endurance by frooit
ffvii - reno/cloud - one-shot
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This goes out to ChrisVertner.
You're fabulous, my dear, and you get a huge nod, and a hat tip (and many, many other gestures of acknowledgement), for this sucker. As many as I can give. This is for you. You mapped it out and I (insistently) did the leg work. Hope it's decent enough payment. Was originally supposed to be a clear-cut "get better soon" gift fic, but it got longer, and longer, and some of the original point was lost (cuddling and orphans!), but, its porny companion piece (because I'm a perv, and I can't help myself) should make that okay now.
Thanks again! Hope you enjoy!
Takes place sometime after Advent Children.
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"You look like shit, delivery boy."
Reno's apartment appears, smells, and is situated exactly in the rundown part of town exactly how you would expect. The entire complex looks to be just about a hop, a skip, and a jump away from being torn down.
Cloud hangs outside the doorway, blinking at the mess through the wide open door, trying to make sense of the colours and the shapes inside, and getting nowhere.
"Hello?"
Cloud drifts back to Reno's already pitying face.
"Whoa, man. You are out to lunch," he exclaims.
Reno leans forward, not giving him a warning (or leaving the doorframe), and grabs Cloud by the shoulder. He pulls him and his delivery inside with him.
"Do they not take care of you where you come from? What's-her-face doesn't have time—"
"Do you have…"
"Huh?"
"Water," Cloud whispers.
Reno perks.
"Absolutely," he confirms, and hops to it.
Cloud stands alone on the landing, the door closed at his back. There's a compact kitchen and dining room to his left, a small living room to his right. Straight ahead, down a narrow hall, are what must be bedrooms and closets, and a bathroom.
The place is dim and chaotic. There are clothes left out on the floors, left over the furniture, inches from his toes. Refuse and a random gun lie on the kitchen counter. That could also be a pair of lady's underwear on a cabinet handle. The rest is lost in the darkness.
He works his wet boots over the landing tiles. He rolls his hanging shoulders. He stifles a cough.
"Where's?" Cloud mutters.
Rude.
"He's… not here," Reno answers from deep inside the kitchen.
Cloud coughs again, longer, louder, feeling it rattle in his chest and clench in his kidneys, and then feels dizzy. When he blinks his eyes clear, the haze lifting, Reno is in front of him offering a huge glass of water complete with ice cubes.
"He's got a girlfriend… If ya can believe it," he's saying.
"Oh," Cloud breathes, accepting the glass.
Reno watches him drink.
Cloud notices, and tries not to notice, and then tries not to choke.
"You allergic to anything?"
Cloud swallows thickly.
"What?" he sputters.
"I doubt it," Reno returns, taking on a musing sort of expression. "You're tougher than you look. Always up for a fight, always willing to go further."
"Why—"
"Put those down. Come with me."
"Reno…" Cloud growls.
He puts nothing down. He stays put.
"Oh, don't worry, man. I don't hold grudges. I get even. And, uhh... Shit. Can I start over?"
Reno's scratching the back of his head, stretching long, all that red hair (that isn't caught in a messy ponytail) sticking straight up, spiky, spiny, and wild.
Cloud is losing his patience. Whatever remains of it. He just lost it. Just now. He doesn't wait for Reno to recover and make his stupid point, he doesn't really notice how his shirt is pulling up in the front, he shoves the package and half empty glass right for his chest.
Reno jumps and fumbles, but achieves them both.
"Hey," he barks.
Cloud turns to leave, spinning on his heels.
"Hey, wait a second. Just wait," Reno demands.
Against his better judgement, Cloud does. He stops. He hesitates. He waits. He doesn't face him. He doesn't offer him that much of an advantage. He drops his reaching hand away from the doorknob, from escape, from freedom—feeling about ready to drop himself—and lets him carry on.
Coming here wasn't a good idea.
"I can't let you leave like this," Reno argues. "I don't hold grudges, you know, and I don't let allies go home in the state you're in either. It's not in my nature."
"Allies?" Cloud groans.
"What if you pass out and crash your bike?"
"I've never—"
"You never know, yo. Let me give you some medication at least. Let me be a proper host."
Reno sets the glass and the package on the already cluttered kitchen counter and then turns to lead a temporarily compliant Cloud down the long, inky hall to the bathroom at the end. They stand in the small space together, lit and quiet, red and yellow, side by side.
Cloud's getting the itch to just up and leave again. It probably never left. He's also getting that itch in his throat too. It definitely never left.
He coughs to the side.
Reno pauses his rifling through the medicine cabinet to give him a sidelong glare.
"You need to take better care of yourself," he grumbles.
Cloud has nothing to add. He clears his throat and winces at the taste and difficulty of it.
He shouldn't have lifted his head so fast afterwards. He sways and slides back a step, light headed, lacking, and strikes the doorframe with his boot heels and spine.
Reno is alerted all at once.
"Hey," he utters.
Cloud tenses, still ready for a clash.
But, Reno isn't clashing, or taking advantage of his misstep, he's crowding in and pressing his hand over Cloud's clammy forehead.
"You okay?" he murmurs.
The hand is cold, delightfully so.
Cloud squashes the desire to make a depleted, needy noise. He squashes the desire to tell him no. No, no, no. He's never been okay.
He just closes his eyes and hopes he doesn't faint.
"Hot damn," Reno declares. "Thought so. You're burnin' up. And you can hardly stand."
He is very close. Very near. His body, his face, his heat. His smell. His deniable concern.
"Poor, miserable Cloud," he breathes, a waft cool on his hot face. "You look like a drowned rat."
He removes his hand and drags Cloud from the doorframe, tugging him to the sink and counter.
Cloud goes. He can't fight. He doesn't want to fight. He puts both hands on the rim to steady himself, trembling and thin.
"Here," Reno grunts.
He hands him two white pills.
"What… are they?" Cloud asks, looking down on them bounce in Reno's palm.
"Just take 'em," Reno urges, shouldering the cabinet closed with a thud. "And call me in the morning."
"What... are... they?" Cloud tries again.
Reno sighs.
He picks Cloud's hand from the brim and forces the pills into his palm. Then he's crossing his arms, cocking his head, and leaning all his weight onto one foot to dig his narrow hip into the counter's edge and staring him down, cool, cocky, moments away from another scathing comment, or another blazing smile.
He means business.
"An inflatable raft. Just add water."
Cloud's mirrored stare is unchanging. He offers no reaction. He blinks, sniffs, and rocks forward, slowly, slowly, losing more mental and physical ground.
"It's fucking medicine, man," Reno blurts, breaking cool and cocky to lean close and gesture at them. "Might make you drowsy. Always does me. You don't have to worry about that though. You're beyond drowsy. Do you want syrup instead?"
