[Unintentionally, and without her realizing, Tifa's hand moves to swipe at her lips. The harsh colour of his voice contradicts his words, and the insincerity of his gratitude bothers her, and it all makes what happened more embarrassing than it already was. Does he understand? Does he understand the kind of things he's just put her and all these other people trying to help him through?
When he stands, she doesn't follow, instead slumping on the floor, her head jerking in the direction opposite him.
It was silly of her to hope that this happening once already would soften the blow a second time, but it has the opposite effect—the pain of the first only aggravates the ache that pulls in her chest this time as she hears the same questions from him that she's had to endure already. Worse now because not only has he forgotten his memories of her in Camelot, but the ones they share here, messy as they are.
There's a long silence that follows his questions where Tifa just breathes, steady, trying to regain her composure from earlier. She needs to stifle the embarrassment that's clear in the colours of her cheeks, and the anger that continues to wind and twist itself in her stomach before she can even attempt to look at him.]
Really? [She finally says with a dry, dour laugh.] Again? Could at least try saying it like you mean it...
[This is just cruel. The nectar should have worked... Not to mention, this mismatch of memories hits a little too close to home. With Cloud, she was too afraid to face him, afraid that she was the one misremembering... That something had tampered with them, or with him, and she needed to be sure that what she knew was the truth.
This time, she knows what the truth is. She's sure of it, and she isn't going to run away.
She stands at last, brushing the dust and pollen from her skirt and stares right at him.]
Tifa. [She says it with such conviction that it's clear she hopes that it will at least jog a memory. Any memory.] We've met before, but I guess you don't remember.
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When he stands, she doesn't follow, instead slumping on the floor, her head jerking in the direction opposite him.
It was silly of her to hope that this happening once already would soften the blow a second time, but it has the opposite effect—the pain of the first only aggravates the ache that pulls in her chest this time as she hears the same questions from him that she's had to endure already. Worse now because not only has he forgotten his memories of her in Camelot, but the ones they share here, messy as they are.
There's a long silence that follows his questions where Tifa just breathes, steady, trying to regain her composure from earlier. She needs to stifle the embarrassment that's clear in the colours of her cheeks, and the anger that continues to wind and twist itself in her stomach before she can even attempt to look at him.]
Really? [She finally says with a dry, dour laugh.] Again? Could at least try saying it like you mean it...
[This is just cruel. The nectar should have worked... Not to mention, this mismatch of memories hits a little too close to home. With Cloud, she was too afraid to face him, afraid that she was the one misremembering... That something had tampered with them, or with him, and she needed to be sure that what she knew was the truth.
This time, she knows what the truth is. She's sure of it, and she isn't going to run away.
She stands at last, brushing the dust and pollen from her skirt and stares right at him.]
Tifa. [She says it with such conviction that it's clear she hopes that it will at least jog a memory. Any memory.] We've met before, but I guess you don't remember.