed to stretch out forever beneath him.

He was on stage.

Spotlights flared overhead, catching the shimmer of his gown, and music pulsed faintly underfoot. Dancers in glittering Honeybee costumes moved to either side, framing their entrance like a royal procession. Andrea led him forward toward the center of the stage.

Panic hit like a wave. Cloud’s breath caught, his chest tightening. He turned sharply, eyes searching the wings—and there she was. Aerith stood just beyond the curtain, her hands clasped at her chest, her eyes locked on his.

She mouthed the words with a beaming smile: "You've got this."

And somehow, that was enough.

Suddenly, a spotlight illuminated both Cloud and Andrea, casting them in a golden glow that made the sequins and silk shimmer like magic. Andrea turned with a confident smile and took Cloud's hand, guiding him gently forward. With a graceful motion, he spun Cloud in a delicate twirl, the dress fanning out around his legs like a violet bloom, before catching him again in a steady embrace.

Leaning in close, Andrea whispered, his voice low and steady. "Let yourself go, Cloud. Let her out."

There was no pressure in the words—just warmth and certainty. It wasn’t a command, but a quiet permission. Cloud’s breath trembled in his chest. The warmth of Andrea's hands, the pulse of the music, the soft glow of the lights—it all swirled together, irresistible. Something loosened inside him.

He didn’t think. He moved.

At first, Cloud's steps were hesitant, each motion uncertain and awkward. Andrea's hand remained a guiding force, his movements fluid and confident, leading Cloud across the stage with practiced ease. The dress swirled around Cloud's legs, the fabric's weight pulling him into the rhythm of the music. Andrea spun him again, and this time, Cloud let his body follow the momentum, the fear starting to dissolve with each twirl. He began to lose himself in the rhythm—the steady beat that thrummed through his body, the warmth of Andrea's touch, the cheering of the audience filling the hall. His steps grew surer, his body moving with increasing fluidity, a new confidence blooming in his chest.

Andrea dipped Cloud low, and for the first time, Cloud found himself laughing—a sound that was surprised, delighted, and utterly free. The audience erupted into applause, the noise swelling around them, and Cloud felt something break loose inside of him. It wasn't just about the dance—it was about feeling the music, letting go, and embracing something new. On this stage, he wasn't just a SOLDIER or a mercenary; he was something else—something beautiful, graceful, and full of life.

The music reached its crescendo, the lights brightening as the tempo surged, and Cloud let himself go completely. He spun, the gown swirling around him like liquid, catching the lights in waves of violet and silk. The motion felt natural now—no longer something he performed, but something he lived. He wasn’t just following Andrea anymore; he was moving with him, step for step, breath for breath—perfectly in sync, graceful and elegant. There was a harmony to it, something fluid and whole. A balanced blend, masculine and feminine, yin and yang, dancing across the stage in silk and light. Each turn, each sweep of his arm, each graceful dip of his head felt right in a way he didn’t have words for. He felt free, vibrant—like something had unlocked inside him, unfolding quietly with every motion.

As the song came to a close, Andrea pulled Cloud into a final embrace, both of them breathless from the dance. His voice was low but steady, each word landing with quiet intensity. "True beauty is an expression of the heart. A thing without shame, to which notions of gender don't apply. Don't ever be afraid, Cloud."

The sincerity in his gaze made the words resonate deeply—they were a gift, a challenge, and a truth Cloud hadn’t known he needed.

"The sky’s the limit for you," he murmured, eyes gleaming as he kissed Cloud gently on the hand, then helped him upright. He was suddenly acutely aware of everything—the cling of the dress around his hips, the swish of the skirt, the soft weight of his pigtails brushing his shoulders, the delicate tug of earrings and the light sheen of makeup on his flushed cheeks. All of it wrapped around him like a second skin, strange and overwhelming and yet... somehow, not unwelcome.

The music faded, and Andrea took a deep bow. Instinctively, Cloud gathered the skirt of his gown and dipped into a graceful curtsey. The motion felt natural, effortless—as though it had always been his to make. The audience roared their approval, applause erupting like thunder across the hall.

Cloud’s heart pounded, his breath still shallow in the snug grip of the corset. His face was flushed with exertion, exhilaration—and something more. He looked toward the wings and saw Aerith beaming, her eyes bright with pride, her hands clapping furiously. Her joy radiated like light, and for a moment, Cloud could only stare back, overwhelmed by the feeling that he’d done something remarkable. Something real.

***

They walked out of the Honey Bee Inn together, Aerith holding onto his arm, her laughter soft and warm as it echoed against the walls of the narrow streets. The neon lights of Wall Market flickered above them, casting shifting colors across their path, and for a moment, it all felt surreal to Cloud.

He could feel the fabric of the dress brushing against his legs, the way it swished with each step, a constant reminder of how different everything was tonight. The delicate weight of the earrings, the softness of the makeup on his skin, and the unfamiliar, heels gave him an unusual sensation—a strange mix of vulnerability and strength. He walked carefully, conscious of his posture, his movements more fluid than usual.

Aerith was wearing the crimson gown she'd originally picked out for Cloud—a glamorous dress that hugged her figure perfectly, the fabric shimmering under the neon lights. Her hair was styled up with a few loose curls framing her face, and she looked every bit like someone ready to charm her way into Don Corneo's mansion.

"At least someone got to try this dress on," she said with a teasing smile, giving a playful twirl. "Though, the way you were on stage I think you would have looked even better in it."

Cloud flushed slightly, glancing away. "No... It definitely looks better on you."

Aerith raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Aw, that's sweet. But come on, you got the showstopper. I'm just the supporting act tonight." She gave him a warm smile. "You're really owning this, you know. Honestly, you looked incredible out there."

Cloud gave her a sidelong look, his lips twitching into a shy smile. "You're just saying that."

"Nope," she said with a wink. "You're radiant."

Cloud glanced at her, feeling the corners of his lips twitch into a small, reluctant smile. He didn't know if it was true, but the way Aerith said it made it feel almost believable. He took a deep breath, letting himself relax a little.

The mission ahead still loomed, but Cloud couldn't shake the way he felt on stage—the way Andrea's words reverberated in his mind, their weight lingering. It was more than just playing a part; it felt like discovering a side of himself he hadn't dared to acknowledge, a part that embraced the unexpected grace and confidence he'd found. The thrill that coursed through him matched the electric buzz of the Honey Bee Inn, the energy of the performance lingering in his veins, making him feel alive in a way that went beyond the battlefield.

The memory of the lights, the applause, the sense of freedom—it all stayed with him, a warmth that refused to fade.

Andrea's words echoed in his mind: "The sky's the limit for you." They weren't just words of encouragement. They felt like a promise, a truth that Cloud had been too afraid to see. And for the first time in a long while, he felt that maybe, just maybe, the possibilities were endless.

As they moved together through the crowds, Cloud became hyper-aware of the way people were looking at him now—it was different. Heads turned, some with wide-eyed surprise, others offering appreciative glances or coy smiles. A few bold voices let out low whistles, while teasing catcalls followed in their wake: "Hey, gorgeous!" and "Looking good, sweetheart!"

Cloud could hear murmurs as they passed—some admiring, others amused—but all focused on him. His cheeks warmed under the attention, every step a reminder of the dress swishing around his legs, the weight of the earrings, the soft glow of makeup on his skin. A flush crept up his neck, self-consciousness threatening to swallow him whole—until Aerith squeezed his arm, grounding him with her presence and quiet reassurance.

""Don't worry about them, Cloud," Aerith said gently, her eyes twinkling as she looked up at him. "They're just jealous because you look amazing."

Cloud rolled his eyes, but his blush gave him away. "Yeah, well... it’s a little much."

Aerith nudged him playfully. "Come on, blow a kiss at that guy."

Cloud blinked. "What? No way."

"Do it! It'll be fun," she whispered, already stifling a grin.

With a reluctant sigh, Cloud turned slightly and gave a quick, awkward kiss in the direction of one of the catcallers.

The man’s eyes widened, his face flushing crimson as he stumbled back a step. Aerith burst into laughter, and after a beat, Cloud found himself laughing too—a sound closer to a giggle than he would’ve liked to admit.

"See?" Aerith said between laughs. "You're turning heads for all the right reasons now."

There was something oddly liberating in it, and though he was still unsure, a small part of him found comfort in this different kind of attention. It made him wonder, for the first time, if there might be more to who he could be than the soldier he'd always tried to embody.

As they approached the gate to Don Corneo's mansion, Aerith paused, her hand tightening slightly on Cloud's arm. Two guards stood at the entrance, their eyes narrowing as they took in the sight of the trio. One of them let out a low whistle, his gaze lingering on Cloud. "Well, well, what do we have here?" he sneered, a smirk curling his lips. "Looks like the Don is in for a treat tonight."

Cloud's jaw clenched, but before he could respond, he forced himself to ease his expression. He took a breath, reminding himself of the role he had to play. With effort, he let his shoulders drop, tilted his head slightly, and even batted his lashes—trying his best to appear soft, alluring, demure.

Aerith stepped forward, her smile bright and disarming. "We're here to see Don Corneo," she said sweetly, her tone light with confidence. "I think he'll be very interested in meeting me—and my lovely friend here."

She gestured toward Cloud. He shifted, the fabric of his dress swishing around his legs. He hesitated, then stepped forward, adding a tentative sway to his hips. The earrings jingled faintly, the perfume he wore catching in the air. He hoped he looked convincing—but mostly, he hoped it would be enough.

The other guard eyed Cloud slowly, his gaze lingering far longer than necessary. A leering grin spread across his face. "Of course you can go in," he drawled. "Though it's a damn shame you're headed for the Don. You sure you don't wanna spend a little time with us first?" His eyes swept over Cloud again, suggestive and bold.

Cloud forced a smile, his posture unchanging, while Aerith stepped forward smoothly, her tone sugar-sweet but edged. "Tempting, but we’re on a schedule. Maybe next time."

The guard chuckled, stepping aside with a wink. "Your loss, sweetheart. Head on in."

Cloud offered a falsetto, “Thank you~,” the word light and airy as he curtsied slightly. One guard turned to lead them inside, and Cloud could feel the other’s gaze lingering heavily on him as he and Aerith quickly and carefully stepped through the doors. His heels tapped crisply against the marble, the sound sharp and deliberate. The silk of his dress swished around his legs with each step, every sensation heightened, surreal.

Aerith gave him a reassuring glance, leaning in to whisper, “Just keep calm, alright? You're doing great.” She squeezed his arm gently as the heavy gates creaked open behind them, leading them into the gaudy, gold-trimmed entrance chamber beyond. Its velvet curtains and golden trim somehow making everything feel even more unreal.

They were led to the basement, where they finally saw Tifa. She was wearing a short, fitted purple dress that hugged her curves, the fabric catching the low light with a soft sheen that accentuated her athletic figure without being overt. She looked incredible—poised and composed despite the situation. There was a spark in her eyes, sharp and alert, as she took in the sight of the new arrivals.

The guard who had led them down stopped at the door and spoke brusquely, "The Don will see you shortly. Wait here."

He lingered a moment longer than necessary, his eyes dragging over each of them, then turned and left. The heavy door creaked shut behind him with a final, metallic thud.

Cloud swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how he looked in front of Tifa.  His dress clung to him in all the places it was supposed to, the weight of the earrings pulled lightly at his ears, and the faint smell of perfume clung to his skin. He felt the swish of his skirts around his legs, the tight hug of the corset as he drew in a shallow breath. And then he saw her step forward.

Tifa's eyes were filled with concern as she approached. "Did the Don bring you here too?" she asked, her voice soft, laced with sympathy. Her expression was warm, her worry clear as she looked at what she assumed were two more girls caught up in Corneo's twisted games. She stepped closer, lowering her voice in reassurance. "Don’t worry, I have a plan to get us out of here. Just stay close—"

She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze locking onto Cloud. Her eyes narrowed with confusion, then widened in sudden recognition. Her steps faltered, her mouth parting slightly.

"Cloud?" she whispered, breath catching, her voice filled with shock and confusion. Her gaze fixed on Cloud's face, disbelief washing over her features.

Her brows drew together as she scanned his face, then the rest of him—the makeup, the soft pink lips, the styled hair in pigtails with pink ribbons, the earrings catching the low light. Her gaze dropped to the curve of the corset, the fall of violet silk, the way the dress hugged him. "Cloud!?" she said again, as if trying to convince herself. Her voice trembled, threaded with disbelief. She was staring at a stranger—and seeing someone she knew.

"Why are you dressed like that?" Tifa's voice cracked slightly under the weight of shock, her eyes darting from Cloud’s carefully painted face to the violet gown clinging to his frame. She shook her head faintly, as if trying to dislodge the surreal image before her. "Cloud, you're—this is—you're one of the Don's girls?"

Her voice faltered, caught somewhere between disbelief and something softer, more unsettled. She looked him over again, slower this time—taking in every detail, struggling to make sense of it, her breath catching. Then she glanced to the side at Aerith, still trying to process. "And... who is she?"

Cloud felt his cheeks flush, but before he could respond, Aerith stepped in, her smile warm and reassuring. "I'm Aerith," she said brightly, completely unfazed by Tifa's shock. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Tifa. And this—" she gestured toward Cloud with a playful twinkle in her eye "—is all part of the plan to get you out of here safely. Just trust us. It'll make sense soon enough."

Cloud tried to offer Tifa a reassuring smile, but her furrowed brows and the uncertainty in her eyes told him she was still struggling to understand. The sight of him dressed this way—makeup, earrings, the soft material of the dress hugging his form—clashed so vividly with her image of the hardened mercenary she'd always known. It was as if she was torn between disbelief and wanting to trust in Cloud's judgment, but also processing a confusing mix of emotions she couldn't quite articulate.

Tifa's eyes flicked between Cloud and Aerith, her gaze softening into something almost vulnerable. She looked at Cloud longer this time, as if still trying to piece together everything she was seeing and feeling. "So... you and Aerith? Is this why you two are together now?" she asked, her voice uncertain—tinged not just with hesitation, but something almost searching, like she wasn’t sure if she was asking about their plan, or something deeper.

Cloud felt his face heat up further, quickly shaking his head. "No, it's not like that," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. He had a hard time reading Tifa's expression, the mix of emotions flickering across her face as her eyes kept returning to his dress and his softened appearance. The way she looked at him—like she was trying to reconcile the person she knew with what she was seeing—made his stomach twist. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was disappointed or even put off by him dressed this way.

Aerith quickly stepped in, her voice light and effortless. "Tifa, it’s really not like that," she said, giving Cloud a playful nudge. "We’re just doing what we had to do to get close to the Don. And honestly? Doesn’t he make the prettiest decoy you’ve ever seen?"

Cloud flushed deeper, shifting under Tifa’s gaze. "It’s just for the mission," he muttered. "I’m not... I mean, we’re not—"

"Together?" Aerith finished with a raised eyebrow and a grin. "Nope. Not like that. Just a couple of girlfriends in gorgeous dresses."

Cloud groaned softly. "Aerith..."

Tifa gave a faint smile, but her eyes lingered on Cloud, her expression still tangled with questions. "Right," she murmured. "I didn’t think you were… I mean, I was just surprised. You look—different."

Cloud rubbed his arm, acutely aware of the way the dress hugged his body, how the corset still shaped his waist, the soft tug of ribbons in his hair. "Yeah," he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. "I wasn’t expecting this either."

Tifa let out a quiet, conflicted laugh, her arms folding across her chest. "Well, at least now I know all the potential brides. That means we’ve got our best chance to get answers out of Corneo."

Cloud straightened a little, seizing on the shift. "Wait. Tifa, why are you here in the first place?"

Tifa’s eyes sharpened with focus. "I was trying to get picked by the Don. I wanted to question him—to get information on Shinra. I thought if I could get close enough, I might be able to force something out of him."

Cloud's eyes widened. "You put yourself at risk for that? Tifa, what if something happened to you?"

Tifa waved it off with a small shrug. "I can handle myself. I just needed to get into the room. But now... now that you're here—"

Cloud blinked. "Wait... you want me to get picked?"

Aerith grinned, catching on before Cloud could say more. "Well, you already got picked once. And I hear the Don really likes blondes..."

Cloud flushed. "I—I don’t want to be picked. I’m not really—"

"Bride material?" Aerith teased, nudging him with her elbow. "I don’t know, the way you glide in heels and work that dress—it's almost like you were born for it."

Cloud groaned under his breath, tugging gently at one of the ribbons in his pigtails. Tifa gave a wry, conflicted smile. "Honestly, you do look... convincing."

That didn’t settle him much. If anything, her expression left him more on edge—like he was waiting for a reaction she hadn’t given yet.

"Anyway," Tifa continued, refocusing, "now that we’re all here, we have a real shot at getting the truth out of Corneo. He won't know what hit him."

Before they could continue, they were interrupted by the clatter of heavy boots approaching. One of Don Corneo's men stepped into the basement with a smirk already on his face. "You girls done with your little chat and touching up your makeup?" he drawled, looking them over with a sneer. "The Don’s ready for you."

Tifa shot Aerith and Cloud a quick glance, her smile fading slightly as she nodded toward the guard. "Alright, guess it's showtime," she said, her voice a little lower now, more serious, her posture squaring with resolve. Aerith reached out and gave Cloud’s arm a quick squeeze, a silent anchor of reassurance.

Cloud caught a glimpse of the three of them in a mirror mounted on the wall—Aerith in her glamorous red gown, Tifa in her sleek, sultry purple minidress, and then himself. For a second, he barely recognized the girl staring back at him: violet silk, delicate earrings, flushed cheeks, pigtails tied with pink ribbons. A beautiful girl in a beautiful dress. But no... he wouldn’t be picked. Not with Tifa and Aerith standing beside him.

He took a deep breath and gave Tifa a brief nod.

Their heels clicked in staggered rhythm as they followed the guard, footsteps echoing into the hallway ahead. The guard threw them a lewd smirk over his shoulder. "One of you’s about to get real lucky tonight."

He paused, eyes sweeping over the three of them, and his grin widened. "And don’t worry. We’ll look after the ones he doesn’t pick. Real nice."

Cloud’s stomach twisted. He didn’t look back. Tifa’s expression hardened, and Aerith’s hand returned briefly to his arm—grounding him again as they were led into the lion’s den.

The doors opened into a circular chamber drenched in gold and crimson. Velvet drapes hung heavy from the high ceiling, filtering the glow of chandelier light into a rich, sultry haze. Pillows and cushions were scattered across the floor, and incense drifted in the air with a heady sweetness that clung to the skin. At the far end of the room, lounging across a massive, throne-like chair upholstered in red and gold, sat Don Corneo himself—a squat, balding man with oily skin, a silk robe far too open, and a grin that oozed lechery.

He clapped his hands together, his rings clicking with the motion. "Ohohoho! Look what the night brought me! What a selection!"

He approached them one at a time, starting with Cloud. His eyes drank Cloud in with predatory hunger, moving slowly from his painted lips to the curve of his corseted waist. Cloud felt exposed beneath that gaze, as though every inch of his disguise was being peeled away. Dressed like this, with his skin soft and perfumed, his chest lifted in the corset and his legs encased in silk, he didn’t feel like his usual brave self. The strength he carried in battle felt distant—disguised under lashes and lipstick. Vulnerability settled over him like a shroud, prickling at the back of his neck.

Corneo’s hands followed his gaze—too bold, too familiar—brushing along Cloud’s arm, then brazenly down his side. "Such a pretty thing, but strong," he murmured. "Tell me, darling, how does a girl like you stay in such fine shape? Are you flexible?"

Cloud swallowed down his revulsion, offering a coy smile and a flutter of lashes. "Oh, I keep active," he said in a sweet falsetto, voice laced with forced flirtation. "I like to stay... limber."

Next, Corneo turned to Aerith. His gaze roved over her like a man appraising fruit in the market, fingers trailing along her neckline before she gently redirected them with a laugh. "And you, sweetheart," he said with a leer, "what's your secret? That skin, that glow—makes a man want to reach out and touch..."

"Oh Don," Aerith replied with practiced charm, her smile playful but tight as she moved away slightly. "Some things are better when left to the imagination, don't you think?"

He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself, and moved to Tifa. His eyes lingered on her chest before sliding down her curves. His hand skimmed her bare shoulder, lingering too long. "Now you, you look like a firecracker. You like to fight?" he asked, his grin wide.

Tifa’s smile was cool, the tension behind it palpable. "Only when I have to," she said smoothly. "But I can be very persuasive when I want something."

Corneo laughed, delighted by her edge. He stepped back for a moment, his eyes sweeping over the three of them with greedy satisfaction—as though he were surveying a feast, unsure which dish to devour first. Then, with deliberate slowness, he returned to Cloud, his gaze ravenous. One pudgy hand trailed down the front of Cloud’s corset, tracing the boning through the silk. "Well my pretty powerhouse," he purred, voice low, "what would you do for a man who gives you everything you want?"

Cloud glanced quickly at Aerith and Tifa. Aerith met his gaze with slight concern, but it was Tifa whose expression sharpened—her eyes urging him on with silent resolve. Cloud swallowed hard, biting back the bile that rose in his throat. He turned his attention back to Corneo, forcing what he thought was a sultry smile to curl his lips.

"Why, Don," he cooed, his fingers lifting to trail slowly—sensually—down the man's chest, "if you give me everything I want..." He leaned in slightly, letting his breath brush Corneo’s ear. "Then I’ll make sure you get what you want... and more."

Aerith, sensing the Don's interest in Cloud was growing too intense, stepped forward quickly with a bright smile. "Well, Don," she said, her voice breezy and light, aiming to draw his attention away, hands folded at her waist, "we heard you like variety. We thought we’d give you a hard choice."

"We aim to please," Tifa added, her smile cool, though her eyes flicked toward Aerith, reading her intent. Catching on, she stepped forward too, her voice gaining a touch more warmth and flirtation. "Wouldn’t want you missing out."

Corneo chuckled, delighted. "Oh, you did, you did. But I like to follow my instincts. A man’s gotta trust his gut." His eyes gleamed with lascivious intent as they locked onto Cloud, lingering hungrily. "You. You’re the one. I pick this healthy-looking girl."

Cloud took a step forward, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Panic flared up beneath his ribs, cold and sharp, at the sound of Corneo's final choice. For a split second, he froze. This was it. The plan had worked—but that didn’t make it any easier.

He forced a coy smile onto his lips, hiding the fear behind lowered lashes. "Ooh, Don," he purred, his voice pitched higher and silkier than before, "you certainly know how to make a girl feel special."

Corneo grinned, clearly enjoying the mixture of flirtation and trembling nerves. "Oh I haven't even gotten started yet," he said, licking his lips.

Tifa took a step forward, her voice urgent. "Don, maybe—"

"Enough," Corneo cut her off sharply, raising a hand without looking her way. His eyes never left Cloud. "Boys!"

Two guards moved in immediately. "Take these two somewhere comfortable," he said, gesturing lazily at Tifa and Aerith. "You can have your fun with them. Leave me and my bride here in private to get to... know each other a little better."

As they were led away Aerith gave Cloud a reassuring glance, then mouthed, "You'll be okay," before allowing herself to be guided away without protest. Tifa lingered just a moment longer, her gaze locking with Cloud's. There was something like worry there. Or maybe regret.

Then she was gone, and the heavy doors closed behind them, leaving Cloud alone with the Don.

Corneo let out a low chuckle and extended a hand. "Come here, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice thick with anticipation. He tugged Cloud toward the massive, velvet-covered bed dominating the center of the room, settling himself comfortably onto the edge of it. With a tug that brooked no refusal, he pulled Cloud down beside him.

Cloud sat stiffly, perched on the very edge of the mattress. He kept his smile in place, eyes fluttering low as he tried to maintain the persona. "So, Don... a man like you must hear a lot of secrets. Bet you know everything that happens in Wall Market, hmm?" he asked lightly, voice sugar-drenched.

"“Mmm, maybe I do. Maybe I don't,” Corneo replied, his voice lowering as he slid a hand onto Cloud’s thigh, fingers creeping up with unsettling intent, nudging the hem of his skirt higher. "But a girl like you might just persuade me to share..."

Cloud's skin crawled as the hand slid under his skirt, fingers brushing against his stockings, inching higher. He shifted slightly, subtly angling away, trying to steer the Don’s attention back to conversation without breaking the illusion. "And someone like you... you must be important," he said, voice breathy but steady. "Must take a lot of power to run this place. Shinra must love a man like you."

Corneo leaned in closer, pressing their thighs together as he pushed his bulk toward Cloud, eager and invasive. "Oh, they do, when it suits them," he said, lips brushing too near Cloud’s ear. "But you know what I really love? When a girl stops talking and starts showing appreciation."

Cloud gave a nervous laugh, brushing his fingers lightly along the Don’s shoulder. "Mmm... I just find power really sexy," he murmured, still trying to sound coy. "So... tell me, who’s really pulling the strings around here? You’ve got connections, right?"

But Corneo wasn’t listening. His hand slid higher with greedy confidence, and he tried to grab Cloud’s hand, guiding it toward the bulge in his robe.

"Come on, sweetheart. Let’s stop pretending. I know what you came here for," he said with a grin.

Cloud tensed, letting his hand hover over Corneo’s lap just long enough to keep the act going. "Oh we both know why I'm here," he said, though every word tasted like ash. Then he let his fingers trail along Corneo’s stomach instead, a teasing motion meant to keep the man engaged just long enough. "I want to know every part of you," he said with a breathy flirt, "and who else a girl needs to know in this town to really get ahead."

But Corneo wasn't listening. His hand was back under Cloud's skirt, groping greedily up his thigh. "You’re a tease, huh? I can help with that," he muttered, his tone dark with desire. With a sudden jerk, he grabbed Cloud’s wrist and forced his hand down, planting it firmly over the heat straining beneath his robe. Then he leaned in, eyes locked on Cloud’s cleavage, pushing forward to close the space between them.

Cloud pulled back slightly, heart hammering, forcing a teasing laugh as he tried desperately to regain control of the situation. "Easy, Don... don’t you want to savor this?" he said, voice trembling beneath the sugar. Cloud clenched his jaw and let his hand rest where the Don had placed it—just for a moment. He swallowed hard, feeling the heat of the man beneath the silk. "Let’s get to know each other first—make it something really special."

Oh, special is it? This your first time? You're a little shy?" Corneo's voice dipped, thick with mock sympathy as he pulled Cloud in tighter, his breath hot against Cloud's skin. "That’s fine. I like a little struggle."

One hand gripped the top of Cloud’s stocking, fingers creeping steadily upward, while the other held Cloud’s hand firmly over the hard heat beneath his robe, grinding himself against Cloud’s palm with a lewd groan. He leaned in lower, lips brushing against Cloud’s exposed chest, planting wet, hungry kisses just above the corset’s neckline.

Cloud’s heart pounded as Corneo’s lips roved up his neck, hot and greedy. Every instinct screamed at him to pull away, to shove the man off and run—but he needed the information. Just a little longer. Just one more question.

"Don... please," he said, the flirtation in his voice now edged with desperation. "If I really wanted to be someone in Wall Market... who would I need to know? Who in Shinra—"

Corneo didn’t answer. He was too consumed with lust, too far gone. He groaned again, louder this time, and ground his hips up harder against Cloud’s hand. The heat under the Don's trousers had grown unmistakable—he was fully hard now.

Cloud tried to keep his hand steady, tried not to recoil, but Corneo’s other hand slipped higher, fumbling past the silky edge of Cloud’s panties.

Then he touched Cloud's cock.

The Don's hand froze. "Wha—"

He jerked back like he’d been stung.

Cloud leapt backward as the Don released him and fell to the floor, breath hitching in his throat. His chest rose and fell rapidly within the confines of his tight corset, cheeks burning, eyes wide and startled, a tremor running through him from head to toe.

The Don stared, mouth slack, stunned into silence by what he’d just felt. Then his eyes flicked down, lingering on Cloud’s body with a kind of grotesque curiosity. Slowly, his tongue flicked out to lick his lips. "Well now... what do we have here?"

Before he could say another word, the doors slammed open. Tifa and Aerith stormed in, their faces tight with fury.

"Get your hands off him, you creep!" Tifa shouted, already lunging forward with her fist raised. Without hesitation, she strode forward, her fist connecting with Corneo's jaw in a swift, brutal motion. The don let out a yelp, toppling over sideways, his eyes wide with shock.

Cloud let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline crashing into relief as his eyes darted up—just in time to see Tifa standing firmly between him and the Don. Her stance was strong, grounded, the muscles in her arms tense with purpose. For a fleeting second, it struck Cloud like déjà vu—Tifa, powerful and resolute, rescuing him. He was the damsel this time. And strangely, it felt... familiar? Right? But the thought slipped away as quickly as it came.

Aerith was at his side in an instant, kneeling beside him, her eyes wide with concern as she reached for his hand.

"Cloud, are you okay?" she asked, helping him to his feet. Cloud nodded, his heart still racing, but a small, grateful smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah... I'm okay," he said, his voice steadier now.

Corneo groaned on the floor, clutching his face as he tried to scramble away. Tifa stepped forward, her expression hardening as she looked down at him. "We need some answers, Don. And you're going to give them to us—now," she said, her voice cold, all traces of her usual warmth gone.

The Don stammered, still sprawled on the floor, his gaze flicking between the three of them in panic.

Cloud stepped forward, adjusting his corset with trembling hands and glaring down.

Aerith slipped something into his hand—a familiar weight. He looked down to see the glint of a sword’s hilt, and something in his chest settled. With ablade back in his grasp, the trembling eased. The corset still squeezed his ribs, but the fear that had gripped him loosened its hold. This was familiar ground. With a weapon in hand, he felt like himself again. "Because if you don't... I'm going to chop them off."

Aerith tilted her head sweetly, her tone deceptively light. "Rip them off, more like."

Tifa cracked her knuckles. "Smash them."

The Don went pale, sweat beading on his forehead. "Alright, alright! I'll talk! Just don't touch me!"

Words spilled from him in a frantic torrent—names, movements, Shinra connections, bribes and betrayals. Everything they needed and more.

When he finally fell silent, breathless and trembling, Tifa leaned in close.

"Thanks."

And knocked him out with a single punch.

They turned as one, leaving the Don crumpled behind them. "Let's get out of here," Tifa said, her voice softening as she looked at Cloud. He nodded, tension ebbing from his frame like a receding tide.

Aerith gave him a reassuring smile, her hand resting gently on his arm. "You did great, Cloud," she said, eyes warm with admiration. Cloud glanced between them, catching the moment Tifa’s eyes flicked to him in his dress, her mouth tightening just slightly. It was brief, but Cloud caught it—the flicker of hesitation, the quiet uncertainty behind her otherwise steady gaze.

"Thanks, Aerith," Cloud replied, his voice quiet, trying to ignore the tension that seemed to settle between the three of them. Tifa forced a smile, but her eyes still held a flicker of uncertainty. "We should move quickly," she said, her voice slightly tighter than usual. "We don't want any more surprises." There was something unreadable in her gaze—concern, curiosity, maybe both—as though she was trying to make sense of something she couldn’t yet name.

As they made their way out of the mansion, Cloud couldn't help but glance back at the gaudy room they were leaving behind. The experience had pushed him far beyond his comfort zone—and strangely, he felt elated. The way he was dressed, the role he had played, Aerith’s steady support, and Tifa’s dramatic rescue—it all left his heart pounding and his senses sharpened. There was a rush to it, something undeniably thrilling about shedding his usual stoicism and leaning into the performance, especially with his friends rising beside him.

It had to be the adrenaline, he reasoned, brushing off the lingering flicker of exhilaration. But as he looked at Tifa and Aerith, walking with him side by side, he couldn’t deny he felt stronger for it all. The mission had been a success—and more than that, they had done it together. He couldn’t help but wonder if part of him had truly enjoyed the strange, fleeting freedom of it all.

***

They returned to Seventh Heaven, and the moment they stepped inside, Biggs let out a low whistle. He let out a low whistle. "Cloud? Is that you?"

Cloud sighed, tugging at the hem of his dress. "It's a long story."

Biggs grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well, well, would you look at that. You make one hell of a leading lady."

Wedge chuckled beside him, wide-eyed and grinning. "No kidding! I didn’t know this was what you were into, man. Gotta say, you actually look better like this."

Cloud groaned softly, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Careful," he said dryly, brushing past them. "I’m still carrying a sword."

"Yeah, it clashes a little with the pigtails though," Biggs shot back, laughing. "I kinda hope you keep this look—Tifa could use a new waitress for the bar."

Cloud opened his mouth to fire back—but stopped when he caught Tifa’s expression. She stood nearby, smiling faintly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. The warmth in the room dimmed just a little, and Cloud felt it in his gut.

The awkwardness wasn’t lost on him. Maybe it was the dress. The makeup. The way he still looked like someone else. Whatever it was, it suddenly made the teasing feel louder and the silence between them heavier.

"I’m going to change," he muttered, his voice quieter now. "Don’t get too attached." He turned and headed up the stairs, the echo of their laughter trailing behind him.

He closed the door behind him, leaning against it with a heavy sigh before slowly moving to the mirror. He lingered there, staring at his reflection—the version of himself created for the mission. Cloud found himself surprisingly reluctant to let it go. The dress, the makeup—they were supposed to be temporary, but they had begun to feel like more than a disguise. The person in the mirror was unfamiliar, yet captivating in a quiet, unsettling way. Softer. Vulnerable. Open. And in that openness, there was something liberating.

He flicked his pigtails over his shoulders, tracing a finger along his blushed cheek, down to the painted lips, the delicately curled hair that framed his face like a memory he hadn’t known he missed. His hands ran slowly down the lines of the corset, the folds of the ruffled skirt. Everything felt delicate, fragile—but beneath that fragility, he sensed a different kind of strength. A quiet power. One he wasn’t used to, but which felt no less real.

Cloud swallowed hard, a storm of emotions swirling within him—confusion, curiosity, and something deeper, something like longing. A part of him didn’t want to let go of this—this version of himself that had begun to take shape in front of the mirror, fleeting but undeniable. He looked once more at the beautiful girl staring back at him—made-up, poised, graceful—and something in his chest clenched. Longing. Recognition. Maybe both.

Then he remembered the way Tifa had looked at him downstairs—the uncertainty in her eyes, the smile that hadn’t quite reached—and something in him faltered. That brief glimmer of freedom dimmed beneath the weight of doubt.

He began to undress, slowly. The earrings, the hair extensions, the soft fabric of the dress slipping from his body—each item felt heavier than it should, as if he were peeling away not just layers of disguise, but something far more intimate. With every piece he removed, a part of him protested, reluctant to be hidden again. It wasn’t just the loss of costume—it was the loss of a part of himself that had, for the first time, felt safe being seen. A part that had felt the thrill of being someone else—someone delicate, beautiful, and unashamed.

He hesitated again, catching his own gaze in the mirror as he stood there—half-undone, makeup smudged, lingerie still hugging his frame, but unmistakably Cloud. Was it really just the mission? The rush—the racing heartbeat, the thrill of performance—had felt so vivid. But was it the adrenaline, or something else? Something quieter, deeper. The way the dress had hugged his body, the way the makeup reshaped his face—it had felt almost... right. Natural, even. Was that comfort, or revelation? Was there something truer hiding beneath the layers he'd always worn, a part of himself he'd kept buried beneath steel and expectation?

He took a deep breath, then turned away, setting the last of the items down with a strange ache in his chest. There was a quiet finality to it—but it didn’t feel like the end. Not entirely.

He returned to the bar, ready to head home. Biggs blew him a dramatic kiss from across the room, and Wedge waggled his brows. Cloud rolled his eyes as he made his way toward the door, before Tifa called out to him from where she was wiping down a table. Her voice was soft, uncertain. "Cloud?"

He paused and turned toward her.

She hesitated, clutching the rag in her hands a little tighter. Her expression was cautious, like she'd been turning the words over in her mind for days. "Is there... something going on I should know about? I mean, the way you were back at Corneo's. With Aerith. The way you looked, the way you acted... I don't know."

She faltered, voice dropping to a whisper. "I just thought maybe you..."

But she didn’t finish. Her eyes dropped, retreating behind the silence.

Cloud opened his mouth, searching for the right words, but nothing seemed adequate. He could see the vulnerability in her eyes—the fear, the confusion, the questions she didn’t know how to articulate. He hesitated, his hand hovering just above her shoulder, before finally resting there, the touch meant to comfort her.

"Tifa," he said softly, "I know it wasn’t easy for you. Seeing me like that." He thought about the way she had looked at him—when he was dressed up, made up, looking like a girl. "But everything I did, I did to rescue you. Because I care about you. I always have—and I always will." His voice was steady, but filled with a quiet intensity, a truth he needed her to hear.

He took a breath, steadying himself, eyes cast downward. He didn’t quite meet hers as he continued, voice quieter now, but no less sincere. He was still carrying the thoughts from upstairs—the longing, the flicker of recognition in the mirror. "I don’t know what this is—what’s happening with me, with Aerith. She was just... there. When I needed someone. And maybe that’s all it is, or maybe there’s more. I honestly don’t know yet."

Tifa didn’t speak, but her silence pressed against him like a weight.

"Things just felt different," he went on, his voice barely above a whisper. "With me." He paused, still unable to meet her eyes. She hadn’t been happy. Not exactly. There had been something behind her eyes—a flicker of unease, maybe even disappointment—and it had stung more than he expected. "I think... you saw something. Back at Corneo's." His fingers flexed nervously at his side. "Something I can’t deny, even if I’m not ready to admit it—not yet.""

He exhaled slowly. Maybe she had been looking for the Cloud Strife she knew—tough, composed, masculine. And instead, she’d seen someone delicate. Fragile. Feminine. And he couldn’t pretend that didn’t mean something—not anymore. "I don't want to hurt you, Tifa. I never wanted that." He swallowed, his gaze softening. "I wish I could give you the answers you deserve... but I'm still figuring it out myself."

Tifa said, "Oh, so you're..." her voice trailing off as she looked at Cloud, her expression falling.

There was a moment of silence between them before she shook her head, the disappointment evident in her eyes. "Never mind," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she had lost the strength to finish her thought.

The flickering embers of romance between them seemed to have been extinguished, replaced by an by an awkward tension, as if they were now speaking different languages. The warmth they once shared had faded into a cool, unspoken divide, each of them unsure of how to reach the other. Tifa's hesitance and Cloud's confusion built an invisible wall, with both struggling to find the words or gestures to tear it down, as if they were searching for a way back to something that felt increasingly unreachable.

Tifa broke the silence first. "Goodnight, Cloud," she said, her voice gentle, but carrying the weight of everything left unsaid.

He nodded, unable to find the words. "Goodnight," he murmured, barely meeting her gaze. Then he turned and left, the air still thick with the silence between them, unsure what else he could say.

Still, something had been stirred in Cloud—an itch, a curiosity that lingered long after the mission ended. He found himself returning to that moment in front of the mirror, remembering the unfamiliar face that had gazed back at him with such vulnerability and grace. The way he had felt beneath the stage lights—the freedom, the transformation, the strange, exhilarating ease—it haunted him more than he liked to admit. The thrill hadn’t just come from the danger or the deception. It had come from stepping outside the boundaries of who he thought he had to be, from slipping free—if only for a moment—from the rigid expectations that had always defined him.

Andrea's words echoed in his mind, lingering like a promise not yet fulfilled, urging him to explore this new, uncertain side of himself. A version of him that could move with grace, embrace softness without shame, and find strength in fluidity and beauty. Maybe, someday, he would. Maybe he’d discover how far he could go if he allowed himself to surrender to that freedom—to let the armor fall away, and see who emerged beneath.

A part of him ached for that journey, even if he wasn’t ready to take the first step. Not yet.

Chapter Text

After their escape from Don Corneo, Midgar descended into chaos. The group barely had time to breathe before Shinra unleashed its merciless retaliation against Avalanche. The Sector 7 plate, a colossus of steel and concrete, groaned under the weight of betrayal as Shinra initiated its collapse. Cloud, Tifa, and Barret raced against time, their lungs burning, their voices hoarse from shouting warnings, battling the Turks as they tried desperately to reach the pillar and their friends.

But they were too late.

With a roar that split the sky, the plate fell—an avalanche of death and ruin, shattering Sector 7 beneath it. Screams were swallowed by the cacophony of twisting metal and collapsing dreams. The ground shook with finality. Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie were lost in the rubble, their final words and faces etched into their minds like scars.

Barret stood trembling, fists clenched and bleeding from a wall he'd struck in rage, his voice hoarse from screaming the names of his fallen comrades into the dust. Tifa had sunk to her knees beside him, silent tears carving tracks down her cheeks, her wide eyes locked on the wreckage where her friends and home had vanished beneath steel. Behind them, Cloud stood statue-still, his face blank, expression unreadable, hands clenched so tightly they trembled with suppressed collapse. He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak. The weight of failure sat on his shoulders like a mountain, and in the silence that followed the Sector 7 plate’s annihilation, all three stood united in their grief—each broken in their own way.

There was no time to mourn—Shinra had stolen Aerith.

Cloud felt something sharp twist inside him. Aerith—so soft, so untouched by the filth of Shinra's world—didn't belong in their grasp. He could still feel the way she looked at him, not just like she saw him, but like she understood something he hadn’t yet named. Like she caught glimpses of the self he was only just beginning to sense, buried beneath steel and scars. Losing her wasn’t just a failure—it felt like a light had gone out, one he couldn’t let them snuff. He had to get her back. He had to.

Cloud, Tifa, and Barret regrouped, their resolve hardening like tempered steel. They knew the risks, knew the odds were against them, but the thought of Aerith—alone in that tower, vulnerable to whatever horrors Shinra had in store—was fuel enough. They climbed the endless staircase in Shinra Tower, floor after floor, legs burning, hearts pounding, every step an act of defiance. Silence was their ally as they slipped through back halls and security blind spots, weaving past guards, navigating the cold architecture of corporate cruelty.

When they reached Hojo's lab, the stench of rot and mako hung thick in the air. Broken experiments floated in tubes, half-human, half-nightmare things twitching behind glass. It was a mausoleum of mad science, and in its heart was Aerith—trapped, exhausted, but alive. Cloud's breath hitched when he saw her. Relief, guilt, something else he couldn’t name surged through him, and he didn't hesitate. They shattered the containment field and pulled her into safety, her touch grounding him in that moment.

They also found another prisoner—Red XIII, a beast with fire in his voice and sorrow in his eyes. Freed from Hojo’s twisted grip, he offered no hesitation in joining them. With Aerith safe and a new ally beside them, they fought their way out, every hallway echoing with alarms, each step out soaked in blood and fire, but they didn’t stop—not until they reached the top. There, in the executive chambers, they found President Shinra already dead—slumped at his desk, a sword through his back, the air heavy with something colder than fear. Sephiroth’s name hung unspoken between them like a shadow.

They didn't linger. Cloud stayed behind, eyes fixed on the figure that emerged from the executive shadows—Rufus Shinra, calm and calculating, with a wolf’s smile and his father’s blood cooling on the floor behind him. The others fled down the tower, trusting Cloud to handle what came next. The clash was brutal—blade against shotgun, steel against arrogance. But Cloud moved like a storm with purpose, and when it ended, Rufus lay defeated in the wreckage of his inheritance.

Without pause, Cloud mounted the motorcycle, engines roaring to life as he gunned it straight off the side of the tower. The glass burst beneath his wheels as he flew into the night, metal and fire trailing behind him, gravity a challenge rather than a law. He caught the others in the van mid-descent, sweeping past them in a blur of motion and steel. Then it was down to the streets, the Shinra forces snapping at their heels as the highway opened before them.

Cloud danced between trucks and gunfire, blade flashing in the night, steel singing as he carved their path to freedom. The city’s glow strobed behind them like a dying heart, Midgar shrinking in the rearview as they thundered into the unknown.

And then, suddenly, the lights were behind them. The city fell away, swallowed by distance and darkness. The highway stretched ahead like a lifeline, open and endless. They were free—for now, but their journey had only just begun.

—

Their first quiet night came in Kalm. The small town was peaceful, the stars twinkling above them, a stark contrast to the violence and fire they’d left behind in Midgar. Around the inn’s hearth, the group sat—shoulders heavy, eyes distant, the hum of adrenaline finally fading into exhaustion.

"We got out," Barret said at last, breaking the quiet. "Somehow. Pulled Aerith out, freed Red... and blew through Shinra like damn thunder."

"But it doesn’t feel like a win," Tifa murmured, her voice low. "Not after what they did to Sector 7. To Biggs, Jessie, Wedge."

Aerith looked down into her cup. "Thank you... for coming for me. For not giving up."

Red XIII lifted his head, the fire catching in his eyes. "And… thank you. For rescuing me," he said, voice low but sincere. "I was taken by Shinra and treated as something less than alive. But I would return home... To Cosmo Canyon, far west of here, if you'll travel with me."

"Cosmo Canyon," Barret repeated. "Sounds like a good direction as any."

"Where are we going?" Aerith asked, glancing between them.

Cloud's gaze darkened. "Wherever Sephiroth’s going… that’s where we’re headed. He’s not done."

He paused, his voice tightening. "I was in SOLDIER. Under him. I saw him kill the president. I’ve seen worse."

His eyes flicked to the fire. "I knew him. From before. From Nibelheim."

Aerith glanced at him, wide-eyed. "You were there?"

Tifa’s voice broke through, quiet but steady, "We were both there. In Nibelheim."

Their eyes met, and for a long moment, the others said nothing. The fire cracked softly as Cloud and Tifa spoke—of the quiet mountain town, of a mission that turned to horror, of Sephiroth’s descent into madness. Of fire and screams, and the ashes they left behind.

When the story was told, silence returned like a blanket.

Barret grunted. "That man’s a goddamn ghost. Burned down your home, killed the president, and now he’s got the whole Planet in his sights."

Red XIII lowered his gaze. "To fall that far… from hero to destroyer."

Aerith, clutching her tea a little tighter, looked between them. "So he’s alive. And he killed the president. But why now? What’s he trying to do?"

Cloud shook his head. "I don’t know. But he’s after something. And… I think you’re part of it."

Aerith’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. Fear, maybe. Or understanding.

She looked down, then back up at Cloud. "Whatever it is... I want to help. If he’s after me, I won’t just wait for it to happen."

Barret stood, stretching his arms with a grunt. "Then we’d better get moving soon. Shinra ain’t gonna forget what we did. And Sephiroth’s got a head start."

Cloud nodded. "Yeah. We leave soon."

Tifa stood too, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But not tonight. We need rest. It’s been a hard few days."

One by one, they dispersed toward their rooms. As the hallway quieted, Aerith touched Cloud’s arm, stopping him.

"Hey," she said softly. "Thanks... for coming for me. For being there. I didn’t think anyone would."

Cloud shifted, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Wasn't gonna leave you with them."

Aerith smiled, tired but warm. "If there’s ever anything I can do for you—if you ever need someone—just tell me. I’ll be there."

He hesitated. For the briefest moment, his mind flashed with silk and perfume and Wall Market’s painted lights—but he shook it off. "Thanks," he said. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Cloud."

Cloud nodded once, then turned and made his way upstairs, the wooden steps creaking under his boots. The hallway was dim, quiet, every door shut save his. He slipped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click. The silence wrapped around him like a blanket.

He dropped his sword by the door, the fatigue of the past days settling deep in his bones. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he opened his pack. His fingers paused, brushing over something smooth, soft—familiar. The satin panties he'd worn in Wall Market. He didn’t pull them out yet. Just rested his hand there for a moment, lost in thought.

The soft silk felt almost comforting, a quiet invitation into a freedom he couldn’t name—a shedding of the weight he carried, the roles he’d been forced to wear. It stirred that elusive feeling he’d touched only once in Wall Market—something that made his heart beat not with tension, but with aching relief. He hesitated, breath shallow, then couldn’t resist. With trembling fingers, he undressed quickly and slipped the panties on, needing to feel that sensation again, to be wrapped in that softness again.

They fit perfectly, hugging his skin intimately, the silky fabric caressing him in a way that was both tender and electrifying. Cloud stood there, taking in the sensation, his breath catching slightly as a strange mix of exhilaration and anxiety filled him, sending a shiver down his spine. It felt right, almost as if it unlocked something deep within him—a truth he was still too afraid to face. The softness, the closeness—it gave him a sense of peace and freedom, something he couldn't quite describe but longed for more with every passing second.

He curled beneath the sheets still wearing them, the silk pressed softly against his skin, a strange warmth blooming in his chest. For the first time in days, he slept deeply.

The next day, he couldn't resist the urge to wear them again. Beneath his familiar SOLDIER uniform, Cloud slipped on the panties, savoring the smooth, delicate texture against his skin. They fit like they had been made for him, hugging every contour intimately, the fabric holding him in a gentle embrace that almost made him blush. His hands lingered on the satin as he donned his uniform, fingers brushing over the waistband with an almost possessive reverence.

As they gathered outside the inn, preparing to leave Kalm behind, the morning sun cast long shadows over the cobbled street. Tifa glanced at Cloud, tilting her head.

"You look like you actually slept last night for a change."

Cloud met her eyes, expression unreadable for a beat. Then he nodded. "Yeah... I did."

Aerith smiled beside her, warm and knowing. "Good. You needed it. We all did."

Cloud gave a quiet hum, eyes flicking to the road ahead. Beneath his uniform, the silk still hugged him close. His secret. Just for him.

***

Days passed, and Cloud wore the panties under his gear every day. Each step was a strange, private thrill—a soft, intimate reminder brushing against his skin. No one knew. It was his alone. The ritual continued: sliding them on in the quiet before dawn, a silent rebellion against the soldier’s image he was supposed to project. Beneath the hardened mask of SOLDIER, he felt something more—something graceful, freer. Maybe even beautiful. Something soft and precious, something he chose for himself.

The delicate fabric was his comfort in a world of chaos, armor of a different kind. But as they travelled, the question began to gnaw at him: what if someone found out?

One afternoon, as they walked the dusty roads beyond Kalm, Tifa caught him daydreaming, eyes unfocused, lips parted just slightly. "Cloud?" she asked, concern creasing her brow. "You okay?"

He blinked, pulled himself out of the haze. "Yeah. Just tired."

But his chest tightened. If Tifa found out—if she saw through the cracks in his armor, what he was starting to feel—would she turn away? Would she look at him like he was broken?

That fear clung to him more stubbornly than the heat or dust. It was a strange, uncomfortable tension that contrasted sharply with the warmth he felt around Aerith as she nudged his shoulder.

"You have been awfully quiet back there," she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. "Daydreaming again?"

Cloud blinked, heart skipping. "No, I... just thinking."

She gave him a sideways glance, her smile playful. "Mmhmm. You've been thinking a lot lately, huh? I can tell—you walk a little differently when your mind’s elsewhere. Little more sway in your step. You seem more relaxed."

He stammered, trying not to trip over his own boots. "You're imagining things."

Aerith laughed, light and musical. "Sure I am. But whatever it is, it looks good on you. Keep doing… whatever you’re doing."

Cloud looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching. She couldn’t know. But it almost felt like she did.

Slowly, a longing began to grow—a yearning not just for the feel of silk, but to be seen. Truly seen. To share this delicate, hidden part of himself with someone who could might understand it... maybe even cherish it.

Cloud found his thoughts drifting to Aerith more often. He imagined her reaction, her gentle smile, the warmth of her eyes when she discovered this hidden side of him. He longed for her approval—her acceptance—and it filled him with both anticipation and fear. and the idea filled him with equal parts hope and dread. What if she laughed? What if Tifa or the others found out? What would they think?

The thought tightened his chest, a cold spike of fear. But still, he couldn’t silence the quiet, persistent hope that Aerith—with her open heart and boundless kindness—might not just accept him… but embrace this part of him. That hope, fragile but glowing, kept the desire alive: the need to be vulnerable, to show someone rt of himself that no one else had ever seen.

And then, one quiet evening by the river, it happened. They had camped near the water's edge, the gentle babble of the stream blending with the crackling of the campfire. The night air was cool, the stars spread like scattered diamonds above them. 

The others had gone to bed, and Aerith and Cloud were left beside the fire, its warmth painting flickering gold across their faces. They sat in the easy quiet of people who had faced danger together, the firewood crackling and the soft sound of running water weaving through the stillness

Aerith looked up, her eyes catching the stars above. “It’s nice being able to see the sky again,” she said softly. “Without the plates overhead… it feels like we’re free.”

Cloud followed her gaze. “Yeah. Real air. Real stars. It feels… liberating somehow.”

She smiled, then reached toward him through the firelight. “Hey, pass that flask over, would you?”

Cloud grabbed it, took a swig himself, then moved to hand it across—but his fingers slipped, and the flask rolled. He scrambled to catch it before it hit the dirt, lunging forward. As he did, he felt it—his waistband tugging down. A brief but unmistakable flash that seemed almost to shimmer in the firelight, delicate and vulnerable.

His breath caught. He froze for a heartbeat, praying she hadn’t seen.

Then came her soft, startled gasp. “Cloud…”

His blood turned to ice.

Aerith leaned forward, eyes wide, sparkling in the firelight. “What are you wearing?” A flush of excitement mingling with curiosity as her gaze lingered on that glimpse of satin.

Cloud stammered, his mind scrambling for anything that might cover the truth. "What are you talking about?" he muttered, his voice uneven, a weak attempt at brushing it off. His heart thundered in his chest as Aerith’s eyes stayed fixed on him—unflinching, curious, far too perceptive. In that gaze, he felt naked, like she could see right through all his defenses.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about,” her voice held a deeper warmth, a tender, almost fascinated edge, as if she couldn't quite believe the vulnerability she was seeing. “You're wearing the panties from the Honeybee Inn, aren't you?” Her tone was teasing, but her gaze held a kind of fascination, a warmth that promised understanding.

A flush crept up Cloud's neck, and he turned his head, unable to meet her gaze. He tried to play it off, his voice barely steady as he muttered, 'Oh, it was just a spur of the moment thing... I thought I'd see how they feel.' But he couldn’t deny the vulnerability behind his words. He swallowed, the fear of rejection tightening his chest. And then came the softest sound—her laughter, not mocking, but affectionate, like a breeze that ruffled his hair.

Aerith leaned in, her eyes warm, a smile touching her lips. She scooted closer, her presence calming and electric all at once. “You know…” she began, her voice low, almost conspiratorial, “I think it’s wonderful. Can I see them?” Her gaze was soft, yet intense, holding a mix of curiosity and desire, her words almost a dare, a promise of acceptance.

Cloud hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, but slowly his fingers moved to the hem of his trousers. He pulled them down just enough for Aerith to see, the soft satin glimmering faintly in the firelight. His cheeks flushed a deep pink, his eyes darting nervously between Aerith's face and the delicate fabric. He showed her sheepishly, vulnerability laid bare, the fear and exhilaration of exposing this secret making his hands tremble.

"Aerith's eyes lit up, her excitement almost childlike. “Ahh, they're so pretty, Cloud!” she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with genuine delight. The air between them seemed to shimmer with warmth. Her gaze lingered on the satin for a moment longer, then lifted to his face, her smile softening.

Cloud’s cheeks flushed even deeper. He felt a warmth bloom deep in his chest, radiating out through his whole self at the sound of that word— pretty . Something he couldn’t quite name. “They just… feel nice,” he mumbled, eyes flicking away. “I’ve been wearing them for a while now.”

“Really?” Aerith leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued. “I mean… I thought you enjoyed dressing up in Wall Market more than you let on. And lately, something’s felt different about you. But I never would've guessed this.… but I’m glad you showed me.”

He managed a sheepish nod. “It might sound silly, but… I just like how they feel. It’s hard to explain...”

Aerith's expression shifted, playfulness giving way to something tender and sincere. "It’s not silly," she said gently. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his. “You’re still my brave bodyguard,” she continued, voice soft as the night around them. “But this… this is another side of you. Gentle. Beautiful.”

She let her fingers trail across his arm, the light touch sending a shiver through Cloud that he couldn't control. It wasn't just the physical sensation; it was the sheer intimacy of the moment, her acceptance of him without question. Her words hung between them, heavy with meaning, and Cloud felt a sense of release, as though the walls he'd kept so tightly around himself were crumbling, brick by careful brick. There was something in Aerith's eyes—acceptance, admiration, love—that made him feel lighter, as though a part of him had just cracked open.

In that quiet gaze, he felt the first true glimpse of something he’d never let himself want—not just acceptance, but the freedom to be . Soft. Expressive. Beautiful. A self he’d buried under the weight of who he thought he had to be. And now, with her warmth holding space for it, he realized he wanted to know that part of himself. Maybe he wasn’t the man he had always tried to be. Maybe something more honest waited beneath the surface. And for the first time, he didn’t want to hide. He wanted to find out who he really was.

Cloud hesitated, his gaze dropping to the flickering flames. He took a slow, trembling breath, the weight of what he was about to say pressing down on his chest like armor too tight to bear. “There’s a part of me,” he began, voice raw, “that wants to be beautiful, Aerith. Not just strong or capable or… whatever I’ve tried to be. But soft. Graceful. Free.”

Aerith didn’t speak. There was no judgment in her silence—only warmth, a quiet kind of listening that invited him to keep going.

He swallowed hard. "Wearing these—” he gestured faintly toward the satin now hidden beneath his clothes “—it’s not just comfort. It’s exploration. It’s… it’s a version of me I never let exist. And when you called them pretty—” he broke off, color rising in his cheeks. “I didn’t want to admit it, but it made me happy, Aerith. Really happy. Like… like I want to be pretty. To be seen as pretty. And I don’t think it’s just about the clothes. It’s something deeper. Something I’ve tried to ignore for too long.”

Aerith smiled at him, soft and radiant in the firelight. "You can be pretty if you like," she said, the words gentle and sincere—an offering, not a joke. There was no teasing in her voice, only warmth, and something that felt like permission.

And just like that, Cloud’s chest ached with something tender and terrifying. He suddenly wanted that—more than he could say. “But… it’s so different from who I’ve always tried to be. From everything I’ve told myself I had to be—tough, stoic, manly.”

He glanced down, voice low. “It’s terrifying. I’ve been resisting it, hiding it, even from myself. But I don’t know if I can keep pretending. I don’t know if I want to.”

Aerith shuffled a little closer around the fire, the hem of her skirt brushing his boots. She didn’t speak, just reached out and placed her hand gently next to his. He took a breath—shaky, but deeper than the last—as if her nearness gave him permission to exhale.

He looked up at her finally, eyes wide, searching. “I want to explore this. I don’t know where it leads. But I want to stop running from it. And this is the first time I’ve said that—to anyone. Even to myself.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Aerith said softly, her voice threaded with awe. “For letting yourself say it. And for letting me hear it. I know how hard that must’ve been.” Her smile deepened as she met his eyes, warm and steady. “You don’t have to hide it from me. Not ever.”

She leaned in slightly, her voice a whisper, gentle and inviting—like the night itself was listening. "Do you want to explore that part of you with me? We can discover it together, at your own pace. No pressure. Just… you and me."

He nodded slowly, his heart pounding, every beat echoing his uncertainty. "I do," he whispered, his voice a fragile mix of fear and hope. "I'm scared, Aerith. Scared of what it means, scared of losing myself… but there's something about it that feels right. Like it’s always been there, waiting. Even if I don’t fully understand it yet."

She took his hand gently, her thumb brushing over his knuckles.
“You don’t need to be scared, Cloud,” she said softly. Her voice was steady, full of warmth and confidence, but her eyes shimmered with something deeper—devotion, maybe, or fierce tenderness. She leaned in closer, their faces just inches apart now, the firelight catching in her lashes.
“Tomorrow… how about we start small? A few subtle changes. Just between us. No pressure. Just a little secret we carry together.”

Cloud swallowed, then gave a small nod. “I do want to,” he murmured.

Aerith’s face lit up, and before he could say another word, she pulled him into a warm, tight hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered against his shoulder. “And I’m so glad you shared this with me. You don’t have to do it alone.”

When she drew back, her eyes sparkled with mischief. “And hey,” she added with a conspiratorial grin, “maybe this could even be fun?” Her words were filled with promise, as if they were embarking on a secret, wonderful adventure meant only for them.

Cloud blinked, a surprised laugh escaping him. “Fun? What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Mmm,” she hummed, leaning back with a wink. “Leave that to me.”

Then, as she stood, she gave him a playful look. “But first—you’d better get your beauty sleep. If you’re going to be beautiful, after all.”

Cloud rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at his lips.

And then, quieter, more sincere, she added, “And if you want to be beautiful… you will be.”

This time, he didn’t hide the way he smiled at her. No pretence. Just him. And together, they rose and turned in for the night.

He wasn’t sure where this would lead, or what changes she had in mind, but he trusted Aerith. Deep down, he realized that maybe he wanted this more than he had ever admitted to himself. The idea of someone seeing him, understanding this fragile part of him—it filled him with hope, a hope that made his chest swell. Maybe, just maybe, he was ready to see where this would take him.

***

Cloud stirred at the soft rustle outside his tent, blinking groggily as the flap eased open and Aerith peeked in, a grin already tugging at her lips. She was carrying a rolled-up towel and a small bag of supplies, her hair loose around her shoulders. "Come on," she whispered, voice just loud enough for him to hear. "Let’s find a spot by the river before the others wake up."

Still half-asleep, Cloud rubbed his eyes. "What are you up to?"

Aerith’s grin widened. "We’re going to start exploring," she said, her voice lilting with mischief. "Come on, I promised—it’ll be fun."

Cloud sighed and pushed himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, equal parts tired and suspicious. “Okay… okay,” he muttered, still not entirely sure what he was agreeing to. He pulled on his clothes and emerged from the tent, blinking into the dawn light. The camp was still asleep, other tents zipped tight and quiet. But there was something in Aerith’s eyes—sparkling and full of secret delight—that made his chest feel lighter despite the early hour.

Aerith looked positively giddy that he was actually coming along, bouncing slightly on her heels. She didn’t say anything, just smiled and turned, leading him down the narrow trail toward the river. Dew clung to the grass, cool against their boots, and mist drifted like breath across the water, catching golden light in the hush of morning.

They reached a quiet bend where a wide, flat rock jutted out over the stream. The water sparkled under the morning sun, the air fresh with the scent of earth and green. Aerith dropped her towel and supplies nearby, then turned and gestured to the stone. "Sit. This is a perfect spot."

Cloud gave her a skeptical glance. “Okay, I’m here,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “What are we actually doing?”

Aerith’s eyes danced with excitement as she knelt by her bag. “Take your clothes off,” she said casually, already unrolling the towel.

He blinked, staring at her like she’d lost her mind. “I just got dressed.” His voice cracked with disbelief. “What if someone sees us? You do remember what happened last night, right?" He gestured vaguely down at himself. "What I’m wearing?”

She didn’t flinch. “Yes,” she said, her voice light, reassuring. “Of course I remember. And if we’re going to do this properly, you need to trust me. I promise , it’ll be fun.”

Cloud hesitated, then let out a slow sigh. “Okay… but keep your eyes and ears open for anyone else and… be kind.”

He turned away, undressing carefully, until only the silk clung to his hips. The morning air was brisk, cool against satin and bare skin, and it sent a shiver up his spine. He couldn't deny that it felt good—exposed, yes, but vulnerable in a way that warmed him as much as it chilled. He flushed as he turned back to her, heat blooming across his cheeks.

Aerith’s eyes lit up. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Her voice was light with delight. “They really are pretty on you.”

He blushed deeper but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“And what I’ve got in mind,” she said, kneeling beside her supplies, “is going to make them look even prettier.”

He looked down to see her unpacking a razor and a small collection of bottles and lotions. Something fluttered in his chest—nervous, excited, and wholly unfamiliar.

“Are you—are we—?” he started.

“Yep,” Aerith cut in, her tone casual but bright. “I thought you could shave. You don’t have much body hair, but still—it feels so nice to be silky smooth. Especially when you’re wearing lingerie.”

Cloud opened his mouth. “But—”

“But it’ll be easy to hide under your clothes,” she said, breezing right over his hesitation. “No one will know, and it’ll feel amazing. Promise.”

He paused, still unsure. But the idea lodged in his mind—how it might feel, that smooth, clean sensation, satin whispering over bare skin. The thought sent a ripple of warmth through him. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It was longing. A quiet, certain want he couldn’t ignore.

“…Okay,” he said at last, tentative. “Let’s do it.”

Aerith’s face lit up with delight as she knelt beside him, setting a small razor and a bowl on the stone. “I’m so pleased you’re doing this,” she said cheerfully, kneeling beside him with the razor and bowl.

She scooped water from the river into the bowl, then held a hand over it and murmured something soft under her breath. A flicker of fire magic danced in her palm, and the water warmed instantly, steam curling upward. She dipped a cloth into it, wrung it out, then laid it gently over Cloud’s shins. Her fingers followed the cloth, slow, deliberate, as if to ease the tension in his muscles.

“Feels nice already, doesn’t it?”

He nodded slowly, surprised by the warmth soaking into his skin. “Yeah… it really does.”

Aerith gave him a soft smile and reached for the razor. “Relax, Cloud. This isn’t a battle.” Her voice was low, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. Cloud nodded, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

With steady, practiced hands, she began to shave his legs, starting at the ankle and working upward in slow, smooth strokes. Cloud watched her, his eyes tracing the concentration on her face, the way her lips curved slightly as she worked.

Cloud couldn’t help but shiver as she worked, her touch gentle yet deliberate. The razor moved slowly over his skin, each stroke leaving behind a smoothness that felt almost foreign. Aerith seemed to be revealing a softer version of him—one that had been there all along, hidden beneath layers of grime and battle-hardened defenses. There was something about her smile that made him want to trust her, to let her lead him deeper into this unknown.

The feeling of the razor against his skin, the cool air following each gentle scrape, was almost meditative as he relaxed into the moment. Aerith’s focus didn’t falter, her gaze steady and full of quiet care as she continued her work. She started with one leg, working methodically from his ankle to his knee, then gradually up to his thigh. When she finished, she shifted to the other, repeating the same slow, precise process. Cloud found himself focusing on her touch—the warmth of her hands, the gentle pressure as she shaved away the fine hairs, and the odd but calming rhythm of her movements.

When she reached his thighs, Cloud felt a flutter in his stomach. The intimacy of the moment caught him off guard, Aerith’s hands moving with such tenderness, her fingers brushing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh as she continued. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his breathing even, but there was no hiding the slight tremor in his voice when he spoke. “Aerith… you don’t have to…”

She looked up, her eyes meeting his, filled with warmth and understanding. “I want to,” she said simply, her voice barely more than a whisper. “This is about you, Cloud. About letting yourself be… something different. Something softer.”

He nodded, his throat too tight to speak. Aerith smiled, her gaze lingering on his for a moment before she returned to her task. The razor glided over his skin, leaving a path of smoothness in its wake. By the time she finished, Cloud’s legs felt lighter, almost weightless, the cool breeze from the river caressing the freshly shaved skin.

“There,” she whispered, almost to herself, then looked up at him with a soft smile. “What do you think?”

Cloud ran a hand slowly up his freshly shaved leg. Goosebumps followed in the wake of his touch—the skin so smooth, so soft it almost didn’t feel like his own. The sensation was strange and yet it thrilled him. “It feels… incredible,” he murmured.

Aerith’s face lit up with delight. “I’m so glad,” she said, her voice warm and brimming with pride. Then she lifted the razor again, eyes twinkling. “So—chest and armpits next?”

Cloud blinked, caught off guard, but the hesitation didn’t last long. The thought of feeling that smoothness again, of being even more exposed in this new way, called to him. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

Aerith grinned and leaned in, warming another cloth in her hands before spreading it across his chest. Her fingers were gentle, attentive. As she shaved, the sensation of being revealed—layer by layer—settled over him, not with fear, but with quiet, tentative joy.

When she finished, Cloud couldn't help but run his hands slowly over his newly smoothed skin, gliding from chest to thighs. His movements were fluid, almost graceful—unconsciously feminine in a way he didn’t question. His fingers traced the silky surface with wide eyes and a soft, breathless laugh. A tingle of delight followed each stroke, light and thrilling. It felt unreal—so smooth, so clean, so undeniably delicate. Feminine. And he loved it.

Aerith watched him, smiling with quiet delight. "Look at you," she teased, voice low and fond. "You look so natural like that—it suits you."

"I love it." He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. There was an intimacy in it—he felt exposed, bare in a way that should have made him flinch. But it didn’t. It felt right.

Her smile softened. "Anytime." She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small bottle of oil. “Now, let’s make sure your skin stays nice and smooth,” she said, her eyes sparkling mischievously. As she twisted it open, a lavender scent rose immediately in the morning air—soft, floral, unmistakably feminine.

Cloud blinked. “Are you sure? Isn’t there something less... scented?”

Aerith raised an eyebrow, amused. “Do you like the smell?”

He hesitated—he couldn’t deny it. And he’d come this far. So he gave a small nod. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” Before he could protest, she poured a bit into her palms and began rubbing them together, warming it between her hands. The scent filled the air—

She pressed her hands to his chest and began to rub the oil in with slow, soothing circles. Cloud opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. The warmth of her touch, the scent clinging to his skin—it all felt indulgent, intimate. He thought about resisting, about brushing her hands away. But instead, he let go.

It felt amazing.

The way the oil sank into his skin, the delicate glide of her palms, the heady scent—it stirred something in him. Something soft. Something electric. And when he shifted slightly, he felt the brush of satin against himself, and a low, involuntary shiver followed. He didn’t fight it.

He just breathed—and let himself enjoy it.

“There’s more we could do,” Aerith said as she worked the oil into his legs, her hands moving in slow, practiced circles. Her voice stayed soft, almost conspiratorial. “Little things, here and there. Skincare, maybe nails. A touch of balm for your lips—nothing bold, just a soft sheen. We could even do something with your hair, style it a little, smooth it out.”

She smiled, glancing up at him, her fingers still gliding over his skin. “No one has to know. But I think you’d really enjoy it. All of it.”

Cloud opened his eyes, meeting hers. There was something in her gaze—an openness, a promise of acceptance—that made his heart stutter. He felt the tug of something new and thrilling in his chest, a quiet certainty. He wanted to do it all—to explore, to soften, to discover what had always been waiting just beneath the surface. And he wanted to do it with Aerith. He nodded, a small, hesitant smile curling at his lips. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

Aerith grinned as she finished rubbing in the oil, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I knew you’d come around.”

Cloud looked at her, cheeks still faintly flushed. “Thank you… this was amazing.”

Her grin widened. “It was amazing for me too. Getting to see this side of you—happy, relaxed. I told you it would be fun.”

She stood and offered him her hand. He stood, brushing himself off, and began to get dressed again. The sensation was entirely new—his clothes felt different now, the fabric catching and sliding over smooth skin in a way that made him shiver. It tingled as he pulled them on, not unpleasantly, and he couldn’t help but smile at the feeling.

Aerith took his hand again, fingers warm and sure in his, and together they made their way back toward camp, the morning sun warming the trail ahead of them. Cloud felt different. Lighter, somehow. The feeling of the smooth skin beneath his shirt, the scent of lavender still lingering, was a constant reminder of what they’d done. It was a secret—a quiet rebellion against the expectations the world had placed on him. And it was theirs.

As they approached, Tifa looked up from where she was packing her bag. “Where have you two be—oh,” she started, then trailed off as her eyes dropped to their joined hands.

Cloud quickly let go, flustered. “Uh, we—”

“We were just getting washed up at the river,” Aerith interrupted smoothly, flashing an easy smile.

Tifa looked between them, then nodded once, her voice flat. “Right.”

Aerith’s smile faltered just a touch. “I’d better go pack up too,” she said quickly, sensing the shift, and turned away.

Cloud lingered. “Tifa, I—”

But before he could finish, she moved past him. As she did, they both caught the unmistakable scent of lavender on his skin. Her expression flickered—quick, unreadable—and she hesitated for just a beat.

“I’d best get packed up,” she said, voice tight, and turned her back to him.

Cloud stood there a moment longer, the weight of her distance sinking in. The scent clung to him. It had felt like a shield, a secret—now it felt exposed. His heart sank. He wished things could be different with Tifa, wished they could go back to the way they were before Midgar and Wall Market, before everything had changed. But he didn’t know how to make her understand, didn’t know if she ever could.

***

The tranquility of the riverbank shattered as a massive roar echoed through the forest. Midgardsormr, the legendary serpent, slithered out from the shadows, its emerald scales glistening in the sunlight. The earth quaked beneath them as the beast towered above the party, fangs bared and dripping with venom. The air seemed to crackle with tension, the sheer size of the serpent casting a shadow over everything, its presence overwhelming as the sunlight bounced off its glistening body, making the scales shimmer like a thousand shards of glass.

Cloud instinctively reached for his sword, his muscles tensing, but he hesitated—a flicker of uncertainty as the intimate morning spent with Aerith lingered in his mind, the unfamiliar softness of his skin and the subtle scent of lavender. It felt strange, almost vulnerable, and that vulnerability made him pause. His senses felt heightened, every brush of air across his bare skin more vivid, the smoothness beneath his armor an unfamiliar reminder of the shift inside him. Tifa, sensing the slight delay in Cloud's movement, stepped forward, her fists clenched and eyes narrowed with determination.

"Everyone, stay focused! We need to take this thing down together! Barrett, focus on covering Aerith! Cloud, follow my lead!" Her voice was confident, a commanding presence that took charge without hesitation, and it seemed to fill the clearing, bringing with it a sense of unity. There was no room for doubt.

"You got it, Tifa!" Barrett called out, shifting his arm-cannon to a ready position. He fired at the serpent, drawing its attention while Aerith began murmuring an incantation, her staff glowing with green light. The warmth of her voice as she chanted seemed to contrast sharply with the monstrous hiss of Midgardsormr, a beacon of calm amidst the chaos.

"I'm on it!" Cloud answered, shaking off his hesitation as he moved with precision, following Tifa's lead. He felt the uncertainty melt away as adrenaline took over. Tifa darted in close to Midgardsormr, her fists connecting with a series of rapid blows that left the serpent reeling. She moved with a fluidity that was almost mesmerizing, her strikes powerful yet graceful, each one carefully timed.

"Over here, ugly!" Barrett shouted, firing another blast at the creature's side, causing it to thrash wildly. Red XIII leaped in from behind, his teeth flashing as he bit into the serpent's tail, his growl echoing alongside the monster's roar. The entire forest seemed alive with the echoes of battle—the ground shaking, leaves rustling violently in the wind stirred by the serpent's furious movements.

"Aerith, now!" Tifa commanded, and Aerith nodded, her voice ringing out clear and strong.

"Blessings of the Planet, empower us!" A burst of green light enveloped the group, bravery flowing into them, granting newfound strength. The energy flowed through Cloud, fortifying his limbs and sharpening his senses. He could feel it—a connection to the Planet itself, each heartbeat syncing with its pulse.

Cloud moved in sync with Tifa, his Buster Sword flashing as he slashed across Midgardsormr's flank. He watched as Tifa dodged the serpent's strikes with fluid grace, her movements precise and controlled. She was leading them, and Cloud found himself falling into rhythm beside her, trusting her instincts. It felt natural, the two of them moving together as though they had done this a thousand times before, each understanding the other’s movements without words.

"Cloud, let's go for its head! Now!" Tifa yelled, her eyes meeting his for a split second—a flicker of understanding passing between them. It was more than a command; it was a shared purpose, a bond forged in the heat of battle.

Cloud nodded, charging forward alongside her. They leaped together, Tifa's fist smashing into Midgardsormr's jaw as Cloud brought his sword down in a powerful arc, the impact reverberating through the beast's skull. Time seemed to slow for a heartbeat—the creature's pained bellow echoing in Cloud's ears, the combined force of their attacks stunning the serpent.

With a final, shuddering roar, Midgardsormr collapsed, its massive body slumping to the ground. The forest fell silent, the only sound their ragged breathing as they stood victorious. The adrenaline rush began to ebb, leaving behind exhaustion, relief, and the faint sound of birds slowly returning to the trees.

"Hell yeah! That's how we do it!" Barrett cheered, pumping his fist in the air. His laughter boomed across the clearing, a triumphant roar that contrasted against the earlier tension. Red XIII gave a satisfied growl, his fur bristling as he stepped away from the fallen creature, his eyes still alert, scanning the area for any further threats.

Aerith smiled, her eyes shining with relief as she approached Cloud and Tifa. "You two were amazing," she said, her voice filled with admiration. There was a softness in her gaze, a warmth that seemed to make the aftermath of the battle feel almost serene. "Tifa, you really took charge out there."

Tifa wiped a bit of sweat from her brow, giving a modest smile. "I just knew we had to keep it focused, keep everyone moving. But Cloud... you were right there with me. Thanks." Her words held a sincerity that seemed to cut through the remnants of the adrenaline, her eyes meeting Cloud’s, a quiet gratitude within them.

Cloud met her gaze, a small smile crossing his face. "You led well, Tifa. I just did my part." There was something different in the way they looked at each other—a subtle shift in dynamic as Tifa stepped up. And he knew Tifa felt it too.

"Alright, enough of the mushy stuff," Barrett interrupted, his deep voice full of humor. "Let's get movin' before another one of these things shows up." He turned, motioning for them to gather their gear. The group shared a small laugh, the tension from the fight easing as they began to fall back into their usual camaraderie and continued onward.

* * *

A few days later, while the rest of the team was off gathering supplies, Aerith found Cloud sitting quietly by the campfire, gazing into the flames with a distant look in his eyes. She approached with a small, secretive smile, a sparkle of mischief in her expression.

"Since we've got some time to ourselves, I thought maybe we could try something new, Cloud," she said, her voice warm and inviting, laced with that increasingly familiar sense of gentle encouragement.

Cloud looked up at her, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, and tilted his head. Something in her tone piqued his interest, and already he felt a flutter of anticipation stir in his chest. Memories flickered through his mind—of that morning by the river when Aerith had helped shave his legs, of the silky smoothness that lingered days after, of how he'd secretly kept up the ritual since, drawn to the way it made him feel: lighter, softer, a little more like the version of himself that he only let peek through the cracks.

There was no hesitation in his nod, a quiet eagerness in his eyes. "What have you got in mind?" he asked, his voice soft but sure, ready to see what new thing she would reveal to him next.

Aerith pulled out a small pouch and handed it to Cloud. He opened it to reveal a set of nail files, a buffing block, and a bottle of clear nail polish. “Just a small step—a little something to make your hands look a bit prettier,” Aerith said, her eyes sparkling.

Cloud hesitated, glancing down at his hands before looking back at her. “Won’t people notice?” he asked, a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Aerith shook her head gently, her tone soothing. “It’s just clear polish,” she said with a smile. “It’ll be subtle—no one will see unless they’re really looking. And besides, it’s not just about the result. It’s about the experience too. Letting yourself be pampered a little, letting someone take care of you. You deserve that, Cloud.”

Her words lingered in the space between them, soft and affirming, and Cloud felt a warmth bloom in his chest. He glanced down at his hands, studied them for a moment, then flexed his fingers slowly, as if seeing them anew. A small, shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You really think so?” he asked, his voice barely more than a murmur, tentative but hopeful.

Aerith nodded, her gaze steady and kind. “Of course. You’re always out there fighting, protecting us. But even you need to pause—need to feel cared for. You deserve a break, Cloud. A moment to feel a little special, just for yourself.”

Cloud's expression softened into a quiet smile, and he gave her a small nod. Aerith took his hand gently in hers, her fingers curling around his with practiced ease.

"We’ll start by shaping them," she said, selecting a fine-grit file. Her strokes were smooth and even, filing each nail with patient care. "This helps them look tidy—and feel better too."

Cloud watched, quiet and entranced by the rhythm of her movements. Her touch was precise, attentive, as if each nail deserved its own moment. "Now the buffer," she added, her voice low and calm. "This smooths the surface, brings out the shine, and helps the polish glide on."

As she worked, Cloud could feel himself relaxing into her care, soothed by the calm intimacy of it all. “You’re good at this,” he said, his voice tinged with both admiration and surprise.

Aerith giggled softly. “I had a lot of practice back in the slums. It’s a nice way to unwind, you know?” She paused, then looked up at him, her gaze lingering, deeper this time. There was something searching in the way she held his eyes. “To let go,” she added, her voice softer, more deliberate. “You deserve that too, Cloud.”

The words lingered between them, carrying a weight Cloud hadn't anticipated. And suddenly, he understood—this wasn't just about relaxing, about easing tension or soothing the stress of their journey. It was about something deeper. Letting go of who he thought he had to be. Of the mask he wore. Of the armor. It was permission to be something else—something softer.

He looked at her, gratitude blooming in his chest. “Thanks, Aerith,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

Their eyes met for a long, quiet moment—full of unspoken understanding—and then Aerith gave him a gentle smile and turned back to her task. She opened the bottle of clear polish with a soft click and lifted the brush.

“Alright, now for the fun part,” she said with a soft smile. “This goes on smooth—see?” She ran the brush over his nail in a steady, practiced line. “Just a thin coat. It catches the light—nothing too flashy, just a little sheen.”

Cloud watched, spellbound, as she moved to the next nail, her voice and movements grounding him in a new kind of peace.

“See?” Aerith said as she sat back, letting his hands go, her voice gentle and reassuring. “Just a small change, but it makes a difference, doesn’t it?” Cloud nodded, his gaze fixed on his hands, admiring the way they seemed somehow softer, yet still strong, as if reflecting an inner resilience he hadn't noticed before.

Cloud held out his hands instinctively, palms facing downward, fingers extended slightly as he studied them. His wrists bent subtly inward as he turned them this way and that, admiring the soft sheen. They looked cleaner, finer—his hands still strong, but with a grace he hadn’t expected. The polish made his fingers seem more refined, elegant even, and he found himself liking the way they looked.

He glanced up and saw Aerith smiling at him, her eyes filled with warmth. "They look really good," he said, his voice soft with a hint of wonder.

"Well, if you like them, then you'll need to learn how to do it yourself, Cloud," Aerith said, her voice warm and teasing. "I hope you were paying attention!" She pushed the bag across to him with a playful flourish. "Keep all these tools, okay? But listen—you better keep those nails looking just as pretty as they do now. I want to see them sparkling next time!"

Cloud laughed, a light, genuine sound that surprised even him. He took the bag from her with a nod, his fingers brushing hers. "Thanks, Aerith," he said, looking at her with something between gratitude and amusement. "I'll see what I can do. No promises, but... maybe I’ll even enjoy it."

Aerith smiled wider, clearly pleased. "That's the spirit." Besides," she added with a grin, nudging his shoulder, "it's good for you. A little self-care never hurt anyone."

As they laughed together, the others had returned to camp—Barret and Tifa walking in step with Red XIII, smiling, chatting casually. Cloud looked up just as Aerith leaned into him, her laughter spilling out as her hand lingered lightly on his arm, their closeness easy, natural.

Tifa's eyes found them, and for the briefest moment, her smile faltered. The cheer she wore slipped, just slightly, before she turned away quickly, focusing too hard on packing up gear that didn’t really need organizing. Her movements were sharp, efficient, but tight with something unspoken.

Cloud caught it, just for a second—the way she looked at him, the flicker of something behind her eyes. He tried not to let the moment bother him, but it lingered. He looked back down at his nails, turning his hands in the firelight, the soft gleam catching his eye. She might not understand, not fully—but he was starting to. Starting to see something different in himself, and liking it.

Then Aerith nudged him gently, her voice cutting through his thoughts like warm sunlight. “You know,” she said, drawing out the words with a knowing little smile, “maybe next time we try a color—something soft, just a hint. What do you think?”

Cloud looked at her, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “A color, huh? You really think I could pull it off?”

Aerith nodded eagerly, her excitement infectious. “Absolutely! Something light, maybe a pale blue... ooh, or—no, pink! Pink would look amazing.” She gave him a playful wink. “It’s just another small step, that’s all. Besides,” she added, nudging his shoulder, “who knows? You might end up liking it.”

Pink. It would be bold, but kind of... pretty. Cloud pictured it for a moment, then chuckled softly, shaking the thought away. “Alright, we’ll see. One step at a time, right?”

Aerith beamed, her eyes twinkling. “Exactly. One step at a time.” She gave his hand a final squeeze, and they both looked towards the fire, a quiet understanding passing between them.

* * *

Barrett's deep voice rumbled across the campfire, his hands moving animatedly as he described the chaos of the attack on the Midgar reactor. "So there we were, pinned down by Shinra troops. Bullets flying, explosions going off, and ol' Wedge somehow gets stuck behind a pile of crates! He was yellin' like he'd never been in a scrape before. Biggs and me had to drag his sorry butt outta there, and lemme tell ya—he wasn't light!" Barrett shook his head, his laughter booming as he poked at the fire, the flames crackling in response.

Tifa chuckled, shaking her head. "That sounds like Wedge alright. Always finding himself in trouble." Her eyes glinted with a mixture of fondness and exasperation.

The laughter lingered a moment longer before Aerith leaned forward, her green eyes catching the firelight with a spark of mischief. She glanced around at the group, their faces still lit with the joy of shared memory. "Everyone's got wild stories tonight," she said with a grin. "So I guess it's my turn."

She turned toward Cloud, her smile growing. "Remember the Honeybee Inn?"

Cloud's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of nervousness passing over his features. Beneath his trousers, the soft shift of satin whispered against his skin. He crossed his legs slightly, conscious of the smoothness there. He glanced at Aerith, then down at his hands—nails glinting subtly in the firelight. "Aerith... do we really need to bring that up?" he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips, his voice tinged with resigned amusement.

Barrett blinked, his eyebrows rising. "Wait, the Honeybee Inn? What the hell happened there?" He looked between Cloud and Aerith, his expression demanding an explanation.

Tifa's eyes widened as her gaze flicked to Cloud. "The Honeybee Inn? Back in Wall Market?" she asked, her voice quieter now, touched with tension. Her brow furrowed slightly, and the smile on her face faltered, slipping away as the memory stirred something uncertain beneath the surface.

Aerith, undeterred, grinned and waved her hand dismissively. "The very same! You all know Cloud had to dress up as a girl to rescue Tifa, right? All dolled up." She gave a theatrical flick of her wrist, clearly savoring the moment.

Barrett stared at Cloud, his jaw dropping. "Wait, what?! You dressed up as a woman?" He paused, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Man, why didn't anyone tell me about this sooner?!" He let out a hearty laugh, the kind that shook his entire frame. "What I wouldn't give to see that!"

Cloud flushed, his blush deepening as Barret’s laugh echoed around the campfire. "Alright, alright," he said, holding up his hands. "Yeah, I wore a dress. Can we not make a big thing out of it?"

