Written entirely by May in a pique of loneliness. Seriously, I want my boyfriend back. He's been out of contact for a couple of days and I have to wait till tomorrow...

I believe the term for this is "oneshot". Any flaws in canon are because I don't care. I'm assuming it's set sometime after Dirge of Cerberus. I didn't really think a lot, I just got tired of staring at the words "chapter seven" and moping. No planning, making this up as I go.

Also not sure how well this fits the tab angst, but you deserve a warning: this is no happy piece.

Cloud surreptitiously looked over at Tifa, sighing slightly as he watched her serve drinks to customers. She hadn't yet noticed him standing behind her, which was perhaps for the better. Did she like him? Yes, of course she did, that was no secret. But… no, definitely not. She liked him as a friend, maybe, or didn't think he was good relationship material. No matter his feelings for her, nothing would happen. Why did he even dare to dream about her? She deserved more than him.

Several more customers entered, and he slipped out the back with a sigh before she could notice his silent watching. For a few moments he listened to Marlene and Denzel playing upstairs. A happy family, almost. Marlene had her father to turn to, and however busy he was, he always made time for his daughter when she needed him. He often took Denzel with him when he and Marlene went out together too. In a way, he was a father figure to the young orphan too.

A happy family… but did he belong in it? They didn't need him, that was for sure. They never had. He walked outside and to the garage, wondering where he was going - and why. Was he running again? He could already hear Tifa shouting at him tomorrow, already predict the words she would say. Stop running, she always told him to stop running… but why? Was there anything to run from?

Seconds later and he was riding out of Edge and into the night, Fenrir's loud engine blissfully unheard over the noise of Seventh Heaven's patrons. Where was he going? It was useless, he knew. There was nowhere to go. He had tried to run before, run to Aerith's church and hide from everyone there, but it had done no good. He had tried to run further, but something had held him back. He had not been able to run far enough to escape the ghosts of his past.

Ghosts… so many ghosts, such a dark past. Tifa and the children had been affected by this darkness so many times already, it wasn't fair on them… so he ran before, and he would run again. Every time, though, he returned to them, hurt them more. Except… tomorrow morning, when he returned, Tifa's words, the tears she would try not to show to him… he would realise that he hurt her more by running away.

He could never run anyway, not properly. Every time he fled, the desire to return grew stronger, the pain of being away… away from Tifa, no matter the lack of future for them. Still though, he already found himself waiting for dawn, waiting to return to the agony of silent longing. No, he could certainly never leave, no matter how much it hurt to stay. He would always return, he knew that now.

… so why did he run?

Um... kindly refrain from asking what the point of that was. It doesn't really have one. I write things like this when I need to distract myself or cheer myself up. I may well write a more cheerful one once my chores are done.