Author Notes:

Uzumaki-sama and Vash's Girl here!

This is the first oneshot of the NEW Nonadventures Arc, which is canon-based. If you're a reader of the previous Nonadventures Arc and are wondering what happened to it, please visit the FAQ in the machination's profile. It explains everything there.

This particular oneshot is post-KH2 (as most others will be), and focuses on only a fraction of the main characters that will be in this new Arc. And because this is an arc, this is only one oneshot of many to come. After we write several oneshots, we will make a timeline so you can read them all in order if you want. Enjoy!

A Taste of Light

Part of the Nonadventures Arc

by Vash's Girl & Uzumaki-sama

-o-o-

Radiant Garden hadn't looked like home in many, many years, and as Cloud stumbled into the borough and pressed his hand to a wall to help guide his way, he smiled faintly at the thought. Before, the small, rundown community had felt like shackles in his search for a way to defeat Sephiroth. Everyone he knew here was suffocating—so happy, so carefree, or at least as much was possible in the age of heartless. But now... now, now that it was over... he could finally find rest.

His feet pushed ahead, one unsteady step after another. If not for the wall, he'd have collapsed by now. Only the grim determination to look upon his light's face without grimacing kept him going. If not for that, he would have let these wounds be the end of him already. He just hoped that he hadn't already lost too much blood.

He pushed his unoccupied hand against his side and swallowed. Blood was a sticky mess beneath his fingers, and there was a fresh trail of it leading from the postern and following the edge of his shadow.

How long had he been walking? What seemed like minutes could have been hours. At this rate, he'd never make it to see Tifa or the others. The thought was as bitter as bile at the back of his throat, and burned just as much.

His boots scraped against the cobblestone ground as he staggered onward and swallowed back his nausea, determined to make it anyway. He had people waiting for him. Tifa, Aerith, all the others... They were what kept him going now. After all that darkness, all that pain, all that fighting...

His breath shuddered from him as one of his knees almost gave out. He was glad that the floor beneath him was at least even now, completely unlike the crystal wasteland he had almost perished in. He'd made it this far—just a little more, and he'd be safe again. If he could just concentrate on walking—not the blood trickling down his arm or the searing ache of Sephiroth's recent gifts, not the ringing in his ears or the gray nothingness creeping into the edges of his mind, not Sephiroth's parting final words and last breath of darkness...

You will never be rid of me.

The bastard would probably always haunt his dreams.

The thought sent another wave of nausea through him, and as he heavily slumped against the wall, he clenched his jaw and stifled the wet cough threatening to break free.

Damn...

His fingers curled into a tight fist against the wall as the world swam before him. Starbursts of blue and gray danced before his vision, and he had to blink hard to fight to clear them. They still lingered, and as he took another step, his leg gave out on him and sent him stumbling forward. He crashed against the ground, his elbow cracking hard on the cobblestone, his temple connecting with a loose rock. The starbursts brightened to crimson and a shade of topaz. When he squeezed his eyes shut, he still saw them.

Placing one hand against the pavement to support his weight, the other still at his wound, as if he could somehow prevent more blood from escaping, he pushed up. He made it as far as a kneel before dizziness swam and snatched at him, and he fell forward again. This time the cobblestone was an unwelcome graze against his cheek.

Damn it...

His fingers dug at the stone. The tatters of what was left of his leather glove creaked over his knuckles. Blood trickled into his eye, and he blinked it away. The world flashed in and out of view as his lashes fluttered.

I tried, Tifa...

And there, like a faint memory or a beacon of hope, he heard her voice sweep through his graying mind.

Aww, come on, Cloud! Don't give up now! You're almost there...

He was almost there.

Arms trembling, he began to push back to his feet, though where he found the strength, he couldn't say. He couldn't even see. Couldn't think. The world spun, but her voice carried him forward, inch by inch, nothing around him rooted by gravity except for those three little words.

I'm almost there.

He cracked his eyes open, squinting past blood—or was he crying?—and saw only an ocean of slate blue and black before him. Somewhere, deep inside of his mind where he kept telling himself to breathe, to keep moving, to keep living, he still recognized where he was. The bailey.

