Tifa is good at hiding it. The way her smile falters. The quiet drop in her shoulders when Cloud brushes her off again, distracted, distant, carrying his ghosts like they're the only thing that matters.

Most people don't see it. Or they pretend not to.

And later, when the bar's quiet, when the glasses are wiped clean, you find her sitting behind the counter, head down, fingers idly twisting the edge of her glove.

You sit. You don't ask. You just exist beside her.

It takes a minute. Maybe two. Then she exhales soft and heavy.

"It's silly, right?" The words barely make it out, quiet, more to herself than to you. "I know how he is… but it still...."

She cuts herself off, biting her lip, eyes glinting faintly with unshed frustration and helplessness.

Her shoulders slump. For once, someone noticed her.

Tifa leans in, not all the way just enough that her shoulder brushes yours. No words at all but the tension eases. The room doesn't feel as suffocating.

And for tonight, at least… she isn't carrying it all alone.