Sticky Fingers and Stolen Moments - Part 2
By Crystal Snowflakes
Please see Author's Notes at the end for trigger warnings.
VI.
He wasn't drunk, he wasn't sick, and he didn't have a headache, though he certainly felt shitty enough to take the day off. It was one of those days: when it really sucked having to pretend like everything was okay—when he had to pretend nothing was wrong.
Still, the first thing Reno did when his feet hit the soft ground was to take a deep breath and check his phone. The reminder of what day it was flashed obnoxiously on his screen, and he stared at it for several seconds before swiping it away.
He knew the date—had known that this day was approaching for weeks now—but hadn't allowed himself to think about it.
Sighing, he threw himself back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling with an absent gaze. The morning light streamed through the blinds, casting shadows on the walls, and it almost seemed to mock him: a constant reminder that today had come.
His mind was stuck on his last conversation with her, on all the things he had said to her. But more than that, he often thought of what he hadn't said—
It took Reno far longer than he would ever care to admit to finally pulling himself out of bed and throwing on a pair of pants. His movements were slow and sluggish, and by the time he reached the door, he could barely muster up the motivation to do anything other than make a coffee.
He just had to get through the day and do that one job. Just one. And then as soon as he finished it, he could forget all about today—could forget all about the world—for a few hours while he got a drink or two or three.
By some miracle, the machine made half a decent cup of coffee, and he found himself taking a drink as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. His gaze swept over the kitchen—dark and empty and quiet—before lingering on the polaroid photo sitting innocuously on the fridge.
Reno tried not to think too hard about how the photograph still made his stomach twist into knots every time he saw it. It was tempting to rip it off and throw it away—it kept bringing up memories that were better left locked away in the closet—but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
He'd regret it instantly—he'd never been very good at letting things go.
Polishing off the coffee in a few quick gulps, he pushed himself off the counter and set the cup in the sink. The photo continued to stay there, mocking him with its existence, until he grabbed his pack of cigarettes off the counter and headed for the balcony, phone in hand.
Outside, the morning air felt cooler and drier than it had earlier that week, and he pulled a cigarette from the pack. His old lighter—one that had been sent back to him in a small, unmarked box half a year ago—was familiar and comforting even though it didn't feel like it belonged to him anymore. It lit up without much protest, and he slipped it back into his pockets before he dropped it. Relief flooded him when he felt the nicotine rush hit his bloodstream; the feeling was familiar, like breathing after drowning. He drew deep breaths of smoke, savouring the taste and the burn—knowing it was going to one day kill him—while his hand thumbed the phone screen idly.
Should he call?
It wasn't like she would pick up, but it almost felt wrong, not calling to leave a message. Wishing her a happy birthday in some capacity felt like a ritual at this point, even if they hadn't spoken since last year. Before he could continue to second guess himself, he pressed to call and pressed the phone to his ears as he waited patiently for her voicemail—one he had heard more than a handful of times in the last few months.
"Great Ninja Yuffie here! If you're hearing this, it probably means I'm tryin' to avoid you, so take a hint. If you're looking for Lady Kisaragi, then you've definitely got the wrong number, so scram! I'll call you back if you're worthy of a callback though, but if not, well… Toodles!"
The voicemail ended, and Reno hung up before he could leave a message, but he didn't put the phone away. Instead, he looked out at the city stretching below him and took another deep drag before exhaling slowly, phone still against his ear. He had called often in the last few months on shitty days just to hear her voice while not wanting to leave proof of what he'd done.
But… how many more days or weeks or months would her voicemail message be around for until it, too, disappeared?
Letting out a sigh, he spoke into the empty air.
"Hey brat." Reno tapped the glass of the balcony railing with his cigarette and watched the ashes drift slowly downward to the ground before disappearing beneath the concrete buildings. "Just wanted to wish you a happy birthday."
With an exasperated chuckle, he shook his head and flicked his cigarette off the edge of the balcony.
"So happy birthday, you little shit. Hope you're happy, wherever the hell you are."
