Work Text:
MONDAY
A joke.
That’s what this was.
If Aerith Gainsborough missed one more detention or class, for that matter, she’d be expelled from Midgard Seven High.
It was utter bullshit.
Most of the students here skipped all the time, but her ledger? Yeah… it had a bit more red ink than most.
Dripping with red.
It was enough that the teachers stopped handing out warning slips altogether.
Now it was the newly elected Principal Dudley, self-proclaimed “Angel of the Slums”, doling out ultimatums.
Cookies.
That’s what she was.
That’s what most people were, especially those who thought they could make a difference in the slums.
And… not that Aerith really gave a shit about getting kicked.
About high school, its rules, its teachers, or the slum kids who clearly had no future beyond high school anyway.
But… she had promised her mother.
Promised she'd at least graduate before taking over the family business.
So here she was, sitting on a chair backward, her dark oni mask covering her mouth and nose, while her green eyes glazed over at the class president, Miss Goody Two-Shoes, who was diligently scrubbing the chalkboard.
Whom she was hilariously stuck in detention… all week with her, of all people.
According to Principal Dudley, they were meant to “learn a lesson” for fighting in school and by the end of it, learn “who you think you are.”
Whatever that means. What a fucking joke.
Little Miss Perfect turned, her long black hair styled in a low ponytail, swooshing behind her as she did.
“Aren’t you going to help?”
Leaning forward, Aerith rested her arms on the back of her chair.
“And rob the school prez of her favorite hobby of making the school a better place? That would just break my heart.”
Tifa shot her a small glare, her white school uniform crisp and proper, her red neckerchief tied around her neck just right, but she said nothing. Just turned back to cleaning.
Cookies. Aerith smirked.
They couldn’t be more different.
The delinquent and the class president.
But it was way more than just their appearance.
Aerith had seen little Miss First-Year Tifa Lockhart around the graffiti-covered halls.
All bright eyes and perfect posture, following the dogma of Principal Dudley of being ready to be the one good thing in the slums.
Fully believing that she could walk along the cracked tiles of the school floor and that she could be the one to fix them just by caring enough.
She clearly wasn’t from here.
Word on the grapevine, from Zack, who was an idiot and got held back, he spilled that she was originally from Nibelheim, some backwater country town where the grass was greener and the hills sang.
Crazy how she’d ended up here instead.
But it was clear.
Tifa Lockhart wasn’t one of them.
She was too clean. Too polished. Midgar didn’t grow people like Tifa.
Because the rest of the school? The rest of the slums?
They chewed up and spat out country kids like that.
Midgard Seven High was known for student gangs, bad grades, and rotten eggs. If something stank, it was Midgard. That was their unofficial school motto.
It wasn’t "might makes right."
That was just a cool lie rats told themselves. No, the truth was uglier.
Might amounted to nothing in the end. You needed money, too.
And Shinra? They had all of it. Power, prestige, private-school polished shoes. They ruled over the top of Midgar like royalty. Slum kids' only destination from here on was the streets.
But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t an order to be kept, even down here.
At the top of the streets was Team Cetra. Her gang. And Aerith?
The big bad.
Who dressed as fiercely as she was.
Not in the standard uniform like Tifa’s, but an alternative black one with a white neckerchief. With her signature lily details woven in like a motif, a symbol. Her calling card.
One even tucked into her hair.
But the way she wore it was anything but delicate.
Instead, it made her status clear.
Do not fuck with me.
But despite the school’s reputation for hardcore delinquents, generally speaking, no one dared fuck with Tifa either.
Because, above everything else, Tifa Lockhart had pretty privilege.
The kind that made cherry blossoms fall when she walked by. The kind that made both boys and girls trip over themselves just to hand her a pen in class or carry her books.
And there she was, every damn morning at attendance, dutifully doing her student council duties, little stupid clipboard in hand, and a smile that brightened up the shithole they were in.
Aerith saw her. Of course, she had. She’d be blind to miss her.
From the shadows.
Mask up.
Watching.
Waiting.
Wondering how long it would take before the slums sank their teeth into plump flesh like hers.
Bite. Chew. Swallow. Repeat.
Yawning, Aerith tugged down her oni face mask below her chin. “Man, detention is sucha drag.”
“It would go faster if you helped,” Tifa said calmly, not even turning to look at her.
To prove just how little she cared, Aerith turned and knocked over a nearby stack of textbooks just because she could… The loud thud echoed through the empty classroom.
“Missed a spot.”
There was a pause, and Aerith caught it.
The little wince Tifa made because of the noise, but her back was still turned, so Aerith couldn’t see her face.
Aerith wondered what she looked like now. A wrinkled nose, maybe? Her brows scrunched, and quiet breathing.
Aerith wished she could see it.
A smug smile curled on her lips just imagining it.
Without warning, Tifa spun around, her eyes boring into her as she marched straight toward her.
The smile was wiped off Aerith’s lips because for a second, Aerith swore she saw it—that fire in her eyes.
The same fire from the other day.
The day Tifa walked up to her after school in the back of the building, surprising her.
"Tryna fight? Better make it interesting," Aerith had taunted at her then.
But Tifa had just shaken her head, something determined in her expression. Like a storm brewing just beneath the surface under that perfect composure.
"No, it’s not that… I wanna talk to you."
That… was a new one.
Now, here she was again, class prez, standing in front of her with that same look.
It made Aerith straighten up her back, square up, tilt her head up, fists loose but ready, just in case.
Because apparently, the school prez, Cookies here, could throw down.
That day—the day they got busted by Coach Wallace—Aerith had been busy with her own fight. But even busy, she’d catch glimpses of her moving in the corner of her eye.
The way Tifa moved. Her strength, her finesse. Beautiful, fluid motion.
Tifa held her own, probably better than some of her own crew.
But Aerith knew.
She could take her.
She could take anyone if she wanted.
But part of her couldn’t lie; she was curious to see how it would go.
The moment soon passed, however.
The tension dissolved into nothing when Tifa crouched down and started gathering the fallen textbooks, quiet and methodical, cleaning up the mess she had just made.
Aerith watched, adjusting her mask back over her mouth as Tifa tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her expression completely neutral.
So much for making it interesting.
Dusting, brushing, mop and shine up, Tifa did it all.
The entire classroom.
Aerith watched her straighten desks and chairs, stack books, and wipe away all the markings and graffiti until the golden hues of sunset spilled through the wide
windows.
She did it all without a word.
Not a single complaint about Aerith refusing to help, and Tifa didn’t ask again, either.
She even smiled to herself as she adjusted something slightly off-center, as if even the smallest bit of disorder peeved her.
By the time she was done, she turned to Aerith, brushing dust from her navy pleated skirt and adjusting her neckerchief until it sat just right.
Neat, polished, perfect, like everything else about her.
Aerith had to look away, resisting the impulsive urge to tug at that neckerchief, just to see what kind of reaction Tifa could muster.
“I’m going to find Coach Wallace and tell him we’re finished today, okay?”
Aerith stood up, her chair scraping against the floor with a sharp and loud screech that echoed through the room. She grabbed her kendo staff that was lying nearby, flipping it onto her shoulder before stepping toward the door.
But just as she passed Tifa, she stopped and turned her head. And with one finger, she slid her mask down, just enough to reveal her bite.
“If you so much as tell him I didn’t help…” she murmured, low, “you’ll regret it.”
A pause.
She tilted her head back, a slow smirk curling her lips.
“…And so will the cocky first year.”
Something flickered across Tifa’s face, there and gone in an instant. Timidly, she just nodded, head bowed in respect.
Aerith leaned in, close enough to smell the hint of lavender from Tifa’s shampoo.
“Yeah,” she murmured against their shared breaths. “That’s what I thought.”
Her finger rose slowly, grazing just under Tifa’s chin.
“Just a very good girl.”
A blush bloomed across Tifa’s cheeks.
Cute…
Aerith didn’t wait around to see more of it.
She turned on her heel, striding out of the classroom like she owned it, because, in a way, she did.
Just before turning the corner, she glanced back—just in time to see Tifa quietly adjusting the chair she had sat on.
Straightened. Proper and prim.
Nice.
Always cleaning up her mess.
TUESDAY
Truthfully, Tifa never meant to get caught in the crosshairs of the school’s notorious big bad.
