[It all happens faster than Tifa's capable of processing right now: that burst of wind, the itch of his hair on her face, his eyes hovering above and as wide-eyed as her own, the thumb that brushes away the hot tears, and the strong arms that pull her into him. Tifa allows herself to crash against his chest with all of her weight, relaxing as she curls up in them.
Don't hold back. It's fine. I'm here for you.
Those were the words she needed to let everything come out in full force, and not just the things she's felt since coming to Camelot. The memories of leaving Midgar behind, of finding her bar in ruins, watching the plate fall over the place she called home, and the fires that stung her skin in Nibelheim. Everything—she lets it all out in sobs, louder and more powerful. They make her shake and grabbing onto him is all Tifa can do to not let herself be completely consumed by it all.
She tried to be strong for him. For her, and everyone else, but even the strongest fall sometimes, and they need someone to catch them.
As long as he'll let her, Tifa will stay there, crying into and soaking his shoulder. The sobs come and go in waves, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath in between, but they'll die down eventually, long enough for her to let her hands fall from his chest and for her to lift her head just far enough so she can speak to him and not into him.
Tifa still feels silly for crying about all of this, or crying at all, but... she realizes now that she's needed this.
...
Trying to lighten the mood and steer any lingering attention away from the fact that she spent so long like this, she pushes herself away now—only slightly—with a shaky laugh, but it comes out more as a breath.]
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Don't hold back. It's fine. I'm here for you.
Those were the words she needed to let everything come out in full force, and not just the things she's felt since coming to Camelot. The memories of leaving Midgar behind, of finding her bar in ruins, watching the plate fall over the place she called home, and the fires that stung her skin in Nibelheim. Everything—she lets it all out in sobs, louder and more powerful. They make her shake and grabbing onto him is all Tifa can do to not let herself be completely consumed by it all.
She tried to be strong for him. For her, and everyone else, but even the strongest fall sometimes, and they need someone to catch them.
As long as he'll let her, Tifa will stay there, crying into and soaking his shoulder. The sobs come and go in waves, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath in between, but they'll die down eventually, long enough for her to let her hands fall from his chest and for her to lift her head just far enough so she can speak to him and not into him.
Tifa still feels silly for crying about all of this, or crying at all, but... she realizes now that she's needed this.
...
Trying to lighten the mood and steer any lingering attention away from the fact that she spent so long like this, she pushes herself away now—only slightly—with a shaky laugh, but it comes out more as a breath.]
Welcome back.