Cloud buys a dress.

He isn't expecting to, when he first accepts the job to clear the dressmaker's back alley of monsters. He does as he's tasked and she tells him he's done good work, moving behind the counter to grab his pay. Simple. Easy.

Then he sees it. A flash of vivid blue in the corner of his eyes. He turns to face it before he can stop himself, heart pounding, and tries desperately to quell the well of excitement in his chest.

The dress is bright and stunning, sitting high on a mannequin near the display windows at the back of the store. It's glossy satin gleams beneath the sun's rays. A finely decorated blue corset with a long, flowing skirt.

It reminds Cloud of his wall market dress. The stiff blue and the puffed black base. Yet this one is different. Not two different colors but instead a spill of bright, eye catching blue. From the sharp lines of the bodice to the rich black hem of the skirt. Only growing darker and smokier as the fabric thickens and falls around the waist.

His fingers twitch towards the dress in a short, aborted motion as he forces himself to pull away, lips thinning.

This isn't him. He's a professional and a mercenary, not some whimsical civilian with time on his hands and a passion for women's clothing. Maybe it suits Andrea and the people at the Honey Bee Inn, but this isn't Wall Market anymore, it's Sector 7. Home to Avalanche and Tifa and a plate that could be dropped at any moment.

Cloud's an ex-SOLDIER involved with a group of terrorists. He can't be running around in dresses and whatnot, weak and helpless and unarmed. Exposed like he'd been back at Wall Market, with nothing at his back but leering gazes, and nothing before him except Don Corneo's greedy hands.

He can't do that again.

It hadn't all been bad, though. Hadn't all been helplessness and humiliation.

He'd felt powerful, too. In a way he's never felt before. Tall on high heels and walking with a strut, skin soft and sensitive to the slide of silk and the rush of air.

It had been almost comfortable, at certain times. When the people weren't so bad and it was only Tifa or Aerith by his side. He'd felt pretty and noticeable - desirable - in a way that had him relaxing into it, feeling safe in his own body for once. Flushed and high on a heedy sort of charm. Powered by something indescribable, and -

No. No.

Cloud does not like it. He shouldn't like it. This isn't how he should be acting or feeling. This isn't right.

His head flares with pain, the world flashing briefly around him. He sucks in a sharp breath, cradling his forehead, and closes his eyes to push everything away.

He doesn't want this. He doesn't.

He didn't like it then and he doesn't like it now. He doesn't.

His fingers twitch again and he stubbornly clenches them into a fist, whirling back around to confront the manager. Determined to grab his pay and leave. To never come here or anywhere near here ever again.

Except that when he comes face to face with the manager, she doesn't look disinterested anymore - moderately grateful but overall uncaring, hiding her eagerness to be rid of him. Instead, she seems almost curious, gaze scrutinizing. Lips tight and brows scrunched dramatically.

She looks him up and down in a long, drawn out once-over. It's if she's searching for something, and Cloud can't help freezing beneath her gaze, uncertain as to whether he should be moving or acting or speaking. If he should even be doing anything at all.

He's not entirely sure what she could be searching for, but whatever she finds as her eyes meet his own again makes her let out a small, knowing hum, and his stomach drops at the implications.

She knows.

But she doesn't voice it. Doesn't let it show.

"You got a lady friend at home?" She asks, and all Cloud can do is blink at her, still frozen in place. It doesn't seem to faze her much, though, as she comes around the counter and shoves the money into his open palm.

Cloud instinctively closes his fingers around it, frowning down at his fist for a second in confusion.

"This would be a fine gift for any boy wanting to impress his girl," the manager goes on, and he glances up again to see her striding towards the dress he'd noticed, "it would need to be fitted, of course, but if you want it to be a surprise we can always use your measurements. If your body types are close enough."

She twists her head aside to smirk back at him briefly. A small, secret smile. Cloud doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't say a thing at all. Watching dazedly as she moves away from the mannequin and into the back rooms.

She turns her head to face him again when she reaches the doorway, smile still in place. Though this time she appears more amused than anything. That knowing, analytical expression back in place.