She had been perfectly content with her student council duties, which she handled mostly alone. Getting people in Midgard High to volunteer for extra work was like asking them to sign up for detention on purpose.
She didn’t mind.
She also kept herself busy with extracurriculars and kept her grades up. She was a model student. She knew that.
Everyone said it like it was a compliment and an insult, at the same time. But… it wasn’t like she planned it at all.
Then there was Cloud.
Her childhood friend, sort of.
When the reactor shut down in Nibelheim, everything changed, especially the economy. Jobs dried up, and families started packing. Luckily, both of their parents were offered new positions in Midgar. So, they moved.
Midgar. The slums, to be specific.
Where the ceilings leaked, and sirens were their lullabies, but at least, the rent was cheap. If they worked hard, her dad said, if they saved, they could eventually move topside.
That was the plan.
And that was the dream.
She and Cloud hadn’t been especially close back then. But something about the move at least solidified that they were there for one another.
And somehow, in the mess of a city like Midgar, that counted for a lot.
And yet… he’d been getting into fights since the day they set foot in high school.
"Quit pretending to be a bad boy," she would chide him. But it always went in one ear and out the other.
He’d just turn away, his eyes drifting toward Midgard Seven High’s most infamous gang, Team Cetra, whose leader was never around.
Notorious for skipping school and getting up to no good.
Tifa had known about her. The rumor mill ran double time in the slums.
The leader, second-year Aerith Gainsborough, was practically a myth.
Said to be the granddaughter of an actual gangster, the kind who did the dirty work and ran seedy places like Wall Market. And Aerith would go toe-to-toe with real gang members all the time.
Word was that she once beat up a whole gang. All of them. By herself.
Dipped her long, pretty brown hair in their blood, hence the dye job, and grinned. “That was fun.”
She was something of a local legend.
And Cloud? He ate it up. Idolized her. And his one and only goal, it seemed, since enrolling was to join Team Cetra.
Tifa didn’t get it. Didn’t like it.
She wasn’t interested in making her new life in this city worse. She followed her father’s example, of the principal’s, of Coach Wallace.
But boys like Cloud were always chasing ghosts with clenched fists.
There were rules, however.
"You gotta prove yourself worthy. Seven fights. Seven brawlers of seven classes…”
Zack Fair, their classmate, spiky-haired idiot, charismatic and charming, grinned and pointed to himself.
“And I’m Brawler: First Class,” he said with a wink and a toothy grin.
Tifa rolled her eyes. They were supposed to be paying attention to Ms. Folia, their homeroom teacher. But of course, Cloud’s full attention was on Zack.
Zeroed in.
“I’m gunning for Brawler: First Class,” Cloud said to him with a challenge low in his voice.
Zack loved it. “I can’t wait.”
She never understood why boys were so obsessed with proving themselves. But that was Cloud, through and through. No matter how many times she told him to stop, he wouldn’t listen. He never listened.
Seven fights. Seven Brawlers. Those were the rules. And you have to fight them in order. Fight them all, fight for your place, and you earn your spot in Team Cetra.
And above them all, wearing the crown was Aerith.
The same Aerith… that Tifa was now stuck in detention with all week.
It was only the second day of detention, and today’s assignment was helping Coach Wallace organize the baseball team’s equipment.
And once again, Aerith was doing absolutely nothing to help.
She lounged on a bench in the equipment room, legs stretched out with her hand propping up her head, watching Tifa sort through bats, helmets, and gear.
Tifa tried to focus. She tied her hair up into a high ponytail, hoping it might offer some relief from the heat in the muggy equipment room.
Spring was creeping in, bringing with it warmer weather, but in a room that barely had a window packed messily with old gear and heavy equipment, it was anything but pleasant.
Normally, she didn’t mind working up a sweat. She liked it when it was earned after a good workout. But this? This wasn’t training.
This was punishment.
A punishment she most definitely did not deserve.
And supposedly shared…
She pushed a box of old mitts aside with more force than she intended as she huffed in frustration.
All the while, she could feel Aerith’s eyes on her.
Those unnervingly sharp green eyes.
Watching her. Studying her. Like a cat watching a bird waiting for a chance to pounce.
It was all Tifa could see with that damned face mask hiding the rest of her face.
Just those eyes.
And no matter how much Tifa just went about her work, ignoring her, she could not.
Not at all.
So she bit back a sigh and continued to stack the boxes neatly. Just as she reached for a box perched slightly too high on a metal shelf, she tiptoed, her arms outstretched as far as she could go, tips of her fingers catching—
THUD!
CLATTER!
CLANG!
The box tipped over, sending everything flying.
“Whoa!”
Wooden bats spilled chaotically to the ground, one nearly hitting Tifa’s foot. A cloud of dust puffed up around her, stinging her eyes and throat as she squinted and coughed, waving it away with one hand.
This sucked.
But what made it worse?
When the smoke cleared…was the sound of laughter that followed.
Aerith’s laughter. Bright. Free.
Mocking.
“I don’t think that’s very funny,” Tifa snapped, straightening up and recoiling, brushing the dust from her shirt.
Aerith sat up on the bench, one leg up.
“What? Lighten up. It is funny,” she said with a grin. “Seeing the perfect class prez get all down and dirty for me.”
Tifa narrowed her eyes, humiliation making her frustration bubble. “You know all about dirty, don’t you…”
Her words slipped out like thrown daggers before she could stop them.
“Excuse me…?” Low, like a growl.
“I—” Tifa started, but she barely got the word out before Aerith was on her.
Lightning fast.
Faster than anyone would expect.
One second, she was lounging across the bench, and the next—
SLAM!
Tifa gasped as her back hit the metal shelf behind her, the loud rattle echoing through the room.
Aerith’s hand held one of the shelves firm just beside Tifa’s head, boxing her in with a fired-up kind of confidence.
Those green eyes stared straight through her soul.
No mask this time, covering the rest of her face like she had ripped it off just to bare her fangs. Thunder and lightning ran through her veins.
A switch flipped, accidentally by Tifa.
And yet…
As raw and intense as those eyes were.
As Tifa’s breath hitched, her heart beating against her chest like crazy, she realized something…
Aerith Gainsborough—leader of Team Cetra, the Midgard Seven’s infamous and intimidating upperclassman, slum legend—was actually…
Kind of short.
And despite leaning backwards against the hard metal shelf, Tifa still had to tilt her chin down ever so lightly to meet her eyes.
Green, clear, vivid eyes.
Natural in a way that reminded her of the earth. Like a field of wild flowers.
Untamed. Untouched.
Beautiful.
“You’ve got some bite on you, Prez…” Aerith murmured in a dark and deep voice.
Then she leaned in. Close enough that Tifa felt her breath warm against her lips.
“I like that.”
A smirk. A glint in her eye, but then an unexpected snap, like a warrior unsheathing a blade.
“But don’t think for a second I’ll let you get away with that.”
Tifa’s jaw tightened, her brows knitting, and for a moment, the anger faded beneath something else.
Regret. Guilt…
It was a low blow before, and she shouldn’t have said it, even if the rumors were true. It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t her.
“I… I didn’t mean it,” Tifa whispered.
“Don’t,” Aerith said, her expression shifting. “Be serious about it. You did mean it.”
“I didn’t—”
“I’m just some slum gang banger to you, right?” Aerith continued, calm but cutting. “Dirty like the slum rat I am?”
“No, that’s not—”
“I said. Don’t.”
It wasn’t anger. That’s what struck Tifa the most.
There was no obvious venom in Aerith’s tone—only a sense of brutal honesty. Like she valued that, among everything else.
“So, rather fight me because I know you can pack a punch, prez.”
“I don’t want to fight yo—”
“Or spit out what you want to say because I don’t like liars,” Aerith said. “And you don’t strike me as one.”
Tifa went quiet.
Because that wasn’t the truth at all… Tifa was a liar.
She lied every day.
Said yes when she meant no.
Said I’m fine when she was breaking apart.
Lied to Cloud so often it had become a second language. White easy, gentle lies, the kind meant to protect someone else's fragile ego. His. Always.
Like how she never told him she was in detention in the first place, or why and with whom...
But as she looked into those clear green eyes, she realized she might never be able to lie to her.