He hadn't planned on visiting. His initial plan had been a stroll to clear his head, but it seemed as if his legs had a mind of their own and had taken him to the bar instead. The last thing Reno wanted was to run into anyone he knew, but just as he was about to turn back around, his stomach growled.
Other than that first cup of coffee in the morning, he hadn't eaten anything, and a late lunch sounded pretty good right about now.
It wouldn't hurt to stay for a few drinks until Rude got off work anyway.
With that, he pushed through the glass door, causing the bell to chime as he made his way inside. It was empty, but the sound of water running could be heard from inside the kitchen. The familiar smell of home-cooked food wafted through the air and made his mouth water.
"Be out there in a minute!" Tifa's voice called from inside.
Rather than taking a seat at his usual corner table, Reno took a seat at one of the stools, drumming his fingers on the countertop absentmindedly while waiting. His eyes roamed the room—lit by the natural light filtering in from the windows—looking over the various bottles and jars lining the shelves, to the 'Closed for Business' sign nailed sloppily against the wall, before finally resting on the corkboard hanging above the bar.
Colourful flyers and newspaper clippings and photos—of the children, of the group of misfits, of Rude and Tifa's wedding—were pinned to the board; all reminders of times long past, before everything changed. His gaze focused on one particular photo, which showed Yuffie grinning happily as she stood next to Cloud, holding her arms up for an exaggerated pose on the Fenrir. Her grin was infectious—had always been—and Reno found himself smiling fondly as he recalled some of her antics.
"Oh, hey," said a soft voice, interrupting Reno's thoughts. He glanced up just in time to see Tifa emerge from the kitchen as she wiped her hands off on a dish towel. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. Rude said you weren't feeling well…?"
"Nah," Reno muttered with a noncommittal shrug, "Just needed a day off, yo. Ya know it is sometimes."
Tifa frowned, worried, as she stopped in front of his stool, concern etched on her face. She reached out tentatively towards his forehead, her touch surprisingly gentle, and Reno had to force himself not to flinch away. "You sure? You don't look great."
He managed a half-hearted grin. "Yea, Lockhart. I'm fine. Need some grub though."
She nodded in understanding, though something told Reno she didn't believe him at all. "I can fix that," she said, gesturing towards the kitchen. "Give me a minute to get some food, and we can have a chat while we eat, okay? I haven't had lunch yet either."
His stomach grumbled loudly again then, and he knew better than to argue when she had her mind set on something. Tifa disappeared behind the swinging doors into the kitchen then, and Reno sighed as he leaned back against the bar and ran a hand through his hair. To keep himself occupied, he pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through idly as he waited.
Reno was halfway through reading the recent news about the latest murder victim in the ghetto part of Edge when Tifa emerged from the kitchen, carrying two sets of plates and bowls. He recognized the familiar scent of grilled cheese and tomato soup—his favourite comfort food—before she even set the plates and bowls down in front of him. Taking out a couple cans of pop, she pulled out an empty stool and sat opposite him before nodding at his serving.
"Eat up before it gets cold," she suggested gently.
He nodded gratefully and took a bite of his sandwich. It was still warm from the grill and filled him with an unexpected sense of satisfaction, and it made him feel more like himself. They ate mostly in silence, and Reno was thankful that she didn't seem like she wanted to talk much; as a matter of fact, it looked like her mind seemed to be somewhere else.
When they finished eating, she cleared away the plates and headed into the kitchen once more.
Reno finished his can of his pop—though he wished it was beer instead—before she returned, settling back on the stool across from him once more. The silence was stifling rather than comfortable though, and he wondered if maybe Tifa felt the same.
He opened his mouth. "Kinda quiet 'round here today. What's with that?"
Tifa shook her head and smiled softly as she set her elbows on the counter top. "I put up a sign a few days ago that we'd be closed today."
"Oh, shit," he muttered, glancing back towards the door, not seeing any sign of a poster. "Did I miss it?"
"Not at all!" she assured, reaching out to pat his arm reassuringly. "I took the sign down earlier today. Thought I'd like a quiet day to myself, but…" she trailed off suddenly, her expression growing sombre, and he caught a glimpse of the sadness that lay underneath the bright, cheerful exterior. "Sometimes though, the thoughts get too loud without any distractions." Her voice lowered to a whisper, and her eyes turned distant, lost in thought.
Reno watched her for a moment, wondering if he should leave. He didn't know what to say because he understood what she meant all too well.
If only things had been different. Goddamn brat.
Clearing his throat, he scrambled for an excuse to get out of the conversation; whatever she was saying struck too close to home and he wasn't sure how comfortable he was with dealing with whatever was surfacing right now. "Thanks for the grub, Lockhart, but I—"
"But you get it, don't you?" Tifa interrupted, giving him a smile when she finally met his gaze again. There was something sympathetic in her eyes, and he felt his stomach twist uncomfortably.
Shit.
Over the years, he'd lost people, but he couldn't quite remember a loss that cut quite as deep as this one. And he hated it. Maybe it was because he saw all the red flags, maybe it was because he should've known better—or maybe it was because he felt like he could've fucking done something.
Anything.
But it was too fucking late now.
"Yea," he muttered, his voice cracking slightly on the word, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. His fingers curled into fists under the counter, nails digging into the tender flesh of his palms. If he squeezed hard enough to hurt, maybe it'd distract him enough. "Yea. I do."
Tifa looked at him intently for a moment before a small broken laugh escaped her. She looked away briefly and shook her head, as though shaking off a thought, before returning her attention back on him.
"She'd hate this conversation if she was here," Tifa said, smiling softly.
It was almost like she could read his mind—and he had a feeling for years that she knew—at least more than anyone else. Even Rude. And so he threw away the pretense and let out a humourless chuckle because what the hell did it matter anyway?
"Damn straight."
Suddenly, Tifa stood up and turned around to pull out a couple of glasses and a whiskey bottle from beneath the counter. Reno stared at her silently as she poured a generous amount of amber liquid—the kind that made your insides feel like someone had just dipped them in acid and made you forget about everything else but the drink in your hand—into each glass.
"You know," Tifa said gently, pushing one of the glasses towards him. "For the longest time, I kept thinking she'd show up to the bar one day like nothing happened. Like she never left."
It wasn't an unreasonable thought, considering the only thing they'd found at the edge of a cliff was a half empty bottle of Moonshine and a handwritten letter with her drunken scrawl. He'd had the same thought more than once—especially on nights he'd had a little too much to drink.
But it had been a few months since, and he knew it was wistful thinking.
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, but she quickly schooled her features into a neutral look before taking a deep breath. "But it just never happened."
"Does sound like something the little shit would do," he muttered, reaching out to take the glass. It felt warm in his hands, and he looked down at it and watched the amber liquid slosh inside. A soft sigh escaped him, and he pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes for a few seconds before dropping his arms.
The burn in his throat didn't go away.
Tifa reached out and hesitated, as though unsure whether or not to touch him, before placing a gentle hand on his arm. A slight flush coloured her cheeks, but the expression on her face was soft—full of compassion and understanding—and he found himself fighting down the urge to lash out at her.
"Over the years…" she trailed off, biting at the inside of her cheek, almost as she was debating on whether to say what she was going to say. He glanced up and caught her eye, and the look on her face was enough to let him know what she was going to say next. "I've always wondered… About the two of you—"
"Does it matter?" he asked roughly, and it sounded harsher than he intended. Immediately, he regretted the words coming out of his mouth, and his hand clenched tightly against the glass.
Still, she wasn't deterred. Instead, her gaze met his unflinchingly—unafraid—searching his every feature, and he felt her piercing eyes see right through him. After another few moments, Tifa nodded slowly and dropped her gaze.
"I guess not," she murmured softly. "Not anymore." The last part came out quietly, and he heard her swallow audibly before she lifted her glass, a small smile on her face. "To Yuffie."
Without missing a beat, Reno raised his own glass and clinked it against hers as he tried futilely to quell the guilt and bitterness and whatever it was that was twisting inside his gut.
"To Yuffie," he echoed, forcing a flippancy in his tone that felt fake even to his own ears. "To the brat who left too soon."
Who knew she'd be forever stuck at 26?