To the rest of him, he was lost. He could feel his body panicking, beginning to shut down to conserve what little strength he had, but... he couldn't allow it, not now when he was so close.

He heard a sound—a strangled cry of some desperate animal—him?—as he dragged his feet forward, and just as his numbing legs shook as if to give out on him again, he saw it—

Saw her—

A blur of black and white moving towards him, and light.

It washed over him in gentle waves. If he had ever doubted himself before, that light swept it all away. For a moment, he thought he was drinking in fresh air, crisp and sweet and pure. What had once hurt him, scorned him, now seemed to welcome him with open arms.

So this... he thought, falling to his knees, is what that feels like.

Arms suddenly wrapped around him, and he sank gratefully into the embrace. He would have collapsed again otherwise. Deft fingers pushed his bangs out of his eyes, slapped lightly against his cheek. He grimaced and tried to speak around the lump in his throat, but it was useless. He'd extinguished the last of his energy just coming this far. Still... he wanted to tell her—Tifa, it was Tifa, thank the gods, thank the light—that she didn't have to hit so hard.

Words were being spoken to him. He couldn't make them out over how hard his heart was pounding in his ears.

Home, I'm home, I'm home, I'm home...

He lifted his arm, wincing as he did so and stifling a sound of pain as he slipped his hand over the warm, smooth skin of her neck. "Hey..." he murmured. "I'm back." He clutched strands of silky hair between his fingers. She hadn't changed a bit.

He felt her voice leave her again, a soothing vibration of her throat against his weathered fingers, but whatever she was saying, it didn't matter. She was here. He was here. She was holding him.

He leaned his entire weight against her, all of his strength now leaving him, but she didn't seem to mind. With the way her gloves were trailing through his hair and gripping his shoulder, it seemed like she was just as relieved to see him. He buried his face into her smooth neck and breathed deep, his eyes stinging as he refamiliarized himself with her scent—of the soft perfume of Aerith's flowers, the rich aroma of Seventh Heaven's kitchen, the subtle tang of sweat, and the musk of leather—

Gloves gripped the sides of his face now, lifting his head, but when he slipped his wet eyes open to meet her worried gaze, all he saw was that warm light.

He swallowed past the desert of his throat and spoke again, though his voice was distant behind the rush of blood in his ears.

"...finally gone..."

Sephiroth. His darkness was finally gone.

And his light was here.

His fingers tightened in Tifa's hair, and he pulled her forward.

Soft lips met his own, a full mouth that went slack as his own grazed against it. Her breath hitched—shuddered out slowly. He hovered there, still drinking in her scent, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought against another swim of relieved tears. It had been ages since he'd last kissed her. And it still felt as good as it had the last time he'd done it. Warm and hesitant.

"...finally—gone..." he breathed again.

He could feel the world slipping from his grasp, and he shook his head to try and stay in the present, but that took too much effort. Darkness—but not the overwhelming darkness he had long grown accustomed to—dragged him under swiftly, surely. He struggled once, gripped hard at Tifa's shoulder and made a strangled noise... and then—

Peaceful oblivion.

-o-o-

The sound of hushed voices was what finally stirred him back into the realm of the living. His mind drew out of unconsciousness as if rising from a murky sea, everything growing clear one detail at a time.

He was clean. Aside from a subtle ache in his bones and under his ribs, he was also healed. And from the piercing light of the room as he slowly slipped one eye open—

He wasn't in the darkness anymore.

Tifa...

It took him a few moments, but he dredged up his hazy memories of what had happened before he had passed out in her arms. So then—he was safe? Had she carried him here?

Closing his eye again, he breathed deep, somehow not surprised when the sweetness of flowers met him. He relaxed against the pillows and, for just that moment, reveled in the feel of the soft, worn blankets enveloping his tired body. Even with his eyes closed, he could sense the things around him—the window to his right, the yellow and pink flowers swaying in the gentle breeze, and somewhere beyond this room he was in, a man and a woman discussing him. From here, he could also hear the trickle of Radiant Garden's many fountains, and the rich laughter of children playing in the street.