"Come on, then. Unless you want to just take your pay and leave." She cocks a hip, brow quirking. "But that model won't be on the shelves for much longer."

This can't be happening.

Cloud hesitates. Lingers by the store exit with his hand still held out in front of him like an idiot, mouth parted in shock.

He doesn't know what to do.

"I'm not…into that."

"Well, of course not!" He swallows thickly at her bright laugh. Watches the way she twirls around in her flowery pink dress and grins mischievously. "It's for your lady friend!"

Cloud thinks of Tifa, first. Thinks of her short skirts and tight clothes. Thick, wiry muscle and padded fists. The depth of kindness in her eyes as she'd stared intently into his own, leaning over him at Don Corneo's mansion after he'd first woken up.

Then he thinks of her dress. The vivid blues that matched his own outfit and the lacey black border, skirt cut high and revealing. He thinks of how confident and at ease she'd seemed. Capable of fighting no matter what she wore.

"I don't have a girlfriend," he says, because it's true. Even as his mind wanders to soft pink lips and I'm really glad to have you back, Cloud.

Really glad.

The manager huffs loudly at that, breaking him from his thoughts, and he blinks over at her again as she shakes her head. "Now, that I don't believe!" she insists, "A cute guy like you? The girls would be falling over themselves! Why, you must at least be interested in someone."

It's Aerith that comes to mind this time around. Her light giggle and enthusiastic cheer. Her wide, curious eyes as she'd held the yellow flower out to him. The bright red of her leather jacket and the soft tones of her pale dress.

At Corneo's mansion, she'd looked strong, too. Absolutely in control as she'd practically glided along the streets with him in her pink dress. Thin, plush fabric that had curled along the part in the front, flowing easily about her legs as they walked together. It had been cinched tight with a belt and bordered in intricate patterns. Beautifully crafted.

She'd looked happy in it. Happy to just be there with him. Even happier to be helping Tifa, who she'd never once met before, but had been willing to sacrifice so much for. Just...happy.

There's an ache in his throat that tells him he wants that, too.

He remembers how it had felt to dance with Andrea. Tuning out everything around him as he fell into another man's arms, skirt twirling about his legs. Being dipped to the halt of music and the rise of cheer, hair falling from his eyes, breathless. Andrea's appreciation and approval. His pride.

The softness of the world as it fell away in the aftermath, Andrea's words so sure and convincing. So faithful to a universe that Cloud had only caught a glimpse of.

"And a dress would be a good gift?" Cloud asks skeptically. He doesn't know why it would be, considering the complications involved with finding the right kind of dress and getting measurements done, but maybe that's the kind of thing you learn when you've actually had a partner before.

"This dress? Oh sweetheart, you could propose with this dress."

"That's - that sounds…expensive." Even before the Wall Market mission and his subsequent lack of serious jobs, Cloud hadn't exactly been pulling in a lot of cash. He doubts he could afford something like this.

The disappointment makes his heart drop, and he has to remind himself that he doesn't want a dress, anyways. That even if he manages to buy it, he'll never wear it. There would be nowhere to go with it and nobody to see it.

He doesn't even know how long he's going to be staying. There's a good chance he'll be setting out soon, and he can't go lugging around a big puffy dress when he does so.

The whole endeavor would be completely pointless.

Bullet dodged, he thinks, palming his money before pocketing it carefully, I should get going.

"Today's your lucky day then, sir!" The manager exclaims, and Cloud stills, face studiously blank. "We've got a big sale on these items, considering they're about to get pulled from the shelves. Not to mention I like you quite a bit!"

He frowns, eyeing the exit. He knows he should be leaving right now. Continuing on with his day before night falls, but something keeps him rooted to the spot.

"You don't even know me," he says, and the manager shrugs in response.

"You're cute. And I've been where you are. I know just what you need." She winks playfully. "Call it my good deed of the decade."

He's speechless again. Caught off guard by her insistent cheer. The manager doesn't wait for him to answer, though. She just takes it all in stride, turning to face the back rooms again. She waves him forward, walking inside without a backwards glance.

"Come on then, merc. Let's get you a dress for your lady friend."

And Cloud follows.