Playing Favorites
Title: Playing Favorites
Summary: All these questions Cloud doesn't know how to answer.
Warnings: Cloud/Reno slash.
A/N: YAY for inspiration via Fruits Basket. Hope you guys enjoy reading it -- I had tons of fun writing it.
*****
There was a reason why Cloud didn’t like talking to people.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to; he simply didn’t know how. The ins-and-outs of normal conversation were a mystery. Gods, but Nibelheim had been bad enough. He knew perfectly well that his awkward statements had been collected as jokes and non sequiturs around town. And that rankled, still, even though everyone that had mocked him was dead, or otherwise gone.
Tifa, thank heaven, was eternally patient with him -- he had trouble speaking with her, even now. Barret was content to stuff him full of beer and listen to whatever junk came out of his mouth. Yuffie and Cait Sith talked enough for both of them, Nanaki was often more interested in hunting than speech, and Cid had once told him that if he tried to talk while the pilot was working ever again, he would find out just very big and heavy a monkey wrench could be when shoved into some painful places.
But not even Cloud could be completely clueless about things, so he had managed to pick up some scanty rules about vocal etiquette. The most important being, If all else fails, keep your mouth shut and listen.
Tifa would say that this was a lesson that he had learned a bit too well. Be that as it may; Cloud clung to it like a lifesaver. A silent, unblinking gaze usually led people to explain themselves more fully, whether out of nervousness or simple determination.
This situation definitely called for his preferred strategy. Though, this time around, it was born out of genuine confusion.
Reno was looking at him. “What’s your favorite food?” he asked.
There it was again. That question. How could he answer that?
Cloud frantically ran through various dishes and foods in his mind. Which one was his favorite? Which one did he enjoy over the others?
Well, the answer to that was none of them. But he knew that people didn’t like hearing “I don’t know” in conversation.
Why are you here? he interrogated silently. What could you possibly want in 7th Heaven --?
“He’s never told me what his favorite food is,” Tifa interjected from somewhere underneath the bar. “I just put it in front of him and he eats it.”
“That’s no way to live,” Reno objected. “Man’s gotta have somethin’ good for his birthday at least.”
Tifa emerged, clutching two bottles of vodka in one hand and a beer glass in the other. “He’s never said,” she stated once more. “Sometimes I think he does it just to irritate me.”
How can I tell you if I don’t know? Cloud asked silently -- but he knew that saying that wouldn’t accomplish anything except general ill-feeling. So back to uninflected staring it was.
There was one thing he did know, however; he didn’t want Reno here. If Reno wasn’t here, then he wouldn’t be obligated to babysit his scrawny ass to keep the peace in the taproom. If Reno had swaggered in here on his accord and no one was around to keep things in check, then it was practically a given that a brawl would erupt.
But if Cloud-Strife-Killer-of-Sephiroth-and-Savior-of-Gaia sat with him, gigantic sword within easy reach and looking, if not friendly, than at least vaguely chummy, then there wasn’t much of a problem. At least, not one that anyone was willing to fight about.
Running over all this in his mind was reassuring; all systems stable, most neurons in good working order. Confusion pushed away, outside of his boundaries.
“Secretive, huh?” Reno grinned at him. Cloud wondered how much the red-head had had to drink. “So, does that mean you won’t tell us what your favorite season is? What you want for Yule? Or your favorite color?”
Suddenly glad for his sword nearby, Cloud turned away and gripped the hilt in both hands. The bastard was doing it again; throwing questions his way that he couldn’t possibly answer.
The Turk didn’t seem very perturbed by what the other patrons were viewing as blatant hostility. “Alright, alright,” he said. “I’ll leave you alone. That’s not really what I came for anyway. Look, Cloud, I hate putting you on the spot, but would you like dinner Saturday night? With me?”
Had someone declared today to be Confuse-the-Hell-Out-of-Cloud-Strife Day?
“Huh?” the blonde replied wisely.
Reno spoke slowly, with the air of someone being deliberately patient. “There’s a new place that opened a month ago; casual, so you don’t have to worry about any fancy shit. They make killer enchiladas, too. I’m free this Saturday, so I was wondering if you’d like to go.”