He really was home.

It took him a few moments to gain the strength—and the will—but finally he managed to push himself into an upright position. His gaze flitted over the chair by his bed—had someone been sitting there, watching him?—and to the slightly ajar door. Just past it were those voices. He wondered if he should call to them to alert them to the fact that he was awake.

A sudden pang hit him, and he grimaced. No, first, he had to make it to the bathroom. If he allowed himself to be subjected to questions now, which would undoubtedly come, he'd never make it out of here.

He pushed the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His toes brushed against wood, and he hesitated. Dizziness was hovering nearby, just waiting to take him under again, so he closed his eyes until it passed. How long had he been out? His head was killing him... he shouldn't have sat up... he should have tried to go back to sleep despite his desperation to see Tifa, to get to the bathroom, to—well, there was a multitude of things.

But just as he shifted his weight and climbed off the bed, his legs buckled beneath him and he hit the floor with a jarring thud.

Someone gasped in the hallway. A feminine voice called out, "Cloud?!" and then boots and the hem of a pink skirt filled his vision. "Leon, help me, he fell!"

Well, this was mortifying as hell.

But after the state he had been in when he had gotten here, he supposed there wasn't much left for him to worry about.

Heavy boots scuffed against the wooden floor and stopped in front of him, and Cloud grimaced, holding his throbbing head as he glanced up through his fingers. Aerith's worried green eyes regarded him as if he had fallen out of the sky and not just out of bed, and beside her—

Crisscrossed belts, a glinting lionhead necklace, and a scar slanted between steel gray eyes. Of all people, Cloud didn't think he'd be seeing him so soon.

Damn. Okay, this was even more mortifying.

He turned his face away from them as he felt strong arms slip under his and heft him up. As he was set back on the rickety but plush mattress, he felt Aerith's dainty fingers run across his forehead. He closed his eyes again, unused to a touch so gentle, but... it was more comforting than he could even describe.

"Please take it easy, Cloud..."

His bladder, it seemed, was going to have to wait.

"Your legs need to gain back their strength," Aerith continued, and she pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. His eyes fluttered closed. "Hmm, at least your fever's gone down," she hummed. "We weren't sure you were going to pull through last night."

"How long have I been out?" he muttered.

"Oh..." He opened his eyes in time to see her tilting her head back, one hand to her chin as her other cupped her elbow. "I'd say about two days." She lowered her arms and looked to Squall then, her head tilting. "Isn't that right, Leon?"

Squall looked at her, and his brows furrowed in what could only be referred to as a glare. He said nothing, however, and turned away to busy himself with some items on the dresser top against the far wall of the room.

She sighed and shook her head. "Oh, Leon," she murmured before she settled herself on the edge of the bed and leaned forward to smile at Cloud. "We're really glad to have you back."

"Where's..." He slid his gaze away to the window, his voice soft with his uncertainty, "Where's Tifa?"

Waking up to familiar faces and concern was... nice. But for some reason, Tifa's absence unnerved him a little. He had been expecting her to be here, to be the first person to baby him and check his temperature or help him back into bed (or maybe to the bathroom). Without her here, he half feared to suddenly wake up somewhere else entirely, back in Sephiroth's viselike control, and have all of this turn out to be a cruel dream...

But Aerith's sympathetic smile helped him relax again. Her fingers played with one of the ruffles of her dress before her hands folded in her lap. "Tifa... couldn't sit still. We weren't even expecting you to wake up today, but..." She trailed off, and Cloud glanced at her. She was looking to Squall again, who awkwardly met her gaze before averting his own. Then she focused on Cloud again. "But I guess that shows how stubborn and resilient you really are. Anyone else would be out for a week with the injuries you had."

He tried his best not to be disappointed. Brow knitting, he lowered his gaze to Aerith's slender fingers. "So then where is she?"

"Getting food."

That hadn't been Aerith.

Cloud lifted his face again to meet Squall's eyes, and something about the detached expression he wore really rubbed Cloud wrong. What was this guy's problem?

Squall looked away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he grimaced.

