Denzel and Cloud: What Should Have Happened. (An ABDL Story)

[OS-Tsurugi]

Below I will be posting a fanfiction I am writing. It is called: What Should Have Happened. There will be more than one chapter. It takes place after Cloud finds Denzel at the church. Enjoy.  

[OS-Tsurugi]

What Should Have Happened…
At the Church

There it was in all its glory: Fenrir. Black, sleek, and very cool. The bike itself had caught Denzel’s interest, but the phone carelessly dangling from the handle of the motorcycle had interested him more. Without too much thought paid to his conscience, the fearful orphan made his way to the bike and lifted the phone. The first thing he did was instinctual: he dialed his mama and papa’s number only to hear the automated message that the call could not be completed. He’d just wanted to hear their voice one more time… even if it was just the answering machine. Frustrated, the boy quivered and considered destroying the defiant phone. If it refused to connect him to his house, it deserved to be destroyed! Something in the back of his mind nagged him not to do so. Sector seven had been destroyed. Why destroy something else? Lowering the phone from its impending doom, the boy scrolled through the phone numbers stowed away. If only he’d known Ruvie’s phone number. 7th heaven. 7th heaven. 7th heaven. What was with all of those calls? Had they come from sector seven? Curiously, the boy dialed the number and listened to the ringing mindlessly before losing his nerve. The boy hung up. What he hadn’t counted on was the number returning his call, and quickly at that.

“Cloud?” the gentle woman inquired. “What a surprise. You never call. Is something wrong?” Denzel was unable to answer and exhaled shakily. “Cloud?” Tifa inquired again.

“…N- No…” Denzel stammered.

“…Who then?” asked Tifa. “That’s cloud’s phone, right? Why do you have it?”

“…I … I don’t know,” Denzel sniveled. “I don’t know….. what am I supposed to do? I don’t know what to do anymore,” he cried, tears pooling down his cheeks.

“…Are you crying?” Tifa asked, startled.

“No—No,” Denzel denied. He was a boy, after all. He couldn’t right-out be caught crying! The hot feel of tears was clear even to him, and as he sniffled and reached up to wipe them away, a stabbing pain seared through his forehead. “AAH!” he cried out and reached up to his forehead. Something hot and sticky oozed out against his palm. Please don’t be black… Please don’t be black, the boy thought to himself. He’d seen too many die of the horrible geostigma. It was not a death he wished to suffer. Pulling his hand back, tears still lining his cheeks, the boy gazed down and looked at the inky mess on his hand. Horrified, the boy’s body collapsed. The world around him became dark. As the woman screamed uselessly on the phone, which had rolled away from his body, Denzel’s awareness faded to stigma-roiled blackness.

“Cloud? Cloud, if you’re there, pick up the phone!!” Tifa exclaimed just as another clouded voice came to the scene.

“Hey…are you alright?” Cloud inquired as he walked hurried over to the boy who had collapsed—and dropped his phone. Ignoring the discarded cell phone, Cloud reached down toward the boy and attempted to haul him to his feet. The boy was shaken and not yet aware of his surroundings. Thinking better of it, Cloud allowed him a moment to rest. “…you’re going to be okay, kid,” he grunted as he lifted the phone up to see who the kid had dialed. Surprisingly, Tifa was still on the other end of the line. “…Tifa?” he inquired awkwardly.

“Cloud? What’s going on? There was a boy,” she murmured awkwardly, expecting a lot of answers from the man who had just discovered the boy.

“…Yeah,” said Cloud providing no help in unraveling the Mystery to Tifa.

Frustrated to no end, Tifa sighed loudly into the receiver. That was Cloud, to her. He only provided the bare-essentials for answers. After some pause, she asked: “What’s wrong with him? He was crying… Is he hurt?”