"But it was a big thing!" Aerith chimed in, eyes gleaming. "The hair, the makeup, the dress, the lingerie."

Barrett burst out laughing, slapping his knee. "You serious? Lingerie?"

Even Red XIII gave a slow, toothy smile. Tifa blinked, visibly surprised. "Lingerie?"

Cloud stiffened, his face heating, acutely aware of the satin still resting against his skin. "It was part of the disguise," he said quickly, trying not to squirm. "Just for the role."

"Lingerie," Aerith said again, not missing a beat.

Tifa let out a small laugh, but her smile was tight, forced, her eyes flicking briefly to Cloud.

"And the other thing you might not know," Aerith continued, voice lifting, "is that he danced. On stage. With Andrea Rhodea."

"I wouldn’t call it a dance," Cloud muttered. "It was more like... improvisation."

"Improvisation?" Aerith raised a brow. "Andrea led you like it was a performance you’d rehearsed. He twirled you, dipped you, spun you around. You were the prettiest girl in the place Cloud. The belle of the ball."

Barrett let out another wheezing laugh. "Man, I wish I could’ve seen that. Spiky gettin’ twirled around like a princess!"

Cloud winced and rubbed his face. "Can we not—"

"And at the end there was the curtsy," Aerith said, sweeping her arm out dramatically. "The cutest little curtsy to finish it all off. Like he was born for the stage. He was wonderful."

Cloud groaned. "Aerith—"

She looked at him, eyes twinkling but soft. For all the fun, there was genuine warmth there, affection layered into the teasing.

Barrett was still howling. Red XIII’s tail tapped against the ground in quiet amusement. Tifa was laughing along with them, but her eyes hadn’t quite joined in.

Cloud caught that. Just a flicker. And he looked at her, thre was still something lingering in her eyes—a mix of confusion and unease. She forced a smile, trying to play along. "I... I knew you dressed up, but I didn't know about all that... the dance," she said, her voice carrying a hint of hurt. There was a pause before she added, her voice a touch quieter, "Why didn’t you tell me about that part, Cloud?"

Cloud shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. He misread her expression, mistaking her hesitation for disapproval. "It... it wasn't exactly something I meant to happen," he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. "I just did what I had to do to get you out of there. It wasn't... a big deal."

Red XIII, who had been silently observing the exchange, tilted his head curiously. His fiery eyes blinked slowly, and he finally spoke. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand. Why did Cloud dress up as a woman? Was this a tactical decision?"

Aerith giggled, shaking her head. "Not exactly. It was more... situational. Cloud had to get close to Don Corneo to help save Tifa, and the only way to do that was to disguise himself. Let's just say he made quite an impression."

Barrett laughed again, slapping his knee. "I bet he did! Cloud, dancin' around in a dress—man, I wish I'd been there to see it." He gave Cloud a teasing grin, clearly enjoying the mental image.

Cloud sighed, his cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment. "The dance wasn't part of the plan, okay? It just... kind of happened. Aerith and Andrea Rhodea pulled me into it," he explained, shooting Aerith a look, but she only smiled back innocently.

Tifa's eyes widened again. "Wait, why did you dance? For Aerith?" She looked at Cloud, her expression a mixture of shock and something else—a sadness that she quickly tried to hide.

Aerith nodded enthusiastically, her smile widening. "Oh, we just wanted to make sure he could play the part! And he was stunning—a real natural! It was incredible—right, Cloud?"

Cloud groaned softly, burying his face in his hands. "I can't believe we're still talking about this..." he muttered, though there was no real anger in his voice, just a weary acceptance.

Aerith looked at Tifa again, this time catching the flicker of hurt in her friend's eyes. She quickly spoke up, her voice gentle. "Cloud was amazing, Tifa. He really was. He went through all of it without a second thought—for you."

Tifa’s eyes lingered on Cloud, searching his face. Then something in her expression shifted—something softer. Her shoulders eased slightly, and she gave a small, more genuine smile. "That’s... that’s good to know," she said quietly. "I guess I understand a bit more knowing you did it for me."

Cloud looked back at her, surprised, and nodded once, grateful, before Red XIII blinked, his tail flicking slightly. "It sounds like there is more to you than meets the eye, Cloud," he said thoughtfully. "A warrior... and a dancer." His tone was earnest, genuinely intrigued.

"And what a dancer, by the sounds of it!" Barrett roared with laughter, wiping a tear from his eye. "Don’t worry, Spiky, your secret’s safe with us! Hell, I’d pay good gil to see that curtsy again!"

Tifa gave a soft smile, her eyes lingering on Cloud. The mood in the camp was light, but there was still a slight unspoken tension between them—a secret that Cloud had shared with Aerith, something that Tifa hadn't been a part of.

Cloud, feeling the mix of laughter and stares, glanced around the fire, his discomfort clear. The joking was all in good fun, but part of him still felt like he had to keep this side of himself hidden—like showing it too much would change how the others saw him. He forced a smile, shrugging. "Alright, alright, enough about that. Let's just say I'm sticking to fighting from now on. No more dancing."

Aerith gave him a playful nudge. "Oh, we'll see about that, Cloud. I think you have a talent worth exploring." She winked, and Cloud couldn't help but give a small, reluctant smile.

Barrett smirked, shaking his head. "Man, you all keep things interesting, that's for sure."

Red XIII nodded, his fiery eyes reflecting the campfire's light. "Indeed. I look forward to seeing what other surprises you have, Cloud."

The conversation drifted on, the fire crackling as the night deepened. Barrett started recounting another story—this time about an old mission in the slums, while Aerith chimed in with lighthearted remarks that kept the mood playful. Tifa eventually smiled again, joining in with her own memories, the hurt gradually softening into something less heavy. Red XIII listened intently, his eyes reflecting the flickering flames, occasionally adding his own curious questions.

Eventually, the stories began to slow, and a comfortable silence settled over the camp. The stars above seemed to shine a little brighter as the firelight dimmed. Aerith yawned, stretching her arms above her head, her eyes half-lidded with tiredness. "I think that's enough excitement for one night," she murmured, her voice gentle.

Barrett nodded, his deep voice softening. "Yeah, we should get some rest. Got a long day ahead tomorrow." He rose, giving the fire a final poke before turning towards his tent. "Night, everyone."

Red XIII gave a low, contented rumble, curling up closer to the fading warmth of the fire. "Goodnight," he said, his voice a sleepy growl.

Tifa glanced at Cloud, her expression tender, the earlier tension eased a little. She smiled, more genuine this time. "Night, Cloud. And… thanks for what you did for me." Her voice held a quiet sincerity, she understood: he’d done it for her. That meant something. Her words held a warmth that made Cloud's chest tighten, but in a good way.

Cloud nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. "Goodnight, Tifa," he replied, watching her walk towards her tent.

Aerith gave Cloud one last playful nudge as the two of them stood alone. "Maybe someday," she whispered, almost thoughtfully, "you'll dance for all of us. When you're ready to share that part of yourself."

Cloud blinked, her words catching him off guard. He realized then—she hadn’t just been teasing tonight. She’d been testing the waters, gently pushing, giving him space to explore something he'd only started to understand.

He sighed, half-laughing. "Next time, maybe give me a heads-up before telling those stories, huh?"

"I promise—if you promise me another dance someday," she teased, her eyes sparkling with something gentler beneath the mischief.

Cloud rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the faint smile that tugged at his lips. "We'll see about that," he muttered, his tone soft.

Then, with a little sigh and a glance around to make sure no one else was watching, he gave Aerith a quick, graceful curtsy. It wasn’t exaggerated—just a small dip, but his hands lifted the edge of an invisible skirt with practiced ease.

Aerith blinked in surprise, then burst into a delighted giggle. "You’ve still got it," she whispered, beaming.

Cloud shook his head with a quiet chuckle. "Don’t get used to it," he said, but the warmth in his voice gave him away.

Together, they turned from the fire and wandered toward the tents, their footsteps soft on the grass beneath the starlight.

***

It was the morning before they headed into Junon when Aerith convinced Cloud to let her do more than just trim his hair. "Nothing drastic," she promised, gently guiding him to sit. "Just something to make it look nice, help you feel a little different."

Cloud hesitated, fingers brushing nervously through his blond spikes. "Subtle," he said firmly. "I want it to be subtle. But... nice. Subtle, but not too subtle."

Aerith tilted her head, amused. "Nice, but subtle. Not too subtle. Got it."

Cloud cleared his throat. "I just... I want it to look good. Neater. Tidy, I guess? But don’t overdo it."

Aerith nodded, her voice light. "Neat and tidy. Understood."

Cloud hesitated, his fingers fidgeting slightly. "Yeah, but... I still want it to look..." He paused, the word catching in his throat. "Pretty," he said finally, almost in a whisper—as if saying it too loud might break something fragile. He winced immediately. "Not pretty! I didn’t mean—just, you know—"

Aerith burst out laughing, brushing a hand through his hair. "It’s okay, Cloud. You can want to look pretty. I promise I won’t hold it against you."

She smiled, her fingers already combing through his hair. "Trust me, I’ll get the balance right. You’ll still be you—just a little more the you you’re becoming."

With a soft hum, she began, her movements gentle, precise. Each snip of her scissors felt deliberate, as if she were carefully helping him shape something unspoken into being.

Cloud sat still, feeling her closeness, the occasional brush of her fingers against his neck. There was something undeniably intimate about it—something that made him feel strangely calm, even exposed in a way that wasn't uncomfortable. It was as if Aerith was peeling away the layers of the SOLDIER persona he had constructed, leaving something softer beneath. The rhythm of her gentle snips, the sensation of her fingers weaving through his hair, created a strange sense of peace he wasn't accustomed to. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself feel the touch and the tenderness in every movement.

Aerith hummed softly, a barely-there tune that Cloud found himself focusing on. It was soothing, a melody that spoke of gentler times, free of combat and duty. It wasn’t a song he knew, but it didn’t matter. He felt like Aerith was weaving a moment just for them, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth, and for once, he let himself enjoy it without overthinking.

Before he knew it, Aerith set the scissors down and gave his shoulder a light tap. “All done,” she said with a smile, then she picked up a small hand mirror and held it out to him, angling it just right. Her eyes searched his as she waited, her expression open and hopeful, as if she were presenting him with a fragile gift she dearly hoped he'd accept. “What do you think?”

Cloud looked at his reflection. His hair still held its familiar spikiness, but the edges had been softened—rounded tips flowing into feathered bangs that framed his forehead with delicate ease. The back was trimmed shorter, shaped into something that hovered between his usual style and a pixie cut, clean and layered just enough to taper into his neckline with a hint of softness. The whole look felt lighter, gentler—still him, but quieter, like the volume had been turned down just enough to let something more graceful shine through. Subtle, yes—but almost... pretty.

He ran a hand through his hair, fingertips tracing the new lines, the changed texture. It was exactly what he'd hoped for—even if he hadn’t known how to ask for it. "I really like it," he said quietly, his voice steady, the sincerity in it catching him off guard.

Aerith beamed. "I tried to underplay it," she said, brushing some loose strands off his shoulder, "so people won’t notice a huge difference. Just enough to feel it."

Cloud nodded, looking at his reflection again. "Thank you Aerith," he said, then hesitated. "It looks... soft. I feel—" he paused, the words catching for a moment before he let them land, quiet but certain. "I feel beautiful."

Aerith beamed, her smile so bright it felt like a small victory. She gently brushed some stray hairs from his shoulders, her touch lingering for just a second longer. “I’m glad,” she whispered, her gaze filled with warmth that seemed to reach right through him. “You deserve to feel like yourself, Cloud. Whoever that may be.” Her words hung in the air, the weight of their meaning lingering. It was an acceptance, and Cloud's eyes softened, and for a moment, he let himself believe her words. That maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than the SOLDIER mask.

Aerith tilted her head, studying him with a grin. “You know,” she said, playful but sincere, “I think you could pull off a little pink ribbon. Just here.” She gently touched a lock of hair behind his ear.

Cloud flushed, laughing. “That’s definitely a step too far.”

She laughed with him, the sound light and infectious. “Maybe one day?” she asked, her tone teasing but soft.

Cloud hesitated, then smiled softly. “Maybe one day.”

Aerith's eyes lit up with playful thought. “We could grow it out a bit,” she said, twirling a loose strand of his hair. “There’s so much we could do with long hair. Soft layers, side braids, even—”

Cloud groaned, already grinning. “Don’t say it.”

She leaned in close, whispering with mock seriousness. “Pigtails.”

Cloud snorted. “With little pink ribbons, of course.”

They burst into laughter, the kind that bubbled up easily, warm and bright, echoing between them like a shared secret. For a moment, everything else faded.

Then a pointed cough cut through the air like a snapped branch.

Tifa cleared her throat, her voice slicing through the air with unexpected sharpness. “Cloud, we need to get going if we’re going to make it into Junon in time to catch the ship.” Her tone was brisk, leaving no room for discussion. Her eyes flicked between Cloud and Aerith, cool and assessing. The irritation was plain—this wasn’t the first time she’d come upon them like this, wrapped up in their own quiet moment while the rest of the group waited. Her gaze lingered on Aerith for just a second too long, the message clear: this wasn’t only about punctuality. Something unspoken simmered beneath the surface—something complicated, and not easily named.

Cloud blinked, the serene atmosphere evaporating in an instant. He could feel the tension crackle between them, like a sudden storm cloud that had rolled in without warning. Aerith released his arm, giving Cloud a gentle nod as if to say it was okay, her smile still warm despite the sudden change in mood. She always seemed to understand, to know when to let go, even if it hurt her.

He rose to his feet, offering Aerith an apologetic look, but Tifa had already turned, her back to them, expecting him to follow without further delay. There was a stiffness in her posture, her shoulders squared, her steps just a bit too quick. Cloud sighed, falling in step behind her, his boots crunching against the gravel as they moved away from the small space of respite Aerith had created for him.

The tension hung heavy in the air, an unspoken weight pressing between them with every step. Cloud wanted to say something—anything—to reach across the widening space between himself and Tifa. To explain, to reassure. But the words tangled somewhere in his chest and refused to surface. So he stayed quiet, walking beside her in silence as the distant crash of waves against the cliffs of Junon barely cut through the noise in his head. Each footfall felt too loud, each heartbeat a reminder of the things left unsaid.

***

The group gathered in a quiet corner of Junon, a storage room filled with old crates and Shinra insignia on every wall. The air smelled of dust and oil, a reminder of just how deep they were in enemy territory. Cloud pulled at the stiff collar of the Shinra uniform, the fabric rough and unfamiliar against his neck. He glanced at his reflection in a cracked piece of glass propped against one of the crates, noting how different he looked. It was another disguise, another layer to hide behind. He couldn’t help but think that maybe, in a way, this was no different from the other parts of himself he kept hidden away. A mask that kept him safe.

His thoughts drifted as he absentmindedly adjusted the uniform, lost in the comfort of hiding in plain sight. The memories of softer touches, the feel of Aerith’s fingers in his hair, the smell of lavender on his skin—all of it was wrapped in that disguise too. It wasn't until he was halfway through tightening his belt that he remembered his shaved legs beneath the rough fabric, the silky panties still snug against his skin. The sensation made him pause for a split second, but it was already too late.

Barrett, strapping on his Shinra-issued boots, suddenly looked up. His eyes narrowed, squinting at Cloud's exposed ankle—smooth and hairless, a stark contrast to what he’d expected. “Uh, Spiky? Since when did you start shavin' your legs?” Barrett’s voice was loud, his laughter booming across the room, immediately catching the attention of the others.

Cloud swallowed, glancing down and realizing that the cuff of the uniform had ridden up, exposing the smooth skin. He pulled it down quickly, trying to think of something to say, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed him. Tifa, adjusting her own uniform, looked over, her brow furrowed. “Cloud... what’s going on?” she asked, her voice caught between concern and curiosity.

Cloud opened his mouth, but before he could find the right words, Aerith stepped forward, her smile bright and completely at ease. “Oh, that was me!” she said cheerfully, drawing all eyes to her. “I asked Cloud to do it—for me. Just a bit of fun, you know?” She winked, her tone playful, her gaze lingering on Cloud as if daring anyone to question it further.

Tifa's expression shifted, her eyes hardening, a mix of emotions flashing across her face. “Fun, huh?” she said, her voice tight. She looked at Cloud, then back at Aerith, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Wait—Tifa,” Cloud started, reaching out slightly.

But she was already turning, her boots striking the metal floor as she stormed out, the echoes sharp and final.

Cloud let out a breath, his hand dropping uselessly to his side. Aerith gave him a small shrug, equal parts sympathy and apology, as if to say, "Well, I tried."

Barrett watched her leave, then turned back to Cloud and Aerith, his laughter rumbling once more. “Hey, whatever you guys are into,” he said with a shrug, clearly amused. “Ain't none of my business.”

Red XIII, who had been quietly observing from the corner, tilted his head to the side, his tail swishing thoughtfully. “I suppose I don’t quite understand. Is this some sort of human bonding ritual?” he asked, his voice genuinely bemused.

Aerith chuckled, shaking her head. “Something like that, Red,” she said, her voice light but knowing. She turned to Cloud, offering him a warm, reassuring smile. Cloud managed a faint one in return, but his eyes lingered on the door Tifa had stormed through. The weight of her reaction settled heavily in his chest, a knot of doubt tightening with every passing second.

He adjusted his collar again, the disguise feeling heavier now. This wasn’t how he wanted things to go, but there was no turning back. He took a deep breath, nodding at the others. “Let’s just focus on the mission,” he muttered, trying to push the uneasy feelings away as they prepared to leave the room, the echoes of Barrett's laughter and Tifa's footsteps still reverberating in his mind.

***

Later that evening, as the party traveled on the ship from Junon, Tifa found Cloud standing by the railing, staring out at the sea, his gaze distant as the waves rolled beneath them. The salty breeze played with his hair, and he seemed lost in thought. She approached slowly, her footsteps almost inaudible against the creaking of the ship.

"Hey, Cloud," she said softly, her voice carrying just enough to pull him from his thoughts.

He turned his head slightly, acknowledging her presence but saying nothing, the sound of the sea filling the quiet between them.

Tifa took a deep breath, her voice softening. "I'm sorry for earlier, Cloud. I shouldn't have been so harsh. I just... it's hard seeing you, all the things you’re doing with her, time you’re spending with her. It feels like I'm losing you."

Cloud shook his head gently. "No, Tifa... it’s okay. I’m sorry too. I never meant to make you feel that way."

They stood together in silence for a moment, watching the endless sea roll out before them, the hush of the waves offering a quiet space neither of them knew how to fill.

Her eyes glistened, but she quickly looked away, trying to regain her composure. "Cloud, I... I just don't understand. You and Aerith, all the time you spend together, everything that's been happening... it feels like we're drifting apart." Her voice wavered, a mix of confusion and hurt threading through it. "It just seems like... you two are so close. And I'm not angry, I just—" She hesitated, the words catching. "I don't know where I fit anymore."

She paused, her eyes searching his face for clarity, hoping for something she couldn't quite ask outright. A confession, maybe. Or a denial. Anything that would make sense of what she'd been feeling. 

Cloud looked at her, guilt washing over him. He wanted to make things right, but the words felt tangled and unsure. "Tifa, it's complicated... Aerith and I... It’s... It's just... different." He hesitated, struggling to put it into words. "I don’t even know what to call it. Not yet. I’m—we’re... figuring things out."

He saw the confusion flicker behind her eyes and tried to make her understand. "I know it's been... I’ve been... different lately. I get that." He sighed. "I just got the impression maybe you wouldn’t want to be around that. Around... this version of me."

Tifa opened her mouth to respond, then hesitated, her lips pressing together as if unsure where to start. She took a breath, shaky but deliberate. "I do... I think. I mean, I don’t know." She looked down, then back up at him, her voice quieter. "I just wish it could’ve been different. That things had gone another way."

She steeled herself. "Look, I just want to make sure you’re happy. That’s what matters." She forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Aerith’s special. And if she makes you happy, then... I want that for you."

The silence stretched between them for a beat before she added, almost too softly, "I just miss how things used to be."

She looked away again. "The way we were."

And then, barely audible, "The way you were."

Cloud stood there, struggling to find the words—his feelings too tangled, the conflict inside him too overwhelming. He didn’t know how to explain the changes within himself, how this new part of him felt fragile and yet liberating. He looked at Tifa, her expression laced with confusion and hurt, and a quiet dread twisted in his gut.

She didn’t understand it—not really. She didn’t see what Aerith had truly offered him: the room to explore something long buried, to strip away the layers of who he thought he had to be. Tifa longed for the person he used to be, but that version of him was already fading. And he couldn’t go back. Not now.

He didn’t want to.

He wanted to keep going—into the unknown, into this new softness and sense of self that felt both terrifying and deeply right.

He wished she could see it—not just the surface changes, but the person he was uncovering beneath. The one Aerith had helped him find. Someone who carried themselves with a softer grace, who felt things more deeply, someone learning not to hide behind hardness and armor. He wished Tifa could accept that. Embrace that.

But she seemed put off by it—the softness, the quiet joy he found in little things now, the way he’d let down his guard. Maybe she longed for the tough, unshakable Cloud she thought she knew. The protector, the SOLDIER. Not this version of him who sometimes liked how polish caught the light on his nails, or the way satin felt against smooth skin—who daydreamed about pink ribbons and giggled with Aerith. Maybe that just wasn’t the person she’d fallen for.

Maybe he could help her see it—see him. Not as the person she remembered, but the person he was becoming. The person he needed to be. But how?

He looked at her, his eyes pleading, but the words still wouldn’t come.

The silence between them deepened, full of crossed wires and missed meanings, and neither of them could find the words to untangle it.

Tifa watched him, her expression shifting from hope to resignation. She sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly "If this is what you want, Cloud... then so be it." as she looked away. "I still care about you, more than anything," she said, her voice carrying a mix of love and pain. "But I need to accept that things won't be the same."

Without waiting for his response, Tifa turned and walked away, leaving Cloud staring into the darkening sky. The weight of her words settled heavily in his chest, and he remained there, silent, unsure of what the future held for them.

Chapter Text

The party had arrived late into Costa del Sol, just as the last of the sun had dipped behind the horizon, casting the beach town in warm twilight and scattered neon. Exhausted, they found a hotel and checked in without fanfare, collapsing into soft beds with barely a word between them.

Morning came quietly, sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains. Cloud sat at the edge of his bed, legs bare save for the snug pair of satin panties he now wore as second skin. They felt nice—familiar now, a near constant, gentle embrace that spoke both of habit and the strange journey of self he was still tiptoeing through. Folded neatly beside the bed was an outfit topped with a button-up shirt, bright blue and gaudy, printed with vibrant chocobos. A note from the hotel manager had explained: "Complimentary outfits for your day in paradise."

Cloud groaned softly. It was ridiculous. He pulled on the pair of loose cargo shorts and a black T-shirt, then hesitated before adding the shirt as well. The cargo shorts hung awkwardly on his frame, the black T-shirt barely balancing out the absurdity of the bright blue chocobo-print shirt he buttoned over it. It all clashed with the image he’d built—brooding, stoic, guarded. And his smooth legs, pale and hairless, felt embarrassingly on display. Everyone knew now, so it didn't really matter but he hated how exposed he felt.

Still, the others had decided—they needed a break, if only for a day. Just one day to breathe. With a resigned sigh, Cloud buttoned the shirt, raked his fingers through his hair, and headed down to the lobby to meet them.

Cloud descended the stairs into the lobby, smoothing down the garish chocobo-print shirt with an embarrassed grimace. The tile floor was cool under his sandals, the space already bustling with the low murmur of conversation and the scent of sea salt drifting in from the open doors.

Tifa stood by the front windows, radiant in a cropped charcoal blouse tied at her waist and high-waisted black shorts. Her long legs seemed to glow in the morning light, strappy sandals completing a look that was effortlessly confident, sleek in its simplicity. Nearby, Aerith was a picture of softness in a pale pink off-the-shoulder blouse and matching floral sarong, the ruffled sleeves fluttering gently as she chatted with the concierge. The outfit was breezy and romantic, her entire presence tinted with the warmth of tropical light.

Cloud hesitated at the bottom step, eyes flicking between them. They looked so at ease, so comfortable in their clothes in every way he didn't right now—soft, pretty, feminine. Something stirred inside him: longing, quiet and sharp, a fragile ache that caught him off-guard. If only he could wear something like that instead... No. He blinked hard and shook the thought away just as Barret’s voice cut through the haze.

"Mornin', Sunshine," Barret grunted as he appeared beside him, jolting Cloud from his reverie.

Barret, by contrast, wore his usual attire: boots, tactical pants, and a sleeveless top that looked as though it hadn’t been washed since Midgar. Cloud scowled. "Didn’t get the memo?"

Barret gave him a once-over, then burst into laughter, the sound deep and unfiltered. "Well, look at you—all ready for the beach!" he guffawed, giving Cloud a hearty slap on the back. "What’s next, you gonna be leadin’ a chocobo luau too?"

Cloud crossed his arms, glaring as he adjusted the loud shirt. “It was free,” he muttered, as if that explained everything, though even to his own ears it sounded like a weak excuse.

Aerith turned at the sound of his voice, her smile lighting up the room. "I think it’s cute," she said, a soft lilt in her tone. "Very... colorful." Her eyes danced with amusement, but there was warmth behind them too.

Tifa approached, her gaze sweeping over the group with an air of practiced ease. "So," she said, slipping her hands onto her hips, "what’s everyone thinking for today?"

Barret gave a long, theatrical stretch, cracking his neck. "I’m findin’ a pub," he announced. "Need somethin’ cold and strong. This heat’s got me sweatin’ like I’m back in the reactor tunnels."

“Red XIII mentioned wanting to check out the cliffs,” Tifa added, nodding toward the windows. “Apparently there’s some rare coastal birds he’s never seen before. He left before breakfast.”

Aerith beamed. “I was thinking of visiting the market stalls,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Someone told me there’s a place that makes jewelry from seashells. I want to see if they’ll let me design something.”

Tifa nodded thoughtfully. “I might head to the beach, get some sun, maybe swim a little.” Her voice remained breezy, but her eyes lingered on Aerith and Cloud for just a beat too long—curious, unreadable.

Cloud cleared his throat, shifting slightly under their gaze. “I’ll go with Aerith,” he said, the words tumbling out faster than he meant. His voice was almost casual—almost.

Tifa’s smile dimmed just slightly, but she gave a nod. “Alright. Meet back here at sundown?” she said, already half-turning toward the door.

Everyone agreed, and just like that, they scattered—each step away peeling off into their own threads of the day. Cloud stayed by Aerith’s side, watching as the others filtered out, a strange mix of anticipation and guilt fluttering low in his chest.

They stepped out into the sunlit streets together, the warm breeze tugging playfully at Aerith's skirt. Cloud kept his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched as he walked beside her, his eyes flicking warily around the crowds. He was tense—too aware of the shirt clashing against his skin, of every glance he imagined falling on his legs.

Aerith, ever attuned, leaned in just a little closer, her voice light. “You know, you don't have to be on guard today,” she said gently. “It’s just us. You can breathe.”

Cloud gave a half-nod, not trusting himself to speak yet. She didn’t press him.

They had barely rounded the corner before Aerith gave a pleased little sound and darted toward a small stall nestled under a swaying palm frond umbrella. “Here! This is the place I was hoping to find,” she said brightly. A jeweler’s sign hung overhead, seashells and turquoise woven into necklaces that glimmered in the sun. She picked up a bracelet adorned with tiny conch shells and pale pink stones, holding it up to the light. “What do you think, Cloud? Think this would suit me?” she asked, her eyes already twinkling with mischief.

Cloud tilted his head, eyes on the bracelet, then gave a half-hearted nod. "Yeah... it suits you," he said, his voice lacking conviction, gaze already drifting elsewhere.

Aerith watched him a moment, her smile faltering just slightly before she exhaled a soft sigh and gently placed the bracelet back on its stand. "Maybe next time," she murmured, not unkindly, before linking her arm through his and guiding him away with a quiet optimism that tried to bridge the silence between them.

As they moved on, Aerith slipped her arm through Cloud’s with an easy, familiar motion. He tensed for a moment out of reflex, but she leaned closer, her voice soft and playful.

“Relax, Cloud,” she said. “It’s just me and you.”

He gave her a sidelong look, his brow furrowed. “And that’s supposed to make it less weird that I look like a walking postcard?”

She giggled, giving his arm a little squeeze. "You look like a tourist on vacation. Which is exactly what you’re supposed to be." Then, her eyes lit up with sudden inspiration, and she stopped walking, turning to face him. “Wait—I've got it! Let’s make today a girly day!” she declared, beaming.

Cloud raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Girly day?”

Aerith nodded, her eyes bright with the spark of a new idea. “Yep! Sunshine, shopping, sand between our toes, scandalously sweet drinks… Maybe something sparkly?” She gave him a playful look. “Let today be different. Let yourself explore, have fun, maybe even touch that softer side I know is in there. Nobody knows us here—so why not let go a little and see what happens?”

Before he could reply, she spotted a blooming bush nearby and gasped. “Hold still,” she said, plucking a delicate pink flower from the cluster and reaching up to tuck it behind his ear. “There. That’s a start.”

Cloud reached up instinctively, fingers brushing the soft petals. “Aerith…” he started, but the protest died in his throat.

She caught his hand in hers and grinned. “Come on,” she said, giving it an encouraging tug. “We’re kicking off this girly day with coconut cocktails!” She led him toward a vibrant stand shaded by bright umbrellas, where coconuts brimmed with fruity drinks. “Ooh, we have to try these!” Aerith exclaimed.

They each took a coconut filled with a surprisingly strong tropical concoction, sipping through colorful straws as they eased back into the sun-drenched crowd.

Cloud took a sip, his eyes widening. "Whoa, this is... stronger than I thought," he said, glancing at Aerith.

She giggled. "Lightweight," she teased, taking a long sip from her own drink before exhaling a happy, satisfied sigh.

They exchanged a grin. Cloud could already feel the warmth of the alcohol spreading through him, relaxing his muscles and softening the ever-present tension in his shoulders. The fruity sweetness lingered on his tongue, the sun warmed his skin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he almost—almost—felt good.

They walked and drank, then paused by a street performer—a man balancing on a rolling barrel while juggling flaming batons. Aerith clapped excitedly, her eyes wide. "That's amazing! Cloud, do you think you could do that?" she teased, nudging him. Cloud raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. "I'd probably fall flat on my face," he admitted, a small chuckle escaping him. Aerith laughed, her head tilting back, her laughter bright and infectious.

Aerith paused, her gaze turning mischievous as she leaned closer to Cloud, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I've got an idea for us to have a bit of fun," she said, her eyes gleaming. Cloud raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "What kind of fun?" he asked, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Aerith simply winked at him, her fingers tightening around his hand as she began to pull him down a side street. "You'll see," she said, her tone promising adventure. Cloud let himself be led, the curiosity and the thrill of the unknown mixing with the warmth of the drink in his hand, his laughter mingling with Aerith's as they slipped away from the main street, ready for whatever mischief she had planned.

Aerith led Cloud to a small boutique, its windows filled with colorful dresses and beachwear that swayed gently in the breeze. She glanced around furtively, making sure nobody was watching, before giving Cloud a playful wink. "Let's go in," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Cloud hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting to the passersby. He could feel his heart pounding—this wasn't the kind of place he ever imagined stepping into willingly. Dresses, soft fabrics, colors that seemed too gentle for the life he led. Yet, there was something about Aerith's excitement, her mischievous energy, that made him want to follow, to see what she had in store. Maybe it was the way her hand felt in his, so warm and reassuring, or maybe it was just the promise of something different, something that might let him forget the battles and the weight he carried for a little while.

With a deep breath, he nodded and followed her inside. The shop was filled with racks of clothing, the air cool and perfumed with a pleasant floral scent that put him oddly at ease. He looked around, his gaze lingering on the vibrant fabrics and the delicate dresses hanging from the racks. He couldn’t help but feel a strange nervousness in the pit of his stomach—part of him wanted to bolt, to hide, to avoid whatever Aerith had planned. But another part of him, a quieter, more vulnerable part, wanted to stay. He wanted to see himself through Aerith's eyes, to understand why she always looked at him like he was capable of more than just swinging a sword.

It was frightening, and thrilling. A sense of curiosity that pushed him forward, even though his instincts told him to retreat. The scent of flowers in the air, the softness of the colors, the quiet intimacy of the boutique—it was so unlike anything he usually experienced. It was like stepping into another world, a world where he could let his guard down, even if just for a moment.

Aerith immediately began rifling through the racks, her fingers skimming over fabrics, pulling out dresses and holding them up to herself. “What do you think of this one? Or this one?” she asked, her voice filled with excitement. She spun around, holding a deep red dress against her body and striking a playful pose. Cloud couldn't help but smile, his eyes softening at her enthusiasm.

She moved to another rack, holding up a soft yellow sundress, her eyes flicking to Cloud's reaction. He could feel his cheeks heating up, not just from the idea of Aerith in the dress, but from the unspoken suggestion that she wanted to see his opinion so badly. It was oddly flattering, and he found himself nodding without thinking. “That one would look good on you,” he managed to say, his voice a bit rough around the edges, and Aerith's smile broadened.

She beamed at him, then suddenly held a pink floral dress up in front of Cloud's chest, tilting her head as if assessing his potential in it. “And what about you? I think this one would be just perfect,” she said, her eyes dancing with mischief. Cloud's heart skipped a beat, a rush of emotions running through him—embarrassment, hesitation, and, strangely enough, a flutter of something like excitement. The idea of wearing something so delicate and carefree seemed almost laughable, but the warmth in Aerith's gaze made him reconsider, even if only for her.

He cleared his throat, managing a quiet laugh. “I think you’d have more fun in that one,” he said, trying to deflect with a weak grin. But Aerith wasn’t letting him off that easily.

She shook her head, still smiling, and gently took his hand. “Cloud, look around,” she said, gesturing subtly at the quiet boutique. “No one’s watching. No one here knows you. It’s just us.”

Cloud glanced around. She was right—the boutique was nearly empty, the warm hush of air and soft lighting wrapping around them like a gentle bubble. The world outside felt far away, and something about that made him breathe easier.

She playfully shook her head, taking Cloud’s hand in hers. “Oh, come on, just picture it, Cloud,” she said, her voice softening. “You’d look wonderful, you really would.”

The sincerity in her tone made his chest tighten. He looked down at the pink floral dress she’d held up and imagined the fabric brushing over his smooth skin, fluttering in the coastal breeze. Just for a second, he let himself picture it fully, and something in him stirred at the thought.

“Do you really think I would?” he asked quietly, something tentative and raw threading through his voice.

Aerith smiled, not teasing, not playful—just warm. “Yes,” she said. “I really do.”

Cloud felt something ease inside him, like an uncoiling thread. He gave a small smile, soft and a little shy. “Maybe not the pink, though,” he murmured, and stepped toward the racks to browse, his fingers moving more freely now among the pastels and lace.

Aerith's eyes widened in delight. “There you go! That’s the spirit,” she said brightly, moving beside him as he quietly began flipping through the hangers. “We can find something flowy—how about blue, or purple! You looked good in purple back in Midgar. Maybe something with lace, or ribbons, or a little shimmer!”

They browsed the dresses together like a pair of girlfriends, Cloud growing more comfortable with every rack they explored. Aerith floated between styles, holding up one after another with infectious glee—a coral wrap, a lilac slip, a sundress with tiny daisies stitched into the hem. Cloud began to join in, lifting a pale yellow sundress with puffed sleeves and holding it out with a raised brow. “This one looks like something you’d wear on a picnic,” he teased.

Aerith grinned. “Only if it comes with strawberries and lemonade.”

He chuckled, then held up another—a breezy green halter dress with a low back. “Too much?”

“Just enough,” she said, winking. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

They moved together along the rack, the laughter between them growing easier, more natural. Cloud found himself pulling aside a soft lavender piece with tiny ribbon ties at the shoulders and a floaty skirt. “This one’s kind of... nice,” he said, a little surprised at the admission.

Aerith nodded with delight. “See? Told you this would be fun.”

He reached for the dress, lifting it from the rack with surprising care. Turning slightly toward the mirror, he held it against himself, letting his eyes trace the soft shape of it. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine—how the skirt would swirl around his legs, how the ribbons would shine in the sun.

Behind him, Aerith’s voice dropped, sincere and gentle. “That would be perfect on you,” she said. “Beautiful.”

Cloud didn’t look away from the mirror. “I thought the same,” he murmured.

Aerith stepped closer, her voice warm, coaxing. “Do you want to try it on?”

Cloud froze, the dress still held gently against his chest. His reflection stared back at him, quiet and vulnerable. The thought of stepping behind the curtain, slipping into the dress, seeing himself that way—it filled him with a strange, shivering anticipation. He came close. He really thought about it. He wanted to. But as the moment stretched, his breath caught and the fear returned—sharp and certain.

“Not today,” he said at last, the words hushed, his tone laced with apology and something else. Regret, maybe.

Aerith didn’t push. She simply gave his arm a gentle squeeze, her smile soft and steady. “That’s okay. This has already been amazing. You’re allowed to take it at your own pace. I’m just happy we’re here.”

The moment passed with that quiet admission, and together they stepped out of the boutique, the sunlight warm on their faces once more. Aerith looped her arm into Cloud’s again as they continued down the street, her steps light. She looked up at him, pride shining in her eyes.

“You know,” she said, “I’m really proud of you.”

Cloud blinked, surprised—but then he nodded, a quiet sort of pride swelling in his chest. “Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “Me too.”

Aerith grinned. “You almost tried it on. That’s huge.”

He gave a small, sheepish smile. “Almost.”

“Next time,” she said breezily, then added, voice dropping to a playful murmur, “I know you’re not ready for a dress yet... but how about something just for you? Something only you and I will know about.”

Cloud turned to her, suspicious. “Do you mean—”

“Yep!” she said brightly. “Lingerie.” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a soft whisper. "I think you'll like it, Cloud. Besides, it's just between us, right?" She grinned playfully, adding, "And you really need more than one pair of panties!"

He hesitated, his heart pounding at the thought, his face growing warmer by the second, but something about the way Aerith's eyes held his, filled with encouragement and curiosity, made him nod slowly. "Okay," he said, trying to steady his voice, the word coming out almost as a sigh. "Just... just between us."

They walked down the street until Aerith spotted a small lingerie shop. She smiled at the bored-looking girl behind the counter and led Cloud inside, the soft chime of the doorbell announcing their entrance. The shop was mostly empty, the air perfumed with a mix of lavender and rose.

Aerith grinned, taking his hand and leading him toward the back, weaving through racks of delicate lace and soft silk. The gentle clinking of hangers and the subtle fragrance of lavender filled the air. Cloud felt a thrill spark through him—this was something just for the two of them, a secret space where he could let down his guard.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she plucked a pair of pale rose-pink panties from a nearby display, trimmed with scalloped lace, and held them up against his torso with a thoughtful hum. “What do you think, Cloud?” she asked, her voice soft and inviting. “Do you like lace? Or maybe something satin? A bow? Some color? I want to know what feels right to you.”

Cloud flushed but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. It felt surreal, strange, and thrilling all at once. He looked down at the delicate fabric she held against him, then back at her. “I... I don’t know,” he murmured, but it wasn’t a dismissal. His eyes lingered on the lace, curiosity stirring in his chest.

Aerith’s grin widened. “Well, that’s the fun part. Let’s find out.” Without hesitation, she dove into the racks, her fingers dancing over delicate fabrics as she began to pull out item after item. “Let’s try something soft first,” she said, holding up a white pair with tiny embroidered flowers. “And something playful—ooh, these have tiny hearts!”

Cloud blushed, glancing around nervously, his fingers brushing one of the silky hangers. But there was something about Aerith’s joy—so genuine, so infectious—that kept him rooted there beside her. Soon his arms were full of soft silk and delicate lace—lavender, pink, black, even a daring red pair with a velvet bow.

Aerith held each one up against him like she was consulting a mannequin, her eyes narrowing in mock-serious critique. “Hmm, the lavender really brings out your eyes,” she mused. “But this one—” she lifted a blush-toned pair trimmed with tiny pearls“—this one feels like quiet confidence. Very you.”

Cloud managed a nervous chuckle. “You’re not just making this up as you go?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a wink. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Aerith couldn’t keep her grin hidden. Her excitement barely contained, she leaned closer, her whispers growing more animated, her eyes twinkling as she imagined how each pair might feel, how they might look. Cloud could only smile shyly, his cheeks flushed deep pink as he let himself be swept away in her enthusiasm.

Still, his eyes kept drifting back to the blush-toned pair trimmed with tiny pearls. There was something about how delicate they were, how soft and dainty—the contrast of elegance and boldness. He liked the way they looked. He liked imagining how they might feel.

Aerith caught him staring and grinned knowingly. “You like those, huh?”

Cloud hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. They’re... really pretty.”

She smiled, warm and proud. “Delicate but bold, just like you,” she teased, giving him a conspiratorial wink that made his cheeks turn an even deeper shade of pink.

Then, her voice dropped to a playful whisper. “Why don’t you try them on?”

Cloud's eyes widened, and he felt his face grow even hotter. "Aerith, I'm not sure—" he began, but she cut him off with a gentle laugh, her eyes shining with understanding.

"Oh, come on, Cloud. There’s nobody else around—it’s just us back here." Her voice was low and gentle, her eyes scanning the quiet corner of the shop. The racks stood undisturbed around them, no footsteps, no murmured voices. Just the two of them. She stepped closer, placing a warm hand on his arm. "And besides, this isn’t about anyone else—it’s about you. About what makes you feel good." Her tone was tender, but full of certainty. "You deserve to feel amazing, and I want you to try this. Just for you."

Cloud swallowed, his eyes drifting to the lingerie in his hands, the soft silk brushing against his fingers. There was a nervous knot in his stomach, but the warmth in Aerith's eyes made him feel brave, made him feel like it was okay to take this step, to be vulnerable. Slowly, he nodded. "Okay, I'll do it," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the thudding of his heart.

Aerith beamed, her smile lighting up her whole face, pushing him toward the fitting room. "That’s the spirit. I’ll be right outside."

The fitting room was small and quiet, its curtain drawn snug behind him. Cloud took a deep breath, then carefully undressed, slipping the blush-toned panties up his legs. The fabric was cool at first, then warm against his skin, light and snug in a way that sent a flutter through his chest.

He turned to the mirror, breath caught in his throat. The panties sat delicately on his hips, the soft lace brushing against his skin like a whisper. The tiny pearls glimmered faintly in the light, girlish and graceful. He stared at his reflection, unsure of what he expected to feel.

But what he saw wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t shameful. It was... delicate. Beautiful. A vision of himself that felt foreign and familiar all at once. Vulnerable, yes. But also brave. He stood straighter, letting himself look without judgment. His heart pounded, but there was no panic, only the charged hush of something tender unfolding inside him.

He pulled the curtain back slightly. “Aerith?”

She peeked in, and her eyes lit up the moment she saw him. “Oh Cloud, You look beautiful,” she whispered, full of admiration and something deeper—something like awe. Her gaze swept over him, lingering on the delicate lace and tiny pearls. “Those are perfect on you… they’re so… so you.”

Cloud’s breath caught. His cheeks were burning, but he didn’t look away.

Then Aerith tilted her head slightly, a spark of mischief lighting her expression. “There’s just one thing that might complete the look.”

Cloud blinked. “What is it?”

She held up a matching blush-toned bralette, just as dainty as the panties, the cups edged with lace and dotted with tiny pearls. “This,” she said softly. His eyes fixed on it—how pretty it looked, how the tiny pearls caught the light. He imagined how it would feel, how it would look paired with what he was already wearing. And more than anything, he wanted to see it on himself.

“I know,” she began, “you might not be sure, and it’s totally okay if you’re not ready—”

“Yes,” Cloud interrupted, voice steady even as his heart raced. “I want to wear it.”

Aerith’s face lit up, radiant with joy. “You’re going to look so gorgeous in this,” she beamed, stepping into the fitting room with him, her movements careful and respectful.

She helped him slip the bralette on, gently guiding his arms through the straps and settling it over his shoulders before reaching behind him to fasten the delicate clasps. The silk whispered across his smooth skin as the soft cups settled into place.

Cloud turned slowly toward the mirror. He hardly recognized himself—not because the reflection was strange, but because it felt like something inside had finally come into view. The matching set clung to him with gentle grace, the pearls winking like tiny secrets. It was soft and light and beautiful—and it felt right.

“I…” he breathed, voice barely a whisper. “I love it.”

“You should,” Aerith said, her voice warm and proud. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Cloud stood a little taller, unable to keep a small, bashful smile off his lips. He lifted a hand to adjust the strap on his shoulder and caught his own reflection again. Emboldened, he shifted his hips slightly, striking a playful pose.

Aerith laughed, delighted. “Oh my god, look at you!”

Cloud laughed too—light, unguarded. “So we’re definitely getting this set then?”

“Obviously,” she grinned. “Want to try any more? I can get you the rest if you’re up for it." Cloud hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding, but he found himself nodding. The excitement in her eyes, the warmth of her smile—it was impossible to say no. "Yeah," he said quietly, a small, shy smile forming. "I really do."

Aerith slipped out, leaving Cloud alone with his thoughts. He traced the lace along his body, feeling the thrill and strange comfort of the lingerie. Moments later, Aerith returned, her arms full of more delicate bras—lavender, pink, black—matching all the panties she'd picked up. She smiled brightly, her eyes full of excitement.

"Let's try these too," she whispered, handing them to Cloud. He swallowed, but there was a look in her eyes that pushed his hesitation aside. He took the bras from her and began to try each one, feeling how the different colors and styles looked on him. Aerith’s smile was constant, her encouragement never wavering.

The matching sets made Cloud feel even more complete, as if he was uncovering a new layer of himself—one that he hadn't realized he needed. Aerith adjusted the straps for him, making small comments about how each one suited him differently. They exchanged whispers, the intimacy of the space enveloping them.

He let himself savor the sensation—the soft lace, Aerith's affectionate smile, the thrill of finally allowing himself to be seen, to be vulnerable, without fear or judgment. When he tried on the black set with the daring red bows, Aerith's eyes widened, and she let out an exaggerated, playful whistle. Cloud blushed deeply, the heat rushing to his cheeks as he said, "Shhh!" in an embarrassed whisper, but Aerith's laughter and boundless enthusiasm were infectious. He couldn't help but smile, a feeling of warmth spreading through him. Besides, he had to admit—he did look good. It was a feeling of freedom unlike anything he had known before, like stepping into a new world where he could simply be himself.

As he changed out of the final set, folding the delicate fabrics carefully, Aerith looked at him with that mischievous glint again. “You’ve tried them all,” she said. “And you looked incredible in every one. But... I have one more idea, if you’re up for it.”

Cloud met her eyes, his heart fluttering. After everything they’d shared, he didn’t hesitate.

“I’m up for it,” he said, his voice quiet but sure.

Aerith’s smile deepened. “Good. Wait here.”

She slipped out of the fitting room, leaving Cloud standing in the quiet. He shifted his weight, feeling the cool satin still snug on his body, the air brushing across his skin. Time seemed to stretch in her absence—longer than it probably was—as he stood there in his familiar panties, anticipation humming in his chest.

Just when the silence began to feel too heavy, the curtain rustled, and Aerith reappeared. She pushed through with a triumphant grin, holding something behind her back.

When she revealed it, Cloud’s eyes widened—a blush-pink bikini with dainty ribbon ties and a sheer matching sarong, soft and floaty, just a touch different from Aerith’s own. Hers had floral patterns, where this one shimmered faintly with tiny sequins in the light. “Thought maybe we could coordinate,” she said, eyes sparkling. “What do you think?”

Cloud stared. “What... wear this? Today?”

Aerith grinned, holding the set out. “Well, I’m not expecting you to walk out in it,” she said gently. “But how about you wear it under your clothes? I’ll carry the sarong. We’ll see where the day takes us.”

He hesitated, eyes shifting between the bikini and her face.

“Just try it on,” she encouraged softly. “See what you think.”

Cloud nodded, the nerves in his stomach fluttering again—but he trusted her. He took the bikini, and she stepped in to help, slipping the top over his shoulders, tying it behind his neck and back, then guiding him as he stepped into the bottoms. She adjusted the sides carefully, smoothing the ribbons into neat little bows.

He turned to the mirror.

The shimmer of the sequins caught the light as he moved, and the pale pink of the fabric made his skin look soft and warm. He looked... carefree. Feminine. The matching bows, the way the fabric hugged his form—it wasn’t just pretty. It was right.

Aerith watched his expression change and smiled. “You’re glowing,” she whispered.

Cloud touched the ribbon tie at his hip. “It feels... incredible.”

“And you look it,” she said. “Absolutely stunning.”

Cloud’s eyes stayed on the mirror, his fingers grazing the sequined fabric at his hip. He turned slightly, taking in the way the bikini fit him, the subtle sparkle, the soft curve of his form. It felt too good to take off.

“You should keep it on,” Aerith said gently, as though she was reading his mind. “You can hide it under your clothes. No one will know but us.”

He hesitated, but it didn’t take much convincing. He gave her a small nod. “Okay.”

She beamed. “I’ll carry the sarong,” she said, already folding it neatly over her arm. “We’ll see where the day takes us.”

Cloud dressed carefully, layering his usual clothes over the bikini. Each motion was deliberate, reverent—he didn’t want to lose the sensation of the soft fabric against his skin, the gentle pressure of the bikini top and the secret sparkle hidden beneath his clothes. The shimmer felt like a promise only he and Aerith shared, a quiet spark of boldness.

As he fastened his shirt and smoothed his fingers over the seams of his shorts, he caught his reflection one last time. The bikini was hidden completely, but he could still feel it—cool, close, and undeniably his. The curve of his lips betrayed a smile—shy, but glowing with a private confidence. He looked like someone carrying a beautiful secret, and he felt it, too.

As they approached the counter, the bored-looking girl glanced up, her eyes widening slightly at the pile of lingerie they were buying. With a small smile, she raised an eyebrow at Cloud and said, "You're really spoiling her, huh?" Aerith giggled, squeezing Cloud's arm playfully as she handed the tags for the bikini to the girl behind the counter. “This one’s being worn out,” she said with a wink.

Cloud’s face flushed a light pink with a sheepish smile, nerves prickling under his skin—but to his surprise, the girl behind the counter didn’t even blink. She simply assumed Aerith was wearing it, scanned the tags, and rang them up without a hint of judgment.

They left the lingerie store with big smiles, bags full of delicate lace and silks, and a significantly lighter purse. As they walked down the sunny street, Aerith couldn't stop giggling, her arm linked through Cloud's. Cloud found himself laughing too, a carefree sound that felt like a breath of fresh air. They picked up another couple of coconut drinks from the vendor they had visited earlier, the chill of the fruity concoction a pleasant contrast to the warmth of the day.

The mood between them was light and playful, each sip of the coconut drinks loosening them further, their laughter echoing through the bustling streets. Aerith took a long sip, looking at Cloud with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Here's to us, our little adventure," she said, raising her coconut to toast. Cloud clinked his drink gently against hers, the smile on his face reaching his eyes. "To us," he replied, feeling a deep sense of camaraderie and joy, as if nothing else mattered in that moment.

As they passed a jeweler's, Aerith tugged Cloud towards the window, her eyes catching on something that sparkled under the soft light. "Come on, while we're in the mood, just a little something to make you sparkle," she said with a playful wink, her eyes glinting with excitement and mischief.

Cloud hesitated, his gaze following hers to the small, shining earrings displayed in the window. There was something infectious in her excitement, an energy that was impossible to resist. Slowly, he nodded, a small smile forming on his lips as he allowed her to lead him inside. He followed her into the shop, his heart pounding with both nerves and anticipation.

Aerith asked the jeweler for the earrings, and as he started to pass them to her, Cloud interjected, "Actually, they're for me." The jeweler raised an eyebrow, pausing for a moment before asking, "Do you want your ears pierced then?" Before Cloud could reconsider or hesitate, Aerith nodded eagerly, her smile wide and confident. "He does," she said, her voice brimming with certainty, sealing the decision for him before he could entertain any second thoughts.

The jeweler worked quickly. Cloud sat in the tall stool, tense at first, his hands curled tightly in his lap. The light pressure of the needle was only a brief sting, but it still made him flinch. Aerith immediately leaned in, her hand sliding gently over his. “You’re doing great,” she whispered, her tone low and full of encouragement.

When the studs were in—small diamante ones that sparkled with a cool, clean light—Cloud blinked at his reflection. He tilted his head slightly, watching how the light caught on the tiny crystals.

Aerith's breath caught, her eyes going soft and awestruck. “They look amazing on you,” she said, the words quiet and reverent. “Like they were always meant to be there.”

Something stirred inside him at that. Not just her words, but the way she looked at him—like she saw someone beautiful, someone real.

Cloud’s lips curved into a slow, bashful smile. The tension in his shoulders loosened. “I guess I do sparkle a bit now, don’t I?” he said.

Aerith giggled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “More than a bit. You look radiant.”

They left the jeweler's, the warm afternoon sun catching on the fresh studs in his ears. Cloud noticed how the light made them shine with every step he took, and couldn’t help but smile. It felt bold. It felt right.

Aerith pointed at the way they sparkled and bumped her shoulder against his. They lingered through the market stalls, the same playful energy still alive between them. Soon, they came across a stall selling hats and sunglasses. Aerith insisted on trying nearly everything, holding up different styles and posing dramatically in the mirror. She placed a wide-brimmed sun hat on Cloud's head, tilting it just so, before handing him a pair of oversized pink heart-shaped sunglasses.

Cloud hesitated for a moment—but then he slid them on. The world turned soft and rose-tinted behind the lenses, and Aerith clapped her hands together, delighted. “You look absolutely adorable!” she declared, pulling out her phone and snapping a quick picture before he could protest.

Cloud rolled his eyes with exaggerated exasperation, but the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed him. He was enjoying this—her delight, their closeness, the silliness of it all.

Cloud rolled his eyes playfully, but the grin on his face was impossible to hide. They tried on more hats—straw fedoras, flower-adorned visors, and even a pirate captain hat that Aerith wore while pretending to give Cloud orders. Their laughter echoed through the streets, carefree and genuine, as they enjoyed the rest of their afternoon, soaking in the sun and each other's company.

“One last stop,” Aerith said, linking her arm through his again and steering him gently down a familiar path. Cloud followed her without question, a warmth still humming under his skin.

She brought them back to the seashell jewelry stall from that morning. With a smile, she picked up the same bracelet she had admired earlier—delicate and glinting, adorned with tiny conch shells and pale pink stones.

“So,” she said, holding it up against the light, “what do you think now?”

Cloud looked at it—really looked this time—and felt something stir. This morning, he brushed it off, still caught in the net of his own discomfort. But now, as the late afternoon light danced over the delicate shells and soft pink stones, he saw something else.

“It’s cute,” Cloud said, his voice airy, the corners of his mouth lifting into a bright, genuine smile. “It’ll look perfect with your bikini.” His voice was soft but steady, filled with a confidence that had been building all day.

Aerith’s eyes sparkled. “That’s what I thought.” Without hesitating, she picked up a second bracelet and brought them both to the vendor. “We’ll take two,” she said, clearly delighted. “One for each of us.”

Cloud watched her, heart fluttering, a new kind of joy blooming in his chest as she tied it around her wrist, her fingers brushing lightly against his skin. "Now we match," she said with a grin, fastening hers with a flourish. Cloud looked down at the shells and smiled again, the feeling inside him soft and steady.

They wandered through the marketplace hand in hand, the sun now climbing high and golden above them. Stalls filled with sizzling food and tropical spices lined the street, and the scent of grilled seafood and sweet fruit wafted around them like a warm breeze.

“We should eat,” Aerith said, tugging on Cloud’s hand with a smile.

He nodded, his stomach rumbling in agreement. They picked up grilled skewers of shrimp and pineapple, a basket of coconut rice wrapped in banana leaves, and a tall bottle of chilled rum punch, condensation beading on the glass. Aerith cradled the food carefully in her arms, while Cloud took charge of the drink, the bottle swinging lightly from one hand as he followed her with a bemused smile. There was a playful skip in her step, and he couldn’t help but match her rhythm.

“I thought we were eating,” Cloud said, glancing at the food in her hands. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” she said with a wink.

They followed a winding path that led away from the bustle of Costa del Sol, the sound of waves growing louder with every step. Eventually, they reached a narrow footpath flanked by overgrown grass and scattered wildflowers. It dipped between two rocky ridges and opened into a small, hidden cove—an untouched beach tucked between cliffs, shielded from the world.

Cloud stood still at the edge of the cove, eyes fixed on the gentle surf. The sand stretched out in front of him like a quiet promise—pale and warm, soft beneath his boots. The waves lapped against the shore in slow, soothing pulses. No footprints. No sounds but the wind and sea. Not a soul in sight.

Aerith exhaled with satisfaction, hands on her hips as she took it all in. “Perfect,” she declared with a smile that seemed to light the air around her.

They found a patch of shade beneath a leaning palm, setting their food and drink on a woven blanket. Aerith stretched her arms high, hair catching the breeze, then turned to him with a grin that told him she’d been waiting for this moment all day.

“Well?” she said, lifting a brow.

“Well what?” Cloud replied, his tone half-curious, half-guarded. There was a flicker of something behind his eyes—confusion, maybe, or wonder—but he wasn’t sure what he was being asked.

“There’s no one here,” Aerith said, stepping in closer. “It’s just us. No eyes, no judgment. Just you, me, and the sun.”

Then, without fanfare, she unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off her shoulders, revealing her soft pink bikini underneath. It matched his own almost exactly—delicate, light, lovely. Her floral sarong fluttered around her hips, the breeze catching its edge like it was part of her.

“Come on,” she said, smile tilting into something soft and sure. “I've showed you mine..."

Cloud’s hand hovered near his shirt buttons. The idea of taking it off—even here—still made his chest flutter with nerves. He glanced around, scanning the secluded cove again. There really was no one else. Just the gentle surf, the warm sand, the rustle of palm leaves—and Aerith, smiling patiently. Could he really do this? Could he let go, just a little?

“Just try it,” Aerith said gently, her voice warm and reassuring. “Not for anyone else—just for you. I think once you feel it, once you see yourself the way I do… you’ll understand. You’ll like it. Maybe even love it.”

A long breath. The hush of wind over sand filled the silence between them. Cloud looked at her again, her eyes steady and sure, then back out at the sea. The sunlight danced on the surface of the water like a promise, golden and gentle. The warmth on his skin, the soft breeze playing with his hair, the quiet invitation in her voice—all of it wrapped around him like something safe. Something free. It was enough.

“Okay,” he murmured, the word light as the breeze.

Before he could second guess himself, Cloud unfastened his shirt with shaking fingers and slipped it off. The sun kissed his bare shoulders as he pulled the clingy undershirt over his head, revealing the blush-pink bikini beneath—an exact match to Aerith’s, down to the dainty ribbon ties.

The cool air hit his skin all at once, and his heart thudded in his chest as he fumbled with his shorts. They slid down his legs, and the matching bikini bottoms came into view, the soft bows at the hips fluttering gently in the breeze. He felt exposed in a way he never had before—the sunlight on his skin, the brush of air over his thighs, the snugness of the fabric drawing his attention to every part of himself he usually tried to ignore. His cheeks burned. He was keenly aware of his bulge, of how feminine and not-feminine he felt all at once.

Aerith, with wordless grace, stepped forward and offered him the sequined sarong. Gratefully, Cloud took it and wrapped it around his hips, tying it low with slightly trembling hands. The fabric danced around his legs, catching the light.

His heart raced. He was outside, in a bikini and a sarong, the sea before him, the sun warming his skin—and he felt incredible. Scared, thrilled, bare... and freer than he could ever remember feeling.

Aerith was staring at him, eyes wide with admiration. “You look incredible,” she said softly.

His blush deepened, but he didn’t shrink from it. He met her gaze and smiled. “I feel it,” he admitted, voice quiet but sure.

Aerith’s grin turned playful. “Hang on. Maybe one finishing touch.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small tube of pink lipstick. She applied it to her own lips with practiced ease, then held it up with a raised brow and a teasing smile.

Cloud hesitated for only a second before nodding.

She stepped closer and gently applied the lipstick to his lips, slow and precise, her touch light as a breeze. When she finished, she leaned back, eyes sparkling. “There,” she whispered, voice full of delight. “Oh—you look so pretty. You have to see yourself.”

She pulled out her phone and held it up. “Smile.”

Cloud leaned in beside her without thinking, and she snapped the photo.

When he looked at the screen, he barely recognized himself. His hair was tousled just so, soft and windblown, the flower Aerith had tucked behind his ear still there—he’d completely forgotten. His lips were a gentle pink, freshly glossed, and slightly parted in surprise. His skin glowed in the afternoon sun, warm and smooth. The blush-pink bikini hugged his body like it belonged there, dainty ribbon ties catching the breeze.

Standing beside Aerith, both of them happy, their matching swimsuits catching the sun, they looked like two girls on vacation—bright, radiant, completely themselves. And for a moment, staring at the photo, Cloud didn’t feel like he was pretending or playing dress-up. For a moment, it felt effortless. Natural.

For a moment, it felt real.

And more than anything, it felt right.

Without thinking, Cloud turned and wrapped his arms around Aerith, holding her tightly. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you so much.”

Aerith hugged him back just as tightly. “You don’t have to thank me,” she said gently. “I’m just so happy you’re happy.”

“I am,” he said, pulling back slightly to look at her. “But… are you sure we’ll be alone out here?”

She gave him a confident smile. “I’m sure. This place is tucked away—no one ever comes here. It’s just us, Cloud. No expectations. No pressure.”

He hesitated only a breath longer before nodding. “Okay. I want to enjoy it.”

Aerith squeezed his hand. “That’s the spirit. This moment’s just for you. Let that part of you breathe, be free.”

And he did. The breeze played with their hair, the sea whispered nearby, and for that perfect, suspended afternoon, Cloud let himself just be.

They settled down on the blanket, side by side, the sun warming their skin as they unwrapped their lunch. The food tasted better under the open sky—like sunshine and salt had made everything sweeter. They talked between bites, drifting from old memories to silly observations about the clouds and the shapes they saw in them. Every now and then, a sip of rum punch brought out a round of giggles, easy and bright, like they’d known each other forever.

Cloud let his voice soften, his laughter rise freely. He tucked his legs beneath him, sarong fluttering around his calves, the fabric brushing gently against his skin. His hands moved expressively as he talked, his posture loose and comfortable. With each passing moment, it was easier to forget the walls he usually carried around with him. Here, on this quiet stretch of beach, with Aerith beside him and the sea just ahead, it was safe to be soft.

When the food was gone, they stretched out on the warm sand, side by side, the hush of waves lapping gently nearby. Cloud let his head rest back, the sun kissing his face. He’d forgotten how he was dressed, how he looked—everything about it felt easy now, natural. Aerith reached over and found his hand, her fingers twining with his like it was the most natural thing in the world—and he held on without hesitation, without fear. Just warmth, and her hand in his.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the waves in orange and rose. Hours had passed without either of them noticing—just lying there in their bikinis; drinking, dozing, talking, laughing. Cloud had never felt so unburdened, so weightless. The sarong fluttered softly at his hips, the salty air wrapping around him like a second skin.

And for a while, the world was silent but for the sea, and it felt like theirs alone.

Eventually, Aerith sat up, brushing the sand from her hands. “We’d best be getting back,” she said with a soft smile. “The others will start wondering where we are.”

Cloud slowly sat up beside her, stretching his arms high overhead. His back arched, the sun warming his skin—and as he moved, he felt the soft tug of his bikini straps slide against his shoulders. The sarong shifted at his hips, and he blinked, startled by the sudden, intimate awareness of what he was wearing.

“You know,” Aerith said, her voice soft, almost lost in the sound of the waves, her eyes glancing up at him with an affectionate twinkle, “I think you’re starting to enjoy this a little more than you’d care to admit.”

Cloud looked across at her, her hair glowing in the sinking sun, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a murmur, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the setting sun.

“Good,” she said, her eyes meeting his, shining with something tender, something that made his breath catch. “Because I love seeing you like this.”

Then he glanced down—and froze. His breath caught. “Oh no,” he muttered, eyes wide.

Aerith turned to him—and burst out laughing. There, clear against his skin, were tan lines. Soft and distinct, curved perfectly along the edges of his bikini top.

“Oh no,” he groaned again, his voice rising in panic. “I should never have done this. How am I going to hide these? Everyone’s going to know—what if they already suspect? I’m—”

Suddenly, Aerith leaned in and kissed him—soft at first, but full of certainty, no hesitation in the way her lips pressed against his.

His breath caught, the words falling away as Aerith leaned in deeper. The kiss wasn’t quick—it was sure, slow, and utterly in her control. He tensed for a heartbeat, then melted into it, his lips parting instinctively, matching her rhythm. The soft glide of their lipstick between them, the taste of salt and fruit and rum—it was dizzying. It was amazing.

By the time she pulled away, his eyes were closed and his cheeks flushed. He opened them slowly, blinking up at her in dazed wonder, the heat of the kiss still singing on his lips.

“There,” Aerith said, a little breathless. “That shut you up.”

Cloud stammered, flustered, his fingers fluttering in the air like they might catch hold of a coherent thought. “I—um—Aerith—”

“You’re so pretty when you’re all flustered.” She giggled and leaned in close again, brushing a lock of hair from his face. “Don’t worry about the tan lines. They won’t last long—and honestly? I kind of love them.”

She let that hang for a beat before her tone softened. “We really do need to get back though...” With a fond smile, she reached up and gently dabbed at the corners of his mouth, wiping away the last traces of his lipstick. “We’d best get rid of this too—and get you back into your clothes.”

Cloud blinked, still catching up. “Shouldn’t we... talk about this?”

Aerith smiled, already beginning to stand. “Oh, we will. Eventually.” Her voice shifted—playful, but honest. “First, I need to walk this off… before I do something even more impulsive.” She glanced back at him, her expression softened by something almost shy. “It’s a little dangerous how good you look all soft and sun-kissed. You’ve got me thinking about things I never expected.”

She winked. “There’s plenty more exploring to do—for both of us.” And with that, she sauntered off, hips swaying with deliberate ease.

Cloud watched her go, stunned into silence. Then he looked down at himself. At the ribbons still tied at his hips, the way the sunset glinted off the sequins of his sarong, the sea breeze still teasing against his skin. His eyes lingered there for a long moment. He was going to miss this—this moment, the bikini, the breeze, the quiet joy of being seen—and more than seen—by Aerith. All of it.

He sighed and untied his sarong, letting it fall in a soft swirl at his feet. Then, slowly, he began to dress over the bikini. As he pulled his shirt on over the top, the fabric brushing lightly across the ribbons at his shoulders, he couldn’t stop thinking about how different everything felt. Not just the day. Not just Aerith. But him. The way he’d moved, the way he’d smiled, the way he’d looked—and the way he’d felt. Like someone who wasn’t afraid. Someone beautiful. Someone he hadn’t let himself be until now.

The feeling lingered even as the sun dipped lower behind the cliffs, and Cloud knew: something had changed. Something important. And he wasn’t in any hurry to go back.

Chapter Text

The days that followed Costa del Sol were more transformative than Cloud had anticipated, but not in the ways he had hoped. The journey to Corel was laced with unspoken tension—not just from the looming confrontation that awaited them, but within the group itself. The path was long, harsh, and offered no space for softness, no pause for the fleeting joy he had felt on the beach with Aerith. The rugged terrain, the oppressive heat, and the weight of silence wore on him. He found no time to indulge in the femininity that was blossoming inside him—no moments to embrace whisper of silk against his skin, no quiet instants to explore what made him feel more whole.

Worse still, he and Aerith hadn’t really had a chance to spend time together. To talk.  There had been sidelong glances, small smiles, and the same easy, familiar camaraderie—but that was all. They were still friendly, still warm with one another, and Aerith remained as supportive and gently understanding as ever... But the journey had been relentless, and there hadn't been a moment to pause, to be alone together, to untangle what had passed between them. No quiet night beneath the stars, no chance for a whispered confession or a shared look that said more than words could.

The kiss lingered in Cloud’s mind like a half-finished thought, unanswered and unaddressed. There had been no follow-up, no indication that it would—or should—happen again. Aerith didn’t seem awkward or distant, just… unchanged, as though that kiss had been something she had embraced without expectation. And Cloud couldn’t help but wonder if it had just been the moment—the drinks, the sun, the way he looked in that bikini. A spark born of laughter and warmth, nothing more.

As they approached the remnants of Barrett's hometown, the scenery shifted to one of devastation—a haunting reminder of the past. The landscape was barren, a place that had once held life now reduced to ash and debris. Barrett's expression hardened, and the weight of guilt sat heavily on his broad shoulders as the group moved through the broken landscape.

The Gold Saucer rose from the ruins like a bizarre beacon of artificial joy, its colors almost offensive against the backdrop of destruction. Barrett's eyes darkened as they approached, his clenched fists betraying the memories he was fighting to contain. But within the bounds of this colorful amusement park, Barrett was confronted by the darkest part of his past—Dyne. The man who once shared his dreams now stood before him, twisted by rage and sorrow. The battle that unfolded was fierce, raw with emotion, but it was the words exchanged between them that left the deepest wounds. Dyne’s despair was palpable, his bitterness tangible in every motion. As they fought, Cloud realized that Barrett was facing a ghost of what he could have become—a man consumed by vengeance, unable to move on from the regrets of the past. It was like looking into a cracked mirror, a version of himself lost to darkness.

Cloud watched as the battle ended, a lingering thought gnawing at him. Was he being selfish by focusing on his own changes? The memory of that day in Costa del Sol clung to him like sea salt on skin. Shopping with Aerith, laughing over drinks, sitting on that sunlit beach in a bikini with her hand in his, both of them warm and loose with summer indulgence—it had felt like something precious. Carefree. Unburdened.

But now, with the weight of so much bearing down on them, he found himself questioning it. Was there room for that kind of frivolity, for that softness, in a world unraveling at the seams? Should there be time for moments like that, when there was so much pain and responsibility pressing in on all sides? He felt torn, caught between the demands of duty and the fragile, radiant feeling that had begun to bloom inside him when he allowed himself to be free, to be whole.

Later that night, the group gathered around a campfire, the flickering flames casting long shadows on their tired faces. Barrett sat in silence, his gaze locked on the fire, his broad shoulders sagging beneath the weight of the day. Tifa watched him quietly for a moment before leaning in, her voice soft but steady.

"You did the right thing today, Barrett," she said.

Barrett looked over at her, meeting her eyes. He gave a slow nod, his voice rough when he answered. "Yeah. I know I did." He paused, then added, more quietly, "But knowin’ don’t make it any easier. Sometimes doin' the right thing... feels like you're breakin’ somethin’ inside you."

Tifa’s gaze didn’t waver. Her voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it. "But that’s what you’ve got to do—make the hard choices to do what’s right. Even when it hurts. Even when it costs you. You did that today, Barrett. You made the call no one else could, and you didn’t flinch. That matters."

Barrett looked at her, the firelight glinting in his eyes. He gave a small, tired smile. "You always know what to say, Tifa. Don’t know how you do it, but... thanks."

Cloud, who had been listening quietly, glanced up. His voice was low, thoughtful, and tinged with hesitation. "How do you even know what the right thing is?"

Barrett turned his gaze to Cloud, his expression softening. "I didn't, at first," he admitted. "But I knew I had to be true to myself. I'm a father first, Cloud. I had to fight for Marlene. I couldn't let myself live with regrets—doin' what's best for my little girl, no matter what, that's what I had to do. No regrets, not now, not ever."

Cloud nodded, digesting Barrett's words, then glanced at Tifa. "What about you, Tifa? What does doing the right thing mean for you?"

Tifa paused, her eyes reflecting the firelight as she considered his question. "For me, it's about protecting what's important to me. I want—no, I need—to be stronger, not just for myself, but for all of you. I want to be someone who can stand her ground, who can protect the people she cares about. I need to be someone all of you can rely on."

Cloud looked down, his fingers toying with a loose thread on his sleeve. What was the right thing for him? What mattered most?

He thought about the journey they had been on—the battles, the bloodshed, the sacrifices—but also the small, transformative moments in between. The ones where he'd felt free. The ones that had awakened something in him. Maybe, for him, doing the right thing meant not just fighting for the planet, but fighting for himself too. Maybe it meant continuing to explore the femininity he’d begun to discover—not pushing it aside, but nurturing it. Letting it grow.

He could still be the warrior they needed. He was strong, capable. But that wasn't all he was. He didn’t want to hide behind that mask anymore. He wanted to feel beautiful sometimes. He wanted to find softness in a world full of sharp edges. And maybe—especially now—that mattered more than ever. Finding those small pockets of joy, of truth, of happiness... that wasn’t weakness. That was true strength.

He looked up at his companions, his voice soft but steady. "I'm still figuring out what's right for me," he said. "What it means to be true to myself. But I know I want to do it—I have to. I don’t want to live with regrets."

Tifa gave him a soft, almost wistful smile. "It's okay not to know what the right thing is," she said. "But I hope you figure it out, Cloud..."

Barrett let out a deep breath, his posture relaxing slightly. "Damn right," he grumbled, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "We all got our battles to fight. Just gotta make sure we fight 'em our way."

Cloud looked at Tifa, wondering—what did she want from him, really? Could she ever accept the part of him he was beginning to uncover, the softness he’d only recently begun to show? He didn’t know. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she didn’t even see it. But he couldn’t let that stop him. Then his gaze shifted to Barrett, and the answer felt clearer. He had to do it his way.

Even if Tifa couldn’t fully understand, even if others might never see the whole picture, he had to be true to himself. His fight was different. It was a fight to understand who he really was—to honor and embrace the feminine self that was taking root inside him. To be open to it. To live without shame or regret. To be honest about the parts of himself he was learning to love.

The campfire crackled, the silence that followed filled with an unspoken understanding between them. In that moment, beneath the starlit sky, they knew they were in this together—each of them finding their own path forward, their struggles distinct yet shared in the way only true companions could understand.

—

Cloud woke the next morning to the dry hush of wind shifting over sand and the crackle of firewood. Peeking out from the flap of the tent, he was struck by how clean the desert air felt—crisp and cool in the early light, the rising sun casting long golden shadows across the dunes. Yesterday's weight was still there, but it seemed a little lighter, as if some part of it had been left behind with the night. The others were already up and moving, voices carrying easily through the stillness as they worked to prepare breakfast. The smell of strong coffee and spiced rations drifted on the air, giving the morning an unexpected warmth.

He pulled his head back inside and took a breath. The peace outside had settled in him too. Quietly, he opened his pack and pushed past the gear until his fingers brushed the delicate fabrics he had kept tucked away since Costa del Sol. He hesitated for only a moment before pulling out the blush-pink set—the one with the little pearl details sewn along the trim. He ran his fingers over the smooth fabric, a small smile touching his lips.

He slipped the panties on first, savoring the way the silk hugged his skin. Then, with a quiet breath, he made a decision and reached for the matching bralette. It fit snugly, the cool fabric clinging to his chest just right. There was a gentle pressure he hadn’t expected—it made him feel supported, contained in a way that was both physical and emotional. The silk against his nipples, the way the straps hugged his shoulders—he loved it. It gave his posture purpose, made every breath feel more intentional.

He shifted, admiring the gentle sparkle of the pearls, the way they caught the morning light filtering through the tent. He looked down at himself, at the soft lines, the shimmer, the subtle definition the bralette gave him. The sensation of being wrapped in something beautiful wasn’t just comforting—it was affirming. This was more than a garment. It was a quiet declaration of identity. He knew then, quietly and surely, that he would be doing this every day. It felt right. It felt like part of him—undeniable now. And he wasn’t going to hide from it anymore.

He pulled on his old fatigues over the lingerie, the familiar fabric rougher against the silk beneath. It was still his secret, for now. He wasn’t ready to share it, not yet. There was still that voice in his head, still the fear of what people—what Tifa—might think. But even if he couldn’t be open with it yet, he could live it. Embrace it. No more burying it away. No regrets.

When he stepped out of the tent, the warmth of the morning met him like a quiet welcome. The group was gathered around the fire, chatting easily. Aerith was discussing rations with Barrett, Tifa was stirring something in a pot, and Red XIII lay nearby with his eyes half-closed, absorbing the sun.

Aerith looked up first. Her eyes found him, and a slow, knowing smile curled on her lips. Cloud instinctively glanced down at himself, one hand brushing self-consciously over his chest, checking to make sure the bralette wasn’t showing through his fatigues. It wasn’t—but still, the way she looked at him made him feel like she knew anyway.

He took a breath and walked over to join the others. Cait Sith piped up in a cheery voice, “Mornin’, sunshine!”

Cait Sith and his fortune-telling moogle had joined the party at the Gold Saucer, an unusual addition to their already unconventional group. Barrett had been quick to dismiss him as "just a Shinra toy," his gruff voice thick with skepticism. Red XIII eyed Cait Sith curiously, his head tilting as though trying to puzzle out this strange newcomer. And yet, despite the initial hesitance, Cait Sith's antics brought a surprising levity to the group. After all they had endured, the unexpected humor and lightness he provided were a welcome reprieve—a small moment of laughter amidst their struggles. His bumbling, almost cartoonish behavior contrasted sharply with the weight of their mission, and that contrast was oddly refreshing. He seemed determined to make them smile, and even Barrett couldn't hold back the occasional chuckle, though he always tried to hide it behind a grumble.

But there was something more to Cait Sith, something Cloud couldn’t quite put his finger on. He remembered the first time they'd met in the Saucer—how Cait Sith had offered him a fortune, delivered in that playful, singsong voice: “ What you pursue will be yours. But you will lose something dear. ” It had struck him, lingered in the back of his mind long after the fortune was given. He was pursuing something now—a sense of self, of truth. He was starting to embrace the person he was discovering beneath the layers of expectation and armor. But what would he lose in the process? Would it be Tifa? Could he take that risk?

He was probably overthinking it. It was likely the same vague, dramatic line Cait Sith gave everyone. And yet... there was something about the way the little cat would sometimes go quiet, just for a moment, watching him with those wide, unblinking eyes before sparking back to life with a joke or a bounce. Cloud couldn’t shake the feeling that Cait Sith knew more than he let on.

Still, whatever his mystery, he was part of the team now. Cloud approached the fire and gave Cait Sith a small nod. "Sleep well? Or do cats not need sleep?"

Cait Sith grinned, swaying side to side. "Sleep is for the unimaginative, my friend! I dream while I'm awake."

Tifa rolled her eyes playfully from the other side of the fire. "That explains a lot."

Barrett grunted. "Long as he pulls his weight."

Cloud smirked. "He’s already pulling laughs, I’ll give him that."

Their little circle of warmth buzzed with quiet energy, the fire crackling, coffee steaming, the weight of the world—just for this moment—feeling a little lighter as their journey continued across the desert.

—

They'd set up camp after a long, sweltering day crossing the desert, the heat lingering in their bones even as night fell and the temperature dropped. The sand still radiated with the sun’s memory, and the wind whispered over the dunes, stirring up eddies of dust around the tents. The stars above were sharp and clear, scattered across the black sky like shards of glass. Their path to Cosmo Canyon was still ahead, a line drawn over a harsh and unforgiving land, but for now the world seemed to pause with them, just for a night.

Cloud tagged Barrett in for the next watch, giving the man a nod before trudging back toward the dim glow of the fire. The others had already turned in for the night, tents zipped shut, the soft sounds of sleep settling over the camp.

Only Aerith was still awake, sitting close to the embers with her knees pulled up to her chest in the fading firelight, a tiny bottle of nail polish in one hand, carefully painting her toenails with quiet focus. Her tongue stuck out slightly in concentration, lips pursed, brows drawn together.

Cloud's breath hitched slightly. They hadn’t been alone together since the beach.

"Hey," he said quietly as he approached.

"Hey, you," she replied with a soft smile, not looking up right away as she blew gently on her toes.

They settled into a quiet, easy silence, the fire crackling between them like a shared secret.

"It’s been a rough few days," Cloud said at last, his voice low.

Aerith nodded, still focused. "Yeah. But sometimes... the hard times make us appreciate the good ones all the more." She glanced up at him, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips. It was like she always knew what he was thinking before he did.

Cloud watched her for a moment, the quiet intimacy of the scene settling around him like a blanket. He took a slow breath. "I've been thinking," he said. "About Corel. About what happened to Dyne. What Barrett went through... what he had to do. It made me realize—I can’t keep putting parts of myself on hold. Not anymore. I want to live true to who I am. Even if I’m still figuring out exactly what that looks like." He paused, his breath steady now. "No regrets."

Aerith looked up then, her face lighting with delight. "That’s wonderful, Cloud. I was hoping you'd keep going, keep leaning into it. You've made such big steps already."

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully. "And... I thought something was different about you today." Her smile widened. "You’re wearing the bralette, aren’t you?"

He glanced down, cheeks coloring. He nodded bashfully.

"I could tell," she said gently. "You carry yourself a little differently. It’s subtle, but… you look more at ease. Like you’re not fighting yourself so much. It suits you."

He gave a small smile. "I feel it. Like something inside me’s... settling."

There was a pause. Then, quietly, he said, "What about your feelings? Back at the beach—"

Aerith let out a soft chuckle, cutting him off before he could finish. "Come here, silly," she said, patting the ground beside her. Her voice was warm and teasing, but there was something gentle underneath it—an invitation to let go.

As Cloud settled beside her, Aerith gave him a sidelong glance and wiggled the little bottle in her hand. "Want me to do yours next?"

He blinked. "My toenails?"

"Mm-hmm," she said, grinning. "It’s pink—but mine turned out so pretty I kind of want to share."

Cloud hesitated, glancing down at his boots, then back at her. A smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah. No regrets, right?"

Aerith beamed. "Right."

He pulled off his boots and socks while she unscrewed the bottle, gave it a little shake, and dipped the brush. Soon, she was painting careful strokes of pink across his toes—slow and steady, her fingers warm against his skin. Neither of them spoke for a while, the silence easy. Cloud tilted his head back to look at the stars and let himself feel it: calm, cared for, quietly seen.

Then Aerith broke the silence. "I’m so glad you’re exploring this, Cloud," she said as she guided the brush over his smallest toe, the pink polish glossy in the firelight, drying quickly in the cool desert air. "Your femininity... it looks good on you. It fits. So much more natural than that tough SOLDIER front you've been carrying around."

Cloud didn’t answer. He just listened.

"And on the beach, I thought I saw you clearly for the first time," she went on, her voice soft, almost dreamy. "In that bikini, relaxed and happy… sunkissed, flower in your hair, those soft pink lips… you looked beautiful, Cloud. Really beautiful. I couldn’t help myself."

Cloud couldn’t help but smile at the memory, warmth blooming in his cheeks. There was a quiet flutter in his chest, and a subtle heat beneath his skin—low and lingering, nestled behind the softness of his panties. To be called beautiful, and to feel it—it meant more than he could say.

She dipped the brush again, her strokes slow, focused but thoughtful. "I love helping you open up this part of yourself. Watching you step into it—bit by bit—it feels… meaningful. Like a flower blooming. And maybe... maybe it’s opening something up in me too."

She glanced at him, a little smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Maybe I like girls. Or maybe I just like you best when you’re like this—open, honest, radiant. Or maybe I’m still figuring it out, too." She looked at him then, almost a little nervous, searching his face. "But if you keep exploring… maybe I can, too. Side by side."

Cloud nodded slowly, feeling something settle deeper in his chest. "Yeah," he said. "I think I get it. I want to keep exploring… figure out who I really am, let it blossom, whatever that ends up looking like. And I want you there with me." He glanced at her, a little bashful now. "If you're exploring yourself too—if you like...want... who I’m becoming—then that just makes it even better."

Their eyes met again, quiet and knowing, something unspoken passing between them, and he smiled. "We’ll be true to who we are… right? Together?"

Aerith smiled, bright and easy. "Exactly." She paused, the warmth in her eyes lingering. "Together."

She leaned back to admire her work. "There! Look at your pretty nails. This is a good start."

Then, with a warm smile, she leaned in and kissed him gently on the cheek.

A soft flush bloomed across his face. He glanced down, his lips curving in a bashful smile.

They really did look nice—delicate, glossy, and pretty in pink.

Aerith tilted her head as she looked at him, eyes soft. "Your hair’s getting longer," she said, reaching out to brush a strand behind his ear. "It suits you."

Cloud blinked, a little surprised. Now that she mentioned it, he could feel it—tickling the back of his neck, brushing lightly over his collar. He gave a soft, self-conscious laugh. "Huh. I hadn’t noticed."

"I did," Aerith said, smiling. She reached into her pack and pulled out a ribbon—sky-blue and simple, with a subtle sheen in the firelight, not unlike the one she wore. She held it out to him. "Here. For when you’re ready."

He took it with care, his fingers brushing hers, eyes fixed on the soft bow of fabric. It felt delicate in his palm, but not fragile. Like something full of quiet promise.

"Thanks," he said softly.

"You should make time for yourself, Cloud," she told him, her voice gentler than the breeze. "Time to breathe. Time to blossom. There’s so much bad in the world—so many awful things that might happen—but that’s exactly why we have to make space for the good times, too."

Cloud looked at her, the firelight catching in her hair, turning her into something almost otherworldly. "Yeah," he murmured. "You're right. I want to. I'm going to."

She smiled, warm and proud. "Good," she said simply.

Then she stood, brushing sand from her skirt with the easy grace of someone entirely at home in her skin. "Goodnight, Cloud."

"Goodnight," he replied, watching her slip into her tent.

He sat there a while longer, the ribbon still in his hand, the firelight dimming around him. The warmth of her touch lingered, as did the gentle echo of her words—space for the good times. 

***

Cloud decided to take Aerith's advice and make time for himself. The others were resting early one morning near Gongaga, and he figured this was his chance to slip away. As he quietly moved away from the camp, he saw Aerith beginning to stir, her eyes fluttering open. She caught his eye, and a knowing smile spread across her face, as if she could already tell what he was up to. She gave him a small nod, a silent gesture of encouragement, before closing her eyes again to rest. Cloud felt a rush of warmth at her silent support—he didn't need to explain himself to her; she understood. He took a deep breath and continued on, feeling lighter somehow, as if Aerith's smile had given him the permission he needed to embrace the softer parts of himself.