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Reno wasn't drunk and the alcohol hadn't made anything better, but at least it numbed his thoughts enough to stop him from overthinking and dwelling on the past.
It was past midnight when he finally stepped out of the bar. The smell of wet earth from the early evening rain filled his senses, and he welcomed the bite of the cold, sharp wind against his skin. Streetlights that lined the streets made dancing shadows behind him, and for a moment, he stared up at the endless blackness of the night skies.
Taking a deep breath, he let the crisp autumn air fill his lungs before releasing it in one long sigh.
By the time he made it home, he could feel the beginning of exhaustion settling into his bones—of sleep pulling at his consciousness—making itself known by the way his joints ached more than usual.
He wasn't getting any younger. Shame she wasn't getting any older though.
There was something about not being able to actually call her and hear her voice to say happy birthday—maybe it really was a force of habit—that bothered him. Not for the first time, he wondered if the feeling would go away over time—or if he would even bother calling her next year.
He fumbled with the keys in his hand, and it felt like an eternity before he finally managed the right key. As soon as he entered, he closed the door, locked it behind it and kicked off his boots before throwing them aside.
And then he noticed the breeze, cool on his face. His gaze flickered to the balcony doors and froze where he stood.
There, against the darkness of the night sky, was a figure sitting on the balcony railing watching the city lights below. Despite the long hair and baggy clothes, there was no mistaking who it was. He'd finally done it: drank enough that he was imagining things.
This must've been what hallucinations felt like.
For a long time though, he stood still, staring at her, willing for her to stay. At the same time, he wanted some sense of reality to return because if this was just in his head…
Reno swallowed thickly and tried to ignore the nervous fluttering in his stomach as he approached with slow, deliberate steps, his feet barely making a sound as he padded across the hardwood floors. She didn't move. With her head bowed down and her arms at her side, she looked like she was asleep.
She looked smaller than he remembered. Fragile, even.
But he knew better.
He slid open the balcony door, the sound loud and startling in the stillness of the night, and she jolted up as she had been caught doing something wrong before spinning around. Their eyes met, and the expression on her face seemed frozen in mid-motion as she opened and closed her mouth several times, searching for the words she wanted to use…
"You didn't call to wish me a happy birthday." A grin—her characteristic grin—came to life on her face, but there was the slightest hint of apprehension in her expression.
Everything felt all too real, too vivid. The sound of her voice, the soft glow of the moonlight against her skin, the impish gleam in her gaze.
Reno was tempted to reach out. Instead, he clenched his hands tight as he shook his head, trying to shake the fog of drunkenness away so he could focus. His chest tightened as his mind tried desperately to process what was happening.
She was fucking here—in front of him—and he tried to take in every detail he could see. He knew he needed to say something—anything—but his brain was working overdrive, and he didn't want to tell her he did fucking call. That he'd called her more times in the last few months than he'd ever called anyone else. That she had run through his thoughts over and over without stopping.
"Dead people ain't got birthdays." The words spilled out—bitterness seeping into his tone—before he even registered that they were coming from his lips. And now she was staring at him like he'd just punched her in the face, he had to remind himself that she was nothing but a hallucination brought on by a drink, and that none of this was real.
She wasn't here.
But then she laughed—the sound boisterous and loud and so full of fucking life—that it hurled him back to the past. He felt his chest grow tight, the lump in his throat growing bigger and bigger until it threatened to choke him completely.
Yuffie hopped off the railing and suddenly she was in front of him, standing so close that he could feel her breath fanning his cheeks, and everything was all too real. The scent of her—sweet, earthy, floral, and distinctively hers—filled his lungs.
It was intoxicating.
And up until that very moment, he was sure she'd been nothing but a figment of his imagination, but the warmth of her hand, fingers curled tightly around his clenched fist…
Their faces were inches apart, their noses nearly touching, and all he could think about was how good she smelled—like spring rain and sunshine—when he realized with a rush that she wasn't a dream or illusion.
"Well, aren't you gonna wish me a happy birthday anyway since I came all the way here?" she asked, her voice soft, but full of teasing and mischief. The playful glint in her eyes and that smile, that goddamn grin—it was a fucking sin.
