Genres: Humor and romance. Attempted, anyway.
Special Conditions: Imagine Cloud with one of those endearing English schoolboy accents… I've been reading too much Harry Potter fan-fiction. YES, Ms. Lockhart, Ms. Gainsborough, and Ms. Kisaragi all belong to one of those proper bachelorette busybody societies. YES, Nibelheim is a quaint English town and Midgar is some New York suburb…
How the Idea was created: On St. Patrick's Day, half delirious with fever, clad in green pajama pants and listening to Green Day/Celtic Woman, I opened up a Microsoft Word document. This was written in one hour. I take no responsibility for what you're about to read. XD
Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VII or the characters within it. I don't own the band Green Day. (though I do have a friend who has it bad for Billie Joe Armstrong. O_O) Nor do I own Celtic Woman. I am gaining no profit from this work of fan-fiction.
Warnings: The celebrating ofSt. Patrick's Day. A lot of talking about the Irish. Believing in leprechauns. Baking. Scant playing of the band Green Day. You have been warned.
._._._.
Green Days
A St. Patrick's Day Final Fantasy VII Fan-Fiction
._._._.
It was exactly nine o' clock in the morning on St. Patrick's Day when Cloud Strife, clad in his green "Kiss Me, I Might Be Irish" t-shirt and purple pyjama pants and trying not to burn himself on the oven, realized his kitchen was shaking. It was exactly three seconds after nine o' clock in the morning that Cloud did burn himself on the oven, let out a curse that was more squeak than bad word, and hopped over to the sink, soaking his hand under the faucet and peeking through the curtains.
Across the street, the obvious offender was the usual suspect; the little squat peach house that looked like it should belong to the Old Cat Lady. But no, she was next door to the retired ambulance driver. And Cloud highly doubted that an old lady would be playing techno-rock at a volume like that.
It was the only house on the street that Cloud had not gone over and introduced himself to yet. He'd had more pressing things on his mind, though.
Like celebrating St. Patrick's Day.
Moving allllllllll the way from Nibelheim to Midgar for school was a big decision that, after many tears and sleepless nights of filling out applications, Cloud had finally check-marked. The truth was, he hadn't wanted to leave his mummy and set out on a life of his own, but he was determined to succeed and start over new with as little grief as he could. He was trying to make a fresh start; it was cool enough going through the photo albums with his mother, and then finding out that he maybe-probably-just-might-be Irish somewhere up on his Da's side...not only that, but it also gave him a new holiday to try out. St. Patrick's Day.
This was why Cloud was baking green sugar cookies the day before said holiday and humming Celtic music. There was something vaguely liberating about the situation…
…if not confoundingly lonely. He'd left all his friends behind in Nibelheim, and there was no way they could hop on a plane and visit him short notice. So he was alone this holiday.
After cleaning up his little house and dousing it in green and shamrocks and leprechaun hats, Cloud had found his special occasion cookie recipe and turned up his music, trying to figure out how to dance to Celtic music without looking like an idiot. (He settled for twirling his ankles and flicking the cookie dough everywhere with the spoon for rhythm.) He put a bunch of big cookies that you could eat with both hands in the oven, and then, on second thought, a tray of thumb cookies. Those went on a tiny doll plate nearby the front door, for the leprechauns. (Hey, Santa liked it. Maybe they would leave gifts too.)
Cloud had sat, small and uncertain and kicking his legs, at his very large kitchen table and thought how sad it was, to be eating giant sugar cookies by yourself. Because everyone knows that cookies shouldn't be eaten by only one person, nope. So maybe his mum would like them too; he made the mistake of visiting his mailbox with measuring tape to see if the box would fit, and found Ms. Lockhart from across the street leaning on it, looking as if she'd just happened to drop by. One thing Cloud had learned quickly about his neighbors, though, was that they never just "dropped by". They always wanted something.
"Good morning, Cloud," Ms. Lockhart said with a suspiciously bright smile.
Cloud smiled politely back. "Happy early St. Patrick's Day, Ms. Lockhart."
Ms. Lockhart looked confused. "Happy…what? No need for the formalities, dear, you know it's Tifa to you."
"Yes, Ms. Lockhart."
"Now, I was wondering…"
Time to go inside. Cloud inched backwards, but Ms. Lockhart oh-so-charmingly laid a hand on his shoulder and steered him closer to his mailbox. Cloud noted, sadly, that the mailbox was too small for the cookie box. Maybe he should put them in a smaller package.
"…having a draw. Are you listening to me?"
Cloud blinked. "What?"
Ms. Lockhart scowled in a decidedly un-charming way. "Your neighbor. The one right across the street."