Cloud takes the pills with a splash of water from the sink and turns to exit.
He doesn't get far.
Reno has the audacity to grab him.
He gets him by the arm and then darts ahead, sliding by him and into the hall outside. They make it so far as the first step off the metal runner at the base of the bathroom door, onto carpet, unto darkness, and then Cloud's brain is clicking back on. He finally realizes what's going on.
Reno's trying to get him to a blacked out room on their right.
Cloud freezes and locks his knees, digging in his heels.
Reno lurches and comes to a standstill.
"You have to lie down," he explains from the dim doorway. "My room's right here."
Cloud can't handle this.
He doesn't understand this.
Reno tugs him onward with a single motion, too easily overpowering him in his weakened state.
They enter the dark room.
"I can't…" Cloud groans, still pulling against him.
"You can. You should. Take a load off. You could definitely use it... I'll even stay for a little and cuddle with you. If you want. Cuddling always makes me feel better when I'm sick..."
Reno releases him.
Cloud stands blind in the dark.
A soft click proceeds the lamp turning on, mellow and subdued. The bed and Reno are now illuminated before him. Cloud's not quite in the middle of the room. He's not quite trapped.
"No," he answers.
"Why?" Reno prods. "Because spooning's dirty?"
Cloud snorts and coughs.
"With you maybe."
"Oh, ouch. Come on. You'll enjoy it," Reno urges, reaching a hand out to him.
"Do you and Rude often cuddle?" Cloud retorts, gravel and venom.
Reno looks surprised only for a moment. His reply is followed by a sly smile.
"Oh, all the time."
He wiggles his long fingers at him, beckoning him on, urging, coaxing.
"No," Cloud utters.
Reno drops his arm, along with his fingers, and tilts his head.
He's handsome.
The thought leaps to Cloud's mind: sick and foggy and drained.
"No."
"Please?"
Very handsome.
More handsome than Cloud would ever admit.
"Why?" he snaps, getting annoyed.
"Because you'll feel better," Reno offers. "And because I said so. And because the last time you probably cuddled was in the womb."
Cloud needs to leave.
He's just about to turn.
He's finally going to get out of here.
"Okay, okay," Reno blurts, catching on too quickly. "No cuddling. Sorry. No cuddling. Just… come lie down. You're done, man. I'm going out soon anyway. Had plans. And, no, not the kind you're probably thinking either. Just... plans. Boring plans. You can sleep while I'm gone. You won't be bothered. It's late… It's quiet..."
"Are you… asking me to… stay over?"
Reno snaps his fingers and points at him.
"Got it. Think mommy will be okay with that?"
Cloud sneers and looks away.
He looks at their feet, over to the doorway, back to their feet.
"I'll take that as a yes," Reno responds.
What has he got to lose?
He didn't want to fight.
"No cuddling."
He lifts his head to stare Reno dead on, unblinking.
"No cuddling," Reno confirms, nodding.
Cloud steps forward.
"And I'm not sleeping over," he insists.
"Alright then."
Cloud might have hung onto some shreds of the SOLDIER outfit (the turtleneck and slacks), but he also hung them up. He dresses in straight black clothing now. Like he's at a funeral. Like he's a shadow. No more belts and sleeves draping. No more swords and harness. He's a civilian, average, normal. Except, that he still feels anything but normal…
He removes his boots and makes for the bed.
"You can't sleep in that," Reno declares.
"Reno…"
"What? Seriously? Like that's gonna be comfortable? At least take the shirt off, man."
Cloud hesitates, not long enough, and complies. He can't really dispute it. He doesn't usually sleep in a lot of clothing. And he needs to lie down. Before he drops.
He peels the black shirt over his head.
Reno has the unkempt bed turned down for him. He's standing far enough removed. He's waiting off to the side. He's being kind and honouring his space.
Cloud climbs in under the blankets and drops back. The bed smells of Reno. It's immediately overwhelming. He takes a breath and groans. His eyes blink, flutter, and close.
"Cellphone?" Reno prompts.
He's casting a shadow down over him.
Cloud submits nothing in return.
"Come on. I know you have one. You never answer it anyway. What does it matter?"
Cloud again groans, from displeasure this time, and wedges the phone from his slacks.
He leans up and sets it on the nightstand himself, bypassing Reno's hand in offering.
Cloud drops back once more.
Into Reno's smell.
Into comfort and warmth.
"Sweet dreams," Reno mumbles.
Cloud takes a breath, blinks, squints at Reno's arm clicking off the bedside lamp, tries to keep his eyes (plunged in darkness) open for just a moment longer, fails, closes them, and moans his reply, rasped and wordless.
This is crazy.
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He wakes up with a start, and doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know which era, which lie, which nightmare, which reality it could be until his eyes focus.
A dull roar. Blood rushing in his head. Muted screams. A rash of sweat and gooseflesh.
The panic dies down.
He's not lost and confused in the dark, under the stars and rain, the heavy rain, doused in blood, so much blood, not his own, not understanding, not a shred of hope anywhere, no.
He's in Reno's Edge apartment. In Reno's bed. And he's in big trouble.
How is he going to explain this one?
Next thing he knows, he's ravenous, and he's gotta piss like a racehorse, and he's in motion and delirious, untangling himself from the sheets, finding his way across the unlit room. He's stopping, he's falling, leaned against the door frame, hugging it, hanging on.
He must have slept a long time. His body is weak. He's sluggish and clumsy, and his feet are gathering pins and needles. Every step is numbing, cooling, scorching. He feels grimy, brittle. He must have sweat out most of the sickness too. He doesn't feel so feverish. He doesn't feel so awful.
Oh, does he still feel awful.
The entire apartment is dark. He steps out into the hall, after first stopping in the bathroom, and sees only the ultra-green clock display of the microwave gleaming in the distance.
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He follows the hall, a straight shot, taking it slow, hugging the wall, and comes out into the open air of the living room and dining room.
He pauses for a blink, in limbo, a dead zone, and then works ahead, padding forwards over the carpet, quiet and breathless, meeting the cold kitchen floor. Each step over the lino is muted by his socks. He moves noiselessly.
Unfiltered light bolts on as he opens the fridge. His eyes sting and snap shut.
He's not there for more than five seconds when a warm body slides in around him from behind.
Cloud goes rigid, the hot flush and goosebumps returning with a stinging vengeance. His sickness rears up, clouding his head, flooding his sinuses. Every muscle hurts. Every bone.
"Oh, hello," Reno purrs. "How you feelin'?"
Closeness, nearness, neediness. The hint of bare flesh. Cloud is shirtless and caught in the heat of the pressing in body at his back. He's caught in the chill of the fridge at his front.
Reno coils in, tightly squeezing, feeling, all palms and fingers, and hot, hot breath in his ear.
