Disclaimer: FFVII belongs to Squenix. So do all the characters appearing in this story, (except for maybe a few randoms). Good? Good. Glad we straightened that out.

Sakura-Angel: Cloud is freaking hard to write, Tifa comes to a slow realization, and Reno, surprisingly control freak-ish, finds out (and is okay with the fact?) that sometimes you can't control everything. Thanks for reading, lovelies. Your faith in me is astounding, heh.

Hidden Ache

That afternoon, Reno went home. He crashed shamelessly into bed, probably imprinting his face into the crap mattress (it really was crap, really) and maybe altering his bone structure.

After a torturous half hour of lying facedown in bed trying to not think about her, he fell asleep.

And dreamed of her.

Gone were the fires from hell that accompanied Tseng. They were replaced by... the flowers from hell.

Jasmine.

The dream was choked with them. They overflowed, flooded the frames of the screen in his mind. He could've actually swam in them, were they not in his ears, his mouth and down his pants.

Worst of all, he was helpless in the face of these flowers. They were just everywhere, and he could do nothing about it. He sometimes had the power to control how his dreams went, but no cigar with this one. Nope, no blowtorches or pairs of extra underwear in sight.

Upon waking, he swore he could smell them.

And laying there, he had to accept that he had traded in one set of problems for a whole other.

--------

"So you've moved back the opening day?"

"Yes," Tifa answered, apprehensive suddenly.

Cloud noticed this, but said nothing. "Do these go here?" he chose to ask instead, reffering to the bottles he was stacking in Tifa's new shelves.

She checked what he was holding. "No. Brandies go here." And she tapped a different shelf to her left.

He padded over to where she had directed him. "I think you really need more of this stuff," he said absently, peering at a bottle of blueberry.

She raised an eyebrow. "Why...? Do you chug brandy now or something?"

"No. I think you're just underestimating your clientele. You're going to need more than just these few bottles."

"We'll see," she said, silently saying 'no, I won't'.

"You're better than you think," her blonde friend assured her. "People will come. You've already got a few sure customers."

Tifa did not miss his insinuation. "Haha, Strife. You know it's just because he likes to drink."

"Who? I was talking about myself," he replied, though not without mirth in his voice.

"Yeah, Cloud the Drinker. I just can't see it. You sipping champagne, you chugging a beer..."

"Difficult?"

"Well, I've seen you kill things like thirty times your size. It sort of... inhibits that. You're... solid." She surprised herself at answering so voluntarily.

"Ah."

Silence.

"So, Reno."

"Cloud."

He gave her a no-nonsense look, which was not difficult in the least. "I'm being serious, Teef. You have to... figure out what you've got with him."

"Why do you care so much? I thought you'd be the last person to stick his nose in matters of supposed romance," she said brashly, forgetting to be embarrassed.

"I am," he solidly replied, rotating a bottle so its label was visible, "But I am the first person to stick my nose in something concerning your well-being."

She felt bad immediately. All he was doing was looking out for her and she couldn't even be grateful. All she'd wanted from him a month ago was his attention, and now when she had it she dismissed it. "Sorry," was her meager apology. She was bad at this. After so many years of thinking of him a certain way, she had to adjust.

"It's fine," he said. A short reply, easily devoid of sensitivity, but with Cloud she could tell he meant it. He shifted, about to open his mouth, but then closed it.

"He's not your favourite guy, I know that," she said against her good sense, "Why are you pushing for this?"

He reached past her to pick up a bottle of high-end vodka. He knew his answer, but chose to slow down a bit. After a suitable amount of time had passed, he gave her his opinion. "Because he makes you happy."

She looked up at him from behind her bangs. She had no way to refute that.

They went on stacking, Cloud asking the odd question about what something was or where it went, but other than that, they remained in silence. She felt oddly discomforted and comforted at the same time by this - silence meant no more talk of Reno, but at the same time she wanted to talk about it, him, them.

"Need any help?"

She turned to see him standing in the door, leaning against the frame of it like some guy in a movie. Her lips were parted to reply, shiny for some reason. Was she wearing lip gloss? Somehow, the wetness of them made him stare.

"Well, now that you're here I can't say no," she told him as he strode toward her and superhero.

"Good," he said, sounding defiant. "Cloud," he tipped his head in the blonde's direction. Cloud nodded back.

Tifa came out from behind the counter. She sensed that things were about to get awkward. "Um, Reno, could you run out and get some paint remover for me?"

"Shafting me already, I see," he smiled at her lopsidedly. On the outside he smiled, but inside he felt that jealous tingle where spine met skull. Why him? Why not Cloud? Well, he didn't really need an answer to that question.

"I am not," she said, placing a hand on her hip. She furrowed her brow at his remark. "I need paint remover. It's not a useless errand."

"Did I say it was?" he replied, tipping his head at her again. "Really, Lockheart. Way to put words in my mouth."

