A/N: I don't even know what to say lmao, i love them so much; this is probably the last thing i'll write for a while, i'm spent.

«Scars Deeper Than Love»

I.

Nights get lonelier when Cloud isn't around.

In fact, almost every night feels the same, even when sometimes Cloud decides to stay. Bleak with silence and darkness. It numbs her fingers and her sleep, and Tifa is grateful that Barret isn't around to notice that something is troubling her.

In the loneliness of her room Tifa wonders if things have just gotten worse all of a sudden or if things had always been this way, her enthusiasm for belonging to something or someone perhaps blinding her from a reality she couldn't quite see. Because although Cloud is usually silent and his presence barely noticeable, his silence is loud, and Tifa can hear it. At least, she thought she could.

Sometimes he spends the entire night locked in his bedroom, sitting on a chair and holding a book Tifa knows he's not reading. And when he speaks to her, tiredly, his eyes never meet her. Whether he's here, or out there, the atmosphere never changes.

But some things remain the same.

Nights when Tifa scrabbles out of bed and her sockless feet shuffle to Cloud's room to gently sneak into his bed, careful to not disturb his sleep even when she knows he's awake. She admits it is childish, sneaking out like kids after two years of living under the same roof. His bed is small and empty most of the time, but the nights she finds him there feel like a luxury. Her lips always murmur a soft I couldn't sleep after lying down beside him and it almost sounds like an apology, she hates it. Cloud lazily moves to allow her some space on the mattress and continues to sleep. Other times he doesn't even notice her there, so Tifa leans closer, just slightly, to hide her face in his back, hoping that it won't look too needy when her arm softly envelops his torso under the sheets. After a few seconds of deep silence, Cloud always takes her hand.

Other times, however, he's wide awake, and in the middle of the darkness, his eyes meet her, lips parting softly.

"Are you okay?" she inquires, her voice barely audible, because sometimes Tifa ignores the fact that Cloud can also hear her silence, it is as loud for him as it is for her, and that a subtle movement of her lips is enough for him to understand what she's trying to say, even when her voice cracks in a hushed whisper.

Cloud's eyes study her whole face for a brief moment, and as always, they inevitably fall on her lips. He's probably overthinking, as he usually does, and Tifa can't help but do the same. He leans hesitantly, like he's doubting, but doesn't kiss her. His hand flies to her hair instead, and the touch of his fingers makes Tifa hold her breath, butterflies scratching every corner of her heart and deep inside she wonders if Cloud can feel it too, the tugging and the pounding and the tickling, because two years have passed and her mind keeps asking the same question over and over again.

Do you love me?

He surely must feel the heat, right? And the shivers down his spine at the very mention of her name, and the worry when she's not around, the need for her presence in cold nights like these. Someday, perhaps, she'll be brave enough to ask him. Ask him what they are, what this means to him, ask him if it's enough. Maybe it will be tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe five years from now. But for now Tifa remains quiet, as she always has, and keeps the questions to herself.

Their faces remain close, his breathing warming up her skin, and Cloud has his eyes closed.

"Cloud," she whispers, gaining a hum in response. Tifa swallows, unsure. "Stay in the morning."

Stay when I wake up, let me have you here a little longer, before you decide to leave me.

Cloud never opens his eyes. He doesn't answer, either.

II.

Cloud has nightmares.

He knows Tifa has them too, but he's convinced that they're not as bad as his. His lungs disintegrate, air leaving him empty, and his hair sticks to his forehead dampening it in heavy sweat. Sometimes it's Aerith, her body cold and motionless in his arms, the spark of her eyes long gone before he can notice. Other times it's Zack the one who decides to haunt him in his dreams, he mocks him the way Zephiroth would, and it isn't until the end that Cloud realizes they're the same person. They call out his name, over and over again.

That's when he wakes up.

"Cloud!"