Strife knew that Tifa meant well, but to be honest, he always had found her questions a bit trying. He never seemed to have the right answers and if he did elaborate on his answers, it only made her mad. He couldn’t say whether or not he loved her—not out loud, anyhow and yet he still couldn’t live without her. The black, toxic ooze that clung to the boy’s bangs was all Strife needed to see to know what was wrong. “It’s the stigma,” he grunted. “He’s in the early stages.” He could have left the kid. It wasn’t his fault the kid was alone and ill… and yet he couldn’t just leave her. This was her church. The boy had been sent for a reason. Was this his chance to atone for his sins?

“Do you know where the closest home is? They’ve built a few for the orphans with the stigma,” Tifa began, uncertain as to what to say. Deep in her heart, she wanted to help every child that was alone, abandoned, and sick but with Marlene to consider, she wasn’t sure what was best.

“I’m bringing him home,” Cloud replied stiffly.

The reply startled Tifa and yet at the same time it warmed her to the core. He’d called it home. “Yeah,” Tifa replied. A stiff pause passed between them before Tifa felt herself trembling with an odd emotion. “We’ll take good care of him, won’t we, Cloud?”

“…Yeah…” Cloud concluded. “…I’m going now… Bye…” Cloud grunted as he closed the phone. Tifa offered a more gentle and chipper good-bye, but Strife never heard it. The man’s emotions were presently a train-wreck . Gazing up toward the heavens—the sky that Aerith had once feared, he furrowed his brow as though to silently ask: why this child? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the gentle song-bird laugh of a lost loved one.



Stretching a hand down to the boy, Cloud called out to him once again. “Tifa says to take you home,” he uttered. Why he’d told the boy Tifa told him to take him home, he didn’t understand. It was likely for the same reason he could never tell the woman he truly cared for—loved her. Denzel grunted weakly and opened his eyes. Lifting the boy, Strife saddled the boy to Fenrir’s leather seat. Denzel was barely able to remain propped up as Cloud threw his leg over the seat as well. “…Hold onto me,” Cloud grunted as he lowered his goggles and kicked the motorcycle into gear. The engine purred and the exsoldier waited. Nothing… Furrowing his brow, he considered repeating his command to hold on a bit rougher when he felt the little one slump against him.

“U- Uun…” grunted Denzel weakly. His brow was hot and his entire body was quaking with chills, fever, and ache.

Something yanked hard on Cloud’s heartstrings, forcing him to glance back over his shoulder. Wordlessly, he gathered the boy’s dirty wrist into his hand and brought the kid’s arm around his stomach in hope that the boy would grab hold. Instead of taking hold, the boy shook violently. He was afraid. With the pity stirred in his heart, Cloud slid his hand down over the top of the boy’s hand and squeezed it gently. Poor kid… “Turn your head in… or you’ll get dust in your eyes. I don’t have a second pair of goggles,” Cloud added as he allowed Fenrir to slowly roll into motion. Deeming the boy steady enough, he eased into a decent speed, wincing every time the poor boy groaned. It wasn’t too far back to the bar, but reckless driving was out of the question.

He’d nearly pulled away from the piles of debris when he felt something foreign against his own seat. Something hot and wet rolled over the leather seat and lapped against his seat. It wasn’t until he heard a faint piddle against the leather that he realized something was amiss. Foolishly, he’d assumed the boy was oozing the toxic black stigma-waste again. Slowly rolling to a halt, Strife pulled the bike to the side of the road and glanced behind him. The sight and light odor of ammonia he caught was enough to clarify matters. The boy, fever flushed and weak whimpered pathetically as his legs twitched inward as though he were attempting to starve off the small bit of urine that leaked from him. Cloud allowed an irritated grunt to slide from him as he released the boy’s hand and slid from the bike. Denzel had nearly toppled forward. Cloud, preventing an untimely concussion, caught the boy and gently pulled him down from the bike. Crouching somewhat behind the bike, leaving the beautiful black motorcycle between the boy, himself, and traffic, he attended the child. “…You should have told me you had to go,” he uttered dryly. He assumed the boy was still somewhat unconscious as he had yet to speak.