“Like...a date?” Cloud asked feebly. He clutched the hilt of his weapon even tighter. His anchor in a world that had suddenly gone mad.
“I guess. Kissing and/or making out not required.”
Cloud choked at that.
Always with the impossible questions. Why was it Reno that always asked him the hard ones? His feelings about the other man were strange enough as it was, and besides--
Trap, the primitive corner of his mind muttered. The primitive corner that had gotten so very much stronger all those years ago, when the first Jenova cells had entered his body. Trap, trying to hurt, to find weakness, eliminate the threat and protect your precious peoples’ place --
His desperate attempts to thwart his rising instincts made his deaf and blind to Reno’s next statement. When he’d finally blinked the static away from his eyes and hearing had returned, he asked, “Come again?”
“I said, if you can’t make it, it’s okay.”
“No, I --” trap, trap, eliminate and protect “ --I’m free. I’m...sure. I’ll go.”
Oh, damn. Oh, damn, damn, damn, damn, why did Reno have to look so happy?
“Awesome! Do you want me to pick you up, or --”
“Just tell me where it is. I can find it.”
And Reno nodded, and bought another drink. And that’s more coin in Tifa’s pocket, more money for the bar, and gods above, Reno just asked me out on a date and I went and said yes, oh, Barret is going to love this one....
----------------------------
“Just shoot me.”
“We don’t have any guns,” Tifa replied, not looking up from the stove. “Sit down and eat your breakfast.”
Cloud was feeling distinctly put upon. It just wasn’t fair.
Stupid Reno with stupid dates, and stupid Cloud with a stupid crush that was hanging on for dear life. Wasn’t he too old for this kind of thing? Didn’t hormones level out after a certain number of years?
Of course, it was possible that it wouldn’t work that way for him. After all, he’d been trapped in Hojo’s laboratory for the better half of his adolescence, where they had tied him down and stuck him with their needles, making him forget he wasn’t a child anymore, punishment for good dreams....
There. He had someone to blame for all this; it was almost comforting to think, This is all Hojo’s fault.
He sat down at the table, and tried not to think about the fact that for the first time in six years, he had a date.
----------------------------
Within the next three days, any thought Tifa might have given to jealousy was taken up by franticly wishing that Saturday would come soon. Cloud was being even more taciturn than usual -- at first, seemingly apathetic to the event. That wore off by the second day, where he simply stayed up in his room, fretting, except at meal times. On Friday, the third day, he kept trying to bolt out the door and ride into the sunset on Fenrir. Tifa finally threatened to staple him into his chair and Marlene scolded him for trying to run out on Reno.
Cloud personally thought that they were both being very unfair.
And then, finally, Saturday arrived. Cloud was in a state of near-hysteria.
“Why?!” he wailed. “Why did I say yes? Oh, my god, this is going to be horrible, he’ll -- I --”
“Will not have sex,” Tifa finished for him. The possibility had been one that he had been brooding about from the beginning.
“Don’t say it!”
They had agreed to meet at the restaurant at seven. It took a massive group effort, but Cloud was finally forced through the door by 6:30.
“HAVE FUN!” Tifa shouted after him. “AND USE PROTECTION!”
Cloud might have whimpered in protest, but any possible sound was lost in the roar of Fenrir’s engine.
----------------------------
For a wonder, Cloud had not had to track down the location of the restaurant. He had made exactly two deliveries for them within the last two weeks; if he had thought about it more deeply, he might have seen the Hand of Fate, or perhaps Rufus behind that. But he was far too wound up to consider that.
Currently, he was banging his head with abandon against the dash. Stupid, stupid, you should have made up some sort of excuse, why did you have to say ‘yes’ you dumb blonde --
To top it all off, his hair was still wet. He detested having wet hair. What was it with Tifa and her obsession with showers?
Suddenly, he tensed. The sounds of a car engine had pricked his ears.
Auuugh, he’s here, auuugh, nononononononono....
Yes, it was Reno, flaming red hair bright against a white button down shirt. Which was open at the collar, exposing the elegant lines of his collarbones.
Auuugh....
Cloud quickly looked at Reno’s ride, lest he be accused of staring. It was...well, it was red, for one thing. It was also a car, an oddity in this town -- if only because trucks were more useful, and motorcycles were easier to gas up due to their smaller tanks.
