He’d seen the scar in full as their relationship developed, a gruesome line of discoloured flesh that began at her left shoulder and cut between her breasts, ending just beneath her rib cage on her right side. She always moved his hands when his fingers grazed it and lifted his chin up when his eyes lingered on it even a moment too long. Sometimes she’d get out of bed to pull on a shirt on while Cloud watched silently. Normally he made no objections, but something about her behaviour had begun to bother him. So, as Tifa drew away from him one night and sat on the edge of the bed, scanning the floor for the shirt she’d discarded hours earlier, Cloud found himself frowning deeply at her naked back.

The bed moved beneath her but she continued to stare out into the dark room. Cloud’s arms slid gently around her and she felt his chest press against her back. He bowed his head and kissed the back of one of her tense shoulders, waiting for them to relax. Then, he lifted one hand to her left shoulder, pressing his fingers gently but deliberately to the mark there. She recoiled as if she had been burned, her own hand shooting up to grab his wrist.

“Cloud,” she said quietly, her tone hovering somewhere between a plea and a warning.

“Are you worried that you look ugly?” he asked. His lips moved pleasantly against her shoulder as he spoke.

“No,” she answered firmly, “it isn’t that.”

There was a pause. Tifa lifted her head. The full-length mirror adjacent to the bed dimly reflected their image back to her. Cloud turned his head to look at her imploringly.

“You act like you’re ashamed.”

She shrugged and tore her eyes away from the mirror. The white tank top she’d been looking for lay crumpled at its base. She began to silently deliberate whether or not she should stand and retrieve it.

“Actually,” Cloud continued, “You never say anything about Nibelheim.”

“Maybe I just don’t like to think about… that day.” She had meant to say Nibelheim, but the word got caught in her throat.

“Well, I don’t either, but…”

“All those people died.”

“… it really seems like this is about more than just bad memories.”

“I’m still alive.” She turned her face away from him. Cloud frowned.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Me and Zangan are the only people who made it out. I’m the only person still alive.”

“That’s not true. I’m still—“

“It’s not the same. You were found by that scientist.” She practically spat the last word. Cloud shifted with discomfort and hugged her a little closer.

“I don’t understand why it’s a bad thing that you’re alive.”

“It’s not, I just…” Her grip on his wrist slackened and her shoulders sunk. Cloud watched her patiently, his chin propped up on one of her shoulders. “… I couldn’t help anybody.” The sentence was punctuated with a sigh, then silence. Tifa glanced sidelong at Cloud, brushing her hair behind her ear. She caught the dim glow of his eyes as he looked at her and gathered that he was waiting for her to continue. After a fortifying breath, she did.

“Every time I see it, or you touch it, or anything like that, it reminds me that I couldn’t help. That I was powerless. I hate being reminded of my failure.” She said it all very quickly and sat perfectly still once she was done. The crease in Cloud’s brow only deepened.

He straightened slowly and bowed his head again. His lips brushed against her crown as he pulled his hand from her grip and once again laid his fingers against the scar. This time, she didn’t recoil.

“You didn’t fail, Tifa,” he told her firmly, his knuckles grazing the underside of her breast as he traced her scar slowly from beginning to end. “You survived.”