Cloud refrained from asking, 'You?' and instead wisely remained silent and confused.
Ms. Lockhart pointed at the Old Cat Lady house, which now seemed to be shaking on its foundation. "The Neighborhood Watch Committee is having a drawing to see who will go over and tell him to turn his sound down. We want to know if you would draw?"
The expectant look left no question. Cloud sighed.
"Of course, Ms. Lockhart."
Roughly twenty minutes later, Cloud was standing awkwardly in his own front yard while Ms. Kisaragi chattered on about something, hyper-active-aware that everyone else on the streets had coincidentally come outside to mow lawns and trim trimmed bushes and peer around with binoculars. That was what everyone did to everyone else here, anyway.
Mum's cookies were getting cold and hard just sitting out. Cloud's mind scooted around the fact that they'd get that way being mailed across an ocean anyway, and instead preferred to dwell on that unhappy fact. Ms. Gainsborough was arranging the straws completely evenly at Ms. Lockhart's instructions, and then they were all drawing. Cloud sighed, because in the short time he'd known The Bachelorettes, he'd figured out how it worked. But he drew anyway.
His straw was shortest.
Of course.
"All you have to do," Ms. Lockhart prepped an unhappy Cloud outside his front door as they left, "Is knock, let him answer, and tell him to turn down his sound."
Cloud nodded, wringing his shirt as he twisted his leg about nervously. He didn't just…go up to people's doors like that! What if-what if someone frowned at him? He couldn't live with that. He would die right there. Worst, what if they started yelling? Or, or said something like, "NO, you ignorant foreigner!" Oh my God.
"Don't worry," Ms. Gainsborough chirped. "You'll do perfectly."
And they left.
Chewing his lip anxiously, Cloud went inside, and decided to go over at approximately twelve o' clock noon. He changed out of his purple pajama pants into his best gardening jeans, and sat unhappily bouncing his leg at the kitchen table. On second thought, he baked the rest of the cookies and arranged them on a pretty little plastic plate just-so-because it was rude to go to people's houses without something, even if you were just going to tell them to turn down the sound.
Then, at eleven forty-five, Cloud carefully locked his door, put his package in the mailbox, and silently asked any passing leprechauns for luck as he began his march across the street.
…After the truck had disappeared, careening wildly around the corner, a cowering Cloud rephrased his question as including only good luck, and scampered across the street.
In front of the door with the dead wreath, Cloud nervously pulled down the back of his shirt and then adjusted his feet-no time for tripping now. With a final wince at the sheer noise of the music up close, Cloud pressed the doorbell…
…and then realized that no one could possibly hear the doorbell.
So he settled for banging on the door like an idiot delivery-man.
When Cloud heard heavily clomping footsteps from inside and a crash (accompanied by a very not-nice curse), he cringed, bracing himself for a frown or…or…a yell. (He couldn't even comprehend that.)
The door started opening, and Cloud immediately looked up in preparation.
And blinked.
Cloud hadn't known what he was expecting. Maybe a greasy beer-guzzling native-of-the-area that he would have to conduct…slang…with, while avoiding looking at his hideously stained wife-beater.
The mere thought made him shudder.
When the door swung open, though…he definitely wasn't expecting the bloke that stood there.
He wasn't a body-builder, but he was fit, Cloud had to admit. He had a wild crest of hair that harkened the thought of an angry rooster, and smiling blue eyes. He was wearing a t-shirt that said something-Cloud couldn't tell what-and the most hideous pair of cherry red sweatpants possibly in the world. Despite this, the guy was pretty good looking, and Cloud was blushing to the tips of his toes, looking everywhere but directly at him.
This was how he saw the last accessory.
The bloke was wearing a plaid, rather-cute-in-another situation, just above mid-shin skirt.
A skirt.
Cloud stared.
The guy smiled widely, waving at Cloud, even though they were barely more than a foot apart. "Hi!" he said, as if they were buddies. Cloud tried desperately to look away from the skirt, offering a wan smile in return.
The guy's eyes strayed to the cookies. "Aw, sweet! Oh, are those for me?"
Remembering his mission, Cloud nodded, standing up on his tip-toes to hand it over. "I-I baked them this morning," he offered in explanation.
The guy was peering under the cellophane, looking satisfied, and then looked back to Cloud. Suddenly, Cloud found the guy's finger an inch from one of his eyes. He continued tracing a path all the way back to the skirt.
"Ah!" the guy laughed. "You're wondering about that, aren't you?" He tugged the end with a smile. "I decided to celebrate something new this year-before, I just did Christmas and Easter, but this year, I decided to do St. Patrick's Day too! You heard of it?"
