#draco writes

“You’d think I’d be exhausted,” Aerith says. She turns to face Tifa, their bodies a pair of parentheses on opposite beds. Her shoulders are bare, but Tifa isn’t sure why she’s focusing on that fact. “I mean, I’m definitely tired, but I guess that’s not enough.” 

“Worried?” Tifa asks. “About your mom?” 

Aerith smiles, gentle and sweet all the way to her willowy bones. “No. She can take care of herself.” 

“Do you think we made the wrong choice?” Tifa blurts out, almost before Aerith can finish answering. It’s something Tifa’s gnawed on, over and over, especially after Cloud’s recitation of an event he can’t have seen. 

Is he wrong because he’s lying on purpose? Or is he actually remembering something he experienced because the choice they made, there on that highway, has fundamentally altered the course of their universe? Is he even her Cloud? Or is Tifa the one misremembering? 

Tifa doesn’t know. 

“It’s too soon to say.” Aerith draws nonsense on the mattress in front of her. That soft smile lingers. “It’s terrifying, but it’s also kind of exhilarating.” 

Tifa would chalk Aerith’s optimism up to naivete, but that’s far from the truth. Aerith’s life hasn’t been a picnic and that she can still be sweet is a testament to her strength. 

Tifa envies her for it. That strength that allows her to be weak. 

“How so?” she asks. 

“Well, I’ve never had a sleepover before,” Aerith says with the frankness that makes Tifa’s heart ache. “Or a girlfriend.” She pauses, cheeks going pink. “I mean, a woman who is a friend. Woman-friend? No, that just doesn’t have the same ring to it.” 

Tifa laughs quietly as Aerith’s face scrunches with genuine confusion. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a girlfriend,” Tifa says. “Most of the kids my age were boys.” 

“Like Cloud?” 

Tifa’s too slow to stop the flinch. It’s hard to say if Aerith noticed. “Yeah,” she says quietly, but then the memory hits her, easing the sting. “Though he’s always been pretty enough.” 

“He sure is.” Aerith giggles and turns on her back, stretching her arms over her head with a hum. “But that’s what I mean. We made a choice and decided to fight, and now here I am, against all odds, on my first sleepover.” 

Tifa doesn’t tell her all the ways this doesn’t count. It’s a simple wish. A simple joy. She wants Aerith to have it. 

“Do you think we should have a pillow fight?” Aerith asks, but before Tifa can answer, she laughs and says, “Hmm. Maybe not. I think you’d win in one hit.” 

“I’d be gentle,” Tifa says. 

“I know you would.” Aerith’s grin makes Tifa’s heart go thump-thump-thump in a way it hasn’t before. 

Aerith abruptly sits up and looks around as if an idea has popped into her mind. “Hmm,” she says. “There’s not enough furniture to make a fort, and I don’t think that vending machine had any candy. I’m stumped on ideas.” 

“Aren’t we a little old for sleepovers anyway?” 

“Probably.” Aerith sighs, and there’s a wealth of disappointment in the small sound. “I guess we should be sleeping. We have a lot more walking ahead of us.” 

Aerith flops back, pulls the blanket up to her chin, and stares at the ceiling. She dutifully closes her eyes, and Tifa feels a bit like she’s kicked a bucket. Could it really hurt to entertain such an innocent joy? 

Tifa rolls off the bed, bringing her blanket with her, and flops down next to Aerith. “Tell me a secret,” she says as she squirms down to get comfortable. 

Aerith blinks at her. “What?” 

“It’s what you do at a sleepover.” At least, in Tifa’s experience, that what she thinks most young girls do. “You tell each other secrets.” 

“Oh.” Aerith’s cheeks turn a pretty pink. “I don’t think I have any that you don’t already know.” She presses her lips together, face scrunched in serious thought. 

“Nothing?” Tifa prompts as she tucks her arm under her head. “Not even an embarrassing story you don’t want anyone to know?” 

Aerith laughs and turns to face her, voice going softer like they are two young woman sharing a secret with no one else. “I have plenty of those stories. But what about you? Do you have any secrets?” 

