Still Warm
Final Fantasy VII Remake Fanfic by MythboundCal
It’s a small thing. A glove.
Left on the edge of the bar counter like he’d be right back.
Tifa’s cleaning up—half-distracted, half-waiting—when she sees it. The familiar black leather. A little worn at the knuckles. Folded neatly beside a bottle he forgot to put away.
She reaches for it absently.
And then pauses.
Because it’s still warm.
Not sun-warm. Not room-temperature. Cloud-warm.
Like he’d taken it off a moment ago. Like his hand is still in it, just… invisible.
She presses her thumb to the seam near the wrist. Her fingertips fit into the curve of the fingers automatically. She could almost believe she’s holding his hand. Almost.
But it’s never that easy.
Tifa draws in a breath and lifts the glove to her chest. Not dramatically. Not for anyone to see. Just close enough that the warmth settles against her shirt, against the ache she pretends isn’t there.
She presses it to her chest like it might explain him.
Because he won’t. Not with words.
He won’t say what he’s thinking when he stares too long. Or why he always stands one step too far, then one too close. He won’t explain the way he always looks like he’s about to speak—but never does.
She lets the glove rest against her collarbone for a second longer than she should. Then folds it gently and sets it back down. Exactly where it was.
The door creaks open behind her.
Cloud steps in, hair wind-mussed, sword sheathed across his back.
His eyes find the glove instantly.
“Forgot that,” he says, already walking over.
Tifa nods. Smiles like she didn’t notice. “It’s still warm.”
* ˙ ˖ 𑣲 flying high -- a one shot ⸝⸝ writing preview ;
word count: 1,220
The doors of the decrepit church swung open with their usual loud creek, revealing a brunette beauty in pink strolling through with a rattan basket of pruning tools in one hand and an old, rusty watering can in the other. Today was like any other day for Aerith, where she would wake up in high spirits, tie her hair up with her favourite pink ribbon and set aside some time in the morning to tend to the lilies growing up from the little patch of soil within the abandoned sanctuary. After that, she would wander back home in search of other things to do for the rest of the day, maybe run an errand or two for her neighbours or play a game of tag with the orphans. Aerith didn't mind at all. It kept her busy and entertained throughout the long, mundane days in the Sector 5 slums.
"Good morning, flowers!" Aerith smiled warmly at them all, gently bending down to greet their butter-yellow faces. They swayed gently in the breeze that blew in through the destroyed rafters, almost as if they were elated to see her. The sunlight shone across her petaled friends perfectly, like a spotlight on a troupe of dainty ballerinas, and this made her so very happy. "You're getting lots of sun today, huh, guys?" She paused and tilted her head slightly, as if to listen quietly for a response. She covered her mouth and closed her eyes as she shared a quiet giggle with herself and answered, "--You’re thirsty? I thought so! Good job I brought this..." She set her pruning basket down onto the fragile floorboards beside her and held the watering can up and out to them. "--how about a drink?" Her smile sparkled.
One by one, the Cetra watered every flower, caring for them attentively and carefully as if they were people with individual wants, needs and feelings. To Aerith, they were one in the same. Nothing brought her more fulfilment than looking after them and watching them bloom from bud to flower. They were her only real friends, after all, and they always listened to her and treated her with nothing but kindness, even when nobody else wanted to. "--aaaand... there," she set the can down and swept her hands together. A job well done. "--much better!" She kneeled down and reached for the weeding tool in her basket, and scanned across the stems to see if she could spot any troublesome weeds, pushing their petals aside delicately to get a better view here and there. As she did so, another gentle breeze came blowing in from the church's door-way, pushing the doors open just a crack. With it, in floated a single white feather. It landed softly on the floorboards. Aerith's concentration suddenly broke -- she paused. For a brief moment, she looked as though she'd seen a ghost. Perhaps she wasn't far off.
Aerith ceased her floral maintenance and rose up to face the doors behind her. She was enraptured by something, like she could hear an angel talking to her, bequeathing its holy knowledge. She could hear a voice. A familiar, comforting one. But she couldn't quite make out what it was saying to her. She struggled to fully understand its whispers. The only person who came to mind while hearing the voice was the SOLDIER that fell out of the sky and landed in the very same spot she was standing in now. It'd been shy of three years since she last saw his face. All of her letters, seemingly ignored. But, despite this, she didn't once believe that he ignored them on purpose. She'd always been able to feel his presence somehow, she just didn’t know where he was, or if he was even alive. She never doubted in his spirit, his determination. That puppy-like charm. And, if something had happened to him, Aerith was absolute in her belief that he fought strongly and proudly to the very end. She stood intently as she looked towards the daylight, listening as hard as she possibly could for any recognisable words, determined to capture their meaning. And then, as sharp as a halting train car, they diminished, the whistling wind and a chirping bird stealing the voice's place like nothing had ever happened. She sighed softly, looking down at the floor with a melancholy smile, her expression bearing a hidden pain that only those who dared to look would notice.
The disheartened Certa slowly turned back to look at her flowers once more and felt a relieving modicum of comfort return to her. "Y’know," she began, holding her hands together gently, about to confess. "--sometimes I feel a little crazy, hearing all these voices..." Aerith would be lying if she said she felt like a regular girl. The only person who really believed her and her unique powers was her adoptive mother, Elmyra. She knew things about her chosen daughter that even Aerith herself didn't know, and frankly, wasn't ready to hear. Aerith knew that hearing voices, potentially of the deceased, wasn't normal, but, despite this, she never once doubted her instinct to believe in the life stream and its meaning and purpose. It helped her to see what others couldn't, and that was a gift worth cherishing, even if nobody else fully understood it. She carried on with her thoughts, "--Mom says they're voices of past lives, people who've returned to the life stream..." She didn’t want to accept it, but she couldn't deny the thought that sat on a cliff ledge at the back of her mind any longer. "--I know you're out there, and I know you can hear me, Zack..." That name hadn't graced her lips in so long. It felt good to say it in a weird sort of way. She continued on as she started to gather up her tools and watering can. "--I know you're trying to tell me something... I just can't hear it. Not yet, anyway. It's not the right time. I understand that now." As she turned around to depart the sanctuary, she spotted the single white feather on the floor that made its entrance a moment ago. The sight of such a pure thing made the Cetra’s face light up with emotional glee.
Aerith could feel a tear or two swelling at the corners of her vivid teal eyes, but she was a brave girl. However unhealthy it may have been, she knew how to force them back, having already been through so much heartache in her short but tragic life. "I bet you’re flying high, Zack. Just like you always wanted to." She acclaimed enthusiastically, closing her eyes and blinking away the bittersweet tears in the process. She laughed, "You’re much braver than me," and bent down to pick up the feather, holding her watering can in the other hand, her basket now hooked around her elbow. She inspected the snow-white feather as she spoke on, "--I wouldn’t last five minutes up there -- it's scary!" she twirled it around between her fingers for a few seconds before rising to her full height again and storing it away in her basket. She headed for the doors, letting the sunlight catch her beautiful smile as she whispered optimistically, "...I think I’ll always love you, Zack… wherever you are..."