“Okay,” she whispered, low, just meant for Aerith to hear. "I want you to help me clean this mess. You're the one who got us stuck in here, and it's not fair that I'm doing it alone."
Aerith tilted her head slightly. "Am I the reason?"
Tifa’s teeth sank into her lip.
Another lie. She was good at those.
Because… she remembered.
That day.
Ten against one. Shinra Academy’s rival gang, The Turks, clean-cut in their smug, tailored suited uniforms, had cornered Aerith at the back of the school.
That was where Tifa had found her after school.
She wanted to talk to her. Not that that worked out well, but it might have gone somewhere.
If the Turks hadn’t found her, found them.
“Just get the hell out of here, prez,” Aerith had said, body already squared to fight, picking up her custom kendo staff.
A redheaded boy with a rat-tail stepped forward with a crooked grin. “Got a tip we’d catch you here alone… didn’t expect company.”
Aerith didn’t flinch. “She’s not part of this.”
The boy, Reno, shrugged, flicking his extendable rod out with a snap. “Don’t care. We just want you anyway. Once you dirty slum Cetras get taken out, this turf belongs to Shinra too… and you go back to where you belong, under our boots.”
Aerith scoffed as she threw another glance at Tifa, narrowing her eyes as another warning for her to leave.
It had surprised her a little bit. Did Aerith mean… to protect her?
Tifa… had listened.
She nodded and turned to leave. She was going to get a teacher like she was supposed to do in these situations.
The fight started as she walked away.
“Don’t you dare step on my flowers!” She heard Aerith yell before a crack of her kendo sounded off.
Curiosity got the best of Tifa, and she turned to watch just for a little bit.
Aerith moved like nothing she had ever seen. Graceful, elegant, but no less powerful. Tifa knew about Aerith’s fighting prowess—had heard enough from Cloud and Zack’s stories.
Aerith would be fine.
But just as Tifa stepped away, she saw it.
A glint of silver.
A girl with short blonde hair slipping through the chaos with a knife in her hand.
Something inside Tifa moved.
Her master’s voice, echoing from distant mountains where she had learned karate, not to fight, but to protect.
And so she did.
The decision wasn’t made, but because that’s just who she was.
She hadn’t been dragged into this.
She had chosen to help.
“Aerith, watch out!”
“No…” Tifa said quietly.
Aerith smiled, gave a low whistle, leaning in just enough to make Tifa’s heart skip.
Badump. Badump. Again and again.
“Hmmm… goody two-shoes isn’t as good as everyone thinks, huh?”
Before Tifa could reply, Aerith stepped back, and instead of returning to the bench.
She bent down and started picking up the bats.
No more snark. No more sass.
Aerith just started working with quiet focus.
Tifa stood there, blinking.
Something had changed then.
She dropped to her knees beside her.
They worked in silence, gathering the scattered bats and returning them to the fallen box, one by one.
After that, Tifa expected Aerith to stop, but she didn’t.
When that box was filled, she shifted to the next one, putting on her facemask, brushing off the dust, and re-stacking gloves and helmets without a word.
And Tifa followed.
Box after box. No arguing. No more teasing. It was like Tifa had finally figured it out—how to get Aerith to work with her, instead of against her.
It was a start.
WEDNESDAY
“That first year sure is something,” Zack said, leaning lazily against the cracked brick wall behind the school, the one tagged with fading graffiti.
Aerith’s place.
The place she spent most of her time… her secret.
Few knew where to find her.
Zack had been one of them. Cloud, accidentally. Both of them were careless, stepping on her flowers at one point, apologizing, before turning away. Well, only Cloud ran.
And Tifa had stumbled upon it the other day, too.
“He’s pretty impressive,” he went on, fiddling with a toothpick between his lips. “Beat Roche in 4th class already.”
Aerith raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond.
Cocky first-year Cloud Strife, wielding a bat, had bulldozed through her ranks.
7th class to 4th.
It was starting to make Team Cetra look like a joke.
Aerith wasn’t interested, especially not in this place where she found her serenity. She just watched her favorite children sway in the breeze, smiling under her mask, as Zack kept blabbering on.
“He told me he’s gunning for my spot.” Zack grinned. “Said it like he meant it.”
Aerith honestly couldn’t remember when it had turned into a thing.
The initiation. Seven fights. Seven Classes of Brawlers.
Guess it had something to do with the number seven. Had a ring to it?
It was just something that had just manifested one day from the whispers behind lockers and scrawled across bathroom walls.
Fight the Seven, and you’re in.
She was pretty sure it had started as a joke. And then one day it became tradition, and then a legend was born.
But boys… were stupid.
Boys needed ceremony.
Needed blood in their mouths and bruises on their skin so they could point at something and say, See? I’m special.
They chased rank like it was oxygen. Chased the idea of being hero. Like a name carved high enough might save them from disappearing.
It was exhausting.
Whatever.
No one could ever reach as high as she did.
But something in Zack’s lilt, Aerith could tell he was excited. Zack lived for a good fight. Proved he was alive.
Cloud Strife was interesting, though, not because of his raw potential wrapped in the common male ego.
That was a dime a dozen.
The interesting part was how he was connected to her.
Prez. The goody-two-shoes she’d be seeing later for another round of detention.
She remembered that day well. The day Tifa came to talk to her.
The same day, Cloud Strife rose to Sixth Class and earned a cut on his pretty little cheek.
And the thing Tifa wanted to talk about… was him.
“I want the fighting in school to stop,” she’d said, standing in front of her—at her place.
Hope burning behind those red eyes.
“There has to be another way for people to join Team Cetra. Maybe… a more productive way?”
Aerith had laughed out loud, pulling her mask down in the process. “Seriously?”
She couldn’t believe the gall of this girl.
“The students are getting hurt, and I can’t allow that as school president. My friend, Cloud… he almost—”
“Who?”
She hadn’t even known his name yet. Only learned then that the cocky blonde kid who had stepped on her flowers had started climbing the ranks.
What did she care?
But the girl in front of her… ruby eyes that shone in the orange sun, standing her ground to face her.
She had some balls on her.
That made her listen. Pay attention.
Until they were interrupted.
“Yo! Look what we’ve come to find…”
Reno’s voice.
Shinra.
The Turks.
“I can’t believe they’ve basically got us doing free labor,” Aerith groaned, scraping a wad of old gum off the underside of a cafeteria table. “What even is this punishment?”
Today’s detention task: cafeteria cleanup.
Glamorous. Sexy. Fucking stupid.
Tifa, towel in hand, smiled at her.
Aerith caught that. “What the hell are you smiling at?” She propped one leg up on the bench. “Don’t tell me you actually enjoy this nasty shit. You get your rocks off cleaning, Prez?”
Tifa shook her head, tad sheepish. “It’s nothing like that—I just… I dunno. It's kinda nice? Talking with one another. Makes the work feel less miserable.”
Aerith rolled her eyes. “Unbelievable. You really do get your rocks off doing this.”
The red on Tifa’s face didn’t go unnoticed, either. “Well, it is nice to see things clean for once.”
Aerith stopped scrubbing.
She watched her for a bit, watched the way Tifa focused a little too hard on the table while sucking in her lip.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that, prez?”
Tifa glanced over. “What do you mean?”
Aerith smiled in amusement. “The fact that you actually think you can make a difference. You really believe that, even in this dump of a school?”
Tifa paused, her eyes lowering. “There isn’t any harm in trying.”
“That’s why you’re trying to stop the fighting? Tryna save your pretty little boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Tifa said quickly, then continued with a sigh, “I just don’t want him or anyone to get hurt.”
“But he won’t listen to you, will he?”
Tifa didn’t answer.
Aerith let out a dry laugh. “You can’t change someone just because you wish things were different. The fight—he chose that. That’s on him. You can’t change the slums either.”
“Someone hits, you hit back. Harder. Simple.” She knocked her fist lightly into her other palm. “Because if you don’t, people really get hurt otherwise.”
Tifa grew quiet.
Her hands stilling as her delicate, long fingers curled slightly against the rag in her hand.
There was something quiet in her expression, a flicker of defeat. Like deep down, she knew Aerith had been right.
“I know…” she finally said.
Aerith wanted to be smug, the kind of satisfaction that comes from being right… and yet, that light in Tifa was still there. That quiet, naive hope that things could change.
