[ when tifa's hand brushes against that new old scar, shuddering at the marred skin that now crosses up between her chest, she first thinks of the man who put it there, who'd slashed that diagonal wound before the skin grafts had done a fine job in covering most of it up. then she briefly thinks of cloud, in wondering if she should tell him about it β but she remembers how much he'd doubted her, how the sudden appearance of the scar's new prominent form might just confuse him further, and she's not sure she's ready for the conversation.
but then she thinks of aerith, of the girl she's come to trust so much of her life with, how much she craves her soothing words and smile even now. it's almost late now, but tifa reaches out all the same. ]
text π€ un: tifa
but then she thinks of aerith, of the girl she's come to trust so much of her life with, how much she craves her soothing words and smile even now. it's almost late now, but tifa reaches out all the same. ]
hey, aerith? you awake?