For one day only I am opening up submissions for you, dear voters, to submit your favorite images of Rangiku and/or Renji for their upcoming tiebreak poll. There are a few guidelines.
Images must be from the manga!
If submitting black-and-white images, please tell me the volume or chapter they're from so I can source them in color.
You may submit illustrations, so long as they're by Kubo (think the chapter title images and such.)
Summary: All Ichigo wanted was to catch the latest Bad Shield United movie. Instead, he ended up having to play chaperone to his two Shinigami friends. His very handsy Shinigami friends.
AO3
Ichigo grumbled, focusing his gaze directly on the projector screen ahead of him; a desperate attempt to blot out the tangle of limbs and lips smacking beside him.
He had been looking forward to finally catching the new Bad Shield United movie all week, after hearing his friends hyping it up for so long. Though, between adjusting to his new workload at University and still dealing with the occasional Hollow, it had been difficult for Ichigo to find a session that worked with his schedule.
The film’s popularity wasn’t helping either, as most screenings sold out well in advance. Even if one of Ichigo’s lectures was cancelled leaving him with an opening, buying a ticket at such short notice was simply out of the question.
Thankfully though, with midterms coming to an end there was a lull in his classes, as major assessments were graded and plans for the next semester of material began.
Noticing he had a Sunday free, Ichigo indulged himself and bought a ticket. Happy, for once, not to have to devote his spare time to cram classes or revision.
He had reached out to his friends, asking if they might be interested in joining. But sadly, since graduation, their lives were all branching out in different directions, making it harder to find a time where they could all meet.
Though, Ichigo could at least take comfort in knowing he’d be able to enjoy the movie without Ishida's snide commentary, Keigo's whining, or Mizuiro texting girls throughout the entire showing.
Or at least, he had thought.
As fate would have it, there were two others who happened to have an opening that day and decided to tag along. Normally, Ichigo wouldn’t mind, however, there was a catch.
It had been about two weeks since Ichigo had, unknowingly, made the grievous error of arriving home early from class.
His family hadn't been expecting him until later on so the house was empty. Though he could still make out his father working away in the clinic, tending to patients.
As much as he loved his family, Ichigo had to admit, they were a handful and the silence made for a refreshing greeting.
He looked forward to savouring the next few hours of peace before they returned.
Slipping off his jacket as he entered his room, Ichigo wondered how he could best take advantage of his now free afternoon.
As he opened his closet, however, Ichigo was surprised to find it already occupied.
Although it had been a while, it wasn’t unusual for Rukia to visit, particularly unannounced.
Despite his family preparing a spare room for her, she still liked to try and worm her way into his closet; perhaps finding the enclosed space familiar and comforting. Though he could never understand the need for her to stop by, considering she rarely stayed in the Human World longer than a day, too busy with her own duties as an acting Captain back in the Soul Society.
If nothing else, it seemed she found it a handy place to keep her belongings whenever she stopped by. That is, judging by the slew of cutesy-looking Shinigami tools scattered around that Ichigo knew definitely weren’t his.
What did take him by surprise, however, was the closet’s already cramped confines being tested by the much taller, bulkier form of Abarai Renji.
Under different circumstances, this might not have been unusual either.
Rukia had mentioned before, as a Substitute-Shinigami, it was Ichigo’s duty to provide storage to members of the Gotei 13. So, it wasn’t unusual for random Gigai to find their way into his closet whenever someone stopped by to clear out hollows. Honestly, it was a mild inconvenience compared to the meetings of random Sereitei associations and clubs his bedroom would often involuntarily play host to. At least the former was, relatively, out of his way.
So, over time, he had learnt to put up with it.
What Ichigo was met with on this day, however, was something that severely pushed the boundaries of those already flimsy terms.
This was a distinctly half-naked Renji, his hair loose and upper body littered with teeth marks and small bruises as his robe pooled around his thighs. He wasn’t the rigid weight of an empty Gigai, but instead making frenzied, desperate movements as he pushed himself impossibly close to an equally naked Rukia, his tongue searing a line between her breasts. Rukia threw her head back, eyes glazed and unfocused as sweat-matted hair pooled against her bare skin.
With an unflattering shriek, Ichigo slammed the door closed, his head whipping to the side as if to shield himself from the sight.
Unfortunately, despite his quick reflexes, he had still caught enough of his friends’… that the afterimage was still burnt distinctly into his consciousness.
As it flashed before his mind's eye, Ichigo stood frozen, hand slipping loosely from the handle as the weight of what he had seen slowly processed.
Ichigo felt his skin flush, a plethora of emotions flowing through him. Beyond the initial mortification and awkwardness of walking in on two of his best friends' foreplay, it was surprise that struck him most vividly. Though, not so from finding the two together.
Ever since he and his friends had breached the Soul Society and stopped Rukia’s execution, her and Renji’s friendship had been rekindled. From that day, Ichigo rarely saw one without the other. Whether it was charging into battle, mounting coordinated attacks or casually turning up in the human world, they were inseparable. At times, they even made their entrances with perfect synchronicity.
Even the most innocuous words or gestures he caught between them carried a restrained intensity as if holding back something deeper.
This was no more apparent than the time Renji had lifted Ichigo up from the brink of despair, as they headed to confront Ywach Back then, Renji had vowed to always push him forward, forever indebted to him for bringing them back together.
In Ichigo’s mind, despite how much they might deny it, he had always believed something more would eventually blossom between them.
Though, with how long they had tip-toed around one another, Ichigo sensed that might not be until he was at least a hundred years old.
That’s why he was stunned to have found them acting upon their feelings in the most direct, carnal manner.
For that reason, Ichigo knew what he had witnessed couldn't have been some recent, spur-of-the-moment development. He knew the two well enough to know they wouldn't want to risk tarnishing their friendship unless they were seriously, romantically pursuing one another.
Even with their decades of history, he was sure that such intimacy would have taken weeks, months even, to reach, meaning they must have been together, in secret, for some time now.
The shock flowing through Ichigo was brief as he soon made out the faint scurrying and hushed, frantic voices carrying from the other side of the thin wooden door. It seemed the couple had caught onto the fact they'd been found out and were quickly scrambling to make themselves presentable. Ichigo, however, wasn’t sure he could stomach facing them just yet.
Having finally regained the ability to form coherent thoughts, Ichigo’s voice broke once more, calling their names amongst a mix of obscenities, before storming out of the room in a cold sweat.
To his luck, the hallways were still empty, despite the commotion.
No one, it seemed had arrived home.
Ichigo breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to cover for himself after bursting loudly and abruptly out of his room like that. Worse still, he dreaded the idea of having to shield his younger sisters from stumbling in on the two naked idiots in his room.
Knowing that he was alone, Ichigo headed towards the bathroom, needing a moment to collect himself without being interrupted.
He ran a cool splash of water over his face, all the while making thorough plans to burn the entire contents in his closet. He would really miss those clothes, his Nice Vibe and NMNL shirts, his favourite pairs of jeans.
As Ichigo made his way back out into the hall, he braced himself with a heavy exhale.
Before he could enter his bedroom, however, he was greeted by his friends already waiting by his door. Mercifully, they were dressed, though still flushed and noticeably dishevelled.
He hadn’t expected them to be nervous. Yet there were flashes of genuine apprehension in their eyes that gave him pause, his initial dread giving way to concern. It was ill-fitting for two people usually much more confident in themselves.
However, for reasons beyond the simple awkwardness of that moment, they seemed hesitant to speak with him. As though worried over what may stem from this conversation.
"Heey Ichigo," Rukia greeted, her voice and smile both strained; the precursor to a loaded, uneasy conversation.
.
When Rukia and Renji had finally rekindled their friendship, it had been in the wake of Aizen’s betrayal, threats of his next move still looming.
For the time being, any old feelings they’d held for one another were silently set aside.
After all, they believed, naively, they would have plenty of time to address them later.
They were grateful enough just to be a part of each other’s lives again.
The Thousand Year War, however, proved otherwise. As their initial clash with the Quincy saw them both gravely injured to the point of almost losing their lives. Even some of those close to them weren’t as lucky.
They had recovered together, confined to those two cold, infirmary beds, an arms-length apart, drifting in and out of consciousness.
They honed in on the steady flow of the others' breathing, their heart rate, clinging desperately to it, driven to pull through.
It gave them time to reflect and understand what really mattered most to them.
But, perhaps most crucially, it became increasingly clear that their lives; though much longer than the average human’s; were just as fragile. Just as easily capable of being ripped away.
The second chances they had been handed with were too precious to waste with trepidation.
While training with Squad Zero, forging connections with deep, powerful and unrealised facets of themselves. Feelings they had tried to brush off were only intensified, confirmed as meaning exactly what they had been too stubborn or afraid to admit.
The two gathered the nerve to act upon their shared feelings.
Initially, they were happy enough to alleviate themselves of that weighty, unresolved desire and tension. Strengthening themselves with clarity, mental and emotional fortitude unlike they had ever known before. Enough so that they began to believe should this war be what took them, they could pass without any regret.
At the war’s end, however, they were blessed. Not only to have survived but to be able to have a future together. No longer burdened by the weight of love unexpressed, with everything out in the open.
For the first time, it felt as though the life they had yearned for in Rukongai was truly beginning.
Still, despite the joy this newfound connection brought them, they had yet to tell Byakuya and were dreading what his reaction may be.
The admission surprised Ichigo. Knowing how much the man loved his sister and had come to trust Renji as his second-in-command, he couldn’t imagine Byakuya disapproving of their relationship.
Though, thinking on it longer, he wondered if it had something to do with noble Clan politics.
Even though Renji was respected as a Lieutenant, he was still a man of common birth without a family to his name. Someone traditional clan elders would likely turn their nose up at.
Not to mention, if they were to raise children of their own, it could bring up the discussion of potential heirs to the Kuchiki Clan.
For that reason, Renji and Rukia wanted to hold off from revealing their relationship. At least until Rukia had officially taken her place as the Thirteenth Division’s Captain. That way, she may be in a better position to ward off any protests.