Cloud shrugs his shoulders and tries to shake him.
"Get off me," he demands, grating it out.
"Hey, okay," Reno grunts, removing himself without much fuss.
Cloud is breathing deeply, ready to defend himself. His fists are formed and raised.
"Relax. Just checking your temperature," Reno explains.
When Cloud finally centers, he finds Reno's smile is soft, easy, digging. He looks disheveled and dented, and fresh from bed himself. His button down his undone, open and crumpled. His black slacks are the same story.
He must have slept on the couch.
"You're still hot," Reno observes.
Cloud's empty stomach flops. He shivers a cold sweat. He rubs his arms. His head hurts.
"You slept forever, man," Reno notes. "I can see you're hungry. I'll make you somethin', yo. Even if, you know... we didn't sleep together."
Cloud chooses the safety of silence, while Reno gets to doing just what he said.
He edges Cloud aside and leans down to check the fridge.
"You know, I always found you to be…" he's muttering.
Time drags on forever when you're sick.
In the stark, over-bright light of the fridge, in profile… It's so sappy, but Reno is so very lovely. It's hard to miss. Somehow Cloud hadn't noticed it all before. He's having to notice it all now. All at once. Glaring and intense and thrumming. He never looked for long enough. He was always walking out the door, or sliding by, or giving him a reason to hate him right back.
He never noticed Reno had such a well-shaped mouth, so easy to watch. He never got the chance to see how keen and all-seeing his eyes were, and that they're a crystal sort of turquoise. His features are unique, interesting: sharp and soft in the same instance. Two curious tattoos mar the lower outside corners of his eyes, like accents, punctuation, extensions of his mane.
Cloud finds he wants to know what they might feel like.
Is it smooth? Or slightly raised?
"... really fucking hot, yo."
"What?"
Honestly, Cloud hadn't been listening. He was in his mind. He was watching Reno's cheekbones, mouth, and jaw work. He was meandering down his throat cords, to the very start of his prominent clavicle hidden not very well under an open button down shirt, just a shifting whisper, a tease.
Cloud had been staring.
"You're fucking hot," Reno summarizes.
"Oh."
Reno scoffs.
"Oh?" he repeats.
"You want me to be surprised?" Cloud mumbles.
"I was expecting some sort of reaction…"
"You had me deliver a package to you... late at night... because you wanted to get me here."
"Correct."
"So you could… tell me... I'm hot?"
Reno shrugs, running his hands through his mess of red hair, loosed and long.
"More or less. I figure… I've got a lot to make up for, right? I'm starting there."
"Yeah, sure…"
Cloud drops his chin and looks to the floor, noting the cracks and the texture. He threads his fingers together. He works them, clenches them. His stomach growls.
"You like eggs?" Reno asks, changing the subject. "I've been told I make killer eggs."
"Sure..." Cloud drones.
"Sit," Reno orders, pointing to a nearby stool pulled up to the nearby bar countertop.
Cloud obeys.
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Reno does make killer eggs.
He makes him a plateful in silence, his shirt sleeves rolled high, his back turned.
Cloud eats all he's given in that same silence.
Reno remains in the kitchen, on the other side of the counter. At a safe distance. Not a threat. He watches him eat. He doesn't speak. He leans on the counter. He paces. He checks his phone. He looks nervous. He looks cool. He ruffles his hair. Fidgets. Hums.
Cloud finally pushes the plate away, lining it up with his empty water glass.
"Good?" Reno inquires.
Cloud nods.
Except, everything's not good.
The package he brought the night before has been calling out to him. It sat there, off to his right, quiet and innocuous, the entire time he stuffed his face. It hasn't been opened. It hasn't been moved since yesterday. It could just be a dummy. It could be empty.
It didn't feel empty.
He stares at it.
Reno notices.
They're both looking at it now.
"Would you be upset to know it's a sex toy?" Reno muses.
He doesn't wait for a reply. He gives him every reason to worry more.
Reno yawns and stretches his arms long over his head, bending and bowing, groaning at the resulting release and tingle, and loud pop. The motion shows off his mostly naked chest in all its half glory, whether he means it or not.
"Wouldn't expect anything less…" Cloud murmurs, his teeth setting solid.
He's grateful he's safe behind the counter.
"Actually…" Reno groans, slinking back up to him, "I had Rude do it for me. He's good with that stuff… You wanna do the honours?"
Cloud stares.
He stares on as Reno slides the package over to park it in front of him.
"It's cool. And safe. Probably. Give it a shot."
The object in question is wrapped in brown parchment paper. It's small, about the size of a book.
Reno hasn't swayed an inch, and he says no more. He's waiting for him to make his move.
Cloud slowly comes to it, shifting the package closer. He starts on the closest edge, tearing and shredding the thin outer layer, enjoying the sound, the feeling, the process.
He can't remember the last time he did this.
This: opened mail, listened to an order, hoped to be surprised.
Unsurprisingly, after the paper is discarded, he is left with a plain white box. He picks at its taped corners, wasting no time, and gets inside. Another box is contained within. It's flatter, smaller, just as plain, and deposits a card into his waiting hand once tried.
Printed on this simple white card, in simple black font, are the few simple words:
wanna go on a date?
Cloud doesn't know how to take it.
"What is this?" he asks, looking up to Reno.
He turns the card this way and that, and then drops it back inside the box.
He drops the whole thing back onto the counter.
"Didn't know you were sick," Reno starts. "No one tells me shit, yo. Kinda bad timing. Kinda serendipitous too. Sorry. I tried to call. Girlfriend didn't even mention anything to me…"
A pause. A foot tap on the lino floor. He's leaned half his body over the countertop.
"So?" Reno presses, tousled, half naked, sleeves rolled, a smile threatening.
"What?" Cloud snaps.
"You wanna? When you feel up to it, obviously."
"Huh?"
"Go on a date," Reno stresses.
"You're serious."
Reno nods.
"As a heart attack."
"Oh, shit," Cloud breathes.
"See, that's a better reaction."
Reno's smile blooms. He straightens up. He's got his arms back over his head.
Cloud scowls.
"No, no, no," Reno rambles, the smile quickly dying, the pose dropping. He waves his hands, dismissive, denying. "I'm serious, man."
"Why?"
"I told you already. If you'd been—"
"This isn't… a joke?" Cloud asks.
"Did you get picked on a lot as a kid?" Reno snorts.
Cloud turns aside to cough. His expression does not soften.
Reno crosses his arms.
"Oh, shit. Really? It was just a guess, man… It because you're so pretty?"
"I'm not pretty," Cloud objects.
"Well, that just proves it right there," Reno mutters. "You're blind if you don't think you're pretty. You shame all the girls I've ever been with, and especially Rude's. Shit. Deal with it. You're pretty. You're more than pretty. You're fine as hell."