Cloud nodded hastily, though he was confused. "S-So…why are you wearing the skirt?" He finally asked.
The guy looked confused. "Hmm? Because it's Irish. Duh."
"N-no…it's Scottish," Cloud replied back.
Skirt-Bloke examined the skirt with interest. "Really?"
"It's a kilt," Cloud explained.
The guy stared at him, and then laughed. "Reno, the freaking idiot. I should've known he was setting me up. Thanks…?"
"Cloud Strife," Cloud said, sticking out his hand.
"Zack Fair," the guy said, taking the hand and, with a mischievous smirk, kissing it. "But you can call me…sexy." Eyebrows waggled, and Cloud turned red, jerking his hand back.
The music moved into an upbeat rhythm, and Zack got a funny look on his face, turning away as his head bobbed up and down. Cloud was afraid that the door was about to slam on him, but instead Zack suddenly hollered, "On HOLI-DAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYY!" into his empty hallway with the lead singer.
Cloud nearly bolted.
Zack turned back, grinning. "Ah, I love this song. Come in!"
And, apparently expecting Cloud to follow, Zack turned and disappeared into his house, skirt swishing behind him.
Cloud sent one, desperate look at the street. The mailman gave him the thumbs up.
You knew you were doomed when the mail service sent you luck.
Sticking his chin up in the air, Cloud tripped over his feet into the house, following the steadily growing sound of solo guitars, and found Zack throwing the kilt over an already full couch. He turned around and patted a couch cushion next to him, and hesitantly, Cloud perched on the end.
"I liked wearing that skirt more than I should've!" Zack yelled with a grin over the music. "Does that make me a cross dresser?"
Cloud squeezed the life out of his t-shirt, stuttering. Zack laughed, smacking him on the back and sending him to the floor. "Kidd-ing! Oops, sorry." Just as quickly, Cloud ended up on the couch again.
Zack leaned back, nestling his head on what looked suspiciously like briefs-Cloud severely, severely hoped they weren't-and studied him intently. Cloud wasn't paying much attention, though, and was instead scanning the room. There were clothes everywhere-hanging over the television, the clothes rack, a dining room table, even the blasting stereo. Cloud could make out schoolbooks somewhere under there, but he couldn't be sure. You couldn't even see the floor through all the chip bags and soda cans. The little clean freak knew he was bloody well going to have nightmares tonight.
"Sooooooo, Cloud Strife." Zack rolled Cloud's name around with his funny American accent, snapping Cloud's eyes back to him. "What made you suddenly decide to pay me a visit?" Before Cloud could answer, Zack quickly added, "I was meaning to come over and welcome you to the neighborhood, of course. But then I got a little busy." He laughed, and Cloud nervously let out a giggle of his own to accommodate, realizing that he had to explain his mission.
"Well!" Cloud squeaked. "Y-You see…umm…Ms…Ms…LOCKHART, yes! And the other Bachelorettes…they made me draw with them…and…um…" Cloud looked plaintively at Zack, willing him to understand as he said, "Please turn down your sound."
Zack barked a laugh. "The old witches sunk their claws into you, huh?"
Cloud flinched, but nodded all the same.
"Don't worry about it." Zack fumbled about on the couch cushions next to him, pulling out a remote and a soda. He handed the soda to Cloud, and pressed something on the remote. Nearly instantly, the sound of guitars was cut in half, and Cloud could finally hear himself think…and an ominous ringing sound.
"Thank you," Cloud said politely, shifting his bum on the cushions and wondering how to excuse himself without seeming rude.
Zack smiled softly. "They're my favorite band right now, you know."
"Huh?"
"Green Day. I mean, seriously…" Zack laughed. "It fit the day. Y'know, it's a green day, I'm listening to Green Day, huh, huh?"
"Yep," Cloud said, suddenly feeling cheeky. "It fits as well as a kilt does."
Zack looked shocked, and then suddenly started laughing. "Hey, kid, you're all right!" he said, smacking Cloud on the back again. "So what's the correct music to listen to for St. Patrick's Day, then?"
Cloud smiled. "Well, I found this awesome band called Celtic Woman…"
._._._.
It may have surprised the Bachelorettes to see that normally shy little Cloud bashfully volunteered to go over every day to tell Zack to turn down his sound… but they were so busy feeling ecstatic to have a willing victim-er, volunteer-that they just let him.
It might've seemed strange that Zack pumped his sound especially loud five minutes before Cloud's visit, but all the other neighbors were too busy trying to spy on the pair to pay attention.
