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(i am so sappy when it comes to yuri/femmeslash XD )
Title: When You Cry
Fandom: FFVII (Advent Children)
Pairing: Tifa/Aerith
Rating: G
Words: 300
A/N: oh noes, angsty!Tifa. Set before Advent Children.
It's three in the morning by the time Tifa finishes shutting down Seventh Heaven. The bar closes at one but she doesn't have the money to hire somebody to work the late shifts with her, and Cloud, as usual, is away on business. At least, it's probably business. Tifa isn't sure anymore.
She sits on one of the barstools and rests her head on the table. This late at night even Midgar's gone silent: the daytime noises of construction and traffic have long gone, and even the most recaltriant drunks have been rounded up by the city's patchy security forces.
There's no one for Tifa to talk to, no kindly shoulder to rest her head on. There's no bartender she can turn to for a sympathatic ear and a stiff drink to ease her worries, her fears, her loneliness.
Tifa's eyes sting with tears she doesn't want to fall, even if she is all alone with no one to see her. Or maybe it's because she's alone she doesn't want to cry. Tifa's never been that good at self-analysis.
So she sits alone in the dark and the silence, hands curled tight around a beer bottle she hasn't opened yet and wondering how she's managed to get to this point. What is it about her that makes people want to leave her?
And maybe it's just her imagination but she thinks she hears a voice break the quiet night.
I haven't left you.
And maybe her mind is playing tricks on her, this late at night, but Tifa swears she feels a delicate hand close over hers, and the brush of soft lips at the nape of her neck.
The moment passes by far too quickly, but the scent of flowers lingers in the bar, and Tifa's tears are gone.
Title: When You Cry
Fandom: FFVII (Advent Children)
Pairing: Tifa/Aerith
Rating: G
Words: 300
A/N: oh noes, angsty!Tifa. Set before Advent Children.
It's three in the morning by the time Tifa finishes shutting down Seventh Heaven. The bar closes at one but she doesn't have the money to hire somebody to work the late shifts with her, and Cloud, as usual, is away on business. At least, it's probably business. Tifa isn't sure anymore.
She sits on one of the barstools and rests her head on the table. This late at night even Midgar's gone silent: the daytime noises of construction and traffic have long gone, and even the most recaltriant drunks have been rounded up by the city's patchy security forces.
There's no one for Tifa to talk to, no kindly shoulder to rest her head on. There's no bartender she can turn to for a sympathatic ear and a stiff drink to ease her worries, her fears, her loneliness.
Tifa's eyes sting with tears she doesn't want to fall, even if she is all alone with no one to see her. Or maybe it's because she's alone she doesn't want to cry. Tifa's never been that good at self-analysis.
So she sits alone in the dark and the silence, hands curled tight around a beer bottle she hasn't opened yet and wondering how she's managed to get to this point. What is it about her that makes people want to leave her?
And maybe it's just her imagination but she thinks she hears a voice break the quiet night.
I haven't left you.
And maybe her mind is playing tricks on her, this late at night, but Tifa swears she feels a delicate hand close over hers, and the brush of soft lips at the nape of her neck.
The moment passes by far too quickly, but the scent of flowers lingers in the bar, and Tifa's tears are gone.
