[It's ridiculous. A lot of what she's said has centred around this idea of wanting to forget what it was like to be around him. In any matter of the word. 'Move forward,' she's said, which is completely stupid in retrospect. She can't go back and pretend that nothing happened between them. Even if she could, would she want to?
No.
That thought is solidified when he draws her just close enough that she can easily recall exactly what it's like to be pressed along him. To thread her fingers between his. Every sliver of affection that's exchanged between the two of them. None of these things are easily put aside, despite whatever Aerith's said implying the contrary. He draws her breath from her easily enough. It's always the neck. The very first time he lingered there, she couldn't forget it.]
I haven't forgotten.
[And she hasn't. He is very convincing when he wants to be. She's known that all along. It wouldn't take a lot of effort on his part to have her be so agreeable with him. His words about weakness remain with her. He must be hers, too. She's with him in ways that she isn't with others. Ways that she can't be with others. Not so dissimilar from how an Aerith in Tifa's company is different from an Aerith in Balthier's, in Nanaki's, in Cloud's, in anyone else's. There's a different side to Aerith that everyone sees, originating from the same core woman.]
I told Tifa...
[She begins quietly, feeling those nerves curl up along her. If she says any of this, she can never take it back. It will always be there regardless of whatever happens in the future. However long or short that future may be. Whether she should or shouldn't remember these very moments or the impact that Balthier and others have had on her life. If she says these things, she has to be willing to accept that.
She must be willing to own those sentiments.
If neither of us will remember this, then why should it matter so much?
Because they aren't just words. They're real, weighted things. The bittersweet joy that she has in his presence is real and tangible. A memory or not, a falsified one, a temporary one, none of that makes a difference. It doesn't make it any less real.
She draws back just enough that she can eye him in that way that is so earnest with so little to hide behind. Aerith studies him, her hold shifting to wordlessly admire his features with the touch of her fingertips. The pad of her thumb as it drapes over jaw, along the shell of his ear, carefully over a dangling earring.]
I don't want to go back to Midgar because I would rather be with you. I've wanted to be with you all along.
[Is that love? Surely in some way, it must be. That's a four-letter word that scares her, but she suspects it must be lingering in her somewhere.]
no subject
No.
That thought is solidified when he draws her just close enough that she can easily recall exactly what it's like to be pressed along him. To thread her fingers between his. Every sliver of affection that's exchanged between the two of them. None of these things are easily put aside, despite whatever Aerith's said implying the contrary. He draws her breath from her easily enough. It's always the neck. The very first time he lingered there, she couldn't forget it.]
I haven't forgotten.
[And she hasn't. He is very convincing when he wants to be. She's known that all along. It wouldn't take a lot of effort on his part to have her be so agreeable with him. His words about weakness remain with her. He must be hers, too. She's with him in ways that she isn't with others. Ways that she can't be with others. Not so dissimilar from how an Aerith in Tifa's company is different from an Aerith in Balthier's, in Nanaki's, in Cloud's, in anyone else's. There's a different side to Aerith that everyone sees, originating from the same core woman.]
I told Tifa...
[She begins quietly, feeling those nerves curl up along her. If she says any of this, she can never take it back. It will always be there regardless of whatever happens in the future. However long or short that future may be. Whether she should or shouldn't remember these very moments or the impact that Balthier and others have had on her life. If she says these things, she has to be willing to accept that.
She must be willing to own those sentiments.
If neither of us will remember this, then why should it matter so much?
Because they aren't just words. They're real, weighted things. The bittersweet joy that she has in his presence is real and tangible. A memory or not, a falsified one, a temporary one, none of that makes a difference. It doesn't make it any less real.
She draws back just enough that she can eye him in that way that is so earnest with so little to hide behind. Aerith studies him, her hold shifting to wordlessly admire his features with the touch of her fingertips. The pad of her thumb as it drapes over jaw, along the shell of his ear, carefully over a dangling earring.]
I don't want to go back to Midgar because I would rather be with you. I've wanted to be with you all along.
[Is that love? Surely in some way, it must be. That's a four-letter word that scares her, but she suspects it must be lingering in her somewhere.]