A Different Kind of Suit
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and all of its properties belong to Square-enix. The story and any other characters belong to me.
A/N: I couldn't really draw the other day so I decided to write instead, and I finished it today. Thanks to my tunes: P.J. Harvey, A Perfect Circle and The Dresden Dolls. Here's a different characterization of Elena (maybe), and (probably) a cliché story. Dig it, bitches. Felt like writing a somewhat-Turk-tale, since it's been awhile... So…
I had thought my date was just what I wanted in a man. Tall, dark, handsome, dignified, smart, funny, and elegant… Dressed in a neat, dark suit... Just like Tseng. Hell, if I couldn't have him, I might as well go for someone similar, right? Why don't I ever learn? This isn't what I need, is it? I guess you wouldn't know, would you?
I thought I could be graceful and smart, funny and sweet... And you always told me that I had class, Reno.
It turns out that I'm insecure too and I don't do dates very well either. You'd think after all the parties I've attended and all the heads I've turned—
It makes sense, I guess, that I'm pathetically reduced to a nervous wreck whenever someone who looks like Tseng comes along. And it shouldn't be a surprise that I'm losing my touch with dating… But it is a surprise when my date finds out, and he is not pleased.
First I spill my drink. I knock over Tony's glass too, and at first he's just calm as he calls the waiter over to bring us some extra napkins. As I'm cleaning myself up, Tony leans back slightly in his chair and eyes a young woman at another table, sitting by herself with a glass of red wine. Her eyes seem to be wandering too. I guess she and Tony were meant for each other, weren't they? All class, no spills.
"I'm sorry," I mutter as I finish wiping off the front of my dress. At least it's black—no one will ever know except him and me.
Tony shakes his head, his lips tightly pressed together. "Not a problem."
I almost believe him; it's such a common mistake to knock over a glass or two. People might look over at us, or not, and then when the moment's gone they return to talking about stocks or family or politics. But it's as if Tony has a checklist, and suddenly everything I say sounds wrong, and it is a problem.
We're long past the embarrassing moment, and even though we're still talking, I know I don't have his attention anymore. Once again, his gaze meanders across the room, past the other tables, to the lonely girl. When we're at a breaking point in our insipid discussion, I listen to a few of the notes of the piano music playing in the background and chance a look in her direction; I'm going to get a good look at her to see what the big deal is, but I won't be obvious about it, so I turn my head just slightly.
I tune out the music as I decide not to blame Tony for looking. The young woman's strawberry blonde hair is twisted into an elegant bun with a few curls hanging down by the sides of her face. Her high cheekbones are just faintly tinged with color—probably as a result of my date's attention and not the blush in her make-up set. Her eyes are cat-like, probably bright blue, thickly lashed, almost like a doll. She holds her wine glass to her lips with delicate fingers—perfectly manicured nails, painted a rosy red to match her lips. Her slinky, strapless dress is the palest of sea-greens and shows off sculpted arms. Among other things. Pricey gems adorn the delicate bands of her slender bracelets and matching choker.
She turns her head and I bring my regard back to Tony. His eyes steadily watch as her gaze collides with his, and it feels like he's driving his steak knife into my chest when a beautiful smile graces his lips, those same lips that felt so light on my hand when he kissed it so gallantly earlier that evening.
Brown eyes cannot compete with cerulean ones, could they? Boring, straight blonde hair against strawberry blonde curls? No, no contest there either. I could never get my hair to curl much. And I'm not quite as elegant in this little black dress. And my usual brightly-colored gowns and my sparkling, dangly earrings might have had a chance against her pale aquamarine dress and flashy jewelry, but I thought I'd tone it down for once, to show my true colors. I guess I have, and I certainly don't stir any magical feelings within him.
Suddenly feeling ill, I tear my gaze away from distracted green eyes and—
Green eyes? No, Tony doesn't have...
Shaking my head with a little frown, I reach for my purse and look down at the tablecloth, still damp from my spill.
You've been in my thoughts more and more, Reno. You have no idea… and it frightens me.
"Um... Tony... Would you please excuse me for a minute?"
I dare to look up into his dark brown eyes again and smile politely. He looks a little dazed, and it's no wonder…
"Oh... sure... take your time..."
Take my time…?
I resist the urge to glare at the young woman across the room and clench my jaw instead, keeping my eyes on Tony. I'm proud of myself, and also a little disappointed. I can be feisty.
