A/N: In case anyone has played the Remake, I want to note quickly that I'm going off of the OG material and how Reno was essentially the one responsible for Sector 7.
Choice
It had been seven nights since he'd been to the bar, and it rained for every single one of them.
The first morning came much too quickly for Tifa, waking to a devastating headache and lethargic limbs courtesy of over consumption. The sensitivity to light and sound inhibited her ability to piece together the evening prior, moments that blurred and broke apart while others were clear and tangible. It was the immediate conclusion of the evening that was foggiest, yet something told her she may not want to recall the details of it.
She remembered his arrival, the drinking, the list, and the flirting. She remembered how her lips burned from their alcohol laced kiss, and the treacherous trek upstairs. Beyond that however, everything was sorely difficult to envision. Fuzzy as the mental pictures were, they were accompanied by a heavy foreboding.
The thought of him elicited both a feeling of fervent longing and consternation, realizing too late she may have been better off in the dark. Recollection filled her with humiliation that came in suffocating waves. Forced to reconcile with the rejection, she wasn't sure what to think. She admonished herself for her actions, her intentions foolish at best. It was nothing but a mistake.
The reasonable thing to do would be to banish all thoughts and fantasies from her mind, to wipe the slate clean and pretend nothing had ever happened much like they had originally intended, and to lock her deeper feelings away in a proverbial box. Still friends.
Were they friends? She couldn't deny that his continued presence in her bar had shifted from cautious skepticism to welcomed company within the span of many months, and it surprised her as much as it delighted her. He took the time to speak with her, to acknowledge the trials and tribulations of her day, and every so often took it upon himself to help her with her nightly duties, something she would have never believed if she hadn't seen it for herself. A Turk who cleaned tables and took out her trash - it sounded absurd once said out loud.
She smiled as she recounted the times he ended a quarrel of his own volition or made a play with flirtatious innuendos, casting a suggestive wink and a sardonic grin. The memories charmed her, filling her with a longing that she'd actively denied existed. The butterflies returned, fluttering on within her belly as his picture in her minds' eye came into full view. He was much more than he presented himself to be.
But her thoughts spun back around to most recent events and the gravity of what getting closer to him meant. Sleeping with the enemy was not so easily forgiven, even if they no longer posed a direct threat, even if they sought redemption. Anything more than arm's length with a Turk was a betrayal to her friends and family, maybe even herself. She couldn't fathom any timeline or alternate reality that would have seen any type of union as less than an unforgivable sin.
Not that he wanted her, anyway.
The weight of his arduous stare, the intensity of his kiss and the tenderness behind his caress said otherwise. She was torn.
Those first two days were filled with the effort to simply forget, to check off an entry on her list:
Spend less time overthinking.
The accusatory tone of her own inner dialogue was deafening, and she silenced it with work she had been neglecting - cleaning under the refrigerator, mopping the bar floor, reorganizing the liquor bottles by alphabetical order, reorganizing again on the date of purchase. She cooked for a small army - mashed potatoes, rabbit stew, chocolate chip cookies - she cooked and baked until it felt like the inside of an oven and her fingers were raw from scrubbing, tearing, slicing, and dicing.
It didn't take long for exhaustion to hit her and bleed into the evenings. It took a concentrated effort and several cups of coffee to remain functional during business hours, though her customers reaped the benefits of her long, tired hours in the kitchen. With fluid expertise, she tended to the dwindling number of patrons with care and consideration. A dazzling flip of a tumbler here, a wink and a grin there kept her facade deceptively lively and bright. She tried to remain focused on anything and everything other than what her mind wished to naturally gravitate to.
Eyes fell to the list she'd so joyously created, still dangling in its place between the counter and register. His name captured her attention every time, and her heart skipped a beat.
She watched the door for him, but he didn't come.
