"Not interested"
It must have been the fifth time that month and Rufus knew he was pushing it. Pushing the careful but ultimately tenuous fibres of patience that Cloud had left.
Countless times Cloud had refused his offer to work for ShinRa. But that was to be expected. They both knew there was no future were Cloud returned to them. But Rufus still called, and Cloud still returned, resentfully.
Always the same game, that Rufus both relished and hated. Initially he toyed with the idea that Cloud hated him. It seemed fitting after all, despite their collaborations in the past to protect the struggling planet. But as the anger faded over time in the Hero's eyes, he feared that perhaps he meant nothing to him. It was comical really, that the past villain would need the presence of the planet's hero.
So with pleasure and goodwill he would call him up, under the guise of requiring a delivery, or the promise of information. They would dance around each other, never deliberately insulting, the hostility at times almost playful.
With sadness and longing Rufus would watch him leave.
"Of course you're not interested. Your life of deliveries and occasional bar work is far too adventurous and soul enriching for me to tempt you back."
He was becoming too immature as the years went by, taunting a man who could so easily break him. But the beautiful shift of expressions that overcame Cloud's face when he was angry or irritated, felt like the only thing Rufus could truly have. Despite the danger, or downright dislikeable behaviour, he would take any opportunity to have this.
"Then why am I here again? If your not here to recruit me, give me an address so I send this already"
In a way, Rufus acknowledged, it didn't matter how he taunted. Cloud had already begun to break him. It would take years, but the longing would eventually degrade him. Rufus would smile every time as he was reminded of the irony, that he was being polluted, was dissolving over time. Cloud would leave him beyond repair, and remain oblivious to the fact until the very end.
"I am simply allowing you the knowledge that the offer is longstanding. It may not always be there, but I believe I have a duty to my company, employee's current and former, to state my wishes. And I wish for you to return. I would hate for you to change your mind, yet fear the choice was no longer there."
Cloud snorted, adjusting his goggles and smirking. Rufus smiled too and for a moment they shared the briefest, fragile moment of honesty. Their eyes held in an unspoken agreement, to keep this charade a little longer. Rufus assumed that in Cloud's case, he would return because he still needed something of the past, to anchor his unsteady memories. Rufus would let him return, because he knew himself to be an emotional masochist.
The moment was broken as Rufus passed a letter to Cloud, his arm reaching over the desk as the delivery boy took it in a gloved hand.
The conversation over for now, the desk reminded Rufus of the gulf between them. The uncross-able barrier, or more fittingly 'the Rubicon', since Rufus would refuse to cross it, even if it was possible. To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure if he would ever find a way to cross it.
Cloud seemed destined to be on the other side, just out of reach and Rufus feared the price of following would be too great. Yet he would never posses him, never stand a chance, if he remained on his own side. The side of damnation.
If he could be anyone else, Rufus would have discarded the villain within himself years ago. It was with calm despair that he had learnt so long ago, that that would never be an option. The treacherous pride coursing through his veins prevented any show of real remorse. In the quiet moments that frequented him late at night, alone in his office, he wondered if in another lifetime, he would be able to be the kind of man that could walk shamelessly into the path of honesty. In his dreams, the ones left unacknowledged, he would bend on one knee beneath the planet. Only in his dreams could he ask for forgiveness. More real than any treasured memory, he would feel the tears grace his stubborn cheeks as he waited with a humility he knew he could never truly possess. In reverence, in prayer, he would admit his failure, his evil, his unwavering and unchanging inhumanity that had killed both life and soul.
Warm hands would take hold of his face, a caressing motion that soothed like a mother to a child. In a wave of white light he would be cleaned, reborn, forgiven. The owner, the divine being, would see him, more naked than the absence of clothes could provide. But those hands -the embrace of safety and absolution- did not belong to the woman of the flowers. It was Cloud. With golden hair, pale skin and the face of an angel. His eyes would open slowly, searing into Rufus' heart, bringing forth a torrent of tears. He would die a million deaths under the gaze of that perfect ocean, the freedom of the sky.
Cloud turns back to him now, caught in the doorway as he makes to leave the office. He seems lost, unsure if he should say goodbye or simply stomp out like usual. The light breeze from outside ruffles his hair, glowing in the shaft of light behind him and time seems to stop as Rufus witnesses the breathtaking stillness of the other man, paused on the threshold. With as little movement as possible, Cloud backs out of the room, holding his gaze as Rufus remains trapped in his chair. He isn't sure if he sees hope, or redemption in Cloud's eyes, but the possibility weighs him down and when he leaves, the door still open, Rufus wants nothing more than to scream in frustration.
It would always remain this way, a desk between them.