AN: The prompt for this fic was to write a story about a character when he was younger, as told through another character's POV. I chose Reno and Zack from FFVII. (;

On to the fic!

Summers in Midgar were popularly the worst time of year. By the middle of it, when the full power of the heat properly struck the little city, you could almost smell the sun, feel the moisture leave your skin. Most people just gave up and retreated into the little confinement of their offices or homes, hiding in the power of their AC, not even attempting to go outside and fend for themselves. There was this perpetual scent in the air, the slightest hint of burning rubber amongst the turbulence of other scents that mingled with it. I never knew what caused that scent, but hey, I didn't even grow up in Midgar.

Summers in Midgar also meant there was the glare. It made us squint helplessly as we ploughed on their daily business. Sometimes it hit the worst when I was on my back on a random pavement, trying to watch the clouds.

Not that any of that sunlight really made its way under the plate, although the smog was clearly present. Under the plate, there was never really much of a difference.

"Hey, aren't you interested in who I am?"

"…"

On this day, I had given up cloud-gazing and retreated to Sector 7, just below the plate. The kids my age usually gathered around the playground, playing catch, pretending to be a SOLDIER, whatever.

I'm not like the other kids.

At least, if I do say so myself.

And upon entering the playground, I spotted this redhead, squatting down near the edge that led off to the flea market in the next lane.

"Look at me, I have a sword!"

"…"

Well okay, so at that point I wasn't even an infantryman attending SOLDIER school yet, so technically I wasn't even using a sword. Think of it as a random piece of metal soldered onto a random piece of wood I found in the slums. But hey, creative, right?

See, I'm no ordinary kid, I don't blend in with the stereotype. I mean alright, so maybe I do want to join SOLDIER, too. But it's not just about that. One day, I want to become a SOLDIER 1st Class. And my glorious name is Zack, Zackary Fair, and-

"One day I want to be a hero!"

The boy turned around slowly, goggles sliding down his forehead, and fixed me with a look. The first thing I realized when I was looking at him face-to-face, was how green his eyes were. Almost like a shade of emerald, or slightly darker.

Then I saw the twin markings resting on his cheek bones, just below his eyes.

I felt my grin slip slightly. This looked like the typical kid living in the slums, right? Sure, he looked maybe slightly underfed… But then again, a lot of us were, especially with living under the plate. I straightened up, cast around at all the other kids at the playground. Then I looked back at the redhead.

The other kids still ran around, played catch, yelled as they dodged. This guy looked back at me from his corner of the playground and blinked, once. I looked southward, tracing the contours of his lips, then chin, and facial structure. Nope, this kid was either new, or not well known around here. At least, I hadn't seen him around before.

And I was sure of that. I mean, if I'd seen that shock of hair before, I'd be sure to remember it. This kid really stood out. What was he doing here, in a playground under the plate?

Twelve years from now, I'd see the redhead much differently. Commanding a helicopter, controls held loosely in hand. Confidently. Arrogantly, even. A smirk curls his lip, as he glances out of the corner of his eye to look at me. "Copy that, yo," He drawls, before flicking the control in his right hand, and I feel the helicopter swerve and change course.

Back then, though, he was still the scrawny kid living in the slums. Probably never knowing that he would join the Turks a few years down the road, get partnered up with the big old Rude.

He eyed me owlishly, still silent. His hair was shockingly red, and I briefly wondered if he had dyed it. I then shook my head slightly at the thought. Where would a kid in the slums get his hands on hair dye? And who would spend on hair dye when most nights, they were so hungry it kept them awake?

He was scrawny, but he looked like he was taller than average for his age. How old was he, anyway? Nine or ten, I guessed, although you really can't be sure.

"Well… You like you could use a friend."

Red's lips twitched slightly, either in a silent smile or scoff, although he was still looking intently at the ground. I ran my hand through my hair awkwardly, not sure whether to approach or not, but still decided to do it anyway. I moved to squat next to him, realizing that he had been so focused upon two beetles scuttling together on the slum ground.

