[That's all she ever did... Deal with things alone. Ever since she was carried away from Nibelheim and taken to Midgar, that's all Tifa ever knew how to do. She would shoulder her problems and tackle them head on, and when the going got rough, she fought it alone. She shouldn't remember, not now, but she can vividly recall the days she would crawl into her tiny home and cry for hours, longing for a day when she would be strong enough to stand on her own, both physically and emotionally. A day when she would recover from those wounds that carved so deep into her skin...
And even when that day did come, she still harboured those things alone. It was a bad habit, she knew, but how does one be strong for others when they can't even appear strong for themselves?
Comforting as his warmth is, having Eustace see her like this is embarrassing. She never wanted him to see her as anything but strong, and here she is, collapsed into his arms, and...
That isn't right, either. He should never have seen her like this, or Nibelheim, or Sephiroth, so how is he...?
Wake up? But she is awake, isn't she? This is her reality, and it always has been. It's not something that Tifa could simply wake up from one day and have it all be gone. She still wears the scar on her chest that Sephiroth gave her that day, so what is there to wake... from...?
The desperation in his voice, and how he presses his forehead to hers... Tifa opens her eyes again, and he'll feel a shift in her weight. A shift in her form, although not so different, as she's no longer the broken teenage girl anymore, but the Tifa he knows, dressed in the same clothes she wore back then in Nibelheim. The blood still stains her top, but she's stopped bleeding, left only with a scar to show for all of it.
Head still resting on his shoulder, she knocks her fist against his chest. It's weak, and she still feels tired and sore, but...]
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And even when that day did come, she still harboured those things alone. It was a bad habit, she knew, but how does one be strong for others when they can't even appear strong for themselves?
Comforting as his warmth is, having Eustace see her like this is embarrassing. She never wanted him to see her as anything but strong, and here she is, collapsed into his arms, and...
That isn't right, either. He should never have seen her like this, or Nibelheim, or Sephiroth, so how is he...?
Wake up? But she is awake, isn't she? This is her reality, and it always has been. It's not something that Tifa could simply wake up from one day and have it all be gone. She still wears the scar on her chest that Sephiroth gave her that day, so what is there to wake... from...?
The desperation in his voice, and how he presses his forehead to hers... Tifa opens her eyes again, and he'll feel a shift in her weight. A shift in her form, although not so different, as she's no longer the broken teenage girl anymore, but the Tifa he knows, dressed in the same clothes she wore back then in Nibelheim. The blood still stains her top, but she's stopped bleeding, left only with a scar to show for all of it.
Head still resting on his shoulder, she knocks her fist against his chest. It's weak, and she still feels tired and sore, but...]
I'm awake...