A wet set of tears stung at the boy’s eyes as he whimpered once more and bit back a weak cry. “I – I can’t stop…” cried Denzel.

Strife grunted in surprise and eased the boy to sit atop the ground. “You’re awake?” The boy had begun to reach for his groin as though to try and stop the flow of urine. Awkwardly Cloud prevented the affair, pulling the boy’s hands back. “…Just finish… It’s alright…” It was far from alright! Cloud now had little boy-widdle on his backside. How the devil was he going to explain that to Tifa?
Ashamed and aching, the boy shook his head silently and attempted to wipe his eyes. Once again, Cloud restrained his hands. “…I’m sorry. I – I didn’t know…” Denzel whimpered, fearful of the man’s reaction.

“I know,” Cloud grunted softly. “Your hands are too dirty… try not to touch your face,” he added, hoping to convey the fact that he was not punishing the boy for his untimely elimination.

“…but your bike…” Denzel sniveled.

“…It’s leather. It will wipe off.” Cloud sighed. “…are you finished?” The boy nodded in shame and allowed himself to be lifted back up atop the bike. Straddling the seat once more, Cloud cringed as he sat back against the seat and rolled back into traffic. “…We’ll stop off at a petro-mart. I’ll gas up and we’ll see about getting you cleaned up.”

“…but someone will see,” the boy sniffed stiffly.

“…Yeah… but you’re wearing enough dirt as it is. I don’t think they’ll notice,” Strife bluntly noted. Denzel whimpered mournfully against him once more.

The bike rolled into the petro-mart with relative ease and no one thought anything of it at first. A young father and son filling up from a nice ride in the slums: not so unusual. It was a closer inspection of the son that set off the alarm bells… he was covered with the mark and from his tattered clothes; it was obvious that he was also an orphan. Uncapping the gas tank, Strife filled up Fenrir’s tank, keeping one hand on the boy’s shoulder to prevent him from toppling over. Denzel sorely missed Cloud’s back at that point. It felt as though everyone was looking at him. He was right.

Once filled, Strife replaced the pump and heaved the boy into his arms. Straddling the wet boy to one of his hips, he cringed as the boy shrank against him in attempt to hide. It was adorable and yet tragic. Sympathetically, he allowed his grip on the child to tighten, particularly as he caught the disapproving look of the shop keeper.

“This isn’t a charity,” the keeper growled.

Strife ignored the man for the time being and proceeded back to the washroom.

“That’s for paying customers only—I don’t want that kid in there either. He’s marked, can’t you see?” said the keeper.

Cloud frowned and without glancing over his shoulder proceeded into the men’s room. “How lucky for you that I brought money,” he growled as he slammed the door with enough force to convey that he had the power to physically convince the man to change his opinion about Denzel’s marking.

“I’m just going to get you in trouble,” Denzel whimpered. Cloud said nothing and lifted the boy up to seat him atop the counter. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to clean the kid off! Yanking a was of paper towels from the dispenser, he wetted a few down with some cold water. Softly, he forced the boys bangs up and dabbed the cool cloth over his forehead, catching away as much as the black ooze as he could. Denzel winced and bit back another whimper.

“Does it hurt?” Cloud inquired.

“…I’m okay…” lied Denzel. Cloud was nobody’s fool; he could see the pain written on the boy’s face. Cloud pulled the cold rag and discarded it. Glancing down to the child’s soiled shorts, Cloud roiled over what to do about it in his mind. They’d have to make another stop.

“Come on,” Cloud murmured as he lifted the boy again. Denzel grunted quietly, but complied. Immerging, Cloud dug out the needed money to pay for the fuel and tossed it atop the counter. The owner sneered but Cloud ignored the man’s petty rage. Placidly exiting, he placed the boy atop Fenrir and sped into the more congested quarter—they were nearing the bar now. Pulling into a parking space, Cloud once again hoisted the boy into his arms. This time their destination was a small clothing shop. Fortunately the owner of this shop wasn’t as biting as the last.

“Mornin’,” the owner called tentatively as he studied the filthy child and its keeper. “Anythin’ I can do fer ya?”

“…I want to buy some clothes,” Cloud grunted not realizing that he hadn’t clarified he needed them for the boy. Fortunately for spiky, the clerk was smart enough to figure that much out on his own.

“Alright. Do you know his size?” Judging from the dumb look Strife gave him, the clerk guessed the answer was no. Rifling through the racks, he pulled out a beige shirt and simple pair of shorts. “How about these?” he asked.

“…Sure…” Cloud grunted. At this point, he probably would have agreed to neon colors, stripes, and checkers all at once so long as he could get the kid out of the dirty clothes. The boy cringed against him and shivered with a pained whimper. Sliding the money atop the register, Cloud shifted the boy in his grasp and snagged the clothing. “…Is there a place he can put these on?”

The clerk hesitated for a moment, but in the end sighed soft-heartedly. “…In the back there’s a staircase. I’ve got a room for rent just above. Don’t take anything, mind you! I’ll box your ears if you break anything,” he added in attempt to cover his soft streak.

Cloud nodded stiffly, but found himself feeling rather grateful to the shopkeeper. “…Thanks…” he uttered quietly as he stalked to the rear of the store and skulked up the narrow staircase. The apartment above was small and minimally furnished. Poverty wasn’t too uncommon and yet, it wasn’t dirty either. It was very clean. Cloud was surprised no one had rented it yet. He poked around awkwardly for the bathroom but found it soon enough. Closing the lid, Cloud lowered the boy to lay on top of the fluffy white bath-mat.

Denzel sprawled out easily. Once Cloud began to work at pulling off his shirt, the boy cringed knowing that things would become awkward. “…I … I can do this…” Denzel grunted weakly. Cloud knew better than to trust the kid with cleaning up. If Strife turned his back one minute on the kid, he’d find the boy topped over with a new concussion from whacking his head on the tub, sink, or toilet. Once the blonde’s hands fell to Denzel’s trousers, the boy whimpered a bit more helplessly. As tears sprang to the boy’s eyes again, Cloud felt a knot tie itself in his gut.

“It’s okay, kid. You’ll feel better once you’re clean,” said Cloud.

Denzel shut his eyes as his shorts and underpants left him in one sticky slide. Both of his shoes fell to the floor noisily. After his socks were removed, his wet, dirty, and tattered clothes were abandoned in a pile. The boy shivered as Cloud adjusted the bath tap to a suitable temperature and plugged the drain. Lifting the child, Strife gently lowered him into the tub and let the water fill up over his gaunt frame. A clean rag was stolen from the vanity. Cloud went to work washing the boy clean, dipping the rag frequently to rid it of the layers of dirty he scrubbed from the boy’s arms and body; face and shoulders. His washing produced many pained groans and stirred unfortunate aches within the child. Nothing was more awkward than when the time came to wipe the boy’s groin clean. Denzel bit back a few tears. Cloud awkwardly apologized. “…Sorry, kid…” The bath-tub water drained away and awkwardly, Cloud switched the shower on and attempted to wash out the boy’s hair. In the end, The kid was fished out much cleaner than he had been and laid back to the bath-mat. Cloud patted him dry with one of the towels taking care to avoid the boy’s forehead where the stigma had presented itself.

