So yeah, written for Feb. :'D … AU if you will.

but of course.

The woman beside him muttered some stuff he never wanted to hear. "Cloud can be a moron sometimes. I really, really like him. Doesn't he see that?" Really like him, times two. Why was that? What's so good about that scrawny puppet? Sephiroth sighed as he watched her gulp the glass of alcoholic drink refill she had taken out from her stock.

'You shouldn't be drinking this, Lockhart.' An advice he had always given her one too many times. She wasn't really one who'd love to get wasted – reduced to nothing; lost in her own misery – he knew that. 'How about the usual?'

That wasn't the first time she'd break up with someone. It couldn't be that painful. Sephiroth had watched her slur some curses and cry so much –probably the first few times he'd seen her like that – to the point she couldn't be bothered to wipe any more as her cheek came in contact with the smooth surface of the countertop. Her tears were now forming a small pool.

On second thought, maybe it was a big deal after all. It was Cloud Strife. Her childhood sweetheart … or so. He pried off her fingers from the glass carefully. Abominations, this woman has some grip, he thought. He need not wrap his arms around her and talk emptiness for her to calm down. He knew just by being there is comforting enough to her.

The usual. Upon hearing that, Tifa's face brightened considerably and she nodded enthusiastically, clasping her hands together. 'Yes, please,' she answered laughingly.

That seemed effective. She forgot about crying as she drank it all up.

'Sephiroth, don't you have a tissue?' she asked suddenly as she frowned at the puddle she had made.

Even this wasn't the first time he had appeared on that ungodly hour, finding Tifa Lockhart wide awake – or struggling to – in her own bar, drowning herself in alcohol and tears.

'You think I'd have one inside my coat?'

'Yeah. Who knows, maybe you have all those secret pockets inside,' she giggled as she grabbed a fistful of his silver hair and dipping the ends to the small pool and making a brush out of it. Sephiroth sighed at Tifa's self-indulgence. Despite that, he peered over to her chicken-scratch doodles. A heart. Tifa began to utter something he deemed random, rolling her empty glass as she did. 'Yes, like a magician … I've always thought that you having a wing … is totally magical. Maybe it's just a childish thought on my behalf.' Tifa gave a bitter laugh before resuming drawing a slanted line over the heart. 'There, a sliced heart.' She giggled. 'One for you and one for me. I get the big one.'

Tifa Lockhart did need to relax. So if keeping her company seemed best for her, the General thought of that as a good idea.

Groaning, Tifa tugged hard at the strand of his hair she had coiled around her finger for better access to her black 'canvas' while her paintbrush was dispatched onto a mission of squiggles this time.

Maybe not.

'Lovely,' she said after she messed up everything, which became beyond recognizable.

Sephiroth couldn't even read anything now. What part of it was lovely? 'Pardon?' he asked after scanning the drying tears.

Tifa raised a confused frown as she turned to him, swaying slightly. 'It was … yummy.'

'What is?'

'The cocktail you made.'

'Ah.' Of course it would be.

'I have a sudden craving for it. Think you can mix it again?'

'… You've had enough for one night.'

Tifa whined as she tugged at his hair … again. 'But-but, what's the name of that … you know, cocktail?'

'Need it be told?' he smirked, adding more of Tifa's irritation as she buried her face in her arms mumbling something only she could hear.

'Sephiroth's an evil bastard,' she sang. 'It took him years to apologize. He sits still like a sack of potatoes in my bar and no one notices him. Because he wears a flag for disguise and nobody would notice a ghost. He's driving me nuts. He's stingy. He's- he… Gah. I've ran out of gin…'

'Lockhart.'

'Stingy.'

'I would appreciate it if you'd stop that.'

'Stingy stingy stingy. Meanie.' Tifa scrambled up with her empty glass in a hand, hit her face on the fridge door as she skirted the counter, headed to the cellar and was going to kiss the floor hello as she almost tripped on the carpet. She pulled out a shiny bottle of gin in triumph. 'Want some?' she offered as Sephiroth walked over to her.

He shook his head.

