i am my own,

begins to tap his knuckles on the cool, steel table -

restless.

dion is an inkblot on pristine paper, permanent and destructive and, frankly, bad for business. and anything that shinra deems bad for business -

but don't his eyes look a little too familiar?

"gently?" reno laughs but it's mirthless, the air heavy in his lungs. like tar. "your boys were so fuckin' thorough when searching through my shit they gotta take me out on a date now. and none of that cheap shit, lesage, i'm a fuckin' class act."

he's stalling, thinking, thinking - stuck in-between wanting to be rescued and hoping that rude is far, far away by now. fingers strum on the steel surface as he focuses fully on the man before him in silent contemplation, mako-stained eyes glowing gently in the dim light.

but no, fucking seriously, the fuck is up with those eyes?

“ am i not good enough? ”  

“ you’ve been so quiet. what’s on your mind? ”  

“ why did you help me? ”  

“ who do you fight for? ”  

“ why do you hate me? ”  

“ have you come to laugh at me in my miserable state? ”  

“ you’re not dating anyone, are you? ”  

“ i’ve got your back, okay? ”  

“ where do you think you’re going? ”  

“ how long have i been asleep? ”  

“ are you going to kill me? ”  

“ why can’t i come with you? ”  

“ we all have secrets, don’t we? ”  

“ did you want to be alone? ”  

“ why should i trust you? ”  

“ wait. did you hear that? ”  

“ promise me? ”  

“ why are you talking like we’ll never see each other again? ”  

“ do you remember anything at all? ”  

“ what? no witty remark? nothing clever to say? ”  

“ you wanna know what your problem is? ”  

“ may i have this dance? ”  

“ can i ask… what happened? ”  

“ how many people have you killed? how many? ”  

“ do you ever hear yourself? ”  

“ would you run away with me? ”  

“ could you be happy here with me? ”  

“ you can’t or you won’t? ”  

“ you slept with them, didn’t you? ”  

“ well, how do i look? ”  

“ after all you’ve done how can i possibly trust you? ”  

“ why can’t you let me in? what are you so afraid of? ”  

“ what did they do to you? ”  

“ so why’s it so important anyway? ”  

“ where have you been? ”  

“ why are you looking at me like that? ”  

“ why did you come? ”  

“ what are you doing out here by yourself? ”  

“ is… that my shirt you’re wearing? ”  

“ you… don’t like me very much, do you? ”  

“ why does it always have to be a fight with you? ”

“ why can’t you look me in the eye? ”  

“ can you forgive me? ”  

“ what if i never see you again? ”  

“ you were going to leave without saying goodbye? ”  

“ how about a little midnight snack? ”  

“ are you… smelling me? ”  

“ how did you get this scar? ”  

“ what do you want in exchange for it? ”  

' the key word is yet . . . ' he can't know when it's going to happen , but if the thought lingered in his mind-- perhaps she finally was able to keep him on his toes . let the anxiety sink in and stew a little longer . . . she'll redeem her card when ready ; but not a moment before .

she is deliberately slow but coy and mischievous when a small smile faintly curls on her lips ; her verdant gaze peeking over her shoulder in his direction . // @re-no

Reno: All I drank was Redbull!

Rude: How many?

’ will you stay with me? ’

𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 :    neither muttered o’er clasped hands, nor via vowels, or psalmody.  laugh your tribute against her mouth, whisper it between dusk-illuminated dust and barren apartment walls, hail the lunar-mad hymn she composed underneath your clavicle.  like god’s eye, selene hung low, always here to watch.  occasionally peeked she into the chests of the damned and the enthralled, to unearth the rue nestled in their disconnected clay-mazes ;  heard them in their mouthed prayers, never dared to be sung out loud.  

ironic, since you never learned worship naturally.  to your ears  god, much like  love,  was only a word  lingering, incomprehensibly, on other tongues.  contrary to her, well-versed in receiving the divine word of anima mundi, while it consisted not of the same frailness as her answered call.  you may define her as theresa-esque, soother of woes and giver of joys.  unchangeably, she gluttonized on everyone’s night and kept it all to herself.  

there, with your hand in hers, witness a glimpse of the besottedness beaming over the crescent of her lips  —  and how carefully …  carefully the fingertips examined your struggle-calloused knuckles.    (  touch.  ah, yes.  a cruel thing, always inflicting something.  harm or comfort, dissolving to melancholy, still leaving behind the torture, no matter how tender, no matter how violent.  )    barely had they brushed over the faded bruises, and already did they sense the worsened roughness compared to the bygone time her touch befell you :    when gold beautified the avaricious healing, and old principles of life, all its bite, had been robbed off the wound.  despite the disapproval, the vocal refusal, she recalled it fondly, since it gave her reason to ponder over an epiphany.  indeed, she personified a hallowed beast, cultivated a particular disregard  ——  brushing aside the worry-laden protests came as organic as breathing.  perhaps, against self-evident conditions, pan’s concern gladdened the moon, elated her, strangely and inexplicably.  perhaps, even something as odd as being loved by a wolf was a form of selfishness.  perhaps, staying, to reduce the absence and the howling, would count as one, as well. “ if you allow me to. ”    then let her, for once, be clumsy and selfish.  let her lean in, grasp onto the edges of the shirt, close the gap, and kiss the wolf with delicate pressure of pinks, to not hurt as she silenced two trembling breaths  —  your pulse, still beating strong ;  why, she needn’t hesitate to have it, and hold it, and hoard it.  let her adore.