|Disclaimer: Everything is © Square, and I take no rights to anything but
the story.|
----~----
Two alarm clocks buzzed simultaneously; however, even though the clocks were of the same make, had the same ring, and had the same luminous, red digital letters that threatened to blind early-morning eyes, the two people that owned them would face two separate decisions regarding the warning relayed to them each morning at precisely seven forty-three A.M.: Get up, get dressed, face the vileness that was work, or ignore the jolt completely and fall back asleep.
In the room on the left side of the hall, a rather lanky sixteen-year-old had managed to disentangle herself from the snakes that used to be a fluffy white comforter and pale sheets, short raven hair knotted, wiry, and totally unacceptable for the early hour. Rising with caution as she waited for the sudden assault of the room blurring and a buzzing rocketing around her ears, she also listened in vain for signs of life in the apartment otherwise: she was, as always, greeted with none.
She sighed, running a hand distractedly through her messy hair as she began to half-heartedly tug on her daily apparel: khaki cargos that pulled taut with a drawstring at the knee, a short-sleeved, green T-shirt, fishnet gloves yanked up to her elbows, and a yellow scarf tied loosely around her neck. As she was attempting to brush out her bush of a hair, she heard her roommate's alarm clock go off for the second time - and for the second time, he refused to answer it. She rolled dark indigo eyes, realizing with growing anxiety that she, like always, would have to wake him up. However, although she enjoyed seeing him look off-guard and positively groggy in the morning, she didn't enjoy having to pummel him with all of the usual excuses: getting fired, not being able to pay his half of the rent, getting them both evicted, so on and so forth.
"For once I wish he would just get up by himself," she muttered, snatching up the black backpack that had been abandoned at the foot of her bed since the night before and charging valiantly into the kitchen: she figured that she at least deserved the luxury of having a cup of coffee before facing the beast.
----~----
When she finally worked up the courage to enter his dimly-lit room (which, she was proud to acknowledge, was far messier than her own), she found that his alarm clock had been swept off of the mahogany nightstand and onto the grubby green carpet, where it lay half-submerged in a pile of last week's socks. She muttered something under her breath about the ever-accumulating amount of laundry, but refused to think about the dry cleaning when faced with the task set before her: rousing the lion.
"I have coffee. I actually went out and BOUGHT coffee today for you, Mr. Big Business Man, so you better get up off of that sinkhole you call a bed and get moving before it turns cold and I waste two fifty for a latte from Starbucks," she said acidly, stepping around the mountains of discarded clothes to the bedside, where a bit of the ponytail he kept his long, bristly hair in at night poked out from under a mound of pillows. When he didn't so much as move a centimeter, she rolled her eyes exasperatedly and tried another verbal attempt before going in for the kill. "Please? I really don't want to go back into the emergency room when you snap my wrist . . ."
The incorrigible man didn't move or even acknowledge that he had heard her, which was usually the case: he slept like a rock. Finally, suppressing a shudder, she reached out and shook his shoulder.
He sat bolt-upright, glaring at her with blazing azure eyes as if he'd never been asleep. "Don't touch me," he hissed, watching her hand, suspended in the air, slowly retreat back to her side. She groaned something and rolled her eyes before exiting the room, leaving the man to his own tangled bed sheets and a beeping cell phone that he refused to answer.
----~----
"Answer that bloody thing already; its driving me crazy," his roommate prompted as he stepped into the room, disheveled but dressed and hair loosed of the night's ponytail - it was his attempt to keep it as straight as possible so he wouldn't have to resort to borrowing her brush, as he always forgot the simple task of going down to the drugstore and picking one up.
"Don't get all uptight with me. Did you say you had a latte?" he asked seriously, scanning the minute countertop for the aforementioned coffee.
"Not until you answer your phone," she replied, smirking, holding the coffee out of reach as if tempting a four-year-old to clean up his room to get a cookie. He muttered something inaudible that sounded like 'abusing your privileges', but answered the phone, which immediately sprung into life on voice mail.
'Squall, you're late - again. C'mon, don't keep doing this to me! You're my partner, and if they fire you, they're gonna stick me with some moron!' Cloud's voice blared over the speaker, and Squall hit the 'off' button before the phone could shout anymore reprimands his way.