The jungle was dense, alive with the sound of rustling leaves and distant bird calls. Cloud had walked a long way from the camp—far enough that even if someone came looking, they wouldn't stumble across him by accident. He followed winding paths and crossed through a dense thicket, driven by a quiet need to be somewhere no one would find him. Only once the trees grew thick around him and the sounds of camp life faded entirely into the hush of untouched nature did he allow himself to relax. He settled beside a small stream, its water clear and glistening as it flowed over smooth stones, the gentle burble calming.

He glanced around once more, cautious, and only then began to undress. One piece at a time, he slipped out of his SOLDIER uniform, folding each item with care until he stood in only a delicate lavender lace bra and matching panties. The bra fit snugly against his chest, the lace softly hugging his skin, offering a gentle, comforting embrace. The panties rested snugly against his hips, their lace detailing an elegant, feminine touch that made Cloud feel both vulnerable and quietly empowered, as though he'd stepped into a truer version of himself he didn't yet dare to show the world.

He turned slightly, letting the sunlight filtering through the leaves wash over him, illuminating the lavender fabric and casting a soft, dreamlike glow that made it seem almost ethereal against his pale skin. He struck a pose—subtle, instinctive—one leg bent, hands lifting to rest on his hips as he glanced down at his reflection in the stream. The water rippled gently, blurring the image, and for a fleeting moment, he looked like a girl. The sight made something flutter in his chest.

He raised one hand, fingertips brushing along the neckline of his bra, then trailing lightly down to his belly, savoring the delicate textures, the way the lace shifted against his smooth, freshly-shaved skin. He let his palm linger on his hip, thumb brushing along the waistband of his panties with a soft sigh—light, feminine, almost involuntary.

He blinked, surprised by the sound, then smiled to himself. There was something pure and freeing about this moment, as if he were shedding the weight of his battles and revealing a part of himself that had long been hidden—and was not being not just embraced, but adored.

Cloud knelt beside the stream, dipping his hands into the cool water and splashing it against his chest. The sensation was refreshing. He took out a razor and a small vial of oil he had brought along—Aerith had given it to him, a lavender and jasmine blend meant to soothe the skin. He applied it to his arms, his legs, his body, and slowly began to shave.

Each stroke of the razor was slow, deliberate. Cloud let his mind empty, focusing only on the feel of the blade gliding over his skin, the soft scrape followed by smoothness. He shaved his arms, chest, legs, and stomach, watching as the fine hairs were swept away. Each motion felt almost meditative, like peeling away layers of weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying.

When he finished, he paused, letting the cool breeze dance across his freshly smoothed skin. It was strange, but comforting—like shedding something old and unwanted. He ran his hand over his arm, feeling the smoothness, and allowed a small smile to cross his lips. Alone in the hush of the jungle, surrounded by the murmur of leaves and water, Cloud found a rare kind of peace.

Cloud looked down at his reflection in the stream again, the water rippling slightly. His hair had grown longer, framing his face in soft golden strands. He reached for the ribbon Aerith had given him, fingers moving slowly as he tied it into a loose low ponytail. He tilted his head this way and that, admiring the way the ribbon rested in his hair, how it felt like a quiet, beautiful signal of who he was becoming.

He smiled at the sight—it was subtle, but it meant something. He wished, just for a moment, that his hair were longer. With a big pink ribbon, like Aerith’s. Maybe even woven with flowers. The thought made him smile as he tilted his head, letting the ribbon flutter slightly. It wasn’t quite what he imagined, but it was a beginning. He gave a small shake of his head, the corners of his mouth lifting. For now this was good. More than good.

Reluctantly, Cloud began to dress. He lingered for a moment, letting his fingers brush one last time over the lace of his bra, the delicate edge of his panties. He didn’t want to hide them again, not yet. A part of him longed to spend just a little longer like this—bare, delicate, exposed. To linger in the quiet, in nothing but lace, letting this softer side breathe. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not here. He had to get back to camp.

With a quiet sigh, he pulled on his clothes layer by layer, each piece dulling the glow he felt a little—but not dimming it entirely. The warmth remained beneath the fabric, a private comfort tucked close. As he started walking back, the world felt a little more alive, and he became keenly aware of the vibrant bursts of color around him—flowers growing wild amidst the greenery, their hues vivid against the backdrop of lush green. Struck by a sudden idea, he moved carefully, selecting blossoms of yellow, purple, and soft blue to create a delicate bouquet. He picked each flower with intention, appreciating the unique beauty of each bloom. It was for Aerith, to thank her for her support, her patience, and her acceptance.

Once he had collected enough flowers, Cloud paused, a thought crossing his mind. He looked around—no one was here. Alone, with only the trees and the sky above as his witnesses, he plucked a large white bloom and carefully tucked it into his hair. Closing his eyes, he let himself imagine he was back at the Honeybee Inn. His posture softened, shoulders loosening, movements becoming fluid and delicate as he gave a slow, playful twirl. It was silly, maybe, but it felt good—freeing in a way words couldn’t quite capture.

The longer he moved, the more comfortable he became, his body finding a rhythm that matched the gentle sway of the jungle around him. His thoughts drifted, and he could almost hear the distant music of the Honeybee Inn playing in the background of his mind—a melody that reminded him of who he could be, of the parts of himself he rarely let surface. His eyes fluttered shut, feet moving lightly across the forest floor, arms loose and graceful. He danced without reservation—movements fluid, feminine, unguarded—his hands brushing through flowers as he spun, lost in a moment that felt wholly his own...

“Well, well, what do we have here?” a voice cut through the air, dripping with sarcasm.

Cloud’s eyes snapped open, startled. Standing a few feet away was a young girl dressed in a ninja outfit, her arms crossed and an amused grin spread across her face. She looked at Cloud with a mix of curiosity and mischief, her eyes practically gleaming. Cloud flushed, quickly straightening.

“Who are you?” Cloud muttered, trying to regain his composure.

“The name's Yuffie,” she said, stepping closer, her grin widening mischievously. “Didn’t expect to see a big, tough mercenary like you twirling around like some kind of flower fairy out here in the jungle.” She laughed, her tone light but undeniably teasing.

Before Cloud could respond, Yuffie moved quickly, lunging forward. Her hand shot towards his bracer, and though Cloud reacted, she was too fast. With a swift movement, she knocked his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground. Yuffie knelt over him, her fingers already closing around one of his materia orbs.

“Hey!” Cloud shouted, struggling beneath her, his voice echoing through the jungle.

“What’s going on here?” Tifa’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. She appeared from the undergrowth, her eyes narrowing at the sight of Yuffie pinning Cloud down. Without hesitation, Tifa lunged forward, grabbing Yuffie by the collar and yanking her off Cloud. Yuffie stumbled back, her hands releasing the materia as she raised them in surrender.

“Whoa, whoa, calm down!” Yuffie said, her tone defensive. “I was just messing around!”

Tifa stood protectively in front of Cloud, her stance firm, her eyes blazing. “You don’t mess around by stealing from us,” she snapped, her voice edged with anger.

Cloud pushed himself up, brushing dirt from his clothes, his face still flushed—not just from Yuffie's ambush, but from the vulnerability of being caught in that private moment. He looked at Yuffie, who now stood with her arms raised, her expression a mix of guilt and defiance.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry!” Yuffie said, her hands still raised in mock surrender. “Look, I’ve been following you guys for a while now. I know what you’re up to, and I want in. I could be useful, you know? And, uh, I wasn't really gonna steal anything. Not for real.” She shot them a grin, trying to ease the tension. “C’mon, what do you say?”

Cloud exchanged a glance with Tifa, who sighed, her posture relaxing slightly. Tifa looked at Yuffie, her expression softening just a bit. “You really want to join us?” she asked.

Yuffie nodded vigorously. “Yeah! I mean, you guys are going up against Shinra, right? I want in on that. Besides, you’ll need someone like me around—trust me. ”

Cloud narrowed his eyes, still a bit confused by the sudden appearance of this young girl. "But seriously, who are you?"

"I'm Yuffie! A proud Wutai ninja!" she announced with an exaggerated bow, her grin widening as she straightened up.

Cloud hesitated, then glanced at Tifa.

“I mean, she’s clearly capable,” Tifa said, with a slight smirk. “She knocked you down without any problem.”

Cloud flushed slightly, looking away. “She caught me off guard,” he muttered.

“Pleeease,” Yuffie added, dragging the word out with exaggerated charm. “I want to join you—and honestly, I will, whether you like it or not.”

Tifa gave Cloud a half-shrug, half-nod, her expression quietly approving. With that small reassurance, Cloud exhaled and gave a small nod. “Alright. But no more games,” he said, his voice firm.

Yuffie grinned, bouncing on her heels. “You got it! No more games. Well, at least not the kind you won’t enjoy.” She winked playfully, and Cloud quickly looked away, hoping she wouldn't mention what she'd seen him doing.

Tifa introduced herself first, her voice calm and composed. "I'm Tifa," she said, offering a small smile. Cloud followed her lead, clearing his throat before speaking. "Cloud," he said, his tone still carrying a hint of unease from earlier. Yuffie nodded at both of them, her grin never fading. "I know. Like I said, I’ve been following you guys." She gave a small shrug. "But it’s nice to meet you properly." Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

Tifa gestured toward the camp. "You'd best come meet the others too. We're all in this together now." Yuffie nodded eagerly, bouncing on her toes.

Yuffie turned toward the direction of the camp and immediately launched into a stream of chatter, jabbering about everything she could bring to the team. Tifa lingered a moment, glancing at Cloud before they followed. Her gaze softened as she studied him, and she gave him a half-shrug, half-nod—a quiet gesture of support. "You okay?" she asked, her voice low and gentle.

Cloud paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. The vulnerability he had felt, the sudden rush of embarrassment—it was still there, lingering. But there was something else, too. Tifa stood steady beside him, solid and sure, and something about her quiet strength made him feel oddly safe. Cloud, still a little shaken, felt a softness settle over him. It felt right, in a way he didn’t want to examine too closely. He looked up at Tifa, meeting her gaze. “Yeah... I think so. Thanks, Tifa.”

She smiled, then stopped with a puzzled look, noticing the flower in his hair. Gently, she reached forward and plucked it out, her fingers brushing against his hair. “How did that get there?” she asked, her tone filled with curiosity.

Cloud stammered, his face flushing slightly. “Uh... must've happened when I fell to the ground,” he muttered, trying to sound casual.

Yuffie's grin widened, clearly not buying it. “Yeah, right. It just landed there when you fell to the ground?” she teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You know what? It actually suits you, Cloud.” She smirked, her eyes gleaming with mischief before turning away, leaving Cloud with a mix of embarrassment and reluctant amusement.

As Yuffie skipped ahead, Cloud knelt down to gather the scattered flowers, his movements careful and quiet. He reformed the bouquet slowly, fingers brushing over each petal with a kind of reverence. Behind him, Tifa approached, pausing just a step away.

"Who are those for?" she asked, her voice light but curious.

Cloud glanced up, hesitating only a moment. "Aerith," he said simply.

Tifa blinked. "Oh... okay," she murmured, the tone caught somewhere between surprise and something more private. She turned toward Yuffie without another word, calling out to her and picking up her pace.

Cloud stood, the bouquet still cradled in his hands. He followed a few steps behind, eyes lowered, thoughts shifting. He couldn’t tell Tifa what the flowers were really for—that they were a quiet thank-you to Aerith, for understanding him, for encouraging him to express something he could barely name. He couldn't let Tifa see that side of him. He felt it, sensed the change in how she looked at him. Still, Aerith had been right. He’d needed this morning, even if it came with risk. Even if he’d nearly been seen. The quiet, the lace, the soft glint of sunlight—it had felt good. As he walked, he reached up, gently pulling the flower from his hair. A small smile touched his lips as he added it to the bouquet.

On the way back to camp, Yuffie kept up a relentless stream of chatter, barely pausing for breath. Cloud and Tifa exchanged the occasional glance, but mostly let her talk. When they finally arrived back at camp, Barret called out, "'Bout time you two reappeared—wait, who the—who's this?"

Tifa stepped forward, taking the lead as she gestured toward their newest companion. "Everyone, this is Yuffie," she said with a half-smile, her tone carrying a note of amused resignation. "She’s... persistent. But I think she’ll be sticking with us."

Aerith rose to her feet and stepped forward, her expression warm head tilted slightly with a smile. "Welcome," she said gently, her green eyes shining with that ever-present kindness. "It’s really nice to meet you."

Yuffie rocked back on her heels, hands stuffed into her pockets. "Nice to meet you too," she said brightly, flashing a cheeky grin. "Hope you're ready for some excitement."

Tifa gave a small laugh and turned to Barret. "Barret, this is Yuffie. She's a ninja from Wutai and—"

But Aerith had already turned her attention toward Cloud, stepping away slightly from the group. Her eyes flicked to the bouquet in his hands, then back up to his face with a knowing smile. “Eventful morning, then?” Her gaze lingered on the bouquet, softening. “Those are beautiful,” she said gently, “Really lovely.”

Cloud nodded, his heart skipping a beat. "They're for you... I wanted to thank you, for...," he said quietly. He handed her the bouquet, gaze dropping for just a moment before meeting hers again. Aerith's smile softened into something radiant as she accepted the flowers with quiet grace. Off to the side, Tifa watched them for a beat longer, her expression unreadable before she turned, her voice rising as she continued introducing Yuffie to the rest of the group.

“They’re beautiful, Cloud. Thank you,” she said, her eyes glistening as she looked at the blossoms. She touched his arm lightly, a silent acknowledgment of everything unspoken between them. Then she leaned in close, her breath warm against his ear. “Your ribbon looks lovely as well,” she whispered, her voice gentle and sincere.

Cloud could feel the warmth of her words, and it settled something deep inside him. Aerith took one of the flowers—a soft blue bloom—and carefully tucked it behind Cloud's ear. “There,” she said with a playful grin. “Now you match.”

Cloud's cheeks reddened, but he didn’t pull away. He allowed himself to smile, feeling a little more comfortable with who he was, and with who he was becoming.

***

One evening, as they camped on the outskirts of Cosmo Canyon, Aerith approached Cloud with a small velvet pouch in her hands. They had all shared a couple of drinks and the others had already settled in for the night—Barret snoring softly, Red XIII curled up near the fire. The warmth of the alcohol softening the edges and made everything feel a little dreamier, a little more alive. Aerith leaned in, her eyes glittering under the starlight.

"Since it's just the two of us up," she whispered conspiratorially, her voice laced with mischief, "I have an idea."

Before Cloud could ask what she meant, she grabbed his hand and gave it a tug. "Come on," she said with a smile that was both playful and secretive.

"Wait—what are we—?" Cloud stammered, caught off guard.

"Shhh," Aerith shushed him gently, pressing a finger to his lips before laughing softly and pulling him along. She dragged him across the clearing to her tent, the sounds of the others snoring fading into the background.

“Aerith, what is it?” Cloud asked again as they ducked inside, though he couldn’t keep the curiosity out of his voice. There was a look in her eyes that told him she had been planning this.

She sat him down on a low boulder she had pulled near her bedroll, then reached to one side and flicked on a small battery-powered lantern, casting a warm, cozy glow around the inside of the tent. Her smile softened as she settled beside him and opened the pouch with a quiet rustle. Inside were a few shimmering items—a compact, some blush, mascara, and a lipstick in a soft rose shade. The light danced across the surfaces, making everything sparkle just a little.

Cloud leaned forward, peering into the pouch, and felt his heart flutter. The delicate colors, the way they shimmered under the soft light—it stirred something deep inside him, equal parts wonder and nerves.

Aerith looked at him, her eyes full of encouragement. “Do you want to try it?” she asked softly.

Cloud didn’t answer right away. There was a moment of silence between them, filled with hesitation, fear, and a thousand questions he couldn’t quite voice. But Aerith reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze—steady, warm, grounding.

His eyes flicked to hers, and he nodded slowly, his throat tight with emotion. “Yes,” he said, his voice quiet but sure. “I do.”

Aerith smiled, brushing her hands against her skirt. She picked up the compact and the blush and knelt beside Cloud, holding the items up with a mock-serious expression. “Okay,” she said, opening the compact with a practiced flick, “I’m no Andrea Rhodea, but I think I can help you learn.”

Cloud let out a small laugh, his nerves still fluttering but softened by her playfulness. He tilted his face toward her as she picked up a small sponge and dabbed it into the compact foundation.

“First things first,” she said with a grin. “Nice even base.” She gently smoothed the foundation over his cheeks and forehead, the sponge cool and soft against his skin. “There. Perfect canvas.”

Cloud chuckled, a little breathless. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he murmured, his voice light with wonder.

“Believe it,” Aerith said with a wink. “Because you're going to look amazing.”

Next, she dipped the brush into the blush and gently tapped off the excess. “Now,” she said, “light touch. Apples of the cheeks, like this—” She brushed the color onto one cheek, the soft bristles feathering over his skin. “See? Easy.”

She handed him the brush, but when his fingers hovered uncertainly, she reached over and closed her hand over his, guiding the motion. “There you go,” she whispered, her voice a breath against his ear, the lantern’s glow catching in her eyes as they met his.

Cloud moved cautiously at first, the blush a delicate shade against his skin, but Aerith’s whispered praise and gentle corrections helped him find a rhythm. “That’s it,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Soft and even. You’re doing great.”

The feeling felt oddly familiar—like the echo of something long forgotten, now waking within him. A strange kind of peace settled in his chest, one that felt fragile but utterly right. Aerith watched him with an encouraging smile, occasionally reaching in to adjust the brush or smooth a line with her thumb. Her touch was light, always warm, and it gave him confidence he hadn’t known he needed.

“It feels... good,” Cloud murmured, almost to himself, as he worked.

Aerith reached for the mascara next. “It does,” she said softly. “Makeup is another form of self-care—something for you.” She twisted the tube open with a flourish. “Alright, time for lashes. I'll do one eye, you do the other. Look up, and hold still.”

She steadied his chin with one hand and carefully brushed the wand along his lashes. The sensation was strange—light and ticklish—but oddly soothing. When she passed him the wand, Cloud hesitated, then took it, mirroring her technique with quiet focus. Aerith gave him a mock-stern look. “Steady hands, soldier. This is delicate work.” He couldn’t help but smile as he concentrated, his movements slow and deliberate.

She stepped back as he finished, inspecting him with a nod. “Nice. That soft, fluttery drama suits you.”

Cloud blinked slowly. “It feels weird... but I like it. Kind of elegant.”

Aerith smiled. “It looks elegant. You’ve got gorgeous eyes, you know—and now they’re finally getting the attention they deserve.”

They shared a quiet laugh as he finished, and Aerith uncapped the lipstick. “Final touch,” she said, then paused, pressing the tube into his hand. “This one’s all you.”

Cloud stared at it for a moment, then nodded. He’d seen girls do this before—leaning into mirrors, heads tilted just so. He tried to recall their movements as he lifted the lipstick and angled it toward his mouth.

He shaped his lips into what he thought would look pretty, carefully appying the color in slow strokes, starting at the center and drawing outward. The sensation was unfamiliar—delicate, precise—but it felt and looked deeply, unmistakably feminine. He blinked, then glanced sideways to see Aerith watching him with open delight.

“A little Cupid’s bow?” she said, amused. “Look at you, Miss Fancy.”

Cloud blushed and couldn’t help but let out a quiet giggle, then pressed his lips together with care. Aerith leaned in and dabbed the edge with her thumb, nodding approvingly.

“You’re a natural,” she teased, her voice soft, her smile luminous. Cloud met her gaze, his painted lips curling into a shy, genuine smile. “You’re a good teacher,” he said quietly. Her pride in him glowed quietly in the space between them, and he could feel his heart lighten as she whispered, “Now, let’s see you.”

Aerith sat beside him and turned the compact mirror toward him. His breath caught—his lips, heart-shaped and delicately pink, looked unmistakably girlish, the blush warming his cheeks to a rosy glow. Long, fluttery lashes framed his eyes, making them sparkle under the lantern light. He tilted his head slightly, studying the contours, letting himself feel it. “It’s... beautiful,” he whispered.

Aerith beamed. “You are beautiful, Cloud.” She shifted in front of him, gently gathering the makeup back into the pouch. “Not bad for a first try, huh?”

Cloud stared into the mirror a little longer, his voice soft. “I can’t believe how different I look... but somehow it feels right.”

Aerith’s smile deepened, her eyes shimmering with quiet pride. She gently pushed the pouch toward him.

Cloud looked down at it, then back at her, confused. “Wait—are you—?”

“Keep it,” Aerith said, her voice low and certain. “Keep practicing whenever you can. Until you’re ready to show the world who you really are.”

He couldn't look away from his reflection in the compact's mirror. "Thank you," he said softly, not even turning his gaze away. He let himself linger there, studying the soft lines of his makeup, the gentle glow in his cheeks, the delicate, heart-shaped pout of his lips. He pouted, then vamped, shifting through playful expressions—trying out smiles, smirks, little teasing glances—all of it feeling both unfamiliar and yet strangely, deeply natural, like he was catching glimpses of someone he'd always been meant to see.

And then suddenly, Aerith was there—her eyes soft but certain, one hand reaching up to his face, settling gently against his jaw. As she leaned in, the fingers of her other hand slid beneath the strap of his bra and drew it slowly down his arm. She kissed him, slow and deliberate, taking control of the moment. Cloud froze for half a second, breath caught, and then melted into it, letting himself be kissed. He could feel the lipstick between them, warm and slick and real, and the sensation made his pulse race. It was different—but he liked it. He liked the way it made him feel.

But as quickly as it began, it was over. Aerith pulled back with a breathless smile and gave him a gentle push.

“I couldn’t help it,” she murmured. “You just looked so... like that, I had to.”

Cloud blinked, still dazed. “Aerith, I—”

“Nope,” she said with a breathy laugh. “If you stay, I won't be able to help myself—and the others are way too close for that kind of fun.”

She nudged him toward the flap of the tent, ignoring his soft protests and dazed smile. “Out, out,” she giggled, shooing him through the opening with a playful swat to his hip. “Back to your own tent before someone sees you like that and starts asking questions.”

As he stumbled into the night, she added more softly, “And make sure you clean it all off before morning—unless you want Barret to get a real surprise.”

Cloud stood outside, the night air cool against his flushed cheeks, his lips still tingling and smudged with lipstick. He stared up at the stars, heart pounding, his thoughts scrambling to catch up. Aerith had kissed him—again—like this. While he was all made up, soft, and unmistakably feminine.

All made up.

Panic surged through him at the realisation. His lips were pink and glossy, his cheeks still rosy, lashes long and fluttering. A bra strap had slipped off his shoulder, and he yanked it back up with a startled breath, suddenly hyper-aware of how he looked stood in the middle of the camp.

And without another thought, he turned and dashed for his tent.

***

After the intense battle beneath Cosmo Canyon, the group emerged to the surface, weary and heavy with the weight of what they had witnessed. The cavern had echoed with the roars of ancient spirits and the clash of steel, the air thick with heat and memory. Amidst it all, Red XIII had faced more than monsters—he had faced the legacy of his family, and the lies he’d carried in his heart.

In that underground chamber, he'd seen the truth with his own eyes: his father, Seto, had not fled. The arrows that jutted from his petrified form were not marks of shame, but of valor—evidence that Seto had stood alone against invaders to protect his people. Red XIII had always believed his father a coward, but in those moments, the truth had shattered that illusion. Seto had been a hero. And now, the shame Red XIII had carried his whole life was replaced by something else entirely: reverence. His heart, once knotted with bitterness, brimmed with something fierce and proud. The party remained close, saying nothing, honoring the depth of the moment in respectful silence.

Now gathered around the campfire, Red XIII turned to face his companions, his voice low but sure. “Seto was my father,” he began, eyes fixed on the flames. “And he wasn’t who I thought he was.”

He paused, his gaze lifting to meet theirs. “Which means... I’m not who I thought I was either. And I’m not who I told all of you I was.”

There was a brief silence, the kind born of deep listening.

“For too long, I ran from my legacy,” he continued. “From my history. I felt ashamed of it, of him... of myself. But I was wrong. I let pride and fear define me instead of truth. Seto stood for something. He protected our people. He was brave. And now... I know I need to be brave, too. I need to be true—not just to my family, but to myself.”

He took a breath, voice steadying. “My name is Nanaki.”

Barret was the first to respond, his tone firm but kind, admiration clear in his eyes. "You've got a damn strong legacy," he said, his voice gruff but full of warmth. "Wear that name with pride, Nanaki."

Tifa nodded, her voice gentle. "Thank you for trusting us with this, for letting us see who you truly are." She paused, her voice softening. "It takes real courage to face the past, to be vulnerable, and to let others see that part of you." Her eyes met Nanaki's, and the respect she held for him was clear. "We're proud of you."

Nanaki gave a slow nod, his tail flicking slightly through the grass. "Thank you," he said quietly. "It’s taken me a long time to confront this. I think... I needed to know myself before I could share it with anyone else."

Barret crossed his arms and leaned back against a boulder. “Well, you did. And you ain’t alone. Everyone's got something they’re figuring out. Facing it? That’s the hard part.”

Cloud listened intently, feeling the words strike a deep chord. He thought of his own struggles—the pieces he kept tucked away, the parts of himself he hadn’t fully dared to name. His fingers curled unconsciously, remembering the quiet moment in front of the mirror, makeup softening his features, revealing something new—something honest. Someone looking back at him with clearer eyes.

Cait Sith gave a low whistle. “Reckon there’s strength in not pretendin’. I’ve told a lie or two myself, but I always say—truth’s lighter to carry.”

Aerith leaned forward slightly, her voice warm. "Cait’s right. Nanaki, you’re so strong. I’m happy for you—and proud of what you’ve done tonight."

Nanaki inclined his head, his voice soft but resolute. "Thank you. It’s strange... hearing my name spoken aloud again after so long. But it feels right. Like claiming something that should never have been hidden away in the first place."

Yuffie nudged Nanaki’s side. “Nanaki, huh? Gotta admit, that's a pretty cool name—better than Blue XI or something,” she said, her tone half-teasing but fond. “I mean, this whole brave legacy thing you've got going on... maybe one day I'll have something like that too.” She shrugged, her eyes darting away for a moment before adding quickly, “Just... don't let it go to your head, okay, furball?”

Nanaki turned to her. “You might surprise yourself when the time comes.”

Tifa looked around the fire. “We all might.”

As the conversation went on around him, Cloud was beginning to understand that confronting the truth and embracing who you are took a different kind of courage—one that ran deeper than any blade or battlefield ever could. The fire warmed his hands, but it was the warmth of their words that settled in his chest. He wasn’t there yet—but maybe, someday, he would be. And maybe, when the time came, he’d find the strength to tell them everything. About who he was. Who he was becoming.

He glanced up and realized the others were looking at him.

“You’ve been quiet,” Tifa said gently. “Everything okay?”

Cloud nodded slowly, eyes still distant with thought. "Yeah," he murmured, "I was just... thinking about how much courage that took." He turned to face Nanaki fully, his expression clearer now, lit by the flicker of the fire. "It's great to meet the real you, Nanaki," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "You've come a long way. I know you'll make your family proud."

There was admiration in his tone—and maybe a touch of envy. But also hope. A quiet hope that one day, he might say something like that about himself too.

Aerith looked at Cloud for a long moment, her smile soft with something deeper than kindness—understanding. Then she turned back to the group, her voice warm and steady. "I hope we can all find the kind of courage Nanaki showed us today."

She glanced back at Cloud as she said it, their eyes meeting briefly. In her gaze was something unspoken but steady—a promise of acceptance, of presence, of patience. A quiet reassurance that she saw him—all of him—and she would be there, no matter where his path led. It wasn't dramatic or loud. But it settled in his chest like a stone warmed by fire.

***

The journey to Nibelheim was long, the road winding through rolling hills and dense woodlands. The group walked at an easy pace, the tension of recent battles finally behind them, giving way to a more relaxed atmosphere.

Yuffie, her energy ever boundless, skipped up alongside Cloud, her eyes glinting mischievously. “So, Cloud,” she began, her voice dripping with mock sweetness, “when are you going to show us those moves again, huh? You know, the ones where you were dancing around with flowers in your hair like a cute little flower fairy?” She clasped her hands under her chin and fluttered her eyelashes in an exaggerated impression.

Cloud shot her a side-glance, his lips pulling into a thin line. “I wasn’t dancing,” he protested, trying to keep his tone even, but the blush creeping up his cheeks betrayed him.

Yuffie shrugged, her grin widening even more. “Oh, right, of course. You were just delicately twirling, then? And that flower in your hair—it just happened to be there?” She winked at him, skipping a little ahead as Cloud struggled to find a comeback.

Cloud opened his mouth to respond, but Tifa cut in, her voice firm and slightly pointed. “Yuffie,” she called, her eyes narrowing with mock sternness. “You know, if you keep it up, Cloud might decide to twirl you right off the next cliff we pass.” She crossed her arms, her brow raised as she shot Yuffie a warning look.

Yuffie let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. “Fine, fine,” she relented, throwing her hands up. “I’ll let the poor flower fairy off the hook... for now.”

Cloud exhaled in relief, giving Tifa a grateful glance. “Thanks,” he muttered under his breath, his cheeks still faintly pink.

Tifa smiled at him, her expression softening just slightly. “No problem, Cloud,” she said. “You looked like you were about to turn into a tomato.”

Aerith, walking beside them, couldn’t help but giggle, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “To be fair, it was a very cute flower that I put there,” she added, her voice warm and teasing. “And it did look nice on you.”

Cloud shook his head, his blush deepening again. “Can we just drop it?” he asked, though his voice held no real frustration.

“Alright, alright,” Aerith said, smiling brightly. “But if we find more flowers on the way, I’m definitely putting one in your hair again. Just saying.”

Cait Sith, perched atop his oversized moogle, couldn't resist joining in. “Aye, I think a flower for everyone sounds like a plan. Can you imagine Barrett with a daisy behind his ear?” He laughed, the moogle wobbling beneath him.

Barrett snorted, his deep voice rumbling with mock irritation. “Oh yeah, laugh it up, Cait. I bet I’d look better with a flower than you would.”

Yuffie, not missing a beat, jumped back in. “I’d pay to see Barrett with a flower crown!” She twirled ahead of the group, her laughter carrying in the wind.

Nanaki, padding alongside, spoke up in his calm, thoughtful tone. “I must admit, I'd quite like some flowers in my mane. I think that would be a sight to behold.” He gave a small smile, his fiery tail flicking playfully.

Aerith looked over at Nanaki, her eyes lighting up. “I think we can make it work. Maybe some wildflowers for you,” she said with a grin, glancing back at Cloud as she spoke.

Cloud gave an exaggerated groan, rubbing his temple. “This is getting out of hand,” he sighed, but his lips betrayed a reluctant smile.

Yuffie spun around to face them, walking backward as she spoke. “Out of hand? Oh come on, Cloud. You know we’re just trying to add some charm to this gloomy trip.” She stuck her tongue out at him before spinning back around.

Tifa shook her head, a smile playing on her lips. “Alright, alright, we’re never going to reach Nibelheim before dark if we're stopping to pick flowers.” Her tone was light but held an unmistakable hint of authority. As they picked up the pace, she glanced toward Nanaki and added, “We’ll just have to pick some when we get there—for Nanaki. He’s earned a whole bouquet.”

With that, the group settled into a more casual pace, the conversation drifting to lighter topics—Nanaki and Barrett began discussing the odd foods they had seen during their travels, while Aerith teased Cait Sith about his supposed heroics. The chatter was easy and carefree, laughter blooming among them like flowers in spring. For a while, the road ahead seemed less daunting, each step lighter in the presence of friendship.

As they walked, Aerith caught Cloud’s eye and gave him a knowing smile—soft, bright, and full of quiet understanding. He met it with one of his own, small but real. They carried on together like that, side by side, the path unfolding beneath their feet—not just a journey across the land, but into themselves and one another.

Chapter Text

The trip to Nibelheim unearthed a deluge of memories Cloud had long tried to suppress, their sharp edges dulled only by the passage of time. The town felt strange, altered—as though it wore a mask of normalcy stretched too tightly over a haunting past. Neatly lined houses stood undisturbed, immaculate and whole, their pristine facades mocking the violence and ruin that once consumed them. It was like stepping into a dream that refused to acknowledge the nightmare lurking beneath.

Every cobblestone seemed to whisper ghosts of fire and fury. Cloud could see Sephiroth again in the manor, remembered the blazing infernos that once devoured rooftops and hearts alike. He felt the rush of fear, the pang of confusion, the sting of helplessness in the face of Sephiroth's madness. And above it all, that moment in the reactor—a younger Cloud lunging forward to shield Tifa, reckless and resolute, playing the brave knight shielding his damsel in distress. The rest blurred into smears of heat and smoke. Yet even beyond the chaos, older memories stirred—soft echoes of childhood, half-forgotten moments he had entombed in silence. Fleeting scenes of laughter and longing, of small hands clutching larger dreams. They had waited patiently for him here, buried beneath the ashes.

And yet, strangely, there were no ashes here—no blackened beams, no scorched earth, no evidence of the inferno that once consumed everything he knew. Everything was pristine, too pristine, like a stage set meticulously to recreate the town as it had once been. But there was something uncanny in that perfection. The houses, though familiar, felt hollow. The air smelled too clean. The silence was too complete. It was as though the town was trying too hard to forget, to overwrite what had happened. Everything was as it used to be, but just slightly... off.

Tifa approached, her brow furrowed as she scanned the town, her eyes lingering on each familiar landmark that somehow felt different. "Cloud, this place... it doesn't look quite like how I remember it," she said slowly, her voice tinged with confusion. "The general store, the inn, even the water tower... it all looks the same, but it doesn't feel the same."

Cloud nodded, his eyes drifting across the buildings. "Like someone tried to stitch together a memory—but the thread doesn't match."

Tifa let out a quiet laugh, one without humor. "Yeah. Like we're walking through a dream that's trying to convince us it's real."

They stood in silence for a moment, the wind rustling faintly through the trees at the edge of town.

"But... I suppose... memories aren't always reliable, are they, Cloud?" Her voice dropped, quieter now, as if admitting it aloud made the thought more real. There was something else there too—a tension, a question she hadn't yet asked. She looked at him, her eyes reflecting a mix of sadness and something more vulnerable. "Everything changes eventually."

Cloud looked at her for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Do you want to look around the town together?" he asked finally, the question more than just about sightseeing. It was a thread reaching out.

Tifa hesitated, then looked away, her gaze lingering on the horizon where the mountains loomed in the distance. "Maybe it's better if we go our own ways for now," she said, her voice soft, almost apologetic. "There's some things I think I need to face alone."

There was no bitterness in her tone—only a quiet understanding, a recognition of their paths diverging. She gave him a small, sad smile before turning away. Cloud watched her go, a familiar ache blooming in his chest. But he didn't call after her. He understood.

Things had changed—not just between them, but within each of them. As he stood there alone in the eerie stillness of his childhood home, Cloud felt an aching dissonance between the walls around him and the person he was becoming. Beneath the familiar weight of his uniform, the silk of his lingerie clung softly to his smooth skin—a secret, but no longer a shameful one. It was a quiet reminder of the self he’d once buried, a version of him that had begun to reemerge like a blossom through frost.

There had been a time—not long ago—when these feelings would have terrified him. He would have masked them in silence, drowned them in steel and solemnity. But now, they felt too present to ignore. The memories rose unbidden: the freedom he felt in his bikini under the sun at Costa del Sol, the inner peace wearing lingerie as he shaved his legs beside a jungle stream, crouched in Aerith's tent blushing as he painted his lips. They weren’t passing moments. They were glimpses into a self he was learning to embrace.

And with that embrace came something paradoxical: fear and freedom, hand in hand. A trembling thrill in owning softness, in recognizing beauty not as something outside himself, but as something quietly blooming within.

But as he wandered the familiar streets, Cloud found himself lingering by the old well, his eyes tracing the outline of the house he grew up in. Older memories stirred—ones he'd buried deep. He remembered being a little boy, watching the girls in town laugh and play, longing not just to join them, but to be one of them. To braid hair, to share secrets, to belong. In secret, he'd drape blankets like skirts, try on his mother’s necklace, slip into too-big heels. And just for a moment, he could pretend. Just for a moment, he could be . There was a fragile magic in it, a bittersweet thrill in pretending, in becoming a girl if only for a moment.

But with that thrill came shame. Fear. A crushing weight that told him he was wrong, broken, something to be hidden. He buried it all, wrapped it in the cold armor of masculinity he thought was expected of him. He became the SOLDIER, the protector, the silent blade. And yet, those memories never fully disappeared—they waited, patient and persistent, deep beneath the surface.

The weight of the past settled over him, thick with nostalgia and regret. Aerith noticed his distant gaze and stepped closer, her presence a steadying comfort. She laid a gentle hand on his arm, her eyes searching his. “What’s on your mind, Cloud?” she asked softly, her voice warm and patient.

He hesitated, eyes drifting across the square to Tifa's window. She looked out and spotted them, her gaze briefly meeting his. There was a flicker of sadness before she turned away. Cloud looked down, guilt and vulnerability tightening in his chest.

"I used to stand here and watch Tifa," he murmured, "wishing I could be one of the girls. Just... to fit in. To laugh with them, braid hair, play with dolls. To be free like they were." The words came out quietly, as if saying them aloud might break something fragile between them.

His voice wavered. "I used to sneak into my mom’s room when no one was home," he said softly. "I’d try on her necklaces, her rings—too big for my fingers, but they made me feel... beautiful." He gave a small, hollow laugh, glancing at Aerith for any flicker of pity or amusement. Finding none, he went on, voice quieter. "I'd wrap a blanket around me like a skirt and twirl around the room. Painted my nails with markers. Made earrings out of paper clips. Tried to walk in her heels even though they’d always fall off my feet. It sounds silly now, but back then... it felt like magic. Like I could be myself, just for a moment."

Cloud paused, the confession settling heavily in the stillness between them. "I kept it all hidden. Even from myself, after a while. I was scared. I thought if anyone ever found out, they'd hate me. That I was wrong somehow. So I pushed it down. Locked it away."

He dared a glance back at Aerith.

She met his gaze with a soft smile, her eyes full of warmth. "It’s not silly, Cloud," she whispered. "And you were never wrong. Wanting to feel beautiful, to be seen—it’s not something to be ashamed of."

Her words settled over him gently, soothing the tight knot of uncertainty in his chest. For the first time, Cloud let himself truly acknowledge that those desires—those pieces of himself—had never gone away. They weren’t weakness. They weren’t shame. They were truth, long-hidden and quietly waiting.

Aerith reached up and brushed her thumb along his cheek, her touch light but grounding. "You can be whoever you want to be, Cloud," she murmured. "You don’t have to hide anymore."

He closed his eyes, breathing in her words, letting them reach the quietest corners of him. The acceptance in her voice held him steady. When he opened his eyes again, he met her gaze, voice barely a whisper. "Thank you."

They stood there together, the old well behind them and the stillness of Nibelheim pressing in around them. But for once, the ghosts didn’t weigh him down. With Aerith beside him, those memories no longer haunted—they connected. He felt it, like a thread between past and future, between who he had been and who he was becoming. He wasn’t alone. And that made all the difference.

***

At the top of Mount Nibel the party faced the monstrous Materia Keeper. The creature looming before them with an intimidating presence. Tifa led the charge, her movements decisive and graceful, her voice steady as she called out orders. "Barrett, aim for its left flank! Red XIII, keep its legs busy!" she commanded, her voice sharp and focused. She moved at the forefront, fists raised as she struck with pinpoint precision, each blow landing with the force of her determination.

"Got it, Tifa!" Barrett shouted, firing a burst of bullets towards the creature's exposed side. Red XIII growled in acknowledgment, darting forward to swipe at the Materia Keeper's limbs, keeping it unsteady.

Cloud, a few paces behind, kept close watch on Tifa as she moved with fluid, commanding precision. Her presence anchored the group, and her voice rang out clearly across the chaos.

"Cloud, right side! Now!" she called, spotting an opening.

"On it!" Cloud replied, his sword already in motion as he stepped into position beside her.

But before they could strike together, the Materia Keeper twisted violently and unleashed a sweeping claw attack. Tifa twisted mid-air, evading the strike with a narrow leap, but the creature's claw caught Cloud off guard, slamming him backwards against the cold metal floor. His back slammed into the cold, unforgiving metal floor of the reactor's structure, and the impact sent his sword flying from his hand. The hit knocked the breath from his lungs, vision swimming with stars. Pain flared through his shoulder as he tried to move. He reached out blindly, fingers scrabbling across the metal for the hilt of his sword. His limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, and as he tried to rise, his knees buckled beneath him. He fell again, dazed and breathless, the battle raging around him.

But as Cloud's legs gave way, Tifa was already there, moving without hesitation. She stepped between him and the advancing Materia Keeper, body low and ready. Her fists clenched, eyes blazing with focus. With a sharp breath, she intercepted the creature’s next strike, her frame bracing against the force.

"Barrett! Cover fire, now!" she shouted, her voice slicing through the roar of battle with commanding clarity.

She turned her head just briefly, her eyes finding Cloud’s where he lay dazed on the ground. "Cloud—are you okay?"

Cloud blinked, vision still fuzzy, the sound of her voice cutting through the haze. He could barely manage a nod. Stunned not just by the blow he'd taken—but from the way Tifa had stepped in, had blocked the strike meant for him like it was nothing, and was now turning the tide against the monster with fierce, unwavering resolve.

Still on the ground, Cloud watched through blurred vision as Tifa fought with a ferocity and grace that stole his breath. She moved without hesitation, each strike purposeful, every movement brimming with strength. She was the shield now—the knight—and he... he was the one being protected.

A sudden wave of vulnerability washed over him. He became hyperaware of the silk and lace against his skin, his bra snug beneath his uniform, panties soft at his hips. The contrast between the battle raging outside and the delicate things hidden beneath his clothes made his heart stutter. Was this what he’d always wanted? To be protected, to be cherished, to be the damsel?

Part of him resisted, instinctively reaching for the stoicism he'd clung to for so long. But another part—a quieter, deeper truth—welcomed it. It felt right. Being held, not holding. Being the one saved. It wasn’t weakness. It was something else—something real.

Watching Tifa turn the tide, her strength and her purpose, Cloud felt something shift inside. He didn’t have to be the knight all the time. Maybe... maybe he never truly was.

Aerith's voice rang out from behind, cutting through his thoughts as her staff glowed with summoned energy. "Hang in there, Cloud! We've got this!" she called, her eyes meeting his with a warm, reassuring smile. Her magic wrapped around him like a gentle embrace, dulling the pain and lending him the strength to push himself shakily to his feet.

Tifa glanced back at Cloud, her eyes meeting his for a brief second. "You good?" she called.

Even if he wasn’t the knight, he could still fight. He reached for his sword, gripped the hilt tight, and pushed himself fully upright.

"Yeah," he said, steady now. "I'm with you."

Tifa gave a firm nod and turned back toward the enemy. "Get ready, everyone," she called, her voice sharp and clear. "I'm ending this!"

With a determined shout, Tifa gathered all her strength, her fists glowing with the raw energy of her limit break. She leapt into the air, her movements fluid and powerful, her form almost glowing as she focused everything into one decisive strike. The Materia Keeper roared, its massive limbs flailing, but Tifa was undeterred. She brought her fist down with a powerful blow, a burst of energy exploding from the impact.

The creature let out a final guttural cry, its body collapsing under the force of Tifa's limit break. The ground trembled beneath the party as the Materia Keeper crumbled, its form disintegrating into scattered particles of energy. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, and then there was silence.

Tifa landed softly, her body still humming with adrenaline, her breaths heavy but victorious. She looked back at Cloud, her eyes meeting his shy gaze with determination. As Cloud met her eyes, he saw something he hadn't fully acknowledged before—an undeniable strength that went beyond physical prowess. In that moment, Tifa stood triumphant.

Cloud's body ached, his thoughts churned, but his gaze stayed fixed on Tifa with a clarity that hadn't been there before. He was beginning to accept that he wasn’t the same person he’d tried to be at the start of this journey—maybe he never had been that person really. But the same was true for Tifa. She was growing into a leader, a protector, someone who could stand tall on her own while still reaching back for the people she loved. She didn’t need his protection anymore—maybe she never had. And maybe now... she was stronger than him.

Cloud felt conflicting emotions stir within him—relief, pride, and something more complicated, something unspoken. Watching Tifa—shoulders squared, voice steady—he felt an unfamiliar shift in how he saw her. There was something solid, grounded in her presence that felt almost... masculine, in a way he couldn't quite name. And beside her, with silk brushing his skin and his body still humming with vulnerability and the echo of being protected, Cloud felt soft. Feminine.

He didn’t recoil from the feeling. Not anymore. It felt strange, but it didn't feel wrong... Tifa turned to the group, her voice clear and unwavering. "It's over. We did it," she said, filled with both exhaustion and triumph.

Barrett let out a cheer, his rough voice echoing off the metal walls of the reactor. "That's what I'm talking about! Damn good work, Tifa!" He clapped a hand on her shoulder, pride lighting up his face. Red XIII dipped his head in agreement, his eyes gleaming with respect.

Cloud stepped closer, catching Tifa's gaze again. A small smile tugged at his lips. "You were incredible, Tifa," he said, voice low but steady. There was no hesitation—just open admiration, a quiet truth laid bare.

Tifa smiled, her expression softening as her posture eased. "We did this together, Cloud," she said gently, the edge of adrenaline fading from her voice. "We're both changing... and maybe we'll keep going our own ways for a while. But I’ll always be there if you need me."

***

The party returned to the eerie, abandoned Shinra Manor, hoping to find clues about Sephiroth's whereabouts. The air was thick with the scent of decay, every breath tinged with mildew and dust. Their footsteps echoed hollowly on the warped wooden floorboards as they moved through dim corridors, flashlights casting long, flickering shadows along the peeling wallpaper.

"Creepy place," Barret muttered, peering into a room with cracked mirrors and broken furniture.

"It always felt... wrong here," Cloud said, voice low. "Like the walls remember everything."

They continued deeper, exploring room after room until a narrow hallway led them toward the east wing. Cloud pushed open a warped door and stepped into a room cloaked in cobwebs. The moment he crossed the threshold, a thick web caught his face. He flailed instinctively and let out a startled shriek—high, breathless, and unmistakably girlish.

Tifa spun around. "Cloud?"

Barret barked a laugh. "Damn, that you? You squeal like a scared kitten!"

Flushing red, Cloud scowled as he clawed the web off his face. "It was in my mouth," he grumbled. "Anyone would’ve yelled."

Aerith hid a smile behind her hand, her eyes twinkling. "You’re lucky it wasn’t a spider too."

As Cloud wiped the sticky strands from his gloves, something caught his eye. Behind the web-covered wall, the dust clung differently—he stepped closer, brushing away more silk to reveal a faint outline in the wood. A seam.

"Wait... this wall isn’t solid," he murmured.

He pressed against it, and a soft click echoed through the room. The panel creaked inward, revealing a narrow, hidden passage descending into darkness.

"Well," Tifa said, peering over his shoulder with a small smile. "Looks like your scream found us something useful."

Cloud grumbled under his breath, brushing the last of the web from his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. Real funny."

Tifa took the lead, stepping into the newly revealed passage. The group followed in tense silence, their footsteps echoing as they descended into the gloom. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became—damp, stale, and thick with the weight of long-forgotten secrets.

At the base of the stairs, the narrow corridor widened into a cellar carved from crumbling stone. The moment they stepped inside, a guttural roar tore through the shadows—a deep, feral sound that rattled their bones.

"Weapons out!" Tifa snapped, already shifting into stance.

Cloud drew his sword in a flash, and Barret raised his gun arm. Aerith backed toward the wall, staff ready, her eyes scanning the dark.

Then it emerged—a hulking beast lunging from the far side of the chamber. Towering and broad-shouldered, it moved with terrifying power, its grey-black skin stretched tight over rippling muscle. A wild black mane flared around its lupine face, eyes glowing red beneath two massive, twisted horns. Huge clawed paws smashed against the floor with each step, and a long spiked tail lashed behind it like a whip. It growled low and guttural, the sound more animal than human—feral, relentless, and deeply wrong.

"What the hell is that ?" Barret barked.

Tifa took a step forward, fists raised. "Get ready—"

"Wait!" Red XIII’s voice rang out sharply, cutting through the tension, "Look."

Even as the creature snarled, its body began to convulse. The hulking limbs trembled, claws retracting slightly as the form rippled, shrinking in on itself. Bones cracked and shifted with unnatural pops. The spiked tail recoiled, and the black mane shrank against narrowing shoulders.

Before their eyes, the beast transformed—its monstrous features giving way to the shape of a man, tall and lean, draped in crimson and black. His pale skin stood in stark contrast to his dark hair, which hung long and loose over his somber features. One gleaming red eye fixed on them, while the other remained hidden behind his flowing hair.

"You... you are not Shinra, are you?" His voice was low, echoing slightly in the hollow room—laden with both suspicion and fragile hope.

Cloud shook his head, lowering his sword just slightly. "We're not. We're fighting against them." He took a cautious step forward. "Who are you?"

The man looked away, a haunted expression shadowing his features. "I was a Turk once. A loyal hound of Shinra. But that was a long time ago... and I've paid for those sins in this cursed slumber."

"Was?" Barret echoed, eyeing him warily. "So what are you now?"

The man was silent for a breath. "Something else," he said at last. "Something not entirely human."

Tifa stepped forward slightly. "What's your name?"

He lifted his gaze to meet theirs, his voice calm and cold as stone. "Vincent. Vincent Valentine."

A tense pause followed.

Vincent’s gaze lingered on each of them in turn. "You’re in this manor," he said slowly, voice heavy with implication. "Does that mean you know Sephiroth?"

Cloud nodded. "We're trying to stop him."

"He's putting everything at risk," Aerith added, her voice soft but firm. "The Planet itself."

Vincent’s expression darkened. "Then you already know... at least some of what happened. And what's at stake."

The party exchanged solemn glances and nodded as one.

Vincent looked at each of them in turn. "Then let me join you. I may be something else now—but I still have my will. And I won’t stand by while the world burns."

Tifa glanced at Cloud, her expression uncertain, but he nodded slowly. "If you're serious about helping us stop Sephiroth... then come along. We could use someone like you."

Vincent gave a single, solemn nod. "I am." His words carried weight—quiet but resolute. And just like that, the party had gained a new ally—one cloaked in shadows, haunted by his past, but drawn by the same threads of fate that bound them all.

They left the manor behind with Vincent at their side, the stale air and whispered ghosts of Nibelheim fading into the mist behind them. As they made their way back toward the edge of town, Vincent began to speak, his voice low and steady, each word carrying the weight of long-buried truths.

He told them how he had once served Shinra and how his loyalty had ended in betrayal. How Shinra had used him as a test subject, sealing him away in the manor after Hojo's experiments had twisted his body and soul. He spoke of the pain, the monstrous forms forced upon him, of Lucrecia, the scientist he had loved—and lost—and of the burden he carried from those days—of knowing how Sephiroth came to be. Engineered from Jenova cells and mako, Sephiroth was not born, but created, shaped from birth for power and control.

Vincent admitted he had failed to stop it before. Now, he was determined to make it right—not just by confronting Sephiroth, but by standing against Shinra and all they had done. He couldn’t change what he had become on the outside, but he could stay true to the man he was inside. His voice carried no drama, only a quiet, unwavering conviction.

The others listened in solemn silence, each of them bearing their own regrets. But in Vincent’s resolve, they found something familiar: the will to keep going, to try to make things right. Cloud, especially, felt something stir within him—a quiet echo of determination. Watching Vincent shift from beast to man had left him unsettled, yet fascinated. There was something symbolic in it, something powerful. Even when the world tried to twist you into something else, you could still hold onto your truth. Even when things felt impossible, you had to keep moving forward. You had to be true to who you really were, no matter how hard it got.

As the group began to move on from the outskirts of Nibelheim, leaving the shadow of the manor behind them, Cloud lingered near the back. After a few quiet paces, he slowed further until he found himself walking beside Vincent, just out of earshot from the others.

He glanced over at the man, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "What you said back there, about being true to yourself—did you mean it?"

Vincent gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. "I did."

Cloud hesitated, then asked, more tentative this time. "And the beast you were... do you become that because it’s what you feel like inside?"

Vincent was quiet for a long moment. "No. That form was forced on me. A consequence of what Shinra did." His gaze flicked toward the horizon. "But returning myself... that part is who I am."

Cloud absorbed that, the weight of it settling in his chest. Could someone choose their form based on who they were inside? Could you become something closer to the truth of yourself, even after the world tried to make you something else? Cloud glanced sideways, heart unsteady. "How do you do it? The transformation—how does it work?"

Vincent's eyes narrowed slightly, and he gave a weary sigh. "It's a long story. Mako energy and materia can do many mysterious things. Hojo's experiments pushed the boundaries of what was natural—he used mako and infused me with monstrous entities, allowing me to take on these different forms. These transformations are a result of the mako experimentation and the twisted potential of materia."

Cloud listened, but his thoughts drifted. Vincent had said he transformed into who he truly was—despite what had been done to him. Cloud couldn’t stop thinking about that. Could materia do the same for him? Help him reflect who he truly was inside. He imagined it, just for a moment—the sensation of his body changing, softening, reshaping. The thought lingering, warm and aching, before he suddenly caught himself. Vincent had gone quiet, and Cloud blinked, snapping back to the moment.

"Must've been... hellish," he said, voice quieter now, threaded with something deeper than curiosity.

Vincent nodded, his gaze distant, the weight of his past evident in his eyes. "It was. But if these abilities can help me right the wrongs of the past, then perhaps they can serve a purpose greater than the pain they came from."

They walked on in silence, boots crunching lightly over the gravel path. Cloud glanced toward the horizon, his mind still turning. Maybe, one day, abilities like that could help him too—not to become something monstrous, but to become something truer. Something beautiful. Something real.

***

Rocket Town sat nestled under a sky streaked with old smoke and fading dreams, a village of rusted launchpads and wind-battered hangars that whispered of a time when it had reached for the stars. The party arrived under a sky tinged with haze, seeking passage north—and were quickly pointed to the only man who could get them there: Cid.

They found him in a cluttered hangar that smelled of grease and burnt airship fuel. He stood beside a stripped-down engine, a cigarette smoldering between his lips. His wild blond hair stuck out from beneath a pair of worn goggles pushed up onto his forehead, and a grease-streaked flight jacket hung loose from his shoulders.

"Well, ain't this a motley crew," he muttered, flicking ash onto the concrete. "What the hell do you lot want from me?"

Tifa stepped forward before anyone else could speak. Her stance was sure, her tone level and calm. "We need to go north. We’ve been told you’re the only one who can get us there."

Cid raised an eyebrow. "That so? And what makes you think I'd do something that stupid for a bunch of strangers?"

Barret crossed his arms, looming behind her. "Because it’s the right thing to do. And we ain’t got time to argue."

"Hmph," Cid grunted. "You all talk like you've already packed your bags."

Cait Sith chimed in, gesturing grandly. "Come now, no need to get grumpy! We’re all friends here—surely a deal can be struck."

Cid exhaled a puff of smoke. "Still not hearin’ why I should risk my damn airship for any of you."

"Because if you don't," Tifa said firmly, stepping forward again. "You won’t have anything left to fly over."

Cloud stayed toward the back, quiet, observant, with Aerith beside him. Watching Tifa command the situation, seeing how naturally the group deferred to her, Cloud felt something loosen in his chest. There was a quiet comfort in taking a step back, letting her speak with authority. It felt natural. Even right. He didn’t need to lead—not when she was doing it so well.

In the background, the voices were rising. Tifa, Barret and Cid were hashing out the details—fuel costs, weather routes, possible backup plans—while Cait Sith babbled theatrically over them. Vincent leaned against the wall in brooding silence, and Red XIII paced in slow, thoughtful circles. The whole discussion felt like it was going to drag on.

Aerith leaned in, her breath warm against Cloud's ear. "This might take a while," she whispered, mischief glittering in her eyes. "Tifa’s got this sorted, and honestly... they don’t need us."

Cloud turned to look at her. The gleam in her gaze, the softness of her voice—it all promised an escape. A step away from negotiation and strategy and pressure, into something... lighter.

"What do you say we sneak off for a little break?" she added, eyes sparkling.

His heart fluttered, a blush creeping up his neck. Aerith’s hand brushed his, fingers lingering just long enough to be an invitation.

He nodded before he even realized he had. "Yeah... okay."

And just like that, they slipped away from the hangar and into the golden haze of Rocket Town’s side streets, Cloud’s pulse quickening with something that felt suspiciously like joy.

Aerith led Cloud through a winding side street until they came upon a modest little salon nestled between a bookstore and a tailor. She stopped in front of it and turned to him with a bright smile as she pushed the door open, the bell above chiming sweetly.

Cloud paused, hesitating at the threshold. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," Aerith said, her voice warm and full of playful confidence. "You deserve a little treat."

Cloud beamed, heart fluttering, and stepped inside, embracing the thrill of entering somewhere so unabashedly feminine.

The salon was a cozy, intimate space filled with the faint scent of lavender and the hum of gentle conversation. The walls were painted a dusty pink, adorned with posters of models with intricate hairstyles and immaculately painted nails. A few women sat in chairs, chatting quietly as stylists worked on their hair and nails. Cloud swallowed nervously, feeling out of place, but Aerith's encouraging smile reassured him. She gently nudged him toward one of the plush chairs.

Cloud settled into the seat, his body tense at first, but the warmth of the salon and the soft colors around him began to ease the knot in his chest. The stylist, a kind-faced woman with short, vibrant red hair, approached Aerith with a warm smile. "What can we do for you today?" she asked.

Aerith, eyes dancing, leaned in without hesitation. "A manicure and pedicure, please. Subtle, but definitely pink. Pretty and delicate."

Cloud hesitated, his eyes flicking to the display of polish bottles. The idea of pink nails—unmistakably feminine—made his heart flutter and his stomach twist. He wanted it, wanted to be pretty and delicate. But the fear lingered too. What if someone saw? What if it was too much?

He opened his mouth, unsure whether to agree or back out—but the stylist’s smile widened as she realized who her client was, and she was already speaking. "Pink it is then. Let’s get started."

Aerith gave his hand a gentle squeeze, her smile full of warmth and playful approval. Cloud blinked, startled, then let himself be led to the chair. He was nervous—maybe even scared—but also relieved that the decision had been taken from him. It was what he really wanted anyway, even if he couldn’t admit it out loud.

She took Cloud's hands, her touch gentle and confident as she examined his nails. Aerith sat beside him in her own chair, already settling in with a cheerful grin. "I'll have pink too," she said brightly to her stylist. "I like matching with my girl friends."

Cloud blinked, startled. His blush deepened, but he didn’t correct her. The words settled over him like a warm blanket, and something in him melted just a little further.

The stylist’s expression softened with understanding as she turned to Cloud. "First time getting your nails done, sweetheart?"

He nodded, shy and silent.

"Well then," the stylist said with a wink, already beginning to file his nails. "We'll make sure you enjoy it—every girl deserves a little pampering now and then."

Cloud's blush deepened at the word, his heart skipping, as he gave a small, bashful nod, the corners of his mouth curling with a quiet, delighted smile. He felt the warmth of Aerith’s presence beside him and the stylist’s gentle touch on his hands, and for a moment, it was easy to let himself be one of the girls. It felt good. It felt right.

The sensation of the file was strange, soothing, and surprisingly tender. He watched with growing delight as the roughness was smoothed away, each pass revealing something neater, cleaner—something a little more her . The stylist paused for a moment, tilting her head as she examined his fingers.

"You've got such graceful hands," she said with a smile.

Cloud blushed, ducking his head slightly. "Thanks," he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

Across from him, Aerith and her stylist were chatting about local boutiques and upcoming seasonal colors. The conversation shifted seamlessly into makeup trends and favorite shades of lipstick, and soon the two stylists were swapping opinions with laughter and nods.

Aerith leaned back with a knowing glance at Cloud. "I think you'd look lovely in a soft coral gloss," she said lightly, her tone teasing but sincere.

Cloud didn’t respond—too shy to join in—but he let the sound of their voices wash over him, the warmth of their words settling deep in his chest. There was something incredibly calming about the rhythmic motion of the file, the light, playful chat, and the way the stylist worked with such care, joy, and precision. It felt good to simply be here, surrounded by it, quietly included in it all. 

When the stylist began applying the light pink polish, Cloud's heart fluttered. The color was delicate, almost ethereal, and with each stroke, a quiet contentment spread through him. The polish caught the light, and on his hands, they did look graceful—imbued with an elegance he had never thought to associate with himself.

"See? Doesn't this feel nice?" Aerith said, her voice soft, her eyes never leaving his face.

"It does," Cloud nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. He lifted one hand, fingers splayed delicately, admiring the pink sheen that caught the light. The way he held it—just so, almost daintily—surprised even him, yet it felt natural. Effortless. "They look wonderful," he whispered. "I... I love them."

They moved to the pedicure station next, where warm water soaked his feet and the hum of the salon wrapped around him like a gentle breeze. Cloud sank deeper into the chair, tension slowly draining from his shoulders. The warm soak, the delicate care as the stylist worked on his toes—it felt like a quiet indulgence he hadn’t known he craved. He kept sneaking glances at his nails, still in awe of the soft pink polish gleaming on his fingers. The air was filled with floral scents and easy laughter, the low hum of conversation creating a sense of safety. In this space, with Aerith beside him and femininity embraced rather than hidden, he felt something shift. His guard fell—not entirely, but enough.

Aerith picked up a magazine from the small table beside them, flipping through the pages and occasionally showing Cloud pictures of hairstyles or dresses. "Ooh, this one," she said, pointing to a breezy summer dress. "That cut and color would look amazing on you."

Cloud chuckled, shaking his head. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"And you're not?" Aerith teased, nudging his shoulder. "I haven’t seen you this happy and relaxed since our day on the beach."

He hesitated, then looked back at the page. The mint green dress was soft and airy—but beside it, a similar one in deep blue seemed to shimmer off the page. His gaze lingered.

"He hesitated, then looked back at the page. The mint green dress was soft and airy—but beside it, a similar one in a deep, shimmering blue seemed to glow off the paper. His gaze lingered.

"I think... I like the blue one better," he murmured, almost to himself.

Aerith’s eyes sparkled. "That’s my girl! I knew you had taste."

The stylist looked up with a smile. "I agree—blue’s perfect for you, you'd look gorgeous."

Aerith giggled, pleased. "Outvoted, then. Blue it is." Then she leaned in and gave Cloud’s arm a warm squeeze as she saw him blush. "Don’t be embarrassed. You’re absolutely adorable. And you’ve got a great eye."

Cloud rolled his eyes, but the warmth in his cheeks and the smile tugging at his lips gave him away. They continued flipping through the magazine together, chatting about fabrics, silhouettes, and shades, giggling over accessories and favorite colors—two girls wrapped up in a moment of softness, the weight of the world held at bay for just a little while as the stylist finished up his toenails.

As they finished up, the stylist gave Cloud a warm smile. "There you go, all done. You look lovely," she said.

Cloud looked down at his freshly painted nails, cheeks pink to match. "Thank you," he murmured, voice soft but genuine.

"You really do," Aerith added, grinning as she stood and smoothed her skirt. "Absolutely perfect."

They thanked the stylists together and stepped out into the fading afternoon light. As they wandered into the town square, a comfortable silence settled between them. Cloud wasn’t thinking about how he looked—wasn’t worrying about the soft pink polish on his fingers. If anything, he caught himself glancing at his hands with a quiet sense of pride, his steps unconsciously lighter, his posture a touch more relaxed, more... graceful.

Then, across the square, something caught his eye—a shop window with a mannequin dressed in a deep blue gown, flowing and elegant, just like the one in the magazine. Cloud stopped, transfixed. He tried to look away, tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed it, but the dress held him there, rooted. The way it shimmered in the light, the way it draped—it pulled at something inside him.

Aerith followed his gaze and smiled knowingly. She didn’t need to ask what he was thinking—she saw the way his eyes lingered on the dress, the softness in his expression. "We still have time," she said gently, her voice low and full of warmth. Then, with a gentle nudge and a glimmer in her eye, she added, "If you want to."

He imagined wearing a dress—the dress—the fabric brushing gently against his skin, flowing with each step, soft and elegant around his body. He pictured himself standing before a mirror, no longer hiding or second-guessing, but seeing someone real, someone beautiful, looking back. The thought made his heart flutter.

"I want to," he said softly, as much to himself as to Aerith.

The words felt like a breath held too long finally released. As they crossed the square, he couldn’t stop glancing at the window, drawn to the dress not with fear, but with longing. It was a small step, maybe, but it carried the weight of everything he’d never allowed himself to feel. The hope. The ache. The possibility of being seen—of seeing her —reflected back in silk and color and light.

Slowly, almost as if in a dream, Cloud stepped into the shop, Aerith right beside him. The space was small but tastefully arranged—racks of flowing dresses and carefully curated accessories lining the walls. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes, looked up from behind the counter.

"Hi there," Aerith greeted her cheerfully. "We saw the dress in the window. My friend here would love to try it on."

The woman’s eyes swept over Cloud—his SOLDIER fatigues, the massive sword on his back—and her brow arched high. "Him?" she asked, not unkind, but clearly puzzled. "This some kind of prank? A tough guy like that, wanting to wear a dress?"

Aerith’s expression didn’t falter. She stepped closer, her voice easy but unwavering. "It’s not a joke. If he wants to try it on, why shouldn’t he? Clothes don’t care who wears them."

Cloud swallowed, his mouth dry, his pulse loud in his ears. He nodded, voice low but steady. "I do," he said. "I want to."

The shopkeeper looked between the two of them, still visibly working through it, then gave a small shrug and a wry half-smile. "Well, alright then. A customer’s a customer."

She eyeballed Cloud for a moment, then turned to the window display, retrieving the dress from the mannequin and slipping it onto a hanger. She handed it to him and nodded toward the back. "Changing room’s over there."

Aerith gave his hand a light squeeze and leaned close. "You’ve got this," she whispered, eyes soft with encouragement.

Cloud nodded, heart pounding, and took the dress in his arms, stepping through the curtain with trembling hands and drawing it shut behind him. The light was soft, the space quiet. The dress hung before him like a promise he was afraid to believe.

Up close, it was even more stunning. Thin sapphire straps framed a fitted sweetheart bodice, accented with delicate beadwork above a flared calf-length skirt. A slight breeze stirred the curtain, making the fabric ripple and the gown shimmer in the shifting light, whispering possibility. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, then reached out and ran his fingers over the fabric. It was smooth, cool, inviting. And waiting.

With another deep breath, he began to undress, peeling away his uniform piece by piece until he stood in nothing but a simple black satin bra and panties. His skin felt silky and smooth—he was quietly glad he’d taken the time to shave that morning. Caught in a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement, Cloud barely registered how exposed he was.

Until the curtain rustled.

Aerith stuck her head through the gap, eyes wide with delight. "Oh," she teased, grinning, "look at you, miss lingerie model."

Cloud yelped, instinctively trying to cover himself. His face went crimson.

Aerith laughed, then held up her hands. "Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just heard some noise outside—something’s going on in town. I’ll check it out and be right back. But... I really can’t wait to see you in that dress."

She gave him a warm, meaningful look, then ducked back out, the curtain swaying in her wake.

Cloud stood frozen for a beat, heart racing. Then he looked back at the dress, still hanging in front of him. His breath hitched. He reached for it, hands trembling slightly as he slipped it carefully off the hanger.

Holding it close for a moment, he stepped into the dress, guiding it gently up his body, wiggling his hips as the silk glided over his smooth skin—cool, intimate, electric. The fitted bodice hugged close, sculpting his waist and gently shaping his chest, and he slipped his arms through the thin straps with a quiet, trembling breath. The skirt flared around his thighs, falling weightlessly as the fabric caressed his legs like a secret, and he stood still for a moment, the sensation settle intsomething more than just touch.

He reached behind to find the zipper, fumbling awkwardly, twisting and contorting with mounting frustration. "Where’s Aerith when I need her?" he muttered under his breath, exasperated but smiling. After some stubborn wriggling and persistence, the zipper finally slid into place. He adjusted the straps on his shoulders, the dress settling fully against his body—like it belonged there.

And just like that, he was wearing it. Really wearing it.

He took a tentative step back to look at himself in the mirror, and his breath caught in his throat. "Oh..." he whispered, the sound barely audible, as if anything louder might break the fragile magic of the moment.

The dress fit perfectly, flowing around him like water, sculpting his body in ways he had never imagined possible. The deep sapphire blue contrasted strikingly with his fair skin, while the delicate straps rested on his shoulders, making them seem narrower, more refined. The bodice hugged close, subtle beadwork catching the light as it shaped the illusion of curves—waist, chest, something softer, more fluid. The flared skirt draped down in gentle folds of silk, brushing his legs like a whisper. It didn’t just fit—it embraced him.

He turned slowly before the mirror, watching the fabric dance and shimmer with every shift, feeling the way it caressed his legs, his waist, his hips. watching the fabric shimmer with every shift of his hips. It was fluid, beautiful, and for the first time, he felt truly connected to that yearning inside him. It moved with him, not apart from him, as though the dress wasn’t clothing but expression. Each brush of silk over his skin was electric, and with every moment, he felt the layers of performance fall away. For the first time, he wasn’t performing at all. He was being.

He reached up to touch the neckline, fingers trembling slightly as they grazed the soft fabric. The mirror didn’t reflect a disguise or costume—it showed someone real. Someone beautiful. He wasn’t the hardened warrior here. He wasn’t the reluctant leader or the quiet outsider. He was someone who could be delicate, who could be soft. Someone who could want this. Embrace beauty without fear

Cloud closed his eyes for a moment, letting it all in—the sensation of the dress, the freedom it represented, the weightlessness of letting go of his defenses. There was still fear in his chest, whispering doubts, echoing shame. But stronger now was the voice that said this is you . That knew, with painful, wondrous clarity, that this was not a fantasy or a game.

It was truth. It was a beginning.

Cloud opened his eyes again. She looked back at her from the mirror— her gaze steady, a small, tentative smile on her lips. What if she walked out like this? What if she stepped beyond the curtain not as the mask she had always worn, but as herself?fFree of all the expectations, free of the weight of who everyone else thought she should be? Unfiltered, unburdened. Real.

The thought bloomed in his mind—intoxicating, electric. He could almost see it, feel it: the sun catching the shimmer of his gown, the sway of the skirt around his legs, Aerith’s bright smile when she saw her . The sense of stepping into the world honestly, openly. And being seen.

He took a step forward, letting the dress sway around him, the fabric flowing like a gentle current. He imagined the air outside, the warmth of the sun, the breeze catching the hem of the gown and lifting it just slightly. It felt right, more right than anything else had in a long time. His heart raced, and he hesitated, standing on the precipice of something so profound, feeling the pull of that possibility—of freedom, of self-expression, of finally letting himself be seen.

Then, just as he was ready to let go, just as he was about to step through the curtain, it tugged open abruptly—Aerith, her eyes wide with alarm. "Cloud, we have to—"

She stopped mid-sentence, eyes sweeping over him. The breath caught in her throat. Cloud didn’t flinch or try to hide. This was him. This was who he was.

"Oh my gods," Aerith whispered. "Cloud... you look beautiful. That dress... this... you ... I mean... I wish..."

Those words snapped him back. The reverie shattered. The moment was gone.

"Wait—what? Shinra?" he stammered, the illusion crumbling as he turned sharply. Over Aerith’s shoulder, he could see the shopkeeper craning her neck to get a better look—at the tough guy in a dress. Her eyes flicked from the silk gown to the massive sword leaning in the corner.

Suddenly, Cloud felt exposed. Stupid. Wrong.

Aerith’s face fell. "No, no—don’t let this ruin it," she said quickly, stepping in closer. Her voice trembled with sincerity. "I wish we had more time—I wish I could tell you just how incredible you look. How right this looks. How right you look."

She swallowed, frustrated. "And you do, Cloud. You do. But right now... you need to change. We need to go."

She reached out and gently pulled the curtain back into place.

Cloud stood frozen, heart pounding, emotions in turmoil. Outside, he could hear Aerith speaking to the shopkeeper, her voice low and apologetic, but the words dissolved in the fog inside his mind.

He took a deep breath, his fingers trembling slightly as he began to strip, the fabric of the dress slipping away from his skin like a cherished dream fading too soon. He looked at his reflection one last time, his heart heavy, before carefully folding the gown. His movements were slow and deliberate, each fold a reluctant farewell. He handed it back to Aerith through the curtain, his eyes downcast, a hollow ache settling in his chest.

He could hear Aerith's voice outside the curtain, the low murmur of her words to the shopkeeper, the mechanical chime of the till—but none of it registered. His thoughts were a blur, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

He pulled on his old fatigues. Each piece felt heavier than before—ill-fitting, foreign. The fabric scratched against his skin, the weight of it pressing down like a burden. It was armor, yes—but not just against danger. It was armor against himself. By the time he stepped out from behind the curtain, sword in hand, he looked the part once more. The hardened warrior. Cloud Strife.

But inside, everything was still shifting.

As they hurried out of the shop, Aerith slung her pack over her shoulder—but then she paused, pulling Cloud gently to a stop. Her eyes were still wide with urgency, but now filled with something softer—regret, and something close to awe.

"Cloud," she said quietly, her voice catching, "I’m so, so sorry. I wish we had time to enjoy this properly. The way you looked... it was perfect. Like you found yourself for the first time."

She hesitated, searching his eyes. "And she’s beautiful."

Cloud blushed, his throat tight, but he didn’t look away. Slowly, tentatively, he gave a small, crooked smile. "She was, wasn’t she."

Aerith squeezed his hand gently, her smile trembling. "She was. And I promise—we’ll find another chance for her. We will."

She took a breath, casting a glance toward the commotion in the square. "But right now? We really have to go."

Together, they ran into the rising chaos of Rocket Town. Cloud knew the moment had passed, slipped through his fingers like silk. But it wasn’t gone. Not really. One day, he’d take that step again—and next time, he’d do it fully, openly.

Next time, he’d walk out as her.

***

After the daring escape from Rocket Town—fleeing under a sky streaked with engine smoke and the angry shouts of Shinra troops—the party had barely scrambled aboard the Tiny Bronco. The old plane, battered but stubbornly alive, roared to life beneath Cid's expert hands. Bullets cut through the air as the group ducked and sprinted across the airstrip, Vincent covering the rear with precision fire while Barrett laid down explosive blasts to scatter their pursuers. They launched into the sky with a rush of adrenaline and disbelief, the cheers on board barely masking the tension still thrumming in their chests.

But elation gave way to dread as smoke began pouring from one of the engines—a bullet had found its mark. The celebration died in their throats as Cid cursed and wrestled with the controls, the Bronco bucking under his hands. They barely had time to brace before the engine gave out, and the plane veered hard, nosediving toward the ocean. The impact was violent but not fatal. Water exploded around them as the Bronco crashed into the sea, skimming across the waves before groaning to a halt, partially submerged and splintered, but afloat.

Cid had immediately pressed the team into action, barking orders and cursing like a storm. Together they hauled the damaged vessel onto a sandbar and began jury-rigging it into something seaworthy. They stripped what they could, turned wings into sails, patched hull breaches with scrap metal and cloth. Cloud worked alongside the others, his hands raw and bruised, his pink polish chipped and battered. He was certain Tifa had clocked it—a flicker of something passed over her features when their eyes met, her gaze dropping to his hands for just a heartbeat before she looked away and moved on. The work was frantic, dirty, and oddly exhilarating—a race against time and tides.

But now, with the adrenaline fading and the sun beginning its slow descent, Cloud and Aerith sat quietly on the wing of the Tiny Bronco as it drifted through the open sky above the sea, the patched-up vessel gliding low, its engines murmuring in the background. The others were busy inside the fuselage, preparing for the next leg of their journey to the Gold Saucer—checking supplies, tending bruises, patching leaks—but out here, under the vast open sky, it was just the two of them. The breeze was soft, warm with the scent of salt and engine oil, and the golden light cast long shadows across the sun-warmed metal. The wind tugged gently at Cloud's hair as he stared toward the horizon, letting out a slow breath, a wistful look flickering across his features like a passing cloud.

Aerith sat beside him in silence, her eyes tracing the glow of the sea where the light skimmed its surface. Then, softly, she broke the quiet. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Cloud didn’t look away from the horizon. "Talk about what?"

"The dress," she said gently. "How you looked in it. Or maybe… how it made you feel."

He was quiet for a moment, the wind teasing at the ends of his hair. Then he spoke, his voice low, steady, but thick with emotion.
“It scared me, Aerith…”

She turned toward him, brows knitting softly. “Scared you?”

He met her gaze. “Because it felt so natural. So right. I put the dress on, looked at myself in the mirror... and I didn’t want to take it off. I almost walked right out of the shop in it. I wanted to.”

Aerith shifted, giving him her full attention.

“I didn’t recognize myself at first,” Cloud said, voice quieter now, like he was giving voice to something sacred. “But it wasn’t like seeing a stranger. It was like seeing someone I’d been trying not to look at my whole life. I wasn’t pretending. I wasn’t hiding. I was looking at... her.”

"What did she look like to you?" Aerith asked, her voice quiet.

Cloud smiled faintly, the words forming slowly, like a truth he'd never dared speak aloud. "She was beautiful. Strong, in a way that didn’t need armor. Graceful, soft, and so sure of herself. And in that moment, when I looked in the mirror, I felt free. Like… if I stepped out of the changing room in that moment, I wouldn’t just be wearing a dress. I’d be stepping out as her. As me. Not the SOLDIER, not the mask I’ve been holding onto. It would’ve been as her. As me. Finally."

Aerith’s expression softened into something luminous. "I saw her too," she said gently. "You didn't just look beautiful in that dress—you looked happy, at ease, like you belonged in it. I just hoped you saw it too. And I’m so, so glad you did."

Cloud's voice softened, but there was a clarity in it now that hadn’t been there before. "It wasn’t just the dress. It was something underneath it all. Something that had always been waiting..."

He turned to Aerith, and for a moment, the ache in his chest loosened, the ever-present tension easing beneath the warmth of the setting sun. "Aerith... I’ve realized something." He paused, the words catching for just a breath before he let them go. "I don’t think I’m a man. Maybe that’s how I’ve looked, how I’ve tried to present myself. But it never felt right."

He looked up, more sure of himself than he’d ever felt before, and met her eyes. "I’m a woman. I think I always have been. And I don’t want that to be a secret anymore—not something fleeting or hidden. I want to live as her. As who I really am."

Aerith didn’t hesitate. She pulled him into a tight, glowing hug, burying her face in his shoulder. "Oh my god, Cloud. That’s huge. That’s... incredible. I’m so happy for you. So proud of you. And so, so glad you could finally say it."

"It was like something lifted," he murmured. "Like the weight of everything just... cleared, and I could finally see myself. Really see."

Aerith tilted her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Like the clouds cleared?"

He let out a breath of laughter, surprised and almost shy. "Yeah. Just like that."

She grinned, eyes glinting with affection. "Then maybe we should call her Skye."

Cloud blinked, the name landing gently in the space between them. It felt light, bright, like it had always been waiting. He looked down, then back up at Aerith with a quiet, growing smile. "Skye..."

"It suits her," Aerith said, reaching out to rest a hand on hers.

Cloud chuckled, feeling a quiet warmth bloom inside him. "Yeah. Maybe it does."

Aerith leaned in, her eyes bright with excitement. "So what pronouns are you going to use now? She/her, I guess? Oh—when do you want to tell the others?! Do you want me to help you dress up for it? I could do your makeup and maybe style your hair and—"

She stopped abruptly as she saw Cloud blanch, the color draining from his face just slightly, his shoulders stiffening.

Aerith caught herself, immediately softening. "Oh, gods—sorry. I didn’t mean to rush you. There’s no pressure, okay? You don’t have to do anything before you’re ready. We’ll take it one step at a time. In your time."

Cloud nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Thanks. I... I really appreciate that." He gave a small, almost sheepish smile. "I’m not ready yet. Not for all of it. But... I think I will be. Soon. When things settle down a little."

“You know, Skye,” Aerith said softly, her voice wrapped in warmth, “when you're ready to take that big step, I'll be right there, cheering you on.” She smiled, radiant and steady, like sunlight breaking through.

Cloud swallowed, the emotion welling up sharp and deep in his throat. He couldn’t quite find the words—but Aerith had always known. Always understood. And somehow, that made it easier. This journey was his to make, and Aerith would walk beside him, no matter how long it took.

Aerith reached into her pocket, pulling out a small velvet pouch. “I wanted to give you something,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She opened the pouch to reveal a delicate pendant necklace—a simple but beautiful piece, a small gemstone glinting in the moonlight. “I bought it in Rocket Town,” she added, her eyes meeting his. “Jewelry of your own. I remember what you said in Nibelheim, about your mother’s jewelry. I thought you might like something for yourself.”

Cloud's breath caught as he held up the necklace, the gemstone catching the last glimmer of light. He stepped in close, his fingers gentle as they brushed the back of his neck, fastening the clasp with care. The cool metal settled against his chest, tucked beneath his uniform—hidden, but unmistakably there. Its weight comforting in a way he hadn’t expected, a quiet affirmation of the self he had discovered. He looked down, fingers brushing over the pendant, the touch reverent. It was more than a gift—it was a reflection of how Aerith saw him. Saw her . A smile tugged at her lips—shy, grateful, and deeply moved.

“Thank you, Aerith,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. Aerith simply smiled in return, her eyes shimmering with the same acceptance and care that had always been there.

As they sat there, the ocean spreading out before them, Cloud felt a quiet sense of peace. She wasn’t sure what the future held, but for now, she felt ready. Ready to take each small step toward embracing herself.  

Aerith looked up at the sky, her voice soft as she leaned back on her hands. "You’ve come so far. It’s been such a joy, watching you open up like this—watching you become yourself." She turned, her gaze steady and full of warmth. "And you’re beautiful. Truly."

Cloud swallowed, the sincerity in the words bringing a lump to her throat. She looked out at the waves, watching them crash against the Bronco. “I think… I finally understand who I am,” she said quietly. “Or at least, I’m not afraid to find out.”

Aerith smiled, reaching over and taking her hand. “That’s all anyone could ever ask for,” she whispered, then glanced up at the sky, her eyes twinkling. “Look at that clear sky. Full of possibility and beauty, not a cloud in sight.”

They looked to the horizon—Cloud was ready to embrace it. Embrace who she was . One beautiful dress, one cherished necklace, one gentle moment at a time.

Chapter Text

The ride to the Gold Saucer was almost as magical as the place itself. Bright lights and towering attractions filled their view as they approached, the city of entertainment glowing like a beacon in the dark desert night. Though the mission had brought them in search of the Keystone, even the most focused among them couldn’t help but be swept up in the dazzling skyline and the electric buzz of anticipation. The thrill of the approaching festivities tugged at them like gravity, pulling smiles and wide eyes despite themselves.

But Cloud wasn’t thinking about the bright lights, or the mission, or even the Keystone they were supposedly here to find. Cloud was lost in thought—back on the wing of the Tiny Bronco, replaying that conversation with Aerith, that quiet confession whispered above the waves: about who she wanted to be.

She wanted to be a woman. She was a woman. That realization had been slow to bloom but impossible to ignore now. She was still dressed as Cloud—still wearing the armor of who she’d been expected to be—but inside, something had shifted. She wasn’t ready to show everyone yet. Not quite. But soon.

Soon she’d wear a dress like the one in Rocket Town.

The thought bloomed suddenly, unexpectedly, and it made her heart flutter. She could picture it: soft fabric brushing her thighs, the freedom in it, the elegance. Without realizing it, she adjusted her posture, sitting straighter, crossing her legs more delicately— as if she were already wearing one. One hand rested gently in her lap, the other brushing a lock of blond hair from her cheek.

She caught Aerith watching her with a soft smile and returned it with a shy, gentle one of her own.

Behind them, the rest of the party filled the cable car with chatter. Yuffie was practically bouncing in her seat.
"Okay, so I know we're here for the mission... but we have to go on the gondola ride. And I wanna play at least three of the arcade games. Maybe four. Actually, no, five. We need some fun! Especially Cloud—he's been brooding since we left Rocket Town."

Cloud blinked, drawn back to the present. "Oh, I... I don't know about that," she murmured, voice soft.

Tifa turned to her, brows knitting slightly. "She’s got a point. You’ve seemed even more out of sorts than usual. Is everything okay?"

Cloud felt a cold twist in her stomach. Tifa’s gaze lingered a bit too long. Did she notice something? The way she was sitting, the faint shape of the bra under her shirt, her growing hair... Did she know? Could she know? Would she ever be okay with the truth?

She opened her mouth, stammering for something—anything—to say, when Aerith interrupted with a breezy, practiced ease.

"Oh, he's always quiet," she said, sliding closer until their shoulders brushed. Her voice was light, almost sing-song. "But maybe should try and find you something fun to do..." Her fingers skimmed Cloud’s hand—barely a touch, but enough to make her heart flutter.

Tifa’s gaze snapped over, sharp and unamused. "We’re not here for fun," she said, her voice cool and clipped. Her eyes flicked from Aerith to Cloud—as if calculating something unspoken. "Let’s just stay focused. We need the Keystone."

Barret gave a grunt of agreement from across the cabin, arms crossed like stone. "Damn right. Shinra ain’t gonna wait while we ride roller coasters and play grab-ass. We stick to the plan, get what we came for."

"Ugh, you guys are no fun," Yuffie groaned, flopping dramatically back into her seat. "What’s the point of coming to the Gold Saucer if we don’t do anything ? You can’t spell 'mission' without a little bit of mischief."

Aerith laughed softly, her hand retreating but her gaze still on Cloud. As Barret and Tifa turned to rein in Yuffie's exuberance, Aerith leaned in and whispered, lips close to Cloud’s ear, "Maybe we’ll steal just a few moments for ourselves."

Cloud didn’t reply, but she couldn’t help the small smile that spread across her face. It would be nice to have a little time for fun… like back in Rocket Town.

The cable car slowed as it neared the platform, and the golden glow of the Saucer spilled into the cabin. One by one, the group turned toward the windows, drawn by the blaze of lights and movement outside. Neon signs flickered, music pulsed from the streets below, and the air shimmered with life. For a moment, even Barret was quiet. Despite themselves—despite the mission—they were all caught in the wonder of it. The thrill, the color, the illusion of escape. Just for a heartbeat, it was enough to make them forget why they’d come.