Oh gods, I feel even sicker. Why don't I throw up my dinner, and all of my insides with it?
I fold up my napkin and put it beside my place setting before I slide out of my chair and... and... escape…
I don't need to look back over my shoulder to know where Tony's attention is, and I don't try to confirm that either. I just hurry to the immaculate lady's room. It smells like flowery perfume and some familiar disinfectant, and thankfully there's no one else here to see me struggle with my equilibrium.
As I stand in the middle of the floor until my insides settle, I give my pale reflection in the mirror a fierce look. If I were still the way I was when I was a Turk, I wouldn't let this stupid date get in my way. I would walk in a way to show off my curves and wear a charming smile, and wait until the next handsome guy came along so I could glance his way knowingly when he set his eyes on me, but quite frankly, now I'm tired of posing. And right now, I know that nobody wants to look at a girl who smells like the wine she spilled all over herself, or who looks like she's ready to hurl on your boots... Unless they're crazy, maybe.
In fact, I think it's time to apologize for wasting Tony's valuable time and head home so I could get my feet out of these high heels and up on the couch, and maybe scream into a pillow until my vocal chords give up and I can't breathe or scream anymore.
Yes… that will work.
I think I'm better, now that I picture myself all comfy and cozy in my apartment. I take a few deep breaths and I don't feel so dizzy anymore.
I step out of the bathroom and cross the busy restaurant floor to reach my table, but Tony's gone. Our plates and glasses are gone too, but the stained tablecloth and our napkins are still there. I frown and note that he left gil to pay for the dinner. He might have pulled a vanishing act, but I somehow know. And my gaze inexorably rediscovers the table with the woman with her sea-green dress, like a mermaid taking a break from her swim, and I see Tony in his neatly pressed suit, sitting across from her. And it's as if I was never there.
I shake my head slowly in amazement and swallow hard. At least the bastard decided to pay for my dinner. A small favor. Did he even think of what I would do when I saw him sitting there so casually? Apparently not...
On second thought, I won't be apologizing anytime soon.
I consider bringing out my gun from my purse—oh Gods yes, I still have it; us Turks are never truly finished—and do I ever wish to use it, but I don't think it's worth it. I can only imagine him looking up at me with questioning brown eyes, somewhat condescending even though I'm looking down at him in his seat. I don't want to go there. I should... I should... I should throw the contents of her wine glass into his face… watch him flick the handkerchief out of his breast pocket in alarm... but… I won't… and…
…I'll just try not to give a damn either.
Suddenly the calming piano music is an overwhelming cacophony to my senses, and I hurry out of the luxurious restaurant with no desire to go back ever again. I pass this place every morning to go to work, but I'll take a short-cut next time. In fact, I might never eat at an expensive place again. Maybe I'll try fast food and forget about my figure too. Why should I even bother? You would always say that, Reno: "Why bother?" You are such a bad influence on me.
I'm eager to follow through with my plan to return home, but when I pass the bar I can't help but stop for a drink, and tonight I'll down something different. I ask for whiskey, of all things. After all, I was always a wine drinking sort of girl. One drink. Maybe two. Or three… Hell, I should go with the whole bottle, but… I can't bring myself to do it, even though I love it when the drink burns all the way down my throat.
What the hell is wrong with me tonight? It turns out I don't need Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome with me to make an ass of myself. I spill the god-damn whiskey on my dress—to go with that lovely wine—but no one at the bar cares. Maybe they just went through the same dissatisfactory dating situation. I guess I could try not to care either. But it's difficult when it still hurts.
And as I clean myself up for the second time that night, I'm muttering to the guy at the counter next to me about my crappy date, but he's even drunker than I am, so I just drop some gil on the counter—the bartender gives a nod of thanks—and leave the bar to follow through with my original idea.
I'm surprised it's not raining hard when I step outside, as it would work so well with my current mood, but it had rained earlier; there are still puddles here and there, and when I start running home, I trip on the sidewalk painfully on my ankle. When I stand up I note the filthy rip in my pantyhose and the throbbing pain in one knee and ankle. I try to take a few more running steps, but the high heels become an encumbrance.
Closing my eyes tightly against a sudden alcohol-induced headache, I stumble to a side and use the building next to me as support. My chest still burns from the whiskey. A string of expletives come off my lips as I open my eyes again, and I lift up my leg awkwardly to free one foot of the high heeled shoe. And then the other.