“Triumph Spitfire,” Cloud identified, once Reno had parked next to him and switched off the engine.
“Damn straight,” Reno replied with a grin. “Best ride I’ve ever had, for all that it’s vintage.”
“It’s very...red.”
“It is that.”
“I mean it’s -- it’s really red.”
“You don’t like red, Cloud?”
For some reason, this made his cheeks flame. “No! That’s not it, it’s just really red! Really, really red! That’s all!”
“You don’t have to get upset,” Reno said in a mild voice, looking slightly injured.
“I’m not upset! Who said I was upset?! It’s just a really red car! I like red!”
Not for the first time, Cloud was experiencing a sinking sensation deep in the pits of his stomach. I’m still on the bike, he thought desperately. I could drive off, leave, and I’d never have to see him again....
“Do you like the color red, Cloud?” Reno asked.
Huh?
“I mean, I know a lot of the things you own are black, but still.” Then Reno snapped his fingers, as if an epiphany had just hit him. “Hey! Your stool back at the bar had a red cover in it, didn’t it? And that ribbon you gave Marlene was red, too.”
Cloud stared at him, unable to process the situation. Red? He liked red? “Well -- I guess -- I mean --”
“Hey, that’s awesome! I bet you’re in love with me or something because of my red hair!” And Reno threw back his head and laughed.
The laughter was quickly cut off by Cloud wildly sputtering, “You -- you -- you -- you!”
“Me?”
“YOU!”
Cloud jumped off the bike, grabbed Reno by his collar, and dragged him out of the Spitfire. Then, hand still full of white fabric, the exSOLDIER entered the restaurant.
----------------------------
Reno was in a very good mood two hours later. The hilarity of the night would make a good story for Rude on the next stake-out. He delivered Cloud to 7th Heaven, and with a smirk, said to Tifa, “Cloud’s favorite color is red.”
Just to clarify Cloud's feelings: he likes Reno -- he likes Reno a lot -- but he's also an emotional retard, and needs to be guided gently into these things. Reno hasn't figured it out yet.
Think I should write a sequel?
Summary: All these questions Cloud doesn't know how to answer.
Warnings: Cloud/Reno slash.
A/N: YAY for inspiration via Fruits Basket. Hope you guys enjoy reading it -- I had tons of fun writing it.
*****
There was a reason why Cloud didn’t like talking to people.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to; he simply didn’t know how. The ins-and-outs of normal conversation were a mystery. Gods, but Nibelheim had been bad enough. He knew perfectly well that his awkward statements had been collected as jokes and non sequiturs around town. And that rankled, still, even though everyone that had mocked him was dead, or otherwise gone.
Tifa, thank heaven, was eternally patient with him -- he had trouble speaking with her, even now. Barret was content to stuff him full of beer and listen to whatever junk came out of his mouth. Yuffie and Cait Sith talked enough for both of them, Nanaki was often more interested in hunting than speech, and Cid had once told him that if he tried to talk while the pilot was working ever again, he would find out just very big and heavy a monkey wrench could be when shoved into some painful places.
But not even Cloud could be completely clueless about things, so he had managed to pick up some scanty rules about vocal etiquette. The most important being, If all else fails, keep your mouth shut and listen.
Tifa would say that this was a lesson that he had learned a bit too well. Be that as it may; Cloud clung to it like a lifesaver. A silent, unblinking gaze usually led people to explain themselves more fully, whether out of nervousness or simple determination.
This situation definitely called for his preferred strategy. Though, this time around, it was born out of genuine confusion.
Reno was looking at him. “What’s your favorite food?” he asked.
There it was again. That question. How could he answer that?
Cloud frantically ran through various dishes and foods in his mind. Which one was his favorite? Which one did he enjoy over the others?
Well, the answer to that was none of them. But he knew that people didn’t like hearing “I don’t know” in conversation.
Why are you here? he interrogated silently. What could you possibly want in 7th Heaven --?
“He’s never told me what his favorite food is,” Tifa interjected from somewhere underneath the bar. “I just put it in front of him and he eats it.”
“That’s no way to live,” Reno objected. “Man’s gotta have somethin’ good for his birthday at least.”