As the doors opened and they stepped out onto the platform, the sensory overload hit them all at once. The music swelled, lights danced across every surface, and laughter echoed from all directions. The buzz of the Gold Saucer was palpable, and even the mission-driven tension hanging over them seemed to loosen a little in the warm, golden glow.

Cloud felt it in her chest—a flutter of excitement, like something blooming. She tried not to smile too obviously, but it was hard not to feel lifted by the magic of it all. Aerith reached down and gently took Cloud's hand in hers. She gave it a squeeze, and Cloud didn’t pull away.

Tifa caught the motion and narrowed her eyes. Her voice was flat, almost forced. "I’m going to focus on the mission, at least. Cait, Vincent—come with me to get the Keystone."

Barret grunted in agreement. "Me and Red’ll go secure some accommodations."

Tifa turned to the rest, her gaze lingering a moment longer on Cloud. Her voice softened, almost sad. "You three… just try not to get into trouble, alright?"

Yuffie, of course, was already gone.

As the others began to split off, Cloud remained rooted beside Aerith, her hand still warm in hers. For the first time in a while, it felt like she could breathe. They had a little time now—just the two of them.

Aerith waited until the others were fully out of earshot, then turned to Cloud with a grin that was equal parts mischievous and adoring. "Okay," she whispered, eyes sparkling as she gave Cloud’s hand another squeeze, "just us girls!" She winked. "What should we do first?"

Cloud hesitated, glancing around at the vibrant, bustling street. The neon glow painted everyone in dreamlike color. "I don't know... I'm a little overwhelmed," she admitted softly, voice nearly lost in the hum of the crowd.

Aerith’s smile only widened. "Leave it to me, then. I’ve got some ideas." With a gentle tug, she linked her arm through Cloud’s. "Come on."

Aerith chatted lightly as they walked—something about the games at Wonder Square—but Cloud wasn’t listening. Her eyes had caught on a group of showgirls drifting past like a burst of starlight. Tall, poised, wrapped in shimmering sequins and sweeping feathers, they moved like they owned every inch of the street. Their lips were painted, their eyes framed in glitter, their laughter confident and rich. They were radiant.

And Cloud couldn’t stop staring. Her chest ached with something sharp and longing.

"Someone’s admiring the scenery," Aerith said gently, interrupting the reverie with a nudge of her elbow and a sly smile.

"I wasn’t!" Cloud flushed, eyes snapping away. "I mean—not like that..."

But the truth came tumbling out in a breath. "They just look so... confident. Beautiful. I... I wish that was me."

Aerith’s teasing faded into something softer. She squeezed Cloud’s hand and murmured, "One day, maybe it will be."

The words lit something inside Cloud—warm, aching, hopeful. She smiled, shy but sincere.

"C’mon," Aerith said, gently swinging their linked arms with a bright smile. "I was saying we should start with some games. Yuffie wouldn't shut up about Wonder Square."

Cloud nodded. "Yeah. Games sound good."

They walked on together, Cloud still glowing from Aerith’s gentle encouragement. Aerith gave her a playful side glance. "You know," she said, grinning, "you’d look really good in sequins."

Cloud’s cheeks flushed instantly. She looked away, but then something loosened in her, like a cork popped. "Do you think so? I mean they look amazing—their hair, their outfits, the way they walk in heels like it's nothing... and their makeup! Do you think I could do that? That shimmer on their eyelids, and the way their lipstick stays perfect—how do they do it? And their legs, Aerith, they go on forever—"

Aerith laughed, eyes wide with delight. "Whoa, slow down!" She gave Cloud’s arm a squeeze and grinned. "If you're gonna be a showgirl, you better start working on those dance moves." She tugged her gently forward. "Now c’mon—let’s see how good your reflexes are. Wonder Square’s just around the corner."

They arrived to find Wonder Square ablaze with lights, the air thick with music and laughter. Arcade cabinets lined the walls, prize machines blinked with promise, and the electric hum of G-Bike battles and 3D brawls filled the space.

To Cloud’s surprise, Yuffie was already there, elbows deep in a claw machine and cursing softly.

"Hey!" Yuffie called out when she spotted them. "Took you two long enough. I was this close to winning a moogle backpack, but nope, slipped right through. Whatever—now you're here let’s hit 3D Battler!"

They jostled for position at the cabinet, teasing and laughing as they picked their characters. Yuffie immediately picked the fast, agile ninja, while Cloud, without thinking, selected the most exaggeratedly feminine option on the screen—glittery wings, pigtails, and a sparkling heart wand.

"Seriously?" Yuffie snorted. "You’re going with Sparkle-Princess? Didn’t peg you for glitter-core."

Cloud hesitated, breath catching—but before she could falter, Aerith jumped in, voice light. "I reckon Cloud can take you as anyone."

Bolstered by the support, Cloud rolled her shoulders and flashed a breezy grin. "Yeah? What’s the matter? Scared you’ll get beaten by a girl?" Aerith gave her a knowing grin—one Yuffie, of course, completely missed.

"No chance," Yuffie scoffed. "Get ready to get the glitter kicked out of you."

Ten minutes later, Cloud stood triumphant while Yuffie threw herself dramatically onto a bench.

"Okay, okay," she groaned. "You win. But only because I was blinded by all the sparkles." She bounced right back up, pointing toward the next row of machines. "But I’ll beat you on G-Bikes, just watch."

Cloud threw a glance at Aerith, as if seeking permission. Aerith caught it and smiled. "Go on," she said with a wink. "I'll catch up."

With that, Cloud turned and hurried after Yuffie, hopping onto the bike next to her. The two raced through blaring simulated streets, their laughter mixing with the roar of engines. Cloud pulled ahead in the final seconds and won again, breathless with joy.

As she caught her breath, she noticed Aerith wasn’t with them. She turned to scan the room—and spotted her near an attendant’s kiosk, speaking in hushed tones.

Curious, Cloud wandered over, Yuffie on her heels. Aerith turned with a bright, almost guilty smile.

"All sorted," she said.

"Sorted what?" Yuffie asked, suspicious.

"Next stop," Aerith said brightly.

Yuffie perked up. "Ooh, where are we going—"

"Just for me and Cloud," Aerith cut in gently but firmly.

Yuffie sighed with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Whatever. I didn’t wanna spend all night with you lovebirds anyway. I’m gonna hit the chocobo races."

Cloud watched her go, amused, before glancing back at Aerith. "So... what now?"

Aerith smiled, eyes gleaming. "You’ll see. Come on."

—

Back in the bright swirl of the central plaza, Aerith suddenly stopped, placing a hand gently on Cloud's arm. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Close your eyes,” she said, her voice low and secretive.

“Aerith…”

“Just trust me,” she said, her voice soft and teasing, and Cloud found herself obeying, letting out a slow breath as she did.

She could hear her moving around, some murmured conversation with someone nearby, and then Aerith’s fingers were in hers, pulling her forward. “Alright, keep your eyes closed… Just a few more steps…”

She felt a tug at her arm, and then she stopped her, the air shifting around them as they moved into a different room. Cloud could hear the soft rustle of fabric, the faint creak of floorboards, and Aerith's quiet giggle. When she finally told him to open her eyes, she blinked in confusion.

They were backstage, in a lavishly decorated dressing room. The room was filled with costumes, colorful fabric, and ornate masks hanging on the walls. In front of her was a beautiful gown—white, embroidered with intricate floral patterns that shimmered under the soft light. The bodice was fitted, cinching in at the waist before flowing out into a full, floor-length skirt. The puffy sleeves added an elegant, almost ethereal touch, giving the dress a sense of regal grace. The long flowing skirt was layered, with delicate lace peeking out from beneath, adding texture and movement. The entire dress seemed to have a life of its own, catching the light with every shift, creating an enchanting effect that made it impossible to look away.

“What is this?” Cloud asked, her voice tight with disbelief, barely above a whisper.

Aerith grinned, stepping closer. “It’s for you,” she said, her voice dancing with excitement. “Tonight, you're going to be the princess in the play.”

Cloud’s eyes widened, her heart pounding. “Aerith… you’re not serious.”

“I’m completely serious,” Aerith replied, her tone light and melodic as she traced a finger along the gown's delicate embroidery. “They needed someone for the role, and I thought—why not you?”

Cloud stared at the dress, reaching out tentatively to touch it, a thousand thoughts running through her mind. She wanted to say no, to protest, but there was something in the way Aerith was looking at her—something filled with encouragement, admiration, and maybe even a little bit of hope—that made the words catch in her throat.

“Besides,” Aerith said, stepping closer and placing her hand on her arm, “I know you want to. You might be scared, but I see it in your eyes, Cloud. You want to feel this, see yourself this way. See who you really are and let everyone see it too.” She looked her in the eyes, nothing but sincerity and love. “And I promise, it’s going to be beautiful.”

She hesitated for a moment longer, then slowly nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. Aerith was right—she did want this. More than anything, she wanted to feel like, look like—be herself. “Okay,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Aerith squealed, bouncing slightly on her toes. "This is going to be amazing!" She planted a quick kiss on Cloud's lips, then bit her lip with a grin, her eyes sparkling. "Let’s get you ready. Try not to look—I don’t want to spoil the surprise."

Aerith's excitement was infectious as Cloud stripped off her fatigues, revealing the lacy lavender lingerie she wore beneath. There was no hesitation, no self-consciousness—it felt natural, right. Just two girls together. Aerith let out a soft, appreciative whistle and grinned. “You look amazing already,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Cloud's ear.

Cloud smiled shyly, her fingers playing at the edge of her bra strap. “Thanks. It feels... good,” she admitted, her voice soft with wonder. Aerith, grinning, pulled the dress off the hanger and carefully arranged it for Cloud to step into, her hands reverent, her joy clear.

She s tepped into the dress, and Aerith's hands were there immediately—deftly guiding the fabric around her body, securing the laces at the back, adjusting the sleeves until it fit perfectly. As Aerith pulled the laces tight, Cloud felt the dress shape to her form, hugging her torso and flaring out below the waist. The snugness of the bodice, the way it cinched her waist, made her feel both vulnerable and elegant. Each breath she took seemed to make the dress move with her, as if it had become an extension of her body.

The fabric brushed softly against her skin, a delicate caress that sent shivers down her spine. The material was light and airy, but the layers of the skirt and petticoats gave it a fullness that made her feel almost weightless. She was hyper-aware of every movement, the rustle of the dress accompanying each small shift, the weight of it reminding her of how different this was from her usual attire.

Cloud watched Aerith as she adjusted the skirts, her fingers smoothing out the wrinkles, arranging the petticoats so they flowed perfectly. The sight of her focused so intently on her, making sure everything looked just right, filled her with a warmth she couldn't quite describe. She looked down at herself, at the flowing fabric that swirled around her legs, and felt a mixture of anxiety and exhilaration—a sense of stepping into something entirely new, yet deeply desired.

The dress wasn't just clothing; it was a statement. Each ribbon, each fold of the fabric seemed to whisper to her, encouraging her to let go of her reservations, to embrace the side of herself that she had always kept hidden.

Aerith stepped back and clasped her hands together with a breathless squeal. "Oh my god, I can't wait for you to see this," she said, eyes glittering with excitement. She turned and grabbed a pair of low heels. "You did alright in these back in Wall Market, so you should manage," she added with a wink, setting them down at Cloud's feet with a flourish.

She slipped into the dainty low heels, the straps fitting snugly around her ankles. As she tried to take a step, she stumbled, catching herself on the vanity.

“Careful, Princess!” Aerith called out with a laugh.

Cloud groaned. “These are definitely higher than the ones in Wall Market!” she complained, pouting slightly.

Aerith burst into laughter, eyes sparkling with delight. “Maybe… but since you’re a girl you'd better get used to them,” she teased, grinning.

Cloud couldn't help but laugh too, the sound soft and full of joy. The dress, the heels, Aerith’s laughter—it all felt exactly right. She looked up at Aerith, seeing the delight in her eyes, and knew she was exactly where she was meant to be, even if it was all still new.

Next, Cloud sat down for her makeup, eyes obediently shut. “Remember, no peeking,” Aerith warned, her voice sing-song with excitement. “Not until I say so. This is going to be so worth it.”

Cloud smiled despite herself. “You're really enjoying this, huh?”

“Obviously,” Aerith giggled, dabbing her brush into the palette. “But more importantly, you're going to enjoy it. And since this won’t be the last time—don’t even pretend it will—I’m teaching you a bit again as we go.”

Cloud gave a breathy laugh. “Homework already?”

“Makeup is an art,” Aerith said, mock-scolding. “And every artist needs to know her tools.”

She started with foundation, her brush gliding over Cloud’s skin in gentle, even strokes. Cloud let herself sink into the sensation. Each pass seemed to smooth more than her skin—it smoothed the nerves too, brushing away the hard edges of doubt and hesitation.

Then came the blush, a light warmth blooming across her cheeks. Cloud could feel it in more than just her skin; it was a kind of blossoming from within.

“You’re already glowing,” Aerith murmured fondly. “But a little extra never hurts.”

Cloud huffed a laugh. “Not like I have a mirror to check.”

“Patience, princess.”

Aerith moved on to the eyeshadow, her fingertips soft as she blended the pigment with practiced ease. Her voice continued in a low, lilting hum as she worked, a secret kind of rhythm between them. Cloud stayed still, soaking in each detail, not just in sensation, but in how Aerith moved—gentle, deliberate, full of care.

When the eyeliner came next, Cloud could feel her heart flutter. Aerith's hands were steady, her breath warm as she leaned close. The gentle tug at her eyelid, the smooth slide of the pencil—it all felt delicate, sacred.

“You're doing great,” Aerith whispered, as if they were sharing a secret.

And finally, her lips. Aerith uncapped the rose-tinted gloss and applied it with a light hand. The scent was sweet, the touch cool. It was the finishing touch, the final soft click in a lock Cloud hadn’t only just realized she’d always wanted opened.

Aerith stepped back, letting out a breathless, delighted sigh, then started rifling through brushes and pins. Cloud tilted her head slightly, curiosity piqued. “What's next?”

"We can't forget about your hair, Princess," she added, tapping Cloud on the nose with the end of a comb. Cloud let out a soft laugh as Aerith began to work, her touch both playful and precise. Each stroke of the brush sent little tingles across her scalp, and she relaxed into it without realizing, lulled by the rhythmic motion.

Aerith worked in focused silence for a moment, then whispered conspiratorially, "It's getting longer, but I think we can add a bit extra for tonight."

She leaned in with a grin, hands still busy in Cloud's hair. "Pay attention—you'll need to know how to do this too, remember. There will definitely be a next time.""

She pinned in extensions with a deft touch, and Cloud felt the added weight settle comfortingly over her shoulders. Her fingers brushed along the new length with quiet wonder. “Are these... going to come out later?” she asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

Aerith smiled, her tone reassuring. “Of course. We can undo everything later if you want. But you're going to look lovely with long curls.”

That softened Cloud's nerves, replacing them with something warmer. The idea that it could be undone reassured her, but part of her didn’t want to let go of it at all. As Aerith gently curled and shaped her hair with the tongs, Cloud let her mind drift. She imagined having long golden curls every day, spilling across her shoulders, catching the light just so. The thought made her chest flutter with something giddy and secret.

Aerith leaned close, gently arranging each curl with her fingers, and Cloud felt the subtle brush of her breath on the back of her neck. Her heart fluttered again, this time not just from the closeness, but from the growing thrill of becoming. Pearl-encrusted pins clicked softly into place as Aerith finished, tucking stray locks with reverence. Each delicate adornment made Cloud feel more like the princess Aerith saw in her.

Cloud stirred slightly, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the quiet. “Can I see now?” she asked, her voice tinged with excitement and nerves.

“Almost, Princess,” Aerith said, gently tapping her shoulder. “Just a couple finishing touches.”

Cloud let out a breath, her anticipation bubbling over. She couldn’t help but grin. Something inside her already knew: whatever was coming, it was going to be unforgettable.

Aerith added jewelry with care—dangling earrings that brushed against Cloud's neck, catching the light with every movement. She clipped them on gently, adjusting each one until it framed her face just right. Then came the necklace—a delicate silver chain with a familiar pendant, the one Aerith had given her. She clasped it around Cloud's neck with a fond smile, the gem resting just above the bodice of the dress, shimmering softly and meaningfully between them.

Finally, Aerith held up a small tiara, tilting her head as she smiled. “Every princess needs one,” she said teasingly, and placed it carefully atop Cloud's styled waves. It fit perfectly, like it had been waiting for her all along.

She stepped back, eyes bright with pride. “There,” she whispered warmly, “absolutely perfect.”

Cloud felt her heart flutter as Aerith finally stepped back and the realization hit her with a rush of emotions. This was it.

“Are you ready?” Aerith asked, her voice full of warmth and excitement.

Cloud slowly rose to her feet, the skirt swishing gently around her legs. She placed a hand over her stomach and took a deep breath, settling her nerves.

“I... I think so,” she said, a nervous thrill in her voice.

Aerith beamed. “Alright then, Princess,” she whispered, and turned the mirror toward her with a gentle, ceremonial flourish.

Cloud just stared, caught in stunned silence by what she saw in the mirror. There was no trace of the SOLDIER. No armor, no mask, no weight of a role she had carried for so long. What stared back was a true fairytale princess—and she was real. She was radiant.

And she always had been.

She looked… beautiful. There was no other word for it. The realization struck her with a tidal wave of emotion. Her gaze wandered slowly, drinking in every detail with disbelief and awe. The gown fit like it had been made for her: delicate floral embroidery shimmered softly with each subtle movement, the bodice hugging her torso and flaring into a full skirt that swirled with grace and created the illusion of a feminine hourglass. The sleeves puffed gently at her shoulders, framing her with a weightless elegance, like she belonged in another world entirely—a world where she could be this version of herself without question.

The makeup Aerith had so lovingly applied brought out her natural features with enchanting clarity. Her eyes glowed, the striking blue of her irises brightened by a soft shimmer across her lids and a sweep of liner that added quiet drama. The blush warmed her cheeks, and her lips—glossed in a delicate rose—curved into a smile so genuine it startled her. Her usual guarded expression was gone, replaced by a softness, a vulnerability that felt both unfamiliar and completely right.

Her hair, styled into flowing golden waves, framed her face with effortless elegance. Each curl, each pearl-adorned pin, added to the fairytale illusion. The jewelry shimmered like magic, every piece chosen with care. The pendant above her neckline felt cool against her skin—a quiet, steady reminder of who she was, and who she was finally becoming.

The tiara atop her head wasn’t a costume piece. It felt earned, sacred. Not the crown of a make-believe princess, but a symbol of truth unveiled. When she looked at herself, she didn’t see a disguise. She saw someone who had always been there, just waiting to be seen.

She felt exposed. Vulnerable. And yet, powerful. There was strength in showing this version of herself, in allowing it to live and breathe without shame. For the first time, Cloud saw beauty in her own reflection—and it didn’t frighten her. It set her free.

Her fingers lifted hesitantly to her cheek, the makeup warm beneath her touch. The girl in the mirror—graceful, radiant, strong—was her. A version she had never let herself imagine, but who now felt utterly real. Not a fantasy. Not a mask.

Her. Cloud Strife. A princess.

Aerith watched her silently, eyes glistening with pride. She could see the realization dawning in Cloud’s eyes—the truth rising to the surface, clear and undeniable. Cloud Strife was a warrior, yes. But she was also a princess. And now, finally, she saw it too.

Cloud swallowed hard, emotion surging up through her like a wave. Tears welled and spilled, not from sorrow, but from something softer—relief, joy, release. The moment felt too big for words.

Aerith stepped in with a soft chuckle, brushing a tear away with the pad of her thumb. “Don’t cry, Princess,” she said playfully, her grin bright. “You’ll ruin all my hard work.”

Cloud let out a choked laugh, somewhere between a sob and a smile. “Sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I just… I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

“Like you?” Aerith asked, her tone suddenly soft again.

Cloud nodded, blinking back more tears. “Yeah. Like me.”

Cloud turned slightly, the long skirt swirling around her with a whisper of fabric, the movement light and intoxicating. She gave a playful twirl, watching the fabric billow and ripple with delight. Then, catching sight of herself in the mirror, she struck a pose—shoulders tilted, one hip cocked just so, her head turned with the faintest smile.

Aerith giggled behind her. “Look at you,” she teased, stepping forward with eyes full of affection. “Already practicing for the role?”

Cloud laughed softly, a blush coloring her cheeks, but she didn’t drop the pose. Instead, she held it a second longer before relaxing, breathing deep. The joy hadn’t left her.

Aerith stepped closer, her hands resting gently on Cloud’s shoulders. Her voice was warm, reverent. “You look perfect.”

Cloud took a deep breath, letting Aerith's words settle into her like sunlight through stained glass. She smiled—genuine and full, the kind that touched her eyes and softened everything inside. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice catching slightly with the weight of it. This wasn’t just about a dress. It wasn’t about playing pretend. It was about stepping into the part of herself that had always been there, waiting to be seen.

Aerith took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “So,” she said, smile widening, eyes glowing, “are you ready to be a princess?”

Cloud turned back to the mirror one last time. The gown. The curls. The tiara. The girl looking back at her.

She nodded, a new smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah,” she said, her voice clear and sure. “I really am.”

And she was. This wasn’t a costume. It wasn’t an act. It was a beginning—a promise to herself that she would never again hide the beauty, the softness, the truth she carried. This was hers now. Real. Radiant. And finally, free.

—

Cloud stood behind the curtain, the soft murmur of the audience a distant tide beyond the velvet. The scent of polished wood and expensive perfume hung in the air, the hush before the storm. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched her skirts, heart thudding against her ribs. She’d faced monsters, death, even Sephiroth—but this was different. This was terrifying.

It hadn’t felt that way backstage, when Aerith had led her in, smiling wide as she introduced her to the cast and crew as "the girl playing the princess." It had been scary, yes—unnerving to be seen like that. But there had also been a flicker of something else: exhilaration. The cast had been so welcoming, so kind, treating her like just another girl in a pretty dress. For a while, in that little world behind the curtain, she had almost believed she belonged.

But now, Cloud stood at the edge of the stage, and all that fragile confidence was unraveling fast. The stage beneath her heels felt too big, too exposed. And just beyond the curtain, a sea of strangers waited to see her.

"You okay, Princess?" whispered a fellow cast member—a girl playing one of the handmaidens—offering a warm, reassuring smile.

Cloud nodded, her movements a touch too careful. "Just nerves," she murmured, forcing a small smile.

She glanced around again, at the cast bustling in final preparation. None of them knew. None of them realized she was, physically, a man. But even that thought felt strange now—distant, like something she’d borrowed from another life. Whatever her body had once meant, it no longer defined her. Not here. Not tonight. Not in this dress, with her heart fluttering like a curtain in the wind and her soul laid bare beneath the stage lights. In every way that mattered, she was a woman.

"You’ve got nothing to worry about," said the actor cast as the prince, adjusting his regal jacket. He gave Cloud a once-over, then added with a wink, "They found a really pretty princess tonight."

Cloud flushed, her breath catching. The prince’s eyes lingered just a second too long, warm and gleaming beneath the stage lights. He looked like a real man—broad-shouldered, strong, confident in his tight jacket and tailored trousers. Charming, with a sculpted jaw and a smirk that danced just on the edge of cocky—handsome in a way that made her stomach flutter and her chest tighten unexpectedly. Her breath hitched. That warmth in her chest, the twist low in her belly—handsome? Wait. Did she just think he was handsome??

Was she... attracted to him? A man? She wasn’t—she couldn’t be—

The orchestra struck a sharp chord, slicing through her thoughts.

"Showtime," the prince whispered, offering her his arm with a rakish grin.

Cloud blinked, heart still pounding. A sudden wave of panic surged through her—this was a mistake. She wasn’t ready to be exposed like this, not truly. Her fingers trembled as they found the prince’s arm. She wanted to run, to vanish behind the curtain and pretend none of this had ever happened.

But it was too late.

The lights blazed to life, hot and merciless, and the curtain began to rise. A hush fell over the theater, and in the span of a heartbeat, hundreds of eyes turned toward her. The spotlight hit, dazzling and blinding, and she was no longer Cloud the mercenary, or even Cloud the reluctant performer. She was the princess.

Showtime.

The prince stepped forward and delivered the opening line with practiced ease, his voice ringing clear across the hushed theater: "Dearest moon, if you grant wishes, let this be the night I find her—my heart’s true grace."

Beside him, Cloud stood frozen. Her nerves were wildfire, raging in her chest, but she closed her eyes.

She thought of the Honey Bee Inn.

The lights. The rhythm. The feeling of release. Of freedom. That night she had let go, allowed herself to move, to dance, to feel beautiful, even just for a moment. That memory surged into her chest like a second heartbeat—steady, grounding.

She clutched it tight.

Her breath steadied. Her fingers curled confidently at her sides. She opened her eyes—and found Aerith in the crowd, beaming at her from the front row, eyes shining with fierce, unshakable pride. Just like at the Honey Bee Inn. Seeing her .

Cloud stepped into the glow.

"My prince," she said, her voice clear and melodic. "If the moon granted your wish, then perhaps I am yours to find."

Her hesitation melted away, replaced by a sense of grace and poise that felt utterly natural—like slipping into the skin of someone she’d always been meant to be. She didn’t just move to the choreography; she flowed across the stage with effortless femininity, her every gesture soft and intentional, her presence radiant.

She wandered the rose garden scene, fingertips brushing the delicate silk petals as she tilted her chin toward the painted stars. Her gown shimmered in the light, her silhouette delicate, ethereal. “Can a heart in a tower still dream of the sky?” she whispered, her voice trembling with quiet wonder, each word spun from the softest silk. For a moment, she wasn’t acting—she was yearning. Hoping. And the audience leaned in, completely captivated by her.

She grew more confident with every scene, her movements loosening, her voice more vibrant and alive. She started to improvise—not breaking the script, but bending it gently to reflect something deeper, more personal. She made the play hers.

During a quiet courtly exchange, she turned to the prince and spoke with newfound conviction: “Then I shall go, not because I fear the world, but because I am ready to meet it.” The line wasn’t in the script, but it struck true—resonating through the theater like a bell.

Each scene built upon the last. Her confidence bloomed, her gestures grew freer, more expressive. There was nothing timid in the way she moved now. She carried herself like a girl who had always known who she was, and only now found the courage to show it.

By the final act, when the villain rose with a shout and the crowd gasped, Cloud didn’t flinch. She stepped forward, her eyes fierce with purpose, and in one smooth motion drew the stage-prop sword from the prince’s scabbard. The blade caught the light as she spun it effortlessly in her hand.

“I was never waiting to be saved,” she declared.

The crowd was silent—rapt.

She fought as a princess and as a warrior, her gown flowing like a banner behind her. Her movements were swift and precise, every strike a performance in itself. She wasn’t just defeating a villain.

She was saving the kingdom.

She was saving herself.

The audience erupted into applause before the scene had even ended.

The prince hesitated for the briefest moment, caught staring at her in awe. Then he blinked, gathering himself just in time to deliver his final line: "Then let this be our beginning."

And without waiting, he swept forward and pulled Cloud into a kiss.

It was soft, theatrical—but something about it made Cloud’s breath catch. Her eyes widened, just slightly, before fluttering closed. The heat of his lips, the way his strong arms held her waist, the stunned silence of the crowd—it all swirled together in a dizzying rush. A twist in her stomach, warmth blooming in her chest.

And she kissed him back.

The crowd erupted.

It was fleeting, but as they pulled apart, it left a shimmer of warmth and a tangle of breathless emotion. Cloud’s heart pounded, her body humming with something too real to ignore. Her lips tingled; her cheeks glowed beneath the stage lights and there was an undeniable warmth and hardness under her skirts. She glanced at the prince, caught between dazed and composed, and offered him a small, shy smile. Her hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from everything stirred awake inside her.

The curtain fell and the applause continued like thunder.

"Wow," the prince breathed, eyes still fixed on her. "That was... You were... incredible." He paused, then gave her a crooked smile. "Do you, uh—do you have a number? Maybe we could... talk sometime?"

Cloud blinked, caught off guard. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her heart fluttered, her cheeks burned.

"I—uh—well..." she stammered, fumbling for words that didn’t want to come. "That was acting. I mean—mostly. I should—"

It wasn’t just the question. It was everything—her racing pulse, the way her body still felt electric, the tremble in her hands, the way his eyes had looked at her like she was beautiful. Like she was real.

The curtain began to rise again.

Cloud took a deep, shaking breath, the air catching in her throat. She had done it. Not just performed—but transformed. She hadn’t merely played a role; she had stepped into something real, something true. The warmth of the crowd’s cheers filled her ears, louder than her doubts, louder than her fear.

She had embraced every part of herself tonight. And somewhere in the heart of that princess on stage, she had found the piece of herself she had been missing.

The joy, the pride, the overwhelming sense of belonging swept through her in waves. Cloud smiled out at the audience—and this time, it was completely, beautifully genuine.

Aerith was beaming from her seat in the audience, her eyes glistening with pride. Cloud met her gaze, and for a moment they simply smiled at each other—radiant, wordless, and full of something deeper than applause.

The rest of the cast took Cloud’s hands, the prince leaned in beside her, as he took her hand with a warm squeeze. "Maybe another time," he murmured, voice soft with understanding. "I can see you've only got eyes for someone else." Then together they bowed.

Cloud's heart swelled as they straightened, and when the prince gently gestured for her to step forward alone, she hesitated for just a beat.

The audience were already on their feet.

She let herself soak it in—the spotlight bathing her in gold, the weight of her jeweled gown, the perfect sweep of her styled hair, the soft glow of makeup and glittering adornments. She felt radiant. Whole. Like the princess she had always been.

And then, without thinking, she gathered her skirts and dipped into a deep, graceful curtsey.

The crowd roared. Louder than ever. Louder than her doubts. Louder than her fears.

And Aerith’s voice soared above it all, cheering with unshakable joy.

The curtains closed, and the world held its breath. The echoes of applause still rang in her ears, fading into a hush that seemed to glow from within. She had stepped into a role—but more than that, she had stepped into herself. It hadn’t just been about playing the princess. It had been about claiming who she was.

Delicate. Powerful. Beautiful.

Cloud knew she would never forget this night. A night where she hadn’t hidden, hadn’t hesitated. A night where she had let herself shine—and the world had seen her for exactly who she was.

—

After the play, Cloud emerged from a blur of well-wishers, congratulatory hugs, and glittering air kisses. She clutched a bouquet of flowers to her chest, her cheeks pink from both the exertion and the endless praise. Her body hummed with energy, flustered and buzzing from the spotlight and the electric swirl of backstage celebration. Her gown swished with every step, glittering under the lights, the satin and jewels catching on every admiring glance.

And then, parting through the bustle like a calm in the storm, she saw Aerith. Waiting just outside her dressing room door, leaning with casual grace, eyes warm and steady.

Cloud’s breath caught. All the motion and noise faded. Her steps slowed.

Aerith smiled—and in that moment, it felt like everything real and bright and true was waiting there for her.

“You were amazing,” Aerith whispered, her voice soft against the night air.

Cloud smiled, her heart swelling with warmth. “Thank you,” she murmured, voice soft and unsteady. “It felt incredible.” The words slipped out on a trembling breath, carrying more than just excitement—carrying everything she had held inside for so long.

Aerith stepped closer, her eyes shining in the soft glow of the hallway lights. “I have an idea to make it even more special,” she said gently, her voice teasing around the edges. “Do you trust me?”

Cloud nodded, still breathless.

Aerith’s fingers laced with hers. “Good,” she whispered, and quickly grabbed Cloud's hand.

Before anyone could react—before the theater staff could call her back—Aerith was tugging Cloud by the hand and dashing out into the warm, glittering chaos of the Gold Saucer. Cloud barely had time to catch her breath. Still dressed in her full princess gown, hair perfect, makeup flawless, a few loose petals from her bouquet trailing behind her, she ran with Aerith through the glowing arcade of lights and laughter.

People turned to stare, but it didn’t matter. Cloud’s laughter spilled out, light and unguarded, as the hem of her gown swirled in satin waves around her ankles. Her heels clicked against polished stone, jewels flashing in the neon glow, the whole world spun bright and vivid around her. She felt radiant. Alive. Free.

Aerith glanced back at her, grinning, her hand firm and sure in hers. Cloud matched her pace, her breath quick and joyous. The noise of the crowds, the music, the thrum of the attractions faded into background sparkle as they reached the Sky Wheel—tall and gleaming and waiting just for them.

Aerith didn’t slow down as they reached the base of the Sky Wheel. She pulled Cloud straight past the stunned ride attendant, who barely had time to shout in protest.

“Aerith!” Cloud laughed breathlessly. “We can’t just—”

But they could. And they did.

Aerith pushed her into an empty carriage and climbed in after her. The attendant’s voice rose behind them, indignant—but the door clicked shut, and with a soft jolt, the carriage began to rise.

Cloud sat back against the plush seat, still laughing, her bouquet cradled in her arms, cheeks flushed from exertion and glee. Aerith flopped down beside her with a satisfied grin.

Outside, the lights of the Gold Saucer spun slowly away beneath them, the world turning quiet, dim, and private as the carriage climbed into the sky.

They rode together as they caught their breath, the city a sea of vibrant colors and bustling energy below. Aerith leaned into her, fingers intertwining with hers. The warmth of her touch and the comfort of her presence made Cloud feel at peace, as if all the chaos of their journey had melted away in that moment. The lights flickered like stars beneath them, and the gentle sway of the Sky Wheel seemed to carry them away from everything else, leaving only the two of them suspended in a serene, magical world.

Aerith turned to face her, chest rising and falling in rhythm with Cloud’s own. She still held Cloud’s hand, her thumb brushing softly against her knuckles.

"I meant what I said," she murmured. "You’re incredible."

Cloud blinked, overwhelmed by how much those words meant coming from her. The lights, the silence, the feeling of being so beautifully seen—it all pressed at her heart.

"This was the best night of my life," Cloud whispered, her voice fragile with emotion.

Aerith smiled, her eyes shining. "Best so far," she said. "You’re just getting started."

Then she leaned in, and kissed her.

Cloud felt a surge of emotion as Aerith captured her lips in a tender kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed when Aerith’s hand rose to cup her cheek, the warmth of her touch grounding and gentle. In that moment, everything else fell away. Cloud leaned into her, surrendering completely to the softness of her lips, the quiet certainty in her presence. It was nothing like the kiss with the prince—this wasn’t part of a performance. There was history here. Intimacy. Truth. And so much more between them than words could hold.

They pulled away slowly, foreheads resting together as their breaths mingled in the cool hush of the night. Aerith’s eyes fluttered closed, her lips curving into a soft smile.

“I love seeing you like this,” she whispered, the words brushing against Cloud like warmth.

Cloud let her eyes close, her heart hammering in her chest. “I think… I love it too,” she breathed, barely louder than the quiet around them.

Their lips met again, this time with more urgency. Aerith moved with quiet certainty, deepening the kiss, and Cloud responded instinctively. The satin layers of her gown shifted between them, soft and intimate, the weight of jewels and delicate fabrics pressing into her skin. The dress, the makeup, the shimmer of earrings against her neck—they made her feel radiant. Delicate. Loved. Cherished.

Cloud sighed into the kiss, her body yielding easily into Aerith’s touch, every slow brush of lips and gentle breath affirming the truth of who she was becoming.

Aerith slowly reached beneath the flowing layers of Cloud's skirts, her fingers brushing along the soft fabric until they found what they sought. She eased her lace panties down with care, her eyes never leaving Cloud’s. When her hand wrapped around the heat of her cock, Cloud gasped softly, cheeks flushing with a complicated surge of feeling.

It felt strange—having something so undeniably male hidden beneath all the softness, the satin and jewels, the perfume and the paint. A contradiction. A reminder. And yet, Aerith's hand moved with such tenderness, such reverence, that it didn't feel wrong. It felt electric. It felt amazing .

Cloud let out a trembling sigh, her back arching slightly as she surrendered to the sensation. Every stroke sent sparks up her spine, her body reacting instinctively, helplessly. She wasn’t sure what to make of the contrast—of femininity above and aching heat below—but Aerith didn’t hesitate. She adored every part of her, and in her touch, Cloud felt seen. Whole.

Still stroking her, Aerith leaned in, her breath hot against Cloud’s lips. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” she whispered, her voice husky with need. “You look so pretty—gorgeous, beautiful, perfect.”

Then her mouth met Cloud’s in a kiss that was deeper, more consuming, lips moving with need and longing. Cloud gasped into it, her body alight with pleasure, her breath catching as Aerith’s hand moved faster. The strokes were sure, deliberate, coaxing wave after wave of sensation through her trembling frame.

Cloud let out a soft, high moan, her entire body melting into Aerith’s. Her cock throbbed in Aerith’s grip, surrounded by all the delicate softness she wore—a surreal contrast that only heightened the intensity.

Aerith let out a quiet, pleased sound, her grip tightening slightly as she gave one more lingering stroke. “Not yet,” she whispered, her voice low and teasing. “This is for both of us.”

With that, she released her grip and shifted her weight, climbing onto Cloud's lap with slow, deliberate grace. Her knees settled on either side of her, and she hiked her pink dress up around her hips, revealing smooth thighs and the soft glisten of her arousal beneath. With one hand, she eased her panties down just enough to expose herself, wet and waiting.

Cloud’s eyes widened slightly, her breath catching as she stared up at Aerith, the sight of her framed by moonlight and carnival glow. She was beautiful. Magnetic.

Aerith leaned forward, cupping Cloud’s cheek in one hand, the other guiding her as she pressed herself gently to Cloud’s lips.

Cloud closed her eyes. Her lips brushed reverently against Aerith’s warmth, her tongue flicking out in a tentative, trembling stroke that made Aerith shiver above her. Her scent enveloped Cloud, dizzying and perfect, and she let herself sink into the moment, hands resting on Aerith's thighs as she began to worship her with slow, adoring attention.

Aerith let out a soft moan, her fingers tangling tightly in Cloud’s hair as her hips rolled slowly against her mouth. Cloud responded with growing confidence, her tongue delving deeper, circling and flicking with focused, loving attention. She mapped Aerith’s every gasp, every flutter of muscle, her strokes becoming more eager as she felt Aerith’s body respond.

Her world narrowed to heat, taste, scent—the intoxicating slickness of Aerith against her lips, the warmth pulsing under her tongue. Aerith’s moans grew louder, huskier, trembling as she rode Cloud’s mouth with slow, grinding need. Cloud moaned against her, the vibration sending a shudder up Aerith’s spine, her own pleasure mounting as she felt Aerith’s thighs tremble around her.

Cloud’s cock throbbed, hard and leaking against her satin dress, and when Aerith’s hand found it again—stroking her in time with each flick of her tongue—the dual sensation made her dizzy. Every touch, every sound was electric, strung between them like silk drawn taut.

It was raw and intimate, reverent and carnal all at once—a perfect rhythm between them, every stroke and sigh a sacred offering. And in that moment, there was no shame. No doubt. Only love, and want, and Cloud giving herself fully to the woman she adored.

Aerith pushed back from Cloud’s mouth, breathless, her eyes locking with hers, gleaming with heat and affection. “Oh, Cloud,” she whispered, voice trembling. “That’s it. You’re amazing.”

She rose slightly on her knees, guiding herself with one hand as she positioned her hips above Cloud’s aching cock. Cloud watched, dazed and flushed, as Aerith hiked her dress higher, her other hand tugging her panties aside to bare her slick, waiting entrance.

Slowly, deliberately, Aerith began to lower herself, her movements sensual and sure, though her body trembled with anticipation. The moment they touched, Cloud gasped—the heat of her enveloping tip to base in one slow, breathtaking descent. Her cock throbbed inside her, overwhelmed by tightness and warmth.

Cloud’s hands flew to Aerith’s hips, steadying her as they connected fully. Above her, Aerith’s lashes fluttered, her lips parting in a long, low moan as pleasure rolled through her. Their eyes met again, wide with wonder. Everything else disappeared.

Cloud placed her hands on Aerith’s hips, guiding her gently as they moved together, bodies finding a slow, natural rhythm. She began to thrust upward, her movements deliberate, savoring the closeness, the overwhelming intimacy. The silky layers of her gown clung to her thighs, catching the motion, the brush of sequins and delicate embroidery heightening every breath, every movement.

Aerith moaned above her, her fingers gripping Cloud’s bare shoulders, nails digging in just enough to ground them both. Each slow thrust sent waves of pleasure rippling through Cloud’s body, but also something deeper—a full-body awareness. Her hair fell across her shoulders like a golden veil, brushing against flushed skin as it swayed with their movement. The shimmer of her earrings danced with the rise and fall of her breath. Every detail reminded her: she was beautiful. She was a woman. And she was free.

Their bodies moved in sync, and the friction—the heat of skin, the softness of silk, the scent of perfume still clinging to her neck—made Cloud feel utterly alive. Her cock throbbed inside Aerith, the heat of her surrounding her completely, pulsing and slick and perfect. The contradiction between her body and her appearance only made the moment more powerful. It wasn’t dissonance anymore. It was truth .

The air filled with their sounds—Cloud’s soft, breathy gasps, Aerith’s moans—a symphony rising into the sky above the Gold Saucer. Aerith’s pace quickened, her body rocking harder, needier, and Cloud met her with growing urgency, hips rolling to match the rhythm, the intensity swelling between them.

They weren’t just making love.

They were becoming something whole. 

They came together in a rush of blinding pleasure, Cloud’s voice escaping in a high, breathy cry that felt as delicate and feminine as the rest of her. Her whole body tensed and then melted as wave after wave of ecstasy coursed through her. The feeling of Aerith wrapped around her, the tight, slick heat, the sparkle of sequins against her thighs, the perfume still clinging to her skin—it was overwhelming. Beautiful. She felt every inch of herself, every contradiction and truth, burning bright and perfect in that moment.

Aerith cried out above her, her body trembling violently as her own orgasm surged through her. She collapsed against Cloud with a breathless moan, pressing desperate kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her neck.

“Yes, Cloud… yes! My perfect, beautiful princess,” she whispered between kisses, her voice thick with adoration.

Cloud wrapped her arms around Aerith, holding her close, holding herself together, flushed and dazed and full of something too big to name. Pleasure still rippled through her, but what lingered was warmth—the glow of being cherished, the feeling of being seen. She belonged here. With her. Like this.

They stayed like that for a long moment, the Sky Wheel carrying them high above the world, the city a blur of lights below them. Aerith lay curled against her, their breathing still slowly syncing, skin flushed and glowing in the soft carousel glow. Cloud let her fingers drift over the silks of her gown, the lingering sparkle clinging to her skin, the warm pressure of Aerith’s body anchoring her in the moment.

She felt full—not just in the physical sense, but in a way she’d never known. Joy. Freedom. Love. A completeness she hadn't thought possible.

In that euphoric stillness, Cloud realized she would carry this memory with her always. She was happy—not pretending, not performing. Just happy. To be a woman. To be loved. To be herself .

As the wheel descended and the city lights sharpened into view again, Cloud took Aerith’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

This was just the beginning—of a journey, of a truth lived aloud, of a love that promised to grow deeper with every step forward.

Chapter Text

Cloud stirred beneath the silken sheets as soft morning light filtered through the curtains, gilding the edges of the room in pale gold. For a moment, she didn't move—afraid that if she did, the dream would break and scatter like mist. Last night felt like it couldn’t possibly have been real: her makeover with Aerith bringing out the woman inside, the radiant thrill of that dress hugging every curve, the adoration of the crowd as she danced onstage like a princess straight out of a fairytale, her kiss with the prince that sealed the fantasy—and everything that followed after, tangled up in Aerith’s arms, whispered secrets and giggles and breathless touches as they rode the Skywheel under the stars.

But it had happened. Every dazzling moment was real, and it had changed her.

She lay there, eyes wide, heart full, clutching a pillow to her chest as if it might anchor her to the truth of what she now knew completely: this was who she was. The woman inside had bloomed fully last night, no longer a flicker of doubt in the shadows of her mind. For the first time, Cloud didn’t feel fractured. She felt whole. Loved. Beautiful. Complete.

She smiled, a small breath catching in her throat. She was happy. Not pretending, not lost—just her , at last. What was it Aerith had said back on the Tiny Bronco? Skye. The name had shimmered in her ears like wind through an open field, clear and limitless. Not Cloud—there were no clouds in her mind anymore. It felt right, like it had always been right, just waiting for her to realise it. She was Skye. And she was finally free.

Skye stood in the golden morning light, the sheet wrapped high over her chest, held delicately in place with one hand as she gave a little twirl in front of the mirror. The soft cotton rippled like a ballroom gown, and she giggled—a high, delighted sound that felt so natural it made her heart flutter. She pulled up her PHS and tapped through to a sugary pop song full of sparkles and rhythm. As the beat kicked in, Skye swayed her hips, humming along, striking poses with one bare leg peeking from the folds of the sheet, pouting at her reflection with a hand on her hip.

When she finally let the sheet slip from her shoulders, it pooled at her feet, and she stepped daintily out of it to reach for her lingerie. The panties—lavender silk trimmed in delicate lace—glided up her legs like a secret whispered just for her. She paused to admire the way they hugged her hips, how the matching bra sat on her chest, the straps lying snug against her shoulders. She arched her back slightly, struck a flirty pose in the mirror, and smiled, biting her lip. She loved how it all felt. How she felt.

But then her eyes traveled again, to the flatness of her chest, the squareness of her hips, the harshness of her broad shoulders—the lingering traces of the SOLDIER she'd worn as armor for so long. Her smile faltered as her gaze fell to the folded SOLDIER uniform beside the bed, and her chest tightened. She wished she could slip into a dress instead—flowing, feminine, soft against her skin, hugging curves she didn’t have yet but desperately longed for. She so wanted to be a girl on the outside, not just in her heart. But that would have to wait. Today, she would pull on the fatigues one last time.

With the fatigues on, she wanted to soften the edges, to push back against the weight of their masculine cut. She brushed her hair carefully, gentling the spikes until they flowed light and airy, tying it into a low ponytail with a pink ribbon that peeked just past her collar. Her stud earrings caught the light as she turned her head and she added a faint shimmer of lip gloss, then the barest flick of mascara—just enough to catch the light. Just enough to feel like her . She took a deep breath, gathering her courage, the echo of herself shining through,

This is it , she thought. Today, she would tell her friends—tell everyone—who she really was. She couldn't keep pretending, not now that she truly understood herself. After this, she'd never have to hide again.

She stared into the mirror, chewing her lip, heart fluttering. What was she supposed to say? Hi... hey everyone... She shook her head. Too casual. Too small. She stood up straighter, brushed her ribbon flat, tried again.

"Hi everyone, I need to tell you something... I’m not who you think. I’m not Cloud Strife. Not really. I’m..."

She faltered, her voice catching, the words tangling in her throat. But then she looked into her own eyes—clear, certain, shining—and it came to her like breath.

I'm a girl. I always have been. And I don’t want to pretend I’m not anymore.

The words rang like truth, deep and bright inside her chest. She smiled.

She took a deep breath. "Hi everyone. I need to tell you something. I'm not who you think. I'm not Cloud Strife. Not really. I'm... I'm a girl. I always have been."

And saying it made her feel like she was floating.

She whispered it again, stronger this time. "I'm a girl." The words glowed inside her like sunrise, banishing shadow. She smiled wider, a flush of giddy boldness rising in her chest. "I'm a girl," she repeated, giving a flirty little twirl, tossing her hair with one hand and letting her lips part in a soft, playful pout.

"And you can call me Skye."

She took a breath, touched her chest, and smiled—a huge, beaming smile she couldn't hold back.

Today, the world would meet Skye Strife.

And she would never hide again.

Skye stepped out into the corridor, the hotel quiet save for the soft padding of her boots on carpet. Her hips moved with a natural sway, a subconscious rhythm that felt easy now, right. There was an extra bounce in her step, a lightness she hadn’t carried before, her body moving with a grace that didn’t need to be forced.

At the far end of the hallway, Aerith leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, lips curved into the beginning of a smile. She looked up and grinned. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she called, voice teasing. But then her eyes widened slightly as she took in the pink ribbon, the soft shimmer of makeup, the undeniable glow that surrounded Skye. Her breath caught, smile blooming with realization and awe.

"Oh my gods," Aerith breathed. "You’re going to tell everyone, aren’t you?"

Skye nodded eagerly, her cheeks pink with excitement. "I am," she said, voice bright and sure. "I really am."

Aerith squealed and launched forward, wrapping her in a tight, joyful hug. "Oh, I’m so pleased for you… and so proud," she whispered into Skye’s ear, pulling her close. "Part of me worried last night would be too much, but I had such a great time and I thought you did too and I just—" She trailed off, eyes misting, a glowing smile lighting her face. "I’m just so happy."

"So am I," Skye breathed, hugging her back. "You helped me realize who I am. And I don’t want to hide that anymore. I want to be the girl I was last night—all the time."

She pulled back slightly, her voice rising with fierce joy. "This is the last time you’ll ever see Cloud Strife. So get ready—because from here on out, it's gonna be Skye Strife."

Aerith kissed her gently, cupping Skye’s face in her hands, her forehead brushing close. "I can’t wait."

They slowly pulled apart, but their hands remained clasped, fingers entwined. Together, they began walking down the corridor, side by side, the silence between them warm and electric. Skye’s heart fluttered in her chest—nerves and joy twisting together—but she felt certain, grounded. This was who she was. This was what she wanted.

As they neared the corner that led into the hotel lobby where their friends waited, Aerith gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"You ready?" she asked, voice soft but steady.

Skye nodded, eyes shining. "More than ready." 

She let go of Aerith’s hand, took one steadying breath, and turned the corner.

---

As they stepped into the hotel lobby, the gentle hope of the morning vanished like mist in the face of what awaited him. Tifa stood at the center of the group, all business, her arms crossed tightly.

"Cloud. I'm really glad you're here," she said, her voice tight with stress, firm but sincere. The whole room felt wound like a spring, every breath stretched thin. Tifa's eyes flicked up briefly—to the subtle shimmer of gloss, the stud earrings, the soft ribbon tied at the nape of his neck—and for half a second her brow furrowed, puzzled. But she shook it off just as quickly, her expression refocusing. "Things are kicking off fast. We need you."

Barret gestured toward Cait Sith, who was fidgeting beside him. "Go on, cat. Tell 'im what you just told us."

Cait Sith hesitated, then gave a long, almost sheepish sigh. "Right, I suppose you deserve the truth too. I'm not just a fortune-telling robot. My real name’s Reeve. I work for Shinra—have been spying on you, yeah. Watching."

Anger surged—fists clenched, teeth gritted, breath sharp. "What—?" But then Tifa stepped between them, her voice cutting through the rage. "We were furious too. But just... listen. Please. Hear what's being said before reacting."

Reeve’s voice wavered at first, then steadied. "Shinra’s moving on the Temple of the Ancients. They’ve got the Keystone, or they will soon. If Sephiroth gets what’s inside that temple… the planet’s in more danger than any of us thought."

As Reeve spoke the air seemed to thin. The glow, the smile, the shimmer of freedom from that morning—all of it withered in the heat of rising panic and duty. The softness of the ribbon, the shimmer on the lips, the warmth of Aerith’s kiss—all of it felt impossibly distant now. That girl in the mirror, she was still real—but there was no room for her here. Not now. Not yet. The world needed something else. The team needed something else. And as the urgency rose, that truth landed hard in the gut.

There was no time. No room for Skye—not now. What they needed was Cloud Strife. The SOLDIER. It had to be... him.

He clenched his jaw and nodded tightly. "Tell me everything. Now."

The warmth and comfort of the previous night receded like tide from shore, swept away by the gravity of what lay ahead. The quiet, fleeting joy, the name whispered in the mirror, the ribbon and gloss—symbols of a truth that now felt impossibly far. He remembered why they were here: the Keystone, the Temple of the Ancients, the fate of the world hanging by a thread.

Reeve's voice continued in the background, steady and urgent, laying out Shinra’s movements, Sephiroth’s goals, the planetary stakes. The words blurred at first, but then sharpened as his focus snapped back into place. One hand rose to the back of his neck and pulled the ribbon free, the pink tail slipping through his fingers and into his pocket. Another hand rubbed across his lips, wiping away the faint shimmer of gloss until only the taste of resolve remained.

He could feel it—the mask, the armor, slipping back into place. Not with violence, but inevitability. The girl he dreamed of being—the girl he was —had no place in this moment.

He took a breath, braced against the weight, and stepped into the role once more. Leader. SOLDIER. Cloud.

The future he longed for could wait. Right now, the planet needed saving.

He straightened, resolve crystallizing in his chest. "Okay," he said, voice cutting through the quiet. "We know what we have to do. Let’s go after Shinra—and stop Sephiroth."

He looked around at the team, taking in each face—Barret's steely resolve, Red XIII's calm focus, Yuffie's barely contained nervous energy. Cid gave a gruff nod, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, eyes sharp with purpose. Vincent stood slightly apart, silent and unreadable, but present and poised, cloak shifting with the faintest movement. Cait Sith hovered at the edge of the group, mechanical paws fidgeting, ears drooped, gaze sheepish and uncertain.

When Cloud's eyes met Tifa's, she stepped forward, her voice steady but strong as ever. "We're ready to do this, Cloud. All of us," she said, her eyes scanning his face for any crack, any hesitation. There was none.

Cloud took a deep breath, nodding in agreement. "Yeah. Let's end this," he said, voice edged with steel. As the words settled over the group, his gaze shifted to Aerith.

Their eyes met.

The whole world seemed to fall quiet in that long moment. Her expression softened, her lips parting as if to speak—but she didn’t need to. Sadness lingered behind her eyes, subtle but unmistakable, tinged with the quiet ache of what couldn’t be. Not yet. But beneath that sorrow was understanding. Complete, unconditional understanding.

This was the unspoken acknowledgment that now wasn't the time. That the girl from last night couldn’t come forward now, not with so much at stake. But also that this wasn’t over.

Cloud gave the smallest nod, a silent promise passed between them like a secret. When the danger passed, when the world was no longer burning, he would be her again. And they would be together.

But now he would fight. For Aerith. For his friends. For everyone who couldn’t. And when the fires cooled, when the battle was over...

Cloud... No... Skye would be free to be her true self with the woman who’d helped her find that self, the woman she loved.

***

The journey north felt like the beginning of a darker chapter in Cloud's life. The Tiny Bronco skated over the ocean, its battered hull bucking gently against the waves as wind and spray tangled through his hair. But even the salty air and open skies couldn’t lift the weight in his chest. Each nautical mile pulled him deeper into something heavy and unspoken—a dread that hung in the air like mist. The once-glimmering optimism he'd nurtured in the warmth of Aerith's presence had started to dim, snuffed out bit by bit under the weight of the mission.

They weren’t talking much. The slap of waves against the hull, the low hum of the engine, and the occasional muttered course correction from Cid were all that broke the silence. Cloud sat near the bow, arms folded over his knees, watching the sea stretch endlessly ahead.

He tried not to think about dresses, perfume, the softness of Aerith’s hands smoothing curls into his hair. He tried not to remember how natural it had felt to smile with painted lips and catch her gaze in the mirror—or the way her fingers had slid under his dress, tracing the lace of his panties in a quiet, stolen moment beneath the stars. Her touch had been gentle, reverent, her eyes full of adoration and promise.

Now, with the cold wind biting through his uniform and the stifling weight of responsibility draped over his shoulders, that version of himself—the soft, feminine one he was just beginning to embrace—felt impossibly far away. They exchanged glances sometimes, small, silent things when no one was watching. Her gaze would linger on him just a second longer than necessary, her hand brushing his in passing. And he knew she still saw that girl inside him. He still wore the lingerie, of course. It clung to him beneath his uniform, a hidden whisper of the woman he longed to be. A secret comfort. A quiet rebellion. A promise to himself, and to her, that one day it wouldn’t have to be hidden.

The Temple of the Ancients appeared on the horizon like a wound in the world, a jagged silhouette etched into the darkening sky. Its very presence unsettled him. There was no comfort in its architecture, only warning. The stones felt old, like they remembered things Cloud didn't want to know. Secrets pressed into the walls with the weight of centuries. He could almost hear them, whispering just beyond the edge of comprehension.

And at first, the whispers were barely there—murmurs at the edge of hearing. They slid under his thoughts like fog, slippery and indistinct. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head as if he could scatter them. But they returned again, quieter, persistent, curling around the back of his skull like ivy.

“…Lost…”

“…No one…”

“…Doesn’t know who he is…”

The air felt thinner with every step. Cloud’s breath caught in his throat, his pulse an unsteady drumbeat in his ears. He paused in a corridor, every instinct alert, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. The metal was slick with sweat.

“Did you hear that?” he asked, voice low and uncertain.

Tifa looked back over her shoulder, brows furrowed. “Hear what?”

He didn’t answer. Because the voice had changed. It wasn’t just a whisper now. It was a presence. Familiar. Male. Detached.

“Still clinging to that mask,” it said, calm and cold as steel. “Not a SOLDIER. Not even a man...”

His grip twitched. His jaw locked. The hairs on his arms stood on end. A chill skated down his spine. He forced himself to keep walking as they pressed onward through the temple’s disorienting maze—rotating rooms, endless staircases, traps designed not just to wound but to unmoor. The air was thick with age and something else—something watching.

And still the voice followed.

“Pretending suits you,” it murmured, amused. “Though I wonder… is it hero you want to be? Or heroine?”

Cloud stumbled slightly. The word landed wrong, or maybe too right. His teeth clenched. His steps quickened.

“You wear that role like you wore that dress,” it said silkily. “Awkward. Ill-fitting. But oh, how natural it felt, didn’t it?”

His breath hitched. He felt exposed, as though someone had peeled his skin back and peered in. A sense of longing fluttered in his chest like a trapped bird, bright and unspoken. His throat tightened. A cold sweat bloomed at the base of his neck, trailing down his spine. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. The voice knew.

“You don’t even know,” it purred now, velvet over thorns. “What you are. What you want.”

Then, after a heartbeat: almost a laugh. “Do you, my puppet, my doll?”

The final question struck like a blow. It hit something raw and unguarded inside him. Cloud froze, his mind fracturing around the word. One hand went to his head, fingers clawing into his scalp as if he could dig the voice out by force, as if he could silence what echoed in his bones.

“Cloud,” Tifa said sharply, her voice slicing through the fog like a blade. “Stay with us.”

Aerith was there in an instant, her fingers wrapping around his forearm with gentle force. Steadying. Real. “You’re not alone.”

The floor vibrated beneath them. A low rumble built in the stone. The walls trembled as if the temple itself were breathing, waking. Dust rained from the ceiling.

They emerged into a vast chamber lit by a sickly, otherworldly glow. The air was close, charged. At the center stood a jagged altar, dark and ancient, and atop it pulsed something alive and wrong—a stone beating like a heart.

“The Black Materia,” Red XIII said, voice low and grim.

Barret swore, eyes wide as he stepped forward. “Let’s take it and get the hell out.”

Cloud approached it cautiously, boots echoing in the quiet that had settled over the chamber. The stone pulsed with a slow, sick rhythm, like it was alive, breathing. His hand hovered above it for a moment. His fingers trembled—not out of fear, but recognition. Something inside him responded to the pulse, a deeper thrum that wasn't quite his own.

The moment his skin made contact with the stone, a violent tremor shot through the temple. The walls groaned. Light flared.

“Go!” he shouted, turning to the others. “It’s collapsing—we need to move!”

The air fractured around them, a deep, grinding sound filling the space as if the building itself were screaming. Ancient supports cracked like thunder. Debris rained from above. No more whispers. No more voices. Just motion. Urgency.

They ran. Barret yelling. Tifa pulling him back from a falling beam. Aerith shouting his name over the roar. Stone ruptured and crumbled beneath their feet, the temple collapsing like a dying giant.

And then they were out.

They spilled into the jungle, battered and breathless, blinking under a sky streaked with ash. Cloud stood still, his chest heaving, the Black Materia clutched in both hands. It was warm. Too warm. Like it knew him now.

And then Sephiroth appeared.

Not just a whisper. Not a voice on the edge of hearing, inside his head. Not as an illusion—something more. His form shimmered, real in all but flesh. He smiled.

“You’ve done well,” he said. “My perfect puppet.”

Cloud’s body locked up. The air around him went dead still. The jungle’s noise dropped away.

“You felt it, didn’t you?” Sephiroth continued. “The tug. The strings. You don’t fight me—you follow.”

Cloud gritted his teeth. “No.”

“No?” The smile twisted. “You never even knew the shape of your own soul. All that strength… wrapped around a hollow center. A puppet. A pretty little doll, dancing on Jenova’s strings.”

Cloud shook, both fists clenched around the Materia.

“You want clarity?” Sephiroth stepped closer. “You want to feel complete? Then give me the materia.”

He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. His whole body was trembling. His legs locked in place, his grip stone-tight. A breath, ragged. And then—

“Be a good girl.”

The words shattered him. Cloud staggered, resistance gone in a heartbeat. His arms moved as if pulled by invisible wires. The Black Materia left his hands, floating into Sephiroth’s.

Sephiroth merely watched, the faintest curl at the edge of his mouth betraying amusement. There was no triumph in his voice, only inevitability.

“Now,” he said, gesturing lazily toward Aerith. “Strike her down.”

Cloud’s breath caught. His body obeyed before his mind could protest. The Black Materia had left his hands, and something colder, more final, had taken its place.

Be a good girl.

His limbs moved with unnatural grace, like a marionette dancing in the hands of a loving, ruthless puppeteer. The Buster Sword gleamed as it rose, not by his choice but because there was no longer a distinction between what he wanted and what he was made to want.

That’s it, my pretty little puppet.

His eyes were vacant. Distant. A sheen of strange light shimmered across his irises. Somewhere, deep beneath that glow he screamed. But there was no air to give it voice.

He turned toward Aerith, the world narrowing to one purpose. One command. He was never meant to think. Just to move. Just to serve. Just to obey.

“Cloud!” Aerith backed away, her voice trembling, thick with panic. “Cloud, please—this isn’t you!”

My lovely doll.

Somewhere, faintly, he heard Tifa scream. “Fight it!”

But he advanced.

His movements were smooth, mechanical, elegant in a way that made his stomach twist—if he’d still had a stomach that belonged to him. The weight of the sword felt familiar, but now it might as well have been a needle pulling thread through the fabric of something sacred.

“Cloud!” Aerith shouted again, quieter, desperation setting in.

No. Not Cloud. Not anymore.

He was close now, close enough to see the fear in her eyes. He pulled the sword back in a wide, clean arc.

And swung.

“Skye.”

The name sliced through the fog like a blade of light. His hands seized mid-motion. The steel stopped a hair’s breadth from her chest.

He froze. Muscles locked. Eyes wide.

“Skye,” Aerith repeated, gentler now, her voice was barely above a whisper—only for the two of them. “Come back to me.”

In the place where the strings had hooked in. The sound of them snapping was silent but absolute.

The sword dropped from her hands.

Skye collapsed to her knees, chest heaving, sweat pouring down her face. Her expression was hollow, broken open.

Then everything went black.

***

Skye—no—Cloud opened his eyes to the heavy stillness of the Forgotten City, breath catching in his throat as he slowly sat up. The faint echo of falling water surrounded him, but Sephiroth was gone. So was Aerith.

He blinked hard, trying to shake the haze that clung to his thoughts like mist. His voice was hoarse as he whispered, "Aerith...?" but no answer came.

Barret’s voice, low and tight, broke the silence: "She's gone, Cloud."

Tifa knelt beside him, hand on his arm. "You blacked out. Sephiroth vanished after the fight. And then... Aerith left."

Cloud’s eyes flicked toward the altar, now empty, the light gone. A tremble passed through him as he tried to stand.

"Left? Why? Where did she go?"

Red XIII answered from nearby, solemn. "She said she had to finish what she started. She's heading north."

Cloud’s jaw clenched. His hands balled into fists around the hilt of his sword. His heart twisted with too many thoughts at once: fear, guilt, longing. Had she run from him? After what he almost did—his sword raised under Sephiroth’s spell, the moment he nearly struck her—maybe she couldn’t trust him anymore.

Or maybe... maybe she was running toward something. To protect them. To protect Skye. To do what he hadn’t been able to. Either way, she was running into danger.

He lowered his eyes, his voice rough but measured. "Then that’s where we go. We find her. We protect her. Like she protected me."

Aerith had gone ahead, her steps guided by something mysterious, a force beyond her own understanding that seemed to pull her onward. Following cryptic clues, the party realised she was travelling to the Forgotten City desperately seeking the Holy Materia that could save them all. When they arrived The chill of the city was almost oppressive, the heavy air laden with the weight of history and forgotten prayers. Cloud followed, his heart pounding with a storm of emotion—fear, love, longing, and that gnawing sense of dread that clung to his bones. The stillness of the night didn’t calm him. It warned him.

He found her kneeling by the altar, her hands clasped, eyes closed in silent prayer. Her presence was almost otherworldly—bathed in a sacred, soft light that filtered through the ancient architecture, she seemed like an angel come to bring salvation. The world’s salvation. His salvation.

Cloud stopped in the shadows, overcome. He wanted to run to her, to fall to his knees beside her, to wrap her in his arms and say everything he hadn't yet dared to say. That he was sorry. That he loved her. That he needed her. That the woman she saw in him—Skye—was real, was scared, and only truly alive when she was near. But his legs wouldn’t move. Something held him still, like the moment itself was sacred and not his to interrupt.

Then—

A flicker. A shadow.

Sephiroth descended.

Not like a man, but like a specter—inevitable, beautiful, and terrible. His blade gleamed, catching the light like a falling star. Cloud's breath caught. His soul rebelled, screamed, shattered against the grip of some invisible force that rooted him in place. He tried to call out, to run, to draw his sword—but none of it came.

Aerith, her eyes still closed, wore a gentle smile, her face serene even in that final moment.

And then the blade plunged down.

"No!" The scream tore from Cloud’s throat, high and raw, girlish in its pitch and naked agony. It echoed across the stone and water, ragged and unreal.

Aerith didn’t flinch. Her eyes opened just as the Masamune pierced her. In that final moment, her eyes said everything—acceptance, peace, and a love that was selfless and eternal.

It was as if she was telling him that it was all right, that this was how it was meant to be, that it was okay to be himself— herself.

The silent message tore through Cloud's heart, leaving it in tatters. It was a look that promised forgiveness, that spoke of hope even in the face of death, but it left Cloud feeling utterly destroyed.

The sound in Cloud’s ears cut out. The world went silent.

She crumpled like petals in the wind, folding in on herself in slow, graceful surrender. And Cloud finally broke free—but too late. He ran to her, falling to his knees beside her body, his hands trembling as they brushed her hair from her face.

She was still warm.

He clutched her to his chest, sobbing openly now, his breath catching on every syllable of her name. His tears fell freely, streaking down his cheeks as if he were being unraveled from the inside out. Around him, the world dimmed. There were voices, maybe. Footsteps. But they meant nothing. He had lost her.

Aerith had been everything. She was light in the dark. Softness where he had been hardened. And she had seen him—truly seen him. Not just the mask he wore, not the hardened mercenary. She had seen the girl inside. The trembling, hidden, beautiful self he barely knew how to name. And she had smiled. She had loved him anyway.

She hadn't flinched. Not from his confusion. Not from Skye.

That smile had said more than words ever could: You are real. You are enough. You are loved.

Now that smile was gone. That love—unconditional and accepting—was gone. And Cloud felt hollow in its absence.

He was alone with the weight of it.

The weight of what she meant. Of what she had offered. Of what he had loved. Of what he had lost. Of what he couldn’t save. And without her, it all felt like it was slipping through his fingers—his hope, his identity, his reason to keep going.

He wanted to scream, to rage, to undo what had happened, but all he could do was hold her, his fingers brushing against her soft hair as tears spilled down his cheeks. The light that had been Aerith was gone, leaving only an aching emptiness.

And then—an inhuman shriek tore through the chamber, echoing off the stone and water.

The others turned. Barret’s voice rang out: "Cloud! Get up—we got a problem here!"

Jenova.

She emerged from the shadows behind Sephiroth’s vanishing form—lurching, wrong, pulsing with malice. Not a being of flesh, but memory and mutation and wrath given shape.

"Tifa! Get Cloud back! Nanaki, right flank!" Barret barked as he raised his gun-arm.

"I’m trying!" Tifa shouted, dropping beside Cloud and grabbing his arm. "Cloud—we need you. She wouldn’t want you to die here."

Cloud turned from Aerith, jaw tight, each step away from her body feeling like betrayal. But there was no time to mourn, not now—not with Jenova rising before them like a living nightmare. The cold reality clawed into his chest: nothing would ever be the same again. The warmth she had given him, the light, the certainty that he was seen and loved—it had vanished with her final breath, leaving behind a hollow ache that gnawed at his insides.

He raised his sword, though it felt heavier than ever.

All he could see was darkness—a darkness that he knew he had to face, but without Aerith, the path ahead seemed insurmountable, like an endless night without a dawn.

***

Aerith's death didn’t just break Cloud—it annihilated Skye, the person he had almost become.

Something had been blooming in him—slowly, tenderly—a fragile warmth she had coaxed from beneath the layers of silence and steel. It was like a flower taking root in frozen soil, reaching cautiously toward the light: the gentleness she'd drawn out of him, the femininity he had begun to explore, the delicate truths he'd only just started to let himself feel. Laughter that didn’t sound borrowed. Dreams that felt like they belonged to someone real. Someone whole.

But when Aerith fell, that flower withered in an instant. It shriveled to ash, crushed beneath the weight of grief he could not afford to feel. The warmth collapsed inward, pulled into a hollow that spread like frost through every corner of him. Where softness had once stirred, there was now only stillness. Cold. Silent. Empty.

Her voice. Her touch. Her faith in him. Too dangerous to hold onto. Too painful to remember.

He felt it in every breath. The absence. The ache. The unbearable silence where she had lived.

And in that silence, Cloud shattered.

Skye died with Aerith.

He didn’t scream. He didn’t cry. Because he knew now—being soft had gotten Aerith killed. He'd let his guard down. Let himself be vulnerable, be feminine, be her . And in doing so, he had failed. Failed to see the danger coming. Failed to protect her.

That softness—the warmth, the tenderness, the quiet womanhood Aerith had helped him find—it had no place in the world they lived in. It had no defense against blades or monsters. No shield against Sephiroth. It had made him slower. Weaker. Human.

If being open, if being vulnerable, had cost Aerith her life, then he would never make that mistake again.

The mission was all that mattered. Vengeance was all that remained. He had to become the sword. Cold. Hard. Focused. Not soft. Not feminine. He had to be a man. A fighter. A weapon. A SOLDIER.

Everything he'd started wearing, doing, becoming—the lingerie, the makeup, the painted nails, the delicate ribbons, the silks and satins that had made her feel real—he discarded without ceremony. Each piece was stripped away with a cold, deliberate precision—each loss a small death. The only thing he kept was the necklace Aerith had given him. That, he couldn't bring himself to destroy. Instead, he hid it at the bottom of his pack, tucked away like a wound he couldn't let scab over.

He stopped shaving, letting his body hair grow in. His hair—once longer, softer, styled with care—was cut short again, spiked into jagged edges that mirrored the turbulence beneath his surface. His old clothes—cold leather, battered armor—carried the full weight of his former self. With each buckle and strap, he reforged the image: Cloud Strife, the hardened warrior, the relentless SOLDIER. The mask slid back into place, seamless and unyielding.

There was no room for dresses. No place for dreams. No future for Skye.

Aerith was gone. Sephiroth still lived. And for Cloud that equation could only be balanced in blood.

Tifa noticed the change immediately—how Cloud had become colder, more withdrawn, his voice more clipped, his touch more distant. Still, she approached him gently, offering quiet comfort in the moments between battles. One night, as they sat by the fire while the others slept, she placed a tentative hand on his arm.

"Cloud," she said softly, "you don't have to go through this alone. I'm here. I always have been."

He looked at her, and for a moment something fragile flickered in his eyes. But it didn't last. The old mask held fast.

"I know," he replied, his voice even. "But we have a job to do. That's what matters now."

Tifa leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Then let’s at least do it together," she whispered.

Cloud didn’t answer. But he didn’t pull away either. He let her. He didn’t pull away. He even curled his arm around her when she shifted closer, because this was what she expected, wasn’t it? The strong, dependable soldier. The man she had always known. The one who didn’t cry, didn’t break, didn’t bend.

And Tifa seemed to like him that way—the cold resolve, the stoic silence, the hard edges he'd reforged. This was the man she had always known, wasn’t it? The protector. The fighter. The boy who became a SOLDIER. And if this was the version of him she wanted, then he’d be that. He’d give her what she needed.

There had always been something between them—a tension that never fully disappeared. A spark kept alive through shared memories, mutual pain, and a closeness forged in fire. And when grief closed in, when the nights got longer and the weight of what they’d lost grew unbearable, that spark kindled again in the quiet spaces between them. It didn’t matter if it was real. It didn’t matter if it would last.

They became something again—but Cloud didn’t know what that something was. Love? Habit? A shared refusal to fall apart? He let it happen because she needed someone strong, and he could play that role. The man who never faltered. The one who could bear her weight when everything else threatened to collapse. And Tifa leaned into that strength. She reached for him in the dark, clung to the armor he wore like she too could shield him from the pain.

The sex came fast and hot. Rough. Urgent. It wasn’t about romance. There was no tenderness, no softness, no whispered I-love-yous. Just raw need, fueled by longing and desperation, by the ache to feel anything at all. It happened in silence broken only by gasps and skin meeting skin. Cloud would grip her hips hard enough to bruise, his movements harsh, relentless, like he was trying to drive the ghosts out of his body one thrust at a time.

Tifa gave herself to him without hesitation, as if she understood what he needed. Or maybe because she needed it too.

One night, she straddled him in the dark, her thighs tight around his hips, her hands gripping his shoulders as she rode him with unspoken urgency. Her breath came in harsh little gasps, her nails digging into his skin.

As she rode him, her body taut with urgency, thighs locked around his hips, Tifa tipped her head back with a gasp. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, grounding herself as she lost control to the rhythm between them.

"Yes, Cloud... yes!" she cried, her voice cracking with intensity, thick with desire.

The words—her voice, the position—hit him like a jolt.

He wasn’t in the tent anymore. He was on the Skywheel, high above the lights of the Gold Saucer. A high, breathy cry escaping him as wave after wave of ecstasy coursed through his body. The scent of perfume lingering in the air, his chest heaving beneath the snug bodice, silk rustling, sequins glittering at his thighs. Aerith wrapped around him—around her —tight, slick heat... Aerith’s breath warm as she pressed desperate kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her neck.

"Yes, Cloud... yes," Aerith had whispered, her voice full of love and joy and awe. "My perfect, beautiful princess."

The memory struck like a blade, sharp and unbearable.

No.

He growled, shoved the image away, and flipped Tifa over beneath him, forcing her down onto her back. He climbed on top, taking control, driving into her with a punishing rhythm. Faster. Harder. Desperate.

Tifa gasped, her hands bracing against his chest, her breath catching with each brutal thrust. She moaned his name, clinging to him, but Cloud wasn't there—not fully.

All he could hear was the echo of another voice, now silenced. All he could feel was the undeniable truth that Aerith was gone, and with her, that delicate softness. That shimmering possibility. That girl in sequins and silk. That dream.

He wasn’t her. He never had been. He never would be.

He was a man. A weapon. A SOLDIER. And this was all he had left to give.

So he fucked Tifa like it meant something. Like it could prove something.

When it was over, he didn’t kiss her. Didn’t speak. Just pulled away, redressing in silence. His breath still came hard. His hands trembled. Tifa watched him, her eyes half-lidded, unreadable—but too steady. Too knowing.

He sat at the edge of the bed for a long moment, shoulders tense, staring at the wall like it might give him something back. Anything.

He thought Tifa might say something. But she didn’t. Not right away.

Then, quietly, her voice cut through the silence, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Is this enough for you?"

His jaw clenched. His hands tightened into fists on his knees. And Cloud, still staring into the dark, answered with the only truth he had left.

"It has to be."

They clung to each other throughout the journey, not out of love, but out of need. Their bodies found each other in dark corners and quiet hours, tangled in passion that was fast and rough, unrelenting. Every time they came together, it was less about closeness and more about escape—each thrust a denial of the past, a desperate refusal to feel what couldn’t be undone.

Cloud was quiet after. Always quiet. Lost in thought, in grief, in the weight of everything he had given up. Tifa would lie beside him in the dark, watching the way he stared at the ceiling, hollow-eyed. Sometimes she reached for him; sometimes she didn’t. Sometimes she asked the question with just her eyes. And he suspected she knew. Knew what he was thinking. Knew what had died in him.

He could see the sadness in her gaze—not sharp or accusing, but slow and settled, like a bruise that had learned to live beneath the skin. As if she, too, understood that whatever they were reaching for was already gone. And yet they kept holding on, pretending the weight between them was comfort, not silence. As if habit could soften the ache. As if going through the motions might make things a little less hard.

And the journey was hard. They crossed continents and oceans, chasing legends and fragments of hope. Beneath the waves, in forgotten wreckage, they fought for the Huge Materia. They climbed into orbit, riding steel into the stars, chasing salvation into that silent expanse. In every place, they faced enemies more brutal, more monstrous than before—Weapon after Weapon, ancient engines of planetary rage. Each battle carved more out of them.

Cloud stood at the front of it all. Cold. Unyielding. A force of vengeance. His blade struck without hesitation, each blow a reckoning. Not just against Sephiroth, but against everything he had lost. Every victory was hollow. Every breath burned.

When they returned to the Forgotten Capital, the others prepared to retrieve the Key to the Ancients. But Cloud lingered on the edge of the city, staring into the dark trees and ruins beyond.

"I can't," he said simply. His voice was quiet, empty.

Tifa stepped toward him. "Cloud—"

"You don’t need me for this. Just... bring it back."

And they did. They went without him. Because even now, Cloud couldn’t face that place. Not again.

Later, when they descended on Midgar for the final battle with Shinra, something twisted in Cloud's chest. The city loomed like a skeleton of memory—steel and ash, fire and ruin. They passed the ruins of Sector 7 on the way in, the lights of sector 6, and for a heartbeat, something flickered at the edge of Cloud's thoughts.

Honeybee Inn. That stage. That dress. A moment of joy, of something dangerously close to truth.

No.

He shut the thought down before it could breathe. That had been the first mistake. The first crack. Never again.

He was glad there was no time to dwell. No space to feel. As they fought their way toward Hojo's cannon—toward the Sister Ray—every second became survival. Shinra crumbled behind them, the North Crater blasted open. One piece of vengeance fulfilled.

Only Sephiroth remained.

So they returned to the north, to the frozen crater where Sephiroth awaited—his presence a pulsing, suffocating force that seemed to warp the very air around it. The final confrontation was everything they had feared and more: brutal, surreal, terrifying in its scale. The planet trembled underfoot, green light crackling through fissures in the ice as the Lifestream surged like a living tide.

They fought as one. Barret's voice roared over the chaos—"We end this now!"—while Red darted through the frozen mist, Cid cursing with every blast, Cait Sith—awkward and loud—lumbered into the fray with relentless heart. Yuffie moved like a whisper, silent and sharp, and Vincent fought like a revenant returned from some darker place. And Tifa—strong, steadfast, unwavering—never left Cloud's side.

Then it was just Cloud and Sephiroth.

The others fell away, the battlefield fading. Time slowed. The world held its breath. And in that silence, Cloud stepped forward.

He unleashed everything. The grief, the rage, the shame—the weight of who he had been and who he would never be. Slash after slash, his sword tore through Sephiroth with furious precision. There was no technique, no restraint. Just pain. Just fury. Just the raw, ragged howl of everything he had buried.

Sephiroth parried, twisted, struck back—but Cloud didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Until the final blow landed—hard, deep, absolute.

Sephiroth didn’t scream. He almost seemed to smile. And then he simply unraveled—his form dissolving into light, swallowed by the Lifestream in silence.

It was done.

Then the world began to fall apart. The rocks and ice cracked and buckled. The crater trembled, groaned, started to collapse inward as the Lifestream surged violently beneath it.

Cloud barely registered it. He just stood there, surrounded by light and ruin, the numb silence still clinging to him like frost.

"Cloud!" someone shouted. Distant, muffled.

And then a hand—Tifa's hand—reached for him from the open ramp of the Highwind above. Her eyes wide. Her voice urgent.

"Come on!"

He took it.

She pulled him upward, strong and steady, dragging him into the airship as the ground gave way below. The Highwind ascended fast, engines roaring, the shattered crater vanishing beneath them.

Cloud collapsed to the floor of the deck, breathless, the noise of the others behind him fading to a blur. He felt the warmth of Tifa’s hand still wrapped around his.

There was a moment where time stopped. Where the storm seemed to still.

"We did it," Yuffie whispered.

"That son of a bitch is finally gone," Barret said, his voice rough with something between disbelief and relief.

Even Cid exhaled like he'd been holding the same breath for years. "It’s over."

They turned to Cloud. Waiting.

But he said nothing.

He stood still, staring at the space where Sephiroth had vanished. He looked down at his hands—callused, trembling. The same hands that had held Aerith’s face. The same hands that had buried the sword in the heart of the man who had taken everything.

He felt nothing.

No peace. No pride. No vindication.

Just absence. A silence so total it rang in his ears.

Tifa stepped close. "Cloud?"

He looked at her, eyes blank.

"It's over," she said, gently. "We won."

Cloud’s mouth opened like he meant to say something—but nothing came.

Because the vengeance was spent. The fire gone. And with it, the purpose that had driven him. There was no weight lifted, no catharsis. Just a void, vast and silent, where something inside him used to be.

The battle was over.

But there was nothing left to fight for.

***

The days after the battle were eerily quiet, as if the entire world held its breath in the aftermath of chaos. Though the world was saved, Cloud found himself adrift, unmoored from the purpose that had once given him clarity. For a long time, vengeance had filled the void left in him by Aerith's death—a single, consuming need to right a wrong so devastating it had nearly destroyed him, had destroyed a part of him. But vengeance, he realized too late, was only ever a fevered distraction from the deeper loss he hadn't dared to name. The hollow left by the space Aerith had once held in him, the place she had gently, instinctively nurtured.

Now, with vengeance fulfilled and justice served, the void had not closed. If anything, it had widened—gaping, silent, aching with a hunger that no longer had a name. The fire that once drove him had burned out, and all that remained was ash. He tried to find something, anything, to fill that ache, something to remind him of who he could be. He needed direction. He needed purpose. He needed meaning. 

He tried to find meaning through work as a courier and as a mercenary, throwing himself into increasingly dangerous jobs, each one riskier than the last. It was as if he was daring the universe to end his suffering, to push him beyond the brink where nothing else could reach him. The danger was a distraction, an adrenaline-fueled escape from the emptiness gnawing at him, a way to keep the void at bay for just a little longer. Deep down, there was a part of him that hoped one day he’d take one risk too many, that he’d finally find the edge of his limits and slip into a place where the pain could no longer follow.

He tried to find meaning with his friends. They were worried about him, and he knew that—Yuffie was often around, Barret had tried to reach out, even Cid had shown up at his door once or twice, their eyes filled with a mixture of concern and frustration. They wanted to help him, to pull him out of whatever darkness he had sunk into, but Cloud didn’t have the energy to pretend he was okay. He couldn’t muster the hollow smiles or the empty reassurances that might make them feel better. He couldn’t be the person they wanted him to be, the unwavering leader they had followed through the worst of it. He couldn’t even be the person he wanted to be—whatever that was supposed to mean anymore.

He tried to find meaning with Tifa. They clung to the connection that had sparked again at the end of their journey across the planet—a bond forged in hardship, perhaps mistaken for something it could never fully become. Even if it wasn't perfect, there was something genuine between them, something that felt like it could grow into love. They moved in together, building a small home on the outskirts of Edge, meant to symbolize a fresh start—a clean slate on which they could write the next chapter of their lives.

Tifa filled the space with warmth: soft colors, gentle touches, and flourishes of hope in every corner. She tried to build a future they could both step into, but despite her best efforts and Cloud's attempts to pretend, something in him remained profoundly broken. The hollowness he carried was not something that could be healed by fresh paint or shared dinners. It lived deep inside him, untouched by comfort, immune to love.

He sat on the edge of their bed one evening, staring at the floor while Tifa folded laundry nearby. He moved on instinct, distracted, barely registering where his hands went. His fingers brushed against something soft—a delicate piece of silk, a neatly folded bra—and he froze, his breath catching as if the touch alone had exposed something.

For a moment, his fingertips rested on the silk, and a strange ache bloomed in his chest—tender, familiar, and comforting. Then, as if burned, he snapped his hand away and stepped back sharply, breath catching. Shame and pain curled in his gut.

Tifa hadn’t noticed, the soft rustle of fabric filling the silence between them. But then she caught the look on his face—the way he seemed distant, almost haunted—and after a moment, she asked quietly, "Cloud, are you happy here? With me?"

He didn’t look up. "I… I want to be," he said quietly. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. She nodded, but her hands stilled in her lap.

Even in the safety of their new life, Cloud couldn’t outrun the restless emptiness that trailed him like a shadow. It wasn't just sadness or grief. It was a part of him that Aerith had seen and gently nurtured—a truth he still couldn't name, one he tried to forget. But it lingered, just out of reach, demanding to be acknowledged. And no matter how hard he tried to bury it, it hollowed out every corner of the life he was trying to build with Tifa.

Days turned to weeks turned to months.

Cloud actively sought out the missions no one else wanted—the ones that carried the highest risk, the least chance of coming back whole. It wasn’t that he wanted to die, not exactly. But he didn’t care if he lived either. Out on the job, adrenaline dulled the ache, and for a few fleeting hours, he could move without thinking, act without feeling. That numbness was a relief. It was the closest thing to peace he could find.

Visits from friends grew sporadic, and Cloud met every effort with quiet hostility. He was angry without understanding the reason, cold even when he didn’t mean to be. He snapped without warning, deflected questions with sharp edges, shut down kindness like it was a threat. They didn’t know what was eating away at him, and he couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t even admit it to himself. Eventually, the visits stopped. Messages went unanswered. One by one, the voices fell silent. And only then, in the heavy quiet they left behind, did Cloud realize—he had driven them all away.

All except Tifa. Tifa was patient, endlessly kind, but she could see it too—the way Cloud would fly into unprovoked anger, drift further and further away from her, the way his eyes were always somewhere else, his smiles never reaching them. She tried everything to bridge the gap between them, from quiet, gentle touches to heartfelt conversations, but it was as if Cloud was behind a wall she could not break through. He would nod, say the right things, even hold her when she needed it, but he was no longer truly there.

