And here is the next chapter! I'm on a roll here! Two chapters in one night! So what if the last one was short...it's the effort and thought that counts! lol. This one is my favorite so far. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I don't own FFVII or any character belonging to it. The story is mine.

There is a rarely used office in the new Shinra Co. Building in Midgar. Its owner despised paper work, usually putting it off on someone else. The office, lacking anything else to do, collected dust. Thus the reason its occupant was sneezing every few minutes. He had just cleaned it from top to bottom, throwing away things rather than get rid of the dust that covered them. There was a heap of trash bags outside the office window that contained lamps, rugs, various office supplies and a chair with bullet holes in the back. The staff was familiar with the cleaning habits of the office owner, so they simply ignored it until the janitors took it away.

Considering the purge of the office of everything but the desk, there was one thing that was carefully dusted and sat in clean glory on the desk. It was a picture. It was facing the window, so that its owner wouldn't have to look at it. Not that it mattered. He knew what it was better than anything else. He tried to ignore it by setting up new lamps, rugs, various pieces of office supplies and a new chair. It only worked for so long. He had to sit in the chair at the desk to do his work, and that meant looking at the picture.

Doing the work meant thinking about the picture. It was taken right in this office, with him at his desk. Sitting there would remind him of the picture he was trying so hard to ignore.

The arrival of someone with a stack of papers as thick as his arm forced him to sit down in his new, non-bullet-riddled chair, and stare at the picture. He picked it up gently, as though it would break at the slightest touch. There he was, sitting in his chair at his desk, smiling like a love-struck fool at a young woman who wore a similar expression. She was leanign over the back of his chair, her arms around his neck. The picture was nothing compared to the memory he held of that day.

It was the day he realized he was in love.

It was the day he did the stupidest thing in his life.

Three years had passed since he'd been in this office. He couldn't bear to see it and remember. Not that he didn't remember without seeing it. It was just that seeing it brought it fresh into his mind, like it happened yesterday instead of three years ago. It was the first time he had ever used his office, the only reason being that he wanted to do his job right for the first time. He wanted to impress her, and having his own office this size was impressive to anyone. It impressed her, but she didn't care if he had an office. She cared that she was with him, in an office or the bottom of a materia mine. He felt the same.

That's why he broke up with her that day. He didn't want to be in love. He thought that by getting rid of her, he would get rid of that emotion.

Needless to say, it didn't work.

He was still in love with her. Three years, and he was still in love with her. It took him two months to realize just how stupid he was. She had called him then, but he couldn't make himself answer the phone. She called him five times a day, each time he couldn't answer her. The calls stopped, but not the nagging feeling that he should have answered. It gnawed at his mind ceaslessly. That's what caused the chair to be riddled with bullets. He imagined himself sitting there, with her arms around his neck, cursing himself for throwing away the most precious thing in the world to him; he emptied a clip into the hapless chair.

The chair didn't mind. It was tired of living in dust and dis-use. Being shot at was the highlight of it's short life. It almost sighed in relief when he shot it. Such was the life of office furniture in the Shina Co. Building.

The man sat, facing the picture he'd been avoiding. His hand went to his cell phone on impulse. Flipping it open, he dialed a number that hadn't been used in years. He paused, finger over the 'send' button. Indecision stayed his hand, or rather, finger. What was the worst thing that would happen? She wouldn't answer. Or she could have gotten married and her new husband would answer the phone. Could he deal with that? No.

He hit the button anyway. He had always liked to live dangerously.

'Ring'

'Ring'

'Ri- "Hello?"

"Who's this?" Sound was muffled for a moment as the object of his affection checked the number that had called her. "Wait...Reno?"

'Click'

Reno sat in his new chair, with his new lamps lit and new rugs on the floor and new office supplies, and stared at his cell phone. He turned it off before she called him back. He never got any work done that evening. He sat at his desk with his head in his hands.

The office supplies were, needless to say, disappointed.

And there you have it! R&R please! Thanks!

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