While the news was made known to only a select few of their friends, Renji and Rukia would try to keep their relationship in the Spirit Realm as professional as possible. No public displays beyond what might be shared between good friends.
This, however, quickly proved difficult.
Even venturing outside of the Soul Society was too much of a risk.
Even if they somehow managed to avoid being caught out by one of their colleagues, there was the chance that rumours might spread about them; particularly given Rukia's status.
They didn’t want to have to be on guard every time they planned a romantic evening together, and while they enjoyed the privacy of their own quarters, there was only so much that they could do together.
It was for that reason they were drawn to the human world. Not only did it feel safer, but it offered many exciting ways to spend time together, with tasty unfamiliar foods and a plethora of new, exciting activities.
Though there was one disadvantage that came with confining themselves to that realm. They didn’t have the luxury of returning to their own homes when they wanted to be alone.
Opening a Senkaimon and passing back through the Dangai was a possible solution but it couldn’t exactly be done in a timely manner. Not to mention, by the time they made it home the mood would have likely passed.
So, against her better judgement, Rukia had suggested Ichigo’s room, which led them to where they were now.
It became obvious to Ichigo why they had been so anxious to talk. That they were afraid news of their relationship might spread through him and the happiness they’d been experiencing could be at risk.
Honestly, Rukia wasn’t sure she could blame Ichigo if he chose to do so. They’d been selfish, going against his trust and encroaching on his privacy; all for their own selfish desires.
What if Isshin-san or one of Ichigo’s sisters had caught them?
Fortunately for them, Ichigo wasn't so needlessly cruel that he would reveal their relationship against their wishes.
As far as he was concerned, it was happiness the two deserved.
Besides, he was hardly fond of gossip to begin with. He would gain nothing from outing them.
So, Ichigo agreed to keep their relationship secret, provided they promised to stop using his room for after-date rendezvous.
Rukia, though, was still worried they would raise suspicions if she and Renji were both frequently visiting Karakura. Particularly when, with Aizen and Ywach vanquished, there weren’t as many missions in the real world that called for Gotei members of their capability. Especially with Ichigo and the others around to assist in clearing hollows.
So, more often than not, they would use visiting Ichigo as an excuse for their frequent trips, even coercing him tag along with them; as he was already privy to their secret.
What Ichigo hadn’t realised, however, was that Rukia and Renji only having this limited window to be together publicly would see trying to release all the pent-up urges they couldn’t in the Soul Society, for fear of being caught. Making them extra… handsy.
Since the encounter in his room, the two now appeared completely unbothered by his presence and would ravish one another with little to no restraint. Any awkwardness at the time, it seemed, stemmed from fears of their relationship being outed, rather than the novelty of being walked in on by a friend. Once those worries were dispelled, any earlier inhibition expressed by the two was abruptly cast aside.
Ichigo growled, his eyes trained deliberately on the projector screen ahead; a desperate attempt to blot out the tangle of limbs and lips smacking beside him.
All he’d wanted was to finally catch the new Bad Shield United movie after hearing his friends hyping it up for so long.
Instead, he found himself playing chaperone to his two, much older, Shinigami friends.
They were still, clearly, in the honeymoon phase of their relationship, and considering it was founded on the back of more than forty years of unresolved tension, they seemed determined to make up for lost time.
Upon first entering the theatre, they were quick to notice how the armrest separating their seats could be lifted, allowing Rukia to make herself comfortable in Renji’s lap.
Ichigo rolled his eyes, already having an idea of where this would lead, but kept his gaze fixed ahead, trying to pretend like he didn’t know them.
It wasn’t long into the previews before the two were giggling, whispering and sucking on each other’s necks like a pair of hormone-riddled teenagers.
Ichigo couldn’t have imagined he’d one day long to go back to when the pair had constantly been at each other’s throats. Yet, right now, he would be willing to take anything over having to sit beside his two closest friends caught in the throes of lust.
It was excruciatingly awkward.
Equally so, he could imagine, for the dozens of other people in the cinema.
He didn’t understand why those two even bothered with Gigai if they were going to draw so much attention to themselves.
They weren’t exactly conspicuous as it was. What with their distinct height difference, Renji’s bright hair, tribal tattoos and clothes that were at least two decades out of date. Not to mention the overly stiff and archaic way Rukia spoke to others, a dialect she claimed to have picked up from reading his volumes of Shakespeare.
They should have known to reign themselves in.
He knew they were from an entirely different world with its own customs but surely they had some concept of consideration for others?
Apparently not, Ichigo realised. As, against his wishes, he was drawn to a broken shudder spilling from Rukia’s lips as Renji’s hand slipped underneath her top.
At that point, Ichigo had had all he could take.
“Oi!” he growled, elbowing Renji in the ribs. “Will you two knock it off?! You’re going to get us kicked out!”
Mercifully, Renji extracted himself from Rukia’s mouth, his hair dishevelled and bandana askew. There was a delirious but contented haze flooding his eyes. Rukia’s eyes fluttered open, a pout pulling across her face as her own delirium passed and she registered the sudden lack of Renji’s lips against her own.
At another point, Ichigo might have expected a more violent response from Renji; be it raising his voice or slugging him back. But, he had mellowed noticeably since being with Rukia. Perhaps owing to the literal decades of unresolved tension that had been lifted from his shoulders.
His once hair-trigger temper had shifted into a relaxed confidence, his expression resting in a perpetual, smug grin.
So, instead of lashing out, he opted to lounge back comfortably against their seats, lifting his arm as Rukia nestled back in place against his chest.
The two returned their attention to the film, no doubt completely lost trying to follow the plot as they had spent the better part of it attached to each other’s faces.
Hopeful that there wouldn’t be any more disturbances, Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose before turning back to the screen with a sigh. While Bad Shield had never been particularly plot-dense, he too found himself struggling to follow what was going on; his attention having been divided between the movie and his friends.
Ichigo sighed in frustration, already mentally planning a time to catch the next encore screening.
He was happy for his friends, honestly. It touched him even more knowing that he had apparently played an role in helping to bring them closer again, something they both felt indebted to him for.
Yet it felt as though they were doing everything in their power to cause trouble for him.
Even as the credits rolled and they exited the theatre together; Ichigo, by some miracle, not having resorted to murdering the two; they seemingly couldn’t go a moment without shared contact.
Rukia leaned heavily into Renji’s side, as if suddenly incapable of holding up her own body weight. Their hands were intertwined as they strolled leisurely back out into Karakura’s shopping district, Renji’s stride slowing to match Rukia’s shorter steps.
Ichigo hung back slightly, allowing the pair some space. For his sake, as much as theirs. As unbothered as they seemed, Ichigo wasn’t comfortable hovering around them during such intimate, private moments.
Though, he still wasn’t sure he could trust them enough to let them entirely out of his sight.
As they lingered in his periphery, Ichigo was surprised by how much their relationship seemed to have changed, how differently they behaved around each other.
Renji was uncharacteristically gentle.
Having grown up on the streets together, knowing and respecting her strength as a fighter, Ichigo was more accustomed to him approaching Rukia with the same bravado he would a member of the Eleventh.
Renji carried a strength deliberately honed through years of training. Perhaps it was because Ichigo most often saw him fighting; trying to channel that power to the fullest; the sight of him reigning it in, handling something with such care and delicacy seemed off.
While Rukia’s face was not set with the smug, knowing grin or scorn Ichigo had known her to address him with, but was soft and serene as she regarded Renji.
Though, as Ichigo thought about it, perhaps changed wasn’t the right word. There had always been trust and intimacy between the two. It was familiar but to a more intense degree.
Still, the sight of them gazing longingly at one another, eyes shining, was almost enough to make him want to turn away. He wasn’t entirely sure why. It’s not like there was anything offensive about the sight of the two. If anything, it was sweet.
But it just felt wrong, seeing two people he was close to, considered almost family, acting like that.
Not to mention, he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced that state of mind. Being so lost in your own feelings that you become completely unaware of your surroundings.
Though, he supposed he was the wrong person to judge.
He’d never really been one for romance.
There had been far more pressing matters to worry about during his teenage years, and he’d missed out on a lot of those crucial moments; crushes, first dates, kisses.
Still, he didn’t feel short-changed because of that.
He had friends and family who he cared for deeply. As far as he was concerned, that was enough affection for him. It kept him fulfilled and happy.
He'd finally managed to find some semblance of peace and balance in his life and wasn’t looking to complicate things.
“Kurosaki-kun!”
The soft, familiar voice broke Ichigo from his stupor, pulling him back toward the Cinema’s entrance.
He found Inoue approaching him hesitantly, sensing she had caught him deep in thought.
“Inoue? What are you doing here?”
“I was going to meet Tatsuki-chan.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Did you come with your family?” Inoue asked, glancing around. “Or are you by yourself?”
“No, Rukia and Renji are with me too.” Ichigo answered, eyes drifting across the outdoor plaza eventually spotting them standing outside a stall selling sunglasses, which had no doubt caught Renji’s attention.
Rukia had found a ridiculous white pair with rabbit ears extending from the frames and was trying desperately to slip them over Renji’s eyes. Each time though, Renji would simply stand taller or brush her hands out of reach. The laughter spilling from his lips suggested he wasn’t actually opposed to the gesture but resisting playfully.
“Aren’t they so sweet together?" Inoue sighed, clasping her hands together. "I’m really happy for them.”
Ichigo blinked, surprised, at first, to know that Inoue was apparently privy to their relationship. Had Rukia already shared the news with her? He wondered. Or perhaps, like him, had she always suspected there was something between them?
Beyond that, he was drawn to the tone of her voice. It was almost wistful. Every so often, Ichigo’s gaze would flicker back to her, as she closely watched the couple. Not quite able to parse her expression.
After a moment, she snapped back to attention, eyes widening with a momentary panic.
“Ah, I’ve got to go! It’s almost time for the movie! I’ll see you later, Kurosaki-kun!”