"Yeah, sure…"
"I told you. I'm serious. I'm serious about this. I'm serious about making shit better. We've been through some shit. You and I. We've seen some shit. The same shit. We're on common ground here. We can relate, yo. I'm all for doing right and making amends. Why do you think I let you go all those times?"
Cloud stares at him.
Reno says making better and making amends, and he's serious, all the while skirting around that one word, that one name, like Cloud really doesn't know he's still working for Shinra.
Cloud's getting mad again. Really mad. He's feeling it rush over him: a cascade, a down pour, a coursing swell. He's mad he came here. He's mad he thought he was handsome. He's mad he listened to him for this long.
He gets a flash of home, of hope, of death, of familiar faces, of Denzel's face, of metal buckling, of dust and fire, the whir of helicopter rotors, and then he says it. Out it comes. With all the trimmings.
"Murderer."
Reno stops in his tracks.
"That's harsh."
"That's not what you are?" Cloud growls, that acrid feeling building, growing, spoiling. "You didn't sacrifice thousands of lives just to kill us? In Midgar. You didn't drop a pl—"
"Stop," Reno mutters.
His voice is shredded.
"Stop right there," he grits.
And it's not getting any better.
"That was the job," he insists. "It was always… the job."
"You—"
"I'm trying to do my best here. After. After all that. Just like you. I know what I did. So, shit. I'd appreciate a little understanding here. I'd appreciate it even more… if you never fucking brought that up again. Ever." He pauses. It takes only a beat. "Murderer? What the fuck does that make you, hero? Immaculate? Unstained?"
"No different."
"Is that why you go around wearing black all the time? Like you're at a funeral? Can't get girlfriend to dress you? You're just so fucking sad. Just so fucking sensitive and wounded."
"I really got you mad, didn't I?"
"You called me a fucking murderer."
"You're acting like nothing happened."
"Bullshit. You're acting like a baby."
"A baby?"
Reno laughs at him. He tips right over the counter to do it right in his face.
"Holy shit. Your expression," he gasps.
Cloud fumes openly, too tired to put up a wall.
"You're so fucking childish," he groans, sniffing and clearing his throat.
"A childish child murderer," Reno chimes.
Cloud abruptly stands.
The stool wobbles but remains.
"Hey," Reno mutters. "It was a joke."
"It's not a joke."
"I know… I get it. I'm sor—"
"Don't. You don't get it. Don't say it to me. Say it to... everyone you killed that day. All those families."
Reno struggles for calm.
He actually looks worried.
"Cut it out. Fuck," he hisses, all that former pleasure and positivity gone. "I got it. Loud and clear. Gimme a palate cleanser or something. Just stop. Please. I succeed. I succeed."
Cloud's clenched fists relax.
"It's not me you should be angry with anyway," Reno argues. "It's… them. It was them."
"I'm sorry."
Cloud loses all his righteous fire. He hangs his head, snuffed out.
"Oh, what? Now you're sorry?" Reno growls.
"I'm just… tired and sick… and in your apartment. I'm..."
"Yeah. I was gonna say…" Reno breathes. "Enjoy the reality, yo. We're two former rivals sitting peacefully, having a civilized conversation. How often does that happen?"
"Civilized?"
"Yeah, civilized. I made you breakfast. Or, well… dinner. By now. I also doped you up. And put you to bed. In my bed. My poor, defenseless bed."
"Because you think I'm hot. And you're guilty."
"Yes, and yes, and also because I'm not just a goon. I'm an alright guy."
Cloud lifts his head.
Reno winks.
Cloud sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
What is he still doing here?
"Where would we go on our date?" he asks him.
He's giving in.
He's too tired and sick not to.
He thuds back to his seat.
Reno's eyebrows jump. He's rocking over the countertop again, coming closer. Too much closer.
Cloud leans away.
"Where would you want to go?" Reno asks.
Cloud's back to scowling so soon.
"You haven't planned this out?"
"Hey!" Reno barks, swinging up and away. "I didn't think you'd give me the time of day. You thought I thought I'd get this far? I was ready for you to blow me off yesterday. Figured I'd have plenty of time to get my ducks in a row when I tried the second time around. A few days later. I'm glad you're sick. Sure made my life easier."
"You're glad?"
Cloud's suspicious tone is not well hidden.
"Well, yeah. I'm sure you've been easier this way. More… open-minded? And you slept in my bed, man. It smells like you now."
Cloud might be blushing.
That might also stimulate anger.
"That's why you—"
"You think there's an angle. That's the problem here. There's no angle, Cloud."
He enjoys how he says his name.
Far too much.
That angry flush deepens. His ears, neck, and throat burn. His teeth clench.
"It's just you and me," Reno details. "Just me wanting you. And you can't figure out why. And that's killing you, isn't it? Cloud doesn't understand kindness? Cloud understands pain and blood and tears, but not kindness and love? That's sad, man. At least that's better than what you could have been. You have personality. Even if it's grumpy. You're not some vanilla good guy. I can't stand that shit… I'm so fucking glad you're you."
Even if it's a borrowed personality?
Even if it's his version of vanilla good guy?
Cloud doesn't say it, but he doesn't help himself either. He can't help himself.
He never did.
He won't now.
"Why?" he mutters.
"Because I dig you."
Cloud slumps forward and looks down at his lap.
"Love…"
He doesn't think about it. Old times. Old memories. He doesn't. Doesn't. Doesn't.
He cringes and clamps his eyes shut.
"Yeah, love," Reno adds.
Cloud tries to stay grounded.
He's spiraling down.
And Reno only carries on.
"Yeah. You know? Love? A feeling you get? It's a verb. A verb is a doing word…"
"I know what love is," Cloud snaps.
He did anyway.
"You love girlfriend?" Reno prods.
Cloud shakes his airy head and opens his blurring eyes.
"Yes… but, Tifa's… an old friend."
Reno remains silent long enough to maybe hint that he knows more. He might know. He could know. He would know. If Cloud brought up his name, right now, Reno should recognize it.
He probably met him. He definitely met him. Everyone met him.
Once.
"You've got a lot of demons…" Reno notes, shaking his head, tsk-tsk.
"Too many still hanging around…"
He looks pointedly at Reno.
Reno shrugs.
"You gonna stay another night then?"
"What?" Cloud blurts.
"I figured you'd be outta here by now."
Cloud is feeling very naked all of a sudden. He's shirtless, shoeless, senseless, and sitting in Reno's kitchen, at Reno's kitchen counter, having just slept in Reno's bed, and eaten Reno's scrambled eggs, prepared by Reno's hands...
"You want me to leave?" he asks.