Zack and Cloud certainly weren't paying attention. Zack had decided that he liked the little shy British boy, and Cloud slowly decided that he liked the touchy-feely-personal-space-mooching-American-bloke next door. Cloud baked cookies, and Zack played loud, somewhat green-themed rock music, and they talked. They were making this holiday last forever-St. Patrick's Day had to last until at least the end of the month, they agreed with each other.
And so they became friends.
And so the days passed.
"Cloud," Zack said carefully one day, inching closer to Cloud, who was busily cleaning off the couch. It was near the end of March. Once they had definitely turned into friends, Cloud had let his clean-demon officially out. It was going to make bliddy well sure that Zack's house stayed clean, Cloud thought giddily.
"Mmm?" Cloud said, stacking the last of Zack's textbooks with a satisfied smile.
"I think I'm a fairy." Zack said carefully, stretching out to his toes. He laughed at a sudden thought. "Or maybe a leprechaun, given the season." He studied Cloud closely. "Does that bother you?"
Cloud looked at him absently, folding a shirt and laying it over the couch arm. "Of course not. Why would it?"
So, apparently Europe was a little more accepting of homosexuals than America. Or maybe Cloud already had guessed. Zack inched a little closer, gently taking Cloud's wrist. Cloud looked at him, and at the insistent tug, perched on the end of the couch cushion. Zack licked his lips, leaning a little closer with a soft smile.
"Would it weird you out if…I said I was a leprechaun for you?"
Cloud opened and closed his mouth for a few moments, until finally a gaspy, "Eh?" came out. Thinking it was as good a time as any, Zack leaned forward, gently pressing his lips to Cloud's. Cloud let out an accented squeak, rocking forward and backwards uncertainly, unsure of what to do as Zack slowly pulled back, eyes flicking nervously over Cloud's face. With a nervous chuckle, he let go of Cloud's wrist and pulled back, waiting for a reaction.
Cloud stayed frozen. His hand flopped to his lap.
"Hey," Zack said, poking Cloud's shoulder. "You…you okay?"
Dazedly, Cloud got up, wandering into the hallway with Zack worriedly following him. He went all the way across the street as Zack watched him from the doorway, staring at his own door.
"Cloud!" Zack called, shifting uncomfortably on his porch. "Are you all right?"
Cloud looked back, giving Zack a dazed smile and a nod, and stumbled into his house.
Neither Zack nor the rest of the street saw Cloud for the next week. Cloud spent his days puttering to college and back home, and trying to clutter up like Zack's house for some odd empty reason he couldn't explain. (Somehow, he didn't throw his clothes about right; they always ended up looking so NEAT, even piled up on the floor.) He was shy to go back to Zack's house after he had walked out like an idiot. Zack blasted his music loudly for a few days, but then stopped abruptly. Cloud found himself worrying, but was still bloody embarrassed, so just stayed home and peered out longingly through his curtains.
Any calls from the Bachelorettes were not answered.
At the end of the second week of Cloud's self-made isolation, Cloud received a new visitor. Coincidentally, Cloud had finally resigned himself to open up the door for the next person who came, so with a nervous, "Coming!" Cloud opened the door.
And gaped.
"Yeah, um…yo?" the bloke standing there said, shifting uncomfortably. "You…Cloud Strife?"
"L-l-l-l-l-leprecha-cha-cha-chaun!" Cloud squeaked.
The figure looked down at himself-green t-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes, red hair bobbing-and then back up at Cloud. "Uh…pardon me…?"
"W-wait there!" Cloud said. He scrambled inside his house. He had eaten the other few batches of teeny cookies (what the leprechauns didn't know wouldn't hurt them), but luckily he had baked more!
"H-H-Here!" Cloud held out the tiny plate. Giving him an odd look, the leprechaun took one and gingerly bit into it. His eyes widened.
"Hey, yo…" he said, "These are actually good!"
Cloud nearly peed his pants. A leprechaun…thought his cookies…were good.
Cor. He'd died and gone to Heaven!
"Do…do you want any more?" Cloud said meekly.
The leprechaun looked reluctantly at the plate before snagging another cookie. "Actually, kid, I came to talk to you about something."
Cloud's eyes widened. "I promise I haven't been using any excess luck. I trip over my feet and bump into the wrong blokes and everything, I swear."
Leprechaun blinked. "Um…not about that, kid. You see, I'm a friend of Zack's. Zack Fair, your neighbor? I'm his friend Reno."
Reno was a leprechaun? Zack was friends with a leprechaun and never told him? Wow.
"You were visiting him before, right?" Leprechaun crouched down, staring Cloud very seriously in the eyes. "His feelings are hurt. He thinks you don't like him anymore, and he doesn't know what to do."