“O-oh. Yeah,” Ichigo nodded. “See you, Inoue.”
Ichigo's gaze held longer than necessary as she moved toward the cinema, a bounce in her step and a radiant smile lighting her features. Even after Inoue had already turned and made her way inside, he couldn't pull his eyes from the thick waves of auburn hair, glimmering in the evening twilight, slowly slipping from his view.
He felt compelled by a protective urge to keep her in his sight, despite there being little that could bring her harm and Shun Shun Rikka being more than enough to keep her safe. It was in his nature, he reasoned. The same thing he would do for his sisters, his father (begrudgingly) or any other one of his friends.
If for nothing other than his own, selfish comfort, Ichigo kept her in his sight, to the point that he almost lost his footing on the stairs outside the complex. Reflexively, Ichigo righted himself, with a blush, eyes darting the area around him, as though he'd just now become conscious of the crowd.
Luckily, it seemed like no one had caught notice of him.
The waves of people milling around the concourse were talking and laughing happily together, caught up in their own busy lives.
Summary: Renji was beginning to worry. Lately, he’d noticed something strange about Rukia. Specifically, her reiatsu. Though he couldn't quite put his finger on it, it felt somehow... off.
AO3
Renji was beginning to worry.
Lately, he’d noticed something strange about Rukia. Specifically, her reiatsu. Though he couldn't quite put his finger on it, it felt somehow... off.
That cool flow of spiritual pressure was one he'd become finely attuned to over the years, even after their decades of separation.
In their childhood, he’d witnessed her reiatsu's initial sparks and the potential they held. He'd felt them grow over their time at the Academy, pulsing and flickering with incredible power as she tapped into and honed that potential.
He knew, all too well, the terrifying dread that came with feeling it deplete to the point that he almost couldn’t sense it. He’d felt himself be completely enveloped by it, shivered as it permeated his very core and melded with his own. As their physical shells became entangled, allowing their very beings to join on another plane they hadn’t even known possible.
As far as Renji knew, he was familiar with every possible state and variation of Rukia’s reiatsu, perhaps even more so than his own.
Yet, nothing he’d ever sensed before could compare to the energy that radiated from her now.
At first, it had been something he’d had to strain to even make out. Faint and sporadic, like a barely beating heart. Over time though, Renji noticed that this reiatsu didn’t actually appear too different from how Rukia's did normally. A prospect that unnerved him.
It was difficult to place. The traces that stood out didn't appear alien or dangerous. If anything, it was as though they'd melded with the larger pool of her own reiatsu, becoming a part of her.
Renji wondered if it was simply the result of her training, growing and uncovering new strength within herself. But, he wasn't sure.
He’d been there for her greatest shift in strength when she’d finally mastered her Bankai training in the Zero Division, and nothing at that time had seemed out of the ordinary.
Even now as she continued to refine her abilities, striving to fill the role of her former captain, she never experienced a growth in power as drastic as the one she did during the Quincy War.
Renji hadn't noticed any unusual shifts in her reiatsu back then, so he wasn't sure why that would be any different now.
It wasn’t until he started noticing shifts in Rukia's physical well-being, that he truly began to grow concerned.
She was growing tired much earlier in the day, the fatigue making her movements sluggish and dulling her reflexes. It was lucky that her position saw her taking on fewer missions, as Renji worried that she might end up getting hurt.
She would return from work with deep knots in her shoulders and back from the hours spent sitting at a desk. While Renji was pleased that he could help to bring his wife comfort, his hands kneading the tension from her muscles, he knew the relief would only be temporary.
Her appetite had gone. Whenever they ate together, Rukia would spend much of her time glancing off into space, missing parts of the conversation and pushing most of the food around with her chopsticks.
Renji worried that it could also be due to stress. That having to lead her division alone, while also training a seated officer to eventually step in as her Lieutenant, was taking its toll. Perhaps the solution was to arrange for them to take some time off and relieve the tension that was overtaking her.
He couldn't remember the last time they’d had a chance to take a break. Ever since Aizen's betrayal of the Soul Society, they'd rarely had the chance to stop and process everything that had happened.
Perhaps they could visit some hot springs or meet with Ichigo in the human world.
Maybe while they were there, they could stop by Urahara-san's. The shopkeep might have an answer as to what was wrong with her.
Sadly, though, he knew Rukia would refuse. It was the wrong time. If she were to leave, there would be no one to run the thirteenth. The last thing their division needed was for its Acting Captain to step away, even temporarily.
So, as a compromise, Renji settled for trying, discreetly, to arrange an appointment with Captain Kotetsu, not wanting word of Rukia’s condition to reach her brother.
Knowing the lengths his captain would go to for his sister's sake, Renji could imagine the man overreacting to the news and sending over a throng of Kuchiki staff to care for her. Rukia wouldn’t be comfortable with so many people tending to her. It would be overwhelming and likely only make matters worse.
But, at the very least, if he could get the Fourth to see her, they might be able to determine what was wrong.
As the source grew stronger, and easier for him to focus on, he noticed that the usual, icy white was actually tinged slightly, by warm, unmistakable flecks of red; a spiritual pressure that Renji had only ever sensed in one place before.
Traces of his own spiritual pressure.
That was something Renji couldn't understand.
He knew it wasn’t unheard of for a reiatsu’s colour to change, but that was usually something that only happened when they were wielding different abilities in battle. He had never heard of reiatsu taking on the qualities of someone elses. These streaks of red were ever-present, even when Rukia was perfectly still, completely passive.
The closest thing Renji had ever felt something to it, was a sensation that had only flickered through him briefly, on a few occasions. A feeling as though their reiatsu was melding, becoming one.
It was rare. Something usually spurred on when they were entangled in throngs of passion. Whenever they sparred, their many past attempts to express the feelings they carried in their hearts. But, perhaps most notably, was their first time together in the Zero Division, in the midst of the Quincy war. Having both almost died, faced with the harsh reality that the chance may never come again for them.
In this case though, the feeling remained, as if permanently etched upon Rukia’s soul. As though their feelings had given life to it. As though he had transferred a part of himself into her.
The feeling it woke in him, instinctively, was one of comfort, home. A sentiment he usually related to Rukia.
Somehow, the presence of his own spiritual presence calmed him, somewhat, waking an instinct to guard and nourish this potential that rested within her.
He decided to press the issue over dinner, catching her turning lumps of rice over and over with her chopsticks.
“Rukia, is everything alright?”
To his surprise, the innocuous question caused Rukia to lose grip on one of her chopsticks, the wooden utensil clattering against the floor.
“O- of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You just… haven’t seemed yourself lately.”
"O-oh, really? Is that so?"
"I know I'm probably worrying over nothing, but... You've been working so hard."
“Well, I- I actually had a check-up this week."
Rukia’s eyes were downcast as she answered, an odd strain entering her voice. Renji felt his heart jolt, anticipating the worst.
"You did?” His voice rose, urgent. “Is everything alright?"
"Yes, we're-," she flinched. " I'm fine, Renji."
"Oh, that's good," Renji exhaled.
He knew it seemed ridiculous, worrying about her. Rukia was one of the strongest people he knew, more than capable of handling herself. But illness was something that went beyond physical and spiritual power. It couldn’t be so easily combatted.
He couldn't help his concern.
"I'm sorry, Rukia,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I overreacted. It's just... recently, I've noticed something off about your reiatsu. It's felt... almost different. On top of the fact that you've seemed tired a lot and have been having trouble eating, I was worried something might be wrong."
Rukia set her bowl down, sliding along the tatami mat to nestle beside him. He felt himself enveloped by the same spiritual pressure that had been consuming his thoughts. Rukia’s hand rubbed against his arm soothingly.
"Renji, it's okay.”
Renji frowned, pulling away from her slightly to glance into her eyes.
“What do you mean?”
Rukia broke their gaze, her vision training onto the floor as she exhaled, readying something.
"I suppose it's my fault for keeping this from you for this long… You're right, Renji. You did notice something different. But I promise you, it's nothing to worry about."
The soft brush of Rukia's words managed to ease Renji's fears, somewhat. He was reassured to know that his instincts had been right. That it hadn't just been in his head.
At the same time, Rukia seemed to know what was happening and, judging by her demeanour, there was no reason to worry.
Still, he couldn't help but be curious. What was going on?
As if reading his thoughts, Rukia clasped one of Renji's hands, moving to rest it against her stomach. His hand lingered there, feeling the rise and fall of her chest with each breath she took. The pace was calming, a strong, steady pattern for him to focus on, while speaking to Rukia’s health.
Strangely, he could also sense that unusual pressure flaring especially vibrant underneath his touch.
His gaze lifted, unsure of what Rukia was trying to tell him. His breath hitched as he saw her, tears brimming in the corner of her eyes and a fond, gentle smile directed solely toward him.
"Renji, I'm pregnant."
Renji blinked, gaze carrying blankly ahead as Rukia’s words flowed through his mind.
Suddenly, everything seemed to fall into place. The reiatsu forming inside Rukia that carried traces so eerily similar both to his and her own, the fatigue that had been weighing upon her over the past several weeks.
The pressure stirring within Rukia, melding with her, was in fact their child.
A cool hand covered the one resting against her chest, dragging Renji abruptly from his reverie. As Rukia’s gaze met him, expectant, he realised how long he had been lost in thought. The breath caught in his throat underneath her soft, nervous smile; those shimmering violet irises, shining somehow more beautiful than ever. He could only watch in silent awe, eyes brimming with uncertainty and disbelief; feelings that would not persist much longer.
Quelling his unease, Rukia nodded through a peal of joyous of laughter.
Suddenly, Renji’s own vision blurred, a sting forming in the corner of his eye. With a burst of desperation, he dragged her abruptly into his arms, taking her in with a shaky breath. The pressure flared as if in response to his presence. In that moment, Renji almost felt as though he could reach it. It wouldn’t be long, though, before it did take the form of something solid.