Had the new clothes not been involved, Cloud wouldn’t have hesitated about dressing the boy. Since the kid had already watered Fenrir’s seat, he didn’t want to risk ruining a new set of clothes. Sighing awkwardly, he stood and dryly commented: “stay put for a second, kid…” The clunk of his shoes leads him down the stairs again. The clerk looked rather confused to find only Cloud rather than the boy as well. “Listen… I need…uh….” Rubbing the back of his neck, Cloud felt very awkward about asking. The Clerk looked very confused. “…I need to buy a diaper… for the kid…” Cloud flushed a light shade of pink.
The clerk didn’t seem terribly surprised though he did cough awkwardly to clear the air. “Yeah… we have some. Do you want the pull-on kind or…”

“…I’m not really sure,” Cloud confessed awkwardly. Cutting straight to the heart of the matter, Strife inquired: “…whatever’s most economical, I guess.”

“That would be cloth,” the clerk commented. “We don’t have any cloth…” Gesturing toward the small section of diapers, Cloud made his way to the small isle of baby supplies and began attempting to sort through the perils of diaper shopping. There were different sizes, colors, --egh! He was just glad the old man didn’t stock many kinds! Once he found the weight limits, it wasn’t too difficult to pick up a pair that would fit the kid. The variety with the side stick tabs was a good deal cheaper. Selecting the cheaper variety, Cloud dropped the money on the counter once more, and made his way up the stairs. The clerk couldn’t help but bite back a laugh given how awkward Cloud looked carrying the things. Strife passed a glare back over his shoulder, though at this point the clerk knew he was harmless and continued to chuckle.

Finding Denzel huddled on his side was enough to tug on his heart once again. “…You okay?” he inquired, receiving a quiet nod from the boy. The tear of plastic had caught Denzel’s attention, though he had only turned over soon enough to see the blonde holding a disposable diaper in his hands.

“What? –Why?” Denzel asked all of the sudden. He sounded betrayed, if not wounded in pride.

Cloud didn’t answer and instead sighed. “Just sit still… No one needs to know and it’s only until you’re stronger,” he murmured. The boy continued to protest with a series of half-grunted negatives. Cloud, instead, straightened the boy’s hips and shook open the nappy. After a moment of debating which end was the front and which end was the back, he laid the diaper beneath the boy’s skinny behind and lowered the kid to sit atop it. The boy squirmed lightly but knew better than to pitch a royal fit. As Cloud nudged his legs apart to pull the diaper between his legs, the boy began to cry. The faint noise of the ill boy’s tears echoed through the floor boards forcing even the clerk to cringe. The stick of tape made the diapering final, but Cloud didn’t feel so triumphant. Sure—Fenrir would stay dry, but he’d somehow managed to hurt the kid’s feelings in diapering him! Awkwardly, he lifted the boy to sit up. “…Come on… you’re alright, kid….” But Denzel wasn’t alright. He continued to paw at his eyes in shame. Wordlessly, Strife drew the boy into a half hug and allowed him a moment to compose himself. Once the boy had tapered his cries off to faint sniffles, Cloud pulled the kid’s shirt down over his head and threaded the shorts up to his hips. Pulling the pants up to their proper height was a little awkward, but doable. Leaving the boy’s ruined shoes, Cloud dumped the filthy clothes—and all of the other articles into the trash.

“Wait!!” Denzel whimpered. Cloud grunted curiously as the boy hiccupped through his remaining tears. “…please… Ruvie’s handkerchief….”

Carefully, Cloud pawed through the boy’s clothes and removed the neatly folded pink square of cloth. “This?” he asked.

Denzel nodded and clutched the fabric close to himself. “…thank you….” He murmured shyly.

Cloud nodded. “…I’m Cloud,” he said softly.

Denzel paused a moment before speaking into the exsoldier’s shoulder: “…Denzel…”


 

[OS-Tsurugi]