"I keep telling you to set your clock later," his roommate mused from the counter, where she was examining his drink with mild interest, trying desperately to hide the smirk that threatened to emerge.
"Can it, Yuffie - as if I need you to keep telling me these things," he muttered, grabbing his jacket from the chair back and the latte from Yuffie before bristling out like an enraged bulldog.
Yuffie stifled a laugh as the door slammed behind him; the small New York apartment wasn't nearly large enough to huff across, yet he managed it just fine. She really didn't know why he continued to room with her since he obviously couldn't stand her - it wasn't just for the rent, that much she knew, as he could handle that just fine by himself, even if he was resorted to eating fifty-cent bagels from the street vendors. It certainly wasn't Cloud pushing him to keep her; it was his sister's friend that answered Squall's plea of needing a roommate, supplying him with HER best friend, which turned out to be oddly relating back to Cloud, but really the doing of the man's sister. Cloud, after learning that Squall could now take care of the rent on his own, had practically begged for his partner to get rid of Yuffie; said it would 'make him more punctual', when in fact if she DID leave, he would never get out of bed.
She ran a hand distractedly through her hair, grabbing her own cup of now ice-cold coffee and checking the watch they kept on the kitchen counter. It was 8:02. Time to go, she realized with a sigh, but karate lessons certainly didn't teach themselves. Glancing down at her attire, she realized that this was not what one would be wearing to teach little brats the martial arts, but figured with a shrug that she could always throw one of the white robes over it. And Aerith certainly couldn't handle the load on her own while she took the time to change, so it was settled.
Coffee and keys in hand, she braced herself for another one of those days.
----~----
Wow, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I'm usually not into AU fics, but after finishing _The Devil Wears Prada_, I had a good idea for a modernized version of our favorite couples, set in New York instead of Traverse. See - they're still roommates, she still has SOMETHING to do with being a Ninja, and he still is his usual serious, adamant self.
Expect the next chapter soon; it's fun to write, since I love New York with a passion and enjoy stretching my author's privileges.
As always - REVIEW!! I wanna know what you think! Please!
----~----
Two alarm clocks buzzed simultaneously; however, even though the clocks were of the same make, had the same ring, and had the same luminous, red digital letters that threatened to blind early-morning eyes, the two people that owned them would face two separate decisions regarding the warning relayed to them each morning at precisely seven forty-three A.M.: Get up, get dressed, face the vileness that was work, or ignore the jolt completely and fall back asleep.
In the room on the left side of the hall, a rather lanky sixteen-year-old had managed to disentangle herself from the snakes that used to be a fluffy white comforter and pale sheets, short raven hair knotted, wiry, and totally unacceptable for the early hour. Rising with caution as she waited for the sudden assault of the room blurring and a buzzing rocketing around her ears, she also listened in vain for signs of life in the apartment otherwise: she was, as always, greeted with none.
She sighed, running a hand distractedly through her messy hair as she began to half-heartedly tug on her daily apparel: khaki cargos that pulled taut with a drawstring at the knee, a short-sleeved, green T-shirt, fishnet gloves yanked up to her elbows, and a yellow scarf tied loosely around her neck. As she was attempting to brush out her bush of a hair, she heard her roommate's alarm clock go off for the second time - and for the second time, he refused to answer it. She rolled dark indigo eyes, realizing with growing anxiety that she, like always, would have to wake him up. However, although she enjoyed seeing him look off-guard and positively groggy in the morning, she didn't enjoy having to pummel him with all of the usual excuses: getting fired, not being able to pay his half of the rent, getting them both evicted, so on and so forth.
"For once I wish he would just get up by himself," she muttered, snatching up the black backpack that had been abandoned at the foot of her bed since the night before and charging valiantly into the kitchen: she figured that she at least deserved the luxury of having a cup of coffee before facing the beast.
----~----
When she finally worked up the courage to enter his dimly-lit room (which, she was proud to acknowledge, was far messier than her own), she found that his alarm clock had been swept off of the mahogany nightstand and onto the grubby green carpet, where it lay half-submerged in a pile of last week's socks. She muttered something under her breath about the ever-accumulating amount of laundry, but refused to think about the dry cleaning when faced with the task set before her: rousing the lion.
