If it had been different... god, there are so many ways it could have been different. If Tseng had waited, or if Reno had acted faster, or—or, or, or. He'd been so tortured the entire day, the entire night, every minute after he had left Rude's side and gone home to be alone. After Zack called him, after he saw that picture and knew finally, fully, what Tseng had done for him. And it was for him. It had absolutely destroyed him, burning through those scenarios in his mind with nothing to do but wait and hope and even pray the way the flower girl prays in her bed of flowers sometimes, on her knees and hands clasped, ignoring him when he walked through the doors to check in, head bowed. When she told him what she was doing, praying, naturally he asked what she had been praying for, and she said, Nothing, really. I'm just looking for answers in the quiet. Honestly, he felt that. Not at the time. But later. Like last night. Looking for answers in the quiet, on his knees in the midst of the chaos he'd made of his apartment, broken furniture, shattered glass, destroyed drywall, filled with smoke from countless cigarettes—fucking praying like a tool for Tseng to come back like he had. And if he didn't, then he needed to parse out every situation that could've made it different. Could've given him more closure, more satisfaction. One of them would have to satisfy him, right?
Wrong. None did. Maybe he just doesn't have a good enough imagination.
"Then let's go back," Reno says, almost sighing the words. He wishes he hadn't washed the blood off so he could leave that mark on Tseng's cheek again, so he could taste it like he should've now. But then he remembers he doesn't have to wish, because whatever prayers he sent up were obviously acknowledged, and they can begin setting fate to rights. Starting with the moments they should've had, here and now, and then down in that diner, and then home, and then at work, and then forever and ever and never again. His fingers curl to press past Tseng's probing tongue, over his bottom lip, down his chin, tracing a wet trail there just like the blood that had run in rivulets from his mouth as he shivered and choked and died. Stricken, suddenly, by the look on Tseng's face, how badly he wants to give him a good fucking reason for it. This kind of emotional pain won't do without something to show for it.
He should know. He saw the picture. If only he could've seen the real thing. An hour or two beforehand he'd sat there on the bathroom floor and told Rude he loved him so fucking much and he does and always has and there's nothing that he feels more strongly than that, but he's not sure now about anything because he obviously didn't know the first fucking thing about what love is. He said that to Rude before he saw that picture. Tseng really put it into perspective for him. Really set that bar high, as he always does. As ever, Reno feels inadequate, because he'll never know how to perfectly express his feelings for another person that way. He's all wrong, a half-crafted thing, out of the freezer and into the frying pan way too soon. But he's good enough for somebody. He's good enough for Rude, and he's good enough for Tseng. His heart hammers against the inside of his chest, thinking about it. He tilts Tseng's chin up but doesn't kiss him, just fixes him with his eyes with their faces so intimately close and then tugs at his waist with his other hand, turning their bodies away from the freefall they both want so much but can't have.
"Let me take you back there. I never even cleaned it up. I took pictures before I left... but we're not gonna need 'em anymore, after today. C'mon, c'mon. Before we gotta tell them where we are." How he can sound so playful and energetic with eyes like that, with energy like that, with promises like what he's offering—it's a special skill. It's just, he's feeling good about giving Tseng what he wishes he'd had when he came back. It'll do them both some good.
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Wrong. None did. Maybe he just doesn't have a good enough imagination.
"Then let's go back," Reno says, almost sighing the words. He wishes he hadn't washed the blood off so he could leave that mark on Tseng's cheek again, so he could taste it like he should've now. But then he remembers he doesn't have to wish, because whatever prayers he sent up were obviously acknowledged, and they can begin setting fate to rights. Starting with the moments they should've had, here and now, and then down in that diner, and then home, and then at work, and then forever and ever and never again. His fingers curl to press past Tseng's probing tongue, over his bottom lip, down his chin, tracing a wet trail there just like the blood that had run in rivulets from his mouth as he shivered and choked and died. Stricken, suddenly, by the look on Tseng's face, how badly he wants to give him a good fucking reason for it. This kind of emotional pain won't do without something to show for it.
He should know. He saw the picture. If only he could've seen the real thing. An hour or two beforehand he'd sat there on the bathroom floor and told Rude he loved him so fucking much and he does and always has and there's nothing that he feels more strongly than that, but he's not sure now about anything because he obviously didn't know the first fucking thing about what love is. He said that to Rude before he saw that picture. Tseng really put it into perspective for him. Really set that bar high, as he always does. As ever, Reno feels inadequate, because he'll never know how to perfectly express his feelings for another person that way. He's all wrong, a half-crafted thing, out of the freezer and into the frying pan way too soon. But he's good enough for somebody. He's good enough for Rude, and he's good enough for Tseng. His heart hammers against the inside of his chest, thinking about it. He tilts Tseng's chin up but doesn't kiss him, just fixes him with his eyes with their faces so intimately close and then tugs at his waist with his other hand, turning their bodies away from the freefall they both want so much but can't have.
"Let me take you back there. I never even cleaned it up. I took pictures before I left... but we're not gonna need 'em anymore, after today. C'mon, c'mon. Before we gotta tell them where we are." How he can sound so playful and energetic with eyes like that, with energy like that, with promises like what he's offering—it's a special skill. It's just, he's feeling good about giving Tseng what he wishes he'd had when he came back. It'll do them both some good.