“Too many,” Tifa sighs, and her thoughts wander again, to home, to Nibelheim, to five long, confusing years, and one stubborn, confusing blond the next room over. Maybe this is a bad idea after all. 

She shouldn’t spill all the troubles on her shoulders. Aerith shouldn’t have to help bear that load. She has enough problems without Tifa adding to her stress. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. 

Tifa shifts, intending to go back to her own bed, and back to chocobo number 964. But Aerith touches her arm, and that’s enough for Tifa to freeze. Surprised. 

“We don’t have to share secrets,” Aerith says, her resting hand curling into a gentle hold, “But we can share the bed. If you want, I mean.” 

Tifa’s heart throbs so loud, it thumps in her ears. Slowly, she settles back into place, arm tingling under the barely noticeable weight of Aerith’s hand. 

“That is one of the rules of sleepovers,” Tifa says, even though they’re both too old and bruised for such a thing. But they are also a lot alike. Tifa’s never had a “girlfriend” either. 

Aerith giggles and winks at her. “I won’t tell if you don’t. It can be our secret.” She holds out a hand, pinky crooked. “Promise?” 

Tifa’s face heats, almost like she’s blushing, but that would be ridiculous. No less ridiculous than hooking her finger with Aerith’s and saying, “Promise.” 

Lying there next to Aerith, Tifa doesn’t even get to chocobo number 965 before she’s fast asleep. 

He slams his fist into the bag, willing the bulging seams to split. The leather bounces back, resisting his fury. He drags in another ragged breath, his heart clenched like a fist, ribs tight and lungs raw. 

A tap to the shoulder throws Kai out of his spiral. He stops mid-punch and grabs the swinging bag, stilling its momentum. He glances over his shoulder, and Jacinta raises her eyebrows at him, eyes dark and hair a wild mass of curls around her face. She’s been at the bag next to his, but she looks barely winded. 

“What?” Kai asks. 

Jacinta hooks a finger in the cord of his earbud and tugs it loose, the heavy metal sounding tinny from a distance. “Your comm’s flashing, big boy.” 

“Shit. Really?” Kai looks down where the end of the comm hangs loose against his chest. Sure enough, the led flickers a rapid orange. “I just got fucking back.” 

“Yeah? And now you’re leaving again.” Jacinta flicks the back of her knuckles against his chest. “No surprise there.” She turns back toward her bag, adjusting her fingerless gloves with a tug. 

Kai’s gaze drops to the curve of her ass, nylon stretched taut around her hips. “We had plans,” he huffs with no small amount of dismay. He swipes the back of his wrist over his forehead. “Fun ones.” 

“I remember.” Jacinta rolls her shoulders, loosening them up for another round. “I suppose I’ll have to sit on your face another night.” She tosses him a grin, eyes raking him up and down like he’s a piece of fresh meat. 

Kai slips into a long stretch, arms pulling high over his head, rucking up the bottom hem of his tank. He knows it’s worked when Jacinta’s eyes narrow in on the thin strip of bared flesh. Works like a charm, every time. 

“Woe is me,” Jacinta sighs and turns back toward the bag. “Go get washed up, beefcake. You know Boss would rather you’re late and smell like roses, then wander in stinking up the place.” 

“You like my stink,” Kai retorts, but it lacks his usual enthusiasm. His whole body hasn’t stopped vibrating, no matter how much he poured his adrenaline into the bag. 

Jacinta’s fists slam into the leather with satisfying thuds, her arms flexing in a way Kai would usually appreciate. “Ew. Gross. Get out of here.” 

A pulse of affection warms Kai’s heart around the icy grip of his failure. He peels off the practice gloves, tossing them in the laundry, before he hits the communal shower. Command can wait for him to rinse off the sweat, so he takes five minutes to make himself presentable, letting water that’s just a few degrees too hot cook him alive. 

It’s better than the chill of that Lilitu den. Kai doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how those monsters live. Mortuaries would be warmer. Then again, vamps – or Lilitu as Romine insists on correcting – aren’t really alive, are they? Those bloodsuckers are just walking corpses drinking the life from good people who didn’t know better. 

