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i.
Shopping was one of Reno's most hated activities. Clothes shopping
was even more so—he was perfectly content to wear his
Shinra-approved work uniform some twelve days of the week—but he
couldn't deny its necessity, especially when Rydia's attempt to do
the laundry had led to her uniform being shrunken to almost half its
size. Still—
He barely resisted the urge to twist his hands in his hair and groan
loudly in frustration. Still, it worked better when the other party
would cooperate. Rydia had spent the last hour wandering through the
racks and racks of clothing, occasionally reaching out to test the
fabric. Beyond that, it seemed she had little idea of what to do,
and short from actually grabbing something that vaguely resembled
fashion, or at the least trying to duplicate the outfits the
salesgirls were wearing, and following her into the fitting room…
Wait, what was so bad about that idea?
Propriety. Gentleman…ness. Honour. Something. Reno shook his head as
if to shake away the glazed expression from his eyes, and stalked
forward toward his—his what? Friend? Houseguest? Immigrant?—with
purpose.
"Look, we've got limited spend time. You cool?"
Rydia set her mouth in a deep frown. He was barely able to keep his
gaze from sinking to her mouth, wondering what felt like—how would
her perspiration taste, in the throes of passion, her body writhing
underneath him? How—Reno shook his head again, as if to shake away
such thoughts. She was saying something, he knew that, but if
someone were to quiz him as to the what, he'd fail like he failed
algebra three times. Reaching down in an effort to look away from
her, he pulled some sort of black shirt off the rack.
He held it out for her inspection. "Try this."
She fingered the material of the sleeve with careful precision, and
he responded by shaking the garment. To her credit, Rydia didn't
roll her eyes, but the skin around her eyelids twitched ever so
slightly, as if to indicate the possibility. She took the item from
him, holding it gingerly by the hanger, and he pointed to the
fitting room.
When they left an hour later, Reno had arms full of bags, and a
wallet empty of cash. He hadn't even been allowed in the fitting
room.
ii.
Cooking was one of Reno's most preferred activities, although he'd
never admit it. He liked to experiment with spices and fusion
dishes, seeing what he could do with a few noodles and a whole lot
of sauces illegal in Midgar. But after twenty-six consecutive hours
with Rude and Elena hiding in the bushes for some reason that
sounded cool when Mr. Shinra had explained it, all he wanted was
some pizza and maybe a bottle of hard cider, if for no other reason
than to prevent him from dreaming about that same bush.
So home he came, pizza in one hand, keys in the other. The door of
his flat was barely open when he smelt smoke coming from the
kitchen. Discarding his shoes quickly, he jumped over the sleeping
cat at the doorway and made a dash for said kitchen. All he found
was Rydia, her hands spread in front of her, using a water spell to
combat the flames hissing from the oven. Grabbing a dishtowel, Reno
made to assist the efforts.
A few minutes and a ruined meal later, Reno bit the inside of his
cheek and turned to Rydia.
"You were gone and I was hungry," she said, an almost defensive edge
in her voice.
"You chose the perfect revenge, trying to burn down my house," he
quipped, his shoulders slumping a bit.
A month, she had lived with him. A very confusing month, wherein
black had turned out to be white, white had proved itself to be
black, and he was never sure how far was too far. Still, it had been
interesting, and he was not oblivious to the expressions that hid
behind her eyes. He had almost forgotten how unused she was to his
world, even now. After a tense, silent moment, Reno held out his
arms, and Rydia folded into him. She was warm, so warm.
Thinking back on the last few minutes, he snickered into her hair.
"It isn't funny," he heard her say.
"Kinda is."
iii.
Reno hated cleaning.
It had taken him almost a week to figure out that having Rydia
around meant he could foist some of the household chores onto her.
One day, after a twelve hour shift, he tried to teach her how to use
the vacuum cleaner. He had plugged it in, flicked the switch, and
with a loud rumble that sent his cat dashing to hide, it whirred to
life.
Afterward, it took him three hours to persuade her to come out of
the bathroom.
iv.
Reno liked beer.
Really, really liked it.
In honour of his appreciation, he decided that Rydia needed to hear
his ode to beer. Except it was not so much an ode as it was a
monologue. Of drunken rambling, repetition, and slurred words as she
tried to assist him home.
He liked leaning against her. She fit comfortably under his arm.
So he told her that, too.
v.
Reno hated hangovers.
Having Rydia there to try and figure out the difference between
aspirin and cold medication, and berate him for his behaviour the
night before, made it significantly better.
vi.
Rydia drove Reno crazy at times.
She was old fashioned, and often halted his libido at the most
unfortunate times. She called the stove the oven, and the oven the
stove. Whenever the phone rang she would jump and spook the cat. She
refused to touch the vacuum cleaner, and whenever he meant to use
it, she would glower and then shut herself in the bedroom. She ate
far too much and had doubled his grocery bill over the last few
months. Whenever they had a quarrel – which was fairly often – she
would leave the building and go jenova-knows-where and trying to
find her to make peace would lead to Reno being stung repeatedly by
bees, or Reno getting kicked in the shin by a six year old, or Reno
thrown in the drunk tank despite being perfectly sober.
Somehow, he wasn't entirely sure how, he had gotten to the point
where he couldn't imagine life without her.
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