"I'm fifteen!" Which isn't much of a redemption from her accusation, really, but he blurts it out without thinking, swaying unsteadily where he's still clutching the side of the building (and this is a pretty awful place to be having any conversation, let alone such a potentially outrageous and embarrassing one, he's realizing, but there aren't a lot of options, at the moment).

Cloud honestly can't say which he believes less - the world saving and the weirdos or just the claim that she might be any older than he initially assumed - but the thought of arguing probability with her crazy fantasies is vaporized the instant she drops that name.

"T-Tifa!?" This time, he nearly does go pitching off his windowsill perch, turning a shade of red he can hardly hide behind fair hair and the bulk of his scarf as he wobbles dangerously. By the time he's managed to collect his wits enough to look away pointedly, he's regained some measure of sullen intent to mask his absolute horror. "What would she know about it?"