"What the fuck am I doing?" I grumbled to myself, hands shoved in my pockets, searching desperately for a cigarette. As I lit up, I centered my thoughts, and my unstable, drunken form against a brick wall. I exhaled, watching the elegant swirl of smoke ascend and spiral out into the night sky. It was hopeless. I shouldn't have even come this far.

Blame it on the alcohol. Blame it on coincidence. Blame it on a momentary lapse in judgment (and we all know I've had quite a few of those). Blame it on the fact that it was a Friday night and I had jack shit to do. You could blame it on any or all of those things, and it wouldn't change the fact that I'm leaning against a brick wall, opposite of Cloud Strife's new digs, a teeny bit pissed (alright, I was drunk). I couldn't take my eyes off the front door, toe poking at the pebbles on the road, ever the picture of one contemplating man.

The question was…well…what was the question? It could be one of many, really.

Why am I here?

Why doncha just go back home?

Why the fuck did it have to be Strife's place?

Why the fuck am I having these urges?

Why does he have to be so goddamn irresistible?

Why am I so out of control—without judgment and better sense?

Did it have to be tonight, of all nights?

Why can't I stay away?

Words and words flowed through my sluggish brain, and as the cigarette was stubbed out under my heel, my questioning mind found one conclusion.

I took the last swig from the bottle in my hand, letting it slide down my hand and fall softly into the waiting trashbin below. I stared placidly at that godforsaken front door, sliding up the wall. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth and stalked over to his door. Yes, stalked, not slid or sauntered. Today I was on a mission. I was going to get what I wanted, no matter what it took. I was going to make him mine, and mine alone.

I knocked on the door sharply. I hardly waited for the door to open a crack before I pushed my way in and closed the door with my own foot. My hands were busy pinning a toned, blonde man to said door.

" Reno—" He looked angry. Well, he sounded angry, but he looked more intrigued than anything. Who wouldn't be, with a drunk, redheaded Turk bashing into your apartment and pinning you against the front door? His next words came out slow and even, looking up into my eyes, with brows furrowed. "What the fuck are you doing?" I took this opportunity to lean in, tongue trailing slowly along the shell of his ear. I felt Cloud shudder softly under me, eyes closing, then opening quickly. " Reno." His voice is low, warning. But I know I haven't gone too far yet. The line hasn't been crossed—I mean, fuck…the line hasn't even been drawn yet.

a/n: Whaaaaaa? Oh yes, it's a teaser. Because the next part will be much bigger and better, but I had to put something out so you lovelies know that Musings IS NOT DEAD. It dies when I say so. And I say nay, it is not dead. I'm tres pissed at ff dot net right now, being that I had this artsy fartsy way of lining up the questions, and it's totally not working. Damn. :pout:

I'm working on the next bit tonight, so we'll see if that's up within the next couple o' days. Or maybe even tonight, if true inspiration hits me!

Oh, title stolen from James Morrison song: Under the Influence