ファイナルヘヴン

tifa lockhart of final fantasy vii by fair | she/they | 18+

Tifa is behind the bar, washing up the last of the dishes and glasses, allowing for Aerith to blitz through the last of the clean up duties before both are to head upstairs. Except Aerith has something planned, and as she zooms throughout the lounge area, spritzing the tables, lifting up the chairs, sweeping and mopping the floors—she doesn’t think about how tired she is, not when she’s this excited.

This energy carries her through the next hour, just when Tifa is about finished with closing up, and Aerith runs to the office space, which is nothing more than a glorified closet with supplies taking up most of the room. The door closes behind her and a string of curse words can be heard from behind the thin wood as things fall off shelves or capsize from their resting place.

A minute or so later, Aerith emerges, breathing a little heavily, wisps of curls sticking out at odd ends from her twisted braid, and she carries under her arm a very old, very dated, boom box.

The bright orange extension cord is looped around her elbow and she knows Tifa must be looking at her with an incredulous expression, but Aerith is having none of it.

“Finished cleaning up?” Her voice, despite her disheveled state, is still cheery and light. “Go sit on the stool there,” she gestures with her chin and there sits on stool, out of all the rest, that Aerith made sure to single out.

Another minute or so passes as she sets up the boombox, searching for an outlet where she can plug the extension cord into, and with a bit of fiddling, it comes to life. She reaches into her pocket of her red bolero and pulls out a cassette tape.

It’s a nondescript cassette tape, with no image, and a piece of masking tape across the cover that says, Simply the Best, written in thin sharpie.

The lights outside are dimmed, the blinds drawn over the windows, the bar is closed, and when she presses the play button, the deep bass of the song fills the space of the bar and Aerith dramatically turns towards Tifa, braid whipped so hard it slaps against her neck, but she doesn’t care as she begins dancing to the beat, her movements exaggerated as she saunters towards her, mouthing the lyrics.

When the chorus hits, Aerith all but slides onto Tifa’s lap, hands clasped behind her back and leans back, shaking her head as she sings the lyrics this time, out of tune and out of key, but she doesn’t care.

She’s also laughing so hard that she forgets she’s dancing for Tifa and nearly fumbles to the floor as she tries to finish her sequence. Near the end of the song, Aerith doubles back and nearly throws herself at Tifa, kissing her soundly on the lips.

“Happy birthday, babe!”

When she isn’t working through a rush of customers during the liveliest hours of the night, cleaning can be meditative. The sound of clinking cups and running water is soothing compared to raucous laughter, the occasional shattering glass, and constant backdrop of sound while she keeps the taps flowing. She cannot blame people for being people.

Every so often, she sneaks peaks at Aerith working diligently to clean the floors, flip up chairs, and wipe down surfaces. Life now still feels unreal sometimes. Aerith has caught her staring more than once. 

Truth be told, Tifa isn’t sure she can ever stop. 

Every time Aerith catches her with that knowing smile, Tifa, self-conscious, ducks away without fail. This time, she has the opportunity to steal more glances without Aerith sidling up to her and pressing their noses together with pure, gremlin glee. Something is going on, what with the way Aerith is still abuzz with energy at the close of the business day, but the finer details are still a mystery. Where Cloud was frustratingly predictable, Aerith is possessed of the perfect combination of spontaneous chaos that Tifa has long since given up attempting to predict what may be going on in that girl’s head at any given time of day. 

“Aerith? Are you okay?” Tifa calls out, equal amounts concerned and exasperated when crashing noises from the office follow within seconds of Aerith’s departure. She sets the last of the glassware on a drying rack over the adjacent sink basin in time to see Aerith emerge with a clunky, boxy shape in her arms. 

“What’s going on? Where did you find that?” She blinks. “I didn’t even know we had a boom box.”

Perplexed yet curious, Tifa joins Aerith between the tables after stepping out from behind the bar. “...Yeah,” she confirms, unable to stop from smiling in the face of Aerith’s earnestness.

Dutifully, Tifa continues into the center of the room to sit on the stool that Aerith has clearly set out for her.

A dance!

