If it was any help, Tifa liked him the height he was, or the small amount he'd grow by the time he finished maturing. It put his shoulder at the perfect height for leaning against or resting on. She, secretly, very secretly, thought of him as 'my sized'. But she followed Cloud's gaze as it traveled around and looked back just in time to see his grimace, a quick glance over her shoulder suggesting what might have caused it.

How would he feel if she told him he'd had a panic attack - and then piloted a submarine? Or - he would have. Could have.

Could still, she was sure, if it came up.

"Have you met Fenrir yet? And are you thirsty?"