"I have coffee. I actually went out and BOUGHT coffee today for you, Mr. Big Business Man, so you better get up off of that sinkhole you call a bed and get moving before it turns cold and I waste two fifty for a latte from Starbucks," she said acidly, stepping around the mountains of discarded clothes to the bedside, where a bit of the ponytail he kept his long, bristly hair in at night poked out from under a mound of pillows. When he didn't so much as move a centimeter, she rolled her eyes exasperatedly and tried another verbal attempt before going in for the kill. "Please? I really don't want to go back into the emergency room when you snap my wrist . . ."
The incorrigible man didn't move or even acknowledge that he had heard her, which was usually the case: he slept like a rock. Finally, suppressing a shudder, she reached out and shook his shoulder.
He sat bolt-upright, glaring at her with blazing azure eyes as if he'd never been asleep. "Don't touch me," he hissed, watching her hand, suspended in the air, slowly retreat back to her side. She groaned something and rolled her eyes before exiting the room, leaving the man to his own tangled bed sheets and a beeping cell phone that he refused to answer.
----~----
"Answer that bloody thing already; its driving me crazy," his roommate prompted as he stepped into the room, disheveled but dressed and hair loosed of the night's ponytail - it was his attempt to keep it as straight as possible so he wouldn't have to resort to borrowing her brush, as he always forgot the simple task of going down to the drugstore and picking one up.
"Don't get all uptight with me. Did you say you had a latte?" he asked seriously, scanning the minute countertop for the aforementioned coffee.
"Not until you answer your phone," she replied, smirking, holding the coffee out of reach as if tempting a four-year-old to clean up his room to get a cookie. He muttered something inaudible that sounded like 'abusing your privileges', but answered the phone, which immediately sprung into life on voice mail.
'Squall, you're late - again. C'mon, don't keep doing this to me! You're my partner, and if they fire you, they're gonna stick me with some moron!' Cloud's voice blared over the speaker, and Squall hit the 'off' button before the phone could shout anymore reprimands his way.
"I keep telling you to set your clock later," his roommate mused from the counter, where she was examining his drink with mild interest, trying desperately to hide the smirk that threatened to emerge.
"Can it, Yuffie - as if I need you to keep telling me these things," he muttered, grabbing his jacket from the chair back and the latte from Yuffie before bristling out like an enraged bulldog.
Yuffie stifled a laugh as the door slammed behind him; the small New York apartment wasn't nearly large enough to huff across, yet he managed it just fine. She really didn't know why he continued to room with her since he obviously couldn't stand her - it wasn't just for the rent, that much she knew, as he could handle that just fine by himself, even if he was resorted to eating fifty-cent bagels from the street vendors. It certainly wasn't Cloud pushing him to keep her; it was his sister's friend that answered Squall's plea of needing a roommate, supplying him with HER best friend, which turned out to be oddly relating back to Cloud, but really the doing of the man's sister. Cloud, after learning that Squall could now take care of the rent on his own, had practically begged for his partner to get rid of Yuffie; said it would 'make him more punctual', when in fact if she DID leave, he would never get out of bed.
She ran a hand distractedly through her hair, grabbing her own cup of now ice-cold coffee and checking the watch they kept on the kitchen counter. It was 8:02. Time to go, she realized with a sigh, but karate lessons certainly didn't teach themselves. Glancing down at her attire, she realized that this was not what one would be wearing to teach little brats the martial arts, but figured with a shrug that she could always throw one of the white robes over it. And Aerith certainly couldn't handle the load on her own while she took the time to change, so it was settled.
Coffee and keys in hand, she braced herself for another one of those days.
----~----
Wow, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I'm usually not into AU fics, but after finishing _The Devil Wears Prada_, I had a good idea for a modernized version of our favorite couples, set in New York instead of Traverse. See - they're still roommates, she still has SOMETHING to do with being a Ninja, and he still is his usual serious, adamant self.
Expect the next chapter soon; it's fun to write, since I love New York with a passion and enjoy stretching my author's privileges.
As always - REVIEW!! I wanna know what you think! Please!