One morning, she found him in the bathroom, holding something in his hands. It was one of her hairbrushes, the kind with soft pink bristles and a delicate floral pattern on the handle. He wasn’t brushing his hair. He was just holding it, staring into the mirror with a strange, unreadable expression. She said his name softly, and he flinched, setting it down like it had burned him.

"I was just... cleaning up," he muttered, not meeting her eyes. She didn’t press him, but she saw the way his shoulders hunched, the flicker of shame that passed through his face. Moments like that had started happening more often—a glance at a shop window, a hesitation seeing his own reflection, small things he couldn’t explain.

Each time he nearly crossed some invisible line, the pain would crash in too suddenly to bear. Shame, sharp and immediate, would seize him, forcing him to retreat. He didn’t understand it, didn’t want to. Better to bury it, to lash out instead, to let the frustration turn outward before it swallowed him whole.

They argued, the tension simmering beneath the surface until it erupted into words spoken in anger and desperation. Each argument was like another nail in the coffin of what they had once hoped to be.

One night, after sex, Cloud lay beside Tifa in silence, his body still, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The intimacy had meant something to her—he knew it from the way she curled against him, fingers tracing soft patterns along his chest. But for him, it felt hollow. That same old memory surged forward, unbidden, vivid and overwhelming:

The scent of perfume lingering in the air, his chest heaving beneath the snug bodice, silk rustling, sequins glittering at his thighs. Aerith wrapped around him—around her—tight, slick heat... Aerith’s breath warm as she pressed desperate kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her neck.

"Yes, Cloud... yes," Aerith had whispered, her voice full of love and joy and awe. "My perfect, beautiful princess."

Cloud's lips parted before he could stop them. He breathed the words with her, barely audible: "My perfect, beautiful princess."

Tifa lifted her head, startled. "What did you say?"

He froze.

"Princess...?" Tifa sat up slightly, her brows knitting. "Are you talking about Aerith?"

Her voice was soft, uncertain, but there was a tremor in it now, something between confusion and fear. "You're still in love with her, aren’t you? Is that what this is? All this distance—"

"No—that’s not—"

"Then what is it, Cloud? Because you're not here. You haven't been here in months. I feel like I'm holding onto a ghost."

He sat up, clutching the sheets, the shame washing over him in choking waves.

"She's gone, Cloud," Tifa said, and her voice cracked. "She's gone, and there's nothing we can do about it."

Something in him snapped.

"You think I don’t know that?" he shouted. "You think I don’t carry it with me every goddamn day? I know she's gone, Tifa."

His voice cracked, and he looked away, jaw clenched hard. "She’s gone... she never stood a chance."

Tifa softened. "Cloud—"

"She’s dead and gone," he said, almost to himself now, eyes distant. "And all that’s left is a hole inside me, and I don’t know how to deal with that."

"Then let me help," she said gently, pleading. "Please. I want to help you."

He shook his head slowly. "You don’t understand. You can’t. Only Aerith..."

Tifa sat up sharply, her voice rising. "Of course. Only Aerith. It’s always her. I’m never good enough, am I? No matter what I do, what I give—she’s the one you want."

"It’s not like that," Cloud snapped. "You don’t know what she saw in me. She saw something I didn’t even know was there."

"Then tell me!" Tifa shouted. "Let me in, Cloud! Let me understand."

But he couldn’t. The truth was a locked door inside him, and every time he reached for the key, it burned.

The room fell into silence, both of them breathing hard. The fight had emptied them.

Tifa stared at him, stunned. Her voice, when it came, was hollow. "As long as this is how it is—as long as you're like this—we’re never going to be right."

He didn’t argue. He just looked away.

"You need to find out what you want, Cloud. Who you are. Until then..."

She left the sentence hanging in the air, unfinished and final.

Cloud looked at her, at the pain in her eyes, and finally understood: she wasn't angry anymore. She was done.

He moved out the next day. Tifa packed his things in silence, each movement careful, methodical—as if folding shirts and sealing boxes could keep her from falling apart. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry. She didn't cry, not anymore.

Cloud watched her from the doorway, unsure whether to step in or stay back, suspended between guilt and numbness. When she placed the last box by the door, something flickered in his chest—regret, maybe, or loss. But even that was muted, smothered by the same emptiness that had settled in him long ago.

She walked away without a word, her footsteps fading like a memory. And Cloud understood: whatever had once existed between them was over. Not lost, not taken. Just... over. All that remained was the quiet echo of what might have been.

The door closed behind him with a final, soft click. No farewell. No drama. Just the dull sound of ending, and the weight of everything they hadn’t said. Their relationship hadn’t burned out in rage or heartbreak. It had faded, like ash on the wind—two people who had run out of ways to reach each other, and finally stopped trying.

They both returned to Midgar, maybe hoping to reclaim something of what once felt like home. Tifa opened a new bar—Final Heaven—and Cloud found a small apartment of his own. But he was hardly ever there. The walls closed in too quickly. The silence was too loud. Each day, he found himself withdrawing further, vanishing into the places no one would follow.

He spent hours, sometimes entire days, riding his motorcycle across the wastelands. The roar of the engine was his shield, a numbing comfort that drowned out thought, memory, feeling. The wastelands stretched endlessly ahead, barren and uncaring, echoing the hollow ache inside him. Out there, there were no eyes watching, no expectations, no one trying to reach him. Just sky and dust and the blur of distance behind him.

Cloud started seeking out trouble—scouting ruins, taking jobs in dead zones, challenging anyone who looked at him sideways. It wasn't about the thrill. It was about forgetting. Pain was better than thinking. Bruises healed, but the silence inside him never changed. He threw himself at danger like it might tear something loose inside and let the truth fall out.

It was easier this way—avoiding people, avoiding his friends, avoiding mirrors. The desolation gave him permission to stop pretending. Out here, he didn’t have to fake being whole. He didn’t have to smile or flinch when someone said his name like they still believed in him. He didn’t have to be Cloud Strife, the hero, the SOLDIER, the survivor.

Most days, he didn’t want to be anything at all.

Some nights, he’d stop in the middle of nowhere, engine cooling beneath him, the sky cracked open with stars above. And in that quiet, a strange ache would curl in his chest—a spark, faint but stubborn, refusing to die. He hated it. He cherished it. It reminded him of something that still waited in the dark, something not fully destroyed.

But for now, he rode and he ran. Hoping the wind would take it from him. Hoping it wouldn’t.

***

He wasn’t sure what drew him back. Maybe he had finally run out of places to run, or maybe—deep down—some quiet part of him still hoped to be found. But one day, without planning or understanding why, Cloud found himself standing in Aerith’s church.

Sunlight streamed through the broken roof, casting warm beams across the wooden floor. The wildflowers she had once tended now ran wild, somehow still thriving against the odds. Their scent hung thick in the air, and their colors stood out vividly against the decay—beauty amidst the wreckage and ruin, life refusing to surrender in the face of loss. The sight of them hit him like a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Cloud stepped forward slowly, his boots echoing in the quiet space, every movement heavy with memory. He stopped in the center of the church, and his knees gave out, lowering him gently to the floor. His breath caught in his throat as he knelt there, surrounded by stillness. All around him, the world had moved on—but here, time had paused. Here, her presence still clung to the light.

He closed his eyes, letting the silence wrap around him like a blanket. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t fight the pain. He let it rise. The ache, the longing, the hollowness he had tried to outrun—it all surged forward, no longer held back by anger, shame or guilt. Memories washed over him: her laughter like bells, the warmth in her eyes, the way she made even the darkest moments feel like they could bloom into something better.

Cloud bowed his head as the tears came, slow and unbidden, sinking into the earth that had once cradled her hope. The grief he had buried deep inside found its voice at last.

"Aerith... I don't know if you can hear me, but I need to talk to you. I can't keep running like this." He swallowed, his throat tightening, and continued. "I tried to be strong, to keep going, but everything feels so empty without you. I don't even know who I am anymore. You brought out something in me, something that felt real and alive. And now... now I just feel lost."

He paused, eyes closing, tears welling. "I keep thinking about the person you believed I could be—the way you looked at me like I was more than a weapon, like I was worth something." His voice caught. "More than a man..."

He shook his head slightly, the words raw in his throat. "I don’t know how to be that person without you. I keep trying, but all I feel is this... this hollow ache."

His fists tightened in his lap, knuckles turning white. "I miss you, Aerith. I miss your smile, your laughter, the way you made everything seem brighter just by being there. I wish I could have saved you. I wish I had been strong enough to protect you."

Cloud's voice cracked, a sob escaping as he continued. "I don't know how to let go of the pain. I don't know how to move forward. But I want to try, Aerith. I want to try, for you. I just... I need you to know that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I wasn't enough." He bowed his head lower. "I hope, wherever you are, that you're at peace. I hope you know that I... I love you. I love you so much."

As he sat there with his head down, a ray of light fell on something partially hidden beneath the altar—a small wooden box, its edges worn and scuffed with age. Hesitantly, he leaned forward, stretching out his hand, his fingers brushing against the rough texture of the wood. There was something almost magnetic about it, a strange pull, as though whatever lay inside had been waiting for him all this time.

Carefully, he drew it into his lap, pausing for a long, shaky breath. He could feel his heart pounding, the silence of the church amplifying each creak of the worn hinges as he lifted the lid. The sight inside stole his breath, his heart giving a painful twist as the memories rushed in.

It was the dress he had tried on in Rocket Town—the silky blue fabric neatly folded, almost reverently, as if it had been waiting just for him. The sight of it sent a jolt through him, equal parts wonder and fear. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn't move. A storm of emotions surged inside him—recognition, longing, guilt, shame—twisting together until he could barely tell them apart. Something deep within him pulsed, low and insistent, a quiet truth refusing to be buried.

His fingers hovered above the fabric, hesitant. He remembered the way it had felt against his skin, the shimmer of silk at his thighs, the way Aerith had looked at him—not like he was pretending, but like he was becoming.

Beneath the dress lay a note, resting gently on top. Cloud picked it up, his hands trembling as he unfolded it, the paper rustling in the silence. The handwriting was unmistakably Aerith's—looping, graceful, familiar in a way that made his heart ache all over again.

“Cloud (or maybe Skye?),

I hope you know that you are beautiful, no matter what you choose to wear. I bought this for you because I saw the way you looked at yourself that day in Rocket Town—like you finally saw who you could be, without fear. I saw the light in your eyes, and I hope one day you find the courage to let that light shine again.

True strength is being true to yourself. Whether you’re Cloud, or Skye, or anyone else, you deserve to be happy, and you deserve to feel free. Don’t ever forget that.

With all my love, always, Aerith ”

Cloud’s vision blurred, tears slipping down his cheeks as he clutched the note to his chest. Her words wrapped around him like a warmth he hadn’t felt in years—a kindness so unconditional it pierced through the armor he’d spent so long building. It broke something open in him, something he had sealed away since the moment she died. For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, he let himself cry—truly cry.

The sobs came hard and fast, tearing through him like waves crashing against stone. His whole body shook with the force of it, every breath a jagged gasp as grief, longing, shame, and love all spilled out in tangled knots. Each sob was a surrender, another layer of pain peeling away, leaving him raw but no longer numb. Her voice, her love, her belief in him—it echoed in every tremor, in every tear.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, curled around her letter like it might vanish if he let go. Time blurred, stretched, softened. Eventually, the sobs faded, his breathing evened, and silence returned to the church—but it no longer felt empty.

He sat there, the dress still beside him, the note gently folded in his lap. There was still a hollow inside him, but now it felt different—no longer a void, but a space waiting to be filled. Something inside him had stirred, subtle but unmistakable: a fragile, persistent spark. Not just memory. Not just grief. Possibility.

A future.

And for the first time in a long, long while, he didn’t push it away.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against the soft, silky fabric of the dress. The sensation stirred something deep within him—a gentle whisper of memory, a promise once made, a truth long buried. He closed his eyes as the fabric slid beneath his fingertips, and for a heartbeat, it felt like coming home.

Aerith had always seen him. Not the mask he wore, not the role he tried to play, but the truth of him. The softness. The grace. The girl inside. She had never questioned it, never mocked it. She had encouraged it and loved him— her —without hesitation. He had spent so long running from that, trying to be strong in all the wrong ways. But her belief had never wavered, even when his had.

Cloud inhaled deeply, chest trembling, and lifted the dress with both hands, pressing it gently against his chest. It was more than silk and thread. It was freedom. It was permission. It was the image of himself he had only dared to glimpse in the mirror, the version of him that had smiled in Rocket Town, the one Aerith had called beautiful.

This wasn’t just a memory. It was a beginning.

He didn’t have all the answers. He didn’t know exactly who he was, not yet. But he knew this: he was done hiding. Done burying the parts of himself that had always been there, waiting.

It was time to stop running. Time to start becoming again.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to let Skye finally step into the light.

Chapter Text

Cloud's mornings were marked by the quiet rituals of a solitary warrior—efficient, almost mechanical. He woke up at dawn, often without the need for an alarm, his body used to the military precision drilled into him for years. His first breath of the day wass always heavy, as if the weight of a half-forgotten dream still clings to his shoulders, but he shrugged it off just the same. He sat up, legs swinging over the edge of the bed, bare feet against the cold floor. His apartment was sparse, a stark single-room space with little more than a bed, a small table, and a few necessities—a place that echoes his solitude. No time wasted on reflection, just the immediacy of movement.

He began with a set of exercises, dropping effortlessly into push-ups, his body moving with a rhythm both rigorous and comforting in its simplicity. Each repetition was like a small, silent reassurance that his muscles hadn't failed him—that the strength is still there, even if so much else feels distant and fragile. After that, pull-ups on the doorframe, then stretches—limbs taut and lean in the morning half-light, the motions familiar enough to keep his mind from wandering too far into dark corners.

Once he was sufficiently warmed up, Cloud headed to the bathroom, splashing his face with cold water to chase away the lingering threads of sleep. He didn't want to dwell on his reflection in the mirror—a flash of blue eyes and blond hair, spiked in that chaotic manner that has become a signature of his, an identity half-constructed to keep people at bay. He swiped a razor across his face without a second thought, the scrape of metal against skin almost a comfort, a quick maintenance to keep up appearances. The bathroom wass a place of stripped-down essentials—no lingering scents, no extra touches—just what he needed, nothing more.

Cloud opened the wardrobe, mostly empty aside from a few worn sets of his SOLDIER fatigues. He dressed quickly, starting with a pair of plain, functional underwear, and always in dark tones—shirts that hugged his frame, trousers that give freedom of movement, his boots pulled on and laced with the same purposeful care as a weapon being readied for battle. He checked his gear—battered gloves, the comforting weight of the Buster Sword always within reach, even if it isn't in sight. His mornings weren't about luxury or relaxation; they are about preparation, a readiness for whatever the day might throw at him. Each buckle, each strap, cinched into place as if warding off the unpredictability of the world outside.

Only once everything was in order did Cloud allow himself a moment—sitting at the small, stark table by the window, a cup of coffee in hand, staring out into the streets of Midgar. The stillness before the city's noise fully wakes. He watched the early haze lift, the slant of sunlight trying to pierce through the looming plates above, a dull glow that never quite broke through. And in that moment of grey, there is a kind of peace. It is fleeting, but it is something—enough to take one more breath before he stepped out, striding past the mirror without a glance and closing the door behind him, the day already a familiar weight pressing against his chest.

But today would be a different day.

***

The first step was lingerie. This was where it had all started for him so long ago, and this was where he would begin again. He needed to reconnect with that part of himself—the part Aerith had once encouraged, the part that felt so right when he let it breathe. Lingerie seemed like the right place to start.

Cloud took a short trip out to Kalm, far enough from Midgar that he wouldn't risk bumping into anyone who knew him. The ride here had been quiet, but his thoughts had been anything but. Now, standing inside a small, softly lit boutique tucked between a bakery and a bookshop, his heart pounded in his chest. He moved slowly through the store, trying not to draw attention to himself, though the rustle of hangers seemed impossibly loud.

His gaze flitted across displays of silk and lace, each piece stirring a storm of anticipation and anxiety within him. Was he really doing this? Could he? They looked so feminine, so delicate, so heartbreakingly beautiful—and he felt like none of those things. But he wanted to. He wanted to wear them, to feel them against his skin, to let that softness be his own.

He moved hesitantly, furtive in his glances, trying to appear casual even though nothing about this felt ordinary. He pretended to browse like any other customer, though his heart thundered and his hands trembled, each moment threatening to betray how deeply this mattered.

The woman behind the counter watched him for a while before finally speaking, her voice gently teasing. "Are these for a girlfriend, or... someone special?" she asked, her eyes warm and curious, lips curling into a knowing smile.

Cloud blushed, his face turning scarlet as he stammered out a reply. "Uh, yeah... for a girlfriend," he lied, the words tumbling out awkwardly. The lady gave him a playful smile, her eyes not entirely convinced. She stepped out from behind the counter and, with a knowing look, gently guided him to a section near the back of the store—more private, more hidden. There, the lingerie was softer, dreamier, unapologetically feminine: satin ribbons, delicate embroidery, floral lace in pastel hues.

"These are some of my favorites," she said, brushing a hand over a pale lavender set with embroidered blossoms. Her voice was kind, without judgment.

Maybe doing this openly was a step too far, too soon. Maybe he wasn't ready to face the world like this yet. But despite his fear, Cloud found himself drawn to a particular set—a soft, lace-trimmed ensemble in a dusky rose satin, the fabric catching the light like water at dusk.

He paid quickly, his hands trembling slightly as he passed over the gil. The lady took it with a gentle smile and a playful glint in her eye. "I hope she enjoys them," she said, her voice light, adding a knowing wink that made Cloud's face flush even deeper. Before his courage could falter, he hurried out of the boutique, the small bag clutched tightly to his chest like a secret too precious to expose.

Embarrassment buzzed beneath his skin, but beneath that was something softer, warmer—a flicker of pride. He had done it.

Before his nerve broke, Cloud threw himself into shopping for feminine essentials. He found a drug store and drifted quietly from aisle to aisle, picking up makeup—lipstick, foundation, blush—his fingers lingering as he compared different shades, imagining how they might brighten his features. He chose razors with care, selecting one he thought would leave his skin smooth and soft.

He picked out a bottle of nail polish in soft pastel pink, the color reminding him of the flowers Aerith used to tend with such gentle pride. On a whim, he added a few hairpins to his basket—one adorned with a tiny pink blossom. It felt like something Aerith might have chosen for him, and that thought made his chest ache in a strangely comforting way.

Each item he added to his basket made his heart pound, a heady mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through him. By the time he had everything he needed, the sun had begun to dip low, casting long shadows across the street, and Cloud felt both drained and oddly fulfilled. With his shopping complete, he returned to his bike, hands still trembling as he strapped the bag into place.

He started the engine, the low rumble grounding him, steadying the storm inside. Then, with a bag full of delicate secrets and a heart quietly daring to hope, he began the ride back to Midgar.

***

When Cloud returned home, he took a deep breath, clutching the delicate shopping bags to his chest like a lifeline. In the quiet of his room, he laid the pieces out on the bed—the dusky rose satin gleaming faintly under the lamplight, delicate lace catching every soft shadow. Pink. Pretty. Feminine.

He had done this before, tried on things in secret, moments stolen in silence—but this felt different. Bigger. More real. Like a threshold he was finally ready to cross.

Another breath, deep and steady. Then, slowly, he began to undress, folding his clothes neatly to the side until he stood bare beneath the dim glow, the cool air brushing over his skin as he reached for the lingerie.

He took his time putting it on, each piece fitting into place, delicate and soft against his smooth skin. The lace caressed him, tracing his form, wrapping him in a way that felt both unsettling and exhilarating. When he stood in front of the mirror, he took in his reflection. The bra framed his chest snugly, the lace intricate and beautiful against his pale skin. The matching panties sat perfectly on his hips, soft and sheer, accentuating his slender form.

Cloud's cheeks flushed as he looked at himself. He turned slightly, watching how the light played off the satin, embracing curves he didn’t have, but giving a gentleness to his reflection, a beauty he had been afraid to acknowledge before. The person looking back at him was undeniably himself, yet it was also Skye—a truer version of himself, one that was more honest and free.

But there was still something that felt wrong—his body hair, coarse and itchy, clashing with the delicate fabric. It was an unwanted reminder of masculinity, a barrier between who he was and who he longed to be. It was another piece of the armor he had worn for far too long.

Cloud decided then to take the next step. He made it special, drawing a warm bath and lighting candles, their glow casting soft, flickering shadows across the room. He slipped into the water, letting it cradle him, allowing his body to relax. He closed his eyes, feeling every sensation. He remembered how he and Aerith would share such moments during their journey—how her laughter would echo around them. This time, it was different. Alone, it became an act of reclamation, of embracing himself.

Slowly, Cloud began to shave. He started with his legs, feeling the razor glide over his skin, leaving it smooth. He moved carefully, each stroke deliberate, shedding the layers of who he no longer wanted to be. When he was finished, he ran his hands over his legs, the softness bringing a smile to his lips. He continued shaving the rest of his body with similar precision, each movement feeling almost meditative.

When he was done, he drained the bath and stepped out, patting himself dry before reaching for the lavender oil Aerith used to use. The scent filled the room, calming his senses. He poured some into his palms and slowly rubbed it into his skin, letting the fragrance envelop him. In that moment, it felt like Aerith was there with him, her presence encouraging him to be unafraid. Cloud closed his eyes, allowing tears to slip free—not from sadness, but from release.

When he looked in the mirror again, his body was smooth and glowing from the lavender oil, every inch of skin newly bared and sensitized. It felt right—more than just a physical change, it was a quiet victory. A step closer to Skye, to the person he knew he could be.

He slipped the lingerie back on, and the feeling was immediate and breathtaking. The satin and lace kissed his skin like a secret, soft and intimate, and for the first time, it felt fully his. Shaving had made such a difference—he could feel everything, every brush of fabric, every whisper of lace along his thighs. The sensations were electric, heightening his awareness, grounding him in his body like never before.

It was more than clothing—it was affirmation. A quiet declaration. The lace whispered against his skin, making him feel alive, cherished, and undeniably himself. He let out a shaky breath as he met his own gaze in the mirror—he loved how he looked, how he felt, and he knew it. Part of him hesitated to admit it, the feeling too tender, too true—but he couldn’t deny it. Vulnerable, soft, but still strong—this was who he was.

Next came the makeup. Cloud had never done this alone before, but he knew he needed to learn. His fingers trembled as he picked up the foundation, dabbing it onto his skin. He blended it carefully, smoothing away imperfections. There were mistakes—lines that were too harsh, blending that wasn’t perfect—but he persisted, focusing on the reflection looking back.

He moved on to blush, choosing a soft pink reminiscent of Aerith's flowers. He dusted it lightly over his cheeks, giving his face a delicate glow. His lips trembled as he applied the lipstick—a shade to complement the blush, bringing out the softness in his lips. Mascara came next, carefully applied, making his lashes longer and fuller, giving his blue eyes a striking depth.

When he was finished, Cloud stepped back, heart pounding as he looked at himself. His makeup was soft, pink, and undeniably feminine. His cheeks glowed, his lips a tender rose hue, his lashes fluttering. There was vulnerability there, a gentleness he had always hidden behind armor. Yet seeing himself like this, Cloud felt pride—a beauty that wasn’t hardened or defensive but genuine. He smiled at his reflection, eyes glistening. He would get better at this, he knew—he intended to have many chances to practice.

Cloud then painted his nails with the pastel pink polish he had bought. He applied each stroke with care, watching as the color brought his hands and feet to life, vibrant against his pale skin. It felt like another step closer to Skye—another layer of himself uncovered.

As his nails dried, he let his thoughts wander. His eyes traced the gentle curves of his legs, the lace, his pink nails, and he imagined what Aerith might say. He smiled, a bittersweet warmth filling him as he pictured her teasing grin, how she would have taken his hands in hers, admiring his transformation. His heart beat faster, each moment a reminder of how far he'd come and how much further he was willing to go.

When the polish dried, Cloud held his hands up to the light, turning them, watching the shimmer of the gloss. It was a small change, but it felt profound—like a declaration of who he was becoming.

Now came the dress. Cloud held it up, watching the way light danced on the silky material. The dress was simple but breathtaking—a soft blue that shimmered gently. Thin straps led to a fitted sweetheart bodice, accentuating his chest elegantly. The bodice hugged his torso before flowing into a calf-length skirt that moved with ethereal grace. The material seemed almost weightless, and he could imagine it swirling around his legs, making him feel like he was floating. It represented more than beauty—it represented freedom.

He took a deep breath, letting the softness remind him of the person he was ready to be. He held the dress to his chest for a moment before slipping it over his head. The cool silk brushed his shoulders, sending a shiver through him. As it slid down, it enveloped him in a gentle embrace, his smooth body heightening every sensation.

The straps rested lightly on his shoulders, and Cloud felt a mix of nervousness and excitement. It felt right. The bodice fit perfectly, hugging his torso, cinching in just the right places. He smoothed down the front, feeling the dress mold to him—no more hiding.

The skirt settled around his legs, brushing against his calves with effortless grace. He turned, the fabric swirling, and felt a rush of joy. He had always moved with precision, but now, with the dress flowing, there was a softness he had never allowed himself to feel. It felt like shedding armor, layer by layer.

His hands ran down the dress, feeling the silk beneath his fingers. His breath caught as he looked at himself in the mirror. The reflection staring back wasn’t just Cloud, the SOLDIER. It was Skye—a softer, truer version, one Aerith had seen all along. He turned, watching the silk catch the light, reflecting a hope that had been buried for so long.

Cloud closed his eyes, breathing in, letting the sensations settle. The lace at the hem brushed his legs gently, reminding him of his vulnerability and the beauty of embracing his true self. It wasn’t just clothing—it was reclaiming a part of himself that had been hidden beneath duty. He could almost hear Aerith's laughter, reminding him it was okay to be vulnerable, to be open.

He opened his eyes, blinking back tears. The dress flowed and shimmered, hugging his form in a way that made him feel both delicate and strong. This was the person Aerith had believed in. Every sensation—the brush of fabric, the warmth of silk, the freedom in movement—told him it was time to let Skye shine.

Cloud decided to do something different with his hair. He picked up a brush, running it through the stubborn spikes that had long defined him. Slowly, he tamed the wildness, replacing the hard edges with something gentler—a reflection of the person he wanted to be. Satisfied, he reached for the hairpins, pinning his hair in place, adding a touch of elegance, his fingers lingering as he secured the small pink flower. 

For the final touch, Cloud opened the small drawer next to his bed. At the back, hidden in a velvet pouch, was the delicate pendant necklace Aerith had given him. The necklace symbolized a part of himself that he had buried when Aerith died. Its small gemstone still sparkled after all this time—maybe he could still sparkle too. It was the final flourish, a symbol that he was ready to embrace every part of who he was. He promised himself to wear it every day as a commitment to that, and a reminder of Aerith. He took a deep breath, emotions welling up—a mix of pride and excitement. 

Finally, Cloud looked at himself in the mirror, and for the first time, he truly saw Skye. The reflection before him was breathtaking. The soft blue dress shimmered, delicate straps resting perfectly on his shoulders, framing his neck and the delicate necklace that sparkled on his chest, just a hint of lace underwear peeking out. The bodice hugged his torso, accentuating his slim figure, the skirt swirling around his legs. His freshly brushed hair framed his face, adorned with a small pink flower—a gentle touch that seemed to say, "This is me."

His makeup was simple yet perfect—his cheeks glowed with a soft blush, his lips a tender rose hue, his lashes fluttering, making his blue eyes shine. His nails, painted in soft pink, completed the look—a reflection of the delicate yet powerful transformation within.

There was no trace of the hardened SOLDIER he once thought he was. Instead, he saw someone genuine, someone beautiful—delicate yet strong, vulnerable yet unafraid. This was what Aerith had always seen in him, what he had been too scared to accept. His heart swelled, caught between joy and longing. "You always knew, didn't you?" he whispered. "You saw this before I did." Tears gathered in his eyes, but he blinked them back, a light, airy laugh escaping—a girlish giggle, the sound of Skye fully coming to life.

Cloud—no, Skye—twirled, the skirt flaring out, the silky fabric flowing gracefully. He felt weightless, untethered from the fear and pain that had kept him bound. It was pure joy, a freedom he hadn’t felt in so long. Twirling again, the dress swayed, his laughter filled the room, and in that instant, Skye was no longer a secret. She was real, beautiful, alive.

Tears gathered again as she whispered to her reflection, "This is me." It was a declaration, a promise to never hide again. She would be Skye—for Aerith, for herself—because this was who she truly wanted to be. She allowed herself a smile, her heart swelling with a bittersweet mix of grief, hope, and love for the person she was finally allowing herself to become.

***

It was a start, but he knew this would be a slow journey, and he couldn't do it alone. Dressing as Skye was just the first step—one thread in the tapestry of becoming. He needed help: someone patient and open-hearted, who could guide him through the subtleties—makeup, hair, voice, movement, confidence. Someone who could help him not only look feminine, but feel it, own it. Someone who could help Skye take form in the light of day.

His thoughts drifted back to Wall Market, to the chaotic shimmer of that strange, exhilarating night. He remembered Andrea Rhodea—commanding, charismatic, and utterly without judgment. Andrea had seen something in him, even then. Not just a man in a dress. Something deeper. A spark. A truth. And when Andrea had pulled him into the spotlight, drawn him into the rhythm of that unapologetic performance, it hadn't felt like mockery—it had felt like revelation.

Andrea had made him feel radiant. Beautiful. Possible.

There had been no questions. No disbelief. Just a knowing glimmer in Andrea’s eyes, as if he’d already seen what Cloud couldn’t yet admit. What Skye hadn’t dared to dream.

Andrea could be the one to help him become her—not just in appearance, but in essence.

Cloud made his way to Wall Market, the buzzing nightlife alive with color and noise. He approached the Honey Bee Inn with a mix of anxiety and hope, the lights flashing above the entrance in a kaleidoscope of gold and pink. He took a deep breath and stepped inside, the scent of perfume and excitement enveloping him as he walked through the doors.

The receptionist greeted him warmly, and when Cloud shyly asked for Andrea, she smiled. "Right through there," she said, gesturing toward the main lounge. "He’s hard to miss."

And he was. Andrea was easy to find, his presence magnetic as he moved through the crowd with effortless grace, the pulse of music wrapping around him like a second skin. His smile was bright, genuine, lighting up the room as much as the chandeliers overhead. When he spotted Cloud, his eyes lit with recognition as he glided forward with the elegance of someone entirely at home in their own skin.

“Well, well,” Andrea purred, gliding forward with effortless flair and offering air kisses to either cheek. “This is a blast from the past. If it isn’t the star of the Honey Bee Inn’s most unforgettable night.” His voice was warm, his eyes sparkling with a familiar, teasing curiosity. “To what do I owe the pleasure, darling?”

"Hi Andrea," Cloud said, a little awkwardly, his voice tentative. "It’s been a while..." rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for the right words. Andrea didn’t press. He simply smiled with quiet encouragement and let the silence stretch, giving Cloud space to find his footing.

Cloud hesitated, then spoke, his voice low and uncertain but honest. “I’ve been… exploring some things. About myself. And I—I need help. I want to understand this part of me. The one you helped me glimpse that night.”

Andrea’s smile softened, a twinkle lighting in his eyes. “Ahhh... of course,” he murmured, his voice velvet-smooth with understanding. “Say no more. Come, let’s talk.”

He guided Cloud away from the shimmer and thrum of the lounge into a quieter, private room tucked behind velvet curtains. The hum of the main hall faded behind them as they settled into plush chairs, the soft lighting wrapping them in a sense of ease.

Andrea turned toward him, his expression gentler now. “I knew there was something special about you,” he said, voice low and sincere. “I suspected it back on that night at the inn, all those years ago. You thought you were putting on a mask, didn’t you? But really, darling… you were taking it off for the very first time.”

Cloud looked down, heart pounding—Andrea could see right through him. For a long moment, he sat in silence, the air thick with emotions he hadn’t yet dared to name. Shame. Hope. Fear. Relief. The weight of it pressed on his chest, but in Andrea’s gaze, there was no pressure—only patience.

“I think so,” Cloud said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know for sure, not yet… but I think you’re right. I’ve been holding it in, hiding it, even from myself…” He trailed off, then met Andrea’s eyes. “I want to understand it. I want to understand me . I just… I need help figuring it out.”

“But what about the girl who was with you that night—Aerith, was it? Could she not help? Or the one you went to rescue?” Andrea asked gently. There was no judgment in his tone, only a quiet curiosity, his voice softening as if stepping carefully around something fragile.

Cloud looked down and murmured, "Aerith... is gone." The words hit the air like a hush, heavy and quiet. Andrea reached out, gently squeezing his hand, his expression softening with genuine sympathy.

Cloud swallowed. “And with Tifa… it’s complicated.”

Andrea nodded slowly, giving him space, but asked gently, “Tell me what happened?”

And so Cloud did. He spoke for what felt like hours, unraveling the tangled story of his life. About Aerith and the way her presence had been a light in the darkness. About Tifa—fierce, kind, grounding—and the ways their paths had both drawn close and drifted apart. About the journey that had changed them all, broken them in some places, reshaped them in others.

He talked about Skye. About the name, the feeling, the glimpses of her that had surfaced like fragile waves. He spoke of the dark times too—the quiet ache, the suffocating silence of not knowing who he truly was, and the longing that had haunted him through it all: the aching desire to be more . To be free .

By the time he stopped talking, the inn had quieted around them. The air was cooler, and the night had long since turned late. He sat back, breathless, not from exhaustion but from finally saying it all aloud.

Andrea let the silence linger for a moment, then leaned back slightly with a soft smile. “That’s quite a story,” he said, his voice full of warmth and admiration. “You’ve told me a lot about what happened—everything you’ve endured, everything you’ve carried.”

He tilted his head, studying Cloud with gentle curiosity. “But what about now?” he asked. “What do you want to happen next?”

Cloud sat with Andrea’s question, letting it settle. He really thought about it—not just the pain, not the confusion—but what he wanted, deep down. And the answer came, quiet and certain.

He just wanted to be happy.

And when he traced that feeling back, when he searched through all the noise and memories, he realized something simple and undeniable: he’d never been happier than when he was allowed to be a girl. When the clothes fit not just his body, but something deeper. When he looked in the mirror and saw not a stranger, but someone closer to the truth.

A long breath escaped him. Then he met Andrea’s eyes and said, with a clarity that surprised even him, “I want to be a woman.”

Andrea reached out, taking his hand again, this time more firmly—grounding, steady. His eyes shimmered with something deeper than warmth: pride, respect, and the gravity of the moment. “You know,” he said softly, “that’s not a small thing to say. To want to be a woman. That’s truth, and truth is powerful. You said it out loud—and that matters.”

Cloud exhaled, the weight of years softening in his chest. He felt lighter, freer, as though something had finally clicked into place. Just speaking the words had opened a door he could never close again—and he didn’t want to.

Andrea smiled gently. “Of course I’ll help you. It would be my pleasure. The Honey Bee Inn is always open to those brave enough to seek their true selves. And you, my dear, have always been braver than you know. Let’s help Skye shine.”

Cloud took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his fears, his doubts, and letting them settle. He nodded, a small but genuine smile tugging at his lips. “I’m ready,” he said, his voice steady, and for the first time, he felt the truth of those words reverberate deep within him, down to his very core. There was no hesitation, no mask—just the simple certainty of what he needed, of who he was ready to become.

Chapter Text

The ornate doors of the Honeybee Inn opened, and Cloud stepped through, the warm lights inside immediately surrounding him. The familiar, intoxicating scent of perfume and excitement filled the air. He approached the reception and a young hostess greeted him with a bright smile, her eyes recognizing him almost instantly.

“Welcome back, Cloud!” she said with a bright smile. Cloud gave a small nod, his unease flickering across his face. “I’m here to train with Andrea,” he said, his voice quiet, touched with both embarrassment and resolve. The hostess’s smile only grew warmer as she gestured for him to follow.

Andrea was waiting in one of the mirrored rehearsal rooms, a space filled with light and reflections that seemed to multiply everything within it. A couple of dancers were already warming up nearby—stretching, turning, their movements fluid and graceful in the glow. Andrea stood with his arms crossed lightly, his eyes catching Cloud’s in the mirror as soon as he entered.

“There you are, darling,” Andrea said, turning to face Cloud fully. “Ready for your first day of training?” His smile was warm and inviting, but there was a spark of challenge in his eyes—a glint that said he knew this would push Cloud beyond his comfort zone, and that was exactly what he needed.

Cloud looked around, anxious—his eyes darting between the dancers as they moved with practiced ease. What were they doing? Why were they here? This wasn’t what he expected. He shifted uncomfortably, his body stiff, out of place.

Leaning closer to Andrea, he whispered, “I’m not here to be a dancer. I want to learn to be… what we talked about.” His voice was tight, furtive, like he was confessing a secret he wasn’t ready to share with anyone else. The openness of the space, the mirrors, the other bodies moving so freely—it made him feel too visible, too vulnerable.

Andrea smiled, not unkindly, and tapped a finger lightly against Cloud’s chest. “Dance is the truest expression of the self, darling. If you can learn to dance, you’ll learn to speak with your whole body. You’ll learn to show the world who you are—in here.” He tapped again, right over Cloud’s heart.

“We’ll start slow,” Andrea said, his voice steady and warm. “But through dance, you’ll learn to move like a girl. Look like a girl. Feel like a girl.”

Cloud’s eyes darted nervously around the room, checking to see if anyone had heard. The dancers nearby were absorbed in their own warm-ups, but he still felt exposed. He opened his mouth, starting to say, “But—”

Andrea cut him off gently but firmly. “Today, you’ll be learning with the dancers.” His tone was calm, but unwavering. “It’s not just about mastering steps. It’s about finding your rhythm, letting go, and allowing yourself to be seen.”

Andrea’s words stirred something in him—anxious, but also electric. Real.

“No more hiding.” Andrea’s eyes softened as he added, “It’s about embracing every part of you.

Cloud nodded, swallowing the lump of anxiety in his throat. “I guess… I’m ready,” he said, the words uncertain, but honest. He felt their weight settle inside him—not yet conviction, but something close. Andrea stepped forward, placing a hand on Cloud’s shoulder, steadying, reassuring.

“That’s all I need, darling,” Andrea said with a soft, confident smile. “Remember, you don’t have to be perfect—just be you.” His tone gentled, the last words almost a caress. “Now, choose a locker and go get ready. Your journey starts today.”

The other dancers, male and female alike, entered the room as Cloud was leaving, their presence filling the space with energy and laughter. They moved with a grace that took Cloud’s breath away, each step fluid and confident. Cloud felt a pang of nervousness—he wasn’t sure if he could ever move like they did, so free and unrestrained—but he pushed the doubt away. He was here to learn.

Cloud selected a locker on the men's side of the dressing room, away from prying eyes. He hesitated as he undressed, revealing the dusky rose lingerie beneath his clothes. It still felt soft, comforting against his skin—but here, now, it also felt risky. Maybe even foolish. He regretted wearing it today, even though part of him still liked how it felt on. He changed quickly into his training outfit before anyone could see—a fitted navy tank top, snug but comfortable navy trousers designed to allow full range of motion, and patent black shoes—the same outfit as the male dancers.

As Cloud returned, Andrea clapped his hands to draw everyone's attention and then stepped forward to briefly introduce him to the room. "Everyone, this is Cloud," Andrea announced, his voice full of warmth. "He's here to join us and learn, so let's all make him feel welcome."

The dancers responded with cheers and encouraging smiles, their warmth enveloping Cloud like a reassuring embrace. One of them—a striking young woman with honey-brown eyes and a long, sleek ponytail—stepped forward with a bright smile. “Hi, I’m Mia,” she said, her voice musical and kind. “Don’t worry—we all felt nervous our first day. You’re gonna do great.”

Cloud felt a mixture of nerves and gratitude at their reception, his cheeks flushing as he gave a small, awkward wave. The training session began, the room buzzing with energy as the dancers took their places.

The first exercise was simple—just feeling the music. Andrea turned on a slow, rhythmic tune, the kind of melody that seemed to seep into the bones and encourage movement. Cloud closed his eyes, trying to focus on the beat, trying to let it guide him. But it was difficult. His body resisted, too used to the rigidity of combat, to movements designed for power rather than grace. He could feel the others around him—could hear the soft swish of their clothing, the gentle thud of bare feet on the polished floor. They moved effortlessly, their bodies an extension of the music itself, while Cloud struggled to find even a hint of that ease.

Andrea watched for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed Cloud’s struggle. He moved closer, placing a gentle hand on Cloud’s back, guiding him into a more relaxed stance. “Breathe, Cloud,” he said softly. “Let the music move you. Stop thinking so much.” Cloud tried, he really did, but each time he felt like he was loosening up, something would snap him back into that SOLDIER stance—a rigidness that refused to leave him.

The dancers continued, spinning and swaying, their laughter filling the room. Cloud tried to mimic their movements, but his steps felt heavy, his body uncooperative. Worse, he was painfully aware of the bra strap pressing against his back, his panties riding up as he moved—certain that everyone could see it, that they knew exactly what he was, why he was here. Paranoia clawed at his thoughts. Were they laughing at him? Judging? He couldn’t tell. Every giggle, every glance felt like it might be aimed at him, and the embarrassment crept in fast, tightening in his chest. He wanted to be like them—to move with that freedom, that joy—but it felt so far out of reach.

After a while, Andrea clapped his hands, signaling a break. He walked over to Cloud, a thoughtful expression softening into something more tender. “You’re anxious,” he said gently, voice low and steady. “I can feel it in every step. But this is a safe space, darling. No one here is judging you. You don’t have to be perfect.”

Andrea leaned in, lowering his voice to something just between the two of them. “You’re still trying to be Cloud, the SOLDIER. But dancing isn’t about control—it’s about letting go. Let her breathe.”

Cloud looked down, his cheeks flushed. “I know… I just… I don’t know how to let go,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Andrea smiled, his eyes softening. “That’s okay. This is all part of the process."

The break ended, and they resumed their training. Though Cloud still struggled, he tried to keep Andrea’s words in mind—to let go, even if only a little. It was difficult, and if anything, he felt even more awkward than before. His body seemed to fight him at every step, the tension never truly leaving his muscles. The looseness in his hips never came, and any attempt at swaying his shoulders felt forced, unnatural. His embarrassment grew, overshadowing any glimmers of progress he might have hoped for. Instead of a smile, a frown tugged at his lips as the frustration built up. Today wasn't a step forward—it was a reminder of how much further he still had to go.

By the end of the session, Cloud was exhausted, his muscles aching from the unfamiliar movements. He stood before the mirror, hair damp with sweat, cheeks flushed, heart heavy. He was certain his bra strap was visible through the cling of his tank top—sweat-darkened and thin. Surely they all saw. Surely they all knew. And yet… no one had said a word. No one had laughed.

That paranoid voice in his head still whispered doubts, but quieter now. Maybe they didn’t care. Maybe this really was a safe space. The thought made his throat tighten unexpectedly. A wave of self-doubt still lapped at his heels, but it didn’t drag him under. Not completely. Not this time.

Andrea clapped his hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “Wonderful work today, everyone! And Cloud,” he added, his gaze locking onto Cloud’s, “I want you to stay behind for a moment.”

Cloud's heart sank as the other dancers filtered out, his mind racing with thoughts of failure. But as they passed, a couple of them gave him warm, encouraging smiles—soft, wordless gestures that said more than they needed to. Mia, the girl who had introduced herself earlier, caught his eye and gave him a reassuring wink before heading out the door.

Still, the dread lingered. He was sure Andrea would tell him that this wasn't going to work, that he was foolish to even try.

Once the room was empty, Andrea turned to him, his expression warm and full of understanding. “I know today was a struggle,” he began gently. “You were stiff, unsure, caught in your own head. But you still showed up, and that counts for a lot.”

Cloud rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze dropping. “I just… I felt stupid. Like everyone could see right through me.”

Andrea’s voice remained soft. “They saw someone trying. And more than that, they saw someone brave.”

Cloud blinked, surprised by the kindness—and a little thrown when Andrea’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

“I have an idea for next time,” Andrea said, a sly smile playing at his lips. “Something that might help you let go, help you feel more comfortable.”

Cloud narrowed his eyes, wary. “What kind of idea?”

Andrea leaned in, conspiratorial. “It’s a surprise. But trust me, darling—you’re going to love it.”

***

Cloud went home after rehearsal, muscles aching, nerves still humming with the memory of the studio lights and mirrored walls. He stepped into the shower first, letting the hot water beat down on him, washing away the sweat, the soreness, and some of the tension that had gripped him all day. As the steam curled around him, he let himself breathe deeply, letting the ache melt from his limbs.

Afterward, toweling off with deliberate care, he moved toward the small wardrobe where the dress waited—soft blue silk, smooth and cool to the touch. He took the dress from the wardrobe and hung it up carefully, letting it catch the low light as he prepared. He slipped into his lingerie first—delicate and starting to feel familiar again—feeling the satin and lace hug his skin. The anxiety that had clung to him since rehearsal began to ebb, dulled by the quiet intimacy of the ritual.

He looked at the dress again, then stepped into it. The satin whispered around him, gliding over his legs and settling gently against his body. With each movement, the tightness in his chest eased, replaced by something softer. Then he applied a touch of makeup—just enough to bring out her in the mirror.

And there she was. Skye. Present, visible, and welcome.

When he caught his reflection in the mirror, something inside him settled. The anxiety that clung to him like a second skin during dance practice began to fade. Here, in private, he could see her—Skye. The woman he wanted to become wasn’t some distant dream. She was in there somewhere, looking back at him.

Dancing in front of others—that was harder. But here, he could let that side breathe, be unafraid.

He poured himself a stiff drink—he needed it. The day had been long, demanding, and raw in ways he hadn’t expected. But here, alone in the quiet, he could finally let the weight fall from his shoulders. He curled up on the sofa, the cool silk of the blue dress brushing against his thighs, a tactile reminder that he was allowed to feel good. To feel soft. To feel feminine . For the first time that day, he wasn’t hiding. Wasn’t performing. Just being —and in that, he felt a little bit free.

In the days that followed, Cloud took on a mercenary job, clearing out a group of monsters that were threatening the road to Kalm. During the quiet moments, his thoughts wandered back to his first session with Andrea. Was he really ready for this transformation? Could he truly become someone different—someone freer and more expressive? Or was this all just a foolish dream, destined to collapse under the weight of his past?

Each swing of his sword against the monsters felt almost mechanical, his body moving on instinct, but his mind was elsewhere. He could feel the soft fabric beneath his clothes—the lingerie he had begun to wear again after discovering the package from Aerith. His necklace cool against his chest, a fragile reminder of what he was trying to become, of the part of himself he was finally allowing to breathe. It felt like Skye was real, even if only under his layers of armor.

Yet doubt gnawed at him, harder than any physical blow. Who was he really fooling? What did he hope to achieve by putting on a piece of clothing? The rigid mask of Cloud, the ex-SOLDIER, was difficult to take off. If he hadn't been able to do it at the Honeybee Inn, he wondered if he even could take it off, or if it had fused too tightly to who he was.

The monsters fell one by one, his blade slicing through them almost effortlessly. And yet, as the last of them hit the ground, Cloud felt no satisfaction, no pride in a job well done. Instead, he felt hollow, as if something important was still missing, something that couldn’t be fulfilled by mere combat. The feeling weighed on him as he returned to the small encampment set up by the road, the fire crackling softly in the evening air.

As he sat down by the campfire, his thoughts grew heavier. He tugged at his gloves, his gaze distant. He thought of Andrea’s words—about letting go. That desire to become Skye, to be someone fluid and unrestrained, pulled at him with each breath. But the fear of looking foolish, of being seen as weak, of exposing himself in a way he had never done before—it all formed an iron wall inside and out.

Still, Cloud found himself making a decision, almost reluctantly. When he returned to Midgar, he would go back to Andrea. He had to. There was something there that called to him—something that felt right, despite the fear, despite the uncertainty. Maybe Andrea's surprise could help him unlock whatever it was inside that kept him from fully embracing Skye. He didn’t know if he could ever be like the dancers, but he wanted to try. He wanted to let go of the weight, even if just for a moment.

He stared into the flickering flames, the night settling around him. Out here, in the darkness, there was a strange kind of safety—a freedom from the eyes and expectations of others. He reached under his shirt, felt for the necklace beneath, and allowed himself a small smile. 

Tomorrow, he would finish the job, collect his pay, and return to Midgar. And then, he would return to the Honeybee Inn, to Andrea, and try to take another step towards becoming Skye. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but maybe the hardest journeys were the ones most worth taking.

***

The ornate doors of the Honeybee Inn opened slowly. “It's good to see you again, Cloud!” said the hostess with a bright smile.

Cloud hesitated, anxiety flaring in his chest. He still wasn’t sure this was the right decision—but he had to try. “Yeah…” he muttered, forcing himself to step inside. “Let’s hope this goes better than last time.”

The hostess’s smile faltered for just a moment, but she quickly recovered, offering a graceful gesture to welcome him in.

Andrea was waiting in the mirrored rehearsal rooms. As Cloud approached, Andrea stepped forward with open arms and a soft, knowing smile.

"You made it back. That tells me you're ready to take a leap," he said, voice gentle but firm. "I won’t lie—this journey takes courage. But this is a safe space, darling. One where you can try, fall, rise, and be seen . Trust me. Just trust me."

Cloud blinked, a little puzzled by the intensity of Andrea’s words. There was something more in his voice—a weight, a quiet insistence that made Cloud feel like Andrea wasn’t just talking about dancing. He wasn’t sure what Andrea was trying to tell him exactly, but it felt important. Like an invitation. Or a promise.

He paused, letting the words settle between them before adding with a wink, "Now, ready for your surprise?” He arched an eyebrow at Cloud, then his expression softened. “Remember, if you want to become your new self, you need to be able to let your old self go. Now, head to your locker and get ready.”

The dancers filtered in again, changed and ready to dance as Cloud went to get changed. He made his way to the same locker he used before, but the moment he opened it, his stomach dropped. The outfit he’d worn previously was gone. In its place was a woman’s training outfit—delicate, pink, unmistakably feminine.

Panic flared. Had he opened the wrong locker? Cloud quickly checked the lockers on either side—both were empty. He looked around, trying to stay calm. This was the men's side. There were a couple of guys nearby, finishing up changing, chatting casually. Trying to keep his voice level, Cloud stepped toward one of them.

"Hey," he asked, hesitant, "Did anyone leave a training outfit for me here?"

The dancer shrugged, clearly unconcerned, and nodded toward the rehearsal room. "No idea, man. Maybe ask Andrea?" Then he slung his bag over his shoulder and left, calling out a cheerful goodbye to the others.

Cloud was left standing there, staring back at the outfit in his locker—his heart pounding. Was this a mistake? Or was it exactly what Andrea had meant by a surprise ?

He took a deep breath, glancing around—no one else was nearby now. Just him and the locker. Slowly, he reached in and pulled the outfit out for a closer look.

It consisted of a low-cut baby pink leotard made of soft, stretchy fabric that clung to every curve, leaving the shoulders and upper chest exposed. A delicate pink gauzy skirt accompanied it, sheer and flowing, designed to sit at the waist and move gracefully with every turn. The final touch was a pair of low heels with ribbon ties, the satin ribbons meant to wrap around the ankles and secure the shoes in place, adding an undeniable elegance to the ensemble.

The outfit was undeniably feminine, from the delicate drapes of the skirt to the subtle shimmer of the fabric, and Cloud could feel his heart pounding just looking at it. It was so pretty—he really did want to try it on—but not here. Not like this. The thought of stepping into it in front of everyone made his chest tighten with panic. He couldn’t do it. Not yet. Maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe he’d just go find Andrea and explain there’d been a mix-up.

And then he saw the note: "You can do this. Trust me. A."

He stared at the words, his heart thudding. It was simple, but the message carried weight. Andrea believed in him. Maybe even saw something he hadn’t yet fully allowed himself to see. Maybe this wasn’t a mistake. Maybe it was exactly what it was meant to be—a moment to trust. A moment to leap.

Could Cloud really do this? Could he let go—let himself be seen—in this way, in front of everyone? Doubt surged through him, sharp and sudden. For a moment, he imagined turning around, changing back, keeping this part of himself buried and silent forever. But the fear passed almost as quickly as it came.

Andrea had told him to trust. That this was a safe space. And deep down, Cloud knew—it was. He knew this wasn’t just something he wanted; it was something he needed . A truth that had waited too long in the dark.

He took a breath, steadying himself. It was time to take a leap of faith.

Seizing on that certainty before doubts could creep back in, Cloud quickly began to undress, feeling a flicker of relief that he had worn his lingerie today. The satin hugged his skin, offering a small but steady comfort against the tide of nerves. He picked up the leotard, its smooth fabric almost slipping through his trembling fingers as he pulled it over his body. It clung to him in ways that felt both unfamiliar and thrilling—so close to right it made his heart pound.

Next, he picked up the gauzy pink skirt, stepping into it and adjusting it so it sat just right at his waist. It was so light, it almost felt as if it were floating around him, and he took a moment to let the sensation settle. The shoes were next—the low heels that gave him pause. Cloud sat down, slipping them on one at a time, and then struggled with the satin ribbons, his fingers fumbling as he tried to wrap and tie them around his ankles. After a few frustrated attempts, he finally managed to secure them, the soft fabric holding firm.

Standing up, Cloud turned to the mirror. He felt a rush of emotions all at once—nervousness, excitement, fear, but also something warmer, something that felt right. He couldn't help himself; he swished the skirt lightly, watching the sheer fabric move around his legs, and for a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of Skye staring back at him, a softness in his eyes that made him smile. Cloud hurriedly ran his fingers through his hair, trying to soften his look even more, taming the spikes just a little. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.

He took a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs, trying to push back the fear and doubt, and steadied himself. Then, before he could second-guess the moment, Cloud rushed out of the changing room and back into the rehearsal room.

Rushing in, Cloud stumbled, his steps awkward and unsure as he struggled with the unfamiliar heels. His heart pounded in his chest, the leotard feeling suddenly far too tight, the gauzy skirt brushing against his thighs with every hesitant step—a constant, fluttering reminder of how exposed he felt. All eyes turned to him, and he froze for a moment, overwhelmed by the silence that fell over the group. He was hyperaware of every gaze, every whisper, convinced they all saw everything —how he looked, what he wore, who he was trying to be.

A few snickers pierced the quiet, but they were quickly silenced by a stern glance from Andrea.

Andrea stepped forward, his voice gentle as he spoke. "I'm pleased to see that you're joining us today, Cloud." Cloud's heart pounded in his chest. This was it. He could feel all the eyes on him, the weight of their attention. It wasn't the kind of courage he had needed on the battlefield—it was something deeper, something more raw. He took a breath, his voice steady as he said, "Actually, it's Skye." The words hung in the air for a moment, and Andrea's face softened, a genuine smile spreading across his lips.

"In that case,” Andrea said warmly, “I'm delighted you joined us, Skye.” He turned to the group, his smile unwavering as he introduced her. “Everyone, this is Skye.”

The dancers responded with nods and smiles, their warmth washing over her like a wave. Skye could feel her face flush, but it wasn't from embarrassment—it was from the genuine acceptance she saw in their eyes. She caught the dancer from the first session, Mia, gazing at her from across the room. The girl’s eyes had lit up, surprise giving way to a wide, encouraging smile. Maybe this was a safe space.

She was being seen, truly seen, and for the first time, she allowed herself to feel that acceptance, letting it fill her with a sense of belonging.

Andrea clapped his hands, breaking the moment with an easy authority. "Alright everyone, we can't waste any more time—it's rehearsal time," he announced, his voice carrying a blend of warmth and firmness. He turned to Skye, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "And don't think I'll be going easy on you," he added, giving her a wink. "I only accept the best from my girls."

The improvement from last time was immediate, even in low heels. Skye began to find her rhythm, her movements becoming less awkward as she allowed herself to follow the music instead of overthinking each step. Her body moved with more fluidity, beginning to embody a feminine grace that felt natural.

And more than that—she started to enjoy it.

The soft cling of the leotard, the swirl of the gauzy skirt brushing her thighs with each turn—it all moved with her, not against her, like a second skin. Even the heels, which had initially felt awkward and unsteady, began to feel like part of her silhouette. The way they shaped her posture and framed her stride made her feel poised, elegant. Feminine.

Still, she spent much of her time watching the other dancers, trying to mirror their movements, her eyes darting between Andrea and the others as they glided effortlessly across the floor. Each time she tried to copy them, her steps were hesitant, her body not quite as flexible or fluid as she wanted. There was still stiffness, a lingering reminder of her past self—but she pushed forward, determined to do her best and improve with every movement.

When Andrea called for a break, Skye took a moment to catch her breath, her heart still racing from the exertion. She was proud of herself—there was progress, and she could feel it. But Andrea approached her, his gaze kind but assessing.

"You're doing well, Skye," he said, his voice carrying a note of encouragement. "But I know you can do more. I can see it in you. Don’t try to be anyone else—don't just copy what the others are doing. Be yourself. Let go and let your own light shine."

Skye nodded, swallowing the lump of anxiety that formed in her throat. She knew what Andrea meant. She had been holding back, afraid to truly let go, afraid of what it would mean to be vulnerable in front of everyone. But Andrea believed in her, and maybe, just maybe, she could believe in herself too.

The second half of the rehearsal began, and Skye took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she let the music wash over her. This time, she didn't focus on copying the others. She let the rhythm guide her, let her body move the way it wanted to, not the way she thought it should. Her hips swayed, her arms flowed, and she felt the gauzy skirt swirling around her legs. The music seemed to fill her, her movements becoming an expression of herself—of Skye.

As she danced, she felt something change. The awkwardness melted away, replaced by a confidence that she hadn’t known she possessed. She moved with grace, her body flowing with the music, her smile growing as she felt the freedom in each step. She was no longer Cloud trying to fit in—she was Skye, a beautiful, confident young woman, embracing every part of who she was.

When the music finally stopped, Andrea was beaming. He clapped his hands, his applause echoing through the room. "That was incredible, Skye!" he said, his voice full of pride. "You took a huge step today, and it showed. You were amazing out there."

The other dancers joined in, their smiles genuine, their applause warm and welcoming. As the group began to disperse, Mia made her way over, still slightly breathless but grinning. “That was really brave,” she said, her voice soft but certain. “It takes guts to do what you just did. You should be proud.”

Skye's cheeks flushed, her heart swelling with pride. She had done it. She had let go, and it had felt right—more right than anything she had done in a long time.

Andrea approached her as the others filtered out, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “But don’t get cocky now,” he said, his tone playful but sincere.

Skye gave a breathless laugh, still flushed from dancing. “Was I that obvious?”

Andrea grinned. “Only a little. There’s still a long way to go, and plenty more to learn. But you’ve started down the path.” He paused, his expression softening. “Come in a little earlier next time. We’ll work one-on-one. I want to help you shine even brighter.”

Skye nodded, heart fluttering. “I’d like that.” A genuine smile spread across her face. She was ready. Ready to keep going, ready to keep growing, and ready to let Skye shine without fear or hesitation. This was only the beginning.

***

Cloud couldn't have felt more different after the second session compared with the first. He had done it—he had let Skye out—and it had been wonderful.

When he got home, he poured himself a drink, not out of anxiety or to calm his nerves, but to celebrate. He raised the glass with a small smile, toasting quietly to himself, to Skye, to everything she was becoming. It was a private victory, but a powerful one.

Still riding the high from practice, he stripped down to just his lingerie and began practicing a few of the moves from class. The soft fabric moved with him, the stretch of the bra across his chest and the delicate caress of the panties making him feel graceful, sensual, feminine. He twirled in the soft lighting of his apartment, the air brushing his skin as he moved freely, fluidly, without fear. In the privacy of his home, he wasn’t trying—he simply was . And it felt good.

Cloud felt a new sense of lightness, almost as if a weight he didn’t know he was carrying had finally been lifted. He had discovered a part of himself that had been hidden for too long. He had embraced Skye, and it felt freeing in a way he could never have imagined.

He had a courier job to take care of the next day, traveling all the way to Gongaga, but even during the journey, he found himself yearning to return to the Honeybee Inn. The idea of dancing again, of that intoxicating feeling of freedom, filled him with anticipation. He was excited about the safe space he had found—a place where he could be his real self without judgment, where he could explore who he was beyond the image of the ex-SOLDIER.

Even the world felt different as he traveled. The cool breeze caressed his skin, soft now that he let himself care for it. The wind played through his hair, unrestrained, allowing it to flow with the rhythm of the air. The sparkling blue of the ocean stretched out infinitely, a mirror of the sky above. The vivid colors of the flowers in the jungle seemed brighter, their perfumed fragrances wrapping around him, heightening his senses. Everything felt more alive, more vibrant, as if his newfound freedom had sharpened his perception of the world around him.

Cloud delivered the package in Gongaga, efficiently as always, but his thoughts were never far from Midgar. He couldn’t shake the longing to return, to step once again into the Honeybee Inn and lose himself in Skye. He started his return journey without delay.

As he waited for his boat from Costa del Sol, Cloud wandered the streets and remembered his day here with Aerith. The laughter they had shared, the warmth of her presence—it all came flooding back to him, bittersweet and comforting. Sitting by the dock he could see the lingerie shop they had visited together, and the memory brought a smile to his lips. It had been Aerith who had first nudged him into exploring this softer side of himself, always supportive, always so full of life.

He caught himself gazing through the window, eyes drawn to the delicate fabrics—lace and silk in soft pastels and bold, seductive hues. There was a flutter in his chest, a tug he couldn’t ignore. He wasn’t just looking—he wanted them. Wanted to feel those fabrics on his skin, wanted the way they made him feel seen, real. The thought settled into his mind with sudden clarity: if he was going to do this properly, if he was truly going to embrace Skye, he would need a proper wardrobe. He needed more, starting with lingerie.

Taking a deep breath, Cloud pushed open the door and stepped inside. The shop was small, cozy, the scent of lavender hanging in the air. The assistant, a young woman with bright eyes, looked up as the bell above the door chimed and offered a polite smile.

“Hello,” she said warmly. “Can I help you, sir?”

Cloud cleared his throat, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, but he met her gaze steadily.

"I need... some new lingerie," he said, his voice even but with a hint of vulnerability that couldn't be masked. The assistant blinked, momentarily bewildered, her eyes taking in Cloud's muscular frame, the way he seemed both out of place and determined. But then her expression softened, and she gave him a warm smile.

"Of course,” she said, her tone gentle, though there was a slight curiosity in her gaze. “Is it for a girlfriend, a wife?” she asked, her voice casual, though her eyes couldn’t help but glance at Cloud's face for confirmation.

Cloud cleared his throat, feeling the familiar heat rush to his cheeks. He clenched his hands for a moment before letting out a steadying breath. “No,” he said, meeting her gaze directly, “It’s for me.”

The assistant blinked, her eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise, and there was a brief pause. “Oh…” she murmured, her voice trailing off. She glanced at Cloud, his determined expression and the tension in his posture clear as day. She took another breath, collecting herself, her demeanor softening further. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice low, careful, as if she were stepping into uncharted waters.

Cloud swallowed, the words heavy in his throat. “Yes,” he finally said, his voice steady. “I think so. But if it’s too much trouble, I—”

“No, no, it’s not that at all!” she quickly interrupted, shaking her head with a gentle smile. There was earnestness in her eyes now—a desire to help. She could see the vulnerability in his gaze, the courage it took just to be here, asking for this. “I just… didn’t want to offend. But if you’d like, I can help.”

Cloud nodded, a little hesitant but grateful.

“Alright then,” she said, her smile returning, this time warmer. “Let’s start by finding your size, okay?”

Cloud nodded, following her further into the store. The assistant led him to a fitting area, pulling down a measuring tape with practiced ease. She gave him a reassuring smile, sensing his nervousness.

"Alright, let's get started," she said, her tone gentle. "Don’t be nervous—I’ve measured hundreds of people." She moved with practiced professionalism, wrapping the tape around his chest, her fingers brushing lightly over his skin.

"So, what are you looking for?" she asked gently.

Cloud blinked, momentarily thrown. "I... I don't really know," he said. "I'm kind of new to this."

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said with a playful smile. “That just makes it more fun—we get to experiment a little.”

Cloud blushed, the color rising to his cheeks, but there was a spark of excitement in his chest. The idea of trying new things, discovering what felt right, stirred something warm and eager inside him.

As she worked, she explained the different styles available: underwire for structure, bralettes for comfort, boyshorts for a more casual feel, and thongs for something a bit more daring.

Her voice remained calm, professional, and Cloud found himself slowly relaxing under her guidance. She never once made him feel out of place; rather, she seemed genuinely invested in making this experience as comfortable as possible. Cloud shifted his focus from his initial awkwardness to curiosity, his eyes following her hands as she demonstrated how each piece was crafted for different purposes. He could see the care she took in her work, the way she genuinely wanted him to feel not just comfortable but confident.

"You know, lingerie is all about how it makes you feel," she added softly as she brought out a few options for him to try. "It's not just clothing—it's a statement, a part of who you are."

Once she had his measurements, she returned with a carefully curated selection—delicate bras in soft pastels made of lace, a few bolder choices in deep reds and blacks crafted from satin, panties ranging from practical cotton to ornate silk with intricate detailing, and even silky nightwear that draped like liquid against the skin, whispering luxury with every movement.

Cloud’s heart fluttered as he reached for the first set. Each piece was beautiful in its own way, and as he tried them on, emotions surged—nervousness, excitement, a quiet awe. Standing before the mirror, he turned slowly, letting his eyes trace the shape he made in the soft fabrics. The assistant adjusted straps, offered suggestions, her tone calm and confident.

"That color looks great on you," she said, as Cloud turned in a pale lilac set with white trim. "You’re carrying it beautifully."

Cloud gave a small, shy smile, his cheeks flushed but glowing. "Thanks," he murmured. "I never thought I’d actually... do this."

"Well, I’m glad you are," she replied gently.

Her kindness never wavered. She treated him like any other customer, but with a quiet reverence for what this moment meant. And Cloud felt a deep gratitude—not just for her help, but for the acceptance woven into every interaction.

When he finally settled up at the counter, the bag in his hand was heavier than he expected—not just from the new collection of lingerie, but from the meaning it carried. He'd bought a lot, and he thanked the assistant profusely, his voice low but sincere.

She smiled, her eyes warm. “I love this part of my job,” she said. “Helping people feel beautiful.” Her gaze softened as she added, “And you are beautiful, you know.”

Cloud’s cheeks flushed deeply. He gave a quiet, breathless laugh, murmured another thank-you, and turned to leave.

As he stepped outside, a shift stirred within him. It wasn’t just about the clothes. It was about giving himself permission to want this, to be this. The lace of his new set brushed his skin beneath his clothes, and with it came a gentle warmth—a growing sense of rightness.

Cloud walked back towards the docks and towards home, his heart lighter, the memory of Aerith’s smile lingering in his thoughts. He knew this was just the beginning, and there was still so much more to explore. But for now, he allowed himself to savor this small step.

***

The ornate doors of the Honeybee Inn swung open, and the hostess greeted Cloud with a bright smile. "Good morning, Cloud—how are you today?"

"Actually, it's Skye now," she replied, her lips curving into a confident smile. There was a bounce in her step as she stepped into the familiar surroundings, savoring the newfound freedom to be herself. "And I'm feeling wonderful," she added, her cheeks warming with a genuine glow.

The hostess paused for a moment, processing what the change meant, then her smile returned, even brighter than before. "Oh, of course! Good morning, Skye!"

Andrea stood in the mirrored rehearsal room, and when Skye entered, his eyes lit up and he extended his arms slightly, as if to welcome her into a space meant just for this moment. "Ah, Skye! Right on time," he greeted her, his voice a mix of warmth and enthusiasm. "I’m glad you came early" He paused, looking her over, a knowing look that spoke volumes. "Come on through, darling. Let’s see how much more we can make you shine today."

Andrea led Skye through the rehearsal room and into a more private area, gesturing for her to undress. "Let's see what we're working with," he said, his tone warm but businesslike.

Skye hesitated for a moment, nerves surging. Her fingers trembled as she slipped out of her clothes, her heart hammering in her chest. Standing there in just her new set of baby-blue lingerie—soft satin hugging her form—she felt utterly exposed, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t anticipated. She'd never stood like this before—open, feminine, seen—in front of another man.

But Andrea didn’t flinch. His eyes swept over her with a critical but gentle gaze—professional, kind, and free of judgment. “The blue suits you,” he said with a soft smile, his voice carrying a quiet note of admiration that made it feel like a compliment, not an assessment.

Skye’s cheeks flushed, a mix of pride and embarrassment coloring her expression. But beneath the nerves, something in her began to relax. Andrea’s calm made space for her own.

Andrea appraised Skye, circling her with the careful scrutiny of an artist examining a canvas before bringing it to life. His eyes moved thoughtfully over her form, considering every detail, every curve, and every line. He nodded approvingly at her smooth skin. "You've done well with keeping everything smooth. Have you considered something more lasting? Perhaps something permanent?" he suggested, his tone light, as if it were just a casual thought. Skye blinked at the suggestion, caught off guard by the thought of permanence. She swallowed, her voice soft. "I... hadn't really thought that far ahead," she admitted. "But, maybe... one day."

He moved on, examining her figure with a discerning eye. "Your frame is still quite masculine, but there are things we can do to soften it—cinching at the waist, adding a bit of padding here and there," he mused aloud, his hands demonstrating the potential adjustments. "Though perhaps not for practice today. But, tell me—would you like a little more up top?" Andrea's eyes sparkled playfully, and Skye's own eyes widened with excitement.

"Yes, I think I'd like that," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Seeing her enthusiasm, Andrea nodded and retrieved a pair of adhesive inserts, moving closer to help. With gentle hands, he arranged the inserts on her chest, shifting them and adjusting her bra until they created a subtle but noticeable cleavage. "There we go," he said, stepping back to examine the result, his smile broadening. "Now, doesn’t that look lovely?" Skye looked at herself in the mirror, her heart fluttering at the sight. "I... I love it," she finally said, her voice tinged with awe. She couldn't help but reach up, her fingers brushing against the delicate curve Andrea had crafted.

He paused behind her, his eyes meeting hers through the mirror. "Tell me, Skye, how do you feel about your... masculine bulge?" His voice was soft, without judgment. Skye blinked, taken aback by the directness of the question. She hadn't really thought about it until now—she had been so focused on the bigger picture. Now, as she looked down, she felt a swirl of emotions. It was apparent, and it was a reminder of a part of herself she wasn't sure how to reconcile yet, a part that didn’t quite fit with the image of Skye she was trying to build.

She took a deep breath, letting the question settle in her chest. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I haven’t really decided how I feel. It’s… part of me, but sometimes it feels like it doesn’t belong. Like it’s someone else’s.”

Andrea nodded, his expression open and understanding. “That’s okay, darling. These things take time. And only you get to decide who you are—no one else. We’ll work through it together, at your pace.”

He offered her a warm, reassuring smile, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders for a moment before stepping back. “I could help you get a smoother look for now, just as a temporary measure,” he added, his tone gentle but direct. “It might help you get a sense of how it feels, see if it resonates with you.”

Skye hesitated, her eyes flicking to the mirror and then back to Andrea. There was still uncertainty there—but also curiosity. “I… I guess I could try it,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady.

Andrea nodded, stepping closer. "Only if you're comfortable, darling," he said, his eyes holding hers, waiting for a definitive answer. "Yes," Skye said after a moment, her nerves still present but overridden by curiosity. "Let's try it." Andrea reached toward her panties, pausing for a moment to ensure she was comfortable. "May I?" Andrea asked, his voice softer now, his hands hovering, awaiting permission. Skye took a deep breath and nodded, her expression a mix of apprehension and trust.

Andrea pulled her panties down gently then worked quickly and with careful precision. He gently pushed her testicles up inside her in a way she hadn't known was possible, tucking her penis away between her legs, securing everything neatly with tape. Skye watched in the mirror, her breath held as Andrea pulled her panties back up, snugly fitting against her body, the fabric smooth and flush.

When she looked at herself again, Skye was taken aback. Her crotch was flat and smooth, an image that felt foreign yet strangely right. It was a little uncomfortable at first—the sensation of the tuck was tight, a reminder of the change—but as she gazed at herself, she couldn't help but smile.

Andrea watched her reaction in the mirror, his voice reassuring. “It’s that easy, darling. If you like it, you can practice it yourself. And before long, it’ll become second nature.”

Skye nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on her reflection. She did like it—the illusion, at least. It gave her a glimpse of what could be. But there was also comfort in knowing that nothing was gone, just hidden away for now. The discomfort faded to the background, overshadowed by how good it felt to see her reflection align more closely with the woman she was trying to become.

"Alright, clothes on!" Andrea commanded, his voice bright and full of energy. Skye quickly began dressing, slipping into the her training outfit. As she pulled the skirt up over her hips, Andrea moved in closer, providing meticulous guidance. "Here, darling, let me show you—your skirt should sit just here, at the natural waist. It’ll give you the most flattering shape. Always be mindful of your posture and lines to emphasize your best features—it's all about making the most of what you've got!" he said, his hands lightly adjusting the waistband.

He watched as Skye smoothed down the fabric, then moved to help with her shoes. "Now, the ribbon ties on your shoes, they need to be secure but not too tight," Andrea explained, his fingers deftly wrapping the satin around her ankles, tying it with a flourish.

Stepping back, Andrea took a moment to assess her overall look, his eyes scanning her from head to toe, nodding approvingly. "Yes, yes, that’s it. Remember, it’s all about confidence, darling. How you wear it matters just as much as what you’re wearing. And remember, I'm always here to help you with your outfits," he said with a wink. Skye stood a little taller, feeling Andrea's confidence in her seep into her own being.

"Okay—sit down, just a few more finishing touches!" Andrea said with a flourish, picking up a brush and running it carefully through Skye's unruly spikes. With patient, steady strokes, he tamed the wildness until her hair looked softer, more polished. He then reached for a small, delicate hair clip with a pretty white bow—a simple accessory that added just the right touch to her short hair. "This works well for now, but you know," he added with a wink, "you really should grow it out, darling. Imagine all the styles we'd have to play with then!"

Next, Andrea quickly yet expertly applied some light makeup. He dusted a bit of blush over her cheeks, the pink hue giving her complexion a soft warmth. With a practiced hand, he added a hint of mascara, accentuating her lashes just enough to make her eyes pop without being overpowering. Finally, he applied a subtle pink lip gloss, giving her lips a gentle shine.

"Perfection," Andrea said, stepping aside to let Skye see herself in the mirror. She looked at her reflection, her heart swelling with emotion.

The person staring back was both unfamiliar and deeply familiar—a reflection of both her past and the future she longed for. Her figure still retained some masculine characteristics—broad shoulders, a firm frame—but now there were changes that made all the difference. The pendant on her chest sparkled as it caught the light, drawing the eye to the subtle swell of her breasts, the gentle curve of her cleavage. Her outfit fit perfectly, hugging her body in all the right places and the smoothness between her legs brought a harmony to her appearance that aligned with how she saw herself. The light makeup and styled hair added softness, making her look girlish, even flirty, giving her a newfound sense of authenticity.

Skye couldn't help herself; she wrapped her arms around Andrea in a spontaneous hug, overwhelmed with gratitude and emotion. Andrea paused for a moment, then smiled warmly, returning the embrace in his own gentle way, his hands resting reassuringly on her back.

"“I take it you're pleased with my work?” Andrea asked, amusement playing in his voice.

“Pleased? I'm overjoyed,” Skye breathed, her voice trembling with emotion. She turned to the mirror again, truly taking herself in. Her hair was styled just right, her makeup soft and flattering, and the illusion of budding breasts, gentle hips, and a smooth crotch—all of it coalesced into a version of herself she had only dared to imagine. Not only did she look like a girl—she actually looked pretty ! She had never seen herself like this before, and it lit something in her chest that was equal parts wonder and relief.

Andrea smiled, a glint of pride in his eyes. “Well then, as a thank you, I expect you to make this effort for every session. As I said before—I only expect the best from my girls.”

The dancers began to file into the room, bringing with them a lively energy. They stole glances at Skye, some curious, others admiring. Skye caught a few smiles, even an envious glance from one of the girls, and she couldn’t help but feel a warmth of belonging. For the first time, she didn’t feel out of place among them. She didn’t feel like someone pretending—she felt like she fit in. Like one of the girls.

One of the guys even looked at her with an interest she wasn’t used to, making her cheeks flush as she fought a mix of confusion and excitement. But even that somehow didn’t feel wrong. Just new.

As they began warming up, Andrea clapped his hands. "Alright, everyone, into position! Let's make this count today!"

Skye fell into step with the others, taking her place in the group. Skye found herself following along easily, her body remembering the rhythm from before. As they began moving into the dance routine, Skye let herself go, focusing on the music, her body moving with a fluidity that surprised even her. She wasn't perfect—there were still awkward moments—but she was significantly more confident than before, the nerves giving way to a growing sense of grace.

During the break, Skye lingered near the group, and one of the other dancers, the girl named Mia, approached her. "Hey, you're really getting the hang of it," Mia said with a warm smile. "It’s nice to have another girl in the group."

Skye felt her heart swell, and she returned the smile, a sense of camaraderie building. "Thanks, Mia. It means a lot," she said softly, her voice laced with sincerity.

"And you look amazing, by the way," another dancer chimed in, gesturing to Skye’s outfit and makeup. "Totally nailed the vibe."

Skye flushed, flustered but thrilled. "Oh, um, thank you! I was so nervous this morning—I didn’t think I’d be able to pull it off."

"Well, you did," Mia said with a grin. "You fit right in."

They giggled together, the kind of easy laughter that belonged in a shared dressing room or whispered between warm-ups. For the first time, Skye didn’t just feel accepted—she felt included.

Their chatter continued until Andrea’s voice rang across the room: "Places, please, girls!"

They laughed again, exchanging playful glances as they scattered back to position. Skye’s heart felt full.

Andrea pushed them a little harder in the second half of the session. Skye danced, losing herself in the movements, her body responding with a newfound ease. She could feel Andrea's eyes on her, assessing, guiding, but also approving. When the session finally ended, Andrea gathered everyone around.

"Fantastic work today, everyone!" He said, his eyes catching Skye's for just a moment longer than the others. "And Skye, you've made tremendous progress. Keep it up, darling—you’re shining brighter every day."

Skye beamed, her chest filling with pride. As the dancers began to disperse, Andrea stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"But remember, this is just the beginning," he said. "And this—" he gestured subtly toward her makeup, her styling, the confident way she carried herself, "—this is the new standard you've set. I expect nothing less from now on."

Skye laughed softly, her cheeks flushing with pride. "I think I’m okay with that," she said. "Honestly, I can’t wait to look and feel like this every time."

Andrea's eyes sparkled. "Good. Because you, darling, are just getting started."

***

Taking what Andrea said to heart, Cloud decided to push himself. He had a few free days and decided to take more steps towards embracing Skye. Each day, he made small changes, building new habits that brought him closer to the person he longed to be.

Every morning became a ritual. Cloud would carefully choose different pieces from his growing collection of feminine undergarments, taking the time to appreciate their beauty before slipping them on. The soft lace and silk were a reminder of the transformation he was pursuing—an intimate secret he carried with him, close to his skin. These moments, seemingly mundane but deeply meaningful, gave him strength. He would run his fingers over the delicate fabric, feeling the texture, allowing himself the pleasure of embracing this new part of himself.

He loved the feeling more than he expected. There was power in the secret softness beneath his day-to-day look—a quiet thrill in wearing something beautiful, feminine, that no one else knew about. It made him walk taller, move softer. It reminded him that Skye was always with him, even when she couldn’t be seen.

One afternoon, as he walked through Midgar in his usual fatigues, he noticed someone staring at him across the street. A middle-aged woman, expression puzzled, eyes squinting in curiosity. Cloud blinked, confused—until he glanced down and saw it: the pale pink strap of his bra had slipped out from under his shirt, stark against the dark fabric.

His heart slammed in his chest. Quickly, he reached up and tucked it away, pretending to adjust his shoulder as casually as he could manage. Without waiting to see if she kept looking, he ducked around the nearest corner and kept moving, heat burning in his cheeks.

But even as the embarrassment faded, a part of him still felt proud. He had slipped—yes—but it had happened because Skye was becoming part of his every day. And that, despite everything, felt like progress.

He traveled to the other side of Midgar to shop, far from the neighborhoods where he might run into familiar faces. There, he bought more makeup—eyeshadows, blushes, and lipsticks in colors he had yet to try. He added more essentials—skincare products that promised to soften his skin, making it glow. He picked up hair products and accessories—creams to tame his growing hair, clips, and ties to style it just right.

At a quiet boutique, he hovered by the tester shelf, casting furtive glances to make sure no one was watching. He dabbed a soft coral lipstick on the inside of his wrist and spritzed a delicate floral perfume into the air, stepping into the cloud. It settled over him like a whisper, and he closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the way it made him feel—light, soft, feminine.

"That one suits you," came a gentle voice.

Cloud startled, turning quickly to see a shop assistant nearby, a young woman with short curls and an easy smile. She didn’t look judgmental. Just curious—and kind.

"I—uh—just testing," he muttered, flushing slightly.

She nodded. "Of course. But honestly? You’ve got a good eye. That scent’s one of our bestsellers for a reason."

He even treated himself to a small bottle of it, tucking it carefully into his basket. From there, he grabbed a few more indulgences—bath bombs for bubble baths, flowers to brighten his space. Each purchase brought a sense of liberation, another step in claiming who he truly was.

As he explored the shops, Cloud made a decision: he would get his ears repierced. Sitting in the small shop, the scent of antiseptic in the air, he studied the tray of earrings on offer—tiny silver balls, simple black studs, and a selection of glittering gems.

Without hesitation, he pointed to a pair of dainty crystal studs.

The piercer, a gruff man with a tattoo sleeve and a skeptical brow, chuckled as he prepped the needle. "Didn’t peg you for the sparkly type," he said, eyeing Cloud’s fatigues. "Most guys go for the black steel. Something a little more... manly."

Cloud didn’t flinch. "I guess I’m not most guys."

The piercer raised a brow, but there was a flicker of respect in his expression. "Fair enough."

The sting of the needle was sharp but brief, and when it was done, Cloud looked at his reflection in the mirror. The small pink sparkled in the light, and he smiled. It was a small change, but meaningful. It felt like reclaiming a piece of himself that had always been there—just waiting to be seen. The glittering studs weren’t just jewelry; they were a quiet declaration. A promise.

As he wandered the shopping districts, he lingered at shop windows, his eyes drawn to flowing dresses, skirts, and blouses. He imagined himself in them—the way they’d sway with his movements, catch the light, whisper against his skin. Sometimes he got as far as the doorway, heart pounding, only to turn back. But more often now, he stayed a moment longer, letting himself indulge the fantasy.

Once, while gazing longingly at a sleek pale green dress on a mannequin, he heard a voice behind him. “That’s a gorgeous color,” the woman said casually.

Cloud startled, turning slightly to see a woman around his age standing nearby, holding a shopping bag, her tone light and friendly.

“Oh,” Cloud said quickly, forcing a small shrug. “Just got distracted by something...”

She smiled knowingly. “Mhm. Same here, honestly. I’ve walked past it three times today already.” She gave him a playful glance. “Looks like we both have good taste.”

Cloud let out a quiet laugh, a bit of tension easing from his shoulders. “Yeah… I guess we do.”

She gave him one more warm smile before continuing down the street.

Cloud stood there for a moment, cheeks warm, but not burning. The world hadn’t ended. Maybe next time, he’d go inside.

During one of his trips, Cloud found a pair of low-heeled shoes in a charity shop. They were simple, black, nothing extravagant, but exactly what he needed—to practice walking at home, to get comfortable in them. He slipped them on in the quiet of his apartment later that evening, taking careful, tentative steps across the living room, smiling to himself at the soft click they made against the floor.

At home, Cloud began to tidy his apartment with a newfound care, adding small, feminine touches to his space—fresh flowers on the table, scented candles by the window, a mirror on the wall where he could see Skye reflected back at him whenever he needed encouragement. He even rescued an old vanity table from the local, somewhere he could spend time on his appearance—it was a little battered, but so was he and maybe it needed a fresh start too.

Cloud wasn't ready to be dressed publicly, but privately was a different matter. At home, he dressed up in the blue dress whenever he had the opportunity, slipping into it with growing confidence. He would move through his apartment with quiet grace, letting the fabric swirl and shimmer around him, feeling it glide across his legs with every step. Sometimes, he'd twirl just to watch the skirt flare out, the motion playful and euphoric.

He started sleeping in his silky nightwear too—chemises and camisoles—each one a gentle comfort as he sank into bed. The smooth fabric caressed his skin, soothing and intimate, helping him drift off while feeling closer to his authentic self. These moments, private and precious, made it easier to believe that this version of him—Skye—wasn’t just a dream, but someone real, waiting to bloom fully into the light.

He practiced everything Andrea had shown him. Experimenting with creating cleavage, carefully tucking to achieve a smooth silhouette and a feminine shape—those small but essential details that made Skye come to life. Styling his hair as much as the length would allow, working on creating soft waves, pinning it back in different ways, adding a gentle elegance that spoke to his transformation. He let it grow longer, its style softer, subtly more feminine, and each time he caught his reflection, he couldn’t help but smile at the progress.

Cloud spent hours practicing his makeup. He wasn’t perfect—sometimes the eyeliner smudged, sometimes the lipstick wasn’t even—but he learned something new with each attempt. Slowly, he got better at it, each brushstroke bringing him closer to seeing Skye in his reflection. He painted his nails with soft, muted colors—pale pinks, gentle blues—subtle enough to hide beneath gloves or tuck away, but each time he looked at them, they brought a small burst of joy.

Eventually, Cloud began allowing himself to wear a touch of makeup when he went out. Just enough to feel different, just enough to not be noticeable to anyone but to let him catch a glimpse of Skye looking back at him in reflective surfaces. The eyeliner traced the edges of his eyes, a small act of rebellion against the image of the hardened SOLDIER he once thought he had to maintain.

One afternoon, while running errands, he stopped to check his reflection in a shop window—admiring the shimmer of gloss on his lips and the subtle polish on his nails—when someone nearby let out a short, derisive laugh.

“Didn’t realize the big tough merc was into pretty makeup,” a man said loudly enough to be heard, eyes scanning Cloud’s face and hands.