I wobble a bit as I step away from the wall, continuing the long walk home. I don't even think twice that I left the expensive shoes behind, those high heels that took painstaking effort to find days ago for this supposedly wondrous occasion. I don't even register the fact that I'm stepping in dirty puddles and ruining my already mangled pantyhose, and I care even less that my mascara's running down my face to mix with my tears.
My tears? I've been crying?
I snort in disgust. Evidently, I'm not drunk enough if I'm still crying over tonight. Still, I can't help but play back the memory of Tony seated across that mermaid—or maybe… siren… who didn't even need to sing to ensnare the already distracted man. I can't wait until this night is far behind me.
No, I don't give a damn about my appearance one bit. I just want to get as far away from the restaurant as possible. I think I'm almost home too, except that I might have taken a wrong turn somewhere.
Suddenly, it starts to rain hard again, and I absently wipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand.
I bet you were on the way to the bar, weren't you, Reno? What makes you stop when you see me? I know I'm quite a sight in my torn pantyhose and my splotchy face wet with tears and my ruined make-up job. And I'm shoeless too. I bet you don't see that coming. I'm usually admonishing you for your inappropriate state of dress.
Truth be told, I don't expect to see you either when you come my way. You must have used your Turk skills, and in my inebriated state, I guess that explains why I didn't hear you coming.
"You lost, 'Leney?"
I must be.
I stop abruptly, teetering a bit as I grimace at the familiar voice and the damn annoying nickname you've used so frequently on me before.
My head spinning, I abruptly turn, and I fall against my tall, red-headed savior. At once, you bring your arms around me to steady me and inspect me at length, while I tilt my head back to look up at you accusingly.
Narrowing your eyes, you observe, "You were crying… and…" You inhale. "You're absolutely shit-faced too. Whiskey on the breath." You smirk—a disgustingly becoming expression on your mischievous face—before you crinkle your forehead in exaggerated confusion. "And here I thought you were a wine-drinking sort of a girl."
I blink in surprise at the truth of the comment, but quickly recover. "Back off, Reno, I'm fine," I slur. Not gently, I push against you with my forearms until you hesitantly release me. But you stay where you are and your eyes are prodding, and I glare up into your emerald eyes coldly, adjusting the purse strap on my shoulder.
Of all people to see now…
"You sure are fine," you readily agree after a brief appraisal of me from head to toe, thrusting your hands into your pockets, but those aquamarine eyes return to my face. "You need me to take you home?" you offer after a moment.
Shaking my head, I dismiss you with a careless wave of my hand and spin away from you unsteadily, bringing a hand to my throbbing head as I continue down the street. I've had enough gallantry for one day anyway.
"Oh, sure, Reno, I'd love you to take me home!" you enthuse, in an exaggeratedly high-pitched voice. For the record, I do not sound like that. "And I would love you to buy me a drink, but since I'm already shit-faced I won't ask you." Then you snort mockingly and return your voice to normal. "But really, Babe, you're stuck with me."
If I were sober, I would joke about Turks sticking together, but I mumble something unintelligible, so unclear that I don't even know what I was going to say before I say it. And then I frown as I realize with some bewilderment that I can't remember the stupid thing I just said… And then I figure that what I said was probably so asinine that it doesn't really matter anymore. Damn it all anyway…
I cast a withering glance to you, Mr. Tall-Man-Who-Shouldn't-Be-Here, but you're still walking beside me in the street so casually as though you have all the rights in the world to do so. I can't help but notice your wild red hair, sticking every which way and held back into a ponytail that falls down your back, your long legs clad in faded jeans, or your wiry frame covered in one of your old button up white shirts. Half of the shirttails are tucked in and the rest sloppily hang out. The first few buttons are undone at your neck and your sleeves are rolled up to the elbows.
True to form, Reno. The only thing missing is your mag rod, and if you did have it, I'd ask you to kindly put me out of my misery right now. You were always into those quick and painless deaths weren't you? Oh no… that was Rude, wasn't it? You were always positively messy.
With that grim thought, I attempt to regain the little dignity I have left, in such a way that you don't suspect that I was brazenly checking you out just now.
…Or that I'm just so relieved to see someone other than a refined figure in a neat suit—oh gods, anything but a damn suit—with a welcoming smile to top off the sophisticated ensemble.