What Should Have Happened…
Seventh Heaven

Cool was something of the past now; it’d flown out the window when he’d been saddled with the opened sack of nappies. It was hard to maintain the presence of Fenrir while he was toting around a diapered boy. He may as well have been sporting a mini-van.
No matter what Cloud thought about his image, Denzel had already decided that he’d never met anyone so positively cool. Cloud had a bike. Cloud had a big sword. Cloud had rescued him. Did the man need anything else to be kick-a**? To Denzel the short-answer was no.
“Denzel, huh,” Cloud grunted as he lifted the boy up and saddled him to his hip. The diaper crinkled noisily as he seated the boy to him. Denzel cringed and bit back a whimper. Burying himself against Cloud’s shoulder the child remained silent. Silence was a noise Cloud could deal with. Gathering up the diapers in the sack, he padded down the stairs and offered the store clerk a thankful sort of nod. The clerk, too proud to accept thanks, waved the couple away, hoping the best for the pair.
Fenrir’s motor rumbled outside. This time, Denzel did not hesitate about wrapping his arms around Cloud’s midsection. Unfortunately, the poor child was still quite weak. Sliding his hand over the boy’s own, Strife did his best to hold the boy’s arms steadily around him as he pulled back into traffic and made his way to the crowded block where the bar rested.
7th Heaven; it was what the sign blinked in neon letters. It was a real man’s bar, though many female patrons stopped by for a hair of the dog. From the sound of Tifa, Cloud was sure he’d need the entire dog to get through the scolding Tifa was going to dish out. Lowering the kick-stand, Cloud slid down from the bike, keeping his hands on the boy at all times to prevent his fall. Saddling him to his hip, yet again, he exhaled and plunged into his waiting doom.
The heavy smell of cigarette smoke and whiskey greeted him as he padded into the bar. At one of the tables Marlene sat, diligently working on her studies, as usual. A guinea-pig like squeal of joy slipped from the girl before Tifa could even look up. Marlene must have had Cloud radar! “Cloud!!” she shouted as she abandoned her studies in a flurry of pages and pencil. The little one wound her arms around Strife’s legs tightly and offered him a needing squeeze. “Oh Cloud! You came back to us!” Marlene said gleefully.
“Cloud!” Tifa called, smiling a deceptively sweet smile. “I’m so glad you came,” she sighed, putting her own feelings aside for the moment. True, she was rightfully angry with him for staying away longer than need be, but there was another child in the picture. “How is he?” she immediately interjected before Cloud could reply to her greeting. Stepping toward the boy, Tifa brushed her hand over the back of Denzel’s head.
Denzel immediately cringed, but turned to look Tifa over. “It’s alright,” Cloud reassured the boy, shifting him awkwardly. Even Tifa noticed the slight crinkle but dismissed it. Denzel, on the other hand, grunted in attempt to cover the subtle noise. “He’s got the stigma,” Cloud murmured.
Tifa immediately pulled Marlene back and frowned with scrutiny. “…There’s no cure… What about Marlene?” Even though Tifa seemed all too willing to push the boy out onto the streets, she wouldn’t have. Marlene or not, she wasn’t willing to simply abandon a child. The streets were already too full of sick and dying children. “Can’t we send him to one of the sanitariums? They’ve started building them for children with the Stigma,” Tifa added hesitantly.
Cloud wanted to agree with Tifa… and yet he couldn’t. He’d found the child at her church. Aerith had sent him. This must have been the way for him to attone. “No,” Cloud answered flatly. Denzel cringed, his eyes stinging with tears.
“Cloud, I know you mean well but he needs real medical help. I don’t know if we can…” Tifa began.
Cloud interrupted: “I found him at the church. We can’t just…” Turning his back on Tifa, Cloud stormed away toward the personal quarters of the bar.
Shocked, Tifa sighed and bowed her head.
“Tifa?” Marlene whimpered. “Is he going to be alright?”