There was a sense of relief when her family returned, two-thirds red and crisp from the coastal sunshine. The glare she tossed at their weekend Guardian gave a sheepish look of guilt, having failed, repeatedly it seemed, to apply sunscreen to the children whose skin resembled that of a Red Dragon. Their chatter was enthusiastic as they recounted the time during their vacation hub, heedless of the damage that had been done to their flesh or the fiery pain that was due to remind them of it in the coming days. The tale of Barret's run in with a riptide was particularly amusing, specifically his humorous mortification at details surrounding his mouth to mouth resuscitation from a male lifeguard.
No sign of Cloud at the villa - not that she had expected it, of course.
Her fears of Denzel's emotional state were also abated, an air of confidence surrounding the young boy as he offered to take both his and Marlene's belongings to their room, a true act of chivalry. Time and talks with Barret had instilled a sense of purpose in his step, taking the position of 'man of the house' with pride. Anything that kept his spirits high was good enough for Tifa.
As nightfall came, the bar stayed closed, spending the last several hours of Barret's freedom with him and the children. As they tucked the kids into bed, Marlene presented her newest artwork, crafted with love and childlike innocence that made her smile, albeit a bit sadly. Brown sand and blue skies stood behind the drawn figures. There stood Barret, large and proud behind Denzel and Marlene. Beside them was she and Cloud, hands held with smiling faces. She took the picture as they kissed them goodnight, retreating from the room and softly closing the door behind them.
It hurt her to know their hopes and expectations were shrouded in fantasy. She'd realized certain things were simply not meant to be, and hoped they eventually came to that reality as well.
Barret waited just before he left for North Corel to divulge some sensitive information to Tifa, information that both relieved and left her numb.
Through his many connections around the globe, he had been informed that Cloud was sighted just outside of Gongaga. No further information was available outside of the assumption his deliveries continued due to the package strapped to Fenrir. The work phone had long ago been set to forward calls, therefore Tifa had no real insight regarding his business ventures.
Barret watched closely as he provided the intel to her, ready for the cracks in her facade to widen, to witness the pain pool at her eyes like so many times before. With no visible reaction to be had, the man was clearly unsettled, presuming she stuffed it down into an unreachable chasm until he was out of sight. "I worry about you," he stated at the door, dark eyes settled into a pensive frown.
Her assurances fell on deaf ears it seemed, unconvinced by her smile. He often acted as the father figure she was missing, protective and willing to go the distance for her happiness. Ultimately, there were battles that could not be won with bullets and fists. "I know, but I'm fine, really. At least he's okay."
His voice was calm, speaking to her with a compassionate timbre reserved only for herself and the kids. "Look, Tifa. Your family appreciates all you do and we'll do anything to help. You just gotta ask, though I know you ain't very good at it. We just want what's best for ya."
The sentiment warmed her as she sent him off, dashing into the storm to catch his transport out of Edge. She silently wondered to herself if he knew what she'd done, would those words still ring true?
She posted Marlene's drawing on the refrigerator, held in place by the Costa Del Sol souvenir magnet from her family's recent travels. Her attention was pulled to Cloud's likeness, spiked blonde hair unmistakable. A smile from him was a rarity yet captured and displayed all the same. When was the last time she saw him smile? When was the last time she saw him at all? It didn't matter where he was - he wasn't there, with them, and it was becoming easier to accept as time went on.
The journey up the steps, hand clenched to the banister as she carried herself to the top, left a bittersweet taste in her mouth. The memories were still so fresh, coiling around her mind, revisiting her like an amorous embrace. She knew this feeling, and it did nothing in the past but serve her grief. It was dangerous and unwelcome, yet as she tried to push it away, it would snap back and leave her breathless. She had trouble making sense of it, why now, why him, but she didn't bother to try.
A closed door on her way to her room beckoned to her, interrupting her more intimate thoughts. So long it had been since she'd stepped foot in it, abandoned for fear of emotional relapse. It was simpler to shut it out than grapple with its constant reminder of a man gone away. Curiosity gripped her then.
It was time to test the waters.
Turning the knob, its cold steel sending an icy ripple across her skin, she cautiously entered the room.
Instantly, she was greeted with a whiff of stale, stagnant air, evidence that it had not been opened for quite some time. The room itself was as it had always been - furnished by a neatly made single bed - its design closer to that of a cot - photos littered across the walls with picture frames and various papers scattered over a work desk. Beside it lay a waste bin, filled with torn and tattered pieces of paper long forgotten. There was a thin layer of dust spread along each surface, the room long neglected.
How long had it been? Long enough, as she had lost count the days, weeks, and months. Fear for his wellbeing was a constant, afraid that a terrible fate may befall him, but he was alive and that's all that really mattered to her now.
Her hand gently brushed the cotton blanket of his bed, smooth and undisturbed, before she lowered herself to sit at its edge. Her heart and mind took respite from Barret's words recalling how she'd lain between her own sheets, racked with worry to where he'd gone and the uncertainty of his safety. With calls unanswered and voicemails ignored, panic chilled her blood in the early days, fearful that history was to repeat itself and this time perhaps he'd left to find the ultimate end. But now she knew he was okay after endless months of darkness, and the concern that burdened her, kept her frozen in time, could be released.
She rose and turned to his desk, lifting one of the frames tenderly as she took in the scene. Knelt, she was clustered with the children, Cloud to their right with the smallest of smiles. Did he ever think of them, the life he left behind to wander free? What was so important to him to abandon what he'd always wanted? So many questions, and she no longer had the desire to know the answer to any of them.
She thought that this space, these pictures, these memories would affect her differently. Avoidance of this room had been predicated on distancing herself from the reminder of what continued to evade her outstretched hand. She had assumed that the ambiance of loss would break her but instead she felt nothing but guilt and regret – she just couldn't save him from himself.
Carefully setting the frame into its original position, she turned to leave, a sense of relief washing over her. She had expected tears, expected pain, but walked away free from the chains of despair.
Her thoughts involuntarily landed on the Turk that haunted her subconscious, and she couldn't help but draw the parallels between the two men in her life.
There was Cloud, troubled and traumatized by a past she both shared and couldn't begin to completely understand. With his reasons unknown, she couldn't help but wonder if he was continuing to run from the pain of his own regret, preferring solitude and isolation as his punishment.
And then there was Reno, a man trapped by his vices and equally plagued by past misdeeds that a growing conscience reminded him were heinous, unconscionable and impossible to ever rectify. A man running from his demons and chasing them off with toxins and simple distractions, to numb the mind and freeze the thoughts sought to break him.
For years, she tried and failed to heal one of them – perhaps there was a chance to heal the other. But was she equipped to aid and mend his broken pieces? Would he even let her? What if she failed again? What if she further broke him?
Tifa wanted to find out.
Denzel and Marlene returned to school and all felt as it always did. She pinned her little bucket list to her private cork board in her room with other written reminders and business cards tacked to it. Cloud's most recent note of departure was pinned there too, now buried beneath other miscellaneous parchment. Every day she looked at her list, a reminder of a full life ahead to lead, adding new entries when one would come to mind. A line in particular bore a mark halfway through the name, having been unable to strike through its length entirely. She wasn't ready to let go just yet, and she didn't know why.
All too quickly, she felt herself slipping back into a mundane normalcy. The days were the same; cleaning, homework, cooking, washing. Nights also felt identical with one another, only the occasional scuffle that would require a firmer hand and tone to diffuse what disrupted the monotony. Everything began to blend as one, the spark of life that flared her awakening quickly dimmed and sputtered in the wind.
The continued storms had seen a decrease to the traffic within the bar, and under normal circumstances she would have closed early on these nights. However, each evening the lights of Seventh Heaven remained aglow, a beacon of light to illuminate the way.
By the seventh night Tifa's optimism had significantly deflated, weighed down by the realization his absence spoke louder than words ever could. He left her that night to be consumed in her own dejected sorrow. With the alcohol lowering all inhibitions, it exposed the fragility she strived to hide from the world. Her words of apology rang with piercing frequency, desperate to express her remorse for the position she'd placed themselves into. It was no wonder he hadn't returned. One night was all it was to be, yet they pushed the envelope further. Reno did precisely what he was expected to do, and she was doing what she always did – waited.
This was for the best, she told herself. Nothing good would have come of it. It would be ruined from the start.
Still, she couldn't let go.
The rain poured on, the roofs and windows echoing the sound of the falling sky and Tifa waited, wondering if he would ever come, wondering if it was all for nothing.
It had been seven nights since he'd seen her, and he did everything he could not to think of her.
It seemed like the right choice that night, the correct door to choose, for her sake. Who was he but a sack of damaged goods? A man with a black heart and a filthy past, there was no salvation to be found in his company - he was doing her a favor. There was only more pain on the other end, and the best he could do was spare her the inevitable suffering that would follow.
And yet, he suffered greatly for it.
Reno found no reprieve the following days and nights, churning without a real purpose. Shinra enabled momentary distractions, however he found difficulty in concealing his foulness from past events and his pulsating hangovers. Fellow associates were set on edge and provided him a wide berth to work, even those closest to him taking caution. His partner was perhaps the only one able to penetrate the wall he had subconsciously constructed, but even Rude was reluctant to breach it, sharing a word or two only when conversation was initiated.
The Reno paid little attention to the growing concern around him, although the transparency in his surliness was quite evident. His charming, sarcastic banter took on a sharper inflection, eventually leading most to simply let him be.
So far in his own head, he didn't seem to notice.
All the while, the frustration continued to build. He found it easier to ignore the voices than to listen and work through the issues, yet like the drops from the thunderous clouds, they just wouldn't fuck off. Loud and filled with chaos, he wondered what it would take to shut them up for good.
One night, he went to great lengths to find out.
Destructive vices were often a Turk's way of handling the more inconvenient facets of the human condition, and he dove face first into his favorite ones. Through his desperation for relief, Reno sought out the seedier side of Edge, the dark corner that every city had to feed the perversion and debauchery of its citizens, veiled in darkness and disgust, where eye contact was avoided lest you received more than you bargained for. These places fit him like a glove.
The rain fell in thick sheets as Reno passed a tattered and sodden man with a bottle filled with a pungent spirit clenched in his fist. He tossed him some gil in exchange for his drink and opened his throat to welcome the caustic liquid that greeted him, his friend and tormentor all in one. A flock of eccentric street walkers at a dimly lit corner caught his attention next, moving in and out of the shadows with short skirts, high heels and crop tops, protected from the rain above by an ill placed overhang. They regarded him with keen interest, flashing their assets to draw him in.
With a thorough look through the talent, he paid a hefty fee to one of them not to care about black lines of mascara or sopping wet hair. Long dark hair and large doe eyes, she wasted no time settling to her knees in the dark alley he pulled her into.
Vision blurred and tipped at a slant, he leaned against what felt like a dumpster - he wasn't entirely sure of his surroundings anymore, the alcohol so potent in his system his blood was likely replaced by it. He felt the woman's slender hand work the bulge between his legs, attempting to awaken him through his trousers. The motions became more rigorous, her ministrations failing to produce the desired result as he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the touch.
When she released his member from its constraints, it didn't stand at attention. She taunted him, something about faulty equipment, but he didn't hear her; words of another filtered through, someone else thoroughly encapsulating his thoughts.
Internally, he laughed at the irony of his predicament. Externally, he paid her three hundred gil to go away. He didn't remember the journey home.
The push and pull of his inner mechanics were persistent in its uncertainty. Did he make the right choice? The question beat through his skull as the evenings dragged on within the solitude of his apartment, one night identical to the next, he was no closer to an answer. He found his only solace was to reach into the bottom of the bottle to quiet the noise and fall to darkness as the sandman forced him into a restless, dreamless sleep.