"Fuck no," Reno exclaims.
But, he also hesitates. He has something more to say. He just doesn't seem to know how to say it. He stuffs his hands in his back pockets.
Cloud gets the warning signs.
"I should go."
He hops to it and again stands.
"Whoa. Wait," Reno calls out, hands appearing in supplication. "Wait, wait. Are we or aren't we?"
They're still separated by the counter. Reno can't come any closer. Not without going around. Not without jumping over. He looks like he wants to. He looks like he would. He'd slap his palms down and bound over.
"What?" Cloud growls, exasperated.
"A date?" Reno ventures.
Cloud gazes at him.
He sees nothing but hope.
Ugly, nasty hope.
He knew that feeling once.
"Fine," he remarks.
.
.
.
He has seven missed calls and one voicemail.
He doesn't bother listening. He gets on his bike and goes. He goes home.
Home. The bar.
She's waiting when he gets in. It's late. He slept all night and all day at Reno's. He was so hoping to slink by unnoticed, at least for a few hours. He wanted to clear his head first, and not put his foot in his mouth.
"Are you alright?" she's already asking him.
He drifts over to sit at the bar.
She's already standing behind it, of course. Already playing bartender.
He doesn't say a word. He doesn't lift his head. He sniffs and clears his dry throat.
"Can we talk about the elephant in the room?"
He actually turns to look behind him, as if an elephant would really be in there with them.
"What?" he murmurs.
"You sleeping over at Reno's when you're sick? You said you'd be right back. It would be a quick job. Did… something happen?"
"Oh, yeah. Right. No."
"Cloud…"
Oh, that mothering tone.
Cloud groans. He rolls his head on his sore neck. His skull is starting to throb.
"He's taking me on a date tomorrow tonight."
"He's taking you on a date?" she squawks.
"Yeah."
"A real date?"
"Yeah."
"Reno is?"
"Yeah…"
"You really said yes?"
"Yeah."
"Wow."
Cloud finally looks up, expression guarded.
He's expecting pain at his expense.
He's expecting her to bring it up. Him. That. Something. Anything.
"Way to go, Cloud."
She's making it light and harmless.
"He called earlier. He's pretty cute."
Cloud drops his gaze back to the bar top.
This is almost worse.
"I'm excited for you. Have fun. You need to, you know. You need to take better care of yourself. You do nothing but work. And then you sulk. You're still sulking, Cloud. Even now. Go out and forget everything for a while, okay?"
Cloud says nothing for a long time.
"We'll be here when you get back," she adds.
Cloud nods, knowing it quite well.
"What are you gonna wear?"
Cloud drops his shoulders and narrows his eyes.
She won't leave well enough alone.
She never has.
"You know… You look good in a dress…" she says, and abruptly laughs. "Could you imagine his face if you showed up in a dress? And heels? And full makeup? Oh my goodness…"
"Tifa… you're not helping."
"Sorry. Really."
A long pause.
Conversation with Cloud is a collection of long pauses; long pauses and distant stares and no resolution and simmering annoyance.
Tifa decides to work about behind the bar, busying herself as she waits for participation.
Cloud coughs and winces.
He sniffs and stews.
He slowly smiles.
"That would be something…" he mumbles.
Tifa drifts back to smile with him.
"Right? I bet you he'd like it. Oh, would he like it. I happen to have a dress too… It's blue. And slinky. And I might still have stockings..."
Back to silence.
Tifa stands there for some time, hoping for a quick answer. She twists the bar rag in her hands. She doesn't sigh, or look mad. She is more patient than she has any right to be.
Cloud is struggling meanwhile. He's still sick. He's still faded. He's caught in his dreamy head. He's trapped in the image of Reno's hands running up his shivering sides. His hands gliding up, up and back, and then lifting under, bunching, raising the dress. Hands pressing and finding bare flesh. Hands sliding warmed fabric higher and higher, over knees, over thighs, over hips.
He shivers.
"Have you guys… you know…"
She gestures with the rag.
"It's a date, Tifa."
She smiles to herself.
"Might get lucky if you're wearing a dress..."
Cloud shrugs, sighs, and finally pushes himself up and back from the bar top.
"Don't really think I'll have any problems with that…"
He leaves her so he can sulk in peace.
"See you later," she calls after him.
"Night," he grumbles back.
He mounts the stairs to the second floor, and his room.
"Get some more rest," she adds.
He doesn't reply.
.
.
.
He knocks on Reno's door several hours later.
He raps the hard surface with his bare knuckles three times, and he waits, thinking all the while about turning and leaving. He waits and debates in much the same way he did the day before.
Rude comes to the door.
Cloud balks. His faces flushes.
"Is…" he starts.
His throat closes up.
He winces and coughs into his hand.
Rude just stares at him.
"Is… Reno here?" Cloud manages.
Rude stands, eyes negated and unreadable behind his black glasses.
Cloud looks aside, maybe even ashamed, maybe even angry. He resets his footing.
Rude closes the door.
Cloud shrugs and stifles another cough.
Moments later, Reno opens the door smiling.
He's dressed sharp. It's customary for him, the black suit. He wears it well. His white shirt is buttoned all the way up to his slender throat. His black jacket is closed around his thin waist. His wild red hair is slicked back and contained. He looks primped and pressed. He looks neat. Too neat.
He's making an effort.
Cloud's flush remains, teetering between unbearable and excruciating.
"Yo," Reno murmurs, that smile somehow getting wider.
Cloud frowns on reflex.
"Kinda surprised you showed up," Reno notes.
"I keep promises," Cloud returns.
"Good to know," Reno answers, closing the apartment door behind him.
He steps by Cloud, sliding near: a rush of air and motion and fabric.
He even smells neat.
He's making to leave, and Cloud watches him go. For a long moment, a hazy moment, he doesn't do anything. He lets him go. He shuts off and clings to his easy reservations. He lets Reno get several steps away. He convinces himself he's not here for him at all. This is a misunderstanding.
Reno eventually stops to regard him from over his shoulder, steps down the corridor.
"Got somewhere in mind. And we're walking. Is that okay? It's not far."
Cloud swallows down his racing thoughts.
He's come this far.
He should go the distance.
.
.
.
They get to street level after taking the stairs and hit the alley channeling alongside the large apartment building. It's the very same alley Cloud has been using to park the Fenrir. As they start to make their way to wherever the date begins, Reno out front, Cloud trailing behind, they pass by the motorcycle tucked beside a giant commercial dumpster.
"Nice bike," Reno mutters. "It'll be safe there. Probably."
"It better be," Cloud grumbles, pulling his open jacket tight.
He's glad he came in his warm clothes.
Reno scoffs and glances back to him.
"You ride that in the rain?"
"Yeah."
Reno nods.