Down here, hope like that was dangerous.
But somehow, Aerith couldn’t help but like the way it lived in her.
She sighed. “You’re really not from here.”
“I’m not,” Tifa nodded to herself. “It’s different here, yeah,” she said quietly. “It’s messy, not perfect.”
“No shit, it’s Midgar.”
“But…” Tifa added. “I like the people I’ve met here.”
Aerith snorted.
“I mean it. There’s a sense of community, they look out for one another,” she paused, smiling a little bit, “It reminds me of home, a little bit.”
Midgar really didn’t grow people like Tifa. Aerith mused.
“What about you?”
“What about me?” The question caught Aerith off guard.
“Why the bad girl act?” Tifa asked.
Aerith scoffed, “Act?” she echoed. “Excuse me?” She let out a soft laugh. “I can tell you right now, Prez… this is no act.”
“The other day,” Tifa said in a gentle voice, “when the Turks showed up, you told me to leave.”
“Yeah,” Aerith said, casually. “I did.”
“How come?”
Aerith smirked. “Well, for one, I didn’t think you’d want to get your uniform ruffled.”
Tifa turned, meeting her eyes. “I thought you hated liars.”
Aerith shrugged, glancing away with a grin tugging at her mouth. “You’re getting bold, aren’t you?”
“I almost did leave, you know.”
“But you didn’t,” Aerith fired back.
“No. I didn’t.”
Another beat passed, longer this time. But Aerith pressed further.
“Why didn’t you?”
Tifa smiled, soft but steady. “Because I don’t walk away from people who need help.”
“And you really think I needed your help?”
Gently, Tifa shook her head. “No… but I’d help you anyway, Aerith.”
Red eyes entrapped her, steady and honest.
There was something in the way Tifa said it. The way she said her name. All that conviction. All that gentleness.
It was…
Refreshing, yet disarming, something Aerith wasn’t used to, but it excited her all the same.
Aerith wasn’t easily impressed, but in three—no, four days, if she counted the first time they’d talked behind the school, Tifa had managed to crawl under her skin.
She was a good girl.
Not the fake kind walking around Shinra Private Academy. No. Tifa was the kind of good that didn’t need praise or applause to follow her.
The kind of good that Midgar needed.
That everywhere… needed.
With a sharp breath through her nose, Aerith grabbed the empty bucket off the table and made her way toward the sink.
“Damn,” she muttered. “You really are trouble, Prez.”
As she turned to leave, she couldn’t help glancing back.
Tifa was already back at it, scrubbing the cafeteria table diligently. Aerith watched the way her hands moved, her eyes focused. Tifa moved like everything she did, even the mundane, had meaning. Purpose.
What kind of person does that?
It was a quality… that sort of pissed her off. And yet, anger was the furthest thing from what she felt.
“Fuck…”
Thirty tables in the whole cafeteria—scrubbed clean of gum, graffiti, and whatever else decades of assholes had left behind. This had easily been the longest day of community service yet. The sun had already dipped below the skyline, and they were still stuck there.
“Ahhhh…my arms are gonna fall off…” Aerith groaned, sitting on top of a table while her legs hopped up on the bench. “After this, I swear I’ll never chew gum again.”
A chime of a giggle made her turn her head. “So the big bad of the school can be taken down.”
Tifa was striding toward her, a water bottle in hand.
She stopped just in front of her. “Here. For your hard work, senpai,” she said, offering the bottle.
Aerith blinked.
The honorific hit her like a left hook to the face—unexpected, powerful, and the kind of adorable that squeezed her heart in two.
And now, uncharacteristically, she felt heat crawl up her neck.
Quickly, she grabbed the bottle and took a long swig.
But Tifa stayed there, hands tucked behind her like she was trying to keep them from doing anything else.
“What, expecting a ‘thank you’?” Aerith teased, setting the bottle beside her and leaning forward, elbows on her knees.
“You’ll be waiting a while. I’m sorry to say, even pretty faces like yours don’t work on me.”
Tifa flushed immediately, her eyes flicking downward.
Aerith sighed. “Spit it out already.”
Tifa met her eyes again. “No…it’s just…” She smiled. “I think today went really well. We make a good team.”
Blinking, Aerith shrugged, her hand coming up to scratch at her neck. “Yeah, I guess we do. But don’t let it get to your head. I don’t do group work.”
Her scratching made Tifa’s gaze drift lower, toward Aerith’s collar.
Following her glance, Aerith realized the edge of her lily tattoo was peeking out from under her collar. She smirked.
“Yeah, it’s real,” she said, light with mischief. “Pretty cool, isn’t it?”
Tifa nodded, her cheeks pinked.
Smirking, Aerith tugged at her collar slightly, revealing it further just to see how deep she could get Tifa to blush.
Tifa didn’t look away. “It’s pretty…” she murmured.
Aerith’s smirk grew, her voice dipping low and teasing. “You wanna touch it?”
Tifa blinked, face now completely flushed, but… all too soon she shook her head.
Aerith almost laughed, but then Tifa stepped forward, slotting herself close, and said, “Your tie’s crooked.”
Before Aerith could react, careful fingers reached up toward her neck.
Tifa didn’t even ask.
She just leaned in, close enough that Aerith could count every lash on her downturned eyes, as Tifa’s fingers brushed at the fabric of Aerith’s collar.
It was absurd.
Like something ripped from the pages of one of those over-the-top romance novels—which she totally did not collect! The kind where an older, cooler student would fix the tie of a younger student, all bathed in golden light and falling cherry blossoms.
Stars in their eyes. And everything turned watercolor.
Except this wasn’t that.
There were no petals, no breeze rustling the trees. No pretty anything.
Just the dingy hum of fluorescent lights and the faint citrus bite of lemon-scented cleaning soap.
And damn it, if anyone was the cooler, older upper-classman, it was supposed to be Aerith.
And yet—
Aerith stayed still the whole time.
Maybe… pretty faces worked on her after all.
“There,” Tifa said as she straightened the knot of the neckerchief. “Better.”
Then she stepped back.
Aerith sat frozen, stunned in a way she’d never felt before, not by men twice her size in battle, not by boys who tried to shoot their shot, and not even by the girls who’d tried their luck too.
Tifa tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. “I’ll let Coach know we’re done for the day. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Aerith nodded, trying hard to look like she wasn’t completely disarmed. “Yeah… see you tomorrow, Prez.”
THURSDAY
Tifa stared at herself in the mirror, brushing a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear.
She had been humming ever since she woke up early in the morning so she could busy herself with something.
It was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing.
And she had been in a rather good mood, despite trudging home late from detention the night before.
She reached for her earrings, delicate silver in the shape of chocobos with a tiny shimmer catching the glint of morning light.
As she fastened them, her eyes drifted to the corner of her desk where a small pink bag sat.
Tifa smiled to herself.
“The cut on your face isn’t going to heal if you keep reopening your wounds, Cloud,” Tifa chided as they walked toward school.
Cloud just shrugged, his bat slung over his shoulder, fingers tightening around the grip. “I’m close, Tifa.”
Tifa looked straight ahead, her hand curling around the strap of her black leather duffel. “And then what? When you make it into Team Cetra, what are you going to do, Cloud?”
He didn’t answer.
She sighed, the scuff of his dragging boots filling the silence between them.
He was going to challenge the 3rd and 2nd classes next. The twins. Weiss and Nero.
Her mind drifted as they walked to school, the sound of scuffing fading in her mind as her thoughts circled back to Aerith’s words.
About the fight being Cloud’s choice.
Cloud had that stubborn fire in his eyes, that relentless need to be recognized. Said it was the only way he could ever protect her. But Tifa never asked for his protection…
Maybe once. When they were kids.
She didn’t need protection, not anymore.
Even so, Cloud wouldn’t stop.
And Tifa had started to notice something. That look, that need, it didn’t live in Aerith’s eyes.
Even when she watched her fight, Aerith didn’t carry that same hunger to prove herself. She didn’t fight to be validated. Or seen.
She already was.
She ruled the school. Ruled the Seven. And in a way… she protected the school from the others. Became a target so large that they didn’t see anyone else.
She was known. Recognizable. A beacon for that trouble.