The seventh day had him escorting the President to WRO Headquarters along with Rude and a few grunts for added security. Reno took the pilot chair of the Shinra chopper, finding a semblance of peace and control in flying the bird. He thought of Tifa then, as he always seemed to do these days, wondering if she would ever get those lessons she hoped for.
The meeting with WRO came and went without a hitch - signed contracts appropriating funds tagged with a clause that Shinra personnel would be utilized while WRO sought expansion for their current departments, most prominently the Science and Energy Divisions. Said personnel would be returned to their previous role within Shinra once a permanent employee had been hired, or the Shinra representative may seek permanent employment through written approval of their superior.
Reno's thoughts instantly drifted to Rude's offer from Reeve many nights ago, wondering if the President knew of his intentions to jump ship and was offering a parachute for the landing. Maybe he wasn't the only one.
The return to Shinra HQ was quiet, all party's contemplative. He considered probing Rufus further on what it all meant for Shinra's bottom line. Atonement was all well and good, but he had to wonder why the company was bleeding money into another for seemingly nothing in return. It felt more like a slow merge but wasn't explicitly stated. The Turk reminded himself the President had a bit of a hard on for control, so he could see why he would resist full consolidation. Additionally, the World was still very angry and wary of the Shinra name, and Reeve was unlikely to unravel his efforts due to bad press. Shinra's association to WRO would no longer be a secret, but WRO would still hold the important cards as the face of the new world order.
He found himself with Rude later that evening at Johnny's Heaven by his own suggestion. The outdoor bar was much more of a hole in the wall than its competition, providing coverage through a reinforced canopy to shield its patrons from the beating sun or passing storms. There were noticeable leaks and drips that splashed to an out of tune rhythm, but it allowed Reno to concentrate on something other than the mounting trepidation in his gut as his partner peered at him from across the small table with a question in his eyes.
He didn't have to ask - Reno knew what he was thinking.
"I thought we could use a change of scenery."
He followed Rude's eye as he surveyed the establishment, noting that the current weather provided no favors in drawing a crowd. A lone patron positioned at the bar counter chatted away at Johnny who listened to whatever the man was babbling about with apt enthusiasm. Another pair sat at a small center table, engaged in their own hushed exchange. A look at the collection of vertical streams pouring from overhead suggested he was having doubts about Reno's choice of venue.
With his expression settling into its commonly stoic countenance, Rude sipped his whiskey. A generous fog collected across his shades due to the contrast of heat from his skin and the cool air that wafted through, forcing him to remove and clean for visual clarity.
Reno suddenly questioned why he asked him there in the first place. He remembered their last discussion inside of a bar, one that centered around forgiveness and the woman he didn't deserve to touch. The quandary of Tifa Lockhart continued to unsettle him, and he thought that perhaps getting it out in the open would help him release some of his growing agitation. He was really starting to get sick of himself.
Returning his glasses to his face, Rude brought his attention squarely back to his friend. "I see."
"Sounds like a lot of judgment in that tone of yours." He feigned an animated grin. "You need to appreciate small businesses, yo. Spread the wealth. Use the remainder of your Shinra paycheck for some good; this place could use it."
"Right," Rude drawled, clearly suspicious.
Reno rolled his eyes, but chose to change the subject. "So, when you tellin' the bosses you're clockin' out for good?"
"Tomorrow. Two-week notice," Rude stated.
"Can't believe you're just gonna up and leave me like that. Don't I mean anything to you?"
Rude's smirk was subtle. "Don't worry, you'll be fired without me in a weeks' time."
"You've got a lot of faith in my work ethic. Three days, tops." He held up a few fingers for emphasis as he leaned back, wood creaking with the shift of his weight. "Ya know, I'm kinda surprised Rufus is giving employees an easy out. Guess he means business when it comes to atonement across the board."