Whatever. If Squall didn't want to be here, why was he? Was he just going to glare the whole time? Then again, he'd been with Aerith before Cloud had made an ass of himself by falling flat on his face. Was he just here to see her?

"She'll be back soon," Aerith reassured him, her fingers warm on Cloud's elbow. "It's been long enough that she should be heading here by now." There was silence for a moment, and when he glanced up, he saw them exchanging another one of those silent conversations. Squall's lips pursed into a frown when he saw that Cloud was watching them, and Aerith seemed to hesitate before also looking to Cloud.

An exasperated smile crossed her mouth. "Are you thirsty?"

Thinking about liquid definitely wasn't going to help his bladder, but before he could veto the drink idea, she was out of the room and around the corner. Cloud stared after her, his hand still half raised to tell her not to worry about it.

"When you feel better," Squall began, and Cloud sighed, "you're going to need to tell us what happened with Sephiroth."

He should have known that'd be coming.

Cloud met Squall's gaze dead on, and was surprised when the other man flinched and turned away again, one of his hands finding rest at his hip.

"He's dead," Cloud said at last, his voice soft, careful. He kept his eyes on the back of the other man's head, and only when Squall cautiously looked over his shoulder, one of his eyebrows raised, did he continue. "He's not coming back."

Squall's lips pulled into a frown. "Are you sure?" Now he was turned to face Cloud like before, his arms crossed and his Griever necklace catching the light and glinting again.

You will never be rid of me.

"Yeah."

The way Squall's jaw clenched told him that he didn't exactly believe him. But even though Cloud was out of his tattered clothes and gloves, he could still feel Sephiroth's blood between his fingers and taste it on his tongue. He could still see those silver lashes close over the fading light of his eyes. And he would never forget how Sephiroth's lifeless body had just... melted into shadow and disappeared, as if he really had been darkness itself.

Cloud was no stranger to death. No body remained as proof of it, but he knew what he had seen, and he felt in his heart that it was true. He no longer felt the dark vise that had entrapped his heart for the past few years.

"Yeah," he repeated, this time with conviction, "I'm sure."

Squall's jaw loosened, and he glanced away again. Whether or not Squall believed him this time, Cloud really didn't care. After the way Squall had treated him last time he had been here, Cloud wasn't expecting anything from him.

Back then, he had been so obsessed with Sephiroth—obsessed with getting rid of his damn shadow—that he had overlooked everyone who had tried to help him out of the mess. Tifa, Aerith... In addition to being protective of the girls, Squall had just wanted him to give a damn about rebuilding the world, but—well, Cloud had had bigger things to worry about. Squall was probably still bitter about that.

Now that Cloud was back, and hopefully to stay, he was tempted to tell the other man to just deal with it.

The way Squall kept shifting awkwardly was really irritating him, though. What was his problem?

"Hey," Cloud said at last to get his full attention. Narrowed eyes met narrowed eyes, and frown met frown. "If you have something to say, spit it out already."

Squall's skin took on a pasty parlor suddenly, as if he had swallowed something disgusting. It gave Cloud cause to pause, but whatever he might have asked left his mind the moment Squall clenched his fingers into fists at his sides and jerked his chin up. Was he spoiling for a fight?

"All right," he said. "Fine."

Cloud waited.

And waited some more.

Squall's eyes cut to the side. "One of the girls—they'd be..." He trailed off.

They'd be...?

"Yeah?" Cloud prompted when enough silence had passed to make this awkward. He could sense someone hovering in the nearby shadows of the door, though who it was, he couldn't tell with Squall in the way. He was tempted to look past him, over his shoulder, his instincts set on edge. Though he doubted there was a threat there—probably just Aerith eavesdropping—he was unused to not knowing the entirety of his surroundings.

He gritted his teeth and grabbed fistfuls of sheets to give his hands something to do. If Squall noticed his sudden discomfort, he didn't let on to it.

"They'd be... better for you," he said at last.

Cloud's fingers slackened in his renewed confusion. The shadow beyond the door was forgotten about as he narrowed his eyes at the brunet. "What's that supposed to mean, exactly?"