He couldn't find his own words and he knew deep down that he was screwed. Something about her always made him make the worst decisions; he had always been unable to resist her—damn her. She was always so infuriating, but damn if it wasn't worth it for those moments.
For months, he had thought that she was fucking dead, and now that she was in front of him, his heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest. All he wanted was to grab her by the shoulders and shake her because goddamnit—what the fuck was he supposed to say?
"...Reno?"
His throat felt so raw he could barely talk, but when Yuffie looked at him like she was waiting for an answer…
"It's already past your birthday," he managed, his voice ragged and rough while thousands of unvoiced questions swirled in his mind. What was she doing here, of all places?
Why the fuck now?
"You stingy bastard. Are you serious?" She scowled, her eyes narrowing in annoyance, but there was no mistaking the slight blush colouring her cheeks, or the fond smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
The silence that followed seemed to stretch forever between them before a cackle escaped her lips, and Yuffie threw her arms around him and hugged him so tight that it hurt, pressing her head against his shoulder. His arms went around her instinctively, and he found himself burying his face in her hair as he tried to regain control over his breathing.
He had missed this—had missed the weight and warmth of her body pressed against him, and he hadn't realized how much he fucking wanted this.
A minute later, Yuffie pulled away slightly—still within reach, still leaning against him—and grinned up at him, her dark eyes bright with unshed tears. Letting out another short laugh, she reached up and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I can't believe I'm crying. It's so stupid."
He let out a breathless chuckle. "Ya think?
She rolled her eyes, a light smirk on her lips before finally pulling away fully, and he let his arms drop limply back to his sides. He wouldn't admit it, but already, he missed the contact. Dammit, what the fuck was wrong with him?
Standing there awkwardly, her hands wrung together in front of her, she seemed lost. But eventually, she sighed, her gaze turning distant and sad and he hated how hurt she looked—how it made him feel.
And then Yuffie broke the silence. "On a more serious note…" Her voice was small, almost fragile, and something tightened in his chest at her words. "I'm in town cause I found someone to make me a fake ID. Just needed a place to crash for a few days before I go, and I figure you're my best chance since you live alone and you've got a guest room and you're kinda never home. But it's totes fine if I can't. I get it. I kinda dropped in unannounced and—"
Before she could ramble any further, his hand shot out and clamped tightly over hers, effectively silencing her. Was she planning on leaving? Already? When she raised her eyes to meet his, he found that he didn't know what to say. There were too many thoughts racing through his brain and too much swirling inside him. A part of him wanted nothing more than to make sure she never left his sight again, but another part of him wanted her gone. He didn't sign up for any of this shit.
But… deep down, he also knew it was an excuse. She could've found a cheap motel to crash at for a few days. Hell, there was one right across the street that didn't ask for any identification as long as you left them enough gil. But no, she'd come to him specifically. Not to Tifa's, not to Reeve, not to the church. But him.
….Why?
"It ain't like you're gonna listen if I tell you to leave, yo," he muttered, forcing himself to breathe normally, to sound nonchalant. It sounded so much harsher than he had intended though, even if he had meant it as a joke.
A brief flash of disappointment passed across her features before she took a step back. He saw the way her jaws tightened and the way her fists clenched before her expression hardened. And then her shoulders slumped, and he immediately regretted what he said.
Before he could even think of a way to apologize—
"I'm tired of the games, Reno," Yuffie replied, her tone low and sharp—too sharp. "I've played enough cutthroat political games to last me a lifetime, and I'm tired of the bullshit. For Leviathan's sake—I pretended to kill myself to get away from it."
She sounded so tired and defeated, and it tore at his insides. There was a haunted look in her eyes, a shadow clouding over her irises. Politics weren't meant for someone like her; they were meant for people like Rufus Shinra who could take advantage of the chaos and turn everything into profit. Not for the first time, he wondered how many times she had already fallen prey to vicious games and lost.
"I don't wanna play anymore." Her voice wavered, just barely, and for a moment, it seemed as if time stopped. And then she exhaled slowly through her nose and finally spoke again. "If you want me to leave, tell me, cause I'll go."
