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Summary: “Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.”- Aristotle


Rufus is inquisitive as hell.

“I already told you I don't want to talk about it!” Reno snaps as he pulls the sheets tight over his bed. He wonders why he tolerates Rufus then he remembers he's his boss and that they've been a thing since Meteorfall. Rufus may be a completely unscrupulous, morally lacking bastard, however he treats Reno like a fucking prince.

Rufus sits in the beat up chair that Reno can't seem to part with, watching him intently. “You know pretty much everything about me. You could at know what? I could just look in your files.”

Reno smirks. “So why don't you? You have access.”

Rufus gives an sigh full of exasperation. “I'd much rather here it from you.”

“All right, yo, but it's not some heartwarming story. My life was pretty fucked up before I joined ShinRa. Okay, maybe it wasn't, but it wasn't like yours. It wasn't the lap of fucking luxury, a silver spoon in my goddamned mouth, you know?”

“I know,” Rufus replies as he motions for Reno to come to him. Reno sits in his lap, his arms around his neck.

“Since you want a story, here you go.”

Zola tosses the package at Reno, narrowly missing his head. It hits the wall behind him and lands with an unceremonious thump on the floor.

“You could have knocked me out,” Reno gripes, picking the package up. “What is it anyway?”

Zola shrugs her broad shoulders. “It's from mom. She sent me one, too. Don't know why she just didn't put it all together.”

Reno and Zola didn't say it aloud, but they wondered when their mom was coming home from the Bone Village. She had been there for several months helping with a dig. They knew that if they wrote or called begging for her to come home she'd just tell them she'd be home shortly. Her work was important to her as much as they were. Sometimes it felt as if she loved the job more.

In silence they open their packages. Zola holds up a hand knitted sweater with a black Chocobo in the middle. She rolls her eyes, tossing it aside. She hasn't worn cute shit like that since she was 10. She glances over at Reno. “What mom send you?”

Reno holds up a blue t-shirt that says “Welcome to the Bone Village”. Like his sister, he tosses it to the side.

“If she sent candy or something I'd be grateful,” Zola says as she pulls on her bosozoku jacket. Reno stares at in awe. It's black with a vibrant red NEO Bahamut embroidered on back with the words “Midgar 88” beneath it. The Midgar 88s were notorious. They were also cool as fuck.

“You going out?” Reno asks as he cleans up around the living room.

Zola nods. “Yep and nope you can't go.”

“I wasn't even going to ask, Z. I have rehearsal with the band.” It feels good to say that. Reno has a band and they're pretty damn good. Zola rolls her bright blue eyes and waves her hand as she heads out the door.

“Have fun!” she calls.

Reno won't admit it. He won't admit it to her at least. He does want to go and hang out with her biker gang. He wants to be apart of that coolness, the recklessness. Zola won't let him and if his mother found out she'd have his head.

That's why he has a band.

They are in fact really good. The neighbor screaming at them from the other side of the wall has told them they are even if they shout their bloody head off because they're too “fucking loud”.

They call themselves Sleepel and their music is moody and dark. People look at Reno with his wild, long red hair and instantly assume things about him, mainly his music taste.

“You probably like metal or rap, right?”

“I do, but I also really love sad music. Like really sad music.”

Then a blank stare and they go on to talking about his unnaturally natural red hair.

July 2015



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