Aerith’s name echoed through hallways, whispered with awe… or fear, depending on who was speaking.
And yet…
After these past few days, Tifa had started to wonder about her elusive upper-classman.
There was something else in Aerith’s eyes when she looked at her. A challenge, yes—but something else.
Something that burned differently.
When they arrived at school, Tifa had been helping with morning attendance as usual, scanning the courtyard, when she spotted her.
Aerith leaned casually against a tree, mask pulled up just below her eyes, half-lidded and uninterested gaze drifting across the crowd.
She was too cool to care, yet impossible to ignore.
Not in that uniform, the mask, the flowers, the tattoo…
She stood out.
Yet always solo.
And Tifa might’ve looked into her. Just a little.
Only because she wanted to know what Cloud was getting himself tangled up in—because he sure as hell didn’t.
There were certain perks of being class president, including the fact that she got access to teacher admin spaces.
And what she found out surprised her.
Aerith wasn’t failing.
In fact, her grades, when she bothered to show up to class, were better than most. She was smart. She wasn't like the rest of the typical delinquents of their school.
Tifa’s eyes wandered toward her again, and for a second, their eyes met.
Green to red.
There was a flicker of a spark.
Tifa smiled. Soft, polite, and attentive. She even added a gentle wave.
Aerith held her stare for a second longer… and then, without acknowledging her, she turned and walked away and melted into the crowd.
Tifa stayed frozen, hand mid-wave, watching her go.
She watched her hair catching the wind. Long, brown with the ends dipped red, just flowing like a silent banner that no one had permission to touch.
She moved with a rhythm all her own, a kind that no one could ever chase, let alone try to follow.
That was Aerith to everyone who revered her.
And yet. Tifa knew things would be different when they were alone.
When it was just the two of them.
She had seen the start of it. Felt it, just yesterday in the cafeteria, and the day before that in the equipment room.
Because she felt it.
She and Aerith… were having a real breakthrough.
And knowing she’d see her again later…
Tifa wasn’t sure why, but that had excited her.
“I saw you earlier in the courtyard,” Tifa said casually, fingers brushing dust from a stack of books as they sorted shelves during detention in the school library.
“Yeah… I saw you too, Clipboard,” Aerith replied with a smirk, sliding a book into place.
There was a silence before Aerith turned to her, eyes narrowing slightly. “What?”
Tifa chuckled, shaking her head. “Nothing, nothing. I’m happy you showed up for attendance, is all.”
Aerith huffed. “Kind of have to. If I don’t, they’ll kick me out.”
“Huh… I never thought you would care about graduating.”
“I don’t,” Aerith said flatly, eyes flicking to the ceiling. “But I promised my mom.”
Tifa tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
Aerith let out a long sigh. “She wants to see me in a graduation outfit. You know… the full square doohickey on my head, tossing it into the air like it didn’t cost more than it should.”
Tifa chuckled. “I’d have to be there, you know. Class President duties and all. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Aerith rolled her eyes. “Great. Guess we’ll have to do a selfie if that ever happens.”
Tifa’s smile softened, gentler now. “You know… There might be a way I can help.”
“Oh yeah? How?”
“If you joined the student council…”
Aerith almost laughed out loud. “That’s adorable.”
“What’s so funny?”
“Everything. Me, leader of Team Cetra, on the student council? Please.”
“Well…” Tifa pressed on, undeterred, “It would help cover your attendance gaps, and maybe we could set up a system that—”
Aerith let out a short, incredulous laugh. “As if they’d ever let someone like me in.”
Tifa leaned a little closer, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “There’s a spot if you ever want it. I might know the Student President.”
“I’m not your charity case,” Aerith said, quieter but firm, like the tone had changed completely. “Or your pet project.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Tifa said quickly. “I just—”
“Just what?”
“I just… like spending time with you.”
Aerith stood there for a second, her fingers still resting on the spine of a book she hadn’t shelved yet. Something flickered across her face.
Surprise, but also something a little more unguarded.
Then she snorted softly. “You’re such a nerd.”
Tifa laughed under her breath, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
They finished shelving books faster than expected, slipping into a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural and without words, like they knew who would gather and who would put back. Like a silent assembly system.
Except they weren’t exactly silent.
They talked about everything.
Casual things at first. Classes. Clubs. Teachers who clearly hated their jobs. The vending machines that swallowed your change and never gave it back.
The Seven Classes of idiots who spent more time fighting each other than actually defending the school turf, Aerith’s words.
But some of them were at least nice to look at.
They talked about the town. Arcades they wanted to check out. The mall. Dessert spots.
And of course, all the stories about Aerith.
“Wow,” Aerith said, pointing to herself, clearly excited. “I sound like a total badass.”
Tifa smiled, amused. “Local legend, for sure.”
Aerith leaned in closer, purposely invading her space a little. “So you were impressed, right?”
“Very,” Tifa said, holding her gaze. “Which is why I was surprised to find you so… short.”
Aerith’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Oh? You wanna run that by me again?”
“Mmm.” Tifa lifted both hands in surrender. “I don’t think I will.”
Aerith rolled her eyes, “And for the record…” She said seriously for a moment.
“The fights. The whole Seven classes fighting? That’s not me. I didn’t decide that. It was just…”
“Just something the boys made up to entertain themselves,” Tifa finished gently.
Aerith exhaled through her nose. “Stupid, isn’t it?”
Tifa nodded.
Because she could see it now.
Even if Aerith stood at the center of it, she wasn’t the architect. She was just the figurehead as well as the trophy. The reason boys threw themselves into fists and called it purpose.
They fought for her name. For Team Cetra.
But when it came down to it, they were fighting for themselves. For pride. For the feeling of being chosen by something bigger than them.
And Aerith, untouchable Aerith, stood…
Alone.
Alone in a crowd that chanted her like a queen.
Tifa knew that feeling.
The way people looked at you and only saw what you represented. The way you carried yourself. They filled in the rest with whatever they wanted you to be.
And in her youth, she liked it. Valued it. Sought to be liked by everyone.
Even now…
But being liked wasn’t the same as being seen.
It only built a pedestal and then left you standing on it.
And the one person she thought she wanted to see her, only still… saw himself.
Something tightened in her chest.
Because in Aerith, she saw herself.
That same loneliness that mirrored hers within that attention.
That more than the myth.
Aerith was just a high school girl, like her.
Hardened by the cards she’d been dealt. But still, somehow, blooming.
Like a flower growing wild in an abandoned sanctuary.
And in that instant, everything else faded.
And all Tifa wanted…
Was to walk through the crowd and stand right next to her.
Before they knew it, they were done, the sun was low in the sky but hadn’t quite set yet.
It was the earliest they’d ever finished detention.
Tifa almost felt disappointed.
But there was one thing, something she had been holding onto all day, waiting for the right moment.
“Hey,” she said, turning toward Aerith, suddenly feeling shy. “Before we go… I have something for you.”
Aerith raised a brow and leaned back in her chair, swinging her legs up onto the table. “Oh yeah? What is it, Prez? A gold star for good behavior?”
Tifa gave her a pointed look, her voice edged with a little annoyance. “Do you want it or not?”
Aerith laughed, clearly amused. “I didn’t say no. I love presents.”
Tifa knelt beside her bag and unzipped it. She smiled as her fingers closed around the crinkly pink bag, then turned and held it out.
“Cookies?”
Then Aerith laughed, as if there was an inside joke Tifa clearly had missed.
“What’s so funny?” Tifa asked, brow lifting.
Aerith shook her head, hand hiding her laughter. “It’s nothing—just… what’s all this even for?”
“For surviving almost a week of detention,” Tifa said, offering it. “I made them this morning.”
Aerith blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “You bake? Of course you bake.”
“Is that weird?”
“Well… no. But you’re like the walking ad for a perfect trad wife.”
“Excuse me?”
“God, Tifa. You bake, you’re nice, you’re shy, you’re cute. You’ve got that sweet, hot body. You’re probably the kind of girl who makes sure the guy wakes up in the morning. And now—cookies. Seriously.”
Tifa rolled her eyes. “Okay… that’s kind of offensive.”
“It’s a compliment!” Aerith insisted, “You’re like… perfect. A walking anime wet dream—” Her grin faltered just a touch when she caught Tifa’s narrowing expression. “Okay. Okay. I’ll stop.”