Tifa smiled reluctantly and nodded. “Of course! Nothing can defeat our Cloud. I’m sure he’ll do his best to—“
“But what about the boy?” Marlene inquired. Tifa smiled and promptly hugged Marlene.
“You’re growing up to be a fine young lady, you know that?” asked Tifa. Marlene blushed and bit back a giggle.
Cloud nudged his door open with his foot. Unsurprisingly, Tifa had let herself in and tidied up the ridiculous number of cans Cloud had left laying around. His bed had been washed and made-up once again and a waiting stack of letters lay piled atop his desk. Cloud cast a scathing glare to the junk mail but ignored it for the time being. Bending at the waist, he tugged back the covers of his bed and lowered Denzel to lay atop the bed. “Rest,” Cloud murmured dryly.
With tears still resting on his lashes, Denzel didn’t know what to say for the moment. He was torn inside from the things that Tifa had said. What if the kid called Marlene became ill? How would he ever forgive himself if he made someone else sick? All things considered, Denzel didn’t really want to leave Cloud either. He couldn’t quite place his finger on the reason yet, but he knew for certain that he did not want to leave.
The clunk of Cloud’s shoes saw him out and Denzel was left to quiver beneath the sheets. Silently, the spiky hero helped himself behind the bar without a word. Marlene was soon at his heels. “Cloud? Is he okay? What’s his name? Is he going to stay?” Marlene asked. Though she had asked three separate questions, they all came out as one ameba-sentence rather than three separate questions.
Frozen from the awkward jumble of questions, Cloud grunted as he withdrew the milk. “Do you want a glass of milk?”
“I said, what’s his name?” Marlene replied.
Cloud pulled down two mugs for the milk anyhow. Somehow he had the feeling it wouldn’t have been fair to give Denzel a cup of milk and leave Marlene out of the picture. “Denzel,” Cloud replied as he poured the milk into Marlene’s favorite cup leaving it half-full. Lowering it down to the girl, he uttered a bit more quietly: “be careful not to spill it.”
Marlene smiled and took hold of the cup carefully. “Cloud! I don’t spill stuff. I’m careful,” Marlene chirped, though as she said so, she practically slopped a bit of the milk out of the cup. Cringing she shuffled slowly to the table and placed the cup atop it. In the mean time, Cloud had taken to filling Denzel’s cup. Sliding it into the microwave, Cloud turned about and nearly jumped. Tifa had since snuck beside him.
“How bad is it?” Tifa inquired.
Cloud bowed his head and paused a moment. “…bad.”
“Cloud…” Tifa cautioned.
“I don’t want to discuss it,” Cloud interrupted.
“You don’t want to talk about anything with me, do you?” Tifa interjected.
Cloud had, as usual, fallen silent but his silence did not last long. Eyes brimming with tears, Marlene shouted: “Why can’t you two get along? Don’t you like each other?”
“Marlene, honey; it’s not that we don’t like each other,” Tifa began.
Cloud rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “yeah…”
Marlene looked rather confused but quickly stormed up to her room, abandoning her milk. “Marlene!” cried Tifa offering Cloud a helpless look.
“She’ll come down when she’s ready,” Cloud murmured.
Tifa frowned. “You would say that.”
“…” Cloud offered no comment and removed the warm milk from the microwave. Without resolving the feelings left tangled and bent, Strife plodded back down the stairs toward his room. Tifa was left to mind the bar and sort through poor Marlene’s feelings. Nudging open the door, Cloud entered to find Denzel sitting up. “I thought you might like a little hot milk,” offered Cloud. Denzel cringed at the kind offering, though as Cloud stretched the cup out toward him, Denzel reacted without thinking.
SMACK! The boy had whipped his hand forward and offered Cloud’s hand a smack offensive enough to force him to drop the milk. With a loud clatter—and sickening splash, the milk cup rolled across the floor leaving a sloppy trail of warm milk in its wake. Fortunately, the cup did not splatter is it was made of plastic. “Stop it! Just… Stop!” Denzel shouted. “I don’t want your pity! I have ears you know. I know that you both don’t want me here,” the boy continued on. Forcing himself from the lip of the bed, the boy stumbled forward in attempt to run. Unfortunately, he fell face forward. Fortunately, Cloud had been quick enough to catch the boy, preventing a messy milk-riddled skid for the boy.