'You're not practically here, right? You're just a ghost.' The newest refill was sloshed to Sephiroth's face in perfect aim. Tifa frowned when she saw the liquid running down his face. She gasped when she saw the immediate truth. '… No way.'

'Does that answer your question?' he smirked.

'You can't be real. I-I mean, we had been having a perfectly normal friendship for so long—who the hell are you?'

'I am Sephiroth, if you've forgotten.' Calmly, he wiped off the drops of liquid off his face.

'I must be hallucinating. Joy,' she muttered. 'I'm not drinking your mix anymore.'

Sephiroth reached out to her free hand and held it firm. 'And is this proof enough or you?'

The look of apprehension on her face was apparent as she swaggered step by step backwards. Sephiroth took a step forward, reducing their distance effectively. Funny how a simple truth could overwhelm the strongest will of all. Maybe what he had learned is right; will is built on a fragile base. One blow to it and things falls apart.

She seemed to sober up a little, focusing to the man before her whilst craning her neck to see his face. 'Wh-what … are you going to…' She was seeing doubles. Triples.

'You should ask that to yourself, Lockhart. Killing yourself slowly isn't the way how to live.'

Tifa swiped her hand away from his. 'Just let me be, you bastard.' She had never expected him to be there in the flesh where all those times she'd accepted him as a ghost. Oh, what pun.

'Lockhart, Lockhart, Lockhart. Do ghosts drink? Do they walk through an open door? They could just walk through walls, end of story.'

'Hmf. I could have gotten your eye back then,' she snapped. 'So you dodged that broomstick … and the dishrag. Tut.'

'It is but a skill of mine; evading, that is.'

'Are the words punching bag included?'

'I can very much stop you from your wallowing.'

'Your dry sense of humor is delightful, mm-hm. Fancy a gin? Hey—'

Sephiroth snatched the bottle, glass and all. 'You can barely walk here, Lockhart.'

'What of it?'

'You'll want some remedy for that and what will come.'

'More cocktail?'

'Smoothie.'

The smoothie was a treat for her, really, but she still needed assistance to get to her room and pushed herself off his arms.

Sephiroth only managed a half smirk before disappearing into the darkness – tried to.

Tifa had been groping blindly for the lamp switch and after a few tries which she failed and groaned to her pillow. 'Stay,' she commanded, tugging the edges of his leather coat. Sephiroth said nothing; did nothing.

He had always watched her. As any normal reasonable reaction, it was interest at first. The more he observed, the more he found himself getting to know her … in a one-sided way. In the midst of the churlish joy, there was a sick feeling in his stomach; he was torn whether to keep up behaving like a predator from afar or to quit it, having the guts to just talk to her. He decided on the latter, he appeared on her doorstep when everyone was out, away, or simply nowhere close to Seventh Heaven.

After all, he was the General.

An insane one at that, too.

Used to be, he assured himself.

He remembered he went to her for the first time in Seventh Heaven.

He was just standing at the doorway and that was enough to pull out a chain reaction of face expressions from her; a shocked gasp, a lingering frown, and a murderous glare before resuming cleaning up her bar in extreme thoroughness. When he marched forward, she threw her broom she was holding like how someone would lunge a spear at him. She probably thought of him as an apparition with the thought of the broom going through him … when he only moved his head slightly to evade the stick by inches.

'Oogh, I was right! You're a ghost!' Tifa groaned. 'Just leave me in peace, thank you. You haunted me enough.'

That was when he went around the counter and took two glasses, filling them with a cocktail he'd known the mix to himself (while Tifa stared at him for the whole time), just for two. He would then push the brimming shot to her and they would drink in what he had thought was reveled silence. He'd left the Gils on the table as he left.

But Tifa Lockhart wasn't the least bit enjoying the sudden company and the feeling of chagrin somewhere inside her. …And she'd be lying to herself if she didn't feel envious as how good he was at mixing.

He would return the night after. And another, and so forth. They exchanged evaded blows sometimes, him being less enthusiastic than her. Eventually, she couldn't care less anymore about throwing him out of her haven. He'd sit on a quiet corner, distancing himself from the world. From staring (or glaring in her behalf) contests, nods, one word responses, a few jokes and quiet laughter to gradually, talking – it was a sure sign that she had warmed up to him.