“You better,” Tifa shot back.
But then… ever so slightly, she smiled.
Aerith leaned back in her chair, playing into it.
“What are you gonna do about it? Knock me out?”
Tifa shrugged, “I could.”
Aerith’s eyes lit up. “Yeah. You probably could. I’d like to see that.”
“Guess that means you don’t want any.”
“Whoa—hold on! You can’t just take back a gift!”
Tifa laughed and dropped into the seat next to her. “Just eat the cookie, Aerith.”
Aerith hesitated, surprised by the softness in her voice. She smiled, took the bag, and pulled one out.
She bit into it. “Whoa. Tifa. This is so good.”
Tifa’s eyes widened slightly. Her mouth parted, stunned at how her name sounded from Aerith’s lips. How it rolled out… just like that.
Aerith caught the look. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
“You… you called me by my name.”
Aerith blinked because she hadn’t even realized. Her cheeks suddenly pink.
She said Tifa. Not Class Prez, not Good-Two-Shoes, not Clipboard, or any of the teasing titles she usually threw around.
Just… Tifa.
“So?” Aerith said, shrugging. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”
Tifa’s lips pressed together, a tiny, quiet smile breaking through. “Yeah…”
Aerith huffed, shifting in her seat. “Well—these are good, I’ll give you that.” She shoved the bag toward Tifa, almost like a cat pawing away at something. “I can’t eat them all. Well—I can, but…”
Tifa giggled and reached in, picking one out. She took a bite. “Cinnamon.”
“Hm?”
“Just a dash of cinnamon. My mom’s recipe.”
“Well, pass my compliments, then.”
Tifa’s smile softened. “She passed when I was little.”
“Oh—I…”
“It’s alright. You don’t have to say you’re sorry.”
“I wasn’t,” Aerith said. “I mean… I get it.”
Then more quietly, “It sucks.”
Tifa looked up, caught in those green eyes, so steady and clear. Like there was a mutual understanding that passed between them, one that didn’t need more words.
The room was quiet, full of golden light and the faint scent of dust and sugar.
They ate in silence for a while. Just let the moment of camaraderie and the sort of shared melancholy be.
Then Aerith stilled.
Her gaze dropped to the corner of Tifa’s mouth. Like something bothered her deeply.
“What is it?” Tifa asked.
“Hold still,” Aerith murmured as she leaned in.
Tifa froze as Aerith’s fingers made contact and brushed the corner of her lips. Slow, almost thoughtful. Her thumb wiped across. Her touch lingered just a little longer than it needed to for something so small.
And their eyes met. Held.
“There,” Aerith said finally, her mouth forming a smug little smile. “Can’t have our prez walking around with crumbs on her pretty face.”
Tifa’s eyes stayed locked. “Thanks.”
Then Aerith broke eye contact, turning sharply as she grabbed another cookie.
“Yeah, don’t mention it.”
It was then that Tifa let herself really look at her.
She noted the delicate way she ate. The way her pink, soft lips moved when she chewed. The way her bangs fell forward, pretending to shield her face but doing absolutely nothing to hide the pink climbing up her neck.
Tifa’s gaze drifted higher.
To the flower tucked into Aerith’s ponytail.
The same kind that bloomed behind the school, where Tifa found Aerith that day.
She pictured it.
Walking up to her that day.
Aerith’s back was turned, while her eyes were on the flowers…
It clicked then.
Aerith, the so-called big bad, was the one tending to them.
The same hands that formed fists that took out whole armies also raised fragile buds from the ground.
And in her own way, she had been making the school better, too.
One flower at a time.
It was… admirable and… extremely cute.
Her chest warmed at the realization.
And…
Tifa could still feel it then.
The ghost of Aerith’s thumb brushing lightly against her lip.
Like it was still there.
FRIDAY
Today was the last day of detention.
You’d think that would feel like freedom. Like a bell ringing through the night.
But… it didn’t.
Aerith almost didn’t want to go.
She just stalled after classes, which she did attend today.
There was a little break in time before detention, so she decided she’d visit her favorite place first.
Her garden.
Kneeling in the little patch of stubborn green that refused to die in the cracks behind the school. Her flowers didn’t care about gangs, the reality of the slums, or the mundane school life that happened here.
Didn’t really care for titles or stereotypes.
And even with all the people that have tried to ruin them, stepped on them, they stood there in the end, strong, growing, resilient.
She’d overheard the rest of Team Cetra earlier.
Zack and Cloud were finally facing off. First Class on the line.
Right now.
In the baseball field.
She only half listened.
She hadn’t seen either of them all day. Fine by her.
She’d much rather have dirt under her nails and the quiet company of her beautiful flowers than waste a single thought on whatever fresh installment of boys will be boys theater unfolding elsewhere.
Let them posture. Let them play hero.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Aerith startled so hard she nearly dropped the watering can in her hand.
She turned.
And there she was…
Tifa.
For a split second, Aerith just stood there. Confused. Surprised. Completely caught off guard which she found herself a lot these days.
Yes, they were supposed to meet up for detention soon, but…she had expected Tifa to be wherever the fight was taking place.
Which was right now.
Hovering over Cloud. Shouting over Cloud.
With her big, beautiful eyes full of tears.
Instead, she was here.
“I meant to say it the other day,” Tifa continued, stepping closer until she looked at the flowers. “Your flowers… they’re beautiful.”
“They’re not really my flowers. They just showed up one day here.”
“Still, you take care of them, don’t you? I could tell.” She smiled, looking at the flowers again. “I didn’t know anything this pretty could grow in Midgar.”
Aerith felt heat creep into her cheeks, glad her mask was pulled up, so Tifa couldn’t see.
It wasn’t like Tifa was talking about her.
She turned slightly away, pretending to fiddle with the watering can, as if it needed some sort of calibration for the water to work. It didn’t.
“What are you even doing here?” she asked lightly. “Shouldn’t you be trying to stop the fight? Class Prez stuff?”
Tifa didn’t answer right away.
She crouched instead and brushed her fingertips along the edge of a bloom. Soft and careful, understanding the fragility yet unafraid to touch it either.
“I don’t want to stop it anymore,” she said quietly.
Aerith stilled. “You don’t?”
“Well… I do. But…They’re going to fight whether I’m there or not.” Tifa’s gaze stayed on the petals. “They’ve already decided that that’s what they want to do.”
By the baseball field, somewhere nearby, erupted faintly with distant noise then.
The fight had clearly started.
But neither of them seemed bothered enough to look. Instead, they just let the wind breathe through, watched as the water soaked into the soil, and the water droplets formed on precious, white petals.
Tifa finally looked up at her.
“I’d rather be here.”
The words were simple.
Honest.
A choice that she made.
“And…” Tifa added, brushing dirt from her hands, “We’re supposed to be in detention soon anyway. I don’t want to be late for that and get into more trouble.”
Aerith let out a dramatic huff.
Of course. Of course, Tifa just wanted to be responsible. That was all it was.
If she were by the bleachers, Tifa might never leave.
Aerith shifted her weight, tilting the watering can so she could continue to let out a steady stream of water into the soil.
“There’s still time, though,” she said, trying for casual. “Aren’t you…a little worried about him? You could go there now and flip them both on their backs if you really wanted to.”
“I could,” Tifa said simply.
Like she finally acknowledged her own power, the power that Aerith saw so evidently during the fight with the Shinra kids.
That made Aerith smile.
Aerith bet Tifa could take them both on, hands behind her back, and somehow that image alone was more interesting than the actual fight going on.
Then, all of a sudden, Tifa let out a laugh.
And something… in that beautiful, distracting sound punched Aerith right in the ribs. Tifa leaned back on her heels, folding her hands behind her as she looked up at the sky.
Her white uniform blended with the rest of the flowers. Like she was one herself. A flower, standing there, proud, resilient, looking for the light.
“I am worried,” Tifa said softly. “It’s not something I can really help about myself.”
Aerith smirked. Well, there it was. She opened her mouth, ready to tease—
“But…” Tifa continued, “I’m tired of trying to change people or convincing they should change. They have to learn to do that themselves. And with Cloud… there’s no changing him. Not unless he wants it and it has to be from himself, or it wouldn’t count.”
Aerith stilled.
Damn. She did not expect that.