"I told you to back off," I mumble, and haughtily toss the hair out of my face for good measure. "And I'm not shit-faced," I add, crinkling my forehead in displeasure.
"Sure, Elena… Whatever you say…"
After a few minutes of walking next to you, I figure out that you won't be leaving anytime soon. I try to think of something to say, but after downing beyond my limit of whiskey, I don't think fast enough, and you beat me to the punch, with a seemingly innocuous observation. Much to my disappointment.
"It's a nice night," you muse.
It would be a whole lot better if I just saw Tony get mugged right about now. I guess I'm a little bitter, even when I'm in as a shameful state as this. But I'm entitled to feel this way, aren't I?
Hugging myself in the chill, I tilt my head back and breathe in the night air deeply. "Yeah, I guess so…" Just as I begin to inwardly compliment myself for the coherence of my agreement, I feel myself reeling and my head starts buzzing.
At once, your right arm slips behind my waist and you grasp my upper arm with the other hand. "Whoa there," you say with a chuckle. "You shouldn't be stargazing under the influence without a hand…"
You would know, too, about being under the influence. I've seen you passed out under and on top of tables. Disgraceful, and Tseng would think so as well. I bet he would be disappointed in me too, if he saw me tonight.
I struggle against your grip in vain. "Don't you have some—" I burp softly and touch the fingers of one hand to my lips, blushing furiously despite my current state of mind. "…somewhere to be… Reno…?"
"Oh, you know me, Elena. I never have to be anywhere… By the way, did you just burp?"
I blink at you and then lightly punch you so you'd let me go. I consider the gun in my purse again, but I'd probably miss in this condition, even when you're so close. I go for name-calling instead.
"It's not like… it's the first time you've heard it, you rodent," I chide.
"What was that?"
"I said—Oh… never mind…" With another flippant wave of my hand, I move away from you, taken by surprise by the wave of dizziness that comes over me as I take my next tentative steps.
My last thought sends a curse to all red-heads before my legs fail me and I black out.
Before long, I discover myself in bed and that I have a hangover; my head's still pounding and… something doesn't quite feel right.
With some reluctance, I open my eyes to greet a brightly lit apartment, and I see a man sitting with a cigarette in one hand as he eyes me with mirth dancing in his bright green eyes and a smirk on his face. You, Reno. That explains why something doesn't feel right.
"So… what was that about you not being shit-faced…?"
With a moan, I close my eyes again and roll over to put my back to you, pulling the blankets up around my shoulders. My stomach is making interesting noises, and I'm starving, but my head hurts so bad that I'm afraid I might throw up too.
"Shut up, Reno," I answer belatedly.
"Sure thing, Babe. Want to tell me what happened?"
"I see how it is…" You loudly exhale a puff of smoke. "…Tell me what's up or get out of my apartment."
Abruptly, I sit up and throw off the covers as though they are bug-ridden, sending a brown-eyed glare in your direction. "What am I doing here?" I demand. Alright, so it's a delayed response.
"Well, if you recall—which you probably don't—I told you I'd take you home…" You take a drag of your cigarette and release a puff of smoke before continuing. "But my apartment's closer than yours, so… I figured I'd let you sleep here…" You point the bad habit at me, grinning from ear to ear as your green eyes sparkle with mirth. "You threw up though, in my bathroom. That was quite lady-like. Bet you don't remember that either. I have to congratulate you for not ruining my bed sheets, at least. Mighty thoughtful of you."
Much too thoughtful. And no, I don't remember throwing up anywhere. I just remember passing out…
My hand absently flies up to my hair, and I frown as I consider how terrible I must look now.
Why do I care how I look? You clearly don't give a damn anyway, Reno, and… and… why would I care how I look in front of you…?
That thought makes my headache return with a vengeance, and I consider the cigarette limply hanging between your long fingers even though I've never smoked in my life.
I could really go for one of those… Reno… just… let me…
Before I can speak, you inhale from the cigarette and ask, "So, you want to talk about it?"
My eyes slide up to meet your gaze head-on. "No, I don't want to talk about it," I snap.
With a brief nod and a shrug of one shoulder, you stand up and put out your cigarette, and my eyes follow you as you walk away.
"Where are you going, Reno?" I ask a bit worriedly as you wander over to your kitchen. Maybe my harsh reply upset you, and now you're going to shoot me, for old Turk time's sake.