His partner gave a shrug. "Guilt runs deep."
Boy did he know it.
"You could join, you know," Rude offered.
"Aw, partner," Reno grinned, "gonna miss me?"
"Maybe. Though you've been quite irritable lately."
There it was; his in to clear the air and provide his confession. "About that...I guess you're wondering why I've been in a shitty mood."
"A bit. Tseng's been asking questions."
It surprised him that his boss hadn't bothered to probe him about his persnickety mood personally. "What'd you tell him?"
Rude shrugged. "Your time of the month."
Reno snickered. "You've always got my back. The hell am I gonna do without you?"
It was only then the realization of Rude's departure from the company truly hit home. They'd been partners, friends for well over a decade, the yin to his yang in many respects. The hole the man would leave behind was not going to be easy to fill – quite frankly, it would be impossible.
Rude cleared his throat awkwardly. "You were saying?" He gestured with his open hand, imploring Reno for an explanation.
He took a very generous pull from his beer, leg becoming restless under the table as he mulled over what to say and how to say it. "Right. Well it's...complicated."
"Give me the 'too long, didn't read' version," Rude requested, his tone slightly impatient.
"I fucked up."
A snort of a laugh. "That's not helpful."
Reno discomfort seeped in, a bout of anxiety overtaking his senses that he couldn't recall experiencing in recent memory. It felt like confessing a sin, something he usually abstained from doing; there were just too many of them. "There's a reason why we aren't in Seventh Heaven."
"Isn't it to support small businesses?"
"Shut it, you cheeky bastard."
Reno sighed and threw a cautionary glance around them before slumping forward across the table, arms folded one over the other. "I fucked Tifa."
The silence was heavy and daunting, feeding the festering anxiety of the moment. Bringing it to open air should have been liberating, but as the silence drew on, he just felt ashamed.
There was a slight furrow to Rude's brow, noticeable creases indenting his forehead. "When?"
Reno looked at him with confusion before the query clicked. "Ah...before we had our little chat. It... already happened by then."
Rude regarded him without judgment, the tension in his face disappearing. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."
Reno dragged a hand over his face, reaching for his pack and lighter. He needed something to do with his hands. "Yeah well I am. Was. Still am..."
"One time?" Rude asked.
"Yeah, but…" he stopped to light his smoke, unsure of what to say. "Coulda been more. Would have been…"
Rude seemed to understand something that his friend didn't have to voice. "Caught feelings?"
He didn't want to answer that one, but he'd come this far. "I might have." The small admission made him feel a bit lighter, however his deepest dilemmas were unresolved.
For all the years Rude had known him, there wasn't a woman alive that had captured his heart in any real capacity. All of this seemed to surprise him, hazel eyes widening slightly behind his frames. This was serious, and it spared Reno from his playful ridicule. "Gonna do anything about it?"
"Fuck no. You know relationships don't fit my lifestyle." The reply came twined with indignation, although he wasn't truly convinced of it himself.
"I see." Neither was Rude.
"The hell are you implying there, partner?"
"That's only half true."
Reno knew which half he meant, that it was only a matter of time before his determination to abstain would crumble, and he'd jump right back into the fire that scorched him. "I can't go back. Not with what I've done."
There was an unspoken understanding between them just then. If anyone could relate to the heaviness of his guilt, it was another Turk whose hands were just as bloody as his own.
"Orders were orders then."
A deep scowl settled on Reno's face, taking in a drag to calm the sudden wave of irritation the conversation imposed. "Indefensible ones at that. How can I look her in the fuckin' eye and just be okay with it? How can she be okay with it?"
Drumming his fingers against the glass rim of his tumbler, he gave the man across an inquisitive look. "Gonna stay away, then?"
"I should."
Rude smirked, but it carried no joy or humor. "You won't."
"Fuck off," he grumbled, but he knew it was probably true.