"What it sounds like," Squall said, his voice equally as stiff. Gray ice—that's what the color of his eyes reminded Cloud of in that moment.

Cloud was expecting something more, but he should have known better. As hastily as he'd thrown the words out, Squall departed for the door.

Obviously their small talk had reached an end. Cloud wished he could have been angry for it. Instead, he felt relief loosen his limbs and make him settle more comfortably against his pillows. Whatever tension Squall had been carrying, it had infected Cloud in the short time the brunet had been in the room.

He watched Squall's back as the man stepped into the hall and roughly brushed his shoulder against someone entering the room at the same time—rough enough to make the other person stagger and comment about it.

"Mreow, hiss-hiss! Someone's in a foul mood."

Cloud abruptly sat up, recognizing that voice anywhere—especially because it had been haunting his dreams even longer than Sephiroth's had. He didn't believe his eyes when he saw who was turning away from Squall and strutting right into the room with a happy-go-lucky spring to his step. He was older, his hair was different, and he wore scars to prove his battles, but—

He was alive.

Sky blue eyes met his, and Cloud's heart skipped in disbelief.

Zack just lifted a hand in greeting and grinned wide.

"Yo. Been a helluva long time, huh?"

"Zack..." Cloud felt his throat closing up. "I thought you were—"

"Dead?" The other man grinned, thumbing his nose while his other hand settled on his hip. "Nah. I'm alive and well. Been through hell to get here, but here I am."

"But the sword..." Cloud sat up so quickly that he had to ignore the wave of dizziness accompanying his movements. His eyes scanned the room for any sign of his weapon. Walls, dresser, the chair, the bed... it wasn't propped up anywhere, and Cloud had definitely still had it on his back when he'd passed out.

"The buster sword? Relax, buddy, it's in the other room." Zack settled on the edge of his bed like Aerith had, except he made himself much more comfortable. He swung his legs up with him and wrapped an arm around Cloud's shoulders before he gave him a gentle shake. "Ah, you're so tense! Loosen up."

His personal bubble was being invaded so thoroughly that for a moment Cloud couldn't breathe. It didn't help that Zack's personality was about as big as the entire room, and it was that much more suffocating. But he knew that Zack wasn't a threat—no, he was an old friend from years long gone past.

Sephiroth said you were dead...

I saw you dying when this world got attacked.

I have the buster sword.

You made me your living legacy.

He said that you—

Cloud clenched his fingers into another tight fist before he slipped his eyes closed. He lied. Why am I so surprised? Sephiroth told me hundreds of lies.

Zack's fingers gently worked into his shoulders to try coaxing him into relaxing more, but in that moment, Cloud was at a complete loss as to what to feel. This wasn't a dream. Zack was here, he was real, he was alive and happy, and now Sephiroth was gone and, and... Maybe this meant Cloud could finally be happy, too.

Bowing his head, Cloud lifted his hands and wrapped them around Zack's wrists to get him to stop. He felt a different kind of vise constrict his heart, a tender kind of pain, and he recognized the pressure behind his eyes—though there was no torture, no darkness behind it, not this time. This was all him.

This was relief. Love. Happiness.

His eyes squeezed shut.

"Whoa, pal... You okay? Take it easy."

Zack's hands slipped out from beneath his own and cupped his cheeks, carefully lifting his face. Cloud didn't dare open his eyes, not until he felt Zack's forehead press to his, and the warmth of his skin and his breath and his voice.

"I'm not goin' anywhere."

Cloud blinked slowly, letting the other man's words sink in. He had forgotten how soothing Zack's voice could be in times when he was troubled.

Brief flickers of memories came back to him, ones that he had mostly suppressed until now, when they fought for the surface. He had always tried not to think about Zack too much—Sephiroth had had no qualms about using their mutual friend against him.

But now... He remembered the touch of sunlight on their skin as they huddled outside of their orphanage. Squall had been somewhere with Sephiroth, probably exploring the terrain of the valley. Yuffie had been playing with a doll inside, under the careful watch of Aerith. But Zack... he'd been whispering to Cloud that it was okay, that he wouldn't let the other boys pick on him anymore—that they'd regret it if they did. He could trust Zack. He could rely on Zack to protect him. Zack would show him how to stand up for himself. It'd all be okay soon.