A perfect beautiful child, bearing the best of both their features.
A glimpse of the future they had always longed for.
In the hours that followed, Tifa felt almost detached from reality.
Leaning back against the bed of the cherry picker, she watched as the crew rushed around her animatedly, stopping only to offer her a bottle of water or a blanket to drape over her shoulders.
Thinking on it, the latter gesture seemed odd, given how suffocated she'd been not that long ago. Still, it was welcome. As, now that the embers had died out, her light clothes were doing little to shield her from the early morning chill.
Sitting still and at peace carried its own alien sensation, a feeling that, moments ago, Tifa believed she may have never known again.
Though the flames had long since subsided there was still an urgency gravitating the crew's movements, as they picked through the wreckage, calling instructions to one another. Even though the threat was finally dealt with, their work was not finished.
They still needed to assess the damage and search for any other survivors. Or perhaps, more grimly…
Tifa shook her head, not wanting to give credence to the thought.
Her eyes travelled back toward her board, propped up a few feet away.
Though thankful for her good fortune, she couldn’t shake the unsettling flood of helplessness within her.
After having only just arrived in Midgar and just begun settling into her new home it had been abruptly taken away.
The loss picked at some old but painfully familiar wounds, namely the memory of her mother’s passing that had struck her at such a young age.
For a time, it seemed all she would have left to her name was her trusty surfboard and the clothes on her body.
Thankfully, the Firefighter who helped her down on the cherry picker, Zack, had brought some good news. Her apartment had only taken minor damage in the fire and most of her belongings appeared to be unscathed.
The relief spilt from Tifa’s lips, those worries dissipating into a renewed gratitude for these men and women risking their lives for the safety of others.
In particular, her thoughts returned to the man who had helped her up to the roof, concern spiking as she realised she hadn’t seen him since he’d been carried off by Zack and the rest of the crew.
Zack assured her he was alright, something that Tifa was grateful to hear. Despite this, she still wished for a chance to thank him, or, at the very least, get an update on his condition.
He had gone to great lengths, and apparently against orders, to ensure that she was safe. It was the least she could do to express her gratitude.
Yet, any requests she made to see the man were brushed off.
Though frustrated, Tifa reasoned that there were more important matters for them to tend to at the moment.
She would just have to wait.
“How are you feeling, mam?”
Shaken from her reverie, Tifa’s eyes flickered upward, startled, at first, by the hulking figure looming beside her. Though, she was calmed, once more, by the bright flash of colour that entered her vision, adorning a familiar uniform.
Another firefighter.
His safety goggles had been pulled back, revealing a soft, sympathetic gaze that betrayed his intimidating stature, as he looked over her, calming her initial shock. His voice, clearly deep and commanding, was lowered to a gentle pitch; one that helped to set her at ease.
From the lines etched across his face, he appeared older than the other crew members she’d encountered. Tifa wondered if he might be the Chief.
“O- oh. Much better, thank you,” Tifa answered, ducking her head.
“I’m glad to hear it. Don’t think I’d be able to live with myself if anything happened after the mess Strife dragged you in.”
Strife? Tifa thought, curious. Was that the fireman who’d helped her?
She bit her lip, noting the disdain in the man’s tone, hoping that her rescuer wouldn’t get reprimanded. But things didn’t appear promising, judging by that radio call he’d received earlier.
She realised it wasn’t her place, but Tifa felt the need to speak up. Maybe that way his punishment wouldn’t be as harsh.
After all, the man had only been trying to help her.
“I’m sorry if it’s out of line for me to say, sir, but if it weren’t for him, I might not have made it out. I understand it was reckless, but I hope you won’t be too harsh on him. I really appreciate what he did for me.”
Her comment seemed to throw the man for a loop, his eyebrows flickering upward in surprise. He didn't let the expression settle for long though, a scowl pulling at his lips soon after.
“Tch. Well, he’s sure caused a hell of a lotta trouble for the rest of us, playing the big-damn-hero like that.”
The man skulked off mid-tirade, all the while still muttering angrily under his breath. Tifa's hand lifted, as though hoping to placate his rambling, yet it wasn’t long before he was out of her reach. Her eyes dipped glumly back to her lap, afraid that she may have only exasperated things.
Perhaps it would have been better not to say anything.
Tifa sighed, growing restless as she returned to watching the crew shuffle about the site, tempted to leave her spot by the cherry picker.
Though she didn’t really have anywhere to go. Her apartment was still taped off and she didn’t not knowing her way around the city. But she wanted to at least stretch her legs.
She wondered if going for a walk across the shoreline could help calm her and clear her head of the last few hours. She had always been able to rely on the water to ground her.
Though, before she could get to her feet, a figure slipped into her peripheral.
“You might not pick it, but he’s apparently a big sweetheart,” Zack said, head nodding in the opposite direction as he settled into the spot across from her.
Curious, Tifa followed his line of sight, catching the Chief now barking orders at some crew he’d unfortunately caught loitering, who quickly scattered under his intense glare.
“I hear he has a daughter. It’s probably why he was so worried about you. Musta hit close to home. Shame we don’t get shown the same kindness.”
Even though the scene before them did not lend much weight to Zack’s words, Tifa did not need convincing, having already witnessed the man’s gentler, compassionate side first-hand.
It had woken warm, fond memories she had of her own father at a younger age. Those protective paternal instincts and affection he would smother her with to a fault, a point that they eventually grew overbearing.
Yet, now, still shaken and overwhelmed, there was a small part of Tifa that yearned for that comfort.
Reflecting momentarily, Tifa couldn’t help the guilt that rose to her chest as she it struck just how far she was from him now and how close she had come to tragedy, without him even knowing.
Brian Lockhart still carried a great deal of pain from the loss of her mother. She could only imagine how much more viscerally it would have struck him if he had gone on to lose his daughter too.
That near brush with death had helped things back into perspective for Tifa; a reminder that she shouldn’t take him for granted.
“Anyway, you doing okay?”
Zack’s voice broke through the flood of her thoughts, Tifa blinking as she came back into focus.
“I’ll be fine, but what about…” Tifa trailed off, realising she still didn't know her rescuer's name. She bit her lip. Zack's brow pinched before realisation flashed in his eyes.
“Cloud? I keep telling you not to worry. He’s bounced back from much worse before.”
“It’s not that. I was just hoping I might get to see him.” Tifa protested, her voice petering off, suddenly self-conscious.
Perhaps it was silly of her, but… Even knowing that he’d only been doing his duty as a firefighter and that he had chosen to share his oxygen with her, he had still fallen unconscious trying to help Tifa, and she couldn’t help but feel a degree of responsibility for that.
Zack seemed to be close with Cloud. At least, that was the impression she got from the updates he’d been giving her and the teasing comments he’d made when helping him back on the roof. Tifa wondered if she might be able to convince him to let her see him.
“Weelll,” Zack drawled, weighing the options over in his head.
On the one hand, the more compassionate side of him felt for Tifa.
Not to mention, he was curious about who exactly she was to Cloud.
As far as he could tell, she didn’t seem to know him, and he couldn’t remember Cloud mentioning anyone like her before. But seeing them together might help him get a better read on their relationship.
Still, because of the fire, much of the block had been zoned off to the public, a small crowd of curious onlookers had already gathered, despite the early hour, to watch. He couldn’t exactly let her stroll casually through there.
He and Cloud hadn’t been working for this station that long and Zack was apprehensive about doing anything that could risk their place on the crew.
Though, he supposed that so long as she stuck close to him, no one would raise an eyebrow.
“I probably shouldn’t, but I'm feeling generous today. Alright, come on.”
Scanning the area briefly, once Zack was sure the rest of the team were occupied still scouring the building, he quickly ushered Tifa over to where one of the trucks was parked.
As they drew closer, Tifa could feel nerves bubbling in her chest. She couldn’t understand why, wondering if it was just adrenaline lingering from the fire.
When Zack’s hand caught the latch on the rear door, a finger lifted to his lips, his voice dipping in an overly dramatic, hushed tone.
“Fair warning; he’s in a bit of a mood. Probably embarrassed about passing out.”
As the door eased open, Tifa ducked her head in.
There had been some space cleared in one of the rear cabs to make room for a gurney.
Tifa’s eyes were drawn toward an unmistakable flash of blond hair.
He was lying on his side, back towards them. Tifa stretched onto her tip toes, trying to glance over, but couldn't make out much more of him.
Zack caught the shift of her, barely suppressing a grin.
His hand wrapped against the inner wall of the cab, announcing their presence, before slipping immediately inside.
Tifa, hung back, apprehensive, only coaxed the rest of the way by an encouraging flick of his hand.
“Hey, Cloud. Feeling any better?”
The low grunt that spilt from the man’s lips was barely audible. Though, to Tifa's relief, it didn't appear to be an expression of pain or distress, but rather disinterest. A curt answer, likely an effort to ward off any further prodding from his friend.
Zack was right, he really didn't seem in the mood to chat.
Yet, even with that warning, Tifa was still surprised by his sudden shift in demeanour.
Up in the apartment building, he had seemed much more cheerful, despite the danger that surrounded them.
Zack, however, appeared unphased by his moody temperament, having become practically immune to it over the course of their friendship. He opted instead to step further inside the cab, slapping Cloud rousingly across the shoulder.
“Well, rise and shine, grumpy pants. You’ve got a visitor.”
“Ow!" Cloud whipped around, reflexively levelling a glare at Zack.
The tension marring his features was quick to dissipate, however, as he noticed the person standing beside him.
Feeling smothered by his gaze, Tifa’s hands hung awkwardly at her sides, a strained smile covering her face.
The flicker of relief that briefly resonated was not missed by Zack.
Cloud was happy to see Tifa was alright. Having fallen unconscious on the roof, he didn’t know that she had made it safely to the ground floor.
He was filled with a rush of panic upon waking up, alone, immediately fearing the worst.
It had only been Zack’s reassurance of her safety that had been able to calm him.
If there were anyone he knew he could entrust Tifa’s well-being with, it was Zack.