"You insinuated--"

"Yeahyeahyeah, Teef. Let's blow past that. Paint remover. I'm on it."

She looked surprised. "Thanks, Reno."

"Yeah, whatever," he saluted with his back to her - with his left hand, of course - and stepped out onto the street.

He didn't do too badly. He thought that maybe his brain would betray him again, make his shoulders lock at her voice or make his voice catch in his throat. But no such thing happened. Well, there was that lips thing...

Still, that didn't fix his problem. He had to finish this damn challenge. He never left stuff like this done halfway! Especially when it was a self-imposed challenge. He didn't do awkward entanglement. He didn't do pausing and thinking about where this was going. He wasn't that kind of a guy.

But dammit all, she was making him one! How did she have this kind of power? He'd blame it on magics or hypnosis, but he didn't fall for lame-o stuff like that.

So what did he fall for? (That was easy: a pretty face streaked in paint, a killer stir-fry, a tinkly laugh, the smell of jasmine...)

Oh, hell.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to erase the pout he knew was emerging on his face. He hadn't pouted since about the fifth grade. A scowl rose to the surface instead.

He walked robotically through the hardware store, picking up the second most expensive paint remover (it was practically scentless, or so said the label). He thought of her hatred of the scent unconsciously as he picked it up. He paid still with the scowl on his face, which no doubt frightened the young cashier who said the courtesy 'have a nice day' as meekly as possible.

The walk back was quicker with less to think about.

"Hey! Back so soon?" she greeted him once his walked through the door. She walked up to him, bottle of a clear something in her hand.

"Yeah," he answered, still feeling like he was on auto-pilot. Superhero was nowhere in sight. "Where's blondie?"

"Cloud's in the back," she told him, grabbing the bag from the hardware store from his hands. Something about this action made him happier, like she was less distant. The feeling reeled him back into the bar with her.

"Hey! It says it has no smell!" she exclaimed happily, more cheery than most at the sight of flammable chemicals.

Cloud appeared from the back room, the room Reno himself had lay in, thinking of Tseng. Cloud was watching them, but not cautiously.

"You remembered?" she asked him, face unreadable.

He felt like he was in high school, talking to the pretty girl while other guys stood off to the side. He felt stupid for feeling proud. "Remembered what?" He looked down at her, eyebrow raised, mouth tweaked into a casual kinda-sorta grin. He didn't know that that look made her smile.

They were standing about half a foot away from each other, side by side. She tilted her head fondly to the side. "That I hate the smell of this."

He looked up from the can in her hands, eyes unblinking. He did remember. He picked up something for her with her quirks in mind, and he wasn't even aware of it while he did it.

Oh, hell.

He was turning into some kind of wuss. He was putting genuine thought into this? He was like some... domestic, boyfriendy, caring...

"I see," she said mysteriously, and turned quickly away with the remover in one hand, the vodka in the other. He saw her shoot Cloud a sideways glance.

"I didn't!" he said too loudly. He twisted his torso more to watch her go. "What are you talking about?" he added for effect, but really just made it more obvious.

Superhero-heartthrob raised both eyebrows at the exchange. Damn him. He probably knew exactly what they were talking about.

"Nothing," she answered, turning quickly back to face Cloud.

He held back the urge to growl. Again! Just when he thought he had the reins again, they were snatched away. This was stupid. He was supposed to be in control. He always was. She proved him wrong time and time again. And she wasn't even trying. He couldn't control her, or himself, or even the kind of fucking paint remover he bought...

And of course, stupid Spike over there just had to be here to see the whole thing. He wasn't trying either. Cloud upstaged him without effort, called Tifa back without so much as lifting a finger.

She was his! She was part of his challenge. He was supposed to win her over, and instead of calculating the exact method by which he would win her over (the usual), he was standing around like an idiot (the unusual, but somehow vaguely familiar).

Fuck. Did he just get possessive? No. He never got possessive. Ever. Possessiveness was for jealous, out-of-control losers who made their world revolve around... frick. He buried his face in his palm.

"Wanna help?" she asked from across the room. A smile was on her face, the non-stinky paint remover can open.

He expected to snap at her in his rotten mood, but something softened him. He could resist this change, hang onto his crap mood and storm out, or he could go with it. He didn't know if he could. He didn't like this niceness or this caring about what happened to her. He couldn't deviate from his usual behaviour before-

And look where it got him. Feeling possessive over something not his (but frick, she wa-), angry over lack of control. He went against his fighter's instinct, plunged himself into something he sensed was more dangerous. "Yeah." He took that leap, stepped out of his comfort zone.

She smiled, dimpling a cheek.

He breathed out, unclenched his jaw, and held out a hand for a brush albeit a little reluctantly. Kneeling down beside her, he grudgingly decided that maybe leaps weren't that bad after all.