Cloud smiled faintly to himself.

He glanced up to Zack, and the other man tilted his head with a carefree smile on his face—though puzzlement touched its corners. Cloud watched him for several long moments, then looked away. He searched deep in his heart for the switch that he had closed off so that he wouldn't feel so much anymore. And when he cautiously, with baited breath, flipped it back on, the memories, the happiness, the grief were so clear that he had to blink several times just to see straight.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his head against Zack's shoulder.

The soft rattle of porcelain interrupted their quiet moment. Though he felt Zack lift his face to regard the newcomer, Cloud himself tried to ignore the soul-warming smell of fresh tea. He wanted to be alone with Zack a little longer, but the insistence of a cleared throat behind him wouldn't let him revel in his reunion. He reluctantly sat back and glanced at the tea-bringer.

Squall looked at them as if he had swallowed something bitter and dry—not quite as disturbed as before, but pursed-lipped enough to get under Cloud's skin a little more. What the hell did his earlier statement about the girls mean, anyway? If he was expecting Cloud to read his mind, he had bad news coming to him.

And if Zack noticed Squall's look, he wasn't reacting to it. "Hey, thanks, pal!" He took the tray of tea and set it on the cleared night table nearby, and—was that his imagination, or did Zack just wink?

Expression darkening even more, Squall brusquely turned and left the room.

Lifting a teacup, Zack grinned wider and returned his attention to Cloud. "Hehe, here."

Confused as to what was so amusing about all this, Cloud took the cup. His fingers traced over the lilac-lined rim and the painted flowers along the sides. Aerith's china, no doubt. The scent of ginseng and a hint of jasmine within his cup made his smile return.

That is, until Zack commented, "For you two being on such good terms yesterday, it's awfully soon to be having a lover's spat."

Cloud almost wasn't sure he had heard that right.

Then he remembered Zack's sense of humor and shook his head. The guy had a way of joking that was a bit on the bold side, but Cloud had always accepted it. He would just have to readjust himself to it again, that was all.

The tea warmed his throat, and Cloud fought hard not to think about his bladder. "Actually, I don't know what his problem is."

"He has been a sour puss all day," Zack agreed. Then, with another grin, he poked Cloud in the bicep, "Seriously, though! Did you say something to piss him off? I mean, I thought he'd be a little bit happier now that you're back."

Cloud raised an eyebrow at that. He had the nagging sensation that something was... off. What it was, he didn't know, wasn't sure if he wanted to know. Then again, if something was up, why wasn't Zack being forthright about it? That was usually more his style, instead of beating around the bush. Granted, he liked his teasing barbs—but they usually had a point. This time, though, Cloud had somehow been left out of the joke.

"Wouldn't he?" Zack prompted with a small frown once he noted Cloud's silence.

Cloud shrugged. "Would be weird if he was." This was good tea...

"Huh..." His companion trailed off into silence before Cloud heard a telltale scritch-scritch—Zack was scratching the back of his head again, and he only did that when he was stumped about something. "Well, I mean—why would you kiss him if you two weren't together?"

Cloud nearly choked on his tea. A searing line of heat went down the wrong pipe, and he thumped against his chest as his eyes watered.

And Zack wasn't paying him the least bit of attention now.

"I mean, I know that some people are there just for a fling, but I always considered you the long term type," he said thoughtfully, his eyes regarding the ceiling.

Coughing again and trying not to spill his tea, Cloud sent him an incredulous look, beginning to piece together what the hell Zack was going on about. "We're not!"

Zack's brows drew together in confusion. "Not... the long term type?"

"Not together," Cloud corrected, his voice hoarse. "Why would you—" He grimaced and pressed a hand to his forehead as his headache began pounding again. "...with him?"

Zack's warm hand rubbed against his back now, probably in an attempt to be assuaging. "Weeeell, it was either assume you had a thing for Leon or you were so happy yesterday that you didn't care who you kissed?"