A gust of wind flowed through the venue, sending an icy chill from the top of his neck to the base of his spine. Reno wasn't sure if it was courtesy of the cold or something emotionally invasive, but it left him feeling uneasy.
"Cassie thinks you have intimacy issues."
The statement jarred him, his hackles raising defensively at the accusation. "You can tell Cassie she can shove her psychoanalysis straight up her - " the look received from Rude forced him to reconsider his retort and provide some restraint, "what I meant to say was...please ask her to keep her lovely mouth shut."
A chuckle bubbled from Rude as he drained the remainder of his liquor. "She's right."
Reno became visibly flustered, his free hand pulling into a fist as he blindly flicked away the ash from his cigarette with the other. "Whose side are you on?"
"The right side," Rude responded.
Reno scoffed, agitation lacing his tone, "How the times have changed. I don't think I like your attitude anymore, ex-partner."
There was a bit of regret that flashed across his face, yet Rude appeared to take the bite in stride. He was the only one on the Planet he could be real with. A small nugget of solace on a plate full of disaster.
He raked a hand through his hair, visibly distressed. "Ah fuck...what has she done to me?"
"Definitely didn't make you any less of an asshole." A whimsical smirk crossed his visage.
"We are seriously about the throw down if you keep this up, yo." Annoyed as he was, he didn't mean a word of it.
The humor faded from Rude in favor of an expression a bit more serious in nature. "Do you know how she feels?"
A query he didn't know the answer to, maybe didn't even want to know. Eyes clouded with the memory of their last night together, his southern border evoking an ill-timed and unwelcome response while his chest constricted from the mental imagery.
His silence was louder than any verbal response he could muster.
A small nod told Reno his friend understood. The mutual awareness between them was as unnerving as it was comforting.
"Maybe you should ask her."
Reno couldn't help but reflect within that moment, the proposal heightening his already frayed nerves. Doubt filled him to the brim, but what was the root cause? His guilt regarding past transgressions was obviously at play, as was the desire to protect her from his dangerous wiles, but there was more behind the motivation of withdrawal.
The truth hit him like a bullet to the brain.
He was afraid.
Maybe he did have intimacy issues.
Reno stared at his partner with the same intensity that swelled in his gut and weighed down his stomach like an anchor. "If you don't think you deserve to touch her, how the fuck can I?"
Rude remained impeccably calm, reaching into his inner breast pocket to pull his phone free to view the time. "That might not be for us to decide."
The answer made him angry. If he had allowed himself to rationally absorb the information, he might have seen it to be true; he made the decision for her by walking away. As good as his intentions may have been, he didn't give her an option - he'd decided for her.
When he opened his mouth to respond, to vent his frustrations at the man who was merely trying to provide guidance in navigating his unusual predicament, he knew it was misplaced. The words died on his lips, and he sat back feeling far more perplexed now than he'd been from the start.
Returning the phone to his blazer, Rude leaned across the table, calloused fingers weaving together in front of him. His tone took an edge of compassion, rare for the otherwise stoic Turk. "It was you who said we can be forgiven. Maybe we should start to believe it."
Reno chuckled, void of humor. He thought he believed in the sentiment when he'd pronounced it then, but the idea of applying it to his own reality felt more like a fantasy.
Rude stood from the table and fished out his wallet, laying out a sum of gil to its surface. As he slipped his arms through the sleeves of his ebony raincoat, Reno pulled himself from his rueful reverie.
"Hey...you let Cassie decide, didn't you?"
Only a handful of times had Reno ever seen such an authentic smile capture his friends' face, one which brightened his eyes and projected genuine sincerity. It was all he needed to say, without saying anything at all.
In the distance, Johnny gushed about Seventh Heaven, about Tifa Lockhart, to the customers seated at the center table. An inspiration she was to his own business, and they would be remiss not to go give it a chance.
Rude disappeared into the storm, and Reno followed his fleeting form until he was swallowed by the night, all the while pondering the same question that had haunted him for many days and nights without end:
Did he make the right choice?