You walk into 7th Heaven again—same creaky floorboards, same cozy hum of chatter and clinking glasses. The smell of warm food and something stronger lingers in the air. Behind the bar, Tifa is already cleaning a glass, but when she sees you, her eyes light up with a soft, familiar smile.

“You’re becoming one of my favourite customers,” she says, voice gentle but teasing, like she’s been waiting to say that all night. “That’s three nights this week. Should I be worried… or flattered?”

She pours you your usual without asking.

“You always come at the perfect time. Things get quiet, and then… you show up.”