The question at the end of his statement didn't help with the assuaging. Cloud lifted his gaze, his tone firm. "I kissed Tifa."

"Not according to Leon, buddy." Zack mussed his hair and chuckled. "And we all saw him carrying you into the marketplace yesterday. He seemed all shell-shocked afterward, and when Aerith finally got him to explain what had happened, he told her about the big ole kiss."

Cloud suddenly felt sick. Maybe he still needed rest, or maybe it was the tea and his need for a bathroom-run, but really—right now, it was mostly what Zack was telling him.

"And Tifa?" he asked.

"Was stuck at work all day yesterday," Zack explained. "You kissed Le—"

"I didn't."

"Ooookay. Well."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the rustle of flowers on the windowsill and the shift of someone outside the door again. Cloud was too caught up in what he had just been told. How could he have mistaken Squall for Tifa? Delirious or not, he knew his light when he saw it, he knew how she felt, how she smelled, how warm she made him feel.

There was no way he had kissed Squall. Absolutely no way.

He swallowed hard.

Even though the evidence seems stacked against you...

He shook the thought away. No. He hadn't kissed Squall, and that was final.

"How many people have... you told?" he hedged at last. He didn't need this to get around town. With how nosy his friends could be, this could wind up as—disastrous, there was no other word for it. And he hoped that Tifa came here soon so that she could clarify things.

I thought you just said that it hadn't happened?

He fought the urge to massage his temples. This headache wasn't getting any better.

"Oooooh, it's just me, you, Aerith, and Leon that knows," Zack said after a moment of contemplative silence. "Don't worry, buddy—your secret's safe with us." His fingers massaged against the back of Cloud's neck, and Cloud had to fight a relieved groan as he tilted his head back into the touch. Gods, he was stiff as hell across his shoulders. "But just know that me and Aerith support you all the way."

That's...

He opened his mouth to say something, except nothing came free. Zack was currently kneading the hell out of one of the knots near the base of Cloud's neck, and it took all his concentration not to melt into an embarrassed puddle against the pillows.

"Geeze, man, when's the last time you got a back rub?"

Cloud just shook his head again, not trusting his voice.

And it was in that moment that he heard the loud gasp in the hallway—then the stomp of feet as someone burst into the room and startled him into pulling away from Zack again.

Yuffie—who had grown a little since he'd last seen her, but not much—was standing there with her jaw hanging open, her eyes wide with shock, and before Cloud could even register what had happened, she was throwing a pointed finger in their direction and screaming.

"SO IT'S TRUE! CLOUD, I didn't know you liked guys!!"

She stomped a foot and gasped again.

"Oh my gosh, I gotta tell Cid!!"

And again, before Cloud could do anything, she spun around and flew out the door.

Great.

Cloud felt even sicker when he realized that now that Yuffie knew about this mess-up, soon the whole town would know.

"'So it's true?'" Cloud repeated faintly.

With a sheepish grin, Zack cautiously turned towards him. "Uh, listen, Cloud—I know you're probably gonna get angry, but just know that I have no idea how she found out!" He had already raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. His eyes were wide and worried in his face. "Please believe me?" He pressed his hands together as if to beg.

Cloud swung a glare at him, but in the end, he didn't have the heart to keep it. A weary sigh left him. "She probably eavesdropped..."

Zack relaxed a fraction. "That's true—I wouldn't put it past the brat, either." But he had a fond smile on his face when he thought Cloud wasn't looking. Why Zack had a such a soft spot for Yuffie when his words stated otherwise was beyond Cloud. But he didn't pry.

Setting his tea on the bedside table, he swung his legs back onto the mattress and settled into his pillows. He pulled one of them over his face and flicked his fingers in the direction of the door. "I'm tired."

"Oh—right. You did lose a lot of blood." Zack sounded a little disappointed, though.

Cloud thought about how long he had mourned Zack's death and wondered what Zack himself had gone through to get here. He... probably understood Cloud's situation a lot better than anyone else could. And with this Tifa-Squall mix-up bothering him, maybe being alone right now wasn't such a hot idea... Zack being alive—he kind of did want to indulge in that just a bit longer.