Cloud pants in the middle of the dark, tangled in a mess of sheets and pillows and sweat, and sobs pathetically when two hands try to reach out to his face in the dim of the room. With unmeasurable force he grabs the wrists, scared of the unknown, scared that his nightmares had broken through the barrier of dreams, finally reaching reality to make his existence even more miserable.

"Cloud, it's me."

He stops with a gasp the moment he sees Tifa in front of him, sitting on his bed and with the expression of someone who looked like they'd been through this many times already. His eyes fall on his hands, aggressively holding Tifa's wrists in a poor attempt of self-defense, and releases them immediately. He's trembling.

"T-Tifa…"

He wants to apologize, but she's quick enough to understand. He doesn't know what she's doing there, or how she seems to know when he's having a nightmare. Cloud's eyes fall shut the moment her cold hands hold his cheeks, feeling the tears he doesn't know have fallen, and her fingers smooth out his damp hair away from his face.

"Shhh, it's alright, I'm right here, I'm here..."

He's weak, and a coward, and the whole situation is too embarrassing for him to bear, but his lips murmur her name over and over again, like a prayer, and she brings him closer to her chest where he rests his forehead like a scared little child. Tifa's hands are cold against his skin and he wants to make them warm, he promised himself that he would, that he would take good care of her from now on, but he's failing miserably.

He can't even take care of himself.

Tifa holds him as tight as she can, remaining still until his breathing normalizes again and it's barely noticeable. However, she knows the nightmares are far from over. They remain silent for a long while, maybe two minutes, maybe ten. It's quiet enough for Cloud to feel his skin prickling with goosebumps when he notices her hands aren't as cold anymore. Tifa's voice reverberates through her chest, caressing Cloud's forehead, reaching the deepest parts of his body.

"Do you…" she breathes after a long pause, stopping for a second, feeling almost stupid for asking. "Do you want me to stay?"

Cloud's eyes slowly open, gazing nothing but darkness, and he's convinced that he should reject the offer. He should send her to her bed, push her away like he's been doing for the past few months and ignore his insides withering when she says nothing, offering a weak nod and pretending like it doesn't hurt her. Send her to her room, he thinks repeatedly, trying to convince himself that he doesn't need her as much, that he can handle this all by himself, that she doesn't have to deal with his nightmares when she already has her own.

But he needs her, and maybe that is what Cloud is so afraid of. Losing himself, in this. In her. He'd spent his entire life trying to find himself, to figure out who he truly was, and now there's her, them, this all-consuming terrifying black hole of a feeling and Cloud is afraid. He's afraid that if he gives in it will feel like he's standing on the edge of the Northern Cave, something calling him from within the abyss. A voice. Like there's something bigger there, deeper than the human mind is built to fathom, and he's just supposed to jump in?

He shouldn't let her stay, even if her skin is cold and her body neglected.

He shouldn't.

But he does.

Cloud nods, unable to make rational decisions this late at night, and he can feel the tension in Tifa's body slowly unwinding. She melts in his arms, her scent tattooed on his skin.

"Stay," he reaffirms.

III.

Tifa has scars.

Some of them are light as a feather, like a mother's kiss, only visible under the right lighting. Others are just invisible, textures you can only feel with the touch of your fingers, or your lips, even your tongue. They are hidden everywhere, like scattered pieces of a map that unlock a secret code, a hidden passage.

But Tifa has other types of scars. The ugly ones. The ones that don't simply fade into her skin but that highlight the story of her life, a story of endless battles and terminable loss, a history of sins and mistakes and second chances, a history of redemption.

She hates those.

And Cloud has them too, but for some reason they don't bother him that much. His life as a soldier taught him that they're necessary, they're a part of his body just like any of his limbs, and a simple scratch on his skin can't even compare to the voices of guilt swirling in his head all day long, whispering things he would rather forget. Scars are just scars, and nothing more. But he sees the way Tifa looks at them, the way her fingers trace the scars on his back like they're some type of sacred writing, honoring them, but avoids looking at her own scars in the mirror.

