Entanglement

Chapter 6 — Obligations

By Crystal Snowflakes

Reno's fingers twitched. All he wanted to do was snag a cigarette from his breast pocket and take a smoke break. Instead, he was standing up with his back slouched uncomfortably against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He was surprised that there weren't more people nearby; so far, it had only been the small group of entourage who had been here earlier and left. Though, he supposed most of them were waiting at the temple downstairs to observe the nuptials rather than wait around here, near the changeroom.

The sound of her voice floating through the quietness of the hallway he was in caused his lips to twitch upwards in amusement. Over the years, he had learned a few Wutain words from Tseng and had heard him speak the language and yet, somehow, she managed to make the beautiful dialect sound crass.

Typical brat.

Just as he was about to sneak off for a quick smoke, the sliding door slid open softly, and he felt himself tense up in anticipation. Instead of seeing who he had expected, an old lady with curls of salt-and-pepper hair stepped out with a small bow and a welcoming smile, the corners of her mouth crinkling.

"Lady Kisaragi is ready to see you now," she said with a heavy Wutain accent, her voice gentle and charming in her own way. For some reason, he imagined the old woman being Yuffie's mother figure growing up; it felt strange, catching a glimpse of her childhood—of her world. It wasn't often he felt out of place being who he was and what his job entailed—after all, he worked for Rufus Shinra and saw more riches and golds than most people could ever imagine. But now, standing in the quietude of the temple outside the small room, he realized just how different they were, how different their lives were.

He had openly mocked her about being a princess, but to him, she had always been Yuffie Kisaragi, the annoying, boisterous ninja brat who had worked for Reeve, who had saved the world thrice, who made death-defying jumps for fun. It was with sudden clarity and realization that they had grown up in two separate worlds—that their paths should have never crossed or intertwined the way it had.

His mind flashed back to the memory of breathless sighs, silky skin and blushing cheeks—of impish grins, dancing eyes, and longing kisses.

By the time he was ready to respond, the old woman had already walked past him and disappeared without another word.

Feeling unsettled and suddenly wondering why the hell he had decided to do this to himself, he briefly considered turning around and walking away. And yet, something made him—drew him—to visit her. He wished more than anything that he had taken a detour to Turtle's Paradise for a few drinks because his hands were twitching again now, though for a different reason entirely.

His shaky fingers ran through his fiery locks before he stepped past the threshold.

The first thing he noticed was the abundance of flower arrangements in the changing room itself. The scent of it was almost overwhelming, and he could envision the look of disdain on her face without trying very hard. She had always been pragmatic, and he was sure it bothered her that they had spent so much time and money on flowers.

What really drew his attention, however, was the traditional white dress with the faintest floral patterns shimmering in the lighting; from far away, he could see the skillful handwork in the swirls of complex designs. Without knowing much about Wutai fashion, he could tell that the dress might have taken two other people to manage. But even with the way she was sitting down with her back was towards him, he could make out her gentle curves under the layers of fabric. Her hair was put up into an elegant style, and he couldn't help but stare at the paleness and contours of her neck—the temptation to press his lips against her skin perplexed him.

Their gaze met through the mirror, her eyebrows lifted up in challenge at his open stare. "You here to make sure I don't run?" she asked snidely, the bitterness in her voice sending a surprising sharp pang to his chest.

"Nah," he muttered with a shrug after a long pause as he leaned against the wall again, his hands in his pockets as he forced them to relax. "Just thought I'd check in."

She let out a snort of derision before standing up and turning towards him, the resentfulness clear in the way her eyes narrowed, in the way her lips curled downwards, in the way she looked so absolutely defeated. His eyes trailed the way the dress hugged her small, willowy frame, the way it trailed down behind her. It was the first time he had ever seen her in something formal and he felt his gut clenched tight—she was fucking breathtaking. And yet, looking at her now, he realized with a jolt that he preferred her in her skimpy top, her miniscule shorts and her goddamn boots that went up to her fucking neck.

Somehow, the dark eyeshadow that she was wearing made her eyes glow brighter and look larger, the artificial blush made her cheekbones stand out, and her porcelain skin looked smoother than the last time he had seen her. But even so, he missed the way she looked when she woke up groggy with her hair dishevelled and a trail of drool from the corner of her mouth.

This Yuffie—embellished and decorated—was so different from the person he had in his mind. He couldn't help but envision her running wildly through the plains with her bare feet and impish grin as she shouted profanities at him.

Her gaze was on him and he realized she was studying him with uncharacteristic silence.

"You know," she trailed off wistfully, the hardened look in her eyes softening a hint before casting a small, uncertain smile his way. "When I heard that you were here, I thought stupidly that you were here to talk me outta this mess."