Cloud looked morosely down at his feet, wiggling his toes in his shoes. "I don't know what to do either, though." He confessed miserably. "What do you do when someone kisses you?"
Leprechaun's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Zack…kissed…you?"
Turning pink, Cloud nodded. Reno hummed, stroking his chin absently for quite some time. Uncomfortable, Cloud shifted, wondering if he should ask him if he wanted to sit down.
"Y'know, kid…" Leprechaun laid a hand around his shoulder. "It's not that hard once the person kisses you. Do you…well, do you like him back?"
Cloud blushed. "A-Actually…a lot. A whole bunch."
Reno chuckled, ruffling his hair. "So now that you've told me…" He walked his fingers through the air over to Zack's little house. "You've got to go and tell Zack the same thing in that cute little Brit accent. OTHERWISE…" He leveled a serious gaze at Cloud's innocent blue eyes, smirking. "All we lep-re-chauns will take our luck away from you."
"Really?" Cloud whispered.
Reno raised his hand seriously. "Honesty of the leprechauns." Gently, he punched Cloud's shoulder. "Don't worry, kid, you'll do smashingly. Now…" he cleared his throat. "Would it be rude of me to take the rest of those cookies?"
"O-Of course not!" Cloud said, "They're for you!"
After Reno had left (were leprechauns supposed to ride around on motorcycles?), Cloud nervously puttered around a bit more.
Chewing his lip anxiously, Cloud decided to go over at approximately one o' clock afternoon. He changed out of his pajamas into his best jeans and hoodie, and sat unhappily bouncing his leg at the kitchen table. On second thought, he baked little heart cookies and arranged them on a pretty little plastic plate just-so-because it was rude to go to people's houses without something, even if you were just going to tell them that you were in love with them.
He stood nervously in front of Zack's house. It was so strange, it was so silent. Zack's house was supposed to be shaking, and it seemed sad and lonely without any music. Raising a hand, Cloud shakily knocked on the door.
Almost immediately, the door was jerked open, and Zack peered out. His eyes widened when he saw Cloud standing on his doorstep.
"Cloud!" he said, stepping forward with his arms outstretched, like to give him a hug, but stopping just shy of him, letting his hands flop down to his sides awkwardly. Cloud cleared his throat bashfully, twisting his leg around and wondering what to say.
"I'm-I'm sorry I kissed you," Zack finally said stiffly, not-quite-looking at Cloud.
"N-No, don't a-apologize for that!" Cloud said, flailing the hand he was showing. "I mean…I…l-l-l…" He blushed. "Um…"
Zack looked so down-hearted that Cloud knew he had to do something, so, desperately, he thrust the plastic plate of cookies forward. Zack looked surprised, taking the tray almost reverently, looking at the little pink frosted hearts with a smile threatening the corners of his lips.
"I…" Cloud tried desperately to explain, grabbing Zack's hand. Zack looked down to their joined hands, then up to Cloud's face, the grin spreading.
"I…" Cloud ducked his head. "I…like you. I…love…you."
Then he began flailing and apologizing, looking everywhere but at Zack. Quietly, Zack set the cookies out on the porch railing, catching Cloud's free hand and pulling him into his chest, their hands spread like they were dancing.
"Hey." Zack said softly, smiling at Cloud. "I love you too." Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Cloud's nose…then his forehead…then down the bridge of his nose…and down to his lips…
"Z-Zack!" Cloud whispered. "The n-neighbors are…"
"Don't worry," Zack said, wrapping his arms around Cloud and burying his face in soft blond hair. "Let 'em look."
So Cloud did.
The luck of the leprechauns was definitely going to smile down on them for many, many happy years to come.
fin.
A/N:
REVIEW IF YOU READ TO THE END! :D
Umm…delirious writing, for the win?
In my little NY suburb *cough* almost NO ONE celebrates St. Pat's Day! So I had to do SOMETHING to celebrate the holiday…and here it is. :) It's late because of the site trouble. (It wouldn't let me post ANYTHING.)
Celtic music is awesome. Celtic Woman and Celtic Thunder are the main bands I listen to…listen to "Wuthering Heights" by Hayley Westenra, too, it's AMAZING.
Did I overdo/underdo it with the Brit slang? I don't know a lot. (Do Brits even say "Cor" anymore? Dang. I've watched too many black and white movies.) EXCUSE ANY IGNORANCE~
Special thanks to xXSaltzXx for her awesomesauce writer's block advice! :D
Well, I hope you enjoyed it, because I totally enjoyed writing it! :D Happy VERY LATE St. Patrick's Day to you all, Irish or not! *is not Irish* XD