He was meant to be a soldier, a warrior, a sinner. Not her.

Everyone but her.

Tifa covers them up sometimes, the ones on her shoulder and knuckles, wishing they weren't there. She never talks about the big one, though, the real ugly one. The one that looks red and deep and seems like it's going to open anytime soon; the one crossing her chest, the one Sephiroth did on her many years ago.

He had fully seen it for the first time many years ago, during their journey to the temple. They had decided to take a break in the nearest forest, somehow hiding from curious stares and possible enemies, and the party was simply minding their own business. Barret was cooking something in a pot, Cid was cleaning and organizing some weapons, Nanaki guarded the surroundings with a sharp stare.

Tifa was resting against a huge tree and healing some wounds on her collarbone in complete silence. Cloud, a few steps away, sitting on a thick branch and sharpening his sword in silence, couldn't take his eyes away from her chest, as bad as it sounded. Her white shirt was gone, all that was left was the black sport bra she always wore underneath the shirt, which was smaller in comparison and much more revealing. But it wasn't her attributes what caught Cloud's attention.

It was her scar.

Red, deep, thick… it was visible now that her chest was more exposed and he could only take a glimpse of its dimension, the shirt covering the rest of it. He had never seen it before, and he could've never imagined that she would have one, either. It only seemed natural to come to that conclusion considering the way Sephiroth had used his sword on her, it was almost impossible that she didn't end up with a faint mark, at least.

But Cloud never thought it would be this… huge.

The realization slapped him right across the face. That scar could have been more than just a simple scar, the sword could have pierced through her in a second, cutting her in half, break her in a million pieces. And the scar would always be there, even if Tifa was here now, that mark would always be a reminder of what he did to her, of what she went through, a reminder of the promise he wasn't able to fully keep, because Cloud knows that if he had gotten there in time she wouldn't be carrying that scar now.

He felt sick.

Cloud didn't know for how long his eyes lingered on her scar, but the moment Tifa looked up and found him staring made it feel like a lifetime. Tifa followed his stare, and any other girl would have probably covered their chest immediately, but Tifa wasn't like any other girl. Her eyes gazed down at her chest, at the scar poking out from her sport bra making a terrible appearance. He didn't look away, feeling anything but ashamed.

Her expression saddened, and he didn't realize she'd found him staring until she looked down, and her fingertips gently caressed the scar on her chest.

"It's ugly, isn't it?" she asked, grinning tiredly. Cloud swallowed, the grip on his sword intensifying with every stroke of Tifa's fingers. "Girls aren't supposed to be covered in scars."

He frowned, his brows meeting painfully and filling his chest with rage. His knuckles turned white against his sword, wanting to hold it more deeply and break something apart, break him and leave him worse than how he'd left her. He ached, feeling weak all of a sudden, and his answer came several minutes later, taking her by full surprise.

"Nothing about you is ugly."

And he meant it.

He truly, truly meant it.

Tifa fluttered her eyes at him, utterly frozen. And he'd wanted to say more, a lot more, the thoughts were swirling in his head, making him feel nauseous and stupid and terribly sick. That scar wasn't ugly, it was a reminder of her strength, a strength he could never have because she was so much stronger than him, and braver, and honest, and kind. Nothing about Tifa was wrong, or defective, cruel or unfair. She was just… right.

Everything about her was just right, in ways he couldn't comprehend.

And her expression was unreadable.

For a breath, Cloud parted his lips, feeling his mouth dry and empty.

"Cloud!"

Tifa looked away the moment Aerith came off running, making him jump out of his seat.

"Barret wants to know if you have any material left," she said, briefly eyeing the way Tifa got up from the grass and walked away, looking for her white shirt.

Cloud kept his eyes on her for a brief moment, feeling Aerith's curious stare waiting for an answer. Cloud blinked a few times, holding his sword and pretending he didn't see the way Tifa rapidly wiped something off her face the moment she left.

He nodded.

"Y-Yeah."