Still, being able to confirm her safety with his own two eyes brought a relief even greater, enough to temper the foul mood that had been clouding him since.
That rush of energy soon wilted, however, a funk of morose shame smothering it, as he realised that it had been through no help of his own. That he had to depend on someone else to finish the rescue.
His head dipped, bangs drooping in front of his eyes.
Beside him, Zack sighed, catching the shift in his friend’s mood.
It was so typical of Cloud, getting caught up in even the smallest of failures, losing sight of the good they, he, had achieved.
Tifa was alright.
Surely that was the most important thing here.
As if conscious of his discomfort, he sensed Tifa dithering awkwardly from the corner of his eye, biting her lip, as if suddenly having second thoughts. She must have charged in, still riding an adrenaline high, without a clear idea of what to say.
It didn’t seem like either was particularly eager to lead the conversation.
Considering he’d be the one to face Barret’s wrath if he learnt of this meeting, Zack didn’t want to run the risk without seeing some kind of payoff.
It looked like it would fall to him to nudge them in the right direction.
The best approach Zack had found was to diffuse the tension, light-heartedly. A reminder not to try and take things so seriously.
“You know, it’s funny,” He snorted, nudging Cloud again. “You were so happy to be in the spotlight earlier, but now you don’t want to reap any of the adulation.”
“Please Zack, not right now.” Cloud sighed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What’s the matter, buddy? I thought you always wanted a fan club of your own.”
"Zack," Cloud repeated, venom lacing his voice: a warning.
“Um, excuse me," Tifa ventured.
Cloud's gaze flickered toward her, softening once more as she entered his view.
Still, she couldn't help but falter, momentarily; lost to the intensity that had flickered briefly in his eyes. It was like a raging current, dragging her under.
She took a steadying breath as if having slipped from beneath the surface. The similarity suddenly brought her a flash of comfort, a reminder of a fear she had conquered once before and knew she could again. Resolute, her voice lifted.
"I’m sorry, I don't wish to bother you for long. My name is Tifa Lockhart. I just wanted to say that I appreciate what you did for me. If there’s anything I can do to return the favour. Please, let me know.”
Tifa set down her card, her name and number printed clearly. She had several made up, planning to hand them out around one of Edge’s commercial districts, in the hopes of finding part-time work. Fortunately, having had the foresight to keep a few ready on hand in her wallet.
She wasn’t entirely sure what assistance she would be able to offer him. For all she knew, she was overreacting, and he was only being examined as a precaution. After all, Zack had been insistent that his friend had pulled through far worse.
Still, he was obviously frustrated over something. Perhaps believing he had fallen short in his attempt to rescue her. If so, Tifa hoped that her presence and thanks would help to alleviate any sense of failure.
More than likely though, Tifa suspected it may stem from concern over the repercussions he might face. In that case, she had appealed to Chief Wallace. Should anything further eventuate, she hoped the knowledge that she would be willing to lend an ear would be enough.
Laying the card face down by the gurney, easily within his reach, Tifa's head bowed, her eyes shielded by the curtain of her fringe.
Not wanting to intrude any further, conscious of the uncomfortable air that permeated he and Zack’s conversation, she felt it would be best to leave.
As she stepped out of the truck, Zack trailing closely on her heels, Tifa was able to get a better view of the fire’s impact from the front of the building.
The reception and evacuation point where the residents had gathered seemed mostly undamaged by the blaze, as did the first few floors up. She supposed it made sense as the fire hadn’t started in the apartments but actually spread to the higher levels from the nearby Shinra building, carried by the nearby sea breeze.
Still, Tifa was curious about what could have caused the initial fire to break out.
She could make out Shinra officers amongst the crowd, talking with the firefighters, trailing emergency tape across the front of the building and warding off anyone of unofficial rank daring enough to try and venture toward the entrance.
It was understandable, given the fire had started in one of their buildings, that the company would send out reps to investigate. But, judging by the others that had pulled up to the site, the police and members of Soldier being called in, Tifa got the impression that the fire hadn’t been the result of something as innocuous as a gas leak.
She wondered if she could press Zack for details or if it was the kind of thing they would want to keep from the public.
Though surely, Tifa thought, it was within her right to ask seeing as the fire had directly hit her home. She worried it might be taking advantage of Zack’s kindness. Especially considering the rules he had likely bent in sneakily helping her to visit Cloud.
Biting her lip, Tifa’s curiosity eventually won out.
“Do you have any idea what might have started the fire?”
Zack’s pace slowed to a stop, an eyebrow lifting as he turned. Not a look of suspicion but rather surprise over the sudden break in silence.
“Hard to say, at this point,” He eventually answered with a shrug. “Doesn’t seem like there were any wiring or electrical problems. In fact, the buildings were apparently only recently inspected, and everything was up to code. The evidence we’ve gathered so far seems to point to arson.”
Tifa blinked, stunned by how readily he admitted to the suspicion, having thought anything surrounding the case would be confidential. Though, she didn’t say as much, afraid it may keep him from going into further detail.
Perhaps Zack felt comfortable sharing because it was, at this point, only speculation.
“Arson? But… why would someone do that?”
“Well. To be frank, Shinra isn’t exactly popular with everyone… But whoever did this did it outside of normal business hours, when they knew no one would be in the office. They even targeted a building in a much less populated part of the city. Whoever it was, I don’t think they were trying to take any lives. They just wanted to send a message.”
Zack’s words were chosen carefully, not wanting to draw any conclusions before the evidence had been gathered. Still, it was clear who he was referring to. Their name had been growing increasingly linked to attacks against Shinra over the past few weeks, after all.
Tifa had to admit, she wasn’t particularly fond of Shinra herself.
Their routine visits to Nibelheim, the presence of Soldier in their small village, had always unnerved her. A part of her had even wondered if their town’s close proximity to a Reactor had exasperated the illness that ultimately took her mother’s life.
Yet even carrying all those ill feelings, she didn’t feel comfortable with Avalanche's methods. Particularly now after directly seeing the damage their attacks could cause; an attack that Zack had suggested wasn’t enacted with the intent of causing harm.
It made Tifa dread the horrors that a full, unbridled attack from Avalanche might cause.
No, she shook her head. There had to be a better way.
“Surely there are more effective ways to spread their message,” Tifa bit back, an ire suddenly directed at no one in particular. “Look at all these people who could have been hurt. Even worse, killed.”
“Seems like they didn’t account for the fire spreading so quickly. Or maybe they didn’t care. Who can say? All I know is, they weren’t always like this. I think we can chalk this up as the work of one of the group’s more extreme squadrons.”
Zack, to Tifa’s surprise, seemed almost sympathetic to their cause. Or, at least, wasn’t as quick to paint the entire organisation in such broad strokes.
Her face scrunched up, unsure how anyone acting under the guise of bettering the planet could resort to such destruction.
Their actions seemed so at odds with their goal.
They had targetted Edge, somewhere that was separate from the metropolis of Midgar and closer to the coastline, their fires sending smoke billowing into the air. Had their firefighters not acted quickly enough, the blaze could have spread to the surrounding natural landscapes, destroying and endangering wildlife.
Though Tifa didn’t like that innocent lives were often caught in the crossfire of their reactor bombings, at least in those cases Avalanche were directly targeting the source of the problem, preventing Shinra from sapping the planet of its life force. But this? This had been an office building, home to workers from departments completely unrelated to Shinra’s energy practices.
This attack just seemed out of character, even for them.
.
Cloud pressed himself closer against the wall, knees pulled to his chest, as he took slow, measured breaths. He winced as the truck struck a particularly large bump, his stomach churning and a small mouthful of bile rising up his throat.
He couldn’t believe he had forgotten to bring tranquilisers with him again. Now, he’d be lucky if he was able to make it through morning drills without seeing his breakfast for a second time.
His current, helpless state only weighed upon his ever-mounting insecurities, the doubts he held as to whether he was really cut out for this sort of work.
It didn’t help that this bout of sickness came so soon after their last job, where he’d lost consciousness trying to make a rescue. On its own, that slip-up would have bothered him enough. But to know it had been her that he failed.
His lungs still weren't the greatest, it had been that way ever since he was a child. It was something that, on top of his smaller, skinnier frame had made physical activity difficult for him when he was younger.
Though, much as his body had grown stronger over time, he had hoped that with practice, it would be something he could improve upon.
So far, though, even his best efforts had not proved promising.
As much as he wished otherwise, determination and drive alone weren’t enough to overcome such physical limitations.
“Motion sickness still messing you up, huh?” Zack asked, kneeling down to rub his friend’s back soothingly. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
Cloud exhaled, the touch helping to steady the dizziness overwhelming his vision. Another beat and the cab around him had almost stilled completely. He sighed, an expression of equal measures of relief and frustration.
It came in waves, his sickness. He couldn’t really help it. Still, it made him a liability. What if this nausea were to strike during a crucial mission? There was no getting around it. Their work demanded regular use of the trucks, travelling at high speeds.
He couldn’t help the feeling that all these obstacles mounting against him were some omnipotent, cosmic message.
“Maybe I’m not cut out for this,” Cloud began. For once, bringing the doubt to the forefront.
“What?” Zack tutted. “What are you talking about? You were the big hero last week, after all.”
The scowl in Cloud's face pulled tighter and Zack frowned, surprised that the subject was still a sore spot for him.
It wasn't unusual for Cloud to hold onto a mistake and wallow in self-loathing, well after the moment had passed. While Zack didn't find the approach healthy, he could at least take comfort in knowing Cloud would not likely make the same mistake twice.
Here, though, he wasn’t sure what Cloud was still holding on to.
The job had been a success.
Everyone had come out unscathed and Cloud's efforts had played a significant role in that. He had acted as the model example of a firefighter, setting his own fears, doubts and even well-being aside in the pursuit to save someone's life.
Knowing Cloud as he did, Zack could still remember the heroic figures he had spoken idealistically about before their graduation, wanting to be someone who could compare to them.