Tifa tilted her head toward her, her gaze drifting back. Softer, like there was something behind it with an intent just for her.
“But maybe there’s some change I could make here.”
Aerith’s shoulders moved back. Automatically drumming up her defensive instincts.
“I’m not joining your dumb little student council,” she said quickly. “So you can save it.”
Tifa blinked, then shook her head. “No. I’d never want to change you.”
Those words made Aerith falter a little.
“Well…I’d still like you to join, but… I don’t want you to change.”
Aerith swallowed.
“I don’t fully understand you or your life. But I’d like to.”
“What?”
Tifa swallowed. “I want… to be your friend.”
Friend.
Friend?
Aerith scoffed, “What—what are you talking about?”
“That this week,” Tifa said quietly, yet she remained steady, “I changed my mind about you. I was wrong. You’re not… so scary. Or… bad.”
“I am bad!” Aerith shot back, ready to fight even if her words betrayed her.
Tifa’s smile didn’t waver. “Fine,” she conceded. “You’re bad.”
Aerith hated the way that made her shiver.
The way the word sounded like a challenge coming from Tifa. Her lip caught between her teeth, grateful at least that it was half-hidden.
“But there’s more to you,” Tifa continued, her gaze holding on. “And maybe… maybe that’s why we had detention. Like we were supposed to sit still long enough to actually see each other.”
Aerith’s jaw tightened. The watering can tilted in her hand, droplets splashing against the cement.
“Don’t tell me you think there’s some grand lesson in all this? That whole—” she gestured vaguely, “‘who we think we are’ nonsense?”
Tifa didn’t flinch.
“It’s not that,” she said gently, warmth threading through. “Just that sometimes people decide too fast about others. Based on what we see first.”
A small smile.
“On looks. Or how we act when everyone’s watching. But when it’s just… the two of us. School president…big bad…” She laughed softly. “None of that mattered. We could get along. Be friends.”
“We’re not fri—” Aerith started, only to be cut off.
“Because I would like that very much,” Tifa said firmly, eyes on hers, no room for argument.
There was a loud shout that sounded off again.
Louder. Like a wave finally crashing down. A name was being chanted. But it was hard to make out whose.
Someone had won.
Someone had lost.
But here, the noise felt far away. Like it belonged to another world. Like it didn’t matter at all.
And here.
Warm light. Warm eyes. Warm smile.
Aerith felt the way Tifa meant. And she felt the understanding that settled between them. One that had formed in a few days.
Just two girls standing in Aerith’s favorite place.
No winners. No losers.
They were two sides of the same coin. Opposites and yet.
They were equals.
Aerith huffed, because… she didn’t know what else to do… she wished to be swallowed whole into the cracks of the broken cement floor, because she didn’t like admitting that Tifa had been right.
So she did the thing she hated.
She lied.
“We should probably get going,” she muttered, already turning away. “Those, um… desks aren’t going to clean themselves.”
She started walking before Tifa could see the way her blush had taken over her. That she had to remove her mask, just to breathe, because of how she felt. How much she smiled that it stung her face.
Footsteps followed behind her softly.
Not chasing. Not running ahead.
Just… there.
They were back where they’d started.
Same fluorescent lights. Same scuffed floors. Same classrooms that smelled like chalk and now like that familiar lemon soap.
Only now it felt… different.
They moved through the room quickly.
They wiped down desks, stacked chairs, and straightened every crooked line they could see.
Aerith kept moving with purpose. Efficient. Focused.
A far cry from the first day they’d stood in this same room as strangers who only knew each other from afar.
And she didn’t look at Tifa either.
Because every time she did, she heard it again.
I’d rather be here.
She hadn’t said with you.
But she hadn’t needed to.
It had been there just the same. In the way she stayed instead of leaving.
In the way she said friend, like she really meant it.
Friends with her.
Because I would like that very much. Tifa’s own words.
Not Aerith the rumor or the symbol.
Just her.
Aerith tried to reduce it all in her head. Tifa being helpful. Tifa being the goody two-shoes she was, the kind that saves lost kittens in the street. Tifa was just being… nice.
But deep now… none of it tracked.
Because in the past few days, she felt it, the shift. The…change.
Not in each other, but between.
They found common ground and even enjoyed each other’s company.
And Aerith, for all her bravado, knew the difference between performance and sincerity.
Tifa meant it all.
And Aerith didn’t trust herself… to want it.
By the time they reconvened in the final homeroom, Coach Wallace was waiting near his desk, arms folded, with a stern expression.
“Good work this week, ladies. School’s never looked so clean.”
Tifa gave a polite nod. “Thanks.”
Aerith crossed her arms. “So, can we go now, Coach?”
“One more thing.” He said.
She groaned in response. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’d like for both of you to write one paragraph reflecting on your week. Not separate. But together. And address it to Principal Dudley.”
“Seriously?” Aerith dragged.
Coach Wallace didn’t budge. He was serious, through and through.
“I just signed up two boys for detention for next week. This works. Trust the process. One paragraph. Leave it on the desk before you go.”
He gave them a pointed look, then headed out.
Silence filled the space again, as did the light of the setting sun that fluttered in and glittered across the wooden floor.
Tifa had crossed the room to the desk, diligently gathering paper and pen.
Aerith couldn’t help but watch her. Her low pony tail swooshing, her leaning down slightly to look in that perfect white uniform and neat pleated skirt.
They were two different worlds. It would never work.
Clearing her throat, Aerith pulled her mask down so it hung by her chin.
“Well,” she said, pointing at the piece of paper in Tifa’s hands, “looks like you could just write what you said by the flowers.”
Tifa turned to look at her then. Her red eyes, kind and sweet.
Aerith had to look away to break the spell. “You know. Some inspiring, don’t-judge-a-book-by-its-cover speech. Very kumbaya. I’m sure you don’t need me for that, Class Prez.”
She flashed a smile.
It meant goodbye. See ya.
But her smile came out a little warmer than she had wanted. A little full of longing too.
Unwilling to embarrass herself anymore, she turned for the door.
And…she barely made it.
She heard a couple shuffles of steps.
Fingers wrapped around her wrist.
Warm.
Firm.
Strong. Holy shit.
She didn’t even have time to process it before she was pulled backward, spun around, her heel catching against the floor, slipping a couple steps back until she felt the coolness of the chalkboard pressed against her spine.
She gasped as she braced her hands behind her, leaning against it just for balance.
“What the hell, Tifa?!”
Her heart was pounding. Annoyance, very much felt. But underneath it all. There was something hotter. More electric.
Like a live wire snapped in a rain-soaked street, sparking against a shallow puddle. One wrong step and it would light the whole world up.
The next second, Tifa’s hand came up beside her head, palm striking the board with a solid thud.
Then Tifa.
Tifa was close.
Close enough that Aerith could see the faint rise and fall of her chest. To see that her perfect little red neckerchief had moved astray. Close enough that she could feel her warmth radiating from her skin, breath.
Her eyes were unwavering, almost golden in the light, as Tifa leaned down with the inch and a half she had on her.
Tifa was right. Aerith never felt so short.
And she…stayed exactly where she was.
“Tifa,” she said, again.
A whisper. A loss of more words.
It was then, the moment she said her name, that she saw Tifa’s jaw shift. Just slightly.
Like the sound of it did something to her.
There was a long moment. Neither moved. Just stood there, close, almost touching.
Then Tifa spoke, low. “I can write it. Sign it for both of us.”
Tifa’s arm slackened a fraction, but she didn’t step back; in fact, she only leaned closer.
Aerith nodded once. “Okay…great.”
“You told me you didn’t like liars,” Tifa said.
Aerith swallowed. “Yeah. I don’t.”
“That you like it when people are serious.”
“Mm-hmm.” Aerith pressed her lips into a line, unsure of where Tifa was even going with this.
Tifa just watched her. Her eyes dipped to her lips before looking back at her eyes.
“Well,” she said softly. “I’m serious.”
And then she leaned in.
Her lips met Aerith’s.
And Aerith forgot how to breathe.
Serious.
This was Tifa’s seriousness concentrated into the quiet press of her mouth against hers, like sealing a promise.
Or a punch in the face.
Another hand came forward to rest on the other side of her head, caging her.