Tifa’s eyes are bright with excitement, warm and fond as she watches on. Her right foot taps to the rhythm of the heavy beats, and she even finds herself leaning forward in anticipation when Aerith, hips-swaying, focused, comes towards her. Her own voice, softer, just as clumsy, joins Aerith in the chorus as the brunette climbs onto her lap.

Even if her face is flushed by the time Aerith pulls away, Tifa does not care. 

Aerith’s performance had been nothing short of stunning. The way she danced through the song, unafraid, the sound of her laughter, genuine and infectious, even the offkey notes sung within proximity struck a flutter in Tifa’s heart.

Tifa winds her arms around Aerith’s waist then past to clasp her hands at the small of Aerith’s back. “That was amazing! Thank you.”  

She turns in her seat just as she can hear Tifa’s footsteps behind her, and Aerith looks at her. Her amused expression softens as she sees Tifa haloed in the afternoon light, standing in just the right spot so that Aerith doesn’t have to squint her eyes. She remains there for what could have been minutes but was actually seconds and whatever spell she’d been under vanishes just as Tifa closes and locks the door behind her. 

Her eyes still need adjusting to the difference in lighting, blinking away the spots that come into her vision, but the cool and warm atmosphere makes her feel welcomed and there isn’t a soul in this building other than themselves.

Aerith can’t help but swivel playfully atop the stool as Tifa lists all the things she has that she could make for her, and at the mention of burger and fries her stomach rumbles loud enough for both of them to hear. 

It’s tempting to ask for one of everything and to share it with Tifa, and something tells Aerith that she might even try to honour that request, but she refrains. The snow cone, however, is non-negotiable and Aerith immediately knows what she wants.

“I want that,” she says, following Tifa’s glance to the pink bottle of watermelon syrup atop the fridge. “A snow cone sounds perfect on a day like this.”

In hindsight, she thinks she could have really ditched the long coat and other various layers while making her way through Edge. The city is dense enough that people seem too occupied with their own business to pay attention to her. Not that she’d consider herself unforgettable, but there was always that risk of being recognized and there’s a reason why she chose to disguise herself. 

The promise of greasy food does tempt her, as the last time she had a burger with fries was when she’d been travelling with them to stop both Shinra and Sephiroth. Fortune smiled upon them as they managed to find themselves in a town where there was a diner that could accommodate such a large group. While she remembers the experience fondly, Aerith can’t, for the life of her, remember what the food tasted like.

“…and I guess I can go for a burger. With all the toppings!” She jolts in her chair, leaning forward and grinning widely as she envisions a burger that’s about to keel over by the weight of its condiments and whatever toppings Tifa’s got on hand. 

“Can I help you chop up some of the veggies? Might not be a chef, but I’m pretty good with a knife and some vegetables.”

“In that order?” Tifa teases, not at all surprised by the instantaneous response. Aerith volunteers to assist with prep work, and Tifa surmises that Aerith hasn’t yet decided to completely forgo mealtime norms of polite society. A burger, everything on it. Shaved ice. A small furrow forms on her brow. Nothing complicated there. Her brain is already busily plotting out her route to the cold storage, noting the locations of all the ingredients and the most efficient order in which to grab them off the shelves. 

Frozen patties in the back, divided and vacuum-sealed in pairs. Lettuce, lettuce… Do they still have any? There might still be a container of it set aside with a few paper towels to ensure crispness. The tomatoes may be a gamble. Cheese, the kind that’s perfect for melting, packaged in individual slices. Those are on the top shelf. There are always a few onions on hand in the pantry. The buns she might have to look for, especially since Cloud might have moved things around yesterday.

Regardless, they have everything they need. 

“I wouldn’t mind an extra pair of hands behind the counter.” 

With Seventh Heaven closed for the day, nothing had been prepared in advance. Pulling out a cutting board, plates, a chef’s knife, basic seasonings, Tifa hardly has to pause for thought as everything emerges from various cabinets; mise en place is a product of pure autopilot.

There are plenty of other questions bouncing around in her head, leading her to glance over at Aerith every so often to ensure that she’s still sitting there on the stool.

One step at a time. Plenty of time for questions later, after Aerith has a belly full of food and shaved ice. Looking forward, looking at Aerith’s open, expectant expression, makes her feel lighter.

I think I’m here for good.

Planet, please let that be true. Taking a few steps off to the end of the counter, Tifa stops in front of the door to Seventh Heaven’s storage space. Her fingers curl loosely around the pull-handle and she stares at it for a second before glancing over her shoulder. A smile masks her reluctance to leave the room. “Be right back, okay? I’m just going to grab the ingredients and we can get started.”

Everything is as she pictured it, and she’s fortunate to have found the buns twist-tied off near the door. Bundling everything into a small basket, Tifa returns in less than five minutes. She had originally planned on eating later, but… Somehow she figures Aerith probably won’t be satisfied with stuffing her face on her lonesome. 

She’s always been about diving head first into situations, figuring things out as she went along. Perhaps, back then, she gained some sense of maturity after visiting Cosmo Canyon and speaking with the Elders, but at the core of her being, she has always been Aerith.

The title of Cetra—if that is such a title—is a weight she still carries around with her, but even after the end, it’s still her.

She doesn’t back away when Tifa seems to have come to terms with the fact that Aerith is standing in front of her, alive and well, having just discarded a mish-mash of clothing she stole along the way to cobble together some poorly made-up disguise, like this could have happened on any other day and none would be the wiser of what this all means.

Aerith wants that. She wants to continue life where she left off before the Temple of the Ancients, before travelling to the Forgotten City by herself to fulfill a role only she could do. Midgar might not be habitable at the moment, and getting into the centre of the city might prove more difficult than it’s actually worth, but she wants to do that now that she’s back.

She returns the squeeze with her own, letting Tifa know that, yes, this is all real and she’s actually here. In the flesh! She wants to add, but thinks better of it.

Maybe that could be something she’ll tell the others at some reunion down the line. Maybe she’ll tell them everything, especially Tifa, but not right now. 

When she sees the tears starting to brim, and Tifa pulls away to wipe at her eyes, Aerith is tempted to do that for her. She wants her to know that she’s here, that she can do these things—be there for her, reassure her that everything is going to be okay, like she used to do back when they were being hunted and hunting to stop the world from ending.

Tifa has always made Aerith feel wanted, welcome; someone to talk to in ways she hadn’t been able to have before. Her own eyes, verdant as the fields untouched by mako and Shinra, soften as she gives Tifa her space but she remains where she is. 

“No, not temporary. I think I’m here for good,” she says with a widening smile, her heart fluttering at how Tifa worded that. It’s the kind of fluttering that comes with feelings she wants to keep on having. She’s all too happy to notice that her hand is still in hers and Aerith makes no move to push or step away. Rather, she squeezes Tifa’s hand a little tighter, stepping forward into the closed bar.

“You can’t believe how hungry I am,” she says with a laugh, probably the first laugh she ever did since coming back. With no prior experience regarding these things, everything has been touch and go, but the one thing she knew she needed to do when she emerged from the lake, was to find her way back to the church in Sector Five. 

The air inside isn’t much better than it is out there, perhaps a little less muggy now that there are four walls keeping the brunt of the humidity away, but food and something cold to drink—even just munching on ice—sounds exactly what she needs.

“You’re gonna join me, hm? I don’t want to eat alone.” 

She walks into the newly built bar like she’s been here before and finds a spot at the counter, taking some small joy when she hoists herself up onto the stool and kicks her legs to and fro because her feet don’t touch the ground.

“I don’t think I have much of a choice,” Tifa answers with fond, albeit wry exasperation. Heat can warp the mind, conjure images of things or people that aren’t actually there. Mirages, distortions of light in the air. Never quite so elaborate, never so solid. And sweaty. The dry heat of the wastelands became cloying and muggy when trapped beneath the rotting pizza. Humid, smelly, trapping humanity and its excess with nowhere to go.  

Nothing like the crisp mountain air of youth, but breathing is easier than it was. Edge’s residents are not overshadowed by a great steel plate despite the clustered new construction that still manages to trap heat between alleyways and bleached concrete. 

Tifa sweeps the sweat beading off her brow with the back of her hand as she follows after Aerith. 

Without the sun’s harsh blaze straining her eyes into a narrow squint, she stands in the doorway for a few seconds to adjust to the lighting inside Seventh Heaven. The same as she left it only moments before, except now she has a single guest to attend to. A very precious one.

‘Guest’ isn’t the right word to use, though. That fact alone makes her heart swell with so much excitement she can’t even begin to quantify it. Suddenly, Tifa ducks her chin down towards her chest, as though that might somehow stymie the smile growing on her face as she hurries inside, locks up the door behind her, and takes long strides to get behind the counter.

Planting her palms flat on the freshly polished blacktop, she beams at Aerith. “So! What’ll it be?” 

Order doesn’t matter in this case. Aerith could have wanted to start with the most decadent dessert worth imagining, a discerning appetizer, a filling main course and Tifa would do her damnedest to oblige if ingredients in the pantry, freezer, or otherwise were in supply. 

She can probably help by at least narrowing down the choices.

The coat could’ve been left alone, and she knows she wouldn’t have needed it on account of it being sweltering outside, but it was there and there had been an impulse to grab it. Putting it on, and leaving it on, was definitely a mistake but Aerith is too hard pressed for time to do much of anything else save for following the directions someone gave her to reach the newly build Seventh Heaven.

Leaving the church, as that had been her first stop since emerging from the Forgotten City, felt almost as if no time had passed at all. Muscle memory would’ve seen her heading towards Sector Five until she saw that the passage to get back to where her home used to be was blocked by a wall of debris that looked impossible to pass through, much less scale.

It’d been both a feeling of peace and deep heartache to see the Buster Sword there.

There aren’t any sectors in Edge like there’d been in Midgar, but seeing as this is her first time venturing into the newly built city, it may as well be a maze to her. There is a semblance here in how Edge was constructed—and though that might fall in the purview of limited resources and land—she understands the need to hold onto the familiar. The remnants of Midgar echo in this city, and she can already tell that this place is expanding quickly.

It takes her longer than expected to find where she needs to go. With the many detours and getting lost, this is her way of mapping out the city, but frustration isn’t far behind as it’s only getting hotter and she’s regretting her choice of clothes all the more with each passing moment.

A random passerby takes pity on her, as she’s opted to take a break and sit on some abandoned crates by some restaurant that may, or may not, be opened or even in business. Aerith spends the next few moments happily eating some flavoured shaved ice from a paper cup. A nice respite, however, the heat comes back full force as she uses this second wind to continue asking for directions. She’s not deterred by the fact that people are looking at her funny or even trying to avoid her as she approaches them.

Everyone seems to be carrying a wariness to them.

But spite gives her that final push as she huffs in annoyance at being turned down when she asked for help, and makes use of the signage in the streets when she begins to spot them. It’s another call back to familiarity, but at least it proves itself useful and, sure enough, she emerges into an alley and, by whatever luck is on her side, recognizes the logo of Tifa’s bar.

Aerith remembers seeing it in the previous bar, when she’d went there to get Marlene to safety.

The doors are closed and before she even sees the Closed sign, Aerith can tell that the bar isn’t open. She doesn’t hear the hum of an AC unit, like she’s heard in pretty much every building in this place when she passed by them. Still, she knocks on the door, maybe a little impatiently. When the first round doesn’t have Tifa opening the door, she knocks again, trying to peer inside with her face pressed up against the glass of the door.

Her impatience is giving way to groans of frustration as she hops from one foot to the other, and when she goes to knock again, the door opens and Aerith steps back. The look on Tifa’s face says it all and before she can get a single word in, before she can even breathe, Tifa’s arms are around her in a tight embrace.

There is no hesitation as her own arms come up to wrap under Tifa’s, hands splayed just beneath her shoulders. It doesn’t matter if she’s a hot mess—quite literally; sweating and in dire need of a proper shower—she just holds on as Tifa holds onto her. For the moment, as everything else just melts away, Aerith finds herself nodding into Tifa’s shoulder, confirming what she’s unable to finish.