Still, for whatever reason, Cloud remained in a funk.
Cloud was so adamant about continuing to burden himself with this self-perceived failure.
Cloud had been personally invested in that job, more so than Zack had seen before.
That, perhaps, was what made this difference. That was the reason he was holding onto his minute shortcomings so bitterly.
Whatever the case, Zack wasn't going to let it slide so easily.
"You mind letting me in on what that was, at all? Do you two know each other or something?"
Cloud winced, his voice barely carrying over a whisper.
"It's... It's complicated."
"Yeah, I gathered as much. You don't want to talk about it?"
Cloud didn't answer, still fixated on a particular spot on the wall. His lingering nausea and need to stay focused on something stable were a convenient enough excuse to put off any response.
Zack, however, equally as stubborn, could read through his facade. If Cloud didn't want to talk, he'd just have to continue to probe. He knew exactly what to say to draw a response from him.
"Well, either way, I'm not sure what’s got you so bent out of shape. You saved her, didn't you?"
As Zack suspected, the words penetrated.
Cloud’s eyes screwed closed, tightly.
“I still found a way to screw up. I ended up being the one who needed help, and I left the post Chief Wallace assigned me. It’s a wonder he didn’t suspend me outright... I could never compare to someone like you or even Kunsel.”
“Hey. Is that what’s got you so down?”
The silence stretched out once again, Cloud’s efforts to remain subdued.
Just because he hadn’t been some infallible knight in shining armour, that somehow diminished what he had done.
They were still young and relatively inexperienced. He couldn't expect everything to play out perfectly, as it had been idealised in his head.
“Here,” Zack pulled him to his feet, the abrupt movement unwise for someone who had just been on the verge of emptying their stomach.
Zack gestured toward the front of the cab, to one of the senior officers marking out lines on a scrap of paper, a pencil pressed between his lips in lieu of a cigarette.
“You see old man Cid, the driver? He had only recently transferred from Rocket Town, but he didn’t let being in an unfamiliar city hold him back. He’s been studying routes, testing himself and the fastest ways to get around the city, hydrant locations, everything. Think about how much longer he's been doing this than us and there are still things he is trying to learn and master.
This doesn’t come easily to anyone. The important thing is to not let your shortcomings and weaknesses define you. Only those with the drive to keep pushing can reach that level.”
Cloud frowned, unsure how what Zack was saying applied to him.
Sure, he understood the basic premise. But... he’d collapsed due to a lack of oxygen. That wasn't something that could be improved easily.
It was something Cloud had thought wouldn’t have been an issue, due to his training, becoming more acclimated to environments with low-oxygen levels.
Yet, their mission at Stargazer had proven otherwise.
Still, he could see Zack’s point: nothing would come from fixating on his failure. He’d just have to focus on bettering that weakness, in any way possible.
The question was, how?
He’d heard that divers, surfers even, tended to practice being able to hold their breath for long periods of time. He supposed it made sense, with how often they would end up underwater.
They were different environments, but surely the same principles applied.
With that thought, he was conscious of his wallet weighing in his pocket, the card Tifa had left him still waiting. He had been apprehensive about facing her again, but if there was a way she could help…
Cloud nodded, resolute, before pulling himself back to his feet.
“Thanks, Zack. I really needed that.”
“I'm glad to hear it. So, you up to get some grub later?”
Cloud, still squeamish at the thought of food, shook his head.
Sure enough, in a stroke of good luck, the interior of Tifa's apartment had only taken partial damage; mainly in the entranceway and living area, both mostly free of her things.
It meant, to her fortune, that her belongings had made it through the blaze, largely unscathed.
In the meantime, while the damaged floors were being cleaned and assessed, Tifa was moved temporarily to an apartment a few floors up, closer to the roof where the fire hadn't spread.
Still, she didn’t want to take her good fortune for granted and, this time, made sure to carefully unpack her boxes, stowing everything away in places she could easily find them. It was satisfying to sort through the clutter, slowly transforming these new, unfamiliar rooms into something that felt more like home.
She became awash with nostalgia the deeper she searched those boxes, uncovering the memories contained within each one. The battered first pair of red gloves Zangan had gifted her, the broad-brimmed hat she had worn during her time acting as a tour guide for Nibelheim.
Though, perhaps most relieving of all, was finding the pair of white tear-drop earrings that had once belonged to her mother, just as she’d left them.
As she folded up the last box, stretching her arms above her head with a crack, she was distracted from her work by the chime of her phone on the table behind her.
Tifa bit her lip, already sensing who it was.
She had tried putting off breaking the news of the fire to her father, expecting he would overreact and ask for her to return home.
Still, as backwater as Nibelheim was; as much as Shinra tried to suppress media coverage of Avalanche's activity, fearing publicity only stoke their activity; she knew that word would reach there eventually.
Now she dreaded what would be waiting for her on the other line.
However, as she reached for her phone, the number that appeared on the screen was one that didn't recognise.
Tifa frowned, considering letting the call ring out, but her phone hadn’t marked the number as suspicious.
She had sent letters to some of her old friends from back home, the ones who’d also left for Midgar, leaving her number and trying to get back in touch with them. Perhaps it could have been one of them?
She decided to take the chance answering just in case this was one of them trying to reach her.
“Hello?”
A moment’s pause, before a voice ventured tentatively from the other line.
"Hey, is that... Tifa?"
"Yes?"
"Hey. Look, I know that we, uh- we never got properly introduced before, but... My name's Cloud. You gave me your card?"
Suddenly, Tifa jolted upright, completely at attention.
"Oh!"
It had been a few days since they’d last spoken, the night of the fire. When he hadn't called, Tifa had thought she wouldn't ever hear from him.
It didn't bother her too much.
From the way he’d been acting that night, it was obvious that Cloud had been upset; she suspected a symptom of knowing that he would likely be disciplined for helping her.
She would have understood if he hadn't been in the mood to exchange pleasantries.
"I’m so glad that you called. How are you feeling?"
"I'm doing better. Though, I’ve been placed on sabbatical."
"Oh." Tifa answered, a little disheartened. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t been able to prevent his punishment.
"It's okay,” Cloud reassured. “The Chief actually fought hard for a lighter sentence, but in the end, this was the best he could manage.”
“And you’re… okay with that?”
“I’m happy that I'll still be able to work, eventually. It does leave me with a lot of free time, though."
“Okaaay,” Tifa answered, not entirely sure where he was going.
"That's also kind of why I called. I was actually wondering. Do you happen to... give lessons at all?"
"So... were you planning on ordering anything, or...?"
Makoto blinked, realising that she had been standing at the entrance of the cafe, unresponsive as the barista's greeting still lingered unanswered in the air.
Clearing her throat, she ducked her head in apology, before moving the rest of the way into the store.
She hesitated a moment longer after the door slid closed behind her, unsure suddenly of where to sit.
This wasn’t what Makoto had been hoping for in visiting Leblanc, a place that had become something of a safe haven for her.
Instead of clearing her head, she was met by what should have been an unfamiliar barista, yet somehow was rattled with an eerie flood of déjà vu. Despite the logical side of her insisting that she had never met the young man before, he was unnervingly familiar in a way she couldn’t explain.
Eventually, Makoto decided to forego her usual place inside one of the booths and sit at the counter instead, feeling the impulse to catch a closer glimpse of the barista.
He returned her gaze closely, a polite, if curious smile fixed at his lips.
"Sorry, I'm just surprised," Makoto said, after a moment, adjusting to a comfortable position in the seat. "I didn't realise anyone worked here other than Sakura-san."
"I see. Well, we only recently struck up a deal: I help out around the shop on my off days and he lets me live upstairs rent-free."
"Wait," Makoto's eyes shifted toward the ceiling. "You live up there?"
She had noticed the stairs just passed the washlet before. But, judging by the flecks of dust and cobwebs that gathered around the railing, had always assumed it led to an attic or storage area. Somewhere rarely visited. The idea of someone living there had never even occurred to her.
"Yeah," the barista shrugged. "In the attic."
"And you're... happy with that arrangement?"
"Well, it's true the decor does leave a lot to be desired," he drawled. "But hey, it's a rent-free furnished room, a prime spot on campus and easy access to coffee and curry. I'm sure there are a lot of people who would kill for this set-up."
"I suppose when you put it that way," Makoto nodded.
With her academic background, she had been lucky enough to earn a place in one of the dorms on campus. But, for students not as fortunate as her, balancing part-time jobs between their regular assessments and classes to cover their living costs, she could see how the man’s living situation would have its advantages.
She wondered if he was even allowed access to the cafe's kitchen after hours and could make his own meals. It was one of the things Makoto missed most about living at home. The small fridge and kitchenette offered in the dorms only allowed for the most rudimentary of food prep. Like most others, she ended up having to rely on the cafeteria, or other places on campus to get her meals. Which, unfortunately, didn’t always allow for the most nutritional options.
Refocusing, Makoto's attention turned back to the barista.
"So you're a student? I can't say I've seen you around."
"Well, I was only just approved for transfer recently. I'm from a small, country-town, originally. There aren't many options for Universities out there, particularly for what I'm studying."
"Oh. I see. If you don't mind me asking, what are you studying?"
"Political science."
"Really?" Makoto answered, surprised. It wasn't often that someone their age took an interest in politics. Most were apathetic. Even Makoto, at times, found the candidates and issues they brought up, dry.
But she did her best to stay informed, knowing it was important. Especially after having passed the legal voting age. She knew it was her responsibility as a citizen to make an informed decision for the betterment of the country and its future.
"May I ask what interested you about that?"
"It's a loaded question, but... I guess I want to try and fight against the injustices of the world."
Makoto nodded, finding the answer one that she could relate to.
It was refreshing to learn of someone pursuing politics out of a genuine desire to make a difference, rather than to benefit their own power or interests. Something that was, sadly, becoming more of a rarity in their society. Too many politicians were corrupt, turning on their ideals in order to further their position.
Though Makoto was studying law at the insistence of her sister, in truth, her hope was to follow in the footsteps of their father and become a police officer. She planned to make an application at the local academy the next time there was an opening but hadn’t had the courage to tell Sae yet.
In a way, though their paths were different, they both had similar aspirations.
“Now, I’d be happy to talk on it more, but I’m afraid it's going to cost you," he continued, sliding forward a menu with a devilish wink.
Though Makoto's hand caught the menu, on reflex, she stared through it, blankly, realising she had been so engrossed in the conversation that she had yet to place an order.
"Sorry," Makoto said, her head bowing once more. It had been rude of her to interrogate him like that, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. He had intrigued her and she’d been too focused on trying to satiate that curiosity.
The barista, for his part, offered a soft, reassuring smile before turning back to tinker with one of the machines behind him, leaving her to decide.
Despite already knowing what the cafe served and what she wanted to order, Makoto still took a moment to peruse the menu. It provided a convenient cover to carefully study the man from the corner of her eye as he worked, wondering if she might catch something familiar in his movement or how he carried himself.
She appreciated how accommodating he had been. Someone else might have found it rude of her, to hold up their work with conversation, all the while not offering any business themselves. Some may have been less lenient and kicked her out for wasting their time. The barista, however, remained patient, entertaining her questions. His service was in keeping with the café’s atmosphere, relaxed and familiar. He’d obviously been trained by Sakura-san.
Eventually, she set the menu down, having feigned perusing it for what felt like an appropriate time.
"Could I please get a cup of the Blue Mountain?"
"Coming right up."
The barista retrieved a takeaway cup from underneath the counter, scrawling on it with a black marker, before sliding it toward her. Without a word, he began making her coffee.
Makoto’s eyebrows perked up. She hadn't asked for an order to go. Nor could he have known her name, not unless Boss had given him thoroughly detailed descriptions of his regulars.
Eyes furrowing, Makoto took the cup, curious, turning it around to see what he had written.
"Ren Amamiya?" She read back to herself.
Glancing up, she caught the barista; Amamiya, apparently; engrossed in carefully preparing the beans. Focused, so much so, that he hadn't heard the whisper of his name, nor felt her eyes weighing intently upon him.
At first, Makoto had been convinced it was him; her masked companion from Takamaki's party, a few nights ago.
After all, they shared some unmistakeably similar features. The dark, frizzy hair, those sharp, grey eyes and that soft, dulcet voice. Even the way his lips stretched naturally into a soft smile gave her flashes of the smirk she had become well acquainted with over the course of that night.
The way she found herself drawn to him-
He was a dead ringer. If not the man himself, but a close relative, surely.
It didn't help that the more she thought about it, the more things seemed to slot together a little too perfectly. He had just happened to show up at Sakura-san's shop around the same time Makoto encountered the mysterious stranger at Takamaki’s party.
Though, Makoto did only stop by the coffee shop once a week. It was possible that he had been working there awhile and she just hadn't come across him before.
Whatever the case, though, the more Makoto spoke with him, the more she began to see some holes in her theory.
Amamiya-kun just seemed to carry himself… differently.
Whereas the masked man had been effortlessly suave and self-assured, Ren appeared polite and soft-spoken. From the way his eyes were hidden by the flare of his glasses, Makoto sensed that he wasn't the type who liked drawing attention to themselves.
Though, even with his placid nature, Amamiya appeared much more open. He had readily spoken about himself with her. The masked man, by contrast, was someone shrouded in mystery. She hadn’t even learnt his name.
Funnily enough, though, her thoughts would be by Amamiya calling her as he set a steaming cup of Blue Mountain on the countertop.
Though it probably wasn't fair to compare, given Ren's comparative lack of experience, Makoto couldn’t help but wonder how the brews would hold up to Boss'.
As her lips settled upon the edge of the cup, her eyes bulged with the first sip, feeling the drink's warmth flowing through her body. The roast had a similar rich tone and aroma of Boss’ that Makoto had come to develop an appreciation for.
Feeling sufficiently refreshed, Makoto decided to return to her usual booth, recalling the reason she had actually stopped by in the first place: to study.
Though, unfortunately, the trip she had thought would give her motivation and a means to focus had resulted in her thoughts becoming even more scrambled, her attention often drawn toward Amamiya.
It was a slow day, with only a few customers passing through for coffee to go. For most of the time, it was just the two of them.
Amamiya-kun was taking advantage of the lull in business, leaving one of his own textbooks open on the counter and stopping, every so often, to look over a few pages.
Makoto grew comfortable enough to watch him out of the corner of her eye as if expecting to spot an unmistakable shift in his body language that erased all doubt.
In particular, she paid close attention to how his eyebrows tightened, and his lips pressed together as he tried to wrap his head around a particularly complicated concept.
Features that had not been obscured by that stranger’s mask.
Her concentration was eventually broken though, by a high-pitched yawn carrying from Amamiya-kun's bag. Makoto's eyebrows narrowed, but, before she had the chance to ask, a fuzzy, black head pushed its way out, a small bell rattling as it vigorously shook its head.
A cat? What had that been doing in Amamiya's bag?
To her surprise, Amamiya regarded the animal with a soft smile.
"Hey. Sleep well?"
Reaching into one of his bag's pouches, he produced a sandwich and began pulling it apart, picking out pieces of tuna. The lethargy weighing upon the cat soon lifted, pleading mewls echoing as it pushed onto its hind legs, trying to reach for the fish.
“Alright, alright,” he placated with a deep chuckle, another shiver curling up Makoto’s spine.
On another day, Makoto would have likely left, mentally rattling off the dangerous number of health violations that came with keeping an animal in an area where food was prepared.
For now, she watched, paying close attention to the way Amamiya gently stroked the cat's head, as it began to munch happily on the small chunks of fish, purring. He rubbed underneath its chin, lean fingers stretching out to offer another piece of tuna and Makoto’s skin broke out in a flush, struck again with a sense that she had felt those hands before; been similarly enraptured by the same soothing caresses herself.
Makoto swallowed, reaching out and hurriedly downing the last mouthfuls of her coffee. Collecting her books together, she slipped abruptly out of the store.
She wasn’t going to get the answers she needed sitting around. She needed to take a more practical approach.
A/N: For more previews/updates, check out my Ko-fi.
Sanctuary
Chapter IV - One Time Gig
Cloud's decision, as Zack had quietly hoped, was met with cause to celebrate.
Tifa was beaming radiantly as he gave her the word, springing to her feet with her hands clasped together. At Zack's side, Cloud rubbed the back of his neck, flushed, but smiling dopily. Despite his bashfulness, he was clearly pleased to have spurned such a response from her.
In fact, Tifa was overcome by such joy, Zack sensed she was about to move into Cloud’s embrace, once more. This time, however, she caught herself, instead extending a hand toward him; perhaps a gesture she hoped would appear more professional. Zack was tempted, briefly, to ‘accidentally’ knock Cloud off balance, closing the distance between them. He thought better of it, though, feeling it wasn’t the appropriate time.
There would be plenty of chances later to relish in teasing his younger friend.
To commemorate the good news, Tifa insisted that they stay for dinner.
Eager, Zack accepted the invitation before Cloud could get a word out, suspecting his friend wouldn't want to intrude. Any urge Cloud had to protest, however, all but disappeared once Tifa shuffled behind the bar, a spring in her step and a smile all the more blinding.
From their shared table, Biggs, Jessie and Wedge seemed equally delighted for the extra hands, growing all the more excited about proceeding with their next mission, knowing now that they would have the knowledge and strength afforded by two ex-Soldiers in their ranks.
Zack happily dug into a generous portion of stew, managing to stay well-engaged in the conversation even amidst heaped spoonfuls. Cloud, however, for his part, nursed his own meal in awkward silence, unsure of where to rest his gaze. Having been shy in his younger years, Zack wondered if all the attention and scrutiny he was receiving from the rest of the room was making him uncomfortable. The loud, gregarious voices of their new Avalanche companions must have been overwhelming, not to mention the way their leader was still eying him sceptically. Though Zack seemed to have won Barret over, it looked like he still had some reservations about Cloud.
It was likely only the presence of Zack and Tifa that was helping to calm the nerves bundling for Cloud.
Though happy to take part in the celebration, as the night dragged on, Zack suspected it was a convenient excuse for Tifa to keep them; Cloud; around, even if for just a moment longer.
That much was solidified later when, after they'd eaten their fill, she offered to walk them back to the station, despite knowing they could more than comfortably navigate Sector 7 alone. The gesture almost offended Zack, who couldn't recall Tifa showing him this much hospitality when he had turned up on his own.
Still, he couldn't be too mad. It was obvious that she wasn't quite ready to part with Cloud yet.
As they made their way through the Slums together, Zack would catch her, every so often, glancing discreetly in the blond's direction. Though, her cheeks burnt and her eyes dipped whenever she felt Zack's gaze weighing on her.
Cloud, all the while, didn’t seem to have noticed.
Being in Tifa's company, made for a stark difference in how they were received by the Midgar locals. People were much friendlier, drawn toward Tifa; who, clearly, was an integral part of the community. Many passersby greeted her with a smile. Some called her by name, while others offered more... colourful greetings. Zack swore he could make out Cloud’s teeth grinding together with each one.
Still, not wanting them to feel ignored, Tifa did her best to muster up a conversation as they made their way along the Sector’s outskirts. Cloud, however, was far from talkative at the best of times, let alone when tongue-tied by nerves.
Tifa, however, appeared conscious of this and was careful in her approach; offering occasional, gentle attempts to coax him out of his shell. Unsurprising, given how long they had known each other, Zack guessed.
“So… Where have you two been staying all this time?”
“The Church in Sector 5,” Zack replied, teasingly, knowing it was Cloud she was hoping to receive an answer from. Though, if he was aggravating her, Tifa hid it well; a polite smile illuminating her features as she continued.
“Oh… Really?”
“Yep!” Zack exclaimed. “Got the whole attic to ourselves.”