Tifa emerged, clutching two bottles of vodka in one hand and a beer glass in the other. “He’s never said,” she stated once more. “Sometimes I think he does it just to irritate me.”
How can I tell you if I don’t know? Cloud asked silently -- but he knew that saying that wouldn’t accomplish anything except general ill-feeling. So back to uninflected staring it was.
There was one thing he did know, however; he didn’t want Reno here. If Reno wasn’t here, then he wouldn’t be obligated to babysit his scrawny ass to keep the peace in the taproom. If Reno had swaggered in here on his accord and no one was around to keep things in check, then it was practically a given that a brawl would erupt.
But if Cloud-Strife-Killer-of-Sephiroth-and-Savior-of-Gaia sat with him, gigantic sword within easy reach and looking, if not friendly, than at least vaguely chummy, then there wasn’t much of a problem. At least, not one that anyone was willing to fight about.
Running over all this in his mind was reassuring; all systems stable, most neurons in good working order. Confusion pushed away, outside of his boundaries.
“Secretive, huh?” Reno grinned at him. Cloud wondered how much the red-head had had to drink. “So, does that mean you won’t tell us what your favorite season is? What you want for Yule? Or your favorite color?”
Suddenly glad for his sword nearby, Cloud turned away and gripped the hilt in both hands. The bastard was doing it again; throwing questions his way that he couldn’t possibly answer.
The Turk didn’t seem very perturbed by what the other patrons were viewing as blatant hostility. “Alright, alright,” he said. “I’ll leave you alone. That’s not really what I came for anyway. Look, Cloud, I hate putting you on the spot, but would you like dinner Saturday night? With me?”
Had someone declared today to be Confuse-the-Hell-Out-of-Cloud-Strife Day?
“Huh?” the blonde replied wisely.
Reno spoke slowly, with the air of someone being deliberately patient. “There’s a new place that opened a month ago; casual, so you don’t have to worry about any fancy shit. They make killer enchiladas, too. I’m free this Saturday, so I was wondering if you’d like to go.”
“Like...a date?” Cloud asked feebly. He clutched the hilt of his weapon even tighter. His anchor in a world that had suddenly gone mad.
“I guess. Kissing and/or making out not required.”
Cloud choked at that.
Always with the impossible questions. Why was it Reno that always asked him the hard ones? His feelings about the other man were strange enough as it was, and besides--
Trap, the primitive corner of his mind muttered. The primitive corner that had gotten so very much stronger all those years ago, when the first Jenova cells had entered his body. Trap, trying to hurt, to find weakness, eliminate the threat and protect your precious peoples’ place --
His desperate attempts to thwart his rising instincts made his deaf and blind to Reno’s next statement. When he’d finally blinked the static away from his eyes and hearing had returned, he asked, “Come again?”
“I said, if you can’t make it, it’s okay.”
“No, I --” trap, trap, eliminate and protect “ --I’m free. I’m...sure. I’ll go.”
Oh, damn. Oh, damn, damn, damn, damn, why did Reno have to look so happy?
“Awesome! Do you want me to pick you up, or --”
“Just tell me where it is. I can find it.”
And Reno nodded, and bought another drink. And that’s more coin in Tifa’s pocket, more money for the bar, and gods above, Reno just asked me out on a date and I went and said yes, oh, Barret is going to love this one....
----------------------------
“Just shoot me.”
“We don’t have any guns,” Tifa replied, not looking up from the stove. “Sit down and eat your breakfast.”
Cloud was feeling distinctly put upon. It just wasn’t fair.
Stupid Reno with stupid dates, and stupid Cloud with a stupid crush that was hanging on for dear life. Wasn’t he too old for this kind of thing? Didn’t hormones level out after a certain number of years?
Of course, it was possible that it wouldn’t work that way for him. After all, he’d been trapped in Hojo’s laboratory for the better half of his adolescence, where they had tied him down and stuck him with their needles, making him forget he wasn’t a child anymore, punishment for good dreams....
There. He had someone to blame for all this; it was almost comforting to think, This is all Hojo’s fault.
He sat down at the table, and tried not to think about the fact that for the first time in six years, he had a date.