“It’s me. I’m here,” she says, her voice muffled, and it’s not much of a surprise when she can feel moisture on her face. Tears. She’s crying and wetting Tifa’s shoulder, but Aerith is willing to gamble that she doesn’t mind.

When she turns her head, inhaling deeply, Aerith can pick up various smells—hints of coffee and something sweet, probably whipped cream; freshly made bread, though this might be because she’s been craving some really bad; and the faintest traces of laundry soap, the kind she remembers Elmyra using that carried a light scent. And, beneath all that, the scent of sweat—probably on account that her AC unit isn’t working.

“It’s me,” she confirms once more, pulling away ever so slightly—only so that she can shed the coat and remove the scarf, which was more decorative than anything, and tosses the too big sunglasses onto the heap of clothes that were never hers.

“What’s going on with the bar? Something not working?” And then, without missing a beat, “Cloud better be helping you out.”

“Wh…” Tifa finds it impossible not to choke on her words when she is caught in a tangle of grief, incredulity, wonder, and confusion. The summer heat bearing down on them out in the open is hardly more than an afterthought. 

Here, now. 

So many months, so many years after what Tifa had convinced herself to be The End. She was wrong, just as Sephiroth had been wrong time and time again, that Aerith would accept death quietly. Aerith has always been stubborn, defiant of the odds. 

Defiant of the summer weather. Defiant of the cycle of the Lifestream itself. 

Aerith soundly discards her inscrutable disguise while jumping seamlessly into the flow of conversation. Maybe it’s luck, maybe Aerith had planned it this way from the beginning; the clothes ‘fwumps’ right into an open cardboard box lying off to the side by Seventh Heaven’s front door. 

Tifa blinks. Once. Twice. The question is so mundane and the topic has occupied the forefront of her mind so long for the past few days that she starts to answer before she can stop herself.

“Yeah...the AC’s been out for the count. I called a repair guy to take a look at it but they’ve been getting hit hard with repair requests all over the city. Cloud’s been busy. He and Vincent are–” Tifa catches herself then, a breath away from striking some sense of normalcy. A breath away from bursting into sobbing gasps as she watches Aerith’s eyes briefly flit to the silent AC unit jutting out from the side of the building as though they were merely talking about the weather. They are talking about the weather.

She doesn’t know if that makes the line of conversation harder to believe or if things are exactly as they should be. A distraction, all the same. She won’t allow her attention to waver again. Tifa grabs Aerith’s hands, forcing their eyes to meet. 

“It really is you.” Aerith’s warmth in her hands, a little sweaty from the heat, and Tifa can’t help but squeeze again to reassure herself that the ground hasn’t suddenly dropped out beneath her feet. The smell of the sun in Aerith’s hair, of life on her skin. Musky and salty. She studies Aerith’s face for as long as she dares before the tears threaten to brim over and Tifa has to pull her hands away to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hands and suppress a hiccup. 

What a mess. 

“I’m sorry. Do you want to come in? Are you staying in town? I don’t know how this all works, if you’re just here temporarily or…” Tifa manages a smile even though her skin feels flush-hot from crying. “I hope it’s not temporary.” 

nourish

Maybe you should invest in flour. You work, work hard and sometimes you feel like that’s all you can do. That it'll never pay off. But there’s no greater feeling than to see the joy you bring to others, to see them succeed with the tools you gave them. You may not be a leader, but a leader’s spine, shoulders, ribs. You are the dawn before the sun. It’s sweet, too sweet, but it’s better than nothing. You are endless golden fields, salt of the earth, and the lives of all who devour it.

Maybe this is the third attempt? The fourth attempt? She's lost count.

Either way, it's clear that the stain on the glossy bar top refuses to lift from its surface. Resting her elbows on the mostly-immaculate counter with a sigh, Tifa allows the damp cloth to crumple into a small pile by her folded arms. The TV continues to drone on in the background and the ceiling fan spins lazily to circulate air throughout the first floor of Seventh Heaven. 