Her jaw was set, chin lifting, and her eyes were narrowed and hard as steel when she met his gaze. She was determined—determined and hurting—and Reno almost couldn't bear the look on her face. It wasn't an empty threat. If he told her to go, she'd go—no questions asked—and he knew he'd never see her again.
The thought left a sickening feeling twisting in his gut. If the last few months had taught him anything, it was that despite never wanting to truly admit it to himself, he cared about the little shit far more than he wanted to let himself admit. She was one hell of a pain in the ass, but damn if Reno didn't sometimes find himself wondering how it would have been if things had been different.
And now, he had the chance to swallow his pride and ask her to—
"No," he heard himself say, surprising himself as much as it surprised her. She raised her brow in silent question, her head tilting slightly to the side. Reno tried not to squirm under her stare, and he forced himself to stare back at her with a blank, stoic expression, willing away all traces of emotions to not give away his own thoughts.
"Stay."
He hated this conversation so fucking much.
Fuck.
He could've sworn he saw a flicker of confusion cross her face, but the moment passed quickly as she blinked once and stepped forward, her hand reaching for his. Reno hesitated only briefly before lacing their fingers together, and she squeezed his hand as he tried his best to ignore the way his stomach flipped and the way his heart pounded within his chest.
"You sure?" she asked quietly, almost as if she was afraid he'd suddenly change his mind. She looked uncharacteristically vulnerable standing there staring up at him, her hair falling around her face in messy waves, and he fought the urge to reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear. "I'm not gonna hold it against you if—"
"Stay," he repeated, swallowing and squeezing her hand in return. "For as long as you need it."
She bit her lower lip and turned her attention towards the city, her eyes taking in every detail as though she hadn't seen it in years. A slow smile spread across her lips, and her eyes shimmered with something he couldn't quite describe. And then without warning, she spun back around, the top of her head crashing against his collarbone. Reno nearly stumbled backward as he felt her hand grip onto the collar of his shirt and his own arm wrapped around her waist to steady her.
"The fuck—" His words faltered mid-sentence as her body shook against his, the sound of her laughter ringing softly in his ears. It was a welcome sound.
When she finally pulled away, the corners of her mouth twitched upwards in a grin. "Thanks, Turkey." Her cheeks were flushed, and before he could respond, the expression on her face turned impish. "So… You gonna kiss me or what?"
The change in subject almost gave him whiplash as he processed her words before letting out a bark of laughter. Before he could respond, Yuffie tightened her hold on his shirt and yanked him forward, catching him completely off-guard and he found himself with his forehead pressed against hers.
Their breath mingled as he inhaled sharply, and he struggled to focus on anything but the feel of her hands tangled in his shirt and her lips just inches from his own. It would be so easy to close the gap between them, but there was so much left unsaid between them, and it almost felt like he was taking advantage of her. She was emotionally fragile and making a terrible fucking decision, and he knew she deserved better.
"Just don't think, 'kay?" Yuffie whispered, her lips ghosting over his, her breath hot against his skin. It sent goosebumps prickling along his arms. "I don't wanna think about the future."
"Yuff—"
"I wanna live one day at a time," she breathed, her gaze meeting his with such earnestness that something inside him ached and burned, and he couldn't find it within himself to pull away.
His free hand lifted to cup her jaw gently, thumb tracing along the delicate skin beneath her cheekbone. "One day at a time," he repeated. He'd always lived one day at a time without expectations hanging over his head for as long as he could remember.
But could he do it with her? Would she be able to stand him if she actually learned how much of a fuck up he really was?
What he did know was that she deserved more than him—someone better.
She leaned into his touch so slightly that he thought maybe she hadn't meant for him to notice, but it made his blood rush through his veins. Her eyes searched his, wide and hopeful and so fucking beautiful.
He knew he wasn't good enough for her.
…But he'd always been a selfish bastard.
He tilted his head down, cradling the back of her neck, nose brushing against hers. His heart pounded erratically against his ribcage as he closed the last bit of distance between them and captured her mouth with his.
