[ Her heart skips, and when it remembers to work again, it's pounding. She'd imagined something like this. What girl hadn't? Maybe even with him, once or twice, but...not in any real way.
Once, not so long ago, she'd maybe have pulled back from that touch, or tried to convince herself it wasn't that important. But after being here, after everything they've lost, she's not denying herself anything else. She nestles into his hold, closing her eyes against the pressure on her head.
Her heart skips again, at the hand against her hair, at the admission. How long? she wants to ask, but she can't quite muster it. ]
We'll make it different. If we're going to be here, then, we should make the best of it, you know?
[ And...maybe it would be easier here. To find a cure to whatever was wrong with him. But she wasn't bringing that up tonight either. ]
I don't care what we're allowed and not allowed to have. I'm tired of living under other people's rules.
[ the answer is forever, for as long as he can remember. he was always a stupid boy, dreaming up impossibilities -- he considered her one of them.
but things have changed. the past, the future, them.
making the best of it: he'd always been bad at that. but the idea alone -- it sounds wonderful from her mouth. like a real possibility swimming against the current. he holds her in place, the pads of his fingers ghosting over the small of her back.
"i'm tired of living under other people's rules," she says, and his lips seal shut, spark sparking in his eyes. this place had something to her -- brought out the girl, headstrong and unwitting, as he'd always known her.
and he can't say no to that. ]
...Yeah. [ he speaks, docile by contrast. ] From one cage to the next, we might as well make something out of it. We...
We still have each other.
[ that sounds like something she'd say -- but maybe...
maybe he's learning. ]
Tifa. [ his voice is firm, if not inquisitive, before he musters the courage to ask: ] ...What do you want?
[ Tifa has never understood that particular power of hers, to speak things into being because other people believe them when she says them. But she does believe this. She has to. That's how she survives.
At least this one isn't sad. ]
I think maybe that's just life. It's always some kind of cage. You can't let that stop you from living, you know? Or else...what's the point of any of this?
[ She's maybe uncharacteristically melancholy. Or maybe honest. It's easy, to actually say what she thinks with him, not have to be the rock and the smile. She doesn't notice it, but she appreciates it. Like she's setting down a weight she doesn't realize she's carrying.
And she really does smile when he says that. It's one thing to think it herself, but to have him value it too -- things are weird between them. There's still...things she should ask him from home. But he's showed up for her. And that matters.
That question, though, makes her falter. She's glad for her hand on his leg, because this isn't something she's admitted to anyone. ]
I don't...know anymore. And that scares me. I used to think I just...wanted to get Seventh Heaven rebuilt as soon as possible. Help as many people who survived the plate...and I don't not want that I just...I've never had time to think about life outside Sector 7, or Nibelheim before that. I've always been trying to just keep above water. If I really could do anything with my life...I don't know. And I don't like not knowing.
[ She didn't mean to talk that much, and she looks back at him and her eyes widen slightly in embarrassment. ]
[ tifa's never been stupid -- far from it, truly, even in spite of her impulsive streak. but she speaks candidly in a way she so seldom does, and she's so far away from him, eons separating them.
he wonders why. but whys always came with a hurt he could never quantify, a pain that both grounded and muddled his existence. ]
I guess I'm just--
[ he eyes rove up, the slow crawl of the moonrise, and he grows meeker -- more like himself. like the boy she'd known at nibelheim, rather than the man at midgar. ]
Afraid. Of being trapped. I... I don't know why. But then I think about it, I...
[ no. he wouldn't let himself taint this. not as memories, swirling swathes of color sand voices, surface like broken capillaries swelling beneath a bruise. his fingers find hers, latching onto her for purchase as he shakes himself out of it.
and then. in a complete shift, he's at peace again -- as if nothing had happened at all. ]
...It's okay. [ he says, if to reassure both himself and her. wasn't that typically the case? it was -- had to be for both of them. ] ...Don't know either. For as long as I can remember, it's... been about surviving. Nothing less, nothing more.