Kai sighs and cuts off the water. He drips out into the locker room, snagging a towel from the rack to dry off as quickly as possible. Time ticks over, threatening to cross from ‘acceptably tardy’ to ‘toeing insubordination’. He drags the towel over his hair, fingercombs it back into the bun at the back of his head, and checks his reflection. 

Time to marshall the calm-and-collected Kai, not the one whose blood threatens to boil into an eruption. He stares back at himself, amber eyes hollow and dark from too little sleep – something he thought he’d fix post-mission, but apparently not. Petite goatee in need of a trim. The scars cutting across the landscape of his skin, too many to count, and the most recent one, a puckered gnarl of flesh in his abdomen. 

That werewo – Enkian – had ruined a small section of Kai’s small intestine. He still can’t have any alcohol or coffee, according to the medics. Even if Chelsea says that’s a crock of shit, and if his external wound’s a scar, then he can damn sure have a latte. 

Kai stares at himself and breathes until the pinch around his eyes loosens from terribly-stressed to mildly-perturbed. He smooths out the frown, replacing it with an easy smile, small but hopefully reading as sincere to his superiors. Simon or Jacinta would see right through it, but they aren’t the ones he needs to convince. 

It’ll have to do. 

He tugs on his shirt, cursing when it sticks to his back. Forgot to dry off again, but there’s no time. His comm flashes again, red instead of orange, and Kai jets from the locker room, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. He can practically hear the dock to his pay, dollar signs falling off his check with sad trumpet noises. 

Two floors later, his thighs burn, but he bursts out of the door, spins to avoid crashing into one of the trainees, and skids to a stop in front of the commander’s office. The door’s shut, but the flashing red light on Kai’s comm unit means he’s welcome to enter – and quick. He raps his knuckles to announce himself and pushes open the door. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he says before he even gets one boot-tip past the jamb. “I was hitting the bags. Didn’t realize my comm was flashing.” He salutes sharply, heels snapping together, even though they don’t stand on ceremony much around here. It makes Kai feel better. Who cares if Dean calls him a goody-two-shoes. 

Jake-fucking-Cochran turns in his seat to look up at Kai, lip twisted in a sneer, that mole at the corner of his mouth squinting up like it’s matching his mood. 

Bossman’s standing behind his desk though, sheaf of papers in hand, and he looks up at Kai with cool brown eyes. “Have a seat, Hunter,” he says, nodding to the chair next to Jake. “You haven’t missed anything.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Kai sits, resisting the urge to return Jake’s glare in kind. He and Cochran have never got on, mostly because Cochran walks around like he’s the big dick on campus. And because he can’t stand that Kai’s queer and loud and proud about it. 

He thinks queers should keep it quiet because no one wants to hear about that shit, except everytime Jake fucks some woman, he has to let everyone on base know. He brags about it, talking positions and orgasms and all kinds of misogynistic bullshit that Kai wants to slap him for. See, it’s okay to talk about sex if it’s normal sex. 

Ugh. 

“I know you just got back, Hunter, but this is time-sensitive, and I need you on it,” Commander Selleck says, either ignoring or not caring about the boiling tension suddenly crackling in the room. 

He’s an older man, approaching sixty and arguably retirement age, but that means he’s been there, seen it all. He’s lived through things that would turn a man’s hair white, and yet the only sign of grey are the faint traces in his mustache. Crow’s feet pinch his eyes at the corners, but Kai wouldn’t want to face the commander on the practice mat. 

He’s pretty sure Selleck could put Kai on his ass in ten seconds flat. You don’t rise to command a strike force like Kai’s without being able to manhandle them both verbally and physically. 

“Intel says Hearthless may be on the move, and we want to get it done first.” 

Hearthless. 

Kai swallows thickly and tries to smooth his expression into something completely flat. Hearthless? Who are they? Just the enemy, boss. He’s not having any illicit sexual encounters with the enemy. He’d never do that. Not Kai. 

“I understand,” Kai says. “What’s the mission?”

~~~