Why didn’t Tifa just grab her waist? Or pull her closer?
It wasn’t exactly hungry. Or desperate like some grand romantic gesture.
It was just… there.
Just the feeling of soft…sweet… lips moving on hers, coaxing her.
And Aerith didn't know what to do with that either.
The… encouragement.
The chalkboard was cool against her back, but the warmth of Tifa in front of her swallowed that chill whole.
But as nice as it was, and it felt… really nice, Aerith didn’t press closer.
Instead, she let her fingers curl against the board behind her, her nails surely gathering leftover white dust. She didn’t dare use them anywhere else, even if the white wouldn't show on Tifa’s uniform.
And she knew…
If she wanted to, she could punch her in the tit.
Knee her in her cunt.
Though that last one made her panic for an entirely different reason. Especially when imagining a slightly softer approach…
But in the end, instead of any of that…
Her eyes fluttered shut before she could spiral more, before she could make another silly escape plan that included erogenous zones she really shouldn’t be thinking about.
She chose to stay.
Not to fight back.
Not to fight at all.
Chose to kiss her back instead.
Still. Barely moving. Barely whimpering.
Aerith had met her match.
Of all people.
That stupid, goody-two-shoes, class president.
And God help her.
She took the fucking L.
Aerith didn’t know why she waited.
She just… did.
Outside the school doors, leaning against the cool brick like she could forget the feeling of leaning against a cooler chalkboard.
A couple minutes passed.
Then the doors opened.
Tifa stepped out, and the look on her face when she saw Aerith standing there? It was almost the same one Aerith had worn by the flowerbeds earlier. Surprised. A little caught off guard.
But also… glad.
“I didn’t think you’d wait up,” Tifa said as she approached.
Aerith scuffed her shoe against the pavement, shrugging. “Well… maybe I felt bad for making you do all the work.”
“It was just a paragraph.”
Aerith sighed dramatically, answering honestly. “Okay, fine. I…wanted to walk with you.”
That made Tifa smile.
They fell into step beside each other, shoulders nearly brushing, while Aerith rested her kendo stick on her other shoulder.
Still a badass, she had a reputation to uphold.
They walked in quiet for a while.
It was… a little awkward, but not a bad awkward.
But it wasn’t like Aerith knew what to talk about and… how to bring up what had happened.
After a few blocks, Tifa finally spoke up.
“You know, that was my first kiss.”
Aerith nearly tripped.
“Seriously?” she blurted, face heating up instantly before she turned away. “Well… could’ve fooled me. You were so…so…”
Filled with conviction.
With passion.
With…
Her brain stuttered. Words leaving her body. Her cheeks burned hotter.
Because that was her first kiss, too.
And there was absolutely no way she was admitting that.
Tifa kept looking ahead. A small, shy smile tugged at her mouth as her fingers drifted up, brushing lightly against her lips.
“I just wanted to try it,” she said softly.
Try?!
Aerith tried to be mad at that.
But it had been so…
Simple.
There was no plan.
Aerith bit her lip, mulling that over. She didn’t quite know what it meant. Tifa had said she wanted to be friends.
Friends didn’t usually pin you against chalkboards and kiss you.
But Tifa didn’t clarify. And Aerith didn’t want to linger on it.
They just kept walking.
And walking.
Side by side.
Until it got dark.
Until suddenly they weren’t near school anymore. They were standing in front of Tifa’s apartment complex.
Under blinking, ugly, harsh, blue, overhead street lights.
Aerith blinked, almost startled at how far she’d come. Like this week hadn’t been enough proximity already.
“Well,” Tifa said softly. “This is me.”
“Mmm,” Aerith replied, eloquent as ever as her eyes glazed over the doorway.
But something about being here at the destination made her realize she didn’t quite want it to end.
So she made one more attempt at conversation.
“So… what did you end up writing?”
“Hm?”
“That thing you said?” She tried… to tease. “Or… that we kissed and made up? Sincerely yours, Aerith and Tifa?”
Tifa shook her head. “Oh no. It was a full paragraph apology.”
“‘Dear Principal Dudley. We understand the consequences of our actions. We have both learned a very valuable lesson in our time in detention this week. Please accept our most sincere remorse, and we assure you this will not happen again.’” She recited.
Aerith snorted. “You’re kidding.”
“Why would I be?”
Tifa laughed, and Aerith did too.
This really was ridiculous. A friendship with her of all people.
After the laughter faded…
Without a word, Tifa reached up and unclasped one of her earrings. Cute, dumb little thing. A silver chocobo earring that caught the fading light.
She grabbed Aerith’s hand and placed it carefully into her palm, closing it.
“Could you… Could you give it back to me on Monday?”
Aerith looked down at it, then back up at her. Why… why even…
She didn’t even get that question out.
Because Tifa leaned in again.
This time, the kiss landed on her cheek. Quick, gentle, and even shyer in comparison to the one at school.
Like all the boldness had escaped, and her real self slipped back in.
Then wordlessly, Tifa stepped back.
Turned and walked inside.
The door closed. Shut.
And Aerith just stood there.
Breathing.
Smiling, a moment later, when she knew she was alone.
She looked down at the little silver chocobo resting in her palm.
Small. Shiny. Too cute for something she’d usually wear.
Slowly, she lifted it and slid it into her left ear. And something about it, still holding the warmth of its original owner, made her heart tingle.
She liked it.
As she turned to walk home, she swung her kendo stick lazily in wide circles…
Shinra would be foolish to jump her now.
Because.
She felt legendary.
MONDAY
Zack absolutely wiped the floor with Cloud that past Friday.
During the fight for First Class.
He won.
Smiled in the way he did and offered Cloud a hand up.
“We’re friends, right?”
Or something like that.
And then, in true Midgard Seven High fashion, both of them got caught by Coach Wallace before they could even limp off the property.
Detention started that afternoon.
Except, instead of desk cleaning and reflective paragraphs, Coach Wallace signed them up for baseball practice.
Not just them.
The whole Seven.
Every delinquent boy who’d been chanting, watching, shouting them on.
Seriously, they must be simple-minded, thinking they wouldn’t be caught.
And Tifa did find it quite unfair that she and Aerith were stuck cleaning the school as punishment, while these boys got away with… playing sport?
What sort of misogyny…
But then again, Tifa figured it was better energy spent, redirected into something more useful.
Productive.
And she could tell, despite the loss, even without smiling or saying much, Cloud was happy with the result.
Sometimes things just worked themselves out.
Midgard Seven High wasn’t magically transformed. It was still loud. Still unruly. Still infamous for school gangs.
But little things could change.
Especially when the leader of the most infamous gang was…
“I don’t get it,” Aerith groaned, lifting a sheet of paper covered in taped receipts. “This is what you do up here? Budget for the next school festival?”
She held one up. “The knitting club put in a receipt for a karaoke machine. What does that even have to do with knitting?”
Tifa tried not to laugh as she leaned over the desk, pointing to a column of numbers.
“It’s important. We can’t go over budget. And all the clubs submitted really good ideas… and some… not so good ones, but we have to be smart about what we allot them. It has to be fair, but still with some room to budge.”
Aerith dropped her head dramatically onto the desk. “I’d rather fight those Shinra Academy kids again.”
“Liar,” Tifa murmured.
Aerith made a muffled sound against the wood, making Tifa smile.
Then Tifa leaned in a little closer.
Closer…
Until her lips barely brushed the curve of Aerith’s ear. The same one that still wore the tiny silver chocobo.
“Can I convince you with cookies after?” she murmured.
Aerith coughed so hard before her head snapped upright like she’d been called on in class.
She grabbed the budget sheet roughly. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”
Her cheeks were pink, even under the mask she wore.
Tifa smiled as she sat beside her.
Outside, the sharp crack of a baseball bat split the air.
A cheer followed. Loud.
She imagined the boys pumping their fists into the sky like they’d just conquered something monumental.
And weirdly…
She felt something close to that, too.
Not from hitting a home run. Like she needed the score or the accolade.
No, but from the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. From taped receipts that littered the desk.
From the cute girl sitting beside her, asking if she could have a cookie first as an incentive.
It wasn’t quite as showy as a fist pump into the sky.
Just small and earned over the course of a week of opening your heart to learn something new.
Someone new.
In gaining…in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions.
A friend.