The smell of ground coffee permeated the air in the café where Rogue was currently sat. The place was suitably furnished, all comfy chairs and old wooden tables, visibly marked by coffee cups (as no one was going to insist the customers used coasters) and discolored slightly due to age. Rogue liked the fact that the place was discernably old, content in the knowledge that he was a mere passer by in the grand scheme of things, and indeed, even in the life of the café itself, the odd cup mark or coffee stain being the only evidence of his presence there. The front of the café was equally notable, floor to ceiling glass windows that, if required, could open fully, effectively bringing the outside in when higher temperatures demanded. It was something Rogue couldn't quite put his finger on, but the traditional, even rustic ambience of the café, somehow felt incongruous to the wholly modern glass frontage, it was an awkward marriage, one that felt forced.
Despite this, Rogue couldn't deny his fondness towards the place, with its odd little quirks and contrasts. It never failed to lull him into a restful peace, or quiet his mind after a strenuous day (of which Sabertooth had no shortages of)! It was in these restful pauses however, that Rogue was at his most introspective, and of course there was no limit to what he could reflect on. Perhaps frustratingly for Rogue, he usually seemed to reflect on his feelings towards a certain blonde (and no, not the young Miss. Heartfilia). Yes, it was his fellow dragon slayer, partner and best friend Sting Eucliffe who constantly snatched at the threads of Rogue's wandering thoughts. It was in the very place he sat that he first noticed the seed that would blossom into the young dragon slayer's current…predicament.
He was not sure exactly how he had come to develop feelings for his friend; he supposed it was during a time he had been thinking about their little team, about how courageous Sting always was, sometimes bordering on reckless, about how he always charged into battle head on without a moment's thought or consideration for tactics, about how strong Sting was, yes strong. Sting was indeed strong, boasting a proud muscle-bound physique, washboard abs, the whole package really. It wasn't that Rogue himself didn't have that, it was just that Sting carried himself with such confidence and surety that Rogue really didn't have another word for it, Sting was an Adonis, and most certainly an object of his desire.
At that point Rogue had to question whether he wanted his relationship with Sting to remain purely platonic, and also answer a few home-truths, one of which being his lack of interest in the fairer sex.
It wasn't that accepting himself was particularly hard, after all, Rogue Cheney was an honest man, and indeed honest to himself. And so, having stumbled upon, processed and accepted this information, and his desire towards his partner, there seemed only one thing to do…nothing. Although these days his thoughts and desires were becoming more lucid and difficult to ignore. Rogue liked to think to himself that he was practicing inactivity to spare Sting the awkwardness of the whole affair, yet the truth of it was that he was scared, of rejection and of losing his best friend. He wasn't the one to charge head first into battle, Sting was, that was why they made such a good team, twin elements, each covering for the other's weaknesses.
And so, after finishing his cup of coffee and paying up, Rogue put on his cloak and stepped out into the blustery evening. The wind ruffled his hair, he felt rejuvenated, but in the presence of the wind, his mind was swept with thoughts of change. Life changes. Suddenly consumed with a great sadness, he took a look back at the café, at its awkward union of old and new. At that moment, Rogue realized that he himself was like the building before him, an irregular union of the body and the atypical desires of his heart. Filled with a new realization that his inaction was causing him great pain, the need for action became apparent. Despite what anyone might say, and even what Sting himself would do, Rogue resolved that something had to be said, for his sake. And carrying with him the burden of his introspection, he disappeared into the shadows.