Cloud didn’t flinch. He turned toward the man, met his gaze, and said calmly, “Guess you’re learning something new today.”

The man blinked, caught off guard by Cloud’s poise. A few others nearby, who might have joined in, stayed silent. Someone even gave Cloud a small nod.

The would-be heckler looked away, muttering something under his breath before moving on.

Cloud watched him go, then smoothed his hair, adjusted his cuff, and kept walking. His pulse had spiked, but he didn’t let it show. He was starting to own this—his appearance, his femininity, his transformation. Each step forward was becoming less about hiding and more about claiming who he was becoming.

One day, he took a small job clearing out some monsters in the ruins of Sector 7. The work was familiar—quick, efficient, physically demanding. The grateful smiles of the people he helped made it all worthwhile, and so did the knowledge that he could still do this—still be true to himself while making a difference.

Afterward, he decided to celebrate. He returned home, poured himself a drink, and settled into a luxurious bubble bath, the water warm, fragrant, and filled with the frothy bubbles from the bath bomb. He shaved his legs, the scent of lavender surrounding him, every stroke of the razor a reminder of the care he was now taking with himself. The bubbles, the smoothness of his skin, the warmth of the water—everything felt like a rebirth. One drink turned into a few, and soon he was feeling comfortably tipsy.

He was tipsy, glass in hand, warmth bubbling in his chest and a goofy grin tugging at his lips. With a giggle, he wrapped his towel high around his chest in a playful, feminine style and cranked up some upbeat pop music—something unapologetically girly and fun. He danced around the apartment, twirling and laughing, sipping between verses he half-sang, half-shouted.

As the music played on, he began to dress up, letting his joy fuel each motion. He went all out—hair styled into soft, loose waves that bounced with every step, makeup applied with extra care despite his inebriated state. He layered on foundation to even out his skin, added a flush of blush to bring color to his cheeks, and painted his lips a deep pink that made them look full and kissable. His eyes were rimmed in dark liner and topped with a touch of shimmering shadow—just enough to give them drama and sparkle.

He slipped into sexy lingerie, carefully tucking himself away, enjoying the smooth illusion beneath the fabric as it clung lovingly to his frame. As he clipped his bra into place, he added a couple of inserts and adjusted them to create a gentle curve of cleavage—subtle, but enough to make him smile with quiet satisfaction. The blue dress hugged his body in all the right places—cinching his waist, flowing over his hips in gentle, swaying folds. He ran his hands down the fabric, savoring the sensation as it caressed his smooth thighs, delighting in how soft and right it all felt.

He stepped into the low-heeled shoes—simple, black, elegant—and took a few swaying, playful steps, catching his reflection as he moved. The way the heels shifted his posture, the way the dress moved with his body—it thrilled him. He looked gorgeous. Feminine. Real.

Then he stopped in front of the mirror, breath caught in his throat.

His heart pounded. There she was.

Skye looked back at him—confident, radiant, just a little bit wild from the drink but so, so happy. She looked beautiful. And more than that, she felt free. The night shimmered with possibility, and for once, Cloud didn’t want to be anyone else.

Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was the high of how good he looked—but Cloud stood in front of the mirror, swaying slightly, drink in hand, and couldn’t stop smiling.

“I look good,” he said aloud to his reflection, voice breathy with disbelief and delight, not matching the lips it came from. “Really good.”

He took another sip of his drink, cheeks warm and glowing. Then, giggling, he added, “Too good to stay locked up inside, right?” His makeup, hair, the dress—it all came together like magic. He looked to his reflection for affirmation, and the woman in the mirror nodded back at him with a smile.

“Yeah,” he said, lifting his glass in a little toast. “We’re doing this.”

It felt ridiculous even thinking it—but it also felt right. He tossed back the rest of his drink, heart thudding in his chest. He was going outside. Just for a little bit, he told himself as he walked to the hallway and rested his hand on the door handle. It was late, warm, and quiet. The darkness would be his cover. No one would notice. Probably. And besides—he couldn't keep Skye cooped up forever.

Before he could second guess himself, he opened the front door and stepped out into the night.

The thrill hit him immediately. The breeze against his exposed shoulders and the brush of air under his dress felt electric. His soft hair tickled the nape of his neck, lashes heavy over his eyes, lips slick with gloss—every sensation amplified by being exposed, being Skye, out in the world.

He stood for a moment and breathed it in, leaning on the rail, crossing his apartment, crossing his ankles and sighing contentedly. It felt amazing—he was out in the world, in a dress, makeup, and heels. He looked down at himself, and his breath hitched. The soft blue fabric of the dress draped elegantly over his frame, the delicate lace at the neckline teased just a hint of his faux cleavage, and his legs looked smooth and glowing under the moonlight. Everything about what he saw felt unreal and yet, at the same time, profoundly true. Yes—this was him. Looking like this.

He stayed there for a few minutes, basking in the quiet thrill, the night air brushing his skin. Maybe he could go for a little walk? It would be a shame to head back in already. What was the harm?

With a flutter in his chest, he delicately went down the stairs and stepped into the street, each click of his heels on the pavement was a punctuation of freedom. He tried to carry himself with confidence—hips swaying just enough, hands poised with an almost practiced elegance. The night air kissed his bare shoulders, the soft fabric of his dress swishing with every step. He felt beautiful, bold, and very, very alive—like a secret he'd held for too long had finally been set free.

It was late, but the streets weren’t empty. A couple approached under the flickering glow of the streetlight, their voices low and intimate, the sound of their footsteps crisp against the pavement. Cloud’s heart lurched in his chest. As they neared, he lowered his gaze, lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks, doing everything he could to avoid their eyes.

The man didn’t even glance his way, too absorbed in conversation. But the woman... she looked. Just for a moment. Her eyes passed over him—lingered. There was something in her expression, a flicker of surprise, maybe recognition. Not judgment. Not cruelty. Just... curiosity. Awareness. She opened her mouth slightly, as if she might say something, but thought better of it. They passed by, and the moment was gone.

On the other side of the road, a group of teenagers loitered ahead, laughing too loud, the sound sharp and unpredictable. His stomach twisted into a knot. He didn’t want to cross paths with them—not like this, not exposed in heels and a dress, fragile in his newfound boldness. Panic prickled at the edge of his skin. Quickly, he slipped into the nearest alleyway, heart pounding. He pressed his back to the cool brick wall, breath held tight in his chest, listening to their voices echo and recede, every laugh and shout a jagged edge scraping across his nerves. He didn’t breathe until their sounds faded into the night, taking the worst of his fear with them.

As he emerged from the alley, he caught his reflection in a shop window and paused, mesmerized. The way the dress hugged his form, the soft shimmer of the fabric catching the glow of the streetlight, the elegance of his carefully made-up face—he looked breathtaking. With a playful spark, he posed slightly, one hand settling on his hip as he shifted his weight, his stance just a little flirtatious. He tilted his head, pouting at his reflection, then gave a quick, silly toss of his hair, letting it fall just right. For a moment, he wasn’t Cloud pretending—he was Skye, admiring her own reflection and daring the world to look back.

Then, from behind, a voice: “That dress looks amazing on you.”

Cloud startled, turning sharply. A man was passing by—mid-thirties maybe, with a lazy smile and a soft sway in his step that suggested he’d had a few drinks. But his eyes were clear, and they rested on Cloud with warm admiration. “Seriously,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the dress, “you look incredible. If I wasn’t already spoken for, I’d be asking for your number.”

Cloud’s heart nearly exploded. Panic surged, instinct taking over—“T-thank you!” he squeaked, voice shooting up into a high, breathy falsetto that startled even himself.

The man just chuckled, unfazed, like he hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. “No need to be shy, gorgeous,” he said, offering a grin that wasn’t leering, just genuine. “Hope you’re having a lovely night.”

And just like that, he was gone—strolling down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, whistling low.

Cloud stood frozen, blushing furiously. His hands trembled, and yet... he was smiling. He hadn’t been mocked. He’d been flirted with. Complimented. Seen.

She had been seen.

Skye.

And the world hadn’t ended.

But that was enough for tonight. The cool night air was sobering, the heady rush of adrenaline giving way to a gentle hum of disbelief. The thrill hadn’t vanished, but it had softened, settling into something quieter and more reflective. He turned, heels clicking on the pavement, and made his way home. A couple of people passed by, but he barely registered them—his thoughts were spinning too fast. He’d done it. He’d stepped out into the world as Skye. And not only survived—but been seen, even admired. The memory of it pulsed in his chest like a secret ember, warm and bright.

A cat rustled through the bins as he approached his apartment, making him jump, but he couldn’t help but laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet night. He had done it. He had stepped out as Skye, and the world hadn’t ended. He had faced his fear, embraced his vulnerability, and he had survived. More than that—he had thrived.

Cloud slipped back inside, his body buzzing with a cocktail of relief, disbelief, and radiant pride. Every inch of him felt electric—still thrumming from the boldness, the joy, the freedom. He undressed slowly, carefully, stripping away the dress, the lingerie, the makeup bit by bit and the scent of his perfume lingered faintly in the air.

He slipped into his silky nightwear, the fabric whispering over his skin. It was cool and smooth, a soft contrast to the heated memories echoing in his mind. He crawled into bed, limbs heavy but heart alight, and as he sank into the sheets, a smile tugged at his lips.

He was Skye. Not just in the mirror or in the thrill of a dress—but out in the world, and here, now, curled in bed and dreaming. She was real. A part of him. And she wasn’t going anywhere.

Tomorrow, there would be another session with Andrea. Another step forward. And he was ready to take it—step by beautiful step.

***

The next day, Cloud stood before the Honeybee Inn once more, the sunlight filtering through the hustle and bustle of Wall Market. He felt a surge of anticipation, excited by the session to come.

He was just about to push open the door when he felt a firm grip on his shoulder. He turned, startled, and was greeted by the sight of two familiar faces. It was the Turks—Reno and Rude. The casual smirk on Reno's lips didn't ease the sudden spike of tension in Cloud's chest.

"Well, well, look who we found," Reno said, tilting his head slightly. "The commissioner wants a word with you, Cloud."

Chapter Text

Cloud was escorted into the Shinra facility by the Turks, and he expected to be met by Tseng or perhaps even Rufus Shinra. The corridors were cold and unfamiliar, and he could feel the tension knotting in his chest. Reno and Rude led him to a large office and knocked twice before opening the door.

To Cloud’s surprise, the man who stood up from behind the cluttered desk wasn’t Tseng but Reeve Tuesti. Cloud’s tension ebbed slightly, replaced by confusion. Reeve, dressed in his usual slightly rumpled attire, gestured for Cloud to come in while dismissing the Turks with a nod. They left, and the door closed, leaving Cloud alone with Reeve.

“Cloud, come in, sit,” Reeve said gently, motioning to a chair in front of his desk. "It's good to see you again, I just wish it was under better circumstances."

Cloud didn’t sit right away. His arms crossed, his voice low but edged with suspicion. “What’s going on, Reeve? Why are you running the Turks now? And why did they come for me?”

Reeve paused, visibly uncomfortable. "It’s not exactly what it looks like," he said. "I’ll explain everything. Just—please, sit."

Cloud studied him for a moment longer, then finally sat, still guarded.

Reeve sighed, leaning back against his desk, folding his arms. His expression was one of genuine concern, his eyes searching Cloud’s face. “I asked them to bring you here because I’m worried about you.”

Cloud raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for Reeve to continue.

Reeve took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Cloud's directly. "Cloud, I've got a bigger role at Shinra now—more oversight, more influence. It’s not exactly running the Turks, but it’s close enough to keep an eye on what they’re doing. And I’ve been using that position, quietly, to look out for you. For all of you."

He hesitated, folding his hands before him on the desk. “I’ve been using my Cait Siths to track your movements, keep tabs, offer help without making waves. I know it sounds invasive, and it’s not ideal. But it was the only way I could be sure you were safe.”

He trailed off, letting the silence stretch. Cloud didn’t interrupt, just watched him, waiting.

“I wanted to make sure I didn't let something happen again,” Reeve said at last, his voice quieter now. “But lately... I’ve been worried. Something feels different. I had to be sure you weren’t in danger.”

“There have been reports for some time of serious self-destructive behavior,” Reeve began, his voice calm but serious.

Cloud scoffed, leaning back in the chair, arms tight across his chest. “Self-destructive? Really? You know what we all went through—what I went through.”

Reeve didn’t respond, didn’t flinch. He just watched him, passive and quiet.

Cloud exhaled sharply, dismissive now. “Look, I’m past that. I’m fine. Can I go?”

“I wasn't planning to act on them,” Reeve said after a pause, his voice softer now. “I understand why you were struggling. We all had to find a way to... adjust afterward. After everything. You especially.”

He let the words hang for a moment, watching Cloud carefully. “But last night changed things. One of my Cait Siths saw an unfamiliar woman entering your apartment. She doesn’t show up in any of Shinra’s records. And after everything that’s happened, I need to know if you’re in trouble. If something’s going on. If there’s someone we should be concerned about.”

Cloud looked away, tension creeping back up his spine as the full weight of Reeve’s words settled in. Last night. The woman. His mind raced. That had been him—out moving through the city not as Cloud, but as Skye.

He forced a breath through his nose, trying to keep the flicker of panic from showing on his face. He could feel Reeve watching him, waiting.

“Reeve, there wasn’t a woman,” he said, a little too light, gaze still averted. “Must’ve been a glitch or bad feed or something.”

Reeve raised an eyebrow, voice carefully neutral. “So—just to be clear—there wasn’t any woman at your apartment last night?”

Cloud shook his head. “No. I was home alone last night.” He tried to keep his tone even. “Look—I appreciate the concern, but there’s nothing going on.”

Reeve had been an ally, a friend. Cloud wasn’t ready to tell him the truth—not yet. But he wanted to reassure him. “I’m not in any danger. I’ve been dealing with everything we went through, and I’m okay now. Really. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Reeve’s tone shifted, cooler now, more pointed. “Then what’s this?” he said, pulling a photo from a folder. The image was slightly grainy, but clearly showed the alley outside Cloud’s apartment, near the bins. A blonde woman in a blue dress and heels stood in the frame—fuzzy, but unmistakable.

Cloud’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t bluff his way past the photo—Reeve had seen something. Maybe not clearly, but enough. Denying it would only dig him in deeper.

Cloud shifted uncomfortably. He tried a new angle, voice low and guarded. “She’s nobody. Just a friend.” He shrugged, eyes flicking away.

It was desperate, flimsy—because he couldn’t tell Reeve the truth. That the woman in the photo was him, in the dress. He just needed Reeve to let it go.

“A friend?” Reeve repeated, his voice rising slightly, intensity creeping in. “Then what’s her name? Because she doesn’t appear in any Shinra databases.”

'Skye,' Cloud thought, the name catching in his throat—but he couldn’t say that. Panic stirred just beneath his skin, Reeve pressing too close. “I don’t know,” he said, deflecting, his voice thin. “She’s just a girl… Can’t I have a little fun?”

“Just some mysterious girl?” Reeve pressed, voice taut, rising with each word. “You remember what happened the last time mysterious strangers started showing up?” 

He was the mysterious girl. The thought struck hard, sharp in his chest. But he couldn’t tell Reeve that—couldn’t tell anyone.

Trying to brush off the intensity in Reeve’s voice, Cloud made one last, almost pleading attempt to steer him away. “I’m not in any danger. I swear. There’s nothing to worry about. Just… please let it go.”

“Let it go?!” Reeve snapped, standing up abruptly. His voice rose as his hand smacked down on the table. “We all almost died last time—Aerith did die!” His voice cracked slightly, the memory sharp and painful.

The name hit Cloud like a jolt to the chest. His mouth opened before he could stop himself.

“It’s me, Reeve,” he said quietly.

Reeve kept shouting, his eyes blazing. “I’m not going to let that happen again, Cloud. Not if I can—”

He stopped mid-sentence, something catching in his expression. He blinked. “Wait… what?”

Cloud’s heart sank. He hadn’t wanted it to come to this, but he understood—Reeve’s concern was real, rooted in everything they’d been through. There was a weight of responsibility in his eyes. After a long, heavy silence, Cloud spoke, his voice steadier than he felt.

“The woman you’re looking for... it was me,” Cloud said, meeting Reeve’s eyes. The silence that followed was thick, charged with confusion.

“What?” Reeve asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He stared at Cloud, blinking as though he hadn’t understood the words.

Cloud nodded, pressing forward. “It’s me. I’ve been... exploring something. Dressing differently. There’s nothing dangerous happening, Reeve. I’m not losing myself, I promise. I’m trying to find something—someone—inside me that I’ve been hiding for a long time.”

Reeve stared, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Cloud’s heart thudded in his chest. He hadn’t meant to say it all like that—not outright. Maybe Reeve hadn't heard. Maybe he could still pull this back.

“I just meant… it’s complicated,” he said quickly, trying to smooth over the moment.

Reeve’s brow furrowed, disbelief tightening his features. “You’re telling me you’re the woman?” He gestured at Cloud, incredulous. “You? This doesn’t make any sense.”

Cloud swallowed hard. There was no walking it back now. The truth was out.

“It doesn’t always make sense to me either,” he admitted, quietly.

Reeve’s eyes searched his face, doubt still plain. “If this is all in your head—like before, with Sephiroth—I need to know. I just want the truth, Cloud. I need to know everyone’s safe.”

Cloud looked down, the weight of it all pressing in. There was no denying it anymore, no room left to run. Reeve wasn’t going to let it drop—and part of Cloud knew he shouldn’t.

He shook his head slowly. “It’s not in my head,” he said, more firmly now. “It’s real, even if it’s messy. Even if it’s still new to me.”

Reeve didn’t look convinced. “Then help me understand,” he said, softer now but still insistent. “I need something to hold on to here, Cloud. Right now, it just sounds like something’s slipping.”

Cloud let out a breath, weary. “You’ve got to trust me.”

Reeve looked at him long and hard, jaw tense. “I want to,” he said. “But you have to understand how this sounds to me right now. I just walked in here thinking you might be in danger, and now you’re telling me…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t know what this is, Cloud.”

“I’ll show you,” Cloud said again, more firmly—but there was a tiredness behind the words now, a quiet resignation. He didn’t have any other options left. “Come to my apartment tonight. That’s the only way I can make this make sense.”

Reeve considered him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. Cloud could see the hesitation, the conflict playing out in his gaze. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Reeve nodded slowly.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Alright, Cloud. I trust you. I’ll come by tonight. But I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Cloud allowed himself a small sigh of relief, nodding. “Thank you.”

Reeve gave a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He stepped back to his desk and scribbled something down, glancing at Cloud with a touch of unease still lingering in his expression. “I’ll see you tonight then,” he said, trying to sound warmer than he appeared. “Take care, alright?”

Cloud stood, giving Reeve one last nod. “Around eight okay?” he asked, his voice quieter, steadier.

Reeve nodded, still looking uncertain, and Cloud turned, stepping out of the office.

As the door closed behind him, Cloud let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The anxiety that had been clawing at him all day began to ebb, slowly replaced by something clearer. Not calm, not yet—but something close. A sense of forward motion.

He hadn’t planned to admit any of this today. He hadn’t wanted to. But now that the truth was out, there was a strange relief in it. The secret was no longer solely his to carry.

This was happening. Maybe not on his terms, maybe not the way he’d hoped—but it was happening. And he knew what he had to do next.

***

On his way back to his apartment, Cloud called Andrea. The phone rang twice before Andrea’s concerned voice came on the line.

“Skye, darling! I wasn’t expecting a call so soon after we saw what happened. Are you alright?”

Cloud couldn’t help but smile, the warmth in Andrea’s voice calming his nerves. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just wanted to let you know I won’t make it to the session today. Something came up.”

Andrea paused—long enough that Cloud knew he was thinking it through. “I saw who picked you up,” he said gently. “The Turks don’t usually do house calls unless something’s serious.”

Cloud hesitated. “It’s nothing dangerous. Just… something I’ve got to handle. I’ve got to see an old friend tonight. I need to be ready.”

There was a pause, but this time Andrea’s voice came softer, more knowing. “Mmm. An old friend,” he echoed, thoughtful. “Then I imagine you’ll want to feel like yourself when you do.”

Cloud’s breath caught for a moment, but he smiled. Andrea had always known how to read between the lines.

“Something like that,” Cloud said softly.

Andrea’s voice was warm but grounded. “You don’t have to explain anything. Just keep moving forward, Skye. I’ll be here.”

“Thanks, Andrea. I’ll see you soon.”

“Absolutely. Take care, darling.”

Cloud hung up, taking a deep breath. Now, it was time to face the next step.

***

Back in his apartment, Cloud began the process that had become both ritual and transformation. There was something almost meditative in the way he moved, a sense of calm detachment softening every motion.

He opened a drawer and selected a matching set of pale lavender lingerie—lace-trimmed, delicate and soft, and laid them on the bed with care, then reached for his blue dress, shimmering in the late afternoon light streaming through his window, and hung it on the closet door, just above his heels.

Next came the makeup. Cloud opened the vanity drawer and began setting out everything he’d need, laying the brushes and palettes in perfect order on the table. Foundation, eyeliner, eyeshadow in soft mauves and shimmering silvers. Lipstick. Blush. The act was slow, deliberate—each motion grounding him.

Finally, he reached up and unclasped the necklace around his neck—the one Aerith had given him. He stared at it for a moment, his thumb brushing over the metal, then placed it gently beside the makeup, letting it rest there like a blessing.

He felt oddly still, almost zen, as though the nerves from earlier had melted into a calm resolve. It didn’t feel rushed or frantic. It just was.

He took his time getting ready. He showered, letting the water wash over him, rinsing away the sweat and weight of the day. At first, the warmth calmed him, but as he reached for the razor and began to shave—arms, legs, chest—the tension started to creep back in.

He was getting ready to see Reeve. Like this. As a woman.

He tried to push the thought away, focusing on the motions, but it lingered beneath the surface, just out of reach. The calm that had settled over him earlier began to flicker, nerves stirring beneath his skin.

When he stepped out and patted himself dry, the air felt sharp and cool against his skin. He moved slowly, deliberately, smoothing lotion over his body, grounding himself in each pass of his hands. He focused on the softness, the care, trying to reclaim the calm—but the weight of what was coming never fully left.

Still, he kept moving. One step at a time.

He slipped into his lingerie—light, soft, and carefully chosen. Then, with a steady breath, he tucked himself away and added the inserts Andrea had shown him, shaping a modest line of cleavage. He just wanted to look and feel the part tonight—as much as he could.

Then came the dress. He stepped into it gently, the fabric settling over him like a breath. The bodice clung with a feminine cut, the slender straps delicate on his bare shoulders. The skirt fell to mid-thigh in soft, swaying folds that whispered around his legs. It didn’t just fit—it felt like a piece of something he’d been missing.

But as he fastened it into place and adjusted the fit, the thought returned, unwelcome and insistent—Reeve was going to see him like this. As Skye. As a woman.

What would he say? How would he react?

Cloud tried to push it down, to hold on to the stillness he'd found earlier, but the nerves scratched just beneath the surface. His hands moved automatically as he smoothed the dress, adjusted the hem. He was doing this—there was no turning back now.

Cloud sat at his vanity, carefully applying makeup. Each step felt loaded, his hands precise but his thoughts spinning. He smoothed foundation over his face, added a touch of blush to his cheeks, and lined his eyes with dark liner that made them stand out, enhancing the depth of his gaze. His lips and nails were painted a soft pink—understated, elegant, just enough to feel like Skye.

But the thought kept creeping in, no matter how steady his brushstrokes: Reeve was going to see him like this. Him, like this. As a woman.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He styled his hair, letting it fall in loose waves around his face, framing it in a way that felt natural, beautiful, but also somehow fragile now under the pressure of what came next. He added small, sparkling stud earrings that caught the light with every slight movement, a soft glamour that settled like armor. A final spritz of floral perfume enveloped him, a delicate scent that wrapped around him like a shield.

Lastly, he clasped his necklace, letting it settle against his fluttering heart. It made him feel whole—grounded. Aerith would be with him tonight—and so would Reeve.

He had to look perfect. He had to be perfect.

When he looked in the mirror, Skye stared back at him—confident, beautiful, ready to be seen. But Cloud didn’t feel confident. He didn’t feel beautiful. He felt like a fraud.

What would Reeve say when he saw this? When he saw him like this? A man playing dress-up? A delusion? He’d think Cloud had lost it. That all of this was some kind of breakdown. The thought struck deep, sharp and cold.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe it was the biggest mistake he’d ever made.

He stood abruptly, the sharp clack of his heels against the floor echoing like a warning. The swish of the dress against his legs felt loud, more conspicuous, as if every sound called attention to what he was doing. What he was wearing. It all felt magnified—the sound, the sensation, the pressure. Every step felt like it echoed with doubt.

In the kitchen, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey, his hands trembling as he poured a measure into a glass. The sight of his soft pink fingernails wrapped around the tumbler made his stomach twist. For a moment, he caught his reflection in the dark surface of the counter—lipstick, lashes, earrings—and didn’t know whether to breathe or break.

He threw back the drink in a single gulp, the burn sharp and immediate, grounding him for the briefest moment. He poured another, slower this time, trying to still the thoughts clawing their way back in.

This was a mistake. He’d call Reeve, tell him not to come. Say something came up, buy himself a little space to breathe. He just needed time to think, to get his head straight. He could still fix this. There was time.

Then he saw the clock.

Ten minutes past eight.

“Oh gods,” Cloud whispered.

There was a knock at the door.

Cloud froze, gripped by a sudden rush of panic. His breath caught in his throat, and for a long moment, he couldn’t move. Maybe he just wouldn’t answer. Maybe Reeve would wait a minute, assume something came up, and leave. Maybe all of this could still be undone—packed away, smoothed over, forgotten.

The silence that followed the knock stretched thin and tight, like wire pulled too far. But Cloud couldn’t make himself take a step forward. He stood there, staring at the door, heart pounding like it might shatter his ribs.

Then came another knock—firmer, more certain.

Cloud didn’t move. He couldn’t. Panic held him rooted to the spot, breath shallow, heartbeat thundering in his ears. His fingers clenched the edge of the counter, knuckles white. He was frozen, as if any movement would shatter the fragile illusion that he could still back out of this.

Another knock. Louder this time.

“Cloud?” Reeve’s voice called from outside, muffled but clear. “The lights are on. Are you there?”

There was no way out.

Cloud swigged the rest of his drink in one burning gulp, set the glass down with a soft clink—and paused. A soft pink lipstick print stared back at him from the rim of the glass. He turned slowly, gaze drifting to the hallway mirror. Just for a second. Just long enough. Then he stepped closer.

He took in every detail. Oh gods. This is what he looked like. His delicately styled hair, curled to frame his face. The soft sheen of eyeshadow and precise liner made his eyes look bigger, brighter. The soft pink gloss on his lips. His flowing blue dress. He tugged gently at the straps and smoothed the skirt as though he could make it all alright, his fingers trembling slightly. Reeve was going to see this.

What would he say? Big, tough Cloud Strife, standing there dressed up as a pretty girl. Maybe he’d laugh. Maybe he’d be disgusted. Maybe he’d think Cloud had finally snapped—that he was losing his mind. Again.

But—he tilted his head, just slightly. Studied the girl in the mirror. She did look like a pretty girl. More than that—she looked good. She looked like someone real.

Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe he could do this.

Reeve knocked again, firmer this time. "Cloud? I know you're in there—is everything okay?"

He had to do this.

He closed his eyes, drew in a breath so deep it made his chest ache, then exhaled slowly. No more hiding. Before he could second-guess himself, he turned and walked to the door. Each step felt distant, his heels clicking on the floor like a countdown.

He reached for the handle—and opened it.

Reeve stood there in the hallway, hand half-raised, clearly mid-knock. At first, all he did was stare.

Cloud was acutely aware of himself—the cool night air on his bare shoulders, the soft flutter of it brushing up his skirt, swirling lightly around his legs. It made him shiver, and not just from the breeze. His nerves were twanging like plucked strings, taut and humming. He pressed his lips together, suddenly aware of the gloss, of how exposed he felt.

He fidgeted with the hem of his skirt, eyes down, then up, then down again. The silence stretched long and taut.

“Cloud...?” Reeve said at last, as though testing the water.

Cloud gave a shy little nod. Saying it out loud might have made it real—too real.

Reeve’s gaze swept over him slowly. “Oh wow,” he breathed, barely audible. Cloud could feel it—Reeve's eyes tracing the line of his legs, the delicate shape of the dress, the soft gleam of his makeup, the subtle curve at his chest. Every inch of his feminized form under quiet scrutiny. It felt like an out-of-body experience—surreal and weightless, like he was watching it all happen from somewhere else.

“Can I come in?” Reeve asked at last, his voice quiet, careful—like he didn’t want to startle the moment

Cloud blinked, snapping back to himself, the familair act. He took a step back and motioned with a slightly unsteady hand. “Yeah. Sure—come on in.”

Reeve stepped inside, his eyes never leaving Cloud. He took in every detail—the dress, the makeup, the composed, fragile way Cloud held himself. Cloud stood still, arms loosely clasped in front of him, fingers brushing the hem of his skirt as if trying to find a safe anchor. He could feel Reeve’s gaze moving over him, steady and silent, and it sent another shiver up his spine.

Reeve’s expression shifted—something like awe softening the edges of his face. He didn’t speak, not right away. Just looked, as though he was seeing something he hadn’t expected, and didn’t quite have the words for yet.

“When you told me…” Reeve began, struggling to find the words. “I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know you… I mean—” He stopped, took a breath, tried again. “You look... beautiful.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Cloud’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away, warmth blooming beneath his skin. The words had been simple, quiet—but they struck something deep. Like a thread pulled taut suddenly easing, even if the tension didn’t vanish entirely. He felt his shoulders soften just a little, his breath come easier.

He glanced back at Reeve through thickened lashes, “Thank you,” he said softly.

A part of him had been braced for laughter, for disgust, for disbelief—but instead, there’d been kindness. Acceptance of how he looked. How he chose to present. And more than that—Reeve had called him beautiful. That word alone scattered the worst of his fears, left something softer in their place.

He motioned for Reeve to sit, and they both moved to the small couch in the corner of the room, the silence no longer heavy, just waiting.

"Can I get you a drink?" Cloud asked, his voice lighter than it felt. Reeve nodded.

Cloud rose with a subtle sway in his hips as he walked to the kitchen—graceful, deliberate, trying to embody the version of himself he'd been building toward. His nerves still hummed beneath his skin, every step conscious under Reeve's quiet gaze. He opened a bottle of wine he'd saved for a special night—this counted, didn’t it? He poured two glasses with a slightly trembling hand and returned, offering one to Reeve. Their glasses clinked gently, the sound small but intimate.

"To old friends?" Reeve offered, his voice soft but sure.

Cloud managed a small smile. "To old friends," he echoed.

They sipped in silence, Cloud settling beside Reeve on the couch. The fabric of his dress pooled around him as he crossed his legs, the smooth material brushing his skin. There was a long silence, the weight of the moment hanging between them. Finally, Cloud spoke, his voice trembling slightly, his painted nails fiddling nervously with his necklace.

“I know this is... a lot,” he began, his voice catching slightly, a tremor threading through the words. “I’m not exactly the old friend you remember, huh?” His eyes stayed fixed on his hands resting in his lap, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his dress—tiny movements betraying the anxiety coiled tight in his chest. “I’ve been trying to figure this out for a while. Who I am, what I want.” He gestured lightly at himself—the dress, the makeup, all of it. “This is a part of me I’ve kept hidden for so long. But I don’t want to hide anymore.”

Reeve listened, his gaze never wavering. He reached out, placing his hand gently over Cloud’s. “You don’t have to explain everything to me, Cloud,” he said softly, his voice and expression open, steady. “Not unless you want to.” His touch was warm, grounding, a quiet show of support. “I’m here to understand, to support you. Whatever this is—whoever you are—I’m here for you.”

Cloud looked up, his eyes meeting Reeve’s. There was a warmth there, an acceptance that made Cloud’s heart swell. Reeve’s hand still rested over his, the touch unfamiliar in its gentleness—but Cloud didn’t pull away. It was reassuring, anchoring him in a moment that felt impossibly fragile. He nodded, a small, uncertain smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “But I want to try and tell you.”

Reeve smiled, and for a moment, the room was filled with a comfortable silence. Then Cloud began to speak, his voice tentative at first. "It all started here in Midgar," he said, glancing toward the window as if he could see the past through it. "Back at Wall Market. With Aerith."

He started by recounting the rescue in Wall Market, how strange and liberating it had felt to wear a dress for the first time. He spoke about his voyage of discovery with Aerith, how her presence had made him feel hopeful, lighter, and how it culminated in that surreal and magical night at the Gold Saucer when he had been crowned a princess. There had been laughter, joy, and a freedom he'd never imagined experiencing - it felt like a lifetime ago.

But then Cloud's voice grew softer, tinged with sadness as he spoke of the darker times. He talked about locking himself away, about the emptiness that had gnawed at him even after Sephiroth was defeated. The void that nothing seemed to fill, the sense of being lost without a clear purpose.

Reeve listened intently, and it allowed Cloud to keep going, to unravel the tangled mess of his past. Reeve would nod at times, his eyes softening, his hand resting on Cloud’s when the words seemed to come harder. He was a good listener—never interrupting, never offering platitudes. His expressions shifting with each of Cloud's words—absorbing every word without judgment. Instead, he gave Cloud the space to be vulnerable, to speak of the good times and the bad, and in doing so, Cloud felt a weight beginning to lift.

Cloud finished his story, his voice trailing off. "...and that's why you saw me in such a dark place. Since I found Aerith's letter, I've been changing—getting to be true to myself again. You're the first person from back then to see me like this." He paused, a nervous breath catching in his throat. "I'm not in danger, I swear. There's no mysterious woman unless you count me." He half-laughed at that , a sharp, nervous sound that escaped before he could stop it—then swallowed it back.

His voice quickened, words rushing out like he was trying to explain it all before he lost the courage. "Honestly, I'm better than I've ever been. I’ve got people helping me and— and it’s not some breakdown, it’s not—” Cloud stammered, his hands gesturing as if he could shape the words in the air. “It’s real. I’m okay. I promise.”

His voice cracked on the last word, the weight of it all pressing down, heavy and raw.

Reeve leaned forward, his expression softening as he gently shushed Cloud, his gaze flickering briefly to the shimmer of the dress. "You don't need to explain it all," Reeve said softly. "I think I'm beginning to understand." He reached out, resting his hand on Cloud’s knee—a quiet gesture of support. Cloud felt the touch through the silky fabric, a strange but not unpleasant tingle rippling through him.

Reeve said quietly, “I always knew about the Honeybee Inn—I mean, how could I forget? But I never imagined what that moment sparked in you. What you were carrying with you all that time. Through everything we went through—traveling, fighting, surviving—I didn’t see it. Not really. And I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Cloud shook his head slightly, reflective and quiet. "I didn’t even see it myself, really. Only Aerith did. And then she..." He trailed off, his throat tightening.

Reeve’s hand squeezed gently at his knee. "Well," Reeve said, offering a soft smile, "you’ve got me now. And I can see this is real." He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow just slightly. "It is, isn’t it?"

Cloud nodded slowly, eyes still lowered. "I think so... I’m still figuring it out. But being like this—being a woman—it feels right. Like I’m finally myself, in a way nothing else ever has."

Reeve smiled gently. “Then I’m glad for you. Maybe I can help you figure it out.” He paused, his eyes searching Cloud’s face, thoughtful. “I won’t lie—I’m surprised. You always came across so strong, so brave, so... well, manly. But this—” he gestured lightly at Cloud, at everything he was— “this is a different kind of strength. Maybe the bravest kind.”

Cloud's breath caught at Reeve’s words, a mixture of relief and vulnerability swelling in his chest. He shook his head slightly, overwhelmed, a smile tugging at his lips. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears as the weight of Reeve’s acceptance wrapped around him like a warmth he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

Reeve continued, his smile widening into a playful grin. "But definitely a lot less manly, huh? I mean—look at you in that dress." He gestured loosely at Cloud, his voice full of fond amusement. "I wasn't kidding when I said you looked beautiful. Honestly, if you'd shown up at the Gold Saucer looking like this, Dio would've crowned you Miss Saucer on the spot. You’d have been his glamorous poster girl, riding the parade float in heels and stealing hearts."

Cloud blushed, almost giggling at the idea, the image both ridiculous and strangely comforting. He shot back with a grin, eyes dancing with mischief. "Hey, I'm not the only one who's changed. Honestly, I was half expecting you to show up here riding on a giant Moogle."

Reeve burst out laughing, the sound filling the room. "Hah! I always forget that's how you guys knew me back then—riding a giant stuffed toy and telling cheesy joke." He shook his head, smiling warmly. "Those were the days, weren't they?"

They fell into reminiscing about old times—laughing at half-remembered missions, teasing each other over past mistakes, and sharing the quiet weight of what they’d lost. The bottle of wine they started with was gone before they realized, and one became two, then three. Each glass brought a new layer of ease between them, softening the edges. The pink lipstick stain Cloud left on his glass caught the light more than once, a small, unignorable reminder of just how much had changed. And yet, Reeve never looked away.

Cloud felt the fabric of his dress shift as he shifted with it, slipping off his heels and tucking his legs beneath him, inching closer to Reeve without thinking. The silky material brushed against his skin with every movement—gentle, affirming. It was more than just comfort. It made this connection with Reeve feel even more profound.

Reeve looked over at Cloud and chuckled softly, swirling the last of his wine in the glass. "You know," he said, both of them now loose-limbed and warm with laughter, "if you'd told me a year ago this is how our next meeting would go, there's no way I'd have believed it."

Cloud smiled, soft and genuine, but then covered a yawn with the back of his hand. "Me neither," he murmured. "But I'm glad we're here."

Reeve glanced at the clock, then did a double take. "Wow," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "Didn't realize how late it got."

Cloud yawned again, stretching a little. “Yeah… it’s been a long day. I was out last night, and then someone had me picked up by the Turks first thing this morning…”

He gave Reeve a pointed look, teasing but tired.

Reeve winced slightly, the guilt flickering in his expression. “Okay, yeah—that’s on me,” he said with a sheepish smile. “But… I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.” He sighed softly, a reluctant smile forming. "I should get going, Cloud. I've got work in the morning," he said, rising slowly, but without urgency.

He looked down at Cloud, eyes full of warmth. "Honestly, I didn’t know what I was walking into tonight. Part of me wondered if you’d gone off the deep end... but this—" he gestured gently at the two of them, the warmth they'd found— "this has been something else. Unexpected. Amazing. I’ve had a fantastic time tonight. And... I think I like this version of you better."

Cloud blushed slightly, his heart swelling with a mix of emotions—relief, gratitude, and something almost like joy. Reeve’s words felt like an affirmation he hadn’t even realized he needed. He smiled, nodding. "Thanks, Reeve. That means a lot." Reeve nodded back, his smile widening.

Cloud walked Reeve to the door, the warmth of the night still lingering around them. Then, slowly, Reeve leaned in, his gaze locking on Cloud's, and he pressed a gentle kiss to Cloud’s cheek. Cloud’s breath caught, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he felt a rush of warmth, something tender and affirming, spreading through him.

Reeve pulled back, his eyes searching Cloud’s, as if seeking permission or reassurance. "Can I see you again?" he asked, his voice barely audible, full of hope.

Cloud nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. "Yes," he whispered. "I'd like that."

Reeve smiled, his gaze lingering on Cloud for a moment longer before he stood, moving towards the door. He paused, turning back to Cloud one last time, his expression earnest.

"You’re brave, you know that?" Reeve said, his voice filled with admiration.

Cloud felt his eyes sting as Reeve's words washed over him, their warmth contrasting with the cold breeze from the open door that swirled around his skirts, sending a shiver up his spine. “I’m trying,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion, a mixture of vulnerability and hope.

Reeve nodded, then turned and left, the door closing softly behind him.

Cloud stood there for a moment, the room silent around him. He touched his cheek where Reeve had kissed him, a smile spreading across his face. He had let someone in, and it hadn’t ended in rejection or fear. It had ended in understanding, in hope, in the promise of something more.

Skye was here to stay, and Cloud knew that whatever came next, he wouldn’t be facing it alone.

***

As Skye cheerily made her way to rehearsals, her PHS buzzed with a message from Reeve.

Cloud – Last night was incredible. I'd love to see you again—why don't you come to mine tomorrow? Just the two of us. We'll have something to eat, open a bottle of wine, and unwind properly this time. I want to get to know the new you even better. Reeve, x

The message threw her head into a spin, her thoughts tangling with possibilities.

The ornate doors of the Honeybee Inn opened, and Skye ambled in, lost in thought. The hostess greeted her with a considerate smile. "Hi, Skye—you look distracted, is everything okay?" Skye smiled back, though her eyes held a distant glimmer. "Oh, yes, just something on my mind," she said, still puzzling over Reeve's message.

Skye headed straight to the dressing room, Reeve’s message still whirling in her head. Just the two of us. Her fingers trembled slightly as she peeled off her clothes and reached for her leotard.That and the way he’d looked at her last night—warm, appraising, tender—and then the kiss. Just on the cheek, but it lingered. It had meant something. As she pulled the leotard up over her hips, she adjusted it and tucked without thinking. She didn’t hate the kiss. If anything, her skin still tingled from it. She adjusted her skirt on her hips, the soft fabric catching on her fingertips as her breath hitched.

The hum of the Honeybee Inn buzzed faintly through the walls, but it was drowned out by the din of her thoughts. By the time she stepped into the rehearsal room, she barely noticed the music or the other dancers—her limbs carried her forward, but her mind was elsewhere.

The music blared to life, and Skye took her position on the dance floor, but her focus was nowhere to be found. Reeve’s message echoed through her mind—the idea of tomorrow night. Of Reeve. Of what might happen if she said yes, and meant it... Her steps faltered, her timing off. Andrea’s sharp eyes caught it immediately.

He clapped his hands loudly, halting the music. "Skye! Focus! Your steps are all over the place today," he said, his voice a mix of concern and exasperation.

Skye blinked back to the present, cheeks flushed, and nodded quickly, biting her lip. "Sorry, Andrea, I just... have a lot on my mind," she murmured, her voice soft, eyes dropping to the floor as if she could hide from the whirlwind in her chest.

During the break, Skye joined Mia and the other girls in the corner, where they were chatting animatedly. She tried to laugh at their jokes, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her fingers kept drifting to her phone, screen dark but thoughts loud.

"What's up with you, Skye? You seem somewhere else," Mia said, nudging her playfully.

Skye hesitated, tucking the phone beneath her thigh like she wasn’t thinking about it. "Nothing, really. Just... tired, I guess. Long night."

Mia gave her a look that cut right through her. "You’re a bad liar, babe. Spill."

Skye shifted uncomfortably, still unsure how much to say. "I caught up with someone last night. An old friend," she offered, trying to keep her tone casual. But under Mia’s expectant gaze, the tension cracked. She sighed and pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen for a long moment before she finally handed it over.

Skye rubbed the back of her neck, her cheeks coloring. "He sent me a message this morning."

The girls leaned in as Mia read the message, eyebrows lifting. "Okay, hold up. Dinner, drinks, and 'getting to know the new you'?" She exchanged a look with the others, then grinned. "Sounds like someone's got a date," she teased, nudging Skye with a playful elbow.

"“I don’t know if it’s even a date,” Skye said, rubbing her arm, eyes darting away. Her voice wavered slightly, trying to sound casual, but there was something unsteady beneath it. “I just don’t know what to think.”

Mia leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Honey, I think he's into you. And if he's inviting you over for drinks and to 'unwind', that’s definitely a date."

Skye scoffed, though it came out weaker than she intended. "Reeve and I have known each other forever. He knows I’m not... I mean, I’m still figuring it all out. It’s not a date." She let out a nervous laugh, her voice catching slightly at the end.

But the protest didn’t land quite right, even to her own ears. Her voice lacked conviction. She shifted, arms crossed loosely over her chest. "Besides, I’m not— I mean, I’ve never been into men."

Mia arched a brow. "But you're different now right?"

Skye blushed, glancing down. She didn't look like a man dressed like this, or feel like a man. She was different.

"So maybe this is different too," Mia added gently.

Skye looked away, her thoughts drifting again to that kiss—just a brush of lips on her cheek, but it had lingered, hadn't it? And the way Reeve had looked at her... there’d been a warmth in his eyes that made her chest ache. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her skirt.

Before Skye could say anything, Andrea's voice rang out across the floor. "Alright, break’s over! Back to places!"

Mia caught Skye’s eye as they dashed back to the floor, both of them scrambling into position. She mouthed, Catch me after, with a knowing little smile that made Skye’s cheeks flush all over again.

If anything, Skye's dancing in the second half of rehearsals only got worse. The realization that Reeve was attracted to her new self, paired with the confusion swirling inside her, made each movement feel disconnected. Her arms floated too late, her feet landed out of sync. She kept replaying the kiss in her mind—the warmth in Reeve’s eyes, how natural it had felt, how right and wrong it seemed all at once. She had never seriously entertained the idea of being with a man before. Now, the thought lodged itself deep in her chest, making her question not just what she felt, but what she wanted.

Andrea watched her closely, his expression growing more concerned as she fell off beat again, consistently a step behind the others. Her stumbles became more frequent, her usual grace dimmed by the whirlwind of uncertainty that tugged at every step she tried to take.

At the end of the session, Andrea called her over. "Skye, I can tell something's on your mind. You need to clear it, whatever it is. You're not fully here, and it's affecting your performance," Andrea said, his tone gentle but firm. He placed a hand on her shoulder. Skye hesitated as he spoke, her weight shifting from foot to foot. Maybe she should just tell him. He'd offered to help, and Andrea wasn’t just her coach—he cared. "I want to help you, but I also have dancers to train. Do whatever you need to do to get your focus back. Don’t let this hold you back."

Skye opened her mouth, the words tumbling out in a flurry. “It’s an old friend… Reeve. He messaged me this morning. He wants me to come over tomorrow—just the two of us—and the girls think it might be a date, and he kissed me last night—not like, on the lips, just my cheek, but still—and I don’t know what it means, I don’t even know how I feel about it—”

She stopped herself abruptly, cheeks flushed, her breath shallow. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

Andrea's eyes softened, and he nodded knowingly. "If you want to truly be yourself, Skye, you need to keep an open mind. Explore these feelings, whatever they are."

Skye opened her mouth, then faltered. The words caught, but she pushed through. “I just—I don’t even know what I’m feeling. I’ve never thought about guys that way. And now Reeve’s looking at me like he sees something I don’t even know how to name yet.”

Andrea didn’t flinch or rush her. He just nodded, steady and calm. “That sounds like something worth sitting with. You don’t have to know all the answers yet. But don’t let fear decide for you.”

With that, he gave her shoulder a gentle pat and turned to speak with the other dancers, already sliding back into his instructor role. Skye lingered for a moment, frozen in place, the echoes of Reeve’s message and Andrea’s words turning over in her mind. Her chest felt tight with all the questions she didn’t have answers for.

She slipped back into the dressing room quietly, the noise of the studio falling away behind her. Alone again with her reflection, she sat down slowly, a thousand thoughts vying for space. There was so much to think about.

As she was sitting, Mia approached her, giving her a bright smile. "Hey, you okay? I saw you talking with Andrea earlier." Her tone was light, but there was a thread of concern beneath it.

Skye slumped a little, letting out a breath. "I don’t know. Being a girl is... complicated."

Mia laughed, warm and understanding. "Welcome to the club, babe." She settled beside her, shoulder gently brushing Skye’s.

Skye exhaled slowly, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You're probably right about Reeve—it does sound like a date, doesn’t it?"

Mia smiled kindly. "I might be wrong."

"No, you're not wrong," Skye cut in, a flush creeping into her cheeks. "I didn’t tell you before—he kissed me last night. Just on the cheek, but... it meant something. I felt it."

Mia leaned back slightly, a grin tugging at her lips as curiosity flickered in her eyes. "Well. That explains some things." She let the words hang for a beat. "So—what do you want to do?"

Skye hesitated, her voice quieter now. "I’ve never been into guys. It’s just never been a thing for me." She paused, pressing her lips together. "But the way he looked at me... it wasn’t just flattering. It made me feel something. Feminine. Seen. Wanted. And Andrea said maybe I should just... explore that, see where it leads."

Mia gave a small shrug, her voice gentle but certain. "He’s usually right about these things. And just exploring it... that’s not the same as committing to anything. It’s just giving yourself space to feel it out."

Skye nodded slowly, as if testing the words out loud for the first time. "Yeah... I could see how it goes Maybe it’ll just be an evening between friends. Or maybe it turns into something more." She gave a small shrug, her voice tinged with cautious hope and curiosity.

"Exactly," Mia said, her voice warm with understanding. "He might be looking for a date, but remember, it’ll be whatever you decide it is. No pressure. Just take it at your own pace, and see where it leads."

Skye took a deep breath, her chest loosening just a little as she steadied herself. "I'm going to go. Keep an open mind and let whatever happens, happen. No expectations. Just see where it takes me."

Mia's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I think that’s an amazing decision," she said, nudging Skye reassuringly. "Now for the fun part—what are you going to wear?"

Skye gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as the realization hit her. "I was so caught up with everything else that I didn’t even think about what to wear," she said, her voice filled with a sudden urgency. "I only have one dress and one pair of shoes... I wasn’t expecting any of this."

Mia's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "That's no good! You can't show up to a date looking anything less than fabulous.

Mia leaned in, her expression softening as she saw the concern in Skye's eyes. "Tell you what, come over to mine, and I'll help you get ready. I'll lend you something perfect, and we can do your hair and makeup. It'll be fun, and you'll feel amazing."

Skye felt a wave of relief wash over her, her shoulders easing as the tension melted away. "Thanks, Mia. I could really use the help. That feels like exactly what I need right now."

“Don’t mention it,” Mia replied with a grin, her eyes twinkling. “You know being a girl isn’t always complicated, it’s actually a lot of fun too.” Skye couldn’t help but smile too, Mia’s infectious energy lifting her spirits.

Mia winked at her as she stood up. "So let’s make sure you feel absolutely amazing tomorrow—and trust me, Reeve’s jaw will hit the floor when he sees you." Skye laughed, the nervous tension easing, as excitement started to replace her anxiety.

"See you tomorrow, babe!" Mia called over her shoulder as she left, her energy still buzzing around Skye as she got changed.

As Skye left the Honeybee Inn, a swirl of emotions washed over her—nervousness, excitement, and a flicker of hope. Tomorrow promised something new, something she wasn't entirely sure she was prepared for, but deep down, she knew she had to take the leap. She owed it to herself to see what might come of it.

***

As Cloud made his way to Mia’s place the next day, dressed in his usual soldier fatigues, his heart thudded with a nervous energy that refused to settle. That morning, Mia had sent a message that made him laugh and blush at the same time:

"H ey babe! Come to mine about 5? Bring some underwear options—you never know what might happen! " followed by her address.

Until that moment, the whole thing had felt like a dream—an abstract idea he could keep at arm’s length. But reading her words, imagining what the evening might hold—well, not Reeve actually seeing him in lingerie, of course—suddenly brought everything into sharp focus. He wasn’t just playing dress-up. He was spending time with someone who saw him— really saw him—and wanted to help him feel confident, feminine, beautiful. And he was getting ready for a date. Not with a girl. But with a man. With Reeve.

It felt absurd and thrilling all at once. This was a leap off the edge of something familiar into something terrifyingly honest. Letting Mia transform him, letting himself hope—this wasn’t just a night out. It was a quiet revolution, and maybe, just maybe, the first real step toward becoming the person he was meant to be.

He stood outside Mia's door, shifting from foot to foot, before finally knocking. The door swung open almost immediately, and Mia’s bright smile greeted him. "Skye! Oh my gosh, you’re right on time! Get in here, girl! We've got so much to do," she squealed, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside before he could respond.

Mia’s studio apartment was cozy, the air sweet with the scent of jasmine and vanilla. Colorful fabrics were draped over the furniture, softening every surface, while a full-length mirror stood proudly in the corner, framed by dresses and accessories cascading from nearby racks. It was a gorgeous, unapologetically feminine space—one that instantly put Cloud at ease, even as it stirred a quiet ache of envy in his chest.

"First things first, let’s get you a drink and set the mood!" Mia said brightly, whipping up a couple of quick cocktails. "Then we get you out of those and into something pretty," she added with a wink, handing a glass to Cloud and clinking hers against his. "Here’s to being bold and having the night of your life!" she cheered, cueing up a playlist of upbeat pop anthems.

Cloud took a deep breath, nerves jangling, and managed a quiet, "Thanks for doing this, Mia," before taking a long swig of his drink in hopes it might settle him.

"Don’t be silly, this is going to be fun for both of us," Mia replied with a playful grin. "Now—show me what you brought!"

He hesitated for just a moment, then carefully laid the items out on the bed. There was a flutter of vulnerability in his chest as he did, feeling exposed, but he trusted Mia. She took one look at his apprehensive face and pulled him into a warm, reassuring hug, her energy wrapping around him like a shield.

"I know it’s a lot," she murmured gently, "but don’t worry—I’ve got you, Skye."

Cloud shifted nervously. "You were joking about what might happen, right? Nobody’s actually going to see it?"

Mia gave him a knowing smile. "Not if you don’t want him to... Anyway it’s not about him. It’s about you feeling confident. Lingerie’s part of that, babe." She swirled her drink, her eyes twinkling. "And hey, you promised to keep an open mind, remember?"

Cloud blushed, looking away. "There’s an open mind… and then there’s that ."

Mia laughed softly, “I’m just teasing—well, mostly.” She sipped her drink, turning toward the bed with a glint in her eye. “Now, let’s see what we’ve got to work with…”

Cloud had brought along several sets of his new lingerie, but seeing them all laid out like this in front of Mia felt a little embarrassing—he’d definitely overdone it. The first set was a delicate lavender lace bralette and matching panties, adorned with subtle floral embroidery. The second was a sleek black satin ensemble with intricate mesh cutouts, bold and sensual. The third was a soft blush pink trimmed with scalloped lace, feminine and sweet, while the fourth was a deep crimson set with silk accents, daring and fiery.

"Oh wow, only one dress but all of these?" Mia rolled her eyes, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "We're definitely going to have to do something about your wardrobe, girl." She moved along the bed, fingers trailing thoughtfully over each set until her eyes lit up, landing on the sleek black satin. "This one, Skye! It’s absolutely perfect—classy and sexy, exactly the kind of statement we want to make tonight." She held it up with a gleam in her eyes, grinning wider. "And you know what would make this even better? Stockings. Trust me, guys lose their minds for those," she said with a wink, already rummaging through a nearby drawer.

Mia rummaged through a drawer next to the bed and triumphantly pulled out a pair of sheer black hold-up stockings, the lace tops fluttering as she tossed them to Cloud with a grin. "These are for you—consider it a gift," she said warmly, then passed him the black lingerie with a wink. "Alright, let’s get started! Those old boy clothes? Absolutely not on the guest list tonight." Mia made a dramatic show of wrinkling her nose and gesturing at Cloud’s outfit with mock disgust. "Off they go—it’s time to get you dolled up, gorgeous."

Cloud looked concerned, "But—"

Mia interrupted with a laugh, waving a hand as if to bat away his concern. "Oh, please. I've seen it all before in the dressing room, so don’t worry." Then, catching herself, she added with a more sincere tone, "But seriously, there’s a screen right there—I’m not expecting you to get your bits out in front of me."

She reached over to a nearby rack and plucked off a vintage-looking silk kimono, deep plum with faint cherry blossom prints across the sleeves and hem. The fabric caught the light as she tossed it to him. "If you're shy, you can wear this to cover up while we get ready. It'll help you feel a bit more comfortable. No pressure, Skye."

Cloud blushed as he caught the items, the weight of them in his hands sending a jolt of nerves through his chest. There was excitement too, yes—but it tangled with self-consciousness as he glanced toward the screen. Mia noticed, her eyes softening before she gave him a gentle, playful push toward the old bamboo divider.

"Go on, Skye—get changed! We haven't got all night. We've got work to do," she teased, but her voice carried an undercurrent of reassurance.

As Cloud stepped behind the screen, fingers trembling slightly, Mia’s voice continued to float through the room, her cheerful chatter a welcome distraction. "And don’t forget—get as much cleavage as you can, like you do in class! It’s all about confidence, girl. You’ve got this."

Mia, meanwhile, kept talking as he changed, her voice a cheerful, familiar anchor that steadied his nerves. "Oh my god, did you hear about Lola hooking up with one of the bouncers?" she said with a laugh. "She swears it's just a one-time thing, but please—we all saw how she was looking at him last week." Her words floated through the screen like warm bathwater—comforting, ordinary, real.

Cloud struggled with the bra, his hands fumbling with the hooks before he tried to adjust it the way Andrea had shown him. "Hey, here, try a bit of tape," Mia said, sliding a small roll across the screen. "Lift, press, and voilà—instant cleavage." He followed her advice, wincing slightly at the unfamiliar sesnation but gasping softly when he saw that it actually worked.

"Anyway," Mia continued, unbothered, "Mia lowered her voice, conspiratorial. "Before that she was totally seeing that bartender from Wall Market—the tall one with the arms for days?" She didn’t wait for a response. "Well, apparently he ghosted her for like a week, and then boom—she shows up all over Honeybee with one of the bouncers. You’d think that was wild enough, but now Candy’s all sulky because she had a thing with the bouncer like, two months ago. Total triangle. Everyone’s pretending it’s fine, but girl, you should’ve seen the way Candy glared at Lola last night when she walked in with him on her arm."" She giggled to herself.

He smiled to himself as Mia's voice drifted on, chatting animatedly about all the drama at the Honeybee Inn. As he began rolling the stockings up his freshly shaved legs, the sensation sent a subtle thrill through him—soft, snug, and deliciously right. He was so glad he’d taken the time to shave earlier; the silky smoothness made everything feel heightened, almost luxurious.

"Wait—so which one’s Lola again?" he called over the screen, genuinely caught up in the story.

Mia’s laughter rang out. "Lola’s the one with the red curls and the butterfly tattoo on her thigh—you know, the one who always brings in tips like crazy. Honestly, it’s no wonder there’s drama."

Cloud chuckled as he slipped his panties on, listening to Mia’s voice spin stories of bouncer drama and jealousy at the Honeybee Inn. Her words flowed around him like a warm bath, comforting and familiar. Even though he barely said a word, there was something about gossiping like this—girlish, playful—that felt normal and natural, even though this was all so new and different. 

"Also! Don’t say anything, but there’s talk of a surprise party for Cherry’s birthday next week. You didn’t hear it from me," Mia added as he paused, glancing down at the soft bulge in his panties. The thought of tucking made his chest tighten, but there was no panic in it—just the weight of decision. After a moment’s quiet, he nodded to himself, steady. Deep breath. He did it slowly, a little awkwardly, but deliberately—another quiet step forward. And when he looked down again, it felt right. Like something everything was falling into place.

Mia called out gently from the other side of the screen, her tone a mix of curiosity and care. "How’s it going back there, Skye? You surviving?"

“Almost there,” he murmured, glancing down at himself. Mia had been right—the lingerie was undeniably classy, and the way the tuck and tape worked together gave him curves where there had been none, soft lines that felt almost natural. He looked good—and more importantly, he felt good. Poised. Radiant. Sexy in a way that was entirely his own.

Cloud slipped into the kimono, tying it loosely at the waist to let the silky fabric drape open just enough to show off the delicate satin of his bra. He took a breath, adjusted the way it sat, and then stepped out from behind the screen with a dramatic swish of fabric.

“Ta-da!” he said, striking a playful pose, one hip cocked, his drink raised like a toast.

Mia burst out laughing, eyes shining. “There she is! I knew you'd start having fun eventually.”

Cloud laughed too, cheeks pink but his smile blooming with  confidence. “Honestly? This feels kinda amazing.”

“Well don’t just stand there looking fabulous. Get over here and let's get that face of yours taken care of,” Mia said, motioning toward the vanity. Her voice bubbled with energy as she rifled through her makeup kit. “You want to look stunning but still like yourself, right? Something bold but not over the top?”

Mia was right. Despite everything, Cloud was having fun—real fun—and he felt the tension in his shoulders ease. He let out a small laugh, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. “Whatever you think. You’re the expert here—I’m still figuring out the girl thing,” he said, his grin equal parts sheepish and sincere.

Mia’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Okay then, tell me more about this mysterious Reeve.”

Cloud hesitated for a moment, then admitted, “Well… he’s a Shinra executive.”

Mia’s eyebrows shot up so fast they nearly disappeared into her hairline. She let out a dramatic gasp and clapped her hands together. “A Shinra executive ? Oh, that makes you the trophy girlfriend !” She leaned in, eyes wide with excitement.

Cloud laughed, brushing a hand through his hair. "I’m not his girlfriend," he said, though as he glanced at himself in the mirror—the way the bra hugged his chest, the delicate satin teasing a hint of cleavage—he looked like someone who could be a girlfriend.

"Maybe not yet! We are absolutely going full glam tonight, Skye! Trust me, we're going to blow him away." Mia grinned, already getting to work—cleansing, moisturizing, her movements practiced and precise. Then, as she gently patted serum into Cloud’s skin, her tone shifted, softer and more curious. "So... is he handsome?"

Cloud blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Um... I don't know," he said, his voice quiet. "I haven’t really thought about it." He rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating. "I mean... I guess maybe he is?" He looked at Mia, uncertain. "I don’t know. It’s just... confusing."

Mia smiled knowingly as she smoothed primer onto his cheeks. “It’s okay, you know. To think a guy is handsome.”

“I don’t know,” Cloud admitted, fidgeting slightly as she dabbed foundation along his jaw. “I’ve always liked girls. That hasn’t changed. I’m not... I’m not gay.”

Mia met his eyes in the mirror, her voice calm but insistent. “Sweetheart, look at you—you’re a woman. It’s not gay for a woman to like men. And even if it was—so what? You get to like who you like. Women, men, both, neither—it’s all about what feels right to you .”

Cloud blinked again, stunned quiet by the simple truth of it. As Mia moved on to blend the makeup into his skin, he sat still, letting the words settle in. Maybe it wasn’t about trying to fit into old definitions or categories. Maybe it was about what felt right .

He glanced at himself in the mirror, then back to her. “I don’t know what this means yet,” he said quietly.

Mia softened, brushing a bit of powder along his cheekbone. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know. Just be open to what makes you happy.”

He found himself thinking about when Reeve kissed him—how unexpected it had been, how gentle. Reeve really was kind of handsome, Cloud realized, the thought sparking a subtle heat that stirred low in his body, soft and insistent. He shifted in his seat, satin panties whispering against his skin as a tingle danced between his legs. Embarrassed by his own reaction, he coughed and shifted uncomfortably, trying to distract himself with the motion of the brush against his skin and the rhythm of Mia’s voice.

Mia noticed his discomfort and shifted the conversation gently. "So... you said Reeve was an old friend?" she asked, her hands still moving lightly with a makeup brush. "How do you two know each other?"

Cloud nodded. "Yeah, we went through a lot together, but that was all back when I was just... Cloud." He let out a soft breath, his voice thoughtful. "He traveled with me—Reeve, I mean. We fought together"

Mia paused, a brow raised as she blended bronzer into his cheeks. "Wait—fought like, fought fought? Like sword-swinging, monster-slaying kind of thing?"

Cloud chuckled. “Hey—I’m still a mercenary, you know! It’s not all dresses and dancing, I can still handle myself in a fight.” He smirked slightly. “You should see the size of my sword.”

Mia gave a low whistle. "Oh, I've seen your sword—it's not that impressive," she teased, and Cloud blushed as they both burst into laughter.

"Well damn , Skye. You really are full of surprises." Her tone softened with a kind of amused admiration as she added a warm flush to his cheeks. "I thought you were just this shy, soft-spoken girl trying to find herself—and here you are, a total warrior princess."

Cloud smiled, a little bashful, a little flattered. “Is it really that surprising? Did I really come across as quiet and girly?”

Mia paused her brushwork and met his eyes in the mirror, her voice quieter now. "You know what’s not surprising? That you’re strong—and I don’t just mean the muscles. You’re brave, Skye. Really brave. Not just for the sword fights or monster-slaying. For this . For exploring yourself, even when it’s scary. You might not see it yet, but I do. And you should too."

Cloud gave a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Mia. I'm trying. Trying to figure out who I am, you know? I’m not exactly the same guy Reeve remembers." He hesitated, then added with a quiet chuckle, "Though to be fair, Reeve’s changed a lot too. But that’s... a whole other story."

Mia raised a quizzical eyebrow, still focused on his face. "Girl, you are totally going to have to spill on that one!" She finished the blush and moved on to his eyes.

As Mia leaned in to add a smoky liner, making his eyes pop, Cloud sighed, bracing himself. "Okay, this is going to sound completely nuts, but just go with me for a second..."

Mia raised a brow, intrigued but focused on her brushwork.

"When we first met, Reeve was using Cait Sith—a talking cat riding a giant moogle," Cloud said, a note of disbelief still lingering in his voice. "That’s how I knew him for most of the time we were traveling together."

Mia paused mid-stroke as she applied mascara, thickening his lashes with a practiced hand. Her brush hovered in midair, frozen just inches from his eye. "Wait—what?"

Cloud chuckled. "Yeah. It was just a robot he was controlling from somewhere else. We didn’t even know it was him at first. Honestly, the other day was the longest I’ve ever actually spent with Reeve in person."

Mia blinked, then burst out laughing. "Okay, that’s officially the weirdest thing I’ve heard all week—and I work at the Honeybee Inn!" She grinned as she reached for a tube of bold red lipstick, uncapping it with a practiced flick. "Whatever changes you’re making? Trust me—they’ve got nothing on that."

As she leaned in to apply the color to Cloud’s lips, her tone softened just a touch. "Does he know you’re coming as her? Like this?" The lipstick slid on smooth and vivid, leaving Cloud’s mouth looking full, glamorous, striking—undeniably feminine.

Cloud hesitated, fluttering his lashes and pursing his lips a little in the mirror, unable to help admiring how they looked—plump and glossy, undeniably pretty. "Not exactly... I mean, he asked to get to know the new me, but this is all kind of different. I think he’s supportive, though."

Mia moved on to Cloud’s hair, misting it lightly and brushing it into a feminine shape—somewhere between a pixie and a bob. It was playful, chic, and softened his features in a way that made him feel giddy and girlish. “Why do you think he’s supportive?” Mia asked gently, not looking away from her work.

Cloud glanced at her in the mirror, then looked down. “The other night... I was already in a dress when he showed up. I thought for sure it would be awkward, or he’d make it weird—but he didn’t. He just... talked to me. Like nothing was strange. He listened. He didn’t laugh or ask me to explain anything. I felt like I could be the girl I thought I was in that moment—and he let me.”

Mia paused for a beat, her hands stilling in his hair. “That’s huge, Skye. That kind of space? That kind of kindness? It means something.”

Cloud nodded slowly, eyes still on his reflection. “It felt... safe. Like I didn’t have to apologize for who I was trying to be.”

Mia continued to speak, her voice warm and steady. “Well, if he can see how amazing you are now , like this, then it sounds like you’ve got a good one.” She reached for a small jeweled hairpin and gently pinned it in place, securing the final touches to Cloud’s look with a subtle sparkle. “Someone who really sees you is worth holding onto.” She stepped back, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “And you are amazing, Skye. Just... look at yourself.”

Cloud turned toward the mirror and stared. For a moment, he didn’t quite recognize the person looking back—the glossy lips, the shimmering eyes, the soft lines of his jaw framed by styled hair. But the longer he looked, the more familiar that stranger became. A different kind of strength reflected there, delicate and bold all at once.

He looked good. Really good. And it felt... really good. It felt right.

"Wow," Cloud whispered, his voice barely audible. "I look... I mean, Mia, I look incredible. I look—"

"—gorgeous," Mia interrupted, beaming at him in the mirror. "I'm a magician. Obviously."

Cloud let out a laugh, his cheeks flushing with warmth. "You're not wrong."

Mia smiled at him through the mirror, patting his shoulder. "We’re not done yet, gorgeous. Now—let’s talk wardrobe." With a dramatic flourish, she spun toward the rack of clothes, her fingers dancing through the hangers. "Hmm... what says 'goddess on a date with a corporate heartthrob'?" she mused.

After a moment, she pulled out a sleek, dark green dress. The fabric shimmered as it moved, catching the light like still water under moonlight. She held it up with a proud grin. "Here we go. Elegant, a little daring, and totally you."

Cloud looked at the dress, hesitating. He glanced at Mia, then back at the shimmering fabric. “I don’t know… isn’t there something a little less… daring?”

Mia put her hand on her hip and gave him a look that was equal parts amusement and challenge. “Skye, tonight isn’t about hiding. It’s about being bold. About letting yourself shine .”

Cloud gave a nervous laugh, fidgeting with the edge of his kimono. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one stepping out like this for the first time.”

Mia softened, stepping closer. “You’re right. But I do know how beautiful you are. And this dress? It’s going to help Reeve and anybody else see it too.” She grinned, giving the hanger a little shake. “Trust me. You’re going to take his breath away.”

Cloud sighed, taking the dress and slipping behind the screen to put it on. The moment the fabric slid over his skin, he felt it—the smooth, silky material caressing him in a way that sent a gentle shiver up his spine. It hugged his body in all the right places, cool against his skin, sensuous, affirming. He took a moment to breathe, fingertips trailing down the curve of his waist.

Then, gathering himself, he stepped out from behind the screen.

Mia’s eyes widened, a smile breaking across her face. "See? I knew it, Skye! You look amazing," she exclaimed, clapping her hands.

Cloud turned toward the full-length mirror, and his breath caught in his throat.

The deep green fabric shimmered under the light, its rich color striking against his fair skin and golden hair, which now framed his face in a soft, styled bob. The plunging neckline emphasised the illusion of natural cleavage—daring, but tasteful—while the high slit on one side added just enough drama to whisper seduction. The dress hugged his waist and draped over his hips in a way that felt impossibly feminine.

He looked glamorous. Sexy. Feminine in a way that felt both striking and deeply right—a woman not just in appearance, but in presence, in energy, in truth.

For a long moment, he couldn’t move—just stared, transfixed. Not because he was shocked, but because he felt something click into place. Something undeniable. Slowly, he began to shift, turning slightly from side to side, studying his reflection from every angle. The way the dress hugged his waist, the soft slope of his shoulders, the shimmer of his hair—he looked sexy, glamorous, radiant.

“I actually look like…” he paused, his voice catching, “like a woman.”

Mia came up behind him, meeting his eyes in the mirror with a soft smile. “That’s because you are , Skye.”

Cloud blinked, breath catching again—not from surprise, but from how right it sounded. How right it felt .

Mia gave his waist a little squeeze. “Just a few finishing touches left, gorgeous.”

Mia handed Cloud some dangly earrings, and as he started to put them on, her eyes caught the glint of the necklace he always wore. Her brow furrowed slightly with curiosity. “Hey... what’s the story behind that necklace? You never take it off.”

Cloud paused, fingers brushing over the pendant. His voice dropped, softer, more vulnerable. “It was a gift from Aerith. She was the first person who saw... this side of me. The one I’m still trying to figure out. She helped me start bringing it to life. But...” He hesitated, his gaze dipping. “She didn’t make it.”

A shadow passed over his face—grief still present, even softened by time.

Mia’s expression shifted instantly, sympathy lighting in her eyes. She reached out and gently touched his hand. “She sounds like she was amazing. I think I would’ve liked her. Anyone who helped you become the person I’m looking at right now? She had to be incredible.”

Cloud nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His eyes were glassy, but he blinked quickly, willing himself not to cry. He’d come too far tonight to ruin his makeup now.

Mia gave his hand a light squeeze and smiled. “Hey, don’t cry—not now. You’re just about ready to go, remember?” She handed Cloud a pair of low strappy black heels with a wink. “I think your feet are a bit bigger than mine, but I bet we can make these work for tonight.”

Kneeling down, she gently helped him ease into them, adjusting the straps carefully to make sure they fit snugly but comfortably. When she looked up, she was beaming at him. “There. Perfect. You look amazing, Skye. Like... seriously stunning.”

Cloud stared at himself in the mirror—he looked confident, radiant, and worlds apart from the stoic image of Cloud Strife he used to know. This was a new kind of armor, one that felt true, not a defensive shell but a reflection of his real self. It was the kind of armor someone wore when they were ready to face the unknown without fear.

Mia gave Cloud one last approving nod, her eyes shining with pride. "You are ready, Skye. Go knock 'em dead," she said, her voice filled with warmth. Then, with a grin, she reached for a little black clutch and handed it to him. "Here—every girl needs somewhere to carry her stuff. No pockets on a dress like that."

Cloud accepted it with a quiet laugh, touched by the thoughtfulness.

"Do you need me to call you a cab?" she asked.

Cloud blushed slightly, glancing away bashfully. "Reeve is sending a driver... he should be here any second."

Mia's eyes widened playfully. "Oh, look at you! Miss Fancy, getting picked up in style? A private driver? Perks of dating a Shinra executive, huh?" she teased, bumping her hip gently against his. Cloud laughed, cheeks flushing under her gaze, the warmth of her teasing making him feel a little bashful.

"I had so much fun tonight, Mia. Like, really," Cloud said, his voice thick with emotion. "I wasn’t sure what to expect—I was nervous out of my mind, and I still kind of am... but you made it feel amazing. Not just fun— free . I loved tonight. I loved feeling like this. Like myself. Like I could be this... beautiful, confident woman."

Mia raised an eyebrow and gave him a playful nudge. "It better not be for just one night. I didn’t go to all this effort for a one-time debut. This girl? She’s here to stay, right?"

Cloud laughed—almost a giggle—light and unguarded. "Yeah... I’d like that. When I look this good, it’d be a shame not to let her out more often."

Then he grew quiet, his voice softening. "It means so much to me that you helped me get here. That you helped me let this side of myself out. I don’t think I could’ve done it without you, Mia. You’ve been... amazing."

Mia smiled warmly, her eyes softening as she pulled him into a tight hug, her embrace firm and full of unspoken encouragement. She didn’t say anything for a moment, just held him, grounding him in the moment.

Then she laughed, brushing at her eyes. "Oh, stop it! You’re going to make me cry, and that is not the vibe tonight," she teased, her voice catching just slightly.

Cloud laughed, the sound light but full of feeling. His heart swelled, his cheeks warm. He felt giddy, and strong, and soft, all at once—a strange, wonderful mix.

"Thanks, Mia," he whispered again, the words heavier now. "Really. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you."

Mia bumped his shoulder gently as they walked toward the door. "Oh, you'd have done brilliantly on your own. But I'm glad I got to be part of it."

She turned and gave him a playful look. "And you're going to do brilliantly. Just remember to keep an open mind and enjoy yourself. This is your moment."

Cloud smiled, the emotion still shimmering behind his eyes. "I will. I promise."

At the door, Mia blew him a kiss. "Go knock him dead, princess. Now get out of here before you make me cry again."

Cloud laughed, his heart buoyant. "See you soon, Mia."

The moment he stepped outside, the chill evening air wrapped around him like a whisper, sliding beneath the hem of his dress and brushing over his legs. He took a deep breath, the sharpness of the air grounding him in the present, as his heels clicked softly against the pavement. Standing at the curb, he felt exposed—not just physically, with the neckline of his dress and the sway of the fabric around his thighs, but emotionally, too. The world could see him like this.

And he wanted it to. For once, he wanted to be seen.

His heart pounded as he waited for the driver Reeve had sent. The city lights blurred into a dreamy haze, neon halos and distant car horns creating a strange lullaby. For a fleeting moment, everything felt suspended in time—unreal, delicate, beautiful.

Thrilling.

He felt alive in a way that was utterly new. And if this feeling could only last for one night, he was going to hold on to it with everything he had.

It was only a moment even if it felt like a lifetime before a sleek executive car pulled up, and the driver, impeccably dressed, stepped out and gave a polite nod. "Good evening. I'm here to collect Mr. Tuesti's date for the evening." Cloud's breath caught slightly at the word 'date,' but he nodded, swallowing down his nerves. "Please, allow me," the driver said, opening the door smoothly and helping Cloud step inside.

Cloud instinctively entered the car carefully, mindful of his dress and settled into the backseat, feeling the plush leather beneath him. This was it—it was officially a date, and he was really on his way. The reality of it all seemed to thrum through him as the doors closed with a soft click, the car pulling away into the night.

Chapter Text

• The ride up to Reeve’s penthouse stretched between a heartbeat and an eternity, floor numbers glowing one by one as tension coiled tighter with each passing level. At last, the elevator glided to a quiet stop, the air charged with anticipation.

  The doors opened to reveal Reeve standing there, waiting. He looked different—less formal, his usually pristine suit traded for a well-fitted dark shirt and slacks. And he looked good. Really good.

  “Cloud...?” Reeve’s voice was soft, his expression one of awe.

  Before him stood a beautiful, striking woman in a shimmering green dress. The plunging neckline flowed elegantly into a draped skirt ending just above the knee, with a high slit adding a hint of allure; the rich color contrasting beautifully with soft blonde hair, sparkling jewellery, and glamorous yet subtle makeup, finished with a bold red lip.

  "It's Skye tonight," she corrected gently, her voice steady but edged with anticipation as her strappy heel emerged from the elevator, the slit in her dress shifting to reveal the graceful curve of her stocking-clad leg. She could feel Reeve's gaze drawn to it, lingering as she stepped forward.

  Reeve nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Skye,” he repeated, his voice full of warmth. “You look incredible.”

  Skye’s cheeks warmed at the compliment, her heart fluttering. She looked away briefly, steadying herself, then met Reeve’s eyes once more. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Her breath caught, the compliment catching her off guard. "You look great too," she managed, her voice softer than intended. She let her gaze wander around the penthouse as she tried to settle her nerves—tastefully furnished, expensive but never showy. It suited Reeve perfectly: elegant and composed. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed a glittering cityscape, the lights beyond like stars scattered across the night.

  "This is quite the place," she said, letting her eyes roam across the polished surfaces and soft lighting. Her tone was light, almost teasing. "Shinra must be paying you well."

  Reeve chuckled, the corners of his mouth curving into a self-satisfied smile. "Yeah, it's fair to say I’ve moved up in the world." He paused for a beat, his eyes lingering on her with something more personal. "And it seems like we’ve both come a long way."

  Skye's smile softened, the tension in them starting to ebb away as her gaze met his. There was a flicker of something tender behind her eyes, a recognition of growth—of change, and quiet triumph.

  Reeve stepped closer, his eyes steady on hers. "I'm really glad you came," he said, his voice low and sincere. "And I meant what I said—you look absolutely stunning." He paused, his expression softening. "I know this couldn’t have been easy. I just want you to feel safe and comfortable tonight. No expectations, no pressure—just us."

  Skye nodded, her heart still racing a litte, but something in Reeve's words helped ease her nerves. "Thanks, Reeve. I... appreciate that." She offered a small smile, and Reeve returned it, his gaze full of warmth.

  "Come on," Reeve said, motioning towards a seating area with a low table holding a thoughtful spread—small plates of food arranged neatly, and a wine bucket with a bottle chilling inside. "Let’s get comfortable. I had something light prepared, just in case you were hungry."

  Skye followed him, the heels Mia had picked out clicking softly on the polished floor. Skye eased onto the plush couch, the soft fabric beneath her almost unfamiliar in its luxury. Reeve poured them each a glass from the bottle, handing one to Skye before settling in beside her.

  "To new beginnings," Reeve said, raising his glass, his eyes meeting Skye's again. There was something in that look—an understanding, a shared acknowledgment of everything that had brought them here. Skye hesitated for a heartbeat, then clinked her glass against Reeve's.

  "To new beginnings," Skye echoed softly. The wine was smooth and rich against her tongue, a quiet warmth blooming in her chest as she took a sip. Leaning back into the couch, the tension began to melt from her shoulders. The evening unfolded like a promise—tinged with uncertainty, edged with hope—and for the first time in a long while, Skye felt like she might truly belong.

  The conversation flowed easily—Reeve was thoughtful and composed, more interested in Skye’s present than in the old echoes of Cloud. He asked about what had brought her here, not only the outward change, but the inner one too, and listened intently as she shared. When Skye recounted the night she’d first ventured outside—how terrifying it had been, the nerves, the near slips, the way she'd paused to strike a pose in a boutique window—she laughed softly, then added, “And then this drunk guy called me gorgeous and asked for my number. I just stood there, frozen—I was mortified.” Reeve let out a quiet, amused chuckle.

  “Didn’t realize you were flirting with guys now,” he said with a faint smile, his tone light and teasing but edged with something more. “If I’d seen that on camera, maybe I would’ve asked for your number too.”

  Skye didn’t answer—couldn’t, not right away. Her blush deepened, lips parting as if to respond, but no words came. It wasn’t the comment itself that caught her off guard—it was the realization that Reeve was flirting with her. Coolly, subtly, but unmistakably. And more surprising still—she liked it.

  His laughter, soft and low, drew a smile from her, one she couldn’t quite suppress. The charm in his voice was quiet but potent, and slowly, gently, Skye began to let her guard down.

  They chatted easily—about Skye, her stumbling but determined attempts at learning to dance, about new friends like Mia and how much those small, steady connections meant. Reeve shared stories from his work at Shinra, weaving them with just enough dry humor to make even bureaucracy sound intriguing.

  Skye found herself laughing often, leaning in without realizing it. Reeve’s company was steadying—warm and attentive, never overwhelming. The way he listened, the quiet sincerity in his voice, the flicker of warmth in his eyes—there was something unmistakable beneath the calm. And as the wine flowed and her confidence grew, she began to lean into the ease of it, into him, slipping naturally into the rhythm of something new, something quietly exhilarating.

  Skye let out a soft, girlish laugh at the end of one of Reeve's drier stories, her head tipping back slightly as her eyes sparkled with amusement. Reeve chuckled too, leaning in just a little, the intimacy of the moment gently settling between them. “All the time we've known each other, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this amiable before,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving with quiet amusement.

  Skye grinned, nudging his shoulder with playful familiarity. “Careful,” she replied, her voice light but edged with something more, “you might get used to it.” The warmth behind her words was new—tentative, but undeniably sincere.

  Slowly, Skye found herself relaxing more, sipping her wine, letting her gestures grow softer, more fluid. She mirrored behaviors she’d seen from women she'd been with—leaning in when Reeve spoke, brushing her fingers through her hair, letting her gaze linger a little longer than before. Her smile turned coy without her meaning it to, and it surprised her how natural it felt.

  Reeve’s eyes followed her with quiet attentiveness, his gaze appreciative and steady. There was something unmistakable building between them now—subtle at first, but growing more tangible with every passing glance, every shared laugh. She saw it in the way he looked at her: he liked this version of her, this woman sitting beside him. And the realization stirred something inside her—curiosity, confidence, a kind of permission she hadn’t known she’d been waiting for.

  It made her want to keep going.

  Skye noticed Reeve finding subtle ways to make contact—his hand grazing hers as he reached for his glass, the soft press of his knee against hers beneath the table. Each fleeting touch sent a ripple through her, delicate but undeniable, and she found herself leaning in, seeking more. A genuine, growing hunger to feel seen, desired, affirmed. These small moments—the gentle warmth of his touch, the way his presence steadied her—became part of the experience she craved: to experience everything that felt feminine, everything that affirmed who she was trying to become.

  The night unfolded with a soft, golden ease, a few bottles of wine loosening their laughter, their smiles, and the subtle rhythm of their touches. Skye felt herself growing bolder, more assured in her presence. The shimmering green of her dress caught the light with every shift of her body, a quiet reminder of who she was tonight—and how she wanted Reeve to see her.

  “You won’t remember this… but when you went missing after the North Crater, I had to get Barret and Tifa out of Junon—sneaking aboard the Highwind,” Reeve said, leaning back in his seat. His posture was relaxed, casual, but his gaze was anything but. His eyes moved over her—slowly, deliberately—and Skye didn’t shy away from it. Not anymore.

  She held his gaze, her smile softening as a flush rose to her cheeks. “Yeah… that was when you really chose to help us, wasn’t it? When you decided to let Shinra go.”

  His eyes were still on her, lingering, warm, intense—and she didn’t look away. Not anymore. The heat in his gaze no longer unsettled her; it exhilarated her. There was something quietly electric in the way he looked at her now, and she let herself bask in it—not shrinking from the attention, but leaning into it, welcoming it, enjoying how he saw her.

  Reeve chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah… I think that was the day I finally figured out who I really was. And you—you were in Mideel then, busy finding yourself too, right? Well… maybe not your whole self just yet.” He gave her a sly smile, teasing, but layered with something deeper—an acknowledgment of everything they’d both left behind, and everything they’d become.

  Skye blushed, her heart fluttering. “Yeah… I thought I had it all figured out back then.” She paused, eyes dropping to her lap, fingers tracing an invisible line along the stem of her glass before she looked up again. “But I guess there were still pieces of myself I wasn’t ready to face yet.”

  Reeve’s gaze softened, his expression turning tender. “What I’m trying to say is… when the airship took off that day, I felt free for the first time. Free from the past, from everything that had kept me tethered. I finally accepted who I was, and when we found you in Mideel, I thought I saw that same kind of release in your eyes.”

  He paused, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “But I was wrong. What I saw then wasn't you. What I see now is something more. Real freedom. You’ve become who you were always meant to be, Skye. And it’s… beautiful.”

  The word beautiful struck something deep in Skye’s chest—because in that moment, with Reeve looking at her like that, she could almost believe it. Heat rose beneath her skin, a flush blooming across her cheeks. Reeve moved closer, his fingers brushing softly over her knuckles before curling around her hand. His other hand settled gently on her knee, warm and intimate against the smoothness of her stockinged leg, his touch lingering just near the slit of her dress. Skye’s breath caught, a shiver trailing up her spine. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t look away—instead, she met his eyes.

  “Dance with me?” Reeve asked, his eyes locking onto hers with quiet intent. Skye hesitated for only a breath, then nodded, setting her glass down with care. He rose, taking her hand in his, guiding her gently toward the open space before the tall windows where the city shimmered like a galaxy. The soft hum of music wrapped around them, intimate and low, as if the whole room had leaned in to listen.

  Reeve placed a hand on her waist, drawing her closer, and Skye rested her hand on his shoulder. The first few steps were awkward—Skye a little unsure in her borrowed heels—but Reeve took the lead. His hand on her back was steady, guiding her with gentle confidence. He smiled, his eyes never leaving hers, and slowly, Skye began to move with him, finding a rhythm, embracing her role with a natural grace, feeling the femininity in every step.