Heat, direct sun bathing the building in its warmth at peak noon, is pervasive even with all the open windows. The broken AC unit mounted in the wall sits partially dismantled on the ground just next to the jukebox. She hasn't had a chance to fix it yet. Always something going on, always something ready to steal her attention elsewhere. With all the bedrooms situated on the second floor, it's no wonder Cloud has chosen to stay away until well past sundown.

Rolling outages are not uncommon this time of year. Edge sprawls across the badland salts. Shimmering, almost splendid the way heat rises off the earth and distorts the air. The city has expanded faster than the WRO can expend resources to support the growing population. Many of those who had sought refuge from the destruction of Meteorfall with family or friends elsewhere have slowly begun to return and rebuild. To say nothing of Deepground's recent emergence, but they overcame that threat too.

Life is better than it was.

Isn't it?

Saving the world does not guarantee a ride off into the sunset. Story book endings are unrealistic. Their story left death, destruction, upheaval, and broken pieces in its wake. Hypocritical, she knows, to keep her mourning so close to her heart, like it belongs only to her. 

That's why she barely looks up when a stranger bumbles into the front door only to find it unmoving. 

Damn it. 

Her brows furrow and Tifa rubs her temples. Did she forget to lock the door again? Don't people read signs anymore?

C-L-O-S-E-D. 

Spelled neatly on the lacquered signage she flipped over next to the entrance.

Pushing the rag away, Tifa straightens, composes herself, and attempts to gather enough of her remaining patience and dwindling reserves to affect 'polite but very tired proprietor of a clearly closed business.'

The door rattles again and that does nothing to encourage Tifa to pick up her pace moving out from behind the counter. 

"Hey, sorry, can you come back tomorrow? We're cl–...osed. For repairs…" Her voice drops from vaguely irate to a shocked whisper, breaking somewhere along the way with a tightening around her throat. 

The oversized coat, ill-fitting sunglasses, and thick scarf does nothing to hide the recognizable peak of brunette bangs, nor characteristic left-right-left bounce of her feet as Aerith presses her face up against the reflective door to see inside. Poor weather for such a disguise, and yet Tifa can’t imagine one more befitting. 

Aerith can't see her, not through the mirror reflection of the daytime window film painstakingly applied on the glass panels of the door. Not yet. Tifa hesitates, allowing her hand to hover just over the push-bar of the door. She could be wrong. Maybe she wants too badly to be right. 

Steeling herself, Tifa practically throws the door open. It slams back on its hinges as Tifa rushes through, throwing her arms around Aerith's shoulders. Fast, but not fast enough to outstrip the fear that she fooled herself into seeing what she wanted to. 

If she pulls away now, she can't continue lying to herself. So instead, she holds on. 

Tightly. Tighter. Maybe too tight. 

SMOTHERS HER SMOOCHES

Today’s forecast did not include a shower of kisses. Kisses everywhere.

Aerith is unapologetic, shameless, and all coquettish charm when she finally draws back. Tifa can feel her cheeks growing hot as Aerith’s palms glide over her shoulders, down to her forearms, gently over her wrists until they come to a stop with their fingers laced together. The prickling heat has crawled up to her ears by now.

Cloud?

Cloud she could handle.

Aerith occupies an entirely different plane. Brutal honesty is rare enough in the city of Midgar, and here is Aerith, bringing it in absolute spades.

Tifa glances down at her feet, overwhelmed, mustering her own courage, before she clasps Aerith’s hands all the more tightly in her own and reels her in to kiss her back. Furious knocking at Seventh Heaven’s front door does not deter her. In fact, to drives her determination to make the most of this, to shutter away distractions. Reaching blindly backwards, Tifa fumbles for a moment with the power switch before flicking it off.

Silenced, the once-thrumming string lights and spotlights illuminating Seventh Heaven’s facade go dim.

A smile resides there on her face, small at first, but steadily growing. Irrepressible, filled with disbelief at her own audacity. Perhaps honesty is infectious. It feels good to be honest. Tifa sweeps her thumb lightly over the back of Aerith’s hand, curving over her knuckles. She bows her head, noses gently at Aerith’s cheek.