----------------------------
Within the next three days, any thought Tifa might have given to jealousy was taken up by franticly wishing that Saturday would come soon. Cloud was being even more taciturn than usual -- at first, seemingly apathetic to the event. That wore off by the second day, where he simply stayed up in his room, fretting, except at meal times. On Friday, the third day, he kept trying to bolt out the door and ride into the sunset on Fenrir. Tifa finally threatened to staple him into his chair and Marlene scolded him for trying to run out on Reno.
Cloud personally thought that they were both being very unfair.
And then, finally, Saturday arrived. Cloud was in a state of near-hysteria.
“Why?!” he wailed. “Why did I say yes? Oh, my god, this is going to be horrible, he’ll -- I --”
“Will not have sex,” Tifa finished for him. The possibility had been one that he had been brooding about from the beginning.
“Don’t say it!”
They had agreed to meet at the restaurant at seven. It took a massive group effort, but Cloud was finally forced through the door by 6:30.
“HAVE FUN!” Tifa shouted after him. “AND USE PROTECTION!”
Cloud might have whimpered in protest, but any possible sound was lost in the roar of Fenrir’s engine.
----------------------------
For a wonder, Cloud had not had to track down the location of the restaurant. He had made exactly two deliveries for them within the last two weeks; if he had thought about it more deeply, he might have seen the Hand of Fate, or perhaps Rufus behind that. But he was far too wound up to consider that.
Currently, he was banging his head with abandon against the dash. Stupid, stupid, you should have made up some sort of excuse, why did you have to say ‘yes’ you dumb blonde --
To top it all off, his hair was still wet. He detested having wet hair. What was it with Tifa and her obsession with showers?
Suddenly, he tensed. The sounds of a car engine had pricked his ears.
Auuugh, he’s here, auuugh, nononononononono....
Yes, it was Reno, flaming red hair bright against a white button down shirt. Which was open at the collar, exposing the elegant lines of his collarbones.
Auuugh....
Cloud quickly looked at Reno’s ride, lest he be accused of staring. It was...well, it was red, for one thing. It was also a car, an oddity in this town -- if only because trucks were more useful, and motorcycles were easier to gas up due to their smaller tanks.
“Triumph Spitfire,” Cloud identified, once Reno had parked next to him and switched off the engine.
“Damn straight,” Reno replied with a grin. “Best ride I’ve ever had, for all that it’s vintage.”
“It’s very...red.”
“It is that.”
“I mean it’s -- it’s really red.”
“You don’t like red, Cloud?”
For some reason, this made his cheeks flame. “No! That’s not it, it’s just really red! Really, really red! That’s all!”
“You don’t have to get upset,” Reno said in a mild voice, looking slightly injured.
“I’m not upset! Who said I was upset?! It’s just a really red car! I like red!”
Not for the first time, Cloud was experiencing a sinking sensation deep in the pits of his stomach. I’m still on the bike, he thought desperately. I could drive off, leave, and I’d never have to see him again....
“Do you like the color red, Cloud?” Reno asked.
Huh?
“I mean, I know a lot of the things you own are black, but still.” Then Reno snapped his fingers, as if an epiphany had just hit him. “Hey! Your stool back at the bar had a red cover in it, didn’t it? And that ribbon you gave Marlene was red, too.”
Cloud stared at him, unable to process the situation. Red? He liked red? “Well -- I guess -- I mean --”
“Hey, that’s awesome! I bet you’re in love with me or something because of my red hair!” And Reno threw back his head and laughed.
The laughter was quickly cut off by Cloud wildly sputtering, “You -- you -- you -- you!”
“Me?”
“YOU!”
Cloud jumped off the bike, grabbed Reno by his collar, and dragged him out of the Spitfire. Then, hand still full of white fabric, the exSOLDIER entered the restaurant.
----------------------------
Reno was in a very good mood two hours later. The hilarity of the night would make a good story for Rude on the next stake-out. He delivered Cloud to 7th Heaven, and with a smirk, said to Tifa, “Cloud’s favorite color is red.”
Just to clarify Cloud's feelings: he likes Reno -- he likes Reno a lot -- but he's also an emotional retard, and needs to be guided gently into these things. Reno hasn't figured it out yet.
Think I should write a sequel?