When he felt the edge of the mattress raise as Zack stood to leave, Cloud sighed.

"Zack, wait..."

He heard the scuff of his boots pausing. "Yeah, buddy?"

"Could you... help me to the bathroom?"

It wasn't exactly quality time together—as they'd have to part ways at the bathroom door—but it was better than nothing. Besides... judging by his rather graceless attempt to get out of bed earlier, it wasn't a wise idea to venture on his own.

"Huh?" Zack blinked owlishly a few times before he grinned. "Right, gotcha. Wouldn't want you to embarrass the hell out of yourself again."

Cloud shot him a look, but otherwise kept quiet. He patiently waited, his fingers clenching the sides of the bed, until his friend came back for him and slung his arm over his shoulders. "There we go, steady, steady..."

Cloud's legs trembled, but after a few awkward steps with Zack, feeling gradually began to return to them. Zack must have noticed, for he started to let go, presumably to let Cloud walk on his own. Cloud, however, tightened his fingers around Zack's shoulders as a warning to keep holding on. He knew that the minute Zack let him go, he'd be on his face again. And really, he didn't want to relive that moment. Especially not with Zack here to witness it this time. Though Aerith and Squall were kind enough—and uncaring enough—not to laugh, Zack would probably bust a kidney.

The hallways were empty. Wherever the others were, it wasn't near the back of the house. Cloud's feet mostly dragged along the wood, and Zack hummed a tune Cloud recognized but had long forgotten the words to.

"Here we are!" Zack announced as he pushed open a creaky door, and he gestured Cloud inside with a laugh. "Just call me if you need help, okay? Tifa should be here soon. Oh, and after you get some more rest, we'll get you situated in town, and—er—clear up that Squall thing. Yeah?" He offered Cloud a reassuring smile.

Cloud only nodded, mustering a small smile back to his credit.

Zack's humming continued down the hall as he left Cloud to himself, and moments later, Cloud could hear him speaking with Aerith in a room beyond another hall, their words indiscernible from here. He wasn't sure why, but standing there in the threshold of that bathroom, knowing Zack was alive and Sephiroth was dead and he himself was safe—it all felt that much more surreal than it had when he had first woken up. On top of the problem with Squall, too.

This will take some getting used to...

Cloud had to use the sink as support to navigate on his own around the bathroom. He managed, though barely. He idly wondered how long he was going to be bedridden, because if his legs didn't start cooperating soon, he wasn't going anywhere. He didn't want to be cooped up in this house forever, Aerith's or not.

When he was done, he leaned his weight against the sink edge and splashed faucet water over his face. For the first time, he glanced into the overhead mirror and studied his reflection.

Deep lines ringed his eyes, and his hair was a total mess. There were still clumps of blood in it, and he guessed that Aerith must have used a wet cloth to get the blood off him elsewhere. He did wonder who had changed him—well, regardless. He could try taking a bath if Zack didn't mind sticking within earshot in case something happened. He didn't want to pass out in the water or drown or anything... and with how his eyes were drooping, it was only a matter of time before he lost consciousness again.

He'd really taken a beating, hadn't he? But he supposed that last battle had been nothing compared to the amount of torture Sephiroth had put him through over the years... Well, he didn't have to worry about that anymore. He was free to live his own life. His darkness was gone, and now he could concentrate on reknitting connections with old friends, familiar faces... And he would finally be able to look his light in her eyes and feel the warmth he should have felt all along, not the fear, not the shame that his shadow had encouraged instead.

Tifa didn't deserve that.

Though...

As he studied his reflection, he lifted a shaky hand to his cut bottom lip, and he thought about the light he had seen in the bailey when Tifa—no, Squall?—had caught him. What was that all about...? Squall's strange behavior seemed to make more sense now.

Shaking his head, he sighed and tried to fight back the insistent throb of his headache. He could think about all this later. He should probably get more cleaned up before Tifa got here.

Using the toilet lid as a prop, he turned the faucets in the tub so that he could get started on that bath.

-o-o-

To be continued in the next oneshot of the Nonadventures Arc...