"Ever done it on a bike?"
"Huh?"
"Done it. On a bike. Your bike. Ever fucked anybody on your bike?"
"Oh… uh. No," Cloud answers, watching his feet.
"I guess I have to be literal with you, huh?"
"Sorry, just…"
"You apologize more than I thought you would."
"I've done it twice."
"Two times more than I was expecting."
"I'm just… sick."
"I know, dear. It's adorable. And pathetic. Don't sweat it. I'll try to go easy on you."
Reno has stopped to wait for him. His legs aren't much longer, but he's healthy and he's whole. He waits, bouncing his foot, patting his thigh. He's healthy, handsome, wide awake, and he might be nervous too. He's itching to get on.
They join and walk together, side by side.
Reno governs his pace.
The alley is long, straight and true. People move by them, here and there, when and where they move by them. Voices rise and fall. The way is narrow. Their shoulders and wrists brush: meeting, deflecting, rubbing.
The night is young.
"I guess I shouldn't ask about your childhood," Reno mutters.
The asphalt is wet. It's been sprinkling.
"I don't really know that much about you," he adds.
If Cloud had to guess, Shinra probably has a pretty big dossier on him. If he wanted to, Reno could learn all he ever wanted in a few seconds.
"I try to make my own conclusions about people."
"My childhood was… a childhood," Cloud answers.
He tries to dispel the thought: of Shinra, of his childhood, of Reno lying.
"Informative," Reno snorts.
"What was yours like?" Cloud asks, sniffing.
"I can't remember."
"What?"
"I honestly can't remember," Reno admits.
"Informative," Cloud repeats, coughing afterwards.
Reno laughs.
The sound is full and pleasant.
"Yup. Just look at the two of us chatting away… busting down those walls…"
Cloud hums, liquid and sick, and hopes it's not much farther.
He's already getting cold, even as he's simmering with old fever.
"Is he going to be there… when we… get back?"
He shivers. His teeth click.
"Rude? No. Oh, no way. I already told him to clear out. Just to be safe. He wouldn't be there anyway. He's occupied remember. It'll be cool, man."
There's a minor pause.
They speak almost at the same time.
"I think he's gonna move out soon…"
"You told him we were going—"
Followed by another minor pause.
"Rude's a good guy," Reno assures.
"How long have you guys lived together?"
"Oh, shit. Too long." Reno snorts and smiles. "They grow up so fast, don't they?"
Cloud goes back to watching his feet.
Several silent steps later, they come to a stop.
"This is it," Reno announces.
Strands of green, red and orange lights confuse the building's tall, hanging, and ugly edifice. It's a slab of a thing, but it's lit well. And easy to spot. Giant spherical bulbs flash in many porthole-sized windows. Neon signs depicting beer bottles and cigarette brands hum, blink, and pulse in every one.
This is their destination.
"What do you think?" Reno asks.
It's a dive bar.
Cloud blinks.
"I live in a bar," he reminds.
Reno shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets.
"Yeah, sorry. It's just… I come here a lot…"
Cloud stares at the distant door.
It's solid crimson.
"You don't drink, do you?" Reno inquires.
"No."
"Would you? With me? Tonight? I know you're sick and all, but… It'll probably warm you up. They do like, food… and other shit too. Or whatever. I think."
"I… Yeah. Okay," Cloud mumbles.
He looks away from the red door.
And right to a smiling red Reno, who rocks towards him on his heels.
"Yeah?" he presses.
"I guess," Cloud replies.
.
.
.
The bar is dead inside.
Music plays, muted and flat, sounding far away: underground, upstairs, behind a wall. The smell of old smoke and sweat drifts. It's dim, it's humid, compact and cramped. The floor sticks and peels under their slick soles.
The bartender eyes them as they enter.
"Yo," he calls to Reno.
Reno gestures a greeting.
Cloud looks on.
They're waiting on the landing.
"Bar or booth?" Reno asks him.
Cloud has to consider this.
A booth would be private, but he'd be safer at the bar.
Cloud drifts there, each step deliberate, and takes a seat on a stool.
Reno unfastens his jacket as he slides in next to him on his left. He settles, rotates at the middle, and turns to face him.
"What do you want?" he asks. "I'm having a beer. To start with. You can work your way up. If you want. Baby steps. I'll lead you into it. How does that sound?"
"Fine."
"You hungry?"
"No."
They sit quietly for the first beer.
Reno lets him enjoy the novelty of his situation. He doesn't talk. He doesn't joke or prod or eyeball. He proves he can handle the silence, and deal out his own.
They sip and sit and have the place to themselves. They relish the moment, the weight, the possibility. It's a good twenty minutes of dead air. Maybe longer.
It's a good start.
By the next round, Cloud's definitely feeling something.
He was already warm, but this is a different warm. This is a belly warm.
Reno is looking more and more delighted. He's fidgeting, flushed, and grinning. He is looking more and more handsome.
Cloud stares and tries not to. He's feeling more and more giddy, helpless, careless.
Before long, the silence is broken.
"You're not pretty, you know," Reno mumbles.
"What?"
"You're beautiful."
Cloud laughs at that.
He can't catch it. And he doesn't want to.
"What was that?" Reno marvels.
"What?"
"Did you just laugh?"
"Maybe."
"Oh, I want to hear it again... You ticklish?"
"I dunno."
Reno slants right and pokes his ribs.
Cloud flinches and groans in annoyance.
"I might have to look into that later," Reno purrs.
Cloud socks Reno's shoulder.
"Ow," he whines.
"Get me another drink."
"Right away," Reno chimes.
This is so crazy.
.
.
.
He's drunk by now.
He's finished three beers on an empty stomach. He's swaying back and forth. He's leaning nearer to Reno, wanting his thoughts, wanting his hope, and friction, and pressure, and sensation. He's nearly smiling. He's nearly listening. He's blinking at everything shifting and smearing in front of him.
Everything except for Reno.
Reno is static, constant. He is almost clear. He has his jacket off, his collar open, and his sleeves rolled up to his biceps. He is relaxed, and speaks of nothing in particular. Yet he demands attention.
Drunk now, and sick. What a combination. Cloud's high in the clouds. He's vapor. He's chaos and calm. He's confused and clear. He's ready (and wanting) and waiting for what might come next: love, despair, pain, pleasure, a knife to the gut. Let it come. He's ready. He's breathless. He's drinking in a bar with Reno the Turk.
"So... you deliver packages, huh?" he asks.
"Yeah," Cloud answers, staring down his latest bottle to stay away from staring at him.
"Keeps you busy?"
"Yeah."
Reno shifts in his seat and over the top of the stool, rolling his hips forward to the edge. His back curves, cracking, sending a thrill up Cloud's side.
