A/N: Honestly, I do not know where this will lead to. All I know is that this probably won't be a fiction filled with pink aprons, flowers and fluffy bunnies. Associating these with the Turks would be just too damn messed up, too strange even for me. Of course, this story will also contain YAOI and thus I warn you all. But yet, the main pairing is still quite foggy in my mind… Hmm.
There aren't enough Yazoo x Reno fics out there, nor Reno x Rufus ones.
Lukewarm
Prologue: Eleven a.m.
Clouds were darkened and heavy with water onto that cool September night. It forebode a storm; these endless downpours of heavy droplets that were common only to this time of the year. Everyone expected thunder to break over their heads, but it was not how it happened.
Instead, an heart-wrenching scream tore the skies of Edge, voicing nothing but raw terror and despair. The Turks knew that voice, all of them, and they also knew that nothing should have pushed the girl to let this cry out . It resounded across the air and through the earth. It pierced skin and bones to reach the core of every beings. It nailed them to the spot and caused shivers to run down their spines.
When it finally died out, silence settled back in as a thick suffocating blanket of nothingness. The entire world seemed to have hushed out, or to have partially forgotten about the existence of the remote island the two men stood on.
" Elena!" The shout startled both the red-haired male and his bald partner, their heads turning into the direction of their leader. They turned around in time to catch silky wisps of ebony hair rushing past them before Tseng continued onward through the thick wall of fog; they followed. What could they do? It was what they always did: follow the boss. He had always been the one with a plan in the first place and, with Reno, it was always best to not improvise. That man, although stuck up, was the brain of this team, the one who could think level-headedly into any given situations.
Well, any situations beside this one…
Sane people would have spun on their heel and ran back to hide under their mother's skirt a long time ago; they would have ran for sake of their lives.
However, Turks were not sane people. If one of them was caught up ahead, they would go to help. They helped because no one would; nobody cared for stray dogs. They were their own family and probably the only family they've ever had so abandoning a family member was not an option. And their mad blind run pursued on endlessly, or so it appeared to their smallest member who's daily cigarette dose was quickly catching up onto.
Sometimes, corpses of twisted tree branches would leap before them or solid ground would vanish under deep ponds of stinking stale waters, but they only kept running. Shadows also ghosted that the edges of their vision, lurking and taunting; laughing at their troubled expressions, but never really revealing themselves fully. No matter for how long they kept advancing and how fast they did, the swamps seemed to stretch on and on. At some point, the largest man found himself pausing in front of a certain tree; dark eyes studying the blackened bark and twisted angles of it's trunk from behind the safety of his shaded glasses.
" We already went by here." Rude's gruff voice was an incredibly reassuring presence into this strange and hostile environment, but it also appeared so alien into these grounds. The remaining two came to an abrupt halt, their Asian leader stepping up to the bald man. When his gaze followed the other's, it became obvious that the man had stated the truth.
" What?! How!? We've been running in a damn straight line for twenty minutes!" Fiery red locks profiled themselves through the fog, revealing a slender male who's tempter obviously matched his mane. Both turned back toward the raven-haired one after a moment, silent as they awaited for his judgement. He had to be one to know what to do. The Turk seemed to study every angles of the rotten specimen of vegetation, attaching a particular interest to a thick layer of muddy brown moss.
" We press on, I haven't seen this before." And so they did.
--
Bad News.
Not bad news as in "aww, it's doing to rain tomorrow" bad news, but bad news as in "the world will collapse in thirty second, please kiss your gold fish good bye" bad news.
This particular kind of bad news was what a certain red-headed Turk seemