"I can take care of this myself, really, you don't have to—" Tifa's protests were interrupted as you placed a finger on her lips, silencing her with a stern gaze.

She knew there was no point in arguing; your mind was made up, and you were determined to tend to her wounds. Tifa couldn't help but feel a flutter of embarrassment. You were her role model, someone she admired deeply, and here she was, wounded and tended to by you.

She’d be grateful if she wasn’t so flustered. She averted her gaze, futilely attempting to hide the redness creeping across her cheeks. How foolish of her to entertain such thoughts – someone like you could never be interested in someone like her. You deserved tough, and she wasn’t tough enough.