"Nowhere," you answer nonchalantly, and fill a glass with water from the tap. Water.
I can hardly believe it; you rarely put that into your system.
Your apartment isn't very clean, Reno. I know it's silly, but I'm thinking that maybe I should help you clean it one of these days. Even cook for you. And then maybe you can come over and mess up my apartment a tad. I wish it looked just like yours… Then I could pretend I'm just as laid-back as you, at least for a little while.
I lower my eyes to the bed and wonder about the events of the previous evening. I vaguely remember stumbling through the city streets, ignoring any eyes that might be on me as I moved—completely absorbed in my bitterness—worried about nothing except getting home, with no wish other than to collapse on the couch and just sink into it and maybe… die… because… of that… that horrible date…
With a groan, I bury my face into my hands and shake my head.
I shouldn't have gone. I should have known he was going to be an asshole. I can't believe I got wasted…
Suddenly overtaken by a curious weariness, I let myself fall back down against the bed I previously rejected and close my eyes.
"You alright, 'Lena?"
I laugh through my nose. "I'm just fine." Never mind my throbbing head.
I know you're back at the bedside without opening my eyes, but I can't resist the temptation to look at you. I peek out at you through barely parted lashes.
You place your glass of water on the little table and you pull up your old wooden chair, settle into it and lean forward, clasping your hands loosely across your knees. Luminous green eyes look down at me curiously through mussed strands of fiery hair. The corners of your lips lift in a knowing smile.
"So… The date sucketh?" you ask easily.
I frown at you and sigh heavily. "I don't want to hear it, Reno. I like to have respectable dates. Not like…"
You raise your eyebrows and there's a challenging glint in your eye. "Respectable?" you repeat. "You sure do know how to pick them, 'Leney. He must've been a party animal too. Whiskey and tears. A wild night for sure."
I lift myself up on one elbow and shake my head. "No, he was a total prick." With conviction, I slam my fist on the mattress. "And I should've been cold right back at him, but I… I couldn't be," I finish lamely.
"You just felt so guilty, huh? Seems like your losing your touch. Thought you liked parties and all that shit…" You reach over for the water and down a bit of it, and you pause when you notice my eyes on it. You hand me the glass.
I glare at you over the rim as I chug down the rest and hand it back to you. Of course, I wouldn't spill water on my dress… or your sheets. "It's not the same as parties, Reno. You're with one person, and you can't just walk away from them if you don't like them."
"Sure you could."
"Well… he could."
"He walked away from you?"
Pointedly ignoring the question, I turn my attention to the glass on the bedside table and lower myself to the bed again. I have to admit, even though the bed sheets probably aren't clean, they're still damn comfy. And I'm grateful for a place to hide; I lift the edge of the blanket just over my head, so you can't see my face as I frown in despair.
He sure did walk away from me, Reno. And without as much as a "Later" or even a half-hearted wave, he sat with that beautiful girl across the room and didn't give one iota of thought to me. And it hurt too. And he doesn't know, but I spilled whiskey on myself. But I'll be okay, Reno. It's not a big deal anymore.
I close my eyes tightly as I feel the intrusion of cold air when you pull the blanket away from my face.
I'm so used to your cocky tone, but your voice is so gentle that I can't help but be curious... and pleased. I open my eyes reluctantly, a bit startled to find your pale face closer than before, your bright green eyes filled with concern. I stare into your irises as if hypnotized. I've never really looked at them before, Reno, but they're incredible. I'm usually so busy yelling at you or trying to ignore your annoying tendencies that I've never really took the time to look at them… Usually, I find them twinkling with mockery or mischief, but now… now they look so soft and welcoming… and I want to tell you everything…
Insert cheese-ball, romantic background music here. Gods, what am I thinking? You'd never think of me in that way for a million years. And I certainly didn't think of you in this way for a long time. Oh Reno, I've been in denial… And you've always watched my back. That's what we Turks do, right? Even when we date people who treat us like dirty tissues?
You raise a thin eyebrow curiously at my silence. "So… um… This is the part where you tell me what you're thinking, so I don't have to sit here. But you know me… I've got lots of time… so… no pressure…"
"I… I embarrassed myself."
Very effective, Elena. Nicely done.
You snort. "Well, that's nothing new, is it?"
My eyes narrow in warning briefly, a flash of a threat. But your smile returns and I can't help but smile too. I knew you were going to say that.
"That's just it… Reno… I need something… new… like a… different kind of suit… Do you know what I mean?"
You shake your head at once, your expression blank. "No, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about," you reply flatly.
Well, maybe I'm not ready to explain it yet… Just give me some time, Reno.
I sit up slowly and push aside the blankets. I'm still wearing my stupid black dress and my torn, dirty pantyhose. I wiggle my toes. Those damn expensive shoes… I think I left them somewhere in the street. Some homeless woman's going to be very happy when she finds them. Let her try to walk in those damn things.
I care even less about my appearance than I did before, and now I'm glad that I know you're okay with that… But I can't help but tell you how I look anyway. I guess I just need to say something. I know that I talk too much sometimes. I'll work on that.
"I look like crap," I mutter, combing a hand through my hair. I need a shower, desperately. But you probably don't have the conditioner I always liked. I'd be surprised if you had soap.
Then I look up at you and fight against a smile, partly at my thoughts and also at the indefinable expression on your face.
"What?" I ask.
"That's pretty stupid of you to think so," you say matter-of-factly. "This date of yours must have really screwed you up in the head to make you believe such bullshit… Here I thought you were an expert at spotting that sort of thing."
"He did leave me for that other chick, you know."
"So what? She doesn't have what you got."
You point a finger at me. "Balls, Elena. You've got balls. Keep that in mind." A cold smile plays at the edge of your lips.
"Right. Got it." I roll my eyes and lay back down.
And I'm surprised you haven't mentioned anything about getting laid yet, Reno, as I'm… in your bed… and all…
But I have spoken too soon.
"So… 'Lena… now that you're stuck for a bit… how about we chill for awhile?" At your suggestive tone, I frown in disdain.
Am I stuck?
"No thanks, Reno. I need to go back home."
"Aww, come on… Why not stay for awhile?"
"Well, for one thing… I've got balls, apparently, which I never did know until today, fuck you very much..."
"Well, shit, 'Leney… It's a figure of speech."
I know, I know, Reno… But I miss arguing with you.
"And how about the other thing…?"
I've missed you, Reno, and I should be ashamed of it. But I'm not.
You chuckle lightly and you're silent for a bit. Your heater goes on—frankly, I'm surprised it works.
"…It's been awhile, hasn't it?"
"It has…" We Turks should never be apart for that long.
"So… how about staying for awhile?"
I pull the blanket up to my waist. My legs are kind of cold.
"I don't know, Reno…"
I don't know, but I'm going to lie here for awhile. Is that okay?
"…What the hell was that business you mentioned about a… different… suit?"
I'm afraid to say it, but while I'm here, I might as well say what I mean. "I'm just… ready for a change, Reno…" My voice is shaky, and my stomach is filled with butterflies. Isn't that funny?
"I'm all for that, if you can handle it," you say huskily. Your tone is smug again, and even though I'm not looking at you, I bet you're giving one of your chilly smiles.
I bet I still have my gun in my purse, and I could shoot that smile off your face, but I won't be using it anytime soon. I don't even feel like threatening you right now.
Sure, I can handle it, Reno. I'll kick your ass… maybe… later…
You take advantage of my deceptively relaxed position, and without warning, you push me over with a humorous grunt and then throw yourself on the bed, lying on your back with your arms folded behind your head. Your wide eyes stare up at the ceiling, and your thin smile is still hovering by your lips. I'm tempted to move away from you, or maybe push you off the bed, so I could see the look on your face when you recover, but I stay where I am and admire your profile instead. That smile probably means you know I'm looking too…
Just hanging out with you, Reno… and I don't feel bothered by you. You wouldn't leave me if I spilled a drink on myself, would you? No, I didn't think you would. I've got class, but I make mistakes. And you would tease me about it, but you wouldn't ditch me. And you wouldn't keep me guessing, worrying…
…Aside from that time when you were drunk and passed out somewhere, and I'd been looking everywhere for you. When I found you, I was just so glad you were okay. And I still am…
You know what? I can just see Tony and Mermaid Lady right now, arguing about who's prettier. Or maybe they're spilling drinks on each other. I hope he ruins that neat suit of his. That makes me sort of mean, doesn't it? But I'm glad I have you here with me.
"Thank you, Reno," I say softly.
You shake your head. "No problem, Babe… You're stuck with me, remember?"
Yeah, Reno. I remember.