[ he doesn't respond to her question, not immediately. but then quietly -- he leans into her, eyes transfixed on the soft contours of her face, of the way her eyes burn amber in contrast to his cerulean. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Once, not so long ago, she'd maybe have pulled back from that touch, or tried to convince herself it wasn't that important. But after being here, after everything they've lost, she's not denying herself anything else. She nestles into his hold, closing her eyes against the pressure on her head.
Her heart skips again, at the hand against her hair, at the admission. How long? she wants to ask, but she can't quite muster it. ]
We'll make it different. If we're going to be here, then, we should make the best of it, you know?
[ And...maybe it would be easier here. To find a cure to whatever was wrong with him. But she wasn't bringing that up tonight either. ]
I don't care what we're allowed and not allowed to have. I'm tired of living under other people's rules.
no subject
but things have changed. the past, the future, them.
making the best of it: he'd always been bad at that. but the idea alone -- it sounds wonderful from her mouth. like a real possibility swimming against the current. he holds her in place, the pads of his fingers ghosting over the small of her back.
"i'm tired of living under other people's rules," she says, and his lips seal shut, spark sparking in his eyes. this place had something to her -- brought out the girl, headstrong and unwitting, as he'd always known her.
and he can't say no to that. ]
...Yeah. [ he speaks, docile by contrast. ] From one cage to the next, we might as well make something out of it. We...
We still have each other.
[ that sounds like something she'd say -- but maybe...
maybe he's learning. ]
Tifa. [ his voice is firm, if not inquisitive, before he musters the courage to ask: ] ...What do you want?
no subject
At least this one isn't sad. ]
I think maybe that's just life. It's always some kind of cage. You can't let that stop you from living, you know? Or else...what's the point of any of this?
[ She's maybe uncharacteristically melancholy. Or maybe honest. It's easy, to actually say what she thinks with him, not have to be the rock and the smile. She doesn't notice it, but she appreciates it. Like she's setting down a weight she doesn't realize she's carrying.
And she really does smile when he says that. It's one thing to think it herself, but to have him value it too -- things are weird between them. There's still...things she should ask him from home. But he's showed up for her. And that matters.
That question, though, makes her falter. She's glad for her hand on his leg, because this isn't something she's admitted to anyone. ]
I don't...know anymore. And that scares me. I used to think I just...wanted to get Seventh Heaven rebuilt as soon as possible. Help as many people who survived the plate...and I don't not want that I just...I've never had time to think about life outside Sector 7, or Nibelheim before that. I've always been trying to just keep above water. If I really could do anything with my life...I don't know. And I don't like not knowing.
[ She didn't mean to talk that much, and she looks back at him and her eyes widen slightly in embarrassment. ]
Or -- did you mean with...us?
no subject
he wonders why. but whys always came with a hurt he could never quantify, a pain that both grounded and muddled his existence. ]
I guess I'm just--
[ he eyes rove up, the slow crawl of the moonrise, and he grows meeker -- more like himself. like the boy she'd known at nibelheim, rather than the man at midgar. ]
Afraid. Of being trapped. I... I don't know why. But then I think about it, I...
[ no. he wouldn't let himself taint this. not as memories, swirling swathes of color sand voices, surface like broken capillaries swelling beneath a bruise. his fingers find hers, latching onto her for purchase as he shakes himself out of it.
and then. in a complete shift, he's at peace again -- as if nothing had happened at all. ]
...It's okay. [ he says, if to reassure both himself and her. wasn't that typically the case? it was -- had to be for both of them. ] ...Don't know either. For as long as I can remember, it's... been about surviving. Nothing less, nothing more.
[ he doesn't respond to her question, not immediately. but then quietly -- he leans into her, eyes transfixed on the soft contours of her face, of the way her eyes burn amber in contrast to his cerulean. ]
...Only if you want it to be about us.