  Reeve smiled, a playful glint in his eyes. "I didn’t expect this from Cloud Strife—you dance beautifully, so gracefully," he teased, his voice full of warmth. Skye blushed, a soft, flirtatious laugh escaping her lips. "Well, I’ve been practicing," she said, her voice just a touch lower, her eyes meeting his with a knowing glint. "Maybe I was hoping someone would notice."

  The closeness between them was electric. Skye could feel the warmth of Reeve’s body, the scent of his cologne wrapping around her like a spell. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his, and found nothing but warmth, understanding—and something deeper. Her heart raced, and a heat stirred low in her belly, spreading through her in waves that left her lightheaded and aching in a way she didn’t fully understand, only knew she didn’t want to resist.

  Reeve leaned in closer, a mischievous curve playing at his lips. "Oh, I’ve noticed," he murmured, his voice low and deliberate. "You know, there are other things we could practice together."

  He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers—soft at first, testing, inviting. Then, with a breath between them, he kissed her more firmly. Skye responded instinctively, her lips parting as she leaned into him, the warmth of his mouth meeting hers with a rising intensity.

  She closed her eyes, heart pounding as the kiss deepened. Reeve’s hand slid up her back, drawing her closer, and the world around them seemed to blur. She was aware of everything—the weight of his body, the taste of wine on his lips, the way his stubble scraped deliciously against her smooth skin, unfamiliar and electrifying. It was nothing like the softness she’d known before. This was harder, bolder, and it ignited something fierce inside her.

  It didn’t overwhelm—it anchored. It made her feel feminine in a new, powerful way. Not by performing it, but by experiencing it. She wasn’t leading the moment; she was being drawn into it. And she wanted more.

  Reeve was still kissing her as they drifted toward the couch, his hands steady at her waist, guiding with quiet certainty until the edge of the cushions pressed against the backs of her legs. Skye sank down, pulling him with her, their mouths still locked in a deepening kiss. His weight settled over her, grounding and thrilling all at once, his hands exploring her—careful, reverent, but undeniably hungry.

  Reeve’s hand moved down, grazing over her thigh, then hesitating as it moved towards her hips. Skye's breath caught, her body tensing as Reeve’s fingers brushed against her tucked manhood beneath the dress. He pulled back slightly, his eyes flickering with something—confusion, intrigue, maybe even a hint of disappointment. Skye opened her eyes, her cheeks flushing as she looked up at him.

  Reeve paused, then smiled gently, leaning in to press another soft kiss on her lips. “You’re beautiful, Skye,” he murmured, his voice warm, though tinged with something else. He shifted slightly, his hands moving back to gentler places—her waist, her shoulders. Perhaps he didn’t want to push too far, didn’t want to risk shattering the moment or making her feel anything less than the woman she was tonight.

  His eyes softened again as he leaned in, kissing her again—slower this time, more deliberate, as if savoring the feel of her. The kiss deepened, and warmth spread through Skye’s body, curling low and tight. She could feel it happening, her body responding, her cock beginning to stir where it lay tucked away beneath her dress.

  The realization lit something inside her—she was really turned on, and not just from the kissing or the wine or the closeness. It was Reeve. A man. Wanting her, kissing her, touching her like this. And even though she’d never done this before, had never imagined she might want it like this—she did. She wanted this. She wanted him.

  It didn’t feel strange. It didn’t feel wrong. It felt feminine. It felt right. And it felt really, really good.

  Their bodies pressed closer, hands roaming more freely now, breaths hitching and mingling between kisses. Every touch fed the fire growing inside her, each movement more certain, more inevitable.

  Reeve’s lips brushed the curve of her ear, his voice low and rough with need. “Stay the night?”

  Skye looked up at him, her heart pounding, her mind racing—but she didn’t even consider saying no. Her hand came up to rest gently against his cheek, and she nodded, eyes shining. “Okay,” she whispered back.

  Reeve smiled, taking her hand and pulling her gently up from the sofa. He kissed her deeply, his lips firm against hers, hands gliding down her sides with growing urgency. When he finally pulled back, breathless, his voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

  Skye met his eyes, steady and bright with desire. She didn't hesitate—not even for a second. "Yes, Reeve," she said softly, her voice rich with certainty. "I want this. I want you."

  Reeve’s smile deepened, something tender flickering in his gaze as he led her toward the bedroom. As they neared the bed, he turned to face her again, his hands never letting go of hers.

  Reeve’s gaze lingered on Skye, captivated by how she looked tonight. The shimmering green dress clung to her form, its plunging neckline and high slit offering an elegant, unmistakably feminine allure. Beneath it, she was still Cloud Strife—strong, trained, sculpted—but that part of her had been carefully wrapped in the illusion she had chosen for the evening. Her soft blonde hair framed her face, subtle makeup enhancing her delicate features, and her bold red lips sealed the statement: she was Skye, and she wanted to be seen as no one else but herself tonight. And by the way Reeve was looking at her, she was.

  Reeve marveled at her, and she loved it—the way she was embracing this new side of herself. It was such a stark contrast to the Cloud Strife he had always known: the stoic warrior who took charge, who exuded masculinity and control. Now, here she was—Skye—vulnerable, radiant, letting him take the lead. There was a flicker of thrill in Reeve’s eyes, and Skye saw it clearly. He was the one in control now, and she wanted it that way. The shift in dynamic was undeniable—and they were both reveling in it.

  His hands roamed over her waist, tracing the fabric of her dress. She loved the way the satin felt under his fingers, the way it hugged her body, the illusion of femininity it created. He let the straps slip from her shoulders, letting the dress fall just enough to reveal the delicate black lingerie underneath. Skye’s breath caught, her eyes fluttering closed, and for a moment, she seemed to let go of all her defenses, embracing the transformation fully.

  Reeve leaned in, pressing his lips to her neck, his kisses trailing slowly down to her collarbone. His hands moved lower, beneath the hem of her dress, caressing her thighs, feeling the softness of her stockings. He lowered her onto the bed, the dress gathering around her waist, her legs exposed, her heels still on. Reeve paused, savoring the sight of her, the contrast between the strong body of a SOLDIER and the delicate attire she had chosen for tonight.

  “Relax,” Reeve whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “You look beautiful like this.”

  Skye’s heart skipped a beat at his words. She had never thought of herself as beautiful, had never allowed herself to feel this way. She tried to let herself believe it, tried to let herself feel the desire building within her. She allowed Reeve to guide her back onto the bed, her body trembling slightly with anticipation.

  Reeve’s hands moved over her, appreciating every detail. He avoided touching her tucked length directly, instead savoring the smoothness it created, the illusion of womanhood it provided. His fingers trailed over the satin and mesh of her lingerie, his touch reverent, as if he were afraid to break the delicate spell she had woven around herself.

  Skye reciprocated, kissing Reeve on the neck, her lips brushing against his skin as she worked her way down. Her fingers deftly began to unbutton his shirt, opening each button with deliberate slowness, kissing his chest as she went. The rough sensation of his chest hair was unfamiliar but not unpleasant. She slipped his shirt off his shoulders, her lips continuing their journey, trailing lower, following the faint line of hair down past his navel. With every inch, the heat in her body built, her tucked cock stirring beneath her lingerie, a slow throb of arousal she didn’t try to ignore.

  Skye looked up at him, her blue eyes wide with vulnerability. Her lips parted as she caught her breath, her mind spinning with the weight of what she was about to do. Was she really going to touch another man’s cock—Reeve’s? Was she really going to take him in her mouth? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a pulse of heat through her body. It was bold, terrifying… and thrilling. She wanted it. She wanted him. And more than anything, she wanted to feel what it meant to give herself over like this—not as a man, but as Skye.

  She reached for him, her fingers trembling slightly as she fumbled with his belt. Her heart pounded as she unbuckled it, freeing his growing hardness. She glanced up at him, seeking reassurance, and Reeve gave her a gentle smile, his dark eyes filled with warmth and desire. This was a big step—touching another man like this, letting herself want it—but she did. She wanted to be a woman for Reeve, for herself, and this moment, this choice, felt like claiming that truth.

  Lowering herself to her knees, Skye took a deep breath, her lips brushing against the tip of his cock. She flicked her tongue out, tasting him, and Reeve let out a low groan, his hand coming to rest on her head, his fingers tangling gently in her hair. She took him into her mouth, slowly, her lips wrapping around him, her tongue sliding along his shaft. She tried to remember what she had once enjoyed as a man—the sensation of being taken deep, the eagerness of her partner. She wanted to give that to Reeve, wanted to make him feel good.

  She took him deeper, her eyes watering slightly as he hit the back of her throat. She gagged, but she didn’t pull away, wanting to do this right. She moved her head, her lips slick with saliva, and Reeve began to move with her, his hips gently thrusting forward.

  “Good girl,” Reeve murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Just like that.”

  The praise sent a shiver through Skye, her heart swelling with pride and heat. She wanted to be everything he desired, to feel cherished and feminine in the way she had longed for. As she worked him with growing confidence—lips soft and wet, tongue tracing along his length—she could feel how his body reacted to her, how much she was affecting him. The weight of his cock in her mouth, the way his hips rolled forward, the helpless way his hand tightened in her hair—it thrilled her.

  Her own arousal throbbed between her thighs, her cock still tucked but aching, forgotten in the rush of wanting to please him. She moaned softly around him, the sound vibrating through him, her eyes fluttering closed as she surrendered to the rhythm.

  “Skye…” he groaned, his voice breaking, rough with need. “I’m close…”

  She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, her determination clear. Taking a deep breath, she took him deeper, her tongue tracing the sensitive underside of his cock, coaxing him closer. She worked him steadily, her lips slick, her cheeks hollowing slightly with each motion, feeling his body tense beneath her touch.

  The explosion was sudden—hot, salty, overwhelming. His release flooded her mouth in thick, heavy pulses. The shock of it made her flinch inside, a flicker of instinctive revulsion—but she pushed it down, refusing to pull away. She swallowed instinctively, her throat working to take it, the strange taste clinging to her tongue—raw, intimate, deeply personal.

  Her eyes never left his, even as her heart raced and her body trembled. She had done it. She had pleased him. And despite the shock, despite the strangeness, a part of her already knew—she wanted to do it again. Wanted to please him. Wanted to be his.

  When Reeve finally pulled away, Skye gasped for air, her lips wet, her makeup slightly smeared. The taste of him lingered on her tongue—she had taken him in fully, had made him come undone, and there was something powerful in that. Her body was still trembling, her heart still pounding, not just from the act but from what it meant—what she had just done, what she had wanted. She had touched him, taken him into her mouth, pleased him. A man. And she wanted to do it again. Not because she thought she should, but because it felt right. It felt feminine. It felt like her.

  Still on her knees, catching her breath, she looked up at him. There was more she wanted. Gathering her courage, her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, "Reeve... could you... would you go down on me?"

  Reeve's eyes widened for a moment, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. He looked down at her, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes, the hopefulness. He swallowed, trying to find the right words, not wanting to break the fragile confidence she had built up tonight.

  His hand moved to her cheek, caressing it gently. "Skye, you’re incredible and that felt incredible," he said, his voice soft, filled with both tenderness and regret. "But… I’m not sure I can do that right now. I want this to be about you feeling comfortable tonight, about you embracing yourself. Not about me."

  Skye’s gaze dropped, her cheeks flushing slightly with a mixture of embarrassment and disappointment. She bit her lip, nodding slowly, trying to understand. Reeve saw the flicker of pain in her expression and immediately leaned in, pressing his lips to her forehead.

  "It’s not you," he murmured, his lips brushing her skin. "You’re beautiful, and I want you so much. I just… it’s new for me too. I need a little time to get there."

  She nodded again, her heart heavy but still beating with affection for Reeve. His honesty was something she appreciated, even if it wasn’t what she wanted in that moment. "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I understand."

  Reeve smiled at her, his hand moving from her cheek to rest gently against her neck. He tilted her chin up, making her meet his gaze again. "But let me show you how much I want you," he said, his voice growing more intense, a warmth returning to his eyes. "Let me take care of you tonight, Skye."

  Reeve rubbed her stocking-covered legs, his fingers trailing up the satin dress, each touch sending waves of sensation through her. He took his time, savoring every inch of her, his voice a low murmur as he spoke to her. “You really are beautiful, Skye. So soft, so perfect,” he whispered, his words carrying a warmth that sent shivers down her spine. Skye closed her eyes, letting herself feel the weight of his praise, letting it sink into the parts of her that had doubted, had questioned.

  His fingers moved with a deliberate slowness, tracing the edge of her stockings, grazing the delicate skin at her thighs. He moved higher, fingers sliding over the smooth satin of her dress, brushing along her hips, his touch both tender and possessive. “I love how you look tonight,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to her neck. “I love the way you’ve given yourself to me, like this.” The reverence in his voice made her heart swell, her body aching with the need to feel him, to be seen this way.

  He moved his hands to her chest, fingers finding her nipples enclosed in her satin bra. He teased them gently, his touch growing firmer as he coaxed soft gasps from her lips. Skye arched into him, her body responding instinctively, her breath coming faster. Reeve could feel her need, the way her body seemed to pulse under his touch, her skin warm beneath his hands.

  Slowly, he let one hand drift lower, slipping beneath her lingerie, the tips of his fingers brushing against her tucked length for a fraction of a second before darting away, and then finding her entrance and moving her panties down. He felt her body tense slightly, her breath catching as she waited for him. His touch was gentle, exploring, his fingers moving with a care that made her heart ache.

  “That’s it, Skye,” he murmured, his voice gentle and coaxing, as he began to finger her, his movements slow and deliberate. “Let me make you feel good.”

  At first, uncertainty prickled at the edge of her thoughts. She had never had anyone inside her before—nothing, no one—and now here was Reeve, easing his fingers into her ass with careful pressure. Her body tensed on instinct, doubt flashing through her. Was she really doing this? Was she ready for it?

  But then, something shifted. The hesitation melted, replaced by sensation—warm, full, intimate. It felt good. The feeling of being opened, of being touched like this, didn’t feel wrong or foreign. It felt… feminine. Right. Like her body had been waiting for this kind of pleasure, this kind of affirmation.

  Her breath caught as his fingers moved deeper, the tension fading into desire. She moaned softly, her body relaxing around him, accepting his touch. Reeve felt her shift beneath him, yielding, and his other hand moved to stroke her side, grounding her in the moment. She was being penetrated, and it felt good—good in a way that affirmed everything she was trying to become.

  Reeve’s fingers moved expertly, knowing when to press, when to circle, when to slide deeper, the pressure building inside her. Skye’s body arched into his touch, her breaths coming faster, her fingers gripping the sheets beneath her. Her legs parted further, her muscles trembling as she lost herself in the sensations, the pleasure radiating from where his fingers worked her, each touch pushing her closer to the edge.

  “Reeve…” she gasped, her eyes closing, her body trembling. He could feel her muscles tightening around his fingers, could feel the way she was losing herself in the sensation.

  “You’re perfect like this, Skye,” Reeve whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. “Just let go… let me take care of you.”

  Skye’s heart raced, the need inside her growing stronger, more insistent. She wanted to let go—completely. She relaxed around Reeve’s fingers, pushing back against his hand, letting him feel how much she craved more. The sensation was incredible, intense in ways she’d never imagined—but it wasn’t enough. If this felt so good… what would it feel like to have all of him inside her?

  The thought made her breath hitch, made her pulse pound harder. She’d never done this before—never even imagined it. And yet, here she was, aching for it. For him. She wanted Reeve to take her fully, to fill her, to claim her as his. She wanted to be taken like a woman.

  Her eyes fluttered open, finding his gaze. “Reeve… please,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “I want you… I want you to take me… in my ass.”

  Reeve paused, his breath catching at her words. “I hoped you would.” He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, voice low and thick with desire. “I’m going to make your pussy feel incredible, Skye.”

  A shiver ran down Skye's spine, her breath catching at his words. There was something about the way he called it her pussy that made her heart pound faster, made her body light up with a need she hadn’t known how to name until now. It wasn’t just desire—it was recognition. She felt a deep, aching throb inside her, a yearning to be seen, to be taken that way. She nodded, her voice a breathy, trembling whisper. "Oh, Reeve... I want it so much."

  Reeve nodded, his expression softening. He reached down, helping her back to her feet, and kissed her deeply. His hands settled on her hips, fingers lingering on the fabric of her dress where it hugged her curves. The stockings still covered her legs, smooth beneath his palms. He clearly didn’t want her to take it off—he wanted her like this, wanted to enjoy the way she looked, the way she felt, dressed and radiant in her femininity.

  “Bend over for me,” he said.

  He gently turned her around, guiding her to the edge of the bed. Skye bent forward, her hands bracing against the sheets, her breath catching as Reeve's palms settled on her ass, caressing the smooth fabric of her stockings. As he slid her panties down, her cock sprang free, hard and unhidden. Reeve paused for just a second, his eyes flicking down—registering it—but his gaze didn’t linger. He shifted his focus instead to the curve of her ass, the way her body quivered under his touch,.

  Skye’s heart pounded. Bent over the bed, exposed and waiting, the anticipation surged hot and electric through her. She had never felt anything like it.

  “Are you ready?” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. “This is what you want?”

  “Yes,” Skye breathed, her fingers clutching the bed sheets, her body trembling. She wanted this—wanted to feel like a real woman. She felt the pressure of him behind her, his hardness pressing against her entrance—a strange, unfamiliar sensation, but one that only made her cock throb harder. She took a deep breath, her body tensing slightly as she did, poised on the edge of something she had never felt but deeply craved.

  “Just relax,” Reeve said, his voice low and soothing. He guided himself into her, the tip pressing against her entrance, pushing forward with slow, steady pressure. Skye gasped, her breath catching—the sensation was unfamiliar, an ache of fullness and resistance. Her muscles instinctively tightened, her body bracing against it, but she didn’t pull away. The stretch was strange, overwhelming—but not wrong. It was new, and intimate, and as Reeve eased further inside, something in her started to yield, to open, her breath coming in shallow, needy gasps.

  “Breathe, Skye,” Reeve whispered, his hands tracing slow, comforting circles on her hips. “You’re doing so well…”

  She tried to relax, tried to let go of the tension as Reeve pushed deeper, her body slowly adjusting to the unfamiliar stretch. It hurt—a deep, burning sensation that made her breath hitch—but she didn’t stop. She forced herself to stay with it, to breathe through it, to accept him. Because she wanted this. Needed it. And little by little, the pain began to soften, ebbing into something else—something warmer, fuller. A strange, building pleasure stirred at the edges, not just physical, but emotional. Being opened like this, claimed like this by Reeve, started to feel not just bearable—but right.

  Reeve moved carefully, his hands steady on her hips, guiding her onto him, inch by inch until he was fully inside her. Skye let out a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering shut, her fingers tightening around the sheets. She focused on the feeling of being filled—stretched and claimed—each inch awakening something deeper inside her. It was almost overwhelming, and yet... Reeve began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, and with every motion, a jolt of sensation coursed through her, each one building upon the last, her breath catching in rhythm with his.

  “Fuck, Skye,” Reeve groaned, his voice strained. “You feel so good…”

  Skye moaned, her fingers gripping the sheets, her body trembling with each thrust, her ass clenching around him. She wanted this to be right, wanted it to feel right, but there was something that felt a little off. She tried to push the thought away, focusing on Reeve’s hands on her, the way he filled her, the way he moved.

  Reeve’s thrusts grew faster, more insistent, his hips slamming against her, the sound of their bodies echoing through the room. Skye cried out, her body shaking, her muscles tightening around him. She could feel his dominance, the way he took her with such certainty, and she clung to the sensations, trying to let herself feel what she thought she was meant to. The pleasure, the surrender—everything she had imagined this could be. Wanted it to be.

  “Cloud… you’re perfect like this,” Reeve whispered, his voice thick with lust. But Skye barely registered the name—everything else was eclipsed by the waves of sensation crashing through her. Reeve’s grip on her hips grounded her, his rhythm relentless, the pain and pleasure blurring into something she could no longer separate. She was lost in it—lost in him.

  He leaned over her, his breath hot against her neck. “You wanted this… didn’t you?” he murmured, his words sliding over her skin like a caress. “Wanted me to make you feel this way?”

  Skye could barely respond, her mouth falling open in a wordless gasp, her body shivering as he pushed her closer to the edge of her own pleasure. She nodded, her fingers curling into the sheets, trying to hold onto something solid as the room seemed to spin.

  The bed creaked beneath them, their movements growing more frantic, more desperate. Reeve adjusted his angle, and suddenly his cock struck a spot inside her that made Skye cry out, a strangled moan ripping from her throat. A sharp, overwhelming spike of pleasure tore through her, undeniable, electric. Her body arched back into him, chasing that feeling, lost in the raw heat of it.

  “That’s it,” Reeve groaned, his voice rough. “Let go, Cloud… let go for me.”

  He hit that spot again, and again, each thrust more precise, more overwhelming than the last. It was visceral and raw—unlike anything she had ever felt in sex before. Skye’s body trembled violently as Reeve pounded into her, her muscles clenching tight around him as the wave built and crashed over her. She let out a cry, her orgasm tearing through her, body jerking as pleasure consumed her. Her cock throbbed, spurting onto the bed beneath her, helpless and uncontrollable.

  She barely had time to recover as she felt Reeve’s pace quicken, his grip on her tightening, his breaths ragged as he chased the edge of his own release.

  And then, with a final thrust, Reeve came, his release spilling into her, his groan echoing in her ears. He held himself deep inside, hands gripping her hips as his body tensed, cock throbbing as he filled her. The sensation of being filled was strange—warm, heavy, intimate. She could feel his cum inside her as she shifted, and though it startled her, a part of her liked it. The fullness, the vulnerability, the raw closeness of it—it was odd, unexpected, but it made her feel truly taken. Skye’s body responded instinctively, her muscles clenching around him, drawing out every last pulse of his pleasure.

  Reeve stayed there for a moment, his forehead resting against her back, their bodies still joined, both of them breathless. Slowly, he pulled out, his hands gently caressing her hips as he helped her straighten up. He turned her around, pulling her into his arms, his lips pressing against her forehead.

  “You were amazing,” he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness.

  Skye looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She had done it. She had given herself to him, allowed herself to be vulnerable, to be taken fully. Her ass still felt raw and stretched, the lingering ache a visceral reminder of what they’d just shared. She could still feel him inside her somehow—his cum warm and deep, shifting with every small movement.

  The fullness, the tenderness of being left with something real. She felt a strange mixture of emotions—satisfaction, confusion, a lingering sense of something unfinished. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but this was more intimate, more overwhelming, than she’d imagined.

  Reeve seemed to sense her uncertainty. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped free. “You’re beautiful, Skye,” he said softly, his gaze steady. “Thank you for trusting me.”

  Skye nodded, her heart swelling at his words. Hearing her name—Skye—so softly spoken, soothed the flicker of doubt still curling in her chest. She hadn’t planned this. She hadn’t expected to give herself to Reeve like this, not tonight, not ever. But it had felt good… hadn’t it? The way he touched her, looked at her, wanted her—it stirred something deep and affirming. And Reeve had clearly enjoyed it too. Whatever this night had become, it was theirs—a moment that felt strange, unexpected, but somehow special. She leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a tender kiss. For tonight, that was enough.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, almost shyly, looking up at him. “I… I didn’t really know how to be with a man. I didn’t know what it would feel like—or how I’d feel.”

  She paused, her voice dipping even quieter. “Thank you… for being my first.”

  Reeve’s expression softened even further, his hand brushing gently through her hair. “You were… incredible,” he said, his voice low. “You gave yourself to me completely—and I’ll never forget that.”

  Skye smiled, the vulnerability she had felt, once sharp and uncertain, now felt like something quietly sacred. A moment passed—wordless, but full of understanding. This hadn’t been planned, not even imagined, but it had happened. And it had mattered. To both of them.

  Reeve slipped beneath the covers first, his movements quiet and unhurried. He patted the space beside him with a soft smile. “Come here,” he said, his voice low, warm. “I just want to hold you.”

  Skye hesitated for a moment, then slowly slipped out of her dress, folding it carefully before crawling into bed beside him. The room was quiet now, the air heavy with the warmth of what they had shared. Reeve shifted closer, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her into his chest. Their bodies fit together beneath the sheets, her back pressed to him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing soothing in her ear.

  She could feel him—soft now, but still present—resting against the small of her back, a quiet reminder of everything they had just done. And she could still feel where he had been inside her, a deep, aching fullness that hadn’t entirely faded. It was uncomfortable, yes, but not unwelcome. Not wrong. If anything, it made her feel more grounded in the moment, more real in the softness of the aftermath.

  His arms wrapped around her, one hand smoothing over her back as her head rested against his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing began to calm her, grounding her amid the swirl of emotions still fluttering through her. It felt unfamiliar—but safe. Reeve kissed the top of her head, and she let herself exhale for the first time in what felt like hours.

  “Just rest, Skye,” Reeve murmured, his hand stroking her hair gently. “I’m here with you.”

  Skye closed her eyes, letting herself be held, allowing the comfort of his words and his warmth to soothe her. There was still so much she didn’t understand, so much she needed to figure out about herself. But tonight, she didn’t have to worry about that. She didn’t have to be Cloud Strife, the warrior, the hero. She could just be Skye, held in the arms of someone who cared about her,

  ***

  Cloud woke to the dim, unfamiliar hush of Reeve’s bedroom, early light casting dull shadows through the heavy curtains. His head pounded, each pulse a sharp reminder of the night before. He swallowed thickly, wincing as the bitter taste of Reeve still clung to his tongue, sour and unrelenting. His jaw ached with the memory. As he shifted, a deeper pain sparked—his ass throbbed, raw and sore, stretched far past comfort. The backs of his thighs were tacky with dried cum, and a low, lingering ache radiated throughout his lower back.

  His makeup was a ruin, mascara caked at the corners of his eyes, lipstick smeared across his cheek and pillow. Everything about him felt smudged and used. That sensation, more than anything else, hollowed him. A quiet bloom of regret unfurled in his chest, heavy and uncertain, threading through his ribs as he lay there in the mess of himself.

  He sat up slowly, his body protesting the movement, his hands bracing against the edge of the bed. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on his surroundings—the rich, dark furnishings, the pristine clothing tossed carelessly across the chair, and the warmth of the bed beside him, now empty. He blinked, trying to bring his thoughts together, but the fragments of last night were hazy, disjointed. Reeve’s voice, his hands, his warmth. The sensation of his lips, the feel of his body pressing into him—Skye—made his head spin.

  Cloud’s gaze wandered until it caught on the floor-length mirrors across the room, the reflection that stared back a stark reminder of everything. He barely recognized himself. The image was messy, the elegance of last night shattered in the daylight. His hair, once soft waves that Mia had perfected, was now tangled and flattened in awkward places. The bold red lipstick was smeared, the remnants painting his lips in a way that was anything but elegant. One of his bra straps hung limply off his shoulder, the dress—wrinkled and twisted—was strewn on the floor without any trace of the grace it had once held.

  The vision of Skye he had so carefully curated, so desperately clung to, seemed to collapse beneath the weight of morning light. This wasn’t the poised, radiant woman he’d imagined in his head—wasn’t the Skye he had tried so hard to become. What stared back at him wasn’t her at all. It was Cloud—disheveled, exposed, and aching in too many ways—trapped in the space between the fantasy he had pursued and the truth of who he was right now.

  And it had been him—Cloud—who had been here last night. The ache in his jaw, the soreness in his ass, the taste still lingering bitter and slick on his tongue... it was all real. Gods, he’d sucked Reeve off. He’d let Reeve fuck him in the ass.

  He was a man. He didn’t want to suck cock. Didn’t want to be used like that. Or at least, he thought he didn’t. But he had. He’d done it—willingly, breathlessly, eagerly. And in the soft, shame-lit quiet of morning, the questions he’d kept buried came clawing back to the surface.

  Who was he? What did he really want?

  He felt the doubts creep in, settling in the quiet of the room, gnawing at the edges of his resolve. Had he made the right choices? Was this really who he wanted to be—who he was? The thrill of last night had faded, leaving behind a hollow ache, a lingering rawness he couldn’t ignore. The discomfort clung to him like a second skin. He needed to move, to breathe, to escape the oppressive weight of morning. He had to get up and get out—clear his head before the questions swallowed him whole.

  Cloud pulled the bra strap back onto his shoulder, his fingers trembling slightly as he adjusted it, trying to pull himself together. He looked away from the mirror, drawing in a shaky breath. In the moment, it had all felt so good—becoming Skye, feeling radiant, wanted, desired, being taken. But now, under the harsh scrutiny of morning light, it felt different. Not wrong, exactly—just distant. He wasn’t sure if what gripped his chest was regret or uncertainty, only that it was heavy and hard to ignore.

  Cloud looked around, searching for his panties. He found them on the floor and pulled them up, trying to find comfort in their familiar feminine trappings. The silky fabric hugged his hips, and for a moment, he clung to the feeling of being Skye—despite the awkward, disheveled state he found himself in now.

  Suddenly, the door opened, and Reeve walked in, wearing only his boxers, holding two steaming mugs of coffee. He smiled warmly, his eyes lighting up as they met Cloud's. "Morning, sleepyhead," he said, his voice soft. There was a brief hesitation as Reeve's gaze swept over Cloud, his eyes lingering on Cloud's appearance—the smeared makeup, the disheveled hair, the bulge in his panties. Cloud swallowed, a wave of self-consciousness washing over him.

  Cloud looked up at Reeve, his gaze drifting over the executive’s tanned, well-toned frame. There was no denying Reeve wore his success well—handsome, confident, effortlessly at ease in his own skin. Cloud opened his mouth, trying to summon something light, something normal. "Morning," he croaked. The word caught in his throat, thin and uncertain. His voice cracked, and his eyes flicked away, shame prickling at the corners. Cloud felt a heat rise to his cheeks as he compared himself to Reeve—his own pale body clad in a rumpled bra and stained panties, a fragile patchwork of femininity that suddenly felt all too uncertain.

  Reeve reacted instantly—his smile faltered for only a heartbeat before softening. He crossed the room in a few quick steps, concern flickering behind his eyes as he stepped closer and set the coffee cups on the nightstand, then took Cloud’s hand gently in his. Cloud followed almost in a daze, the warmth of Reeve’s touch grounding him. Without a word, he guided Cloud back to the bed, easing him down and drawing the sheets over them both. Reeve settled in beside him, wrapping an arm securely around Cloud’s waist as they leaned against the headboard. He handed Cloud a mug of coffee, his other hand brushing tenderly over Cloud’s knuckles.

  "Look, you were amazing last night, Skye," Reeve murmured, his voice low and warm. "You were stunning—and you made me feel incredible." He paused, giving Cloud’s hand a gentle squeeze. "I know things might feel a little complicated this morning, but I mean every word. You were perfect."

  Cloud swallowed, his gaze softening as he listened, Reeve's words slowly chipping away at the lingering doubts in his mind.

  "I'm guessing it all feels like a lot right now," Reeve said gently, his tone wrapped in warmth. "But just remember how incredible you were... how incredible you are." He leaned in, his lips brushing against Cloud’s temple. "You're beautiful, Skye. Last night, today, tomorrow—always."

  Reeve leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Cloud's temple, then his lips—slow and deliberate, like reassurance passed from breath to breath. It was tender, affectionate, the kind of kiss that made everything else blur at the edges. Cloud closed his eyes, his shoulders sinking slightly as he leaned into Reeve, letting himself be held, letting himself feel. For the first time that morning, the tightness in his chest eased. It all started to feel good again—the sun beginning to break through the clouds outside, its light filtering in through the curtains, soft and golden, as if the world was gently coaxing him back to himself.

  He let out a long, quiet sigh, the tension in his shoulders softening as warmth settled into his bones. The aches in his body dulled, the sting of confusion slipping into something gentler, quieter. The simple comfort of Reeve’s presence—the steady weight of his arm, the scent of coffee, the golden light—helped push the doubt to the edges. In its place, the memories returned with new clarity: how beautiful Reeve had made him feel, how good it had felt to be seen and touched, to be desired. The way Reeve had looked at Skye, the way he had claimed her, worshipped her. It hadn’t just felt good—it had felt right. There was nothing wrong with wanting that. And he did want it.

  "You know," Cloud said softly, his voice uncertain but steadying, "I really did enjoy last night." He hesitated, like he needed to hear the words aloud to believe them. "It was... different. But in a good way. It made me feel alive." He looked down, his fingers tightening around the coffee cup, the soft pink polish catching in the light. "Skye... she's who I really am. I'm still figuring her out. Still learning how to let her be real." He glanced up at Reeve, a tentative smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

  “I'm glad,” Reeve said gently, brushing a stray lock of Cloud's hair back behind his ear. His touch lingered for a heartbeat, searching Cloud’s face with quiet intent. “You know, we can figure this out together, if you want to.”

  Cloud nodded slowly, his throat tightening. "I'd like that," he whispered, the words raw and unsteady but real. He meant it—he really did. He felt like a woman. He wanted that. And Reeve, the way he looked at him, the way he touched him, made him feel like one too. It wasn’t just about wanting Reeve—it was about wanting to be seen the way Reeve saw Skye. And in that moment, Cloud wanted that more than anything.

  He leaned in, kissing Reeve softly. There was nothing rushed or eager in it—just a tender gratitude, a quiet yearning to believe in everything Reeve offered. Reeve responded in kind, arms encircling Cloud as he pulled him close. They held each other for a long moment, wrapped in warmth and silence, letting the closeness speak what neither could quite put into words.

  Reeve eventually sighed, untangling himself with reluctant care. "I'd love to stay like this all day," he murmured, brushing a soft kiss against Cloud's cheek, "but duty calls." His touch lingered for a moment before he finally rose, casting one last glance over his shoulder as he moved away.

  Reeve moved around the room with practiced ease, gathering his clothes, slipping into his shirt, and adjusting the collar in the mirror. Cloud watched him from the bed, taking in the confident way Reeve carried himself—the clean lines of his frame, the way his shirt hugged his shoulders. He hadn't really let himself notice it before, but now, in the quiet stillness of morning, he saw it clearly: Reeve was undeniably handsome. A flicker of arousal stirred in Cloud's panties, warmth rising as he remembered the heat of the night before.

  "You, uh... you could come back to bed," Cloud offered, the words coming out a little shy, a little hopeful.

  Reeve smiled warmly at the suggestion, pausing in the middle of buttoning his shirt. "Believe me, I'd love to," he said. "But I really do have to go. Big meeting downtown."

  Cloud tried not to let the disappointment show, but Reeve noticed anyway. He crossed back to the bed, cupping Cloud’s cheek briefly with one hand.

  "Stay as long as you need—no rush. The concierge will let you out whenever you're ready. Do you need a driver?"

  He paused, catching the flicker of uncertainty in Cloud’s eyes as they scanned the floor. "Oh—do you have anything to wear home?"

  Cloud blinked, glancing around the room. His dress lay crumpled on the floor in a shapeless heap, and he frowned, lips pressing into a tight line as he gave a small shake of his head. Reeve chuckled softly. "No worries," he said, disappearing into the closet and reemerging a moment later with a worn but clean tracksuit. "Here, this should fit just fine." He tossed an old Midgar Tech one to Cloud, along with a pair of trainers.

  With a playful wink and a blown kiss, he turned to go. "We'll see each other again soon, right?" he asked, his voice light but threaded with genuine hope.

  Cloud managed a smile, nodding. "Yeah... I'd like that." Reeve’s face lit up at the answer, and with a final smile, he disappeared out of the room.

  Cloud sat still for a moment, the room suddenly feeling larger without Reeve in it. He let out a breath, quiet and long, then slipped out of bed. His body ached in familiar ways, lingering echoes of the night before, but now those aches felt like warmth rather than shame. Padding to the bathroom, he turned on the shower and stood quietly as the water roared to life, steam curling up around him, softening the morning’s sharp edges.

  He stepped in, letting the hot water cascade over him, washing away the lingering traces of Skye’s night—the smeared makeup, the sweat, the scent of Reeve still clinging to him, inside him. Cloud closed his eyes, fingers working through his tangled hair as he watched the last streaks of lipstick swirl down the drain. Slowly, the image of Skye faded in the mirror, leaving behind Cloud—plain, bare, familiar. But inside, she remained. Skye lingered, steady and certain, an ever-growing part of him that wasn't going anywhere.

  He stepped out of the shower, drying off before slipping into the tracksuit Reeve had left for him. The fabric was soft, comfortable, but undeniably masculine. It looked strange on him—too loose in some places, too square in others. He caught himself fiddling with the hem, tugging it in at the waist, trying to shape it into something more feminine without even thinking.

  Then he caught his reflection in the mirror and paused, staring at the face looking back. He laughed softly at himself—he looked like Cloud, daft and posing like a girl. Feeling tired, a little uncertain, but... not bad. Pretty good, actually. Like someone on the edge of something new. Like he was finally starting to figure out who he was, and what he wanted.

  Cloud took a slow, steadying breath, then gathered his things and moved toward the door. It hadn’t been the night he expected—nor the ending he might have imagined—but in many ways, it had been something more. Unexpected, intimate, revealing. Another step forward, another morning light, another chance to piece together who he really was—and who he wanted to become.

Chapter Text

Cloud stood at the edge of the makeshift encampment, the distant silhouette of Fort Condor dark against the bruised evening sky. The wind carried the scent of salt from the nearby coast, mingling with the earthy aroma of the campfires burning around him. Around the camp, his small team moved in practiced efficiency, tightening defenses, counting supplies, readying for tomorrow. Cloud still found a thrill in the work—in the clean rhythm of danger and action, in the way the body moved and fought—but some part of him felt hollow now, as if the battle alone no longer filled the space it once had. Something unnamed gnawed at him beneath the surface, a quiet craving for something softer, something his blade could never touch.

Mia had been in touch before he left. Her message flashed vividly, bright and giddy in his memory. hrough the gloom of the evening. * Hey girl! How did the date go?! I need details—spill everything at rehearsal, okay?! *

Cloud had smiled at her excitement, typing back, *I’ll tell you all about it. Promise. * The idea that Mia saw him—really saw him—as girl, no correction, no hesitation, made something molten coil low in his belly. A thing he barely dared to touch, even in the privacy of his own mind.

He leaned against a worn boulder, the rough stone pressing against his fatigues. Beneath them, delicate lace whispered along his skin, a hidden softness he carried into battle, his own secret rebellion. The lingerie clung lovingly to his body, a tender reminder that he was more than a sword arm and a grim mask. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the fine fabric shift against him as he breathed, and let himself be for just a moment.

The past weeks had been transformative, peeling him apart, piece by stubborn piece. Andrea's strong, sure hands guiding him across the Honeybee stage, hips loosed, voice high and laughing. The whisper of lingerie sliding beneath leather and canvas, a secret between him and the mirror. Mia’s bright affection. Each experience had chipped away at old armor, exposing something tender, something feminine he no longer wanted to deny. It thrilled him. It terrified him. It was him.

Cloud’s PHS buzzed, jarring him from his reverie. He glanced down—Reeve’s name lighting up the screen, and with it, a flood of memory so vivid it stole his breath.

Gods, Reeve.

The last time they’d seen each other—bodies tangled in sweaty, gasping need, the brush of lips against bruised skin, the half-lucid murmurs in the dark—lingered like fingerprints on his soul. The weight of his hands, the taste of him, the blunt surrender of bodies colliding in desperate heat. The way Reeve had pressed him down, murmuring how beautiful he was until Cloud believed it, wanted it, even if just for a breathless moment.

Reeve's message blinked at him: * Hey, sorry I've been so busy with work. I miss you. Let’s meet up soon, even if it’s just for a coffee or something? x*

A stupid little ‘x,’ and yet it made Cloud's heart flutter painfully against his ribs. He reread the message twice, three times, thumb hovering, chest tightening with an ache he didn’t have words for. Someone missed him —not the mercenary, not the weapon—but who he was becoming, fragile and complicated. A part of him wanted to drop everything and run back right then, to chase that warmth. But duty anchored him here. He wasn’t ready yet. Not until the job was done. Not until he could put down the sword and pick up something softer.

The next morning, grey and cold, Cloud set out with the small team supporting him, tracking down the last of the bandits. The ruins were eerily still now, broken walls and shattered towers crouching like skeletons under the bleak sky. Their footsteps echoed through empty halls, weapons drawn, breath steaming in the chill. The last remnants of resistance fell away, the final skirmishes brief and bloody. When the final bandit fled into the wilderness, Cloud stood and watched the trail fade into the wilds, his sword lowering slowly.

He should have felt pride—and some sliver of him did, that sharp, professional satisfaction of a job well done—but the feeling was muted, dwarfed by a deeper yearning. He no longer lived for this alone.

He looked toward the horizon, where the first lights of the distant town winked against the falling dark. Home. Skye. He ached for it now. To strip off the armor and peel away the battered facade; to stand in front of the mirror with painted lips and bare legs, to feel the swish of a skirt and the gentle weight of earrings. To laugh and dance, to slip into softness without shame. To be held—as she was—without apology.

He pulled out his PHS, the screen still showing Reeve’s waiting message. His fingers moved before he could second-guess himself, typing, * Let's do that. x* and sending it off into the evening like a whispered promise.

The lights of the town beckoned, shimmering and alive, and Cloud—no, Skye —turned his steps toward them, letting himself hope, for once, that something beautiful was waiting just ahead.

***

The ornate doors of the Honeybee Inn swung open widely, and Skye, Mia, and a couple of other girls spilled inside together, giggling and chatting in a bright flurry of excitement. The hostess greeted them with a knowing, indulgent smile. "Hi girls!"

Skye caught a glimpse of herself in a mirrored column as they passed, and it tugged sharply at her heart. Her worn fatigues looked so out of place next to the pastel leggings, crop tops, and playful sneakers the others wore. Their clothes hugged their curves, bounced with their movements; meanwhile, Skye's gear hung heavy and shapeless on her frame, like armor she'd forgotten to take off. For a second, she felt a deep ache—a longing to see herself reflected back in soft cotton and pretty colors, like them. Her gaze lingered, her throat tightening—but Mia's laughter pulled her back, the current of conversation sweeping her along. Skye tossed her hair back with an absent minded, feminine flick of her wrist, her hands gesturing animatedly as she chimed in, every line of her body unconsciously mirroring the easy, girlish rhythm of the others. Even bundled in her old gear, she *felt* like one of the girls, and the rush of belonging thrilled her deep to her core.

"Hiya!" they all chimed back, barely glancing up from their chatter, as the hostess waved them through with a knowing chuckle. It was the kind of noisy, silly girl gossip Skye used to watch from a distance—now she was in the thick of it, laughing, blushing, feeling like she belonged, like she fit. The heavy weight of the past slipped off her shoulders, and for once, she let herself just be, carried on the bright, bubbly current of the moment.

Oh my god, the penthouse?" one of the girls shrieked, clutching Skye's arm dramatically. "Sounds like you've done well for yourself here, girl!"

Mia leaned in with a wide, teasing grin. "Tell me about it—she got picked up by his driver, like some kind of movie star!" she said, rolling her eyes affectionately. "Okay, now spill, Skye. Tell us everything that happened after you left my place. Don't leave out a single dirty detail!"

Skye took a deep breath, her cheeks warm, her eyes glittering with a mixture of embrassment and giddy excitement. She wrung her hands slightly, a girlish, fluttery motion she barely noticed. "Okay, okay... So, when I got there, Reeve had this whole spread laid out—charcuterie, wine, the works—and not just any wine, either. Like, expensive wine. The really good stuff."

The girls leaned in closer, their eyes shining, hanging onto every word like it was the most important story they'd ever heard.

"We talked... well, honestly, I talked a lot," Skye said, her voice picking up rhythm, confidence blooming with every breath. "He wanted to know about me—about Skye. And he really listened. Like, he wasn't just nodding along, pretending to care—he wanted to know. About everything. It felt like... like he was seeing the real me, and actually wanted to."

Mia leaned in closer, grinning slyly. "Okay, but was it... you know. Romantic?"

The other girls giggled, their eyes glittering with curiosity.

Skye laughed softly, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "I mean... a little? It was kind of flirty. We were laughing together a lot, and he kept doing these little touches... like his hand brushing my arm, or resting lightly on my back when he leaned in. And then..." she trailed off, her cheeks flushing as she remembered. "He told me I looked free. Like... free in a way he hadn't seen before. And then he said..."

She paused, smiling shyly. "He said I looked beautiful."

The girls squealed, grinning at each other.

Mia bumped Skye's shoulder playfully. "Girl, come on. He gets it. He's not just into you—he sees you. And he is totally into you."

Skye laughed, a soft, bubbling sound as her cheeks flushed even deeper. "Yeah... I think he is," she said, her eyes twinkling with a shy excitement. "It felt amazing. Like he truly saw me—really saw me—and he liked what he saw."

As the group were talking, they had started getting changed for rehearsal, all pulling off their casual clothes and getting into their leotards and leggings. Skye, caught up in her story, didn’t even realize she had stripped down to her underwear with them—her penis tucked away securely—as she slipped into her leotard like the rest of the girls.

Skye blushed deeply, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her leotard, but she had promised Mia she would tell everything—no matter how embarrassing. To her surprise, as she spoke, she realized she was enjoying telling the story, swept up in the giddy thrill of it, feeling more and more like one of the girls. "And that's when... things started getting a little—hot," she confessed, her voice breathless with excitement.

One of the other girls gasped, covering her mouth dramatically. "No way!"

Skye laughed breathlessly, nodding, "Way," her cheeks flushed pink, feeling her heart hammer harder just from remembering, completely oblivious to her state of undress. "Reeve asked me to dance," she said, her voice trembling with excitement. "I couldn't believe it at first, but... the lessons had really paid off. He led, and I followed, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It felt like every movement was just for him, as if we were perfectly in sync."

Mia grinned, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Look at you, Miss Honeybee Inn! So, you danced together... and then what happened?" she asked, handing Skye a hairband as they sauntered over to the mirrors, a playful nudge in her voice that made Skye blush even harder.

Skye slid the hairband into her hair, sitting down as Mia began styling her hair a little. "We kissed," she admitted, her voice a little breathless, her cheeks glowing pink. "It wasn't just a peck, either. It was a real kiss—deep and slow and… and so tender. When our lips met, I swear everything else just melted away. It was like the world disappeared, and there was only us."

The girls around her gasped and squealed, a chorus of delighted giggles filling the air. One of them clutched her chest dramatically. "Your first kiss with him—and it was like that? Ugh, that's the dream!" Mia grinned wide, as she finished with Skye's hair. "Girl, you’re living a romance novel right now!" Skye covered her face with her hands, laughing and blushing even harder, but inside she was glowing, feeling more like one of them than ever.

Skye ducked her head shyly, her voice dropping to a softer, breathier pitch as she continued, her cheeks a deep, rosy pink. "It didn't stop at the kiss..." she admitted, her words tumbling out in an excited rush. "Things got... really heated. He pulled me down onto the sofa and his hands were everywhere, touching me, slipping under my dress..."

They were moving into the rehearsal room where the other dancers were starting to warm up, the atmosphere hushed in comparison to the bustle of earlier. Skye pressed her hands to her burning cheeks for a moment, giggling breathlessly. "It felt incredible, electric—like every part of me was alive and wanted. And then..." she paused, her voice dropping to a whisper, "he asked me to stay the night." 

Mia's jaw dropped.  "Oh my god, you didn't!" she squealed, her eyes wide with excitement.

Skye looked down, a shy smile on her lips. "I did." Her voice was soft, barely audible, but the other girls caught it.

The girls erupted into a chorus of gasps, shrieks, and delighted laughter, the noise bouncing off the studio walls. One girl dropped her water bottle with a loud clatter, her hands flying to her mouth in shock.

"No way! Skye! Oh my god!" another squealed, grabbing Mia's arm bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement.

Mia laughed loudest of all, grabbing Skye's hands and pulling them away from her flushed face. "Skye! You slut !" she teased with mock outrage. "You have to tell us more—details, girl, we need details!"

Skye buried her face in her hands, laughing helplessly, her whole body vibrating with excitement as the girls' squeals and teasing washed over her. It was a lot—almost too much—but she couldn't help being swept along by their joy, even as it left her a little breathless.

Then, seeing Skye's overwhelmed expression through the excitement, Mia's teasing softened. She reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Skye's ear with a gentleness that steadied the air between them. Her voice dropped to a warmer, quieter note. "Hey... seriously though. This is a big deal. How was it? Are you okay?"

Before Skye could respond to Mia, Andrea's voice rang out from the front of the room. "We don't have all day for you to chat, ladies! Focus up, please! Especially you, Skye. We're not having a repeat of last time, are we, darling?" Andrea added with a teasing smile, making Skye's cheeks flush even deeper.

The girls straightened, Mia throwing Skye a look that clearly said, "This isn't over," before they turned their attention to Andrea, ready to start rehearsal. The room soon filled with the rhythmic sounds of feet hitting the floor, their focus shifting entirely to the dance.

As Skye took her position for the dance, her mind wandered back to that night. The doubts she had felt in the immediate aftermath had faded with distance. All that remained was a feeling of exhilaration and warmth. She remembered the way Reeve had touched her, how he made her feel so feminine, so undeniably beautiful. His eyes had been full of awe, and she had felt herself melt under his gaze, her body moving with his in a perfect, intimate rhythm.

She remembered the raw ecstasy of it—how he had awakened feelings she'd never experienced before, her heart racing in ways she never thought possible. It wasn't just about lust; it was about being truly wanted, truly seen, for who she was. Every kiss, every touch had spoken volumes, telling her she was beautiful, she was worthy. The vulnerability she had felt had transformed into something powerful, something transformative.

This transformation started to show in the way she danced. Something had shifted, and she finally let go of all her doubts and inhibitions. Skye moved with a newfound grace and confidence—her body flowing like water, her movements imbued with a deep sense of purpose and emotion. She danced beautifully, her every step an expression of who she truly was, embodying both strength and elegance. She was captivating, moving better than she ever had before, her energy surpassing most of the room, radiating a beauty that came from within.

As they broke from the dance, Andrea nodded at Skye approvingly. Mia came dashing over, eyes wide with excitement.  "Damn girl, whatever happened, it's definitely working for you!"

She shot a quick look at the other girls—a silent, knowing glance that clearly said they needed a little privacy, then she grabbed Skye’s hand and gently tugged her a few steps aside, out of earshot. Mia squeezed her hand, her voice softening with curiosity. "But seriously, how was it? Tell me everything."

Skye took a deep breath, her voice quiet but steady. "We went to the bedroom, and he kissed me—everywhere. He made me feel so special, and I wanted to do the same for him." She paused, cheeks burning. "I went down on him," Skye admitted, her cheeks burning hotter. Mia's eyebrows lifted slightly, a curious glint in her eye.

"Was that... your first time doing that?" Mia asked gently.

Skye nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah. It was... weird at first," she admitted. "Especially with Reeve. I mean, after everything—having been... you know, a man—it felt strange for a moment. But he enjoyed it so much. And seeing that, feeling that, made me feel good. It felt powerful, feminine, to please him like that. Like I was right where I belonged."

Mia smiled warmly, squeezing Skye's hand. "I'm glad you liked it," she said simply, her voice full of genuine happiness.

Skye beamed back and continued, her voice trembling slightly with the weight of what she was sharing. "And then... the things he said, the way he touched me, where he touched me... I just had to have him." She paused, her cheeks burning, the reality of it all sinking deeper into her words. "He... he took me. Properly. It was all my first time—with a man, as a woman, everything." Her voice dropped even softer, the enormity of it making her breath catch for a moment. She hesitated, glancing at Mia, who gave her a supportive little nod, her eyes full of understanding and pride. Mia smiled warmly and tilted her head. "And... was it good?" she asked, her voice gentle, genuinely curious.

"Skye smiled shyly, her voice soft but sure. "It was all new, and... yeah, it was a little strange sometimes," she admitted. "Before, I was always the one taking the lead—making love to a woman—and now, here I was, being taken as one." She took a breath, steadying herself. "It was different, even painful at times and a little uncomfortable in places. But it felt good too. Really good. To be wanted like that." She hugged her arms around herself, the memory making her heart pound faster. "I just let myself go with it. Reeve was so gentle, but also powerful—the way he took charge, the way he took me. It made me feel beautiful. Feminine. Like I was truly a woman.""

Mia's face softened, her eyes misty with emotion. Without hesitation, she pulled Skye into a hug, her voice warm and full of pride. "Hey, I'm so proud of you, Skye," she said. "You followed your heart and did what was right for you. That's beautiful and I hope it was everything you dreamed it would be."

Skye nodded, her smile turning brighter. "I think it was," she whispered. "It made me feel like the woman I've always wanted to be. And it felt amazing."

Mia smiled warmly, her eyes soft with understanding. "The first time isn't always perfect," she said gently, squeezing Skye again. "But it's yours—your experience, your moment. And as long as you enjoyed it, if it made you feel beautiful and alive, that's what really matters."

Skye smiled back at Mia, her heart swelling with gratitude and pride. Before she could say more, Andrea clapped his hands sharply, signaling the start of the session again. Skye moved back into position, her body flowing effortlessly with a renewed sense of grace and joy.

As she danced, she caught Mia beaming at her with pride and noticed a few admiring, even envious glances from the other girls. But Skye hardly noticed. She was lost in the rhythm, her body and spirit moving as one, her feminine grace shining through every step, every turn.

She had never felt more alive, more fully herself—and it radiated from her, bright and unmistakable.

As the session ended, Andrea clapped his hands one last time, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. Andrea clapped his hands sharply, drawing everyone's attention. "Great session, everyone," he said with a knowing smile, his eyes lingering for a moment on Mia and Skye's little group. "Once we all focused up, that is!" he added, a teasing lilt in his voice. As the dancers began to disperse, Andrea caught Skye's eye and gestured her over. "Skye, come over here for a moment."

Skye approached, her heart still pounding from the intensity of the dance. Andrea's eyes were filled with a mix of pride and something else—a hint of excitement, a spark that made her stomach flutter.

"You were incredible today, Skye," Andrea said, his voice warm and sincere. "I always knew you had it in you, but now it's really shining out for everyone to see. The grace, the power, the emotion—you lit up the whole room."

He paused, tilting his head slightly as if studying her anew. "Whatever's changed inside you—keep it. You've tapped into something deeper, something real. It's beautiful to watch."

Skye swallowed hard, her heart soaring at his words.

"And you know what?" Andrea continued, his smile widening. "I think we can push you even harder. You're only scratching the surface of what you can do. There's more inside you, Skye. So much more. And I can't wait to see it."

A flutter of nerves mixed with excitement churned in Skye’s chest, but she met his gaze steadily. "Yes," she said, her voice clear and unwavering. "I'm ready."

Andrea’s smile turned approving, almost a little proud. "Good. Let’s keep that fire going," he said. "You're just getting started."

Skye went to change as the other dancers were starting to leave. Spotting Mia pulling on her shoes, she gathered up the things she had borrowed for her date and made her way over. Mia looked up at her with a warm, knowing smile.

"I heard a bit of what Andrea said—he's right, you know. You're really blossoming, Skye. I'm so pleased for you."

Skye blushed, a shy smile tugging at her lips, then shifted awkwardly, holding out the bundle in her arms. "I've got your stuff from the date..." she said, then added, her voice thick with gratitude, "Thank you so much, Mia. Not just for the loan, but for everything."

Mia batted her hand away playfully, laughing. "Anytime! That's what girlfriends do for each other."

Skye felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of happiness and warmth at that—at the simple, easy way Mia said it. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, Mia added, "Keep the dress—it sounds like it does more for you than it ever did me."

Skye hesitated, fiddling shyly with the hem. "Are you sure? I mean... I love it, but—"

Mia laughed and waved her off. "Yeah, of course! It definitely worked for you!" she said, winking. Skye grinned, feeling a flutter of happiness in her chest. "But don't think I've forgotten about the rest of your wardrobe, girl," Mia added, grinning slyly. "You busy tomorrow?"

Skye shook her head, curious.

"Good," Mia said, her eyes lighting up. "We're going on a road trip. It's time to go shopping!

***

Mia's car pulled up in front of Cloud's building, a little compact vehicle that seemed to burst with her personality—bright, cheerful, and full of energy. Mia climbed out, two cups of coffee in her hands, her face lighting up as she saw Cloud waiting by the door, dressed in his usual fatigues.

"Morning, Skye! Got your favorite," she called, a wide grin spreading across her face as she hurried over. She thrust one of the cups into Cloud's hands, barely slowing down.

Cloud took the cup with a small smile, his fingers brushing against hers in the exchange. "Thanks, Mia," he said, his voice a soft blend of warmth and shyness. He had grown used to Mia calling him Skye—she seemed to see through everything, always treating him like the girl he sometimes dreamed of being. It was never forced, never pointed out—just natural, like she was giving him permission to be more himself.

"Alright, no time to waste! Let’s hit the road!" Mia said brightly, practically bouncing on her heels with excitement. She grabbed Cloud's free hand and tugged him toward the car.

Cloud chuckled under his breath, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest ease just a little as he slid into the passenger seat.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Mia shot him a quick, conspiratorial glance. "So," she said, drawing out the word, "I've been thinking. We’re not just going to hit up the same old shops in Midgar today."

Cloud looked over at her, eyebrows raised. "No?"

Mia grinned wider. "Nope. Too many familiar faces. Too many people who know 'Cloud the tough guy.' We need somewhere fresh, somewhere you can breathe a little. Sooo... we're heading to Kalm!"

Cloud blinked, startled. "Kalm?" His mind flashed back unbidden to the day he'd found Aerith’s package in the church—the first real step down this strange, beautiful path he was on.

Mia nodded, her ponytail bouncing. "Yep. It's a short trip, but far enough that you don't have to worry about running into anyone you know. And," she added, her voice lilting with excitement, "they have the cutest little boutiques. Stuff that’s just waiting for a girl like you to find it."

He hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around the coffee cup. A part of him was still so used to pulling back, to hiding. But Mia’s energy was infectious, her confidence in him unwavering. Cloud felt a small, shy smile tug at his lips.

"Alright... I guess that makes sense," he said. "Thanks, Mia."

"Hey, what are besties for?" Mia said, nudging his arm playfully.

The city gave way to rolling hills as they reached the highway. The morning sun cast long, golden rays across the road ahead.

Mia glanced at him again, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh, and speaking of things to look forward to—" she began casually, "—are you seeing Reeve again soon?"

Cloud ducked his head slightly, a soft pink creeping onto his cheeks. "We haven't set anything officially... but he did ask me out for coffee."

Mia’s grin turned absolutely wicked. "Mmm, 'coffee,' huh?" She waggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly. "We all know what that means. You're totally putting out again, you little minx."

Cloud nearly choked on his coffee, his face turning a deep, brilliant red. "Mia! It's just coffee! In the middle of the day! At a real coffee shop!"

She burst into laughter, the sound bright and full of mischief. She nudged his shoulder affectionately. "Relax, Skye. I’m teasing you. Kinda. But seriously—coffee’s good. It means he’s not just looking for a one-night thing. It means he wants to get to know you."

Cloud let out a shaky laugh, the flustered feeling still burning in his chest, but there was relief too—relief that Mia believed in him, in this fragile new thing he was daring to hope for. "Yeah... I hope so," he said quietly.

The rest of the drive passed in an easy, lively rhythm. Mia turned up an upbeat playlist, singing along without a care in the world. Cloud was shy at first, but her laughter was contagious, and little by little, he found himself joining in—tentatively at first, then with growing confidence. He laughed at Mia's over-the-top dance moves behind the wheel, letting himself be swept up in her carefree energy.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Cloud forgot to be cautious. He forgot to measure every move, every word. For a little while, he just was —two girlfriends heading off on a silly, wonderful adventure. It was simple, it was freeing, and it felt good.

***

As Mia parked the car in Kalm, she practically bounced out of the driver’s seat, practically vibrating with excitement. Cloud followed much more slowly, sliding out with a hesitant breath, nerves twisting in his stomach. The idea of dressing up—of maybe letting Skye peek through—was a little exciting, he couldn't deny that. But doing it here, out in public, where people could see him? That thought left him feeling like he was walking into a battlefield without his armor. He lingered by the car for a moment, stealing a glance at Mia, who beamed at him with so much warmth and confidence that he couldn't help but take a tentative step forward.

"Alright, first thing’s first," Mia declared, pointing at his worn SOLDIER fatigues, her eyes narrowing in mock seriousness. "We need to do something about these. Not get rid of them completely, but c’mon, Skye—you deserve better."

Cloud glanced down at his outfit, giving a small, nervous chuckle. "I guess they are getting a little old," he admitted, fidgeting with one of the straps. "But... they’re easy, you know? Comfortable. It’s what I'm used to."

"Where should we start then? Lingerie? Because you certainly don’t need any more of that," Mia joked, her tone light and teasing. Cloud frowned at her, and she stepped closer, gently resting a hand on his arm.

"I get that," Mia said warmly, her voice softening as she stepped even closer. "There’s safety in the familiar. I understand, Cloud. I really do. But today isn’t about staying in the familiar. It’s about giving yourself space to grow, to explore a little more of the girl I know is inside you."

Cloud's throat tightened slightly, and his gaze dropped to his scuffed boots. Mia’s kindness was disarming, peeling away defenses he barely knew he was clinging to. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself.

"And hey," Mia added with a bright, teasing smile, "we’re not burning your tough guy card. You can still be the badass merc. I just happen to think Skye’s got a killer sense of style waiting to come out, and today, we’re letting her have some fun."

Cloud met her gaze, the corner of his mouth tugging into a shy, reluctant smile. "Alright... Let’s give it a shot," he said, voice low but steady.

"That’s the spirit!" Mia chirped, linking her arm with his and tugging him toward a nearby store. "Let’s find something that makes you feel like a million gil."

The store smelled faintly of lavender and leather, cozy and welcoming, with a blend of men's and women's styles lining the racks—sharp jackets and rugged boots beside floaty dresses and delicate blouses and everything in between. For Cloud, it was both thrilling and terrifying but Mia wasted no time, darting between racks and grabbing clothes with practiced ease.

"We’ll start simple," she said, pulling a few comfortable shirts, androgynous jeans, casual sweaters, and soft hoodies into a growing pile. Cloud trailed after her, arms folded loosely across his chest in an effort to look casual, detached—like he wasn't here for himself. But it was hard to keep up the act when his gaze kept snagging on things: a fluttery sundress in pale yellow, a sleek navy-blue slip dress, a soft pink blouse with delicate lace trim. He would linger a second too long, then force himself to glance away as if he hadn't been interested at all.

Worse, he was certain he could feel eyes on him—watching, judging—and every time that prickling sensation crept along his skin, his chest tightened. But whenever he dared to sneak a glance around, nobody seemed to be paying him any attention. The other shoppers were wrapped up in their own errands, oblivious. It had to be just his nerves, he told himself—a trick of his anxious mind. Still, the paranoia clung to him, keeping him jumpy, even as a small, guilty thrill sparked every time his gaze caught on a particularly pretty dress or blouse, imagining, just for a second, what it might feel like to wear them.

Mia noticed, of course, but didn't call him out on it. Instead, she plucked out a mix of styles—some leaning masculine, some flirting with femininity—and casually held up items she thought might make him light up. She drifted into the accessories section, her fingers dancing over scarves, belts, and a pair of delicate dangling earrings she lifted with an impish grin.

"Accessories are key, trust me," she said, winking at him as she added them to the growing pile. Cloud gave a small, almost grudging smile, secretly pleased but doing his best to look unimpressed.

Cloud opened his mouth to protest—something about not being ready, about needing more time—but Mia was already shoving an armful of clothes into his arms, herding him toward the fitting rooms with an unstoppable energy. "Nope," she said breezily, brushing aside whatever excuse he hadn't even managed to voice. "You're doing this, Skye. Trust me."

"But—" Cloud started to say, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"No buts," Mia cut him off firmly, flashing him a teasing grin. "You're going to try on everything I picked. No excuses." him off firmly, flashing him a teasing grin. "If you can't handle this, you're going to have a really rough time with what I've got planned after lunch."

Cloud shot her a suspicious look, clutching the clothes to his chest. His heart thudded painfully, nerves fraying at the edges. He cast a glance down at the pile—most of it was women's clothing, sure, but looking closer, a lot of it could pass at a glance. Simple cuts, neutral colors, nothing too frilly or obvious. If he didn't overthink it, if he carried himself with enough confidence, most people probably wouldn't even realize. Swallowing down his anxiety, he ducked behind the curtain, determined to at least try.

Inside the small space, Cloud took a steadying breath and decided to start simple—something not too far from what he was used to. Stripping down first, he shivered slightly in the cooler air, left standing in the simple nude satin lingerie Mia had suggested he wear underneath. He felt ridiculous—standing there in just a bra and panties in a public changing room, even if no one could see him—and a fresh wave of nerves threatened to crash over him. He rushed to pull something on, grabbing a fitted black turtleneck and a pair of dark jeans from the pile.

Sliding into them felt strangely familiar, and yet... different. The jeans hugged a little closer to his hips than he was used to, cut for curves he didn't quite have, and the turtleneck was snug in a way that accentuated his frame without feeling suffocating. It was subtle—nothing that screamed ‘girl’ at a glance—but he could feel the difference, and oddly, it felt good. Brushing invisible dust from his sleeves, he braced himself and stepped out.

Mia let out a low whistle.

"Okay, okay, look at you! That’s sleek as hell," Mia said, clapping her hands together. She stepped closer, her eyes sparkling. "But more importantly... what do you think, Skye? How does it feel?" Her voice was softer now, inviting, giving Cloud space to say something real if he wanted to.

Cloud shifted awkwardly under her gaze, fidgeting with the hem of the turtleneck. "It feels... different," he admitted, his voice low. He caught Mia's eye, seeing nothing but encouragement there, and that gave him a little more courage. "Not bad different, though. It feels... kind of good. Comfortable."

Mia beamed, her excitement radiating off her in waves. "See? I knew it! You're already starting to feel it, Skye. Just trust yourself a little. Keep going." She stepped back and waved him toward the fitting room with a wink. "Let's see the next one!"

Outfit after outfit, he changed. A soft gray hoodie over a crisp white tee. Slim-fit cargo pants paired with a lightweight bomber jacket. Each time he stepped out, Mia's enthusiastic compliments and genuine excitement chipped a little more away at his self-consciousness. Slowly, he started to relax, realizing this wasn't so bad—in fact, it was kind of fun. He found himself savoring the feel of the clothes against his skin, the subtle way they fit just a little differently, designed with a softness and flow he hadn’t realized he craved. It changed how he stood, how he carried himself, letting a hidden part of him peek through. For the first time, he wasn't just tolerating the process—he was starting to enjoy it.

"Now we're starting to get somewhere," Mia said brightly, handing him a new set of clothes. She tilted her head, her grin encouraging. "Let’s try and hit that badass yet feminine vibe we talked about—strong, stylish, but with just the right hint of softness. I think you're gonna love this one, Skye."

She selected a dark navy double-breasted peacoat with gold buttons, a fitted black tank top, slim camo-patterned trousers, and lace-up ankle boots with a subtle wedge. Cloud studied himself in the mirror, turning slightly. The outfit looked sharp, practical—like something a mercenary might wear when they wanted to look good but still be ready for anything. He could fight in this, he thought, and that realization settled something nervous inside him. But there was a softness to it too, an elegance that he wasn't used to seeing on himself. It was still him, but it hinted at something... more. Something freer.

He couldn't deny it—he kind of loved how it looked, how it made him feel. Strong, but lighter somehow, more himself. Still, nerves gnawed at the edges of his newfound confidence.

"Is it... too much?" he asked, glancing at Mia through the mirror, his voice tentative.

"What do you think?" he asked cautiously.

Mia stepped closer, her expression softening into something more serious. She met his gaze firmly, offering him the kind of steady warmth he was learning to lean into. "Skye," she said, voice low but certain, "you look incredible. Strong, confident—and still you. It's not too much. It's you finally showing a little more of who you are."

She smiled then, bright and genuine. "And you know what? You wear it like it was made for you. Trust yourself. You're doing amazing."

Cloud flushed slightly but gave a shy smile, smoothing his hands down the peacoat. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror again and, almost shyly, struck a small pose—just a tilt of his hip, a slight shift in his stance. It was subtle, but undeniable: there was a little bit of Skye peeking through now. And it looked... good. Better than he'd expected.

He turned back to Mia, a spark of real excitement in his eyes. "This is great," he admitted. "This was the last one in the pile, right? So... are we all done?"

Mia grinned brightly, shaking her head. "Done? Not quite yet, gorgeous. One more—something softer. Humor me, okay?"

Cloud hesitated, chewing his bottom lip, nerves twisting again at the thought of stepping even further outside his comfort zone. But Mia’s bright, hopeful smile, made him feel safe. After a beat, he finally nodded, a small, uncertain smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Maybe—just maybe—this wasn't as terrifying as he thought.

The next outfit was a little terrifying, but he'd promised to try everything on. It was an oversized cream sweater that slid off one shoulder, paired with skinny jeans that hugged his legs just right, and low-top canvas sneakers—cute, casual, like something a girl would wear for a day out with friends. It was overtly feminine, far more than anything he had tried so far. He liked it—he really liked it—but it was obvious it was a girl's outfit. He couldn't imagine wearing something like this in the store, let alone making it part of his regular wardrobe. Cloud stared at the outfit for a long moment, heart pounding. He called out softly, "Mia... are you sure about this?"

"Yes!" Mia's voice came back brightly without hesitation. "You promised you'd try everything on, remember?"

Taking a deep breath, Cloud steeled himself. He was nervous—terrified someone might see him like this—but he owed it to Mia. And maybe, he owed it to himself too. Slowly, he pulled the sweater over his head, smoothing it down with trembling hands. The soft material sat on him in a way that made his chest flutter, and the snug fit of the jeans along his legs made him feel—feminine. . And despite the nerves gnawing at him, it felt… good.

Bracing himself, Cloud stepped out, heart hammering and Mia practically squealed in delight.

"Skye, that’s it ! You look adorable!"

Cloud flushed scarlet, fidgeting with the hem of the sweater—certain he could feel eyes on him, watching, judging. But when he glanced around, nobody seemed to even notice; the only eyes on him were Mia's, and hers were shining with pride. Maybe this was okay. Maybe he could do this. He turned back to the mirror, studying himself more carefully. He looked... cute. Almost pretty, even. The way the sweater hung loose and long, down to his mid-thigh with just a hint of his bra strap peeking from the off-shoulder cut, suggested there could be curves underneath. And the skinny jeans clung snugly to his legs and calves, making them look good—sexy, even—in a way that felt undeniably feminine. It wasn't loud or jarring. It just... fit. It felt good.

Mia bounced in excitement. "Let’s wear that out! You’d be the cutest girl in Kalm!"

Cloud shook his head quickly, nervousness crashing over him. For a crazy moment, he wondered if he could—could he really walk out like this, looking so openly feminine, soft, pretty? No, that was too much. Too fast. "I don’t think I’m ready for that... in public," he said, voice small, the weight of it pressing down on him again.

Mia’s expression softened immediately. She squeezed his arm gently. "That’s okay, sweetheart. Baby steps." She paused, tilting her head. "Is there anything you’d feel comfortable wearing out?"

Cloud hesitated, then gave a small smile. "Maybe the last one? The badass peacoat and the camo pants?"

Mia’s face lit up with genuine pride. "Perfect! I’m so proud of you, Skye. You’re going to look amazing." Relieved, Cloud nodded. "But," Mia said, lifting her pinky, "you have to promise to wear that sweater outfit when you go for coffee with Reeve."

Cloud huffed a soft laugh, hooking his pinky around hers. "I promise."

After they paid—the cashier not even batting an eyelid at the selection of clothes, shoes and accessories, much to Cloud's immense relief—Mia led the way to a sunny little café nearby. Cloud followed, feeling surprisingly comfortable in his new outfit. The peacoat fit him perfectly, and the camo pants and boots gave him a quiet confidence he hadn’t expected. He even caught himself walking a little differently—straighter, lighter, with a subtle ease in his step. Maybe pushing his comfort zone at the end, even just a little, had made this feel more natural, more acceptable. And maybe, just maybe, he could start getting used to the feeling.

They slid into a cozy booth, the air warm and fragrant with the smell of fresh bread and coffee. Mia ordered for them both, and as they waited, she reached across the table to give Cloud's hand a squeeze.

"I’m so proud of you," she said warmly, her voice low and genuine. "I know it’s not easy stepping outside your comfort zone like this. But you’re doing it, Skye. And you’re doing amazing."

Cloud ducked his head, a shy smile playing on his lips. "Thanks, Mia. I’m not... completely there yet. But it feels good."

Mia grinned at him over the table, her eyes sparkling. "You look good too, you know," she said warmly.

They ate a light lunch together, the conversation easy and flowing. Cloud found himself relaxing more with every bite, the earlier tension easing out of his shoulders. The café buzzed softly around them, but in their little booth, everything felt calm, comfortable.

They finished their meal and Mia glanced at him over her coffee, smiling warmly. "You look a lot more comfortable now," she observed.

Cloud nodded, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. "I am," he admitted. "You were right to push me a little."

"Good," Mia said, giving his hand one last affectionate squeeze before letting go. Her grin turned playful, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Because now that we've got the basics sorted... it's time for the real fun to start."

Cloud lifted an eyebrow warily, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. "Wait, what? Basics? I thought we were done," he said, unable to hide the nervous edge in his voice.

"Oh we're not even close to done" Mia’s grin turned wicked. "Date night outfits!" she practically sang, hopping up from her seat and tugging him up by the hand. "You’re not getting off that easy, Skye. If you’re going to knock Reeve’s socks off, we need to find you something that screams gorgeous."

Cloud stammered a half-hearted protest, but Mia was already dragging him back toward the boutiques, her laughter trailing behind her like a ribbon in the wind.

"Come on, Skye! Let’s show the world what you’re made of!"

They headed down the street, Cloud's nerves building with every step as they neared an upscale boutique filled with flowing dresses, shimmery fabrics, and elegant silhouettes. By the time they stopped outside, his anxiety had peaked, his heart hammering in his chest. He opened his mouth to tell Mia he couldn't do this, that it was too much—but before he could even finish the thought, she slipped her hand firmly around his arm, giving him a reassuring tug forward with a confidence that left no room for doubt.

"Here we go," she said softly, her reassuring smile giving him just enough courage as she pushed open the door. A small chime sounded as they entered, the boutique quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric. A young girl at the counter glanced up, giving them a disinterested look before returning to her work. A handful of women were browsing the racks, their soft murmurs blending into the tranquil atmosphere.

Cloud shifted uncomfortably, feeling out of place amid the feminine setting. Even in his new outfit it felt as if every eye in the boutique was on him, judging, questioning. Mia, sensing his tension, gave his arm a light squeeze and gently led him further into the shop, away from the entrance. She moved easily among the displays, her voice light as she said, "Oh, there's some really nice stuff in here."

Cloud wished he felt as at ease as she did. The dresses on display were gorgeous—a dazzling array of styles, from elegant gowns to playful sundresses—and despite himself, he felt his hand drifting toward a flowing, sky-blue dress. Before he could fully appreciate the soft fabric between his fingers, a customer nearby gave a pointed cough. Cloud snatched his hand back as if burned, his face flushing hot with embarrassment.

Mia leaned closer, her voice low and reassuring. "Hey, just try and relax. I want this to be fun for you."

Cloud hesitated, glancing around nervously. "I'm worried," he admitted. "People are definitely looking at me. What if they say something?"

Mia squeezed his hand gently, drawing his attention back to her. "What if they do?" she said with a soft shrug. "Just focus on me and you—no one else matters. Try and enjoy yourself, okay?" Her voice was steady, warm, and full of quiet encouragement.

Reassured by her words, Cloud managed a small, hesitant smile. "Okay," he said softly, trying to push aside his nerves. He stepped a little closer to Mia, pretending to browse the racks with her, though his shoulders remained tense and his movements stiff. Every now and then, he glanced around uneasily, still feeling the weight of imagined stares, but determined to trust Mia and let himself try.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," Mia said gently, lifting a soft lavender off-shoulder maxi dress adorned with delicate floral embroidery and holding it up for Cloud. "But you always look so good in lavender at rehearsal, and I think this would be just perfect for you..."

Cloud stared at the dress, unable to do anything but stare, it was gorgeous. He imagined how it would look, how it would feel to wear it—the soft, luxurious fabric brushing against his skin, the delicate embroidery shimmering with his every movement. A small, thrilling excitement stirred within him, but it was quickly overtaken by panic. The thought of actually wearing it here, risking being seen by these strangers, made his heart race with fear.

Mia noticed the conflicting emotions flickering across his face and softened her tone, lowering the dress slightly as she leaned in closer. "Just ignore everything else," she whispered, her voice steady and full of quiet warmth. "If you want to wear it, then wear it—this is all about you." She held the dress out to him, her smile tender. "And I can see you really want to. Take a breath, try it on, and see how it feels."

She was right. He really did want to wear that dress—more than anything. Moving on instinct before doubt could drag him down, Cloud clutched the lavender gown and darted toward the changing room, his cheeks burning. Every step felt agonizingly loud, the imagined weight of every gaze in the shop bearing down on him. His heart thundered as he slipped behind the curtain, the thin fabric a flimsy shield against the world outside.

Even so, he couldn't block out the sharp, hushed whispers.

"...Did that guy just go into the changing rooms? Is he...?"

"...More like a pathetic he-she."

The cruel words sliced into him, feeding the fear he fought so hard to suppress. Cloud squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the dress in his hands like a lifeline, desperately clinging to Mia's encouragement. This moment was supposed to be for him—about choosing to be who he wanted to be—and he wasn't about to let fear steal it away.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus, shutting out the world beyond the thin curtain. The dress was incredibly pretty—a soft lavender dream, its delicate floral embroidery catching the light like a field of stars. The chiffon fabric slid luxuriously between his fingers, light and airy, almost as if it could carry him away. It was the kind of dress that didn't just belong in a dream—it was a dream.

For a moment, Cloud let himself forget the harsh whispers outside. He pictured himself wearing it, feeling the cool silk against his skin, the way the flounces would swirl with each step. He imagined seeing a reflection that matched the girl he wanted to be—free, graceful, beautiful. A sharp ache rose in his chest, so raw and so desperate it almost hurt.

Gods, he wanted this. He wanted to be her. He wanted to step out and claim it, even if it terrified him. Even if the world thought he didn't belong.

He pushed everything else away, clinging to the fragile dream he couldn't let go. Just for now, there was no judgment, no fear—only the secret, desperate hope fluttering in his chest. He slipped the dress over his body, feeling the soft, weightless fabric settle around him like a whispered promise. The delicate flounces brushed his skin, sending a shiver through him, a sensation that was both tender and electrifying. It wasn't just a dress—it was a glimpse of the person he longed to be, wrapping him in a quiet, aching embrace he hadn't dared believe he could have.

He lingered for a moment behind the curtain, his hands trembling slightly as he smoothed the dress down. He wanted to see himself—wanted to be brave enough to step out like this, to be seen not as someone pretending, but as the girl he longed to be. Heart hammering in his chest, he closed his eyes for a second, gathering every scrap of courage he had.

Then, before he could lose his nerve, Cloud stepped out into the boutique.

Mia's eyes widened, her lips parting in a delighted gasp.

"Skye, you look fantastic."

Cloud turned to look in the mirror, his breath catching. It was still his face, his body staring back—but the dress, the delicate swirl of lavender and shimmering embroidery, felt so unmistakably Skye . He could truly see her—the girl he wanted to be—gazing back at him from the glass. The dress didn't hide him; it revealed something truer, something beautiful. Instead of feeling exposed, he felt...

The moment was interrupted by a sneering voice from one of the customers. "Fantastic? More like fantastically out of place. What’s he even trying to be?" Her companion snorted, adding fuel to the cruelty with a derisive laugh.

Mia spun around instantly, her eyes flashing with fury. "Oh, you're just jealous because she can pull it off and you can't," she said sharply, her voice dripping with biting venom. The two women looked taken aback, one opening her mouth to protest—but Mia cut her off without hesitation. "So why don't you just fuck off before you embarrass yourselves even more?" Her words cracked through the boutique, crisp and unwavering.

The offenders, stunned into silence by Mia's ferocity, muttered something under their breath and turned away, disappearing quickly toward the door, leaving behind a stunned silence that hung in the air for a moment until the remaining customer spoke up with a warm smile.

"Honestly, I think you look fantastic in lavender too," the woman said with a supportive smile. The shop girl chuckled from behind the counter, nodding in agreement. Cloud's face turned a bright shade of red, the embarrassment blending with a shy, swelling sense of pride. Before he could say anything, Mia beamed at him and pulled him into a comforting hug, her warmth chasing away the last lingering doubts.

Cloud stared at Mia, astonished, momentarily forgetting he was standing there in public, wrapped in a delicate, flowing lavender dress. He blinked, a stunned smile tugging at his lips. "I didn't know you had that in you," he said, his voice soft with admiration and a touch of disbelief.

Mia smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. "Nobody says that to my friend," she said firmly. Then, softening, she added, "There’s always going to be morons in the world, Skye. You’ve just got to face them."

Cloud looked sheepish now, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah... it's not like I've struggled to face things before—Shinra, Sephiroth, the Weapons," he said with an awkward chuckle. Mia's eyes widened in astonishment, clearly not expecting that kind of resume. Cloud shrugged a little, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "It's just that... facing all this," he said, gesturing down at himself, "feels different. I feel scared. Vulnerable, in a way I never did before."

"It's a different kind of bravery," Mia said softly. "If anything, this might be even braver—defying expectations, confronting who you really are." She shook her head in amazement, laughing lightly. "Although, I had no idea you fought the Weapons! Going from that to this... that's a huge step." She winked at him playfully. "Maybe just picture them as Weapons next time—but try to go a little easier on them than you did the Weapons."

Cloud laughed. "I will," he said—and then the realization hit him, flooding through his chest in a dizzying, unexpected rush. His worst-case scenario had happened. People had noticed. People had whispered. He was standing here in public, wearing a dress, and—nothing terrible had happened. The world hadn't ended.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror—the soft lavender dress swirling elegantly around him, the delicate embroidery catching the light—and smiled. "But I'll look a whole lot more fabulous than I did with the actual Weapons," he added with a playful grin.

A wave of something wonderful washed over him. Pride. Joy. Freedom. A shy, thrilled smile tugged at his lips as he whispered, "Oh wow..."

He really did look fantastic in lavender. The soft, flowing fabric hugged his frame perfectly, the delicate floral embroidery catching the light with every subtle movement, adding an ethereal, dreamlike quality. The flounced skirt floated around him, weightless and alive, making Cloud feel as if he were part of something magical. A rush of vulnerability surged through him—but alongside it, an even stronger wave of unexpected confidence. For the first time, he wasn't just imagining the girl he wanted to be. He could see her, feel her, becoming real before his eyes.

That confidence, fueled by Mia standing up to his heckler, burst into a euphoric rush that swept through him. For the first time in what felt like forever, Cloud was simply having fun—unburdened, light, almost weightless. He twirled in front of the mirror, the lavender dress flaring out beautifully, and a soft, delighted giggle escaped his lips before he could even think to stop it.

"We are SO buying this dress," he declared, his voice filled with joy and determination.

Mia beamed at him, her enthusiasm absolutely infectious. "Yes, Skye—that's exactly what I'm talking about!" she said, practically bouncing with excitement. "I knew you'd end up loving this." She plucked a sequined pink high-low dress from the nearby rack, its fabric shimmering under the boutique lights like a scattering of tiny stars. "Here, try this one next!" she urged, holding it out with a playful flourish.

When Cloud slipped it on, a giddy sense of excitement rushed through him. He couldn't believe how flirty and girly the dress was—and how much he wanted to wear it. Eager, he shimmied into the dress quickly, wiggling his butt a little to help settle it properly over his hips, a playful grin flickering across his face at the motion. The sequins caught the light with every tiny movement, scattering reflections like a disco ball. Grinning to himself, he stepped out from behind the curtain with an exaggerated "Ta-da!" throwing his arms wide. The motion drew a few surprised glances from the other customer and the shop girl, who immediately broke into delighted laughter.

Cloud struck a series of exaggerated model poses in front of the mirror, letting the skirt swish dramatically around his legs. He vamped with a playful pout, tossing an imaginary lock of hair over his shoulder, every move dripping with lighthearted flair. He was aware, of course, that to anyone looking, he might still seem like a man in a dress—but it didn't matter. Because he looked good. Hot, sexy, and undeniably feminine in his own way. And more importantly, he felt amazing—confident, radiant, unapologetically alive in a way he never had before.

"Looking good, Skye!" Mia called out, her voice brimming with pride and infectious excitement.

The customer had drifted over, smiling warmly. "With legs like yours, everything probably looks amazing," she said, giving Cloud an appreciative once-over. Cloud giggled, his cheeks pink but his grin wide, flattered by the attention.

"Oh stop," he said, striking another playful pose that made the customer laugh.

Even the girl behind the counter had taken an interest, her earlier disinterest completely replaced with sparkling excitement. She leaned over the counter with a wide grin. "Seriously, you are rocking that dress," she called out, making Cloud's cheeks flush even deeper.

Mia laughed brightly. "Told you! Total natural—you could be a model," she teased, nudging Cloud playfully. Her voice was light, but filled with genuine pride, and the warmth of it made Cloud's heart flutter with happiness.

Cloud giggled, feeling giddy under the attention. "You think?" he asked, before launching into an exaggerated catwalk strut—swaying his hips with deliberate flair, taking a few dramatic "runway" steps. At the end, he paused, spinning on his heel and spinning on his heel and striking a sexy pose—one hand planted on his hip, while he pouted playfully at the onlookers, his confidence radiating in every line of his body. The boutique erupted into fresh laughter and applause, and Cloud couldn't stop grinning, absolutely reveling in the attention.

The shop girl held up a slinky crimson slip dress, the silky material catching the light with a sensuous gleam. "You have to try this one," she urged, waving it enticingly. Cloud's eyes widened with excitement—he couldn't wait to slip into it.

The boutique quickly transformed into a lively, spontaneous fashion show, with Cloud as the star. Outfit after outfit, Cloud tried on everything Mia and the others brought him—fancy tops, flowing skirts, and elegant, sweeping gowns. He strutted, spun, and even posed like he was on a runway, soaking up the attention with a grin. The boutique filled with laughter, clapping, and excited exclamations. Cloud could feel the energy buzzing in the air, and with each outfit, the walls he’d built around himself started to crumble. He wasn’t just playing dress-up anymore—he was owning it.

