Run

.o.

She was drunk. She had to be.

It was a nice theory, Yuffie mused, but she knew she hadn't touched anything stronger than the ginger beer. And yet here she was, arm in arm with an unfortunately familiar redhead, careening down the backstreets of Costa del Sol, giggling helplessly at his rendition of one of her country's old folksongs. She'd wondered where he had heard it, and thought of asking. One look at the cheerful green eyes, glazed over but still brilliantly sharp, and she thought better of it.

It wasn't that she didn't have the guts to ask… she did. Nor was it that seeing his eyes unguarded for once threw her for a loop… he was good-looking, and she'd be the first to admit she had a thing for red hair, but it wasn't that either.

He had a good voice, she admitted to herself; the copious amounts of alcohol didn't help it too much, but he wasn't at the slurring state. Yet.

She was, and she hadn't even been drinking. But there was something about him; his warmth as he leaned against her arm, his carefully coiled strength… she'd trained with men like him in her girlhood, and knew their volatility all too well. Maybe that was why he didn't scare her, when she knew in her heart of hearts that he most definitely should.

"Y'want pizza? Drinks?" His query pierced through her thoughts, and she stumbled for half a step. His arm tightened around her in reaction as she stumbled. "Klutz…"

Fighting a blush – why'd she have to go and look a fool again – Yuffie shook her head. "We just came from drinks, Reno… and shut up. It's all part of the ninja grace…" Playfully, she stuck her tongue out at him, and skipped ahead.

Much to her surprise, his hand caught her wrist and spun her around in mid-skip. One hand at the small of her back, one still holding her wrist, he smirked down at her. "Are ninjas always this graceful, hmm?"

Trapped against a chest that was surprisingly muscular – she'd taken him to be the scrawny, toned type, but she was clearly wrong – Yuffie's brows shot up at the insinuation in his words, and used her index fingers to poke at his sides. "Pervert," she retorted, grinning triumphantly as his grip loosened and his eyes widened. So the Turk was ticklish… Tracing one hand down his side playfully, her touch turned into a palm strike. And she ran.

Five steps… maybe seven. This time, his hands caught her around her waist, and they almost teetered off their feet. "…Sorry?" she tried, but a smile quirked at her lips and he saw right through it.

"I'm not that drunk, Princess," Reno drawled lazily. "But I think I'm just enough to get away with this…"

And he was kissing her. Jerk. But she found her hands twisting into his hair, playing with its unruly crimson strands almost of their own accord…

No fireflies, no romantic gondola or wild roller-coaster; no blazing Junon sunset. Nope. She had to make do with a Costa side street and an annoying redhead who couldn't make up his mind – provided he still had one after all of the cigarettes and booze – about whether he and his band of Turks were their friends, or enemies, or somewhere in between. But as he drew her closer, and traced her lower lip with his tongue inquiringly, Yuffie chuckled, and traced right back, noting with glee his gasp of surprise when she did so.

Not like the scenery counted when your eyes were closed, anyways.

.o.

…finis…

.o.

Disclaimer: A girl can hope…. No, they're still not mine.

Sabe's Scribbles: Dedicated to all the fellow Reffie fans who are waiting patiently for me to get working on "…believe," this was written as another of the infamous thirty-minute challenges. "Believe" is planned out, and the eighth part is half-written. I hope to have it out sometime this weekend. I've been Clouffie-dabbling, so hopefully I haven't lost my touch…

Thoughts are always appreciated; in the meanwhile, Cheers and Starry Nights!