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.”
He stops. Looks at her. Looks at the glove.
Something unreadable flickers across his face.
“…Guess I wasn’t gone long.”
“No,” she says. “You weren’t.”
But part of her still is.