"An attic?" Tifa echoed, her expression slipping and eyes flickering with concern. She looked to Cloud for confirmation, who ducked his head, suddenly ashamed.
“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it!” Zack laughed with a nudge, a gesture he hoped would ease her worry. “But really, we’ve been wanting to spring for a room at the Inn for a while now. It’s just, most of our gil has gone towards… re-establishing ourselves.”
"I see." Tifa nodded, the answer working to placate her. "Well, if you ever need a place to stay, there’s an apartment building not far from here that has a free room. I know the landlady, so I could work something out if you’re interested.”
That piece of information caught Cloud's attention, as he stopped in place, turning toward Tifa.
"R- really?"
Tifa blinked, taken back initially by Cloud suddenly engaging her. Yet, she met him with equal enthusiasm.
“Yeah! Well... It might be a little cramped for the two of you... there is only one bed. But still, it’s a start.”
Cloud sighed, that momentary spark of hope he’d felt, snuffed out. Though the Church's attic was far from an ideal set-up, they were at least afforded their own space; a marked improvement from the conditions they’d struggled through, travelling cross-country on the road.
Judging by his reaction it was clear to Zack that Cloud had been hoping to accept Tifa's offer, wanting to be closer to his old friend. Yet, he could hardly justify moving what little they’d established of themselves and their new lives over to an entirely different sector when there wasn’t even enough room for the two of them.
He couldn't put their comfort behind his own selfish means. That wouldn't be fair.
Zack, however, felt differently.
Cloud was someone who, on the surface, appeared withdrawn and distant. Even, at times, snarky. Zack, however, knew better. He knew that, at his core, Cloud was someone steadfast and optimistic, always striving to see the best in others and fighting for what was right.
These past few weeks, though, Zack worried that that part of him was slipping away.
He could understand, given the recent, poor fortune their lives had seen. Being discarded by the company you’d worked tirelessly to serve was only bound to fuel one’s inner cynic.
Still, Zack didn’t want his friend to become so jaded that he lost touch with himself. Not when he’d seen so many others he cared for fall down similarly dark paths.
He wondered if perhaps rekindling his friendship with Tifa more could help him regain a semblance of his old self.
It seemed counterintuitive for Cloud to deprive himself of something that made him happy.
At least, in Zack’s mind, it was worth a try.
Smirking, he clapped Cloud across the back, enough to penetrate the funk covering him.
"You know what, Spiky, why don't you take her up on that offer? I'm sure I can manage on my own."
Cloud stumbled, enough for Tifa to reach out and help steady him. He held up his hands to reassure her, his cheeks dusted with a flush, before eventually regaining his composure.
"Zack, what are you talking about?"
To Zack’s surprise, from the way Cloud’s gaze lingered and his eyebrows knit together sharply, he did not seem open to the idea. In fact, he appeared to be giving every silent indication that he was upset.
Zack couldn’t understand. He thought Cloud would have appreciated the chance to be closer to Tifa. His earlier disappointment realising there wouldn’t be enough room for them both to stay clearly suggested as much. There must have been a lot they needed to catch up on still.
Though, having always harboured insecurities about being a burden and given, Shinra’s recent abandonment, Zack supposed he could understand how Cloud might have found the gesture abrupt, even hurtful. After all the time they’d spent together, he was casting him aside so easily.
It had been thoughtless of him.
Biting his lip, Zack glanced around. The station was still bustling with life, despite the late hour. It really wasn’t the right place to unpack all of this, but there weren’t really any other options. Glancing helplessly toward the steel sky, Zack sighed.
"Sorry, Tifa. Do you think we could... have a moment?"
It was the most well-rested Ren had been in a while.
Despite the peace of his hometown compared to Tokyo, it had taken some time for Ren to get back into a regular sleep pattern there. He had grown comfortable in that one dusty, cluttered attic above Leblanc.
Though, there was something especially cozy about his bed this morning. Something that made even the thought of dragging himself from it near impossible to entertain.
His pillows were soft, his head melding perfectly amongst them. The sheets were fresh, a fragrant scent permeating from them, and his blanket lay firmly upon his shoulders like a cocoon.
He must have left his window open the night before, as, every so often, he would feel his hair brushed or tussled. It didn't bother him though. The feeling was relaxing, down to the sound of the breeze, a steady white noise that carried through the room, lulling and calming him.
He hadn't expected to wake feeling this well-rested, particularly knowing that his sleep would be short-lived, as he needed to get up early to make his way to Tokyo.
Suddenly, with that lone thought, Ren's entire body stiffened as panic began to pool through his chest.
Oh no, he realised. He needed to get up. He was going to be late.
Swiftly, Ren's hands shifted, pushing off the mattress to sit upright, but strangely, found he could only move so far. He cursed, pressing harder, yet still found himself met with resistance, his arms pinned against his sides.
Groggily, Ren stilled, unsure of what was wrong. He wondered if he was still asleep. Perhaps even, caught in a bout of sleep paralysis, as the blanket that had felt snug against his shoulders now weighed upon him like an unyielding force.
Testing, Ren opened his eyes, finding his vision overwhelmed by a flood of white. He blinked, his haze-addled mind struggling to process the sight.
As his hands trailed lower, Ren was greeted by a warm, supple mass resting underneath him, surrounding him. He thought he'd gotten tangled up among his blankets, but as his hand took ahold, he found it more solid and defined, though still smooth underneath his grasp.
The bolder and more curious his touch grew, the more Ren swore his actions were drawing out a sound; a soft, high-pitched straining bursting forth with each stroke.
The sound carried above him, vibrating against the top of his head, eventually breaking into a familiar call of his name.
Ren stilled, the comfort and stillness he had woken to now becoming clear.
It hadn’t been the white of his bedsheets that filled Ren’s vision, but the fabric of Makoto's shirt as his head was nestled against her chest.
Her arms were wrapped securely around him, all the deceptive strength of her slim frame holding him in place. Each time he had shifted under her grasp, her embrace had only tightened. Her hands were cradling his head as her fingers sunk into his hair, sifting through and caressing the locks, even in her sleep.
Despite his disorientation, Makoto's presence was enough to settle Ren’s erratic heart rate, the cold sweat forming on his brow. Though he hadn’t known where he was, he always felt safe with her.
From his third eye, Ren could make out the serene, peaceful expression on her face as her body lay perfectly still, save for the gentle, rhythmic breaths that broke from her lips, kissing his head.
Though not one he had come to know, the room was familiar. He had caught enough glimpses of it in the backgrounds of their video calls. But, even without that knowledge, his attuned senses could pick out enough traces of her that Ren would have had no trouble guessing. The worn Buchimaru pencil case sitting atop a neatly organised desk, the Yakuza Blu-rays hidden discreetly on her bookshelf among other textbooks.
They were in Makoto's dorm.
Of course, Ren realised, his panic having now dissipated entirely into calm. The past few hours had blurred together. In his drowsy state, he must have forgotten.
He had already made it to Tokyo.
He'd already met with Makoto and they'd fallen asleep together on her bed.
What a relief, he sighed. He really hadn't felt like getting up. With a contented, sigh he sunk back into Makoto's embrace, allowing his eyes to close once more.
He no longer felt the need for sleep, but couldn't pass the euphoria that was being so closely tethered to Makoto, basking in the scent and shape of her.
As much as he had wanted to spend the day in the city, Makoto had convinced him to rest in her room. Though he'd been disappointed, initially, she had been right. He had really needed it.
He couldn't imagine a more perfect way to pass their time together.
"Ren?"
Ren's gaze drifted upward, slowly taking in the visage of Makoto. Her short, dark hair tousled, as her eyes, misty and half-lidded, found him, an endearing, puzzled expression settling in them.
There was something so startlingly intimate about the sight, that Ren couldn't help himself.
It was reminiscent of the last time he'd seen her, the morning before he'd left for his hometown. This time the moment wasn't bittersweet, tempered by the knowledge that he had to leave soon.
Now, he had long enough to savour the moment properly.
He shifted forward, the last shred of distance between them broken by his lips. Still groggy herself, Makoto slumped bonelessly into his embrace with a sigh.
Her consciousness still hazy with sleep, Makoto was enraptured by the soft pressure of Ren’s mouth, the comforting heat and aroma of his body. She could do little more than reciprocate, her body clasping, clawing blindly for his. Anything to spur on those sensations, to make them stronger.
The more she focused on him and those feelings he so effortlessly evoked, the more her lucidity steadily returned.
Makoto’s eyes bulged and she pushed against his chest, separating them. Ren’s head cocked as he regarded her with a dopey grin, a gesture so earnest and adorable Makoto could feel herself flush.
"Ren!" She protested, turning her head to the side. "We just woke up. Let me brush my teeth first."
"Sorry," Ren answered, not harbouring a shred of regret. "I can't help it. You're just too cute. Besides, I never got to say hello to you properly."
Any further protest died on Makoto’s lips, as Ren sought them out a second time. Her self-consciousness melted away into a warm flutter rising in her stomach as she melted blissfully into the touch. Ren moaned, leaning deeper into the softness of her mouth.
Despite the months of yearning, their reunion was chaste, as though they were learning the taste and sensation of each other for the first time again. Though, gradually the kiss deepened, a fervour sparking within Ren as he was overwhelmed by all that he loved and had missed about Makoto and being in her presence.
Everything that he still longed to do with her.
His hand began to sneak its way under Makoto’s top, and her eyes bulged, the stimulation, to Ren's dismay sparking a thought.
She glanced over his shoulder, eyes seeking the digital clock on her desk.
"Wait. What time is it?"
His urges no longer bound by concepts as trivial as space or time, Ren continued to explore the length of Makoto's neck with his mouth. She gasped, a sound born more out of shock than pleasure. Ren’s ministrations unfortunately not enough to distract her from the task at hand.
“We need to get ready. It’s almost time for the party!”
blakekathryn
andulkaphoto
ellievsbear
vaporwave
romaincrisis
gummygunk
snowghoul