“Hey… Settle down,” Cloud murmured patiently.
Startled from the shock of being caught, Denzel’s head spun. “No… I can’t!” Denzel whimpered. Twisting slightly, he attempted to break free of Cloud’s grip. His resistance was useless. Cloud did not wish to see the boy go in such a state. “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted. Let go!” he shouted again, though this time his voice quivered.
Cloud cast an awkward glance toward the bar and then returned his eyes to the boy. “I brought you this far, didn’t I?” Cloud murmured awkwardly.
“No!” Denzel replied senselessly, his voice breaking with emotion. Hot beads of tears soon splattered against Cloud, leaving him to stare dumbfounded at the child in his grasp.
“Denzel,” he began strangely. What was he supposed to do? Why did kids have to cry so easily? “Don’t… cry…” It was so difficult for him to offer comfort of any variety. It had been awkward enough with Marlene who he knew, but with Denzel who he hardly knew? It felt strange. New. Foreign. At the same time, there was an unseen force that propelled him to comfort the boy. For the moment, he wrote that force off as Aerith.
“I’m not crying,” Denzel sniveled weakly.
Cloud rolled his eyes and lifted the boy into his arms. Sitting on the lip of the bed, he pulled the boy to sit atop his lap. Draping an arm loosely around him, he waited for the boy to calm himself.
“I heard her… she said that the other girl would get sick… Cloud… I don’t want anyone to get sick… Please…”
Cloud sighed stubbornly and leaned back against the wall. Denzel reclined forward with him and whimpered with the complaint the diaper crinkled. “Marlene will be fine,” Cloud replied flatly.
“But…” Denzel protested weakly.
“Do me a favor, kid,” Cloud interrupted.
“Un?” Denzel whimpered curiously.
“Next time you’re feeling angry don’t make such a big mess.”
“U- un…” Denzel nodded sheepishly.
Even Cloud had to repress a smile. The kid was exhausting, but he deserved a chance at life. Yanking the covers up over the kid, Cloud slid the boy off of his lap and tucked him back into bed. He began unbuttoning his trousers awkwardly and promptly shed his pants. Why? Because Denzel had left a quaint little wet-spot on his seat earlier! Shedding his soiled clothes, Cloud replaced the missing items with similar trousers and undergarments. Loading them into his arms, he mopped up the spilled milk… with his trousers. They were going to the wash anyhow, Cloud figured.
“Please tell me you’re not wiping up milk with your pants,” Tifa groaned in the doorway.
Even Cloud jumped. “You have to do it properly,” Tifa complained as she tossed a wet rag at the back of Cloud’s head. Cloud groaned, retrieved the rag, and began mopping up the milk.
“…I’m sorry,” Denzel whimpered awkwardly. “…I didn’t mean to… I just…”
“I know,” both Cloud and Denzel replied in unison. The pair met eyes awkwardly, Cloud blushed, and Tifa stepped forward to gather Cloud’s soiled clothes—and the rag he was presently using.
“…Thanks,” Cloud replied stiffly.
“Any time,” Tifa replied with a peculiar smirk.
Cloud twitched and gawked after the bar matron. “Just how long were you standing there?”
“You should really close your door before you change… Nice shorts,” Tifa cooed knowingly.
Cloud flushed an indecent shade of crimson and promptly kicked his door shut. He could hear Marlene giggling up the stairs.
“It must be rough living with two girls,” Denzel commented quietly.
“Uh?” Cloud grunted. He shrugged plainly and replied: “it’s not bad.” Cloud never had any exciting answers. “Go to sleep, kid.”
“Un,” Denzel replied once again. He sounded a bit defeated.
Cloud sighed in frustration and glanced back over his shoulder. “Would it help if I got you some more warm milk?”
Denzel looked away and blushed a pretty shade of pink. “You don’t have to.”
Cloud knew this meant ‘yes’ in child-speak. Wordlessly he exited the bedroom, leaving the door ajar just a crack.