“I’m in love…shit” (for cid/tifa)
drabble prompts
Sometimes, it really was the little things. A helping hand after close, someone to fix the roofing so she could focus on something else, a drink shared after a long day. It was different having another adult in the house, as much as Cid could qualify for being an adult. Maybe that was too harsh. He drank and cursed and smoke (less so around Marlene and Denzel), but when something needed to be done, it was done, and that was the end of it.
Some days he couldn’t work as fast. His leg often acted up and he would disappear to do who knew what, but whenever Tifa asked Cid simply said it was a ‘dumbass old wound’ and that she shouldn’t bother. It wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was Cid it seemed. He always returned.
“Back for a drink?” The bar was closing out its stragglers. Tifa’s eyes darted to his leg, noting that he walked easier but that there was still a slight hitch to his gait. Cid slid onto the bar stool.
“Yeah, could ya? Anything, really.”
They talked and drank, the stars lighting up as the bustle of Edge died around their little bubble. Soon enough, it was only them.
“I don’t get it, why are you still here?” Tifa leaned against the counter. “I mean, I’m not complaining.” She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. “But your crew went back to help Reeve with more city planning, right? Doesn’t he need you?”
“Those fuckers,” Cid waved upward, the insult rolling affectionately off his tongue. “They’re good. They’re fine. I didn’t train no dumbasses.”
She burst into giggles. “Right. So, what?” Cid looked back at her without a response. She pressed again. “Don’t tell me you stick around to fix my bar so I give you drinks.”
In his half drunk state, Cid shrugged, and replied. “Fuck, I don’t know. I’m in love.”
Tifa stopped and tilted her head toward him, piecing together the words, their meaning. How he was now some sort of constant in her life, like the sun pulling the moon.
A modicum of sobriety sank into Cid’s eyes and he muttered a soft, “Shit.”
