#starlightbrawler

Cloud had been scrutinizing his reflection for the past 30 minutes. His untamed hair, which refused to slick back, sprang up every time he tried to flatten it down into something more presentable, and his outfit wasn't any better. With the small gil Cloud received from Barret after another successful reactor job, Cloud wandered through the slums, trying to find a clothing vendor for his night out with Tifa. There wasn't much to choose from and Cloud insisted on only wearing black. In the end, he bought a pair of black slacks and a black jacket. All in all...he didn't look all that different from his regular outfit. Same sleeveless turtleneck, same Shinra issued boots, same grumpy face. The only thing that added any real flare was the pair of sterling wolf earrings he spotted at the jewellery vendor. Cloud didn't even have any cologne to put on. He just scrubbed a cheap bar of soap into his skin and hoped he looked smart enough.

What had he been thinking, to have a night on the town? Cloud wasn't sociable at the best of time, and he didn’t go on dates as a general rule.

Was this a date?

No. This was a friend trying to cheer up another friend. Nothing more.

“Fuck it,” he mumbled, running his ungloved fingers through his hair one more time before turning away from the mirror and walking out the door like he was on death row.

Out of reflex, the blonde almost picked up his Buster Sword, feeling naked without its sturdy weight on his back. The walk to Tifa's room was barely two steps, but it felt like a mile. Standing outside Tifa's door, Cloud wrung his hands together nervously, wishing he saved the flower the pink ribboned girl handed to him for this moment. Did guys still give out flowers? Or was that too cliche.

It was funny how time passed by, funny being the operative word here; there was nothing even remotely amusing about it. Time had a terrible habit of creating great rifts between people - and changing them - no matter how close they’d once been, and Cloud was beginning to feel that age old pang of guilt gnawing away at his mind that he’d even allowed that to happen between he and Tifa. 

It could have been just simple matter of addressing the issue with her, but, as it always was with him, simplicity of a situation was never as it truly seemed. And the the longer he left it to fester, the harder it got to broach it. So he just sits there at the bar, staring into the melting ice of his long extinguished drink as though this action alone would garner some sort of answer. But, of course, none were found to sift amongst his already crowded head-space. 

Still, despite Cloud’s reluctance to delve into the inevitable - at least right now knowing the conversation would happen at some point in the near future - there was something about Seventh Heaven that he liked, whether he chose to consciously admit this or not. Here amongst the desolation of the slums and its plethora of colourful people who occupied its space, there was a nostalgic air about the place... 

Perhaps Lockheart’s presence here added to that feeling, as opposed to the oaky scent that lingered in the air, or the way the floorboards would creak underfoot. He decided then that none of that really mattered anymore as he sharply pushes the glass to the edge of the bar in an attempt to subtly attract Tifa’s attention. The past was the past, it was done, to linger there would herald no true progress. 

Boots began to click against the wooden flooring, the people in the slums took one look at him and recognized the blond that often came here carrying a sword on his back. Now it came down to what he meant with the sentence that was spoken earlier, dealing with the ‘leader’ and his constant bellowing was becoming rather tiresome. In fact it was one of the reasons why he desperately wanted to just abandon the group have it not been for the money.

So to combat the stress of his everyday life as a mercenary for Barret's ideals he figured he could come down here for a drink. “How 'bout just one on the house. After that, Think I'll just start a tab.”

“Tifa!” 

As he called from the attic, Cloud sat on the wooden floor, legs crossed with half a dozen cardboard boxes surrounding him. They had clearly been opened and rummaged through, but they were still neat enough that they closed properly. He had started out looking for one thing, but instead Cloud was sucked in by all the memories within the boxes. Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs, Cloud turned his torso, holding her brown cowgirl outfit up, wearing the had on his head. 

“This is by far the greatest outfit you’ve ever owned.”