Reno's legs are spread, casual, probably on purpose. His knee is a constant connection. Subtle. Distracting. Immense. Badly ignored.
"You ever get... bored?"
"What do you mean?" Cloud drones.
"You miss… the adventure?"
"I..."
Reno twists to face him fully, propping his left elbow onto the counter as a brace for the rest of his body. He is languid, lazy, mesmerizing, and very aware of it.
"Oh, come on. You don't miss it?"
"I don't…" Cloud mutters.
"You don't miss... being the hero?"
Cloud bunches his shoulders.
"You think that was fun?" he grumbles.
"It was definitely exciting," Reno offers.
"I've been fine… delivering packages."
"Real fine. Miserable, bored, and sick."
"Shut up."
"Pressing buttons again, sorry."
He corrects himself, pulling that connection, and his prodding knee. He sits proper, upright, militant. It's not an improvement.
"It… doesn't really take much…" Cloud admits.
"I've noticed. But, that's cool, man."
Cloud glances over for a peek. He hasn't dared make contact for long.
"Should I… even ask you what you've been doing? Do I want to know?"
"You can ask, yeah…" Reno says.
"But you won't tell me?"
Reno smiles.
"Why? Why even work for them?" Cloud pries.
"It's a job," Reno reminds.
"You could have any job."
"That's… easier said than done."
"You just don't want to… change. You don't want to have to do anything. You're comfortable… and lazy."
Reno shrugs in profile on Cloud's periphery.
"Yeah, I guess that's part of it… It's also because I know and like everyone there. Well, most everyone. There are a lot of new faces now… but, it's…"
He quiets down.
"You're tricking me," he accuses.
"What?"
"I didn't… wanna talk about it," Reno expresses.
Cloud sobers some. He goes distant.
Reno does the same.
But, it doesn't take.
"Oh, come on. Let's not do this. Let's not go quiet… Let's have a fun conversation."
He scratches his head, slides his fingers through hair slipped free of its slicked back confines, and sighs. The hair falls in strands over his flushed and tattooed cheekbones; over his ears and temples.
He's destroying Cloud bit by bit.
"What do you like doing?" he asks. "Besides moping?"
Cloud sneers.
He shrugs over himself.
"I like to ride… I ride my motorcycle."
"Okay. That's something."
Cloud takes a sip of his beer.
"I'll give you a ride sometime," he offers.
"Oh?" Reno exclaims.
"If you ask properly."
Reno grins, canting over, pressing just his face into Cloud's bubble.
"Please, oh please, will you please give me a ride on your totally cool bike, daddy?"
"Don't call me that."
"Oh, more buttons…"
"You—"
"How are you not a rambling idiot, man? You're still puttin' up a fight? How much is this gonna take? You're supposed to relax. I'm not made of money, you know."
"Sorry…"
"Fuck. Shut your mouth. I'm enjoying myself."
Reno slicks his hair back once more. He works on his drink.
"I am too," Cloud breathes.
"Shit. Could have fooled me."
Cloud has no reply. He starts picking at the wet label on his bottle.
"Oh. Fuck. I'm terrible at this," Reno agonizes.
"It's fine…" Cloud groans.
"I'm outta practice."
Cloud scoffs into a sneeze.
Reno follows it up with a scoff of his own.
More beer is consumed.
More time passes.
"So… do you... like guys exclusively… or?"
"I… never thought about it," Cloud sniffs.
"Do you fantasize about anything? Like, being with a certain person… or persons... in a certain way?"
Cloud is unsteady, hesitant.
It doesn't show.
"No."
"You're lying."
Cloud rocks up and back.
"How would you know?"
"You're an open book."
Cloud scowls, gripping his warming bottle.
"But that might just be me liking to read you…"
"Do you have fantasies?" Cloud jabs.
"Oh, boy. Shouldn't have gone there…"
Cloud waits, expecting the worst.
Reno pauses. He makes a face: something sour, something grotesque. He doesn't look at him. He inspects his own bottle.
"I want to grow old with someone important to me."
Cloud wasn't expecting that.
It still doesn't change his answer.
"I'm lying and... you're giving me bullshit," he says. "You and… your bullshit. Shinra bullshit."
He hiccups. He tastes alcohol and acid. He's mad again. He doesn't give a damn.
"It's honest bullshit," Reno contests.
Cloud finishes his beer, just a sip.
"I don't have any fantasies," he grits.
"That's a shame... You should start."
Reno lets him have his lie.
They break for a beat.
The air resettles, rests, flutters, and flows.
"What's the craziest thing you've ever done?" Reno eventually tries, nudging his ribs.
Cloud blinks at him.
"I…" he gapes.
He hardly hesitates.
"I dressed up in women's clothing once to seduce someone. To help a friend."
"Oh, what?" Reno squawks, reeling back.
"What's the craziest thing you've done?" Cloud counters, half present, eager to move on.
"I dunno… I once thought flying a helicopter under a freeway overpass was a good idea. But that's just what I can think of off the top of my head... Let's talk more about this cross-dressing thing." Reno licks his lips. "It was a dress?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, fuck."
Reno takes a swallow of his fifth beer.
Or is it sixth?
"You admit it so easily too."
"It doesn't bother me."
"Fuck."
Cloud would be lying again if he said he wasn't enjoying this.
"Wore perfume too," he murmurs. "And lipstick."
"Fucking fuck," Reno swears, clenching a fist at him. "With your frame… and your… I'm done."
Reno slugs down the rest of his beer.
Gulp, gulp, gulp and a final crash as the bottle strikes the glossy and gouged counter.
The other empties all clank in harmony.
"We should go, before I can't walk straight," he gasps. "You good? You ready?"
He stands, belches, and adjusts the crotch of his slacks one-handed. His too-tight slacks. His protruding slacks. His straining slacks.
Cloud can't miss it.
He stares, drunk, and sick, and gone.
He thinks he nods.
"Come on," Reno urges, but he waits, staying his distance, his hands, his desires.
It doesn't last long.
He doesn't allow Cloud the opportunity to humour him and stand on his own. He comes in, seconds in, nice and close, and eliminates their distance, warming the whole side of Cloud's body with his solid presence, his bone and muscle.
He's sliding his palm flat along Cloud's spine, having arrived so swiftly and lightly that Cloud has no time to jump. He arrives midway, already accepted, now assimilating, smoothing to waist and hip. He finds a grip, personal and pointed, his arm crossed at Cloud's back, and sidles closer still, squeezing and containing, bringing his face to Cloud's face, lined up, opposing yet matching. Jawline and cologne. Flesh and heat. The gesture is completed in a breath, his claim made.
Cloud's heart pounds.
"I'm takin' you home," Reno whispers into his ear, a gust and rush.
All for him.
