Aerith released Johnny's hand slowly but didn't let him retreat. With that smile still playing on her lips, she tugged at the cuff of his jacket, guiding him to crouch beside the densest patch of lilies.
"Sit," Aerith urged.
"You look so tense. It's not like the flowers are going to bite you."
Johnny obeyed stiffly. He sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, his knees almost brushing the loose soil. He placed his greatsword on the floor with extreme care—the Scrap Greatsword looked starkly out of place next to the living petals.
"Help me," Aerith said. She pointed to a tiny flower bud with a stem that was tilting slightly under the weight of the soil.
"It needs a prop. My hands are full of dirt."
Johnny stared at the tiny bud. Then he looked at his own hands. They were rough, scarred by gripping iron, and thickly calloused from workshop work.
"I... I can't," Johnny refused softly, his voice wavering with hesitation. "My hands are too rough. I'll break it."
"Wow, your hands really are rough. Like a cheese grater?" Aerith smiled and chuckled lightly.
Johnny's expression remained serious, his eyes shadowed with a sadness that weighed the truth of her words.
"But don't worry." Without a hint of fear, Aerith took Johnny's rough hand and placed it against the delicate flower stem.
"My flowers are tough. They're used to Midgar's pollution, so being touched by a 'cheese grater' won't make them wilt. The important thing is to use feeling, okay?"
"Gently... straighten the stem. Don't press down, just support it," she whispered, guiding Johnny's fingers.
Johnny held his breath. He felt like he was holding a bomb ready to detonate. The stem was so smooth, so soft. If he used even a fraction of his excess strength, it felt like the flower would snap instantly.
Cold sweat trickled down his temple. Johnny focused his entire being on this task. It was harder than cutting down a hundred Tudor soldiers.
Slowly, very slowly, he straightened the stem and packed the soil around it.
The flower stood tall. It was safe.
"See?" Aerith beamed with pride.
"Your hands are warm, Johnny. Flowers like warmth. These hands aren't just for hitting."
Johnny pulled his hand back as if stung by electricity, then stared at his own palm in wonder.
That was when, Aerith began to tell her story "I live near here with my mom. I like this place because... it's quiet. Outside, it's too noisy," Aerith gazing up at the holes in the church ceiling.
"The voices never stop. The voice of the Planet. The voices of those who have gone."
Johnny fell silent, listening. He remembered the spirits that used to haunt him. "Are they evil?"
"Not all of them," Aerith shook her head. "Mostly just... sad. Or confused."
Then, Aerith turned to look at Johnny with a gaze that was sharp yet tender, as if she could see right through his skin and into his old soul.
"But, a few weeks ago... everything changed," she said, her tone turning serious.
Johnny flinched. A few weeks ago. That was the day he woke up in Johnny's room in Sector 7.
"The Planet screamed in shock," Aerith continued, her eyes looking far away. "Something fell into the Lifestream. Something very heavy, very hot, and full of rage... but also filled with an incredibly deep sadness."
Aerith looked Johnny straight in the eye.
"The Voices told me: 'He has come. Not to destroy, but because he is lost. He needs a harbor.'"
Johnny looked down, staring at the dirt between his boots. He couldn't lie to this girl. She saw "Guts" inside of him.
"I am... not a good person, Aerith," Johnny confessed, his voice heavy.
"Where I come from... I only knew how to survive. I hurt a lot of people. I failed to protect the person most precious to me."
Johnny's hand clenched into a fist on his knee.
"I woke up here, as Johnny, the son of a mechanic. I have a father, a mother... a peaceful life. But my past is still burning in here." Johnny tapped his chest. "I'm afraid that fire will burn them."
Aerith placed her hand, stained with soil, over Johnny's clenched fist.
"Fire can also warm, Johnny," Aerith said softly. "Maybe the Planet brought you here not to extinguish your fire, but to give you new firewood. Something worthy for you to protect."
Johnny lifted his face. In Aerith's green eyes, he saw no judgment for his past sins. He saw only acceptance.
The weight on the Black Swordsman's shoulders felt a little lighter. In that old church, amongst the lilies, a bond of fate had just bloomed.
Time seemed to slow inside the sanctuary. The sunlight began to shift, turning the color of the lily petals from bright yellow to a warm, glowing gold.