I -- Let's Pretend
Ivory white and sky black, he had her until the summer came. Summer was a staple of Midgar and the humid slums, desperate knives and bullets wasted on its citizens. His life was devoted to the metallic pizza and the greed that came with such practical ordeals; there was aught time to be idle. Evenings were left for the melancholic alcohol with Shinra's degrading workers, and it gnawed at him with the pressure of an ill omen subsiding in the promised hangover.
He'd come for restraint midst an unfinished task. Elena had thrown her designer shoes half in the trail, and Rude was off to his own duties; the coast was not clear and tranquil as he'd hoped, but for Reno it had never been. Tseng's witty excuses served him right in such occasions, but all their lies were much more permanent at the end of the month when nothing was accomplished.
"I didn't suspect you'd be coming back," a voice which hadn't fully developed pushed from a face veiled by synchronized shadow, "not so soon."
"I told you I would come," a mutter; a slit of sun exposed her breasts as she came to him, undressing, "didn't I?"
Her defined lips formed a slight frown, and she pulled under the paper of satin sheets, catching a glimpse of her shapeless form in the mirror. No doubt he'd do as she'd allowed none other: leave her to the consort of a hot memory. His crimson hair appeared synthetic on her innocently cream pillows; he was the only one who'd the permission to wrinkle them.
"I've learned to not rely on anyone relating to Shinra," she sounded, "You act as though I'm your wife, waltzing in here as if you own me." On top of her, her back arched in lordly composure. His roughed fingers spread on the little of her spine, seeming nearly brutal.
"I haven't owned anything my entire life, heh, damned if I ever do," he spoke through a hiss, her round fingernails forming tents on his skin, "But for now, we'll just pretend."
Ivory white and sky black, he had her until the summer came. Summer was a staple of Midgar and the humid slums, desperate knives and bullets wasted on its citizens. His life was devoted to the metallic pizza and the greed that came with such practical ordeals; there was aught time to be idle. Evenings were left for the melancholic alcohol with Shinra's degrading workers, and it gnawed at him with the pressure of an ill omen subsiding in the promised hangover.
He'd come for restraint midst an unfinished task. Elena had thrown her designer shoes half in the trail, and Rude was off to his own duties; the coast was not clear and tranquil as he'd hoped, but for Reno it had never been. Tseng's witty excuses served him right in such occasions, but all their lies were much more permanent at the end of the month when nothing was accomplished.
"I didn't suspect you'd be coming back," a voice which hadn't fully developed pushed from a face veiled by synchronized shadow, "not so soon."
"I told you I would come," a mutter; a slit of sun exposed her breasts as she came to him, undressing, "didn't I?"
Her defined lips formed a slight frown, and she pulled under the paper of satin sheets, catching a glimpse of her shapeless form in the mirror. No doubt he'd do as she'd allowed none other: leave her to the consort of a hot memory. His crimson hair appeared synthetic on her innocently cream pillows; he was the only one who'd the permission to wrinkle them.
"I've learned to not rely on anyone relating to Shinra," she sounded, "You act as though I'm your wife, waltzing in here as if you own me." On top of her, her back arched in lordly composure. His roughed fingers spread on the little of her spine, seeming nearly brutal.
"I haven't owned anything my entire life, heh, damned if I ever do," he spoke through a hiss, her round fingernails forming tents on his skin, "But for now, we'll just pretend."