Every hair on Cloud's nape prickles in rejoice.
Tifa was right about the dress.
.
.
.
They spill out into the wet alley.
Cloud is leaning, swaying, hot under the collar. He's almost happy and light. Or is it floating? Or is it incredibly stupid? Or is it something worse? He almost staggers off to the left and into a chained bicycle.
Reno grabs his arm, at first steadying, and then dragging. He yanks him sideways into a passageway off to the side of the dive bar.
It's even darker and narrower than the lane they came down. It's hardly big enough for the two of them to fit in. They're already bumping knees and noses.
"Don't care if I get sick at this point," Reno gusts.
He's bearing himself down into Cloud, heavy, heaving. He shivers and steps his knee up between Cloud's legs, spreading, widening, propping him there.
Here comes the friction, a flood of it, from both sides, fumbling and frenzied.
Cloud finds Reno's knee, and Reno finds his hipbone. They both exclaim, all hot breath and limbs and lidded eyes. Reno's twisted and panting face is the first clear image Cloud is presented with, and then Reno's eclipsing it, and consuming him.
Cloud isn't shocked, but he is overwhelmed. It's sudden impact, messy and wet. Reno gasps and pries, tongue prodding, licking, and Cloud opens to him. Sudden hot and fluid forms unfold. Moments without measure. Moments that taste of alcohol. Moments that take him far away.
He thinks he wants to stop it. He thinks this is all crazy. He thinks he should stop it, but he doesn't. He won't stop. He knows it's crazy. He knows he doesn't really want it to end. He wants this. He wants more. All of it. All of him.
He starts kissing him back. He starts moaning and writhing, clawing and grabbing, sucking and lapping. He tastes him. All of him. Their teeth crash and click. Their bodies compress, coil, meld. Fingers find damp hair. Air is hard to come by.
Reno shoves Cloud hard into the wet wall behind. He grinds his hips, and spine, and his shoulders to ribbons. He rolls and he pushes.
Cloud squirms and accommodates. He rises into him. He claws. He rocks his hips. He shudders and quakes, weak and withered.
Reno releases his mouth to pant and fumble over him. He moves his hands to Cloud's narrow core. He grips and drags him forward, rubbing into him, back and down. He moans into his face. He sets a pace.
Cloud grabs on and throws a leg high on Reno's middle for leverage, for unabashed friction. He claws his spine and shoulders, anchoring, swept away. Moaning, groaning, wheezing. Only needing the feeling. Only knowing the objective.
Reno rumbles deep in his throat and chest. He levers Cloud up, hoisted half by his ass and the backs of his thighs. Both legs are brought off the ground to wrap around him. He grinds Cloud high up into the wall. He sucks on his exposed throat. He crushes him, craning and vibrating. He grinds into his ass. He makes Cloud's pitiful moans echo into the tight space, the night, the ether.
Their erections roll and parry, caught behind up to four layers of fabric. Reno's excited evidence is rock solid, unforgiving, prodding, promising.
Cloud works into it. He wants it. He wants to howl at the moon. He wants to be as full and longing as the moon. He rasps and whines. He squeezes his legs tight around him, clamping, confirming.
He isn't above begging.
A rush of breath.
The absence of teeth and tongue.
"Oh, we gotta go," Reno moans.
Cloud hums back, glazed, mouth hanging wide, eyes cracked a sliver, beyond conversation. His back is aching, his head is light, his slacks are too tight. He's pouring sweat. He wants more. Nothing more than more.
"I'm not… doing this… in an alley," Reno insists.
He ducks and sucks at Cloud's lower lip.
Cloud moans and lifts into him.
Reno nips him and rocks back, hips forward, eliciting cruel and destructive friction in cruel and destructive strokes, subtle, slithering, never sating.
"As much as I want to…"
He's containing himself long enough to argue.
He leaves Cloud hanging, panting, needing, and spread.
"Fuck. Come on. Let's get back."
Cloud groans, breathless, "Why not—"
"Listen," Reno counters, giving him only his words and his warm body to hang against. "I can literally do it anywhere. I've done it everywhere. I'll tear you apart right here. But I want you to enjoy it. You're sick. You're drunk. You're gonna do as I say, yo. And I'm gonna do this properly. As properly as I still can."
Cloud rolls his eyes.
"How do you feel about bareback?"
"What?" Cloud gusts.
"Nevermind. Come on."
.
.
.
Late afternoon finds him slinking back into the bar.
He's almost sure he's home free (he's going to make it, he'll get to safety), as he's already cleared the back doorway, and most of the bar floor, and just about to head up the stairs—Tifa and the kids might be in the kitchen, or the storeroom, or out, or wherever they are when he's not here—but, he's never that lucky.
"You're back."
Cloud jumps, despite himself.
Of all people to sneak up right now.
Denzel.
Cloud winces and turns to face him.
His head and guts aren't too happy with the decision either.
Tifa joins them seconds later, stepping in from the storeroom.
That saves him some trouble, but not much.
"Cloud," she declares.
Whether that's concern or curiosity, he'll never know.
He straightens up, feeling found out.
"Where did you go?" Denzel asks.
Cloud's stomach rolls. His head throbs. He waits a beat longer, ignoring the question in the hopes that they'll just stop.
He doubles to cough into his hand.
"Cloud…" Tifa starts, that mothering tone tickling.
"Are you okay?" Denzel adds.
Cloud is defeated. He shakes his head and points to his throat.
"I... can't…" he grates out, sounding more like two cinderblocks shifting.
He can't say more.
It dawns wonderfully on both their faces in unison.
"You can't talk?" Denzel asks first.
Cloud nods, smiling weakly, and then slides his eyes away.
Tifa is about ready to lose it.
Cloud notices the signs as he's trying not to notice the signs.
She's shaking, snorting, badly containing her wry smile.
"Lost your voice, huh?" she prods. "Wonder why that is?"
Denzel has no idea, of course. He glances between them.
Cloud wants to crawl away. He wants to melt, evaporate, dissipate.
"Did you go far? Did you go to a chocobo race?" Denzel murmurs. "They scream a lot there… Saw it on TV..."
Tifa laughs now, unable to hold it in.
"Oh, Cloud. I'm sorry," she gasps.
She's still struggling to subdue her smile when he turns to leave.
"Tifa!" Denzel scolds. "You shouldn't make fun of him!"
"Oh, Denzel," Tifa sighs. "I can't… help myself. I'm really proud, honest."
"Well?" Denzel inquires, ignoring her lame apology to drill Cloud.
Cloud has to stop his escape. Of course he stops.
"Did you have a good time? Was he nice?" Denzel asks him.
Tifa must have told him about their date the day before.
Cloud considers the question.
It doesn't take long.
He nods, yes.
.
.
.
.