A new customer wandered into the boutique, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. She glanced around, clearly confused at first, but as she watched Cloud twirl in a glittering gown, her expression softened into a smile. She leaned toward the shop girl, laughing. "Wow, this is incredible!" Cloud caught the comment from the corner of his eye, and for the first time, he didn’t feel a flicker of self-doubt. Instead, he twirled even more dramatically, loving the way the dress flowed with him. He had stopped caring about being seen as a man in a dress. The joy of dressing up in stunning clothes, of expressing himself, was far greater than the fear of judgment. This was who he was. And he wanted everyone to see it.

That dress, a daringly short silver piece with an open back, had caught Cloud off guard. The shimmering fabric hugged his body, glowing under the boutique's soft lights. The open back and high hem revealed more skin than he was used to, but it felt exhilarating, almost liberating. He fell in love with it immediately—sexy, confident, everything he never thought he could pull off. Yet here he was, not just wearing it but twirling in front of a shop full of people. As he spun, the dress sparkled with every movement, and the group cheered, their encouragement filling the room with energy.

By the end, Cloud had picked up a small but stylish collection—several dresses, skirts, tops,  and a few pairs of heels including one set of very high silver stilettos he was determined to master. As the shop girl tallied and bagged his purchases, she smiled brightly. "Come back anytime—I've never had so much fun at work!" she said, her voice full of warmth.

Cloud grinned, handing over the payment. "Thanks for all the help, this was a lot of fun," he said, genuinely meaning it.

Mia nodded, teasingly nudging Cloud. "She's definitely coming back. Once she can walk in those heels anyway!" she joked.

The shop girl chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "I'm looking forward to it! Take care, you two!"

Cloud waved goodbye to the other customers, who offered him playful compliments and encouragement. As they headed out, the weight of the shopping bags feeling light. Cloud couldn’t help but smile, feeling like a new version of himself stepping into the world.

“Well, that went better than expected!” Mia said, her grin wide with satisfaction.

“Oh my god, it was amazing,” Cloud replied, still catching his breath, the excitement still buzzing in his chest.

“I can’t believe how much you went for it,” Mia said, her voice full of admiration.

“Neither can I,” Cloud admitted, his smile growing even wider. “I didn’t realize how much fun it would be—just cutting loose, trying on whatever I wanted without second-guessing myself. It was like I could be someone else for a little while... someone who just enjoys being themselves.”

Then, suddenly, his eyes went wide in realization. “Oh my god, how much did I just spend?” he asked, his smile slipping into mild panic.

Mia laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s best not to think about it,” she teased. “But don’t worry, if you’re in trouble, I’m sure your Shinra sugar daddy will bail you out.”

Cloud stuck his tongue out at her, shaking his head in playful exasperation. “You’re the worst,” he muttered, but his smile betrayed his amusement.

In the distance, the clocktower began chiming as evening began to settle in, the golden hues of sunset painting the sky. "Time really does fly when you're having fun," Cloud said softly, his voice tinged with a bittersweet wistfulness. It had been a day unlike any other—one that had both challenged and liberated him, leaving him feeling lighter and more alive than he had in a long time.

"Things will be closing soon," Mia said, her voice a little quieter now, the weight of the approaching end of their adventure sinking in. "We should probably head back to Midgar," she added, glancing at the bags piled between them, their weight a reminder of how much had changed in just a few hours. "Otherwise we're going to be late for practice..."

As they walked, each step heavier with the weight of their shopping bags, Cloud’s gaze wandered across the square. Something caught his eye, and his expression brightened again in an instant. "Mia, do we have time for one last thing?" he asked, the excitement returning to his voice.

Mia raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "YOU'RE asking ME to go clothes shopping now?" she said, her mock surprise only making her grin wider. "Wow, today really has made a difference."

"Pleeeeease," Cloud begged, fluttering his eyelashes exaggeratedly in a way that made Mia burst into laughter.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress her smile. "Alright," she sighed, feigning reluctance. "But if we're late, I'm telling Andrea it's your fault."

Cloud didn't need any more encouragement. He practically dragged Mia across the square, his enthusiasm infectious. As they neared the steps of a lingerie store, Mia's laughter rang out. "Oh, come on..." she said, her voice half-amused, half-exasperated.

Cloud flashed her a wide grin, unabashed. "What can I say? I'm a girl who knows what she likes."

Inside the shop, Cloud wasted no time. His eyes locked onto what he wanted almost immediately: a delicate black and white silk and lace basque, its intricate design highlighted by soft pink floral accents. It was daring, elegant, and exuded a quiet confidence—just like the person he was becoming.

Mia’s eyes widened as she looked at the basque. “Oh, Skye, it’s gorgeous,” she said, her voice full of approval.

Cloud stepped forward to the counter, holding the basque with a mix of excitement and pride. "Wait, don't you need to try it on?" Mia asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cloud smirked, his confidence unmistakable. “Oh, I know it’ll fit,” he said, winking playfully before turning back to the counter to pay. “I’ve been fitted for lingerie before.”

Mia blinked, her eyes going wide in surprise before she laughed. “Oh, you dark horse!” she exclaimed, shaking her head in amused disbelief.

***

The sun dipped below the horizon as they wrapped up their shopping spree, grabbing some food for the road. Golden light bathed Kalm, casting a warm glow over the town as they packed up Mia's car. The air was filled with a comfortable silence—one that spoke of shared experiences, laughter, and the satisfaction of a day well spent. Cloud had never expected to enjoy a shopping day so much, but with Mia by his side, everything had felt effortless, fun, and completely freeing.

Cloud turned to Mia, his voice softer than usual. "You know, Mia… I don’t think I could’ve done any of this without you," he said, a little surprised at how much it meant to him. "You're kind of becoming my best friend."

Mia looked over at him, her expression softening. She reached across the seat and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Don’t be daft, Skye," she teased, her smile warm and reassuring. "I’m just glad I can be here for you. You’re amazing, and you deserve to feel that way." Her eyes twinkled with affection, the bond between them deepening in that quiet moment.

Cloud grinned, his chest warm with affection. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this comfortable with someone. The silence between them was tender, but there was a lightness to it now—a reflection of everything they’d shared.

Mia sighed contentedly, her fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. "You're not just my best friend, Skye," she added, her voice full of sincerity and mischief. "You're like family—the little sister I always wished for. And we're in this together, okay? No matter what."

Cloud's heart swelled at the words. He nodded, his voice quiet but filled with warmth. "Yeah... together," he murmured, feeling a connection to Mia that was stronger than he expected. He was starting to realize just how much she had come to mean to him.

Mia glanced over at him, her eyes gleaming with playful energy. "Now, don’t go getting all sentimental on me," she teased with a wink, pulling away from the curb. "You might be my best friend, but that doesn’t mean I’m not telling Andrea it’s your fault if we’re late!"

Cloud laughed, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. "I know," he said, grinning back. "You’ll totally throw me under the bus, won’t you?"

As they drove into the night, Midgar’s lights glowing on the horizon, Cloud felt a deep sense of gratitude. He wasn’t just going home after a shopping trip; he was going home with something more important—someone who had seen him for who he truly was and supported him every step of the way. It wasn’t just about the clothes or the fun day—they’d shared a bond, a friendship that was growing into something unshakeable.

And with Mia laughing beside him, teasing and caring all at once, Cloud couldn’t help but feel that the future was wide open, full of possibility.

Chapter Text

Cloud sat nervously in the back of a café near Shinra Tower, tucked away in a corner where he could watch the world without being too seen. The journey here had been difficult enough—he’d felt the weight of judgmental glances, heard the half-whispered comments that stung sharper than he’d like to admit. Still, he'd pressed forward, and now here he was, sitting with one leg gracefully crossed over the other, his soft pink fingernails tapping an anxious rhythm against the delicate porcelain of his coffee cup.

He wore the cream sweater and skinny jeans he'd promised Mia—the sweater oversized, soft, falling just slightly off one shoulder; the jeans snug against his legs as he shifted nervously in his seat. His hair had been styled into soft, careful spikes that framed his face with just enough gentleness, and he'd applied a hint of makeup—enough to feel different, enough to feel like he was trying. Leaving the flat had felt like a small, tentative step to bring Skye with him into the world, but every lingering stare and whispered remark on the way here had turned it into a giant leap, even as he still worried it wasn't enough.

It was Cloud who sat here, staring at the faint smudge of lip gloss on the rim of his coffee cup. Cloud who kept absently playing with his hair, wishing he'd done just a little more with it. Cloud who tugged at his sweater, trying to hide the bra strap that kept slipping into view. It was still Cloud who sat here, heart hammering, wondering what Reeve would think. 

And then Reeve walked in and Cloud noticed it immediately—a flicker of disappointment that crossed his face. It was fleeting, gone almost as soon as it appeared, replaced with a warm, genuine smile as he made his way over. But Cloud felt it. Felt the gap between what Reeve had hoped for and what he had found.

"Cloud," Reeve greeted warmly, leaning in for a kiss. Cloud moved forward too, hopeful, but at the last second Reeve turned slightly, aiming for a kiss on the cheek. They ended up brushing awkwardly—half-cheek, half-air—and pulled back with embarrassed smiles.

Cloud’s stomach twisted sharply. Reeve had expected Skye—the woman from the apartment: glamorous, poised, confident. Feminine. Sexy. Not this version of him, caught somewhere uncertain, somewhere incomplete, suspended between who he was and who he longed to become.

They sat down together, the scrape of wood on tile echoing in the small space between them. The café buzzed with quiet conversation, but at their table, the silence felt heavy, like a tangible thing. Cloud sat stiffly, unsure what to say, the awkwardness inside him bleeding out into every small, fidgeting movement.

Reeve's coffee arrived, breaking the tension and he spoke "It's good to see you," Reeve said, fingers curling around his freshly ordered cup.

"Yeah, you too," Cloud replied, brushing his fingers lightly over the handle of his own mug.

"How have you been?" Reeve asked, his voice careful, searching Cloud's face like he wasn't quite sure where to land.

Cloud hesitated, fingers brushing the rim of his cup, the faint lip gloss smear catching his eye again. "It's been... I don't know. Up and down, I guess." His voice trailed off. "You?"

Reeve's smile widened slightly, the tension loosening just a bit. "Busy. Work never stops," he said, the words almost mechanical, before adding, softer, "but... better now."

Cloud ducked his head, hair falling slightly into his eyes, cheeks warming with a shame he couldn't name. Still, the space between them yawned wide, heavy and uncertain.

They talked—safe topics at first, skimming across the surface like stones on water. Midgar's changing weather. Work schedules. The café’s surprisingly good coffee. The kind of conversation that filled the space but didn’t bridge it, every exchange landing with a hollow echo. Cloud struggled to find the right words, his mind blank and fumbling, trapped between the old reflexes of Cloud and the newer, uncertain voice of Skye. He shifted in his seat, tapping his fingernail against the cup, unsure if he should be brighter, softer, stronger—anything but this clumsy halfway version. Reeve responded kindly, but Cloud felt the distance in every polite smile, every too-long pause. Neither of them quite knew how to meet in the middle, the weight of what was unspoken pressing heavier with each passing moment.

Finally, Reeve set his cup down with a soft sigh, the sound seeming louder than it should have been in the thick air between them. "I want to apologize," he said, voice low, tentative. "I think... I might be making this harder than it needs to be. I didn’t really know what to expect today." He hesitated, glancing at Cloud and then away again. "And I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to be someone you're not ready to be. Or someone you don't want to be today." His words stumbled slightly, uncertain, but the sincerity was there, threading through every syllable.

Cloud blinked, heart thudding painfully. "No, it's not just you," he said, forcing himself to meet Reeve’s gaze even though every instinct screamed to look away. "I'm still... trying to figure it out. I tried to do something a bit different today. Thought maybe if I looked a little more..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at himself. "But then I wasn't sure if I could really... if I was ready. And then I thought..." His throat tightened. "Maybe you were expecting Skye. Not... this."

The words stumbled out awkwardly, heavy with the fear that he’d somehow failed at being both too much and not enough.

Reeve’s smile was gentle, his voice steady but careful. "I love seeing you as Skye," he said, "but more than anything, I want you to be comfortable—whether that's Cloud, Skye, or anywhere in between." He paused, the weight of his words deliberate. "I'm still learning too. And if I made you feel like you weren't... I'm sorry. That was never what I wanted."

Cloud’s throat tightened. He looked down, brushing his pink fingernails against his cup. "I just... wanted to make an effort. I thought maybe if I wore something softer, did my hair differently..." He faltered, his voice dropping even lower. "Something more... her."

He fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve, the oversized sweater pooling slightly at his wrist. "But now I'm not sure if it’s enough. If I'm enough."

Reeve leaned forward, reaching across the table to gently touch Cloud’s hand. "You’re more than enough. Always." he said. "I love seeing this softer side of you, Cloud. I just... didn't know what to expect, and I think that's on me. But I'm here, and I want to be here, whatever that looks like for you."

Cloud felt warmth spreading through his chest at Reeve's words, the tension easing just a little. He nodded, finally looking back up at Reeve. "Thanks."

"I meant it," said Reeve, giving Cloud's hand a gentle squeeze. The contrast between his fingers and Cloud's, with their delicate pink polish, was striking. "It's really good to see you." He smiled, a little self-effacing. "Honestly, I’m the one who feels a mess today. Rushing here straight from the office, looking all scruffy."

Cloud blinked, startled, then shook his head quickly. "You don't look scruffy at all," he said, the words tumbling out too fast, too earnest. And then, before he could stop himself, he added, softer, "I think you look... handsome."

The word lingered between them, hanging fragile and exposed. Cloud ducked his head, cheeks flushing deep pink, pretending sudden fascination with the rim of his coffee cup.

Reeve’s smile softened, touched with something almost shy. "Thank you," he said, his voice low, sincere. There was a moment—a beat of quiet—before he leaned in slightly, his elbows resting on the table as if to bridge the shrinking gap between them.

"You know," Reeve began, his voice dipping into something more intimate, almost conspiratorial, "I've been thinking about our last date."

Cloud glanced up at him through his lashes, heart thudding.

"I had such an amazing time," Reeve said, his eyes crinkling with warmth. "I keep replaying it in my head—the way you smiled, the way you looked, the way we were... together. I can't seem to get enough."

He paused, studying Cloud with a look that made his chest feel too tight and too full all at once. "I want more of that. More of you."

Cloud's cheeks flushed, his gaze dropping to the table as he twisted his fingers together. "Me too," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I... I keep thinking about it too. About how natural it felt. To just be there with you."

He hesitated, glancing up at Reeve and finding nothing but patience and warmth in his expression. Emboldened, Cloud took a breath and added, his voice even softer, "And... the sex was... incredible."

He ducked his head immediately, mortified at how the words tumbled out, but Reeve’s gentle chuckle broke the tension, and when Cloud peeked up at him again, the look in Reeve’s eyes made his heart stutter—not laughter, not pity, just quiet, open affection.

Reeve's smile widened, a flash of warmth and something more behind his eyes. "It was, wasn't it?," he agreed, his voice dropping slightly, more intimate now. "I want more of that, too. But not just the physical. Everything with you... it just feels right."

Cloud felt a flutter in his chest, a strange combination of shyness and excitement. He looked up, searching Reeve’s face. "Do you really mean that?" he asked, voice small, vulnerable.

"Of course I do," Reeve said immediately, the sincerity clear in his eyes, his hand giving Cloud's a soft squeeze. "And for what it's worth, I think you look lovely today," he said warmly, the words easy and genuine. "I love this outfit on you—it's really cute. It's new, right? When did you get it?"

Cloud smiled shyly, feeling a flutter of happiness. "I went shopping with Mia," he said, leaning in slightly, the oversized sweater slipping from his shoulder and revealing a flash of his bra strap. He didn’t pull it back up. Instead he relaxed into the moment and started telling Reeve about the shopping trip, smiling as he described how Mia had practically taken over the whole store. "She said I needed a full wardrobe overhaul," Cloud said, laughing a little. "I think she just wanted an excuse to dress me up."

Reeve leaned in, his smile warm. "I can see why. She has good taste."

Cloud felt his cheeks warm again, but this time he didn't look away. They talked easily after that, the earlier awkwardness fading into something more natural, more familiar.

Reeve listened with open warmth, his laughter easy and unforced, his sharp wit brightening the conversation. Cloud found himself leaning in without thinking, his hand brushing lightly against Reeve's on the table. He didn't pull away. Instead, he let himself soften—the way his voice lifted when he spoke, the small, animated gestures of his hands—all of it spilling out naturally as the tension between them evaporated. It felt like breathing again after being held underwater.

Chat drifted from Cloud's recent mission to Fort Condor—"cold and miserable," he said with a grin—to Cloud’s impromptu fashion show at the boutique, where he'd been coaxed into trying on outfit after outfit, each more daring than the last.

Cloud giggled, covering his mouth for a moment as he remembered. "I was strutting and twirling around the boutique in this little silver dress," he said, his voice light with amusement. "Mia said I was a 'natural.' I probably looked ridiculous, but it was... really fun."

Reeve grinned, leaning in. "I wish I'd seen that," he said with a teasing wink. "Maybe you can model it for me sometime."

Cloud laughed, cheeks coloring, and ducked his head slightly. But when he looked up again, he found himself smiling—small, a little shy, but real. "Maybe," he said, his voice soft but carrying a hint of hope.

It wasn't the same intense heat they'd shared back in Reeve's apartment—that wild, electric pull—but there was still a warmth between them, a flicker of the same flirtatious spark. Different, softer, but no less real.

They sipped their coffee for a few more minutes, conversation softening into a comfortable hum. Reeve talked a little about work—the usual chaos at Shinra, meetings that dragged too long, the quiet frustration of trying to push real change through a machine that wasn't built to bend. Cloud listened, nodding along, his eyes tracing the way Reeve's hand moved as he spoke.

Their cups slowly emptied, the last of the warmth fading. Eventually, Reeve glanced at the clock on the café wall with a reluctant sigh.

"I need to get back to the office," Reeve said, rising from his chair with a reluctant sigh. He lingered for a moment, his gaze soft as he looked down at Cloud. Then he smiled, a little crookedly, like he hated to cut this short. "But I want this to work, Cloud. I want to make sure you feel comfortable, however you want to be."

Cloud nodded, a small smile touching his lips. "I'd like that."

Reeve smiled warmly. "Then let me figure something out."

Reeve stood, and Cloud followed suit. They made their way to the entrance, and before leaving, Reeve turned back to Cloud. "One more thing," he said, his expression more serious. "I know you're going through a lot, and I know it's not easy... but maybe think about reconnecting with some of our other friends. They worry about you, you know. It might help."

Cloud hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah... I'll think about it."

Reeve shifted closer, his hand settling gently at Cloud's waist. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Cloud's cheek—lingering just a little longer than necessary. Cloud's heart fluttered wildly, the touch sending a rush of warmth through him.

"Take care of yourself," Reeve said, his voice low and earnest, his hand giving the lightest squeeze before he stepped back.

He watched Reeve leave, his eyes lingering on him, a slow warmth rising in his chest. Cloud didn’t notice the stares that might have followed him, didn’t hear the whispers that might have clung to the air. For once, none of it mattered. This—the way Reeve had smiled at him, touched him, seen him—that's what mattered. Maybe he didn’t have to have all the answers today.

When he got home, there was a huge bouquet of flowers waiting at his door—soft pastels and bright splashes of color, a riot of gentle beauty. Tucked among them was a handwritten note:

"You are always enough. All of you. I hope these flowers brighten your day as much as you brighten mine. Reeve"

Cloud stood there for a long moment, reading the note over and over, feeling the truth of the words sink into his chest. A real smile broke across his face—tender, genuine.

He reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face. Maybe he would call one of his old friends.

For now, though, he let himself simply enjoy the quiet of his apartment, the warmth of the flowers, and the promise that, in some way, he was enough.

***

These days Cloud's mornings were marked by the quiet rituals of a new kind of discipline—still efficient, but with a softer touch. He woke at dawn, not from a sense of duty, but because the early light filtering through his curtains was a gentle invitation. His first breath of the day was slow, filled with a sense of calm rather than urgency. Before anything else, he reached for the delicate pendant necklace Aerith had given him, clasping it around his neck and letting it rest against his chest—a gesture that reminded him of what mattered. The silk of his nightwear—a deep blue, shimmering set—clung comfortably to his skin as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet meeting the warmth of the soft rug. His apartment, though still modest, now held warmth—traces of a life that reflected a person slowly discovering comfort in small indulgences.

He began his exercises, blending the old discipline with newfound fluidity. Push-ups came first, each repetition deliberate, not rushed, his muscles warming as he moved. Pull-ups followed, using the doorframe, his hands—nails painted a subtle, natural shade—gripping with confidence but without force. Afterward, he transitioned into stretches, reaching up and arching his body, his movements fluid and graceful. The stretches were reminiscent of a dancer's routine, his body bending and extending, finding poise in every motion. The exercises were still a routine, but now they were as much about balance and elegance as they were about strength. Each movement flowed into the next, his body embracing both power and grace, a fusion of his combat training and something softer, more expressive.

Cloud headed to the bathroom, and his reflection was no longer something he avoided. He looked at his blue eyes framed by blond hair that had grown softer, longer, less rigid. He took a quick shower, feeling refreshed, and shaved with care, ensuring his entire body remained smooth. The studs in his ears glinted softly, and he paused to adjust them, appreciating how they caught the light. The bathroom had changed too—still sparse, but now with a touch of personality: a small soap dish, a soft hand towel neatly hung. It felt less like a utilitarian space and more like a place he belonged. A quick spritz of light, clean-scented body mist followed before he left, adding to the freshness he now embraced.

He opened the wardrobe, holding an eclectic mix of elegant dresses, soft skirts, comfortable androgynous shirts, a few pairs of jeans, some well-loved sweaters, and lingerie in different styles—the dark SOLDIER fatigues pushed to the back, reminders of another life. Today, he selected a set of black satin lingerie—comfortable yet intricate with lace. He tucked with practiced care, enjoying the sensation of smoothness, the illusion of femininity that brought a sense of satisfaction. Over it, he chose a fitted black turtleneck, its warmth wrapping him snugly, and paired it with a dark pair of well-worn jeans. A quick stop at the vanity—just a hint of eyeliner to accentuate his eyes and a light touch of concealer—before he slipped into a dark leather jacket, its sleek lines adding a sense of understated toughness, a nod to his past. His boots, sturdy and polished, completed the outfit, grounding him as he stepped forward into the day.

Cloud sat at the small table by the window, legs crossed gracefully, coffee in hand, a vase of fresh flowers adding a gentle burst of color to the scene. He took a sip, savoring the warmth, the ritual of this quiet moment. Staring out into the streets of Midgar, Cloud found the stillness comforting. The early haze lifted as sunlight pushed through the gaps in the looming plates, casting a softer glow than he remembered. It wasn't just grey anymore—there was a warmth to it; it was something real enough to hold on to as he stood up. The feel of satin under his clothes, the glint of jewelry, the painted nails—they all reflected the quiet transformation he was allowing himself. Cloud glanced in the mirror one last time, adjusted his turtleneck and smoothed out the fabric, a small smile touching his lips. The weight that used to press on his chest was a little lighter. He stepped forward, leaving the mirror behind , ready to face the day with a gentle, but unwavering, strength.

Cloud grabbed his bag for the road, the keys to his motorbike and closed the door behind him. 

***

Cloud scrolled through his PHS, tapping out messages with a determination that surprised him. Something about taking on this courier job, this journey on his own, felt like the right kind of distraction—a chance to think, to breathe, to maybe even just be for a while.

He texted Mia first, keeping it simple:

*Taking a courier gig. I'll be gone a couple of weeks. Don't let things get too boring without me. xxx.*

Cloud could almost hear Mia's laugh as he sent it. She would probably have some sarcastic quip ready, something that would keep him from taking himself too seriously. Then, Andrea:

*Hey, I'm going to miss a few practices. Got a courier job. I'll be back in a few weeks—don't worry, I'll find a way to keep up. Honestly, these practices have meant a lot to me, Andrea. You've really helped me find something new in myself.*

The response was almost instant:

*Leaving on such a high? Darling, don't waste that energy! Practice every night if you have to. We'll see how you've grown when you return and where we go from there. Don't you dare get rusty on me!*

Cloud smiled faintly, thumb lingering over the screen for a moment. Andrea was right—he didn't want to lose what he'd found, the fluidity and grace that had started to seep into him like something he’d always been missing. And maybe... maybe practicing under the stars didn't sound so bad after all.

Then there was Reeve.

Cloud stared at the phone for what felt like an eternity. He hovered over the keyboard, typed, erased, typed again. Nothing felt right. Reeve always seemed to know what to say, but Cloud didn't. His heart thudded painfully in his chest with every half-formed thought. Eventually, he sighed and tucked the device away. He'd try again later.

Cloud swung his leg over the seat of the motorbike, the familiar rumble of the engine a steadying comfort beneath him. As he sped out onto the open plains, Midgar faded into the background, swallowed by distance and wind. He tilted his face into the breeze, letting it tear through his hair and letting his thoughts drift into the wind.

Thinking about what Andrea had said, he decided to make a quick stop in Kalm. He needed something he could practice in—flowing, breathable fabrics that would let him move freely. He wandered through the small, bustling town, the sun warming the cobblestones beneath his boots as he made his way to a sports store. The memory of his previous trip to Kalm with Mia gave him a little extra confidence, and he walked in with purpose. He needed to keep up his training, to keep that fluidity that Andrea had praised.

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow when Cloud asked for the dance clothes. "You know, these are mostly women's styles," she remarked casually, her gaze curious but not judgmental.

"That's fine," Cloud replied calmly, offering no further explanation. The shopkeeper's eyebrow arched slightly higher, a moment of silent curiosity passing between them before she led him to a corner displaying a selection of lightweight dance outfits. Cloud picked up snug leggings and crop tops, loose t-shirts, and hoodies in various pastel shades, even grabbing a pair of leg warmers. The soft, stretchy fabrics felt comfortable and right in his hands. Feeling unexpectedly daring, he decided to try them on right then and there, ducking into a dressing room as the shopkeeper watched on quizzically, her shoulders rising in another bemused shrug.

In the privacy of the small dressing room, Cloud felt a thrill as he slipped a bright pink crop top over his head, and then slid into shiny black leggings, their smooth fabric sliding over his legs in a delightful, silky embrace. Even without makeup, even with his normal, tousled hair, something about the way the top exposed his midriff, the way the leggings sculpted him, all felt undeniably feminine. They have him a figure he didn't have naturally and smoothed out his crotch perfectly, creating an elegant, seamless look. And best of all they clung enticingly to his ass, making it appear round, pert, and irresistibly appealing. He admired his reflection, gently wiggling his hips to savor how the shiny fabric caught the light, highlighting every subtle curve, sending a thrill of delight and newfound confidence through him.

So absorbed in his reflection and the playful wiggle of his ass, Cloud didn’t realize the curtain behind him was still parted until a sharp, appreciative wolf whistle jolted him back to reality. His heart jumped as he saw another customer—a brash, slightly butch woman with short-cropped hair and a bold smirk—watching him.

"Well now, girl," she said playfully, leaning against the door frame. "Aren't you just serving looks today?"

Cloud's cheeks flushed crimson, mortification swiftly overtaking any previous confidence. "I—I didn't realize—" he stammered, hastily reaching for the curtain.

The woman laughed warmly, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Don't sweat it, sweetheart. You've got nothing to hide with an ass like that."

Cloud blushed even deeper, an embarrassing heat rushing through him, but beneath the mortification was a surprising flutter of pleasure at her compliment and the casual way she'd called him "sweetheart" and "girl." Stammering, he tried again, "I—I was just—it's not what it looks like—"

She softened slightly, chuckling as she turned to leave. "Relax, gorgeous. Though a little makeup wouldn't hurt, maybe something to fill out the top a bit... and hey, ever thought about getting that cute bellybutton pierced?" With another playful grin, she sauntered out of the dressing room, calling over her shoulder to the shopkeeper, "Better keep an eye on that girl back there—she's really working that look." Cloud heard their laughter mingle as they chatted lightly, voices fading as the woman left the shop.

Cloud stood there, cheeks still burning. Despite himself, he glanced back at the mirror, briefly picturing himself in makeup, with breasts to match his pert backside, and a delicate piercing glittering enticingly at his bellybutton. His heart fluttered at the idea, sending another blush across his face. Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought as absurd—just a fleeting fantasy. He took a deep breath, quickly peeling off the leggings to change back, yet the woman's teasing words lingered enticingly in his mind.

When he finally emerged, clothing in hand, he approached the counter hesitantly. The shopkeeper smirked gently, eyes glinting with amusement. "Found what you were looking for, sweetheart?" she asked teasingly, raising a knowing eyebrow.

Cloud mumbled something unintelligible, fumbling to pay quickly, avoiding her playful gaze. "Come back anytime," she called cheerfully as he hurried toward the door, embarrassment and excitement mingling in his chest.

Leaving Kalm, Cloud camped in the hills that night, settling under the stars as the sky darkened. He received a message from Mia: 

*Stay out of trouble, okay? And maybe bring me something interesting from Cosmo Canyon. xxx*

But the text to Reeve kept replaying in his mind. Reeve’s face, his voice, his touch still echoed in Cloud’s mind. The way Reeve had taken him that night, the raw need and the way they had moved together, had left Cloud both shaken and comforted. It wasn't just physical—though that had been overwhelming—but emotional too, like Reeve had reached into parts of Cloud that were locked away.

But it was the way Reeve looked at him, with both understanding and gentle insistence, that resonated most. It made Cloud feel truly seen, made him want to keep trying to grow, to open up in ways that scared him but also excited him. He had to send something to keep that connection alive, to let Reeve know that he was still trying, still reaching for more.

Cloud typed, erased, retyped, and finally: 

*Hey. I’ll be out of town for a few weeks. Courier job—heading to Cosmo Canyon. Can’t wait to see what you’ve figured out when I get back. And I’ll think about what you said.  x*

Cloud hesitated before sending, his thumb hovering over the screen, then he hit 'send.' Reeve had urged him to reconnect with their friends, to not let the distance grow between them. It wasn't easy; Cloud had spent so long pushing them away, that the thought of reaching out again felt almost insurmountable. But maybe that was why it mattered so much. Cosmo Canyon would be a perfect chance to try that, to take the first step toward breaking down those walls, even if it terrified him.

Sending the message was a weight off his mind, and he felt liberated—free as he stared into the night sky, just him. The vastness above seemed to echo the openness he felt within, an expanse unburdened by the doubts and barriers he had always held onto—at least for now. Free to express himself, fully, completely, without any fear. In that moment, Cloud imagined himself dancing under the stars.

Then he realized he didn't need to imagine—he could make it real. Cloud reached into his bag and pulled out the dance clothes he'd bought in Kalm: snug leggings, a crop top, and the leg warmers. He changed quickly, feeling the fabric hug his body as the cool night air brushed against his exposed skin. Stepping into the clearing, the grass cool beneath his bare feet, Cloud took a deep breath and began to move. Each spin and turn came naturally, his body moving with a newfound grace and elegance, as if the stars above were guiding him. The starlight seemed to bear witness to his freedom, dissolving the weight of his insecurities with each twirl. He felt every detail—the cool earth underfoot, the wind brushing against his face, his hair flowing with every movement. Beneath the stars, Cloud let go of every lingering doubt, each step a promise to keep growing and embracing who he was becoming.

He danced for what felt like hours, until his chest heaved with every breath and he finally collapsed, exhausted yet exhilarated, his mind blissfully empty. He slept better than he could ever remember.

He woke to a reply from Reeve: 

*I hope the trip goes well. Don’t take too long to think, you won’t be in Cosmo Canyon forever. I’ll have something special waiting for you when you get back. Miss you already. x*

Cloud smiled as he read it. He was enjoying the time away, but the thought of coming home brought a warmth to his chest that he couldn't deny.

The road continued, winding through changing landscapes—rolling hills, dense forests, and sprawling plains. He passed through small towns where life seemed simpler, sometimes stopping for a meal or to restock supplies. It was just him and his bike, the steady hum of the engine his constant companion, the world blurring around him as he embraced the solitude.

Each night, he made camp in secluded places—hidden spots off the road, places where the stars seemed to blanket the world. He would stretch, feeling his body loosen and the day's stiffness melt away, then practice the routines Andrea had taught him. The flowing motions, the spins, the way his body moved without resistance—it felt right, like a kind of freedom he had never allowed himself before. Beneath the starlight, Cloud felt truly free to be himself, unrestricted and fully alive, embracing his true nature without hesitation or fear.

He danced until the fatigue in his muscles began to numb and his breaths became heavy, each movement blending into the next until he lost track of time. Sometimes, he would stumble, his balance faltering, but the solitude of the night made him fearless in his imperfections. He would laugh softly to himself, the sound swallowed by the open sky, and continue until he found his rhythm again. The stars above were a silent audience, glinting down at him as if in approval.

When he finally stopped, chest heaving, Cloud would lie back on the cool grass, staring at the expanse above. His body would hum from the exertion, a pleasant ache that reminded him of both his strength and his vulnerability. In those moments, there, under the endless sky, he allowed himself to dream. Of what could be and of the version of himself he was discovering. The version who danced beneath the stars, unburdened and alive.

He found himself reflecting often during the long stretches of road. The hum of the motorbike, the endless horizon, the solitude—it all gave him space to think deeply. About Midgar, and all it represented. About Mia and Andrea, and the new experiences they had brought into his life. About Reeve, and how their connection had awakened feelings that both thrilled and confused him. Their physical relationship lingered in his mind—it felt so good, so right, but also carried an unfamiliarity that made him hesitate. There was a mix of emotions he couldn't fully unravel; it was still so new, still uncertain, but undeniably powerful.

He thought about his other friends—about Tifa, wondering if they could ever accept the changes he was going through. Tifa had always been a constant in his life, a source of strength and familiarity, but he feared that his transformation might be hard for her to understand. She had always admired his strength and the way he carried himself, and Cloud couldn't help but worry that the softer, more vulnerable side he was now embracing would only disappoint her. Would she still see him as the person she once cared about, or would she long for the version of him that no longer existed? The uncertainty gnawed at him, and the thought of losing her acceptance hurt more than he wanted to admit.

His thoughts drifted to Aerith—how she had accepted him without hesitation, her gentle presence always making him feel safe. Her smile seemed to promise a future where he could be himself without fear of judgment. He remembered that night together at the Gold Saucer, where he had played her princess—the best night of his life, filled with a joy he had never known before. He remembered their moments in the mirror at the Honeybee Inn, her hands gently guiding him, showing him a reflection that was both familiar and utterly new. It had all started there, this feeling of embracing vulnerability yet discovering strength within it, a sense of being whole for the first time. He wasn’t sure where this path would take him, but maybe… maybe he didn’t need to know just yet. Just embracing the journey was enough for now.

And while he was on this trip alone, he knew his real journey was something he couldn't do by himself. His relationships with Reeve, Andrea, Mia, and Aerith had shown him how much he needed the people who understood and supported him. Maybe there was room for his other friends too, in their own way. Each of them brought something unique to his life, something he needed to embrace as he continued to grow. He resolved to reach out to Nanaki in Cosmo Canyon, knowing that reconnecting with old friends was a vital part of the journey towards fully accepting himself.

The road continued past the mountains and onto the ferry. The sea wind was strong, carrying the salty scent of the ocean, and Cloud let his hair whip around his face. It was getting longer, brushing against the back of his neck in a way it hadn’t before. He liked it—another subtle change, a reminder of the person he was becoming. The journey took him through Costa del Sol, with its sun-drenched beaches and relaxed energy, and then Gongaga, where the remnants of industry and nature intertwined. The further he traveled, the more the soil turned red, and the familiar sight of Cosmo Canyon's distinctive cliffs rose in the distance, signaling that he was nearing his destination.

When he finally arrived at Cosmo Canyon, Cloud delivered the package as the job required, exchanging polite words with the client before slipping away. He lingered for a moment at the edge of the village, taking in the warm, dusty scent of the canyon and the familiar colors of the setting sun before steeling himself and making his way toward the observatory.

It struck him that he hadn't seen Nanaki since the end of their journey together, back when he had been weighed down by anger, grief, and confusion. He was certain Nanaki would notice the difference in him now—the weight he'd shed from his shoulders—but part of him worried too. Worried that Nanaki might see too much, might somehow glimpse the deeper truth Cloud was only beginning to face: the woman blooming quietly inside him. He shifted uneasily, conscious of the small, tender secrets he carried beneath his clothes, and tried to push the thought aside as the observatory came into view.

Nanaki stood at the edge of the cliff, his silhouette sharp against the burnished sky. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned, sniffing the air subtly, his nose twitching in quiet recognition. "Cloud," he said, his voice rumbling with easy warmth. "It's been some time. It's good to see you again."

His golden eyes caught the fading light, glinting briefly with something like understanding—a quiet flicker that made Cloud’s chest tighten, though Nanaki said nothing more than those simple, welcoming words.

Cloud couldn't help the rare, genuine smile that warmed his face. "It's really good to see you too, Nanaki," he said, his voice steady with quiet sincerity. "It's been too long." And he meant it—standing here now, he realized just how much he'd missed this. Missed his friends, missed the sense of belonging he hadn't known he was still aching for.

Nanaki returned the smile, his eyes glinting in the fading light. "Too long indeed. You look well. It seems you've been on quite the journey."

Cloud chuckled softly, choosing to take the words at face value. "Yeah. The trip out here was longer than I expected," he said, letting Nanaki think he meant the literal road he'd traveled. It was easier that way—easier than admitting the bigger, more complicated journey happening inside him.

Nanaki chuckled low in his throat, the sound rich and knowing. "That's true," he said, tilting his head slightly. "But I meant more than just the road. You've moved on a lot since I last saw you."

Cloud shifted slightly, but said nothing.

"You seem lighter," Nanaki continued, his golden eyes steady and kind. "Not laboring under a shadow the way you once were."

Cloud shrugged, looking out toward the horizon. "You could say that. I think I'm just figuring things out one day at a time..."

He paused, the tension easing from his shoulders as he softened and smiled a little. "But you're right," he added quietly. "I do feel lighter. I'm doing better."

Cloud shifted his weight slightly, the comfort of Nanaki's presence settling around him. "How about you?" he asked. "How have you been?"

Nanaki gave a soft chuckle. "Much the same as ever," he said, a trace of amusement in his voice. "Learning, teaching, watching the stars move overhead. Cosmo Canyon is slow to change, but that's its strength, I think."

Cloud smiled, the familiar rhythm of their conversation easing something inside him. They stood there a moment longer, old friends catching up without the need to fill every silence.

Cloud glanced back toward the village. "This courier job... it was a good excuse to get out for a while. Time to think. Breathe."

He hesitated, then added quietly, "And to figure out a few things."

Nanaki simply nodded, offering no judgment, only understanding. They stood for a moment, the sun dipping below the cliffs, casting the canyon in a warm, red glow. Between them stretched an ease born from years of trust and shared memories, a silence that needed no filling. Nanaki turned to him and smiled gently.

"It's getting late, Cloud," he said. "Why don't you stay the night? The Canyon has missed you—" he smiled a little wider, "—and so have I."

Cloud hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that. It feels right to be here again."

They headed down the hill together toward the bonfire already crackling in the heart of the canyon, the sound of laughter and music growing louder with every step, welcoming them home. They settled in by the fire with a few drinks, the familiar comfort of old friends easing the weight of time between them as they caught up.

Cloud felt himself growing warmer, the company and the alcohol loosening his tongue. They spoke of old adventures and old friends, recalling the battles they had fought side by side, the triumphs and losses that had bound them together as more than just allies—true friends.

They laughed as Cloud recounted one of Yuffie's wild schemes gone wrong, and Nanaki shook his head with a wry smile. "Yuffie never changed," Nanaki said, his voice full of affection.

"Yeah," Cloud agreed, chuckling softly. "And I don't think I'd want her to."

They moved easily from memory to memory—Barret's loud but caring nature, Tifa's steady presence, the quieter moments around campfires when the world felt far away. Nanaki spoke of his time spent studying at Cosmo Canyon, the lessons learned and the wisdom he had gained, while Cloud shared careful snippets of his travels, the places he had been, and the changes he had faced.

Several times he felt close to mentioning Skye, the memories bubbling up along with his courage, but each time he quickly shifted course, skirting around specifics, sticking to safer, vague stories about his adventures. Yet, as he grew more intoxicated, he edged nearer to speaking openly about it, Nanaki’s quiet, patient gaze never wavering, seeming to gently encourage without pushing. The fire flickered, and Cloud found himself teetering on the edge of disclosure, the words almost slipping out, only to retreat at the last moment. The struggle, though quiet, was evident in the careful pauses and half-finished sentences, the firelight catching on the emotions he wasn't quite ready to fully share. There was a mutual respect in their conversation, an acknowledgment of how far they had both come since those early days of their journey. Nanaki didn’t press Cloud about the changes, but there was a knowing look in his eyes that said he understood more than Cloud let on.

Cloud took a deep, slightly unsteady breath, staring into the flickering flames. "I guess lately, I've just been... exploring things," he started softly, his voice uncertain. "Things I never thought I'd—" he paused abruptly, cutting himself off before going further, the words sticking in his throat.

Nanaki's gaze was gentle and steady. "It's important to follow your heart, Cloud. Acceptance begins within oneself, no matter where that journey leads."

Cloud opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Nanaki's paw pointing upward. "Look—a wishing star," Nanaki said softly, eyes reflecting the starlight. "They say each wish is only for the wisher alone, whatever your heart desires."

Cloud silently gazed upward, heart racing. Closing his eyes briefly, he let a silent wish bloom in his mind—a wish he'd barely admitted to himself: to finally become the woman he was beginning to know he truly was.

They lingered by the fire until the embers burned low, the alcohol making Cloud's cheeks flushed and his laughter a little freer. At one point, he leaned against Nanaki with a clumsy grin. "You know," he slurred lightly, "I missed this. Missed you."

Nanaki chuckled, steady as ever. "The feeling's mutual, my friend."

They shared a warm, slightly drunken embrace before parting ways for the night. Cloud stumbled away from the bonfire, weaving a little as he made his way through the winding paths of Cosmo Canyon toward his lodging. His steps were loose and uncertain, guided more by memory than clear vision.

As he wandered past a row of darkened shops, a glinting light in a small window caught his eye, pulling him from his daze. Intrigued, Cloud paused, swaying slightly as he peered through the haze of drink. It was a tattoo and piercing parlor, illuminated softly from within. Displayed prominently in the window was a sparkling diamond star piercing, glittering enticingly under the gentle, inviting glow.

Cloud stared at the shimmering star, his heartbeat quickening as he realized this had to be a sign—a physical embodiment of his wishing star, calling out to him to make his silent wish real. On an impulse driven by intoxicated bravery and a newfound determination, he pushed open the door, the bell overhead jingling lightly. The piercer, an older, gruff-looking man with a salt-and-pepper beard and arms covered in intricate tattoos, glanced up from a sketchpad with mild amusement. "Late-night inspiration?" he asked, noting Cloud's flushed cheeks and unsteady stance.

"Something like that," Cloud admitted, his voice slurring slightly. He pointed hesitantly at the star in the window. "I think I... want that one, in my belly button."

The piercer raised an amused eyebrow but shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure thing, kid. You sure you're up for it tonight?"

Cloud nodded firmly, embarrassment temporarily washed away by the alcohol, replaced by a thrill of excitement mixed with nervousness. "Absolutely," he affirmed, sounding braver than he felt.

Minutes later, lying back on the comfortable chair, his shirt lifted just enough to expose his midriff and the delicate edge of his silky panties, Cloud squeezed his eyes shut as the piercer prepared. The older man didn't bat an eyelid, remaining focused on his task. "Just a quick pinch," he reassured warmly, his rough voice surprisingly comforting despite the sharp sting that followed. Cloud squealed, a high, distinctly feminine sound escaping him involuntarily, his cheeks turning an even deeper shade of crimson.

"All done," the piercer announced cheerfully, stepping back to admire his work. "Take a look."

Cloud sat up slowly, his head spinning pleasantly as he gazed down at the tiny, brilliant star adorning his bellybutton. Despite the sting, he felt a surge of exhilaration at seeing the delicate gem glittering against his skin, a tangible promise to himself to embrace the wish he'd made. "It's perfect," he breathed softly, almost reverently.

The piercer chuckled softly, his gruff exterior softening into genuine warmth. "Looks good on you," he said approvingly. "Whatever your wish is, kid, I hope it comes true.""

Cloud thanked him quietly, stumbling out with a blissful smile and a wave. He navigated back to his room, the slight ache of the piercing a sweet reminder of his promise. As he drifted off to sleep, he curled instinctively onto his side, one hand resting gently over his belly.

---

Cloud woke up slowly, a throbbing ache pulsing behind his eyes as the morning sun pierced through the curtains. He groaned, rolling over carefully as the hazy memories of the previous night began trickling back into his consciousness. Sitting up, he felt a sharp sting around his midriff, a sudden panic blooming in his chest. Frantically, he lifted his shirt and stared at the sparkling diamond star piercing his bellybutton, glinting cheerfully in the morning light.

""Oh gods, what have I done?" Cloud whispered, heart racing, his breath catching in his throat. A thousand anxious thoughts tumbled over one another—what if someone saw? What would they think? Could he ever explain it? Shame prickled at the edges of his awareness, but as he turned slowly to get a better look in the mirror, the sharp edge of panic softened.

The piercing caught the morning light and sparkled like it had the night before, a delicate, star-shaped gem nestled against the soft skin of his navel. Feminine. Beautiful. His heart fluttered strangely at the sight. His fingers hovered for a moment before brushing lightly over it, and a soft, involuntary smile tugged at his lips.

It was more than pretty. It felt right.

Despite everything—the hangover, the uncertainty, the rush of fear—it brought a quiet thrill. A secret, shimmering promise. Cloud’s reflection looked back at him with a kind of softness he wasn’t used to seeing, a quiet confidence hiding beneath the nerves. He looked... a little like the girl in his dreams.

And just like that, the regret faded, replaced by something tender and shy and new. He smiled, a little embarrassed but unable to help himself, cheeks pinking as the thought settled in his chest: this was his wish, quietly blooming into truth.

After all, he reasoned with himself, who would even see it? Mia? Reeve? No one who didn’t already know him as Skye anyway. His cheeks flushed slightly as his thoughts lingered on the idea of Reeve seeing it—how he might react. A little heat crept up his neck, and he blushed deeper, quickly shaking his head to chase away the embarrassing but not unwelcome thought.

Best to get one of those over with, he thought, pulling out his PHS with a sigh and tapping out a message to Mia: so i got a little drunk last night...

He hesitated only a moment before snapping a quick picture of the star-shaped piercing glinting softly in his bellybutton and attaching it to the message. The sight still made his heart flutter—equal parts nerves and excitement.

The reply was almost immediate, filled with crying-laughing emojis. OMG girl! I can’t wait to see you and THAT! xxx

Cloud rolled his eyes with a faint smile—Mia would've found out sooner or later. He tugged on his clothes, adjusting his shirt carefully over his midriff, and headed out into the canyon light to find Nanaki.

Nanaki had risen early to see Cloud on his way. When they embraced, Cloud had the distinct feeling that Nanaki knew—or at least sensed—that something was different. The way Nanaki’s nose twitched, as if catching a new scent, and the way he regarded Cloud with quiet curiosity spoke volumes. There was an unspoken understanding between them, an acceptance that whatever changes had happened, their friendship would endure.

Cloud spoke again, his voice quieter. "I missed this place, you know. It feels... different coming back, but also like coming home."

"It will always be a home for you," Nanaki replied. "No matter how much things change."

Cloud left Cosmo Canyon with a new piercing, but more importantly, a new sense of clarity. He wanted to reconnect with Barrett. They hadn’t talked much since Aerith's death, and there were things Cloud wanted to say—needed to say. And Tifa… he owed it to her, to both of them, to let them know he was doing better.

Cloud scrolled through his contacts, finding Tifa's name. He paused for a moment, his thumb hovering over the screen as memories of their time together surfaced. He knew this was important, and he needed to make the effort. After a deep breath, Cloud sent a text to Tifa:

*Hey, Tifa. It's me. Want to catch up?*

***

The ornate doors of the Honeybee Inn opened slowly as Skye and Mia entered together. The hostess looked over, and her eyes lit up.

"Oh, love the new look, Skye!" Skye was wearing some of the new dance gear she got on her trip to Cosmo Canyon—a pale blue long hoodie and grey leggings with white sneakers. She blushed and gave a bashful smile, striking a quick, playful pose with one hip cocked and her hands on her thighs. "Thanks," she said, glancing down at herself with a mix of pride and shyness. "I was a bit nervous about wearing them out, but Mia convinced me."

The hostess nodded, "Well, she was right, they look great on you." Mia nudged Skye playfully. "I'm always right," she added with a grin, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "You look super cute. You really should listen to me more often."

Skye smiled, the compliment sinking in and warming her from the inside out. It felt good to be seen like this.

As they moved into the dressing room, Mia peeled off her top, revealing a delicate lace bra. She glanced over at Skye, who was untying her sneakers, and her lips curled into a wicked grin. “So, let’s finally see this piercing.”

Skye’s head snapped up, blushing instantly. “Oh gods, I thought you’d forgotten!”

“No chance,” Mia said, folding her arms. “Come on, missy.”

With a nervous laugh, Skye rolled her eyes and slowly pulled off her hoodie, revealing her own pink bra above the high-waisted leggings that covered her navel. Then hesitated, cheeks flushed. "Promise you won’t laugh?" she said, her voice just a little unsure.

Mia held up her pinky without hesitation. "Pinky swear."

Skye gave a wry, uncertain little smile—half-grimace, half-grin—and then tugged the waistband of her leggings down just enough to reveal the sparkling star nestled in her bellybutton.

Mia’s expression softened immediately. “Awww, it looks cute—I love it.”

Skye's expression softened into a shy smiley. “Yeah I kinda do too… but it makes it harder to pass as Cloud.”

Mia scoffed, stepping out of her jeans and tossing them onto a nearby bench. “Nobody’s seeing Cloud naked, so don’t worry about it.” She winked. “Skye, on the other hand? That’s gonna look so pretty on her.”

They both giggled at that, moving in tandem as they changed—Skye felt a slight pang of something she couldn't quite place, looking at Mia as she pulled her hoodie up over her head, She shook it off and smiled softly.

“Now,” Mia said with a playful nudge, “finish telling me about you and Nanaki.”

Skye eased her leggings down, revealing a matching pair of soft pink panties that made her blush just a little under Mia’s gaze. “That was pretty much it,” she said with a small smile. “I headed home the next morning, but it was great—just like old times. It felt like going home.” She reached for her leotard, stepping into it and drawing it slowly up over her body, the fabric hugging her curves with a gentle snugness.

Mia's eyes lit up as she adjusted her own leotard, the gauzy skirt flowing around her hips. "Awww, that sounds so sweet. And seriously, he's like a wolf or something?" She tied the ribbons of her dance shoes, her fingers deftly working the fabric into neat bows.

Skye shrugged, slipping her feet into her own shoes and beginning to tie the ribbons around her ankles. "Or a lion? I honestly never asked." She finished tying the ribbons, smoothing them down before standing up.

Mia rolled her eyes at Skye, her tone teasing as she adjusted the straps of her leotard. "Either way, he sounds adorable."

Skye chuckled, settling her skirt into place "I'll let you tell him that yourself."

Mia smirked, leaning in closer, her eyes never leaving Skye's as she applied a little pink lip gloss, her movements slow and deliberate. There was something almost challenging in her gaze, a playful curiosity mixed with a hint of something deeper. "Oh, so you think I'll get to meet him? You're gonna tell him all about the real you?"

Skye hesitated for a moment, picking up a mascara wand to give her lashes a gentle sweep. She winced slightly. "I'll see how things go... First, I've got to see Barrett and Tifa."

They saw the other dancers moving out, and Mia grabbed Skye's arm, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric of Skye's leotard. "Hold that thought—I really want to know all about it, but we don't want to get in trouble with Andrea again!"

They dashed through, joining the others just as Andrea called them to attention. "Alright, boys and girls, gather 'round!" He smiled at them, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "The last few lessons have been nothing short of fantastic. Your dedication, your energy—it's been inspiring! Depending on how today goes, I just might have a little surprise for you all," he announced, his voice full of playful mystery before getting everyone underway. "So, give me everything you've got, darlings! Let's make some magic!".

They moved through stretches, the warm-up routines loosening their bodies, before transitioning into the dance. Skye felt liberated, channeling the freedom she had felt while dancing under the stars. Her hair kept slipping across her face, a minor annoyance, but it couldn't detract from her sense of exhilaration. The whole room moved in sync, each dancer feeding off the energy of the others, and Skye found herself dancing as well as anyone. Even as she had to brush her hair aside to keep her vision clear, she kept her rhythm, her focus never wavering. She noticed Andrea watching the group, a pleased smile on his face.

Mia noticed Skye's struggle with her hair and came over during the break. "Oh, honey, your hair is all over the place," she said, her voice warm as she gently gathered Skye's hair back. "Let me help you out...it's getting longer, you know. You'll need to get used to this." Mia tied Skye's hair into a short ponytail with a little bejeweled hair tie, stepping back with a satisfied smile. "There, you look so pretty with it like that."

Skye blushed, touching the ponytail lightly. "Thanks, Mia." She took a few spare ties that Mia handed her, and Mia's expectant look made it clear she wanted to pick up their conversation from earlier. "So anyway," Skye continued, "after what Reeve said and talking with Nanaki, I decided to send Tifa a message..."

Mia looked at her with anticipation. "And? How did it go?"

Skye took a deep breath, her voice steadying. "I'm going to see her and Barrett tomorrow. Tifa's opened a new bar up in Sector 8."

"As you?" Mia asked, her eyebrows raised.

"No, as she remembers me..." Skye said, her voice softening. "Tifa and I were so close for so long. I want that back, and I don't want to push her away."

Mia gave her a long look. "You're not going to tell her? Not even a little?"

Skye shook her head firmly. "Not yet. I’m not ready, and I don’t think she is either. If I show up as Skye, it could confuse things—or scare her off. I need to take this slow."

Mia sighed but held up her hands. "Okay, okay. Just promise me you’re not going to keep hiding forever. You deserve to be seen for who you are."

Skye nodded. "I know. Just... not by her. Not yet."

Mia nodded slowly. "Hmm, well, if you think that's best." Then, with a teasing grin, she added, "Just how close were you and Tifa?"

Skye opened her mouth to respond, but Andrea's clap ended the break, and they quickly got back in position. Mia mouthed scruffs to her, "You're not getting off that easily."

Everyone continued to dance at the top of their game, their movements sharp and filled with passion. Andrea's gaze swept over the group, visibly impressed. Skye not only kept up but stood out as one of the best in the class—her movements were fluid, her expressions genuine, and a sense of freedom seemed to infuse every step. Andrea watched her closely, nodding with approval as she spun and leaped, her energy unmatched.

When the session ended, Andrea clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention as he gathered them around. "Listen up, my fabulous dancers!" he said, his eyes scanning the group with pride. "You've all been working so hard, and I think some of you are ready for the next big step." He paused for dramatic effect, his voice full of excitement. "I'm looking for new Honeybees to join the main show cast at the Honeybee Inn. Next month, we'll be holding auditions." 

A ripple of excitement spread through the group, murmurs and whispers of anticipation filling the room. Andrea smiled broadly, feeding off their energy. "You've all got the talent, now show me that passion! This is your chance to shine." Skye felt a swell of pride for Mia, knowing how much this opportunity could mean for her friend. She caught Mia's eye and pointed at her excitedly. Mia responded with a wide grin, nodding back, her excitement mirroring Skye's own enthusiasm.

As the dancers began to disperse, Andrea kept Skye back. She paused, curious, as Andrea approached her. "Skye, when you first came to me, I knew that joining the class would help you embrace your femininity," he began, his voice warm and encouraging. "Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, darling—you look beautiful."

He looked her up and down approvingly as she stood with her weight shifted slightly, one hand resting lightly on her hip. Her small ponytail, with slight bangs, framed her elegantly made-up face. The leotard hugged her form, accentuating her chest and tracing the smooth lines of her body down to her ribboned heels. The gauzy skirt floated around her hips, enhancing her delicate silhouette with a hint of grace and movement.

Skye felt a flush of pride rising in her chest. She didn’t flinch under Andrea’s gaze; she stood tall, feeling and looking truly feminine—and she wanted that to be seen. More than that, she wanted Andrea to be proud of who she was becoming.

Andrea then added, more matter-of-factly, "What I didn't expect was that you would be able to dance."

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "And not only can you dance—you outshine every single one of them in a room full of stars." Andrea's smile grew warmer as he looked at her, his gaze steady and encouraging. "Skye, I want you to audition as a Honeybee."

Skye blinked, thrown by the question. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of excitement and fear bubbling up inside her. Could she really do it? The idea of stepping into the spotlight like that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. She stammered for a moment, feeling Andrea's gaze steady on her, almost like he was willing her to see herself the way he did. "I... I don't..." she trailed off, gathering her composure before finally saying, "I'll need to think about it."

Andrea nodded, his smile broadening with enthusiasm. "It's a big change, sweetheart, especially for you, but I see so much potential in you, Skye. You could be absolutely spectacular—dazzling!" He paused, allowing his words to settle in, his eyes gleaming with encouragement. "No matter what you decide, I'm here for you. Whether you audition or not, I'm dedicated to helping you grow into the queen you are."

He started to strut toward a nearby cupboard, throwing a flamboyant gesture over his shoulder for her to follow. "Come on, let's not waste a single moment, gorgeous! We've got magic to make." Skye couldn't help but be entertained by him, a smile tugging at her lips as she hurried to catch up.

Andrea pulled out a pair of heels, over twice the height of the ones Skye was wearing. Skye's eyes widened at the sight. "I know you've mastered those, sweetheart, I've seen you dance—but darling, those legs deserve even more," Andrea said, his gaze trailing down approvingly. "You want to be fierce, and these will take you there. Start wearing these around the house to get the hang of it, and soon enough, we'll have you dancing in them like a true queen. Now, watch and learn," he said, handing her the heels with a flourish.

Andrea executed a clipped turn and sashayed across the room, every movement precise and controlled. He turned on his heel at the end and came back exactly the same way, one foot directly in front of the other, head up, hips swaying, and looking Skye right in the eye.

Skye raised her hand hesitantly, a slight laugh escaping her. "Andrea, how do you make it look so easy?"

Andrea winked. "Darling, it's all in the attitude. You must believe—no, you know the floor is lucky to feel your heels." He straightened up with a flourish. "That, my dear, is the spirit I want to see every time you move," he said, his tone encouraging yet firm. "You've got the fluidity, now we need precision." He was already gliding toward the piano, not missing a beat, as he added over his shoulder, "The heels will help, but you need practice, practice, practice!"

Reaching the piano, Andrea started to play a scale before glancing at Skye. "There's no easy way to say this, gorgeous, but you sound like a man," he said, his tone direct yet laced with affection. He gave her an apologetic look.

Skye shifted awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious about her voice in a way she hadn't really thought about before. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then said quietly, her voice dipping uncertainly, "I... I guess I haven't really thought about it much." Andrea smiled warmly. "You look fabulous, of course, but you need to sound fabulous too," he said, his tone light but encouraging. "It'll help you sound like the real you, and if you decide to be a Honeybee, you'll need to be able to charm the guests."

He held up a finger, signaling her to pay attention. "Listen—you’re down here," he played a low note on the piano, "and we want you up here," he followed with a high note. "See?" He moved his finger to demonstrate as he played the notes again, the high one resonating brightly. "Now, give it a try," he instructed Skye.

She tried holding the notes—the low wasn't an issue, but her voice cracked a little on the high note, sounding unnatural. She blushed, her cheeks turning pink. "Oh, sweetheart, we all have to start somewhere—plenty of work to do!" Andrea said with a dramatic flourish, gesturing for Skye to follow him as he moved towards the dressing room.

Andrea sat down at one of the mirrors. "And finally," he announced with a flourish, "makeup maketh the queen." He pulled Skye down to sit next to him, touching her cheek lightly. "You've got the basics down, sweetheart, but stage makeup is a whole different ball game—if you really want to dazzle under those lights," he said, as he expertly applied an incredibly bold cat eye. "Besides, if the buzz in the room is anything to go by, you might want a little extra glam to impress a certain gentleman friend," he added, raising an eyebrow while applying a sparkling deep plum lipstick.

Skye blushed deeply, feeling the heat spread across her cheeks. "I—I don't—it's not—" she spluttered, the words tumbling out in an incoherent rush, which only made Andrea's knowing smile widen. "Oh, darling, you never need to be embarrassed with me," he teased, his voice dripping with warmth and a hint of mischief. "I've been everywhere, done everything—and trust me, I mean everywhere and everything," he added, his eyes sparkling with a playful glint. Skye, still blushing furiously, fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. "There is a gentleman," she admitted shyly. "I'd always been into women before but... like this, it feels different... I just want something... different."

Andrea threw back his head and laughed, rich and unbothered. "Oh, darling, we all want a bit of cock sometimes," he said with a wicked grin, making Skye's mouth drop open in mortification.

Before she could stammer out a protest, Andrea's expression softened, kind and understanding. He leaned closer, lowering his voice slightly. "Listen, man to man as it were—" Andrea said, leaning in with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "Darling, there are few joys quite like being absolutely devastated in the ass by someone who adores you. Or giving a man a proper blow job—feeling him lose all sense under your touch." Skye turned crimson, her mouth opening and closing uselessly as Andrea pressed on, utterly unfazed.

"Experiment, explore," Andrea continued, his voice lowering as if sharing the most precious of secrets. "Discover what you like—what makes you gasp, what makes you shudder. And when you find it, darling, revel in it."

He smiled kindly then, the teasing edge softening. "Cherish anyone who accepts you for who you are." he said warmly. "But never forget—Reeve is lucky to have you."

He leaned in again, lowering his voice just slightly with a conspiratorial glint. "So of course, take him to heights of ecstasy he's never known, but make sure he takes care of you too. It's all about give and take—literally," he added with a wink.

Then Andrea squeezed her hand gently. "I want you to enjoy every moment of being the queen you're becoming."

Skye, still bright pink, managed a breathless laugh. "I'll do my best," she promised, her voice small but touched with real happiness. "Honestly, I've been... really enjoying all of it."

Andrea clapped his hands once, positively beaming. "Darling, that's all I could ever ask for! You're blossoming, and it shows in every step you take."

Skye paused, her gaze dropping for a moment as she thought about it more seriously. "The audition... it's a lot to take in. But I promise I'll think about it."

"You should—you could be a superstar, darling." Andrea said, air-kissing her cheeks with a flourish. He turned on his heel. "Opportunity doesn't knock forever, sweetheart," he called over his shoulder, his voice full of flair as he left.

Skye quickly slipped out of her leotard and back  into her leggings and hoodie, pulling the hood up for a moment before letting it fall back. She took a breath, still feeling the warmth of embarrassment lingering in her chest. When she stepped outside, the cooler air kissed her flushed skin. Mia was already waiting with two frappuccinos, her own half-finished, tapping her foot with exaggerated impatience.

"Finally!" Mia called, handing over the untouched drink. "I thought you'd decided to move in with Andrea or something. What on the planet did he want that kept you so long?"

"You won't believe this," Skye said, blushing again as she rolled her eyes. "He gave me a sex talk. Like, a full-on, unfiltered, Andrea kind of sex talk."

Mia nearly dropped her drink, bursting into laughter. "He what?"

Skye groaned, covering her face with one hand. "He asked about my gentleman friend and I had to tell him—and then he told me to explore, enjoy it, and—no joke—how amazing it is to get 'devastated in the ass.' I was mortified."

Mia cackled, nearly doubling over. "Of course he did. That man has zero filter."

Skye giggled in spite of herself. "I mean... he wasn’t exactly wrong." She bit her lip, then added playfully, "Maybe I’ll even ask Reeve to... devastate me," sending Mia into another fit of laughter.

They both dissolved into giggles, any tension breaking easily between them. As the laughter faded and they caught their breath, Skye wiped her eyes, still grinning.

"But seriously," she said more quietly, her voice dipping into something softer, "it wasn't just that. He talked to me about real lessons—about helping me be more myself."

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. "And... he asked me to audition."

Mia's eyes widened, and she let out an exaggerated gasp. "What?! How could you do this to me?! What a betrayal! I thought you were my friend!" She dramatically placed her hand over her heart and staggered back a step, as if wounded. "Honestly, Skye, how could you even consider outshining me like this?"

Skye blinked, taken aback, before laughing softly as Mia squeezed her hand.

"I'm just messing with you, Skye," Mia said, grinning wide. "He'd have to be daft not to—you dance better than most of us who've been at this longer than you have." Her smile softened, becoming more sincere as she gave Skye’s hand another squeeze. "I'm so proud of you. Honestly, the only thing better than me getting into the show would be both of us getting in."

Mia met Skye’s eyes directly, her voice earnest. "You've got to go for it, okay?"

Skye nodded, "Okay, let's do it—but we're doing it together!"

They linked arms and started making their way through Wall Market, weaving through the lively, colorful crowds that filled the bustling streets. Neon signs flickered overhead, music drifted from open doorways, and the scent of fresh food lingered in the warm night air. They strolled easily, occasionally bumping shoulders and exchanging small smiles.

Mia glanced over at Skye, her curiosity getting the better of her. "You never finished telling me about Tifa," she said, her voice light but probing.

Skye furrowed her brow slightly. "It's... complicated. I've known her pretty much my whole life—we've been strangers, we've been friends, we've been lovers..."

Mia let out a low whistle. "Wow. That's... a lot of history."

Skye nodded, her expression growing more reflective. "Yeah. I've wanted to be with her—hells, I'd never tell her, but I've even wanted to be her at times." She took a deep breath. "Instead I always tried to be her big, strong knight in shining armor. It was easier for me to be the protector, to fit that role, instead of admitting that maybe I needed saving too. That's how she saw me, and that's what brought us together in the end."

Mia listened quietly, her expression softening.

Skye paused, her gaze dropping. "I'm not sure how much she ever knew about... this," she said, gesturing down her body, her hand trailing slowly, as if to capture every change she’s embraced.

Mia's eyes followed the motion with understanding. "You're different now. But not in a bad way. Just... more you."

Skye smiled faintly, her voice almost a whisper. "All I know for sure is that I want her to be in my life, whatever that looks like. Whatever I have to do, whatever I have to be—Tifa's worth it."

Mia reached over and gently bumped Skye's shoulder with hers. "Sounds like she means the world to you," she said warmly. "You should definitely find a way to reconnect. Some bonds are worth fighting for."

There was a small beat of silence before Mia added, more cautiously, "But... if Tifa's back in the picture, where does that leave things with Reeve?"

Skye fell silent, lost in thought for a moment. Then a wolf whistle cut through the air, and she glanced up, catching sight of their reflection in a shop window. She blinked, momentarily startled. She'd been so caught up in everything that she hadn't really stopped to think about how she looked until now. Two pretty girls—hair bouncing in neat ponytails, dressed in bright, feminine workout clothes, makeup perfectly applied, radiant and carefree, chatting and gossiping about their love lives.

For a moment, she almost couldn't believe that one of those girls was her. It was such a simple, joyful image—and it filled her chest with a sudden, overwhelming warmth.

A sudden, bubbling joy filled her chest, and she let out a happy sigh. "You know what? That's a problem for another day," she said, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Mia, a smile breaking through the seriousness.

"But enough about my drama," Skye added, a teasing lilt entering her voice. "What about you, Mia? Got anyone special in your life, or are you keeping secrets from me?" She looped her arm through Mia's, and off they went, laughter trailing behind them as they strolled down the lively street.

Chapter Text

The following days were filled with subtle yet significant changes that began to reshape his daily life. It was as if a spell had been broken—in a coffee shop, letting his feminine side shine and leaning into romance; in Cosmo Canyon, under the stars with an old friend; in the studio, learning and laughing with a mentor and a new best friend—each moment had quietly but surely released something within Cloud that he'd held back for far too long.

Each day brought small but noticeable changes in the way he looked, dressed, carried himself, and interacted with the world around him. Though he was still a little self-conscious, hesitant at times, he was trying to let more of his feminine side shine through—embracing it a little more with every passing moment.

Cloud's wardrobe was gradually evolving, and he found himself experimenting more boldly with each passing day. Loose sweaters layered over cami tops, soft subtle blouses replacing his usual shirts, and form-fitting leggings or jeans that showed off his legs became regular choices, often paired with boots that had a slight heel. The colors in his closet were growing a little brighter—dark blues shifting into lighter shades, muted purples, and soft pinks—reflecting his changing spirit.

He began using a light touch of makeup, just enough to make his blue eyes stand out and his cheeks glow with a soft, healthy color. Some days, he'd add small accessories: hoop earrings replacing his studs, delicate bracelets around his wrists, or a simple ribbon tying his hair back. Each piece felt like a small but meaningful statement, another step forward in his journey of self-discovery.

Though he often felt the weight of others' eyes on him as he moved through the crowded streets, he focused on carrying himself with grace. His posture had softened, his steps grown lighter, almost as if he were moving to a rhythm only he could hear. And he was learning to smile more—not the tight-lipped, guarded smile of a SOLDIER, but something gentler, something freer, something that spoke of acceptance and a growing comfort in his own skin.

His interactions with others were also shifting, becoming less guarded and more open. Cloud still carried the warrior's edge, but now there was an ease that hadn't been there before—a willingness to show vulnerability, to let others see the softer side of him. He had even begun testing a more feminine pitch and tone when speaking, as Andrea had suggested, trying to find a voice that better matched how he felt inside. When speaking with shopkeepers, friends, or strangers, he found himself lingering in conversations, asking questions, making small talk. There was still an underlying self-consciousness, the constant worry that someone might judge or misunderstand him, but with every genuine smile he received in return, that fear lessened just a bit.

Another rehearsal passed by, marked by Cloud's growing confidence. He moved with more fluidity now, his body instinctively following the rhythm without overthinking each step. The other dancers offered nods of encouragement and warm smiles, and Andrea praised his progress with a proud, knowing look.

"Look at you, darling," Andrea said with a wink as Cloud executed a particularly graceful spin. "Moving like you were born to do it."

Though there were still fleeting moments of hesitation, Cloud could feel himself blending seamlessly into the flow of the group, letting the music carry him with increasing ease. The prospect of auditioning no longer felt like an impossible task; it was still daunting, but also exhilarating. The thought of what success could mean scared him, but it also filled him with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in a long time.

At home, Cloud let his inner self loose with far less hesitation. He lounged in silky robes over lace-trimmed camisoles, paired with soft leggings or flowy pants, twirling in front of the mirror just because he could. He practiced walking in heels, striding dramatically from room to room, pausing now and then to toss a playful look at his own reflection. "Work it, darling," he would say to himself in a teasing imitation of Andrea's voice, which only made him giggle.

His steps became lighter, his posture more poised, his voice taking on the lilting, melodic tones Andrea had suggested. Sometimes, he went all out—pulling on an elegant dress, slipping on dangling earrings, layering on sparkling jewelry, and painting his lips with a perfect glossy shine. Looking into the mirror, he would see Skye smiling back: radiant, glamorous, and unmistakably herself.

He savored the feel of a fitted gown hugging his body, the brush of soft fabric against his skin, and the satisfying little click of heels against the floor. It was playful. It was affirming. It was fun—a little private celebration of the girl he was becoming.

Sometimes Mia would visit his apartment, and they'd have full-on girly nights together—painting each other's nails, trying out new makeup looks, and lounging in their comfiest clothes while watching sappy movies. Mia would giggle when Cloud squealed over a new lipstick or struggled to apply falsies.

"Honestly, Skye, you’re turning into such a little diva," Mia teased one night, snapping a photo of him posing dramatically with glittery pink, over-the-top kawaii makeup—heavy glitter shadow, bright pink blush swept high on his cheeks, and glossy bubblegum lips.

Cloud just laughed, tossing a pillow at her. "Like you're one to talk—you're as much to blame as I am!"

Other times, Cloud would visit Mia's place, where they'd cook dinner together or attempt to bake something sweet—usually ending with flour everywhere. They would browse through boutiques, daring each other to try on increasingly glamorous outfits, or sip coffee at cozy little cafes, whispering and giggling over pastries.

It wasn’t just about the makeup or the clothes—it was about being seen, being silly, and feeling like he could finally breathe. Spending time with Mia allowed Cloud to be carefree and connected, embracing his femininity naturally and joyfully, just like any other girl.

Of course, it wasn't always just about embracing his feminine side. Cloud still had to work, taking on mercenary jobs around Midgar. These jobs were a reminder of his past life, but he couldn't help noticing subtle changes in his fighting style—movements that had become more fluid, influenced by the grace and rhythm of his dance training.

One afternoon, Cloud found himself facing down a hulking beast near the edges of Sector 5—a mutated hound with snapping jaws and brutal speed. As it lunged for him, Cloud sidestepped with an effortless twirl, dodging with a dancer's precision, his balance unshakable. He barely thought about it; his body just flowed from one movement to the next, turning what would have been a frantic scramble into something almost balletic.

The dance rehearsals had refined his awareness of his body, and now, even in combat, there was a hint of that unexpected elegance—an almost mesmerizing quality to his movements that made him feel both powerful and poised.

Work kept Cloud busy, but Reeve's responsibilities kept him even busier. They rarely found the time to meet in person, but they stayed connected through frequent messages and phone calls whenever they could. Reeve was always warm and supportive as Cloud spoke of the changes in his life, listening with genuine interest.

Their conversations were filled with small talk, moments of warmth, and occasional teasing flirtations. One night, after a long call filled with laughter, Reeve's voice dropped to a softer, more intimate tone. "I miss you," he said suddenly, voice softer than before. "More than I should probably admit."

Cloud felt his chest tighten, a shy smile creeping onto his face. "You’re allowed to miss me. I miss you too."

"Then next time," Reeve said, voice rich with promise, "no excuses. Just you, me, and a whole day I’m not sharing with anyone else."

They couldn't wait to find a day to spend together, a day without the weight of their respective lives—a day where it could just be them.

As the days passed and the looming meeting with Tifa and Barret approached, Cloud found himself growing increasingly apprehensive. He knew he couldn't be Skye with them—not fully, not yet. He spent hours standing in front of his wardrobe, debating what to wear, his fingers hesitating over brighter pieces before inevitably reaching for his old familiar clothes. The ones that made him look and feel like the SOLDIER they remembered.

He practiced speaking in his old, deeper tone, suppressing the lilting softness he’d started to grow comfortable with. The heels and soft colors were pushed aside, replaced with combat boots and muted tones. Standing in front of the mirror, he saw Cloud Strife staring back—the man they expected to see. But beneath the carefully constructed surface, Skye was still there, faint but steady, an undeniable part of who he had become.

Cloud drew in a long breath, steeling himself for the upcoming reunion. He would play the role they needed—for now. It would be a challenge, hiding how much he’d changed, but he felt ready to face it. Even if it meant keeping a part of himself tucked away a little longer, he knew who he was. And that knowledge gave him strength. 

***

The familiar creak of the bar door as it swung open was enough to send a shiver up Cloud's spine. It was a strange kind of nostalgia, laced with both warmth and tension, as he stood there for a moment before stepping inside. Tifa's new place was called Final Heaven. It certainly had the same soul as the old Seventh Heaven, despite being up on the Sector 8 plate—a quiet sanctuary amidst the sprawling chaos of Midgar. The comforting clink of glasses, the soft hum of conversation, and the sharp scent of spirits lingered in the air, reaching him, pulling him further in.

Cloud took a deep breath. He had made sure to keep things simple today—dark jeans, black boots, and the old familiar turtleneck. His hair spiked in the same wild pattern, and the faintest hint of stubble had been carefully shaved away. The soft scent of the lavender oil Aerith had given him was faint, almost imperceptible. He couldn’t let them see any changes, not yet. For today, he was the Cloud Strife they knew. The SOLDIER. The one who fought for them, stood beside them. He wanted to be that Cloud, if only for a little while.

He spotted them right away. Tifa behind the bar, her smile lighting up the room as she chatted with a patron, and Barrett—broad-shouldered and unmistakable—sitting at the counter, his deep laugh echoing off the walls. For a moment, Cloud hesitated. Would they see through him? Could they tell how much had shifted beneath the surface, how fragile this presentation was? He steeled himself, lifting his chin and walking forward.

"Hey," he called, his voice pitched to its old quiet gruffness. Both Tifa and Barrett turned, and their eyes widened in unison. Tifa's face broke into a radiant smile, and she was around the bar in an instant, crossing the distance between them.

"Cloud! You're here!" She wrapped her arms around him, and he let her, holding her briefly before stepping back, his lips pulling into a small smile.

"Yeah. Figured I'd drop by," he said, trying to keep it light. He looked over at Barrett, who was already making his way over, his heavy footsteps echoing through the room.

"Spiky! 'Bout damn time you showed your face!" Barrett's grin was as wide as ever, and he clapped Cloud on the shoulder with enough force to nearly stagger him. Cloud managed a chuckle, rolling his shoulder to shake off the impact.

"You look good," Tifa said, her voice softening. There was relief there, and a touch of something else—concern, perhaps. Cloud met her gaze and nodded.

"I'm doing better," he said, and he meant it. It wasn't a lie, not exactly. He was better, just not in the way they might think. He had found pieces of himself he hadn't known were missing, but those pieces weren't something he could share. Not yet. Not until he knew how—if—they fit with the Cloud they remembered.

"Glad to hear it," Barrett said, his voice gruff but warm. He gestured toward the bar. "C'mon, sit. Tifa's got some new stuff on the menu. You gotta try it."

Tifa smiled, her eyes lingering on Cloud for a moment longer before she turned, leading them back to the counter. Cloud followed, slipping onto one of the stools as Barrett took the one beside him. He let himself relax, just a little, as Tifa moved behind the bar, pouring drinks and chatting with Barrett. The warmth in the room began to seep into him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to believe that this could work—that he could be here, with them, just as he was.

"So, tell me," Tifa said, sliding a glass in front of Cloud, her eyes curious but gentle. "What have you been up to?"

"Been busy," Cloud replied, keeping his tone casual. He didn't elaborate, and neither did they. He could feel Tifa's eyes on him, searching his face for something—maybe some trace of the turmoil he'd been through, some sign of where he'd been or what he'd found. He kept his expression calm, letting none of it show.

Cloud paused, his hand wrapping around the glass, looking between Tifa and Barrett. He gave a small shrug, offering a faint but sincere smile. "You know... finding my way," he said. It was vague, but it was true. He wasn't ready to say more, to let them see the changes, the new parts of himself that felt even more fragile in this moment. For now, he wanted to be this Cloud—the one they remembered, who had come back to them. 

Tifa rested her arms on the bar, her eyes still on Cloud, her voice curious but gentle. "Finding your way, huh?" she said, her voice curious but not pressing. "I think we all needed that, in a way." She smiled, her gaze drifting as she continued, "I've been focusing on rebuilding. Not just this place, but... everything. Trying to give people a home again. A place to feel safe." She paused, her fingers brushing over the polished wood of the bar. "It's been tough, but worth it. And it's good to see you here again, Cloud. Feels like things are finally starting to come together."

Cloud nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at her. He knew how much Tifa had put into this place, how much it meant to her to create something stable amidst the chaos. "You've done a great job," he said quietly. "It really feels like home."

Barrett let out a hearty laugh, leaning back in his seat. "Yeah, Tifa's been busy as hell, but ain't none of it surprising. She's always been the heart of the group, keeping us all together." He took a swig of his drink and then set it down, his expression growing a bit more serious. "Me, though? I've been back to Corel, tryin' to help rebuild there too. Place is still a mess, but we're makin' progress. I want Marlene to have something to be proud of, y'know? A place where she can see that we fought for somethin' that matters."

Cloud listened, a sense of admiration settling in his chest as he glanced between his friends. They'd all been fighting their own battles, doing their best to carve out something meaningful from the wreckage of what was. He took a sip from his glass, the warmth of the drink spreading through him. "Sounds like you've both been doing good things," he said, his voice sincere. "Real things."

Barrett snorted, giving Cloud a sidelong look. "What about you, Spiky? You been doin' anythin' real?"

Cloud hesitated, the weight of Barrett's words pressing down on him. He wanted to tell them more, wanted to share what he'd been through, but he wasn't ready. Not yet. He managed a small smile, shrugging slightly. "Just trying to figure out what comes next."

Tifa's eyes softened, and she reached across the bar, her fingers brushing against Cloud's hand for just a moment. "You'll find it," she said, her voice filled with quiet conviction. "Whatever it is, you'll find it. And we'll be here, whenever you're ready."

Cloud looked at her, then at Barrett, and nodded. "Thanks," he said, the word simple but filled with more meaning than he could express.

They drank together, the warmth of the alcohol and the easy presence of old friends making the moment feel almost normal. Tifa watched Cloud for a beat longer, her eyes filled with both curiosity and a touch of something else—perhaps something unspoken from their past. She cleared her throat, her tone deliberately casual as she spoke again.

"So, Cloud," she began, her gaze trying to stay light but failing to mask the vulnerability beneath, "have you, uh... been seeing anyone? You know, since everything?"

Cloud felt his stomach twist, the question hitting closer than he was comfortable with. His fingers tightened slightly around his glass, and he forced himself to meet Tifa's eyes, knowing she deserved honesty, but also knowing he couldn’t tell her everything. Not about Reeve. Not yet. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice a touch quieter, almost hesitant. "I... I've been seeing someone. But it's complicated."

Tifa's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then she caught herself, offering a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Oh," she said, and there was a pause, the air between them heavy with everything unsaid. "I see. Complicated, huh?"

Cloud nodded, his throat feeling tight. "Yeah. It's... not something I can really explain right now. But it's good." He hoped that would be enough, hoped she wouldn't press further. He wasn’t lying, but the truth was far more complex than he could express in that moment.

Barrett, oblivious to the tension thickening between them, leaned forward with a booming laugh. "Aw, c'mon, Spiky! There’s gotta be some lucky lady out there who's got your attention! What, you tryin' to tell me you're still playin' it all broody and mysterious?" He nudged Cloud with his elbow, his grin widening. "Don't tell me you're scared of a little romance."

Cloud felt his face grow hot, a flush creeping up his neck. He managed a tight smile, shifting slightly on the stool. "It's... not like that," he said, trying to navigate around the truth. "Just... haven't found the right time, I guess."

Tifa gave a soft laugh, though there was something a bit forced in the sound, her fingers playing with an empty glass. "Well, whenever you do, I hope they're good to you," she said gently, her eyes holding his for a moment before she turned back to the bar, busying herself with the bottles.

Barrett let out another booming laugh, slapping Cloud on the back. "Yeah, well, you let us know when that happens, alright? Maybe we'll even give 'em the Barrett seal of approval." He winked, and Cloud couldn't help but roll his eyes, a mix of relief and exasperation settling in his chest.

The moment passed, but the awkwardness lingered, hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. Cloud took another drink, letting the warmth of the whiskey burn down his throat.

He cleared his throat, feigning a casual tone as he looked at Tifa. "What about you?" he asked, his voice lighter than he felt. "You seeing anyone?"

Tifa blinked, clearly not expecting the question. Her eyes flickered down to the bar, and she hesitated for a moment before looking back at him. "No... not really," she said, her voice soft. "I've just been focused on this place. Rebuilding it, making it into something real. Something people can rely on."

She offered a small smile, but there was a trace of sadness there, something that made Cloud's chest tighten. "Guess I'm kind of in the same boat as you," she added, her tone trying to be light but not quite managing it. "Still trying to figure things out."

Barrett, perhaps sensing the heavy undertone in the conversation, let out a laugh that was just a bit too loud. "Heh, guess we're all just tryin' to find our way, huh? Ain't nobody got time for romance when we're buildin' a new world." He gave Tifa a grin, then looked back at Cloud, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "What about ol' Barrett, huh? Ain't nobody gonna ask about me?" He let out another booming laugh.

Cloud smirked, leaning back slightly on his stool. "Alright, Barrett. What about you? Anyone out there who's caught your eye?"

Barrett snorted, shaking his head. "Nah, ain't nobody got time for that. Not when there's still work to be done. Besides, I got Marlene to think about. She's my world, ain't no room for anything else right now." He paused, his expression softening. "But one day, maybe. When things settle down."

Tifa smiled, her eyes warming at Barrett's words. "You're a good dad, Barrett. Marlene's lucky to have you."

Barrett grinned, his chest puffing out slightly. "Damn right she is. Just doin' my best, y'know? But hey, that don't mean I won't be keepin' an eye out. When the right one comes along, maybe ol' Barrett'll be ready."

Cloud chuckled, the tension easing just a little as the conversation turned lighter. "Guess we're all just figuring things out," he said, glancing between Tifa and Barrett. "One step at a time."

Barrett raised his glass, his grin wide. "To figuring things out," he declared.

Tifa and Cloud raised their glasses, echoing the toast. "To figuring things out," Tifa said, her voice soft but hopeful.

They drank together, the warmth of their shared history and the hope for the future settling between them like a comforting blanket. For a while, they simply enjoyed the moment, the quiet camaraderie that had always bound them together, stronger than anything they'd faced.

Barrett set his drink down and leaned back, a wistful expression crossing his face. "Y'know, being here in the bar together reminds me of the days back before everythin' went crazy. I think about all the folks we lost. Biggs, Wedge, Jessie... even Aerith." He paused, his voice softening as he looked between Cloud and Tifa. "They were with us every step of the way. I bet they'd be proud of what we're doin' now."

Tifa's eyes grew distant, her expression tinged with sadness. "I think about them a lot, too," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Aerith especially... she was always the light, even when everything seemed so dark. Sometimes, I wish I could talk to her again. Tell her about everything that's happening, tell her how much she's still a part of us."

Cloud swallowed hard, the mention of Aerith sending a pang through his chest. He nodded, staring into his glass. "She'd want us to keep going. To keep fighting. She always believed in us."

Tifa offered a small, sad smile. "Yeah. She'd want us to live. To find happiness."

The silence that followed was thick with the weight of their memories, and for a moment, none of them spoke. They were lost in the echoes of laughter and warmth that had once filled their lives, the ghosts of friends who had given everything.