She smelled like wild grass and spring flowers. The kiss was chaste and soft and it reminded him of freedom and streetlamps and second chances.
And then her hands tangled themselves into his hair, pulling him closer as their bodies pressed together—tugging until he groaned into her mouth, fingers tightening around the soft curve of her waist. He slid his hand past the hem of her sweater, up until his fingertips brushed across the skin of her stomach and he revelled in the feel of her silky skin beneath his rough palms. A whimper escaped her lips, and it took all of his self-control not to rip the damn thing off her.
Instead, they stumbled back inside the apartment—somehow closing the balcony door behind them—never breaking apart long enough for either of them to catch their breath before collapsing onto the couch in an uncoordinated heap. And there they lay, entangled and breathless, panting through their mouths as they gazed at each other through half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks.
It was nothing like their first time together, where he fucked her against the wall with his pants still around his knees, nor was it like their last time in the empty playground, where he woke up with turf burns on his knees from the dry grass the following day.
There was no rush—no urgency in the gentle press of their mouths, no sense of urgency or desperation as they lost themselves in each other. Between bumping limbs and awkward laughter, they fell into an easy rhythm. Their clothes fell away slowly—tossed aside and discarded on the floor—as they explored and relearned each other with tentative touches.
It felt like they had all the time in the world.
There was only Yuffie—with her eyes bright and filled with wonder—who somehow managed to barge into his life without realizing it, who somehow managed to steal his sanity and leave his senses reeling. And with the way she looked at him, it was like she couldn't quite believe he was really there.
Eventually, she had him stretched out across the couch as she straddled atop him like she belonged there, like it was natural. Her fingers danced along his skin as she traced lazy patterns over his chest and his shoulders, and the dim moonlight streamed through the window bathing the room in a silver glow. As she buried her face in the space below his collarbone, she rode him—slow and deep and languid—his name a ragged sigh on her lips.
The tips of his fingers trailed across her ribs, his palms resting flat against her back, his hips grinding up against hers until she came undone all at once, gasping in a shuddering breath as she quivered above him. He felt her teeth scrape along his pulse point as she moaned his name, and he came seconds later, clenching helplessly as he shuddered violently under her touch.
All he knew was that he was drowning—in the taste of her, in the scent of her; all that mattered was that he was holding her, breathing her in, feeling the beat of her heart against his chest.
He wasn't sure how long they stayed there, curled together on the couch, lost in their own thoughts until she laughed against his skin and he caught her mouth in a heated kiss, savouring the taste of her and the feel of her body pressing against his. Slowly, he reached up and tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, and she smiled as he ran his thumb across her cheekbone.
"Fuck," he breathed, voice hoarse and raw.
Yuffie cocked her head slightly to the side, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder, her eyes glimmering impishly under the moonlight. "You were alright," she teased, her breath fanning warm against his throat.
Reno snorted, shaking his head.
They would have to talk when they caught their breaths again—when reality caught up with them and became less hazy around the edges. He still wasn't sure if he was going to strangle her for making him think she had died, but for now, as he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist—their tangled limbs fitting together perfectly—he cared about nothing else.
It wouldn't matter to him if the rest of the world would come crashing down tomorrow. It was a problem for later.
With her head resting beside his own, she smiled softly, her eyes glinting in the darkness as she watched him stare up at the ceiling. His fingers drifted lazily up and down the bare expanse of her back until finally he reached the small of her back, dragging his calloused palm across her skin, and she arched up against him, pressing herself further into him, sighing softly as she settled comfortably against him.
A wave of affection washed over him as his fingers stroked lightly across her back, and he wondered whether she was even aware of the effect she had on him.
"Happy birthday, dipshit," he murmured before pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against the top of her head.
Yuffie yawned as she burrowed her face deeper under his neck, nuzzling against his skin and mumbled sleepily. "Thanks, dickwad."
Trigger Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, mentions of suicide.
Author's Notes: I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Next planned Reffie fic to be posted will be an X'Mas/holiday fic (hopefully) and the annual New Year's Eve fic :) In the meantime, I'll continue to write my in-progress longfics and hope I can post them one day (ha ha ha…)
Completed: November 4, 2022