Apologies were the hardest to him. When he'd finally done that, he saw what he never thought she'd give him – an honest smile. That, and a dishrag slapped to his face. Well, almost. She missed.

Some things, or people, never failed to intrigue him, amuse him even. He had chuckled when he noticed Tifa's failed attempt to find the switch that had dodged her hand – so she said. Perhaps by being close by her side would suffice. But it never was to him. Initially, that feeling had sparked off as a little flame. It grew. He had wished for more than just acquaintances – having friendly chats or maybe her occasional cordial teasing.

Actions speak louder than words. He had made the initiation to get close as he possibly could without having to have his neck broken in one way or another.

Nobody could resist the martial artist. Not even he could turn away his eyes from her movements with such sinuous grace. It's not just the dark beauty she has; everything around her is simply alluring. She never let herself waver before challenges. She juggles between mothering her two little rascal—angels, Denzel and Marlene, and working on in her bar every night. Her social life is never even disrupted despite her busy days. If she was tired, she'd never show it to anyone, not her friends, and a high possibility not to her latest heartbreak. There would be – should be – a point where she'd snap. And that point was that very night.

Because a mere human like her should blow off a steam or two. Even villains take a rest.

Maybe that was what drawn him to her: the inane need to be perfect for everyone; her friends, everyone … trying to please each and every one of them.

Didn't she learn that nobody's perfect?

Except him, of course. Everybody should know he was the epitome of perfection. But that wasn't the point now. Sephiroth sat on the very edge of the bed. 'What did you learn today?'

'You, unable to let go of my grip,' she said, grinning.

He could almost see her teeth in the darkness. 'Keep in mind. You can't please all at the same time. One person has his own tastes.'

'Mkay. You keep in mind, mister, your unknown obsession to please one for a goddamned… forever, is just batshit crazy.'

'At least I do know what to concentrate on. Easier that way.'

Tifa laughed mildly. 'Well, aren't you just…' her voice trailed off as she tried to describe him, looking directly into his eyes.

'Will you stop reading my eyes?'

'I'm not. Okay, I am. I'll try not to.' Tifa shut her eyes but in less than a few seconds blinked them open to an almost a frown. 'And why not?' she huffed.

'Pray tell, why do you?'

'Because they're beau—' Tifa paused, biting her lip. 'Just because.'

He chuckled. '… But of course.'

'You're welcome,' she said softly, grinning.

That should be his line. Sephiroth hummed in response as he finally lay down next to her as an act to appease her slightly angry tugs. He didn't want to lose his clothes now.

'… to this sanctuary anytime,' she added in a murmur, 'Really, really, really like that, y'know?'

Times three. Dare he hope that he's better than Cloud? He smirked, already knowing the answer to that. 'Do you ever wish to fly, Lockhart?'

'Mm. In my dreams.'

Had he heard right? 'Then I am at your service.' He chuckled as he spread out his singular wing, covering both of them as he shut his eyes in hopes of a dreamless sleep. If a sanctuary should have an angel, he'd be one in hers, albeit a broken one. Broken? He scoffed. He never felt broken anyways. Not ever. A one-winged angel is never broken.

'You have my gratitude indeed, Tifa.'

He should try calling her by her name more.

'Took you long enough. I thought …' – Tifa yawned – 'that tardiness is an un-Soldier-like behavior…'

'Naturally.'

'But, of course, you're not with Soldier anymore and—"

'Tifa.'

'Okay, okay…' Tifa managed a disappearing soft laugh before falling silent.

That certainly promised an undisturbed sleep. If there was any image in his head of a certain blond sword-wielder swinging his weapon, he'd block it. After all, unnecessary violence is pointless in a sanctuary. He knew the fighter will make sure of that. If not, trespassers would have to answer to him.

an. Sorry, it's not on time and really messy. ): I know it's far, far away from what you've asked me, sunshine. I apologize for that. XD And I'm just that crazy to let it flow like that. HAHA. –w- I hope you enjoyed that. Huge thanks to Anna for the help. :D