𝗮 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗽 𝗸𝗻𝗶𝗳𝗲...

( get to practicing— )

( she hopes he does more than that— )

( Revived! )

( too late—! )

( ded—)

( She’s sure she could discover a few more— )

📲 Hard not to look at it that way when you text that you’re dreaming about me in the middle of the night.

As sweet as he was, the boy had a knack for flirting. She wondered if he was just as clueless to that as he was his looks.

🤟🏻

🔪|| 😫 typos

😅

( She does, too—

So they can both make some noise. )

Well—

😳

Now you do.

(Bites her lip to hold back a squeal of delight.)

Uh-huh.

Like right now.

Well, yeah.

C’mon. You gotta know.

Who is.

You are.

—
She flops onto her mattress, belly down and her feet kicking slowly as she types out her reply.

📲 Are we actually talking about desserts right now?

— so immediately goes to check, only to see that it’s her personal cell. She smiles when she sees the sender. Her smiles widens as she reads the message. She knows he must be half-asleep, noting the typos and the unabashed openness of the text. +

She is awake, restless. Not unusual for her. Cocooned in a blanket, curled up on an overside upholstered chair in her living room, she’s reading over case files when she hears the telltale buzz of a message received. She thinks it’s her PHS, +

She peeks at him over her book, her smile hidden. She could lie, give him a title that would make her seem pretentious. But she doesn’t like lying, especially not to him.

“Fifty Shades of Gray. It’s quite awful. But there’s a certain macabre fascination, wanting to see just had bad it can get.”

— she sees who it’s from. Smiles wider at the typos and how wide open he seems by the subject.

He must be still half asleep, surely.

Book forgotten, she crawls on the bed, belly down and feet kicking slowly as she types her reply.

— She glanced down, having forgotten she’d brought him. Carefully, she collected him from within, holding him up to squint at him as if to telepathically warn him not to pull any of his shit before cradling him against her chest.

— Pivoting to dispel the discomfort her earlier question likely aroused, she asked, “Have they caught anyone?”

They were nearing the hospital. Soon, they wouldn’t be able to speak about his mission openly. From his hamsterball nestled in her lap, Havoc’s tiny paws pattered on the plastic. +

— Still, in the days before Exile, Reno would have had back up. They’d always go out in pairs. Always.

She cleared her throat, swiped the back of her hand against her chin and cheek to rid of the trace of tears. +

“He was alone?”

It wasn’t an accusation, but the moment the words left her mouth, she realized how it must have sounded. She knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault. There were just too few of them to keep to protocol. +

She cocks a curious brow.

“The grumpiest, huh? Do tell. I could learn a thing or two.”

His comments earn a chuckle from her. “Never a calm day in Midgar, that’s for sure.”

She offers her profile, staring out at their surroundings absently. “Though I wouldn’t mind a bit of calm now and then.”

— closed her eyes briefly, gave a subtle shake of her head. Best not to finish that thought. Summoning what she hoped appeared to be a friendly smile (and feeling her cheeks burn), she forced herself voice to be non-chalant. “Maybe I can meet them someday.”

And he would be right. She was a girl that learned the hard way to keep her cards close.

As for getting to know one another—

Well, sometimes it was possible to know a person better than anyone without asking a thing. It was how they moved, how they talked…how they fought.

How they fu—

She +

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴—

Or no home at all.

She takes a deep breath, gives a shrug, offers a fleeting half smile as she avoids his gaze. 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘚𝘖𝘓𝘋𝘐𝘌𝘙 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴—

Sometimes, it felt like they could see through to her soul.

“It’s good to have a place to come back to.”