There was an uncomfortable lump in the back of his throat, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was a mistake to have shown up. He should have stayed by Rufus' side rather than sneak away for half an hour to scratch an itch—though he still wasn't sure exactly why he was here in the first place. To make sure she wasn't being forced into a marriage against her will? To make sure she realized she was making a big fucking mistake? To talk her out of said stupid fucking mistake?

"I'm not some goddamn hero savin' the damsel in distress," he said, his tone harsher than he had intended, as his long fingers curled into the palms of his hands, his fists clenched tightly.

"No shit," she bit out with a snort. He knew without looking that her cheeks flared hotly under the layer of artificial makeup. But then she closed her eyes and when they fluttered back open again, the way she looked at him made him stagger. He wasn't sure if it was his mind playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn that she looked at him with the slightest hint of hope.

"But gawd," she murmured with a small shake of her head, "I just thought—"

"You don't even know what you want, princess," he cut her off, careful to keep his expression unreadable. The truth was, he didn't even know what he wanted either.

"Probably not," she admitted softly, her voice weary. "What I do know," she continued as she held up her arms, the long sleeves of robe flittering at her knees looked like they weighted her down like metal chains, "is that I don't want this." For a split second, he could have sworn he heard her voice wavering and he could have sworn he saw a look of deep regret flash across her face, but before he could scrutinize it further, it was gone.

He had put his reputation on the line to let her get away; she shouldn't have run away if she was going to go running back to daddy dearest in the end. Looking away from her searching eyes, he responded with a scoff. "You're the one who came runnin' back."

The next thing he knew, her fingers had wrapped around a fistful of his dress shirt, a choked cry escaping from her lips; in all the years he had known her, he had never heard that sound coming from her.

"Tell me what the hell I shoulda done instead then!" she demanded, her voice shaking with anger, desperation, pain. Her forehead was pressed against his chest and her entire body was trembling—he felt the urge to wrap his arms around her, but forced his arms to stay where they were instead. "It's what people expect of me," she whispered a little brokenly, her voice cracking and almost hysterical, "what my people expect of me."

"And whaddya want me to do, ya brat?" he asked callously, defensively, the sharpness of his own tone surprising himself as his lips drew into a sneer. "Didya want me to play the role of Prince Charming?" he continued, ignoring the look of indignation on her face as she looked up at him. "Save you like the damsel in distress you refuse to be? Whisk you away to a faraway land—far away from your fucked up life?"

Her cheeks glowed bright red as her dark eyes flashed angrily before pulling away. "Lucky for you, asshole," she spat out as she shot him a venomous look. "You're the last person I'd ever ask." She took a step back, her lips drawn into a familiar scowl—underneath all that fury, he caught a glimpse of hurt.

And at that moment, he was glad she wasn't going to ask him.

Because he wasn't sure what he would do if she had asked; he was afraid he would do exactly what she demanded.

And he wasn't sure why he was willing to do it—why he was even considering it in the first place. It would put his entire life in jeopardy and it was something he shouldn't be willing to risk—she wasn't anyone important to him.

Hands clenched at his sides, he forced his face to remain impassive and resisted the urge to swoop down to kiss her. Something in her expression gave him pause, and he was suddenly reminded of that morning in his apartment months ago when she was sitting on his lap, her brightly glowing eyes causing him to feel an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. Instead of examining it closer, he pushed away whatever he was feeling. His gaze studied the look on her face one last time before he spun around and walked out without another word.

Her hollow laughter rang bitterly behind him.

And he knew it sounded fucking cliché, but he couldn't help but feel that he left something behind. Even so, he curbed the impulse to turn back around.

It wasn't until half an hour later as the low, monotonous sound of the priest's prayers echoed through the aisles of the temple that he laid eyes on her again. He studied the way a strand of hair fell in her eyes, and he knew it must have killed her that she wasn't able to simply tuck it behind her ears. Seeing her in her wedding dress wasn't unexpected, but what was unexpected was the way his stomach curled when he saw the man next to her—tall, handsome, and perfectly bred to be the next royal consort—grab a hold of her hand.

Her face was carefully schooled into an expression of nothingness—a small, empty smile played on her lips.

Motioning to Rude that he was going to take a quick smoke break, he turned around and made the mistake of looking back towards her one last time. Their gazes locked briefly, her eyes flickering with an emotion he couldn't read before going blank. He tore his gaze away, and he couldn't explain why his chest suddenly felt so tight that it almost felt hard to breathe, nor could he explain why his hands were suddenly shaking.

It must have the lack of nicotine in his bloodstream; it certainly couldn't be the look on her face that he barely recognized.

After all, why the fuck did he care anyway?

Author's Notes: All aboard the angst train—sorry not sorry. Next week's chapter will be worth the wait, I hope :D

Completed: February 16, 2021