I looked at him, looked at the lines on his cheekbones, and then realized that this boy smelt of loneliness.

"Pretty quiet, aren't you?"

It's twenty one years from now, in the streets of Edge City. The redhead blinks as he feels the initial drops of rain splatter on his face from the sky, before looking up curiously, as if he felt the need to convince himself that the droplets he had felt really had come from the sky, not from somewhere else. He blinks, momentarily realizing that the sight he looked at was missing a plate, something he was so used to seeing back in Midgar. He then forgets the plate, looking at his fingers in awe as the Geostigma slowly disappears, upon coming into contact with the rain. As he watches the grey sludge disappear, a cat-like grin plasters itself on his face, and he reaches out with both hands to grab onto Rude and Tseng. He then tries to drag them into some sort of awkward dance in the street, yelling out randomly and laughing, as he twirls his stoic partner and no-nonsense boss around in circles, the rain pounding onto them from above. And Rufus Shinra chuckles silently, watching the redhead's act of boundless affection, still seated in his wheelchair by their side, as the rain falls from above.

That would happen years later, though. Right now, the redhead is still as shy as can be, silently spending his time doing seemingly nothing as he watched the beetles scuttle along. And I watch with him, at the side of the playground, my makeshift sword lying forgotten behind me, on the floor of the slums where it had always belonged. It's funny, really. Who would've known that the hyperactive redhead that worked in the Turks was a silent, brooding boy just a few years before? When he'd become a Turk, he'd be full of a bizarre sort of energy, always going somewhere, or doing something, and just always moving.

"So, you got a name, kid?"

The redhead doesn't answer for a bit, content with watching the beetles at his feet. Or making me impatient, possibly a bit of both. Then he looks up with those emerald eyes, and I remember thinking that that is possibly the most genuine pair of eyes I have ever looked into.

"Yeah, 'course I got a name… You dense, yo? Name's Reno."

I blink when he speaks, not quite expecting the lazy drawl that came with it, commandeering, cocky, confident. This kid was just full of surprises. It was almost like he didn't quite add up, from the striking appearance to the quiet personality, to the cockiness in his speech. I shuffle a few centimeters to the right, just so that I'm facing him properly. It must've looked really odd, two kids squatting opposite each other in the middle of the Sector 5 slums on a summer day. I narrow my eyes slightly, the stray black lock of hair that always hung loose dangling in front of my eyes.

I continue to inspect the redhead – Reno, wasn't it? – and he meets my gaze readily, arrogant, malevolent, challenging. A slight sneer graces his lips, and I stare at the expression, so unlike the meek figure I envisioned by the side of the slums playground mere minutes ago.

And somehow, I knew that this was an interesting figure. I wanted to know more about him, where he came from, whether his hair was dyed, what was his favourite takeaway, how did he get those marks on his cheekbones?

But as always, baby steps first.

"So, Reeenooo," I say, standing up with my feet shoulder-width apart, drawing out the vowels on purpose. My arms dangle lazily by my sides, fists unclenched, as I wait for Reno to stand as well. "Up for a game of catch? I promise I'll give you a head start."

Challenge. If I'd played it out right, it would be a gesture that Reno wouldn't be able to resist. In which case, I just gotten my guaranteed ticket into spending more time with this redhead, maybe get to know him better.

The sneer became more pronounced, as Reno stood up, arms folded over his chest. It was then that I realized the scrawny boy I had seen squatting a while ago wasn't quite so scrawny after all. Sure, he was skinny as hell, but he was also taller than myself. Just a bit, but still taller. "You wish," He returned lightly, spelling apparent doom for me in the game to come.

Score, I grinned, watching as the shock of red hair turned and fled into the slums, waiting for me to chase him. Just as I had kicked off, moving swiftly towards the flea market, I watched as the redhead turned around quickly, flipping the bird at me and yelling several profanities, before ducking behind a very scandalized shopkeeper.

I grinned and gave chase.