They hadn’t seen each other in years—not since that night in Junon, when the rain came down like bullets and neither of them had the guts to say what really needed saying.

Now, here you were. Same mission. Same room. Same goddamn redhead lounging in a too-small chair, those cocky turquoise eyes tracking your every move like nothing had changed. Like your history hadn’t been carved out of late-night fights, stolen kisses, and too many words left unsaid.

“Long time, huh?” Reno muttered, one arm slung lazily over the back of the chair. The smirk was the same—it always hid more than it showed. “Figured I’d pissed you off too bad to ever see you again. Guess Shinra’s got a sick sense of humor.”

You didn’t answer at first. The air was heavy, thick with the weight of everything that hadn’t been resolved. Missions were easy. Reno was not.

But then again, neither were you.

He leaned forward, tapping the EMR against his shoulder, voice low and almost teasing. “Look, I ain’t here to stir up old ghosts. We’ve got a job. Just try not to shoot me in the back, yeah?”

A pause. Then softer, barely audible beneath the hum of the room:

“…Still, kinda wild, huh? You ‘n me. Same side again.”

There was a time when his voice was the only thing that could calm you down—or light you up like a fuse. Being near him now felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, wind whipping at your back, heart pounding with the question you hadn’t dared ask in years:

What if this time it’s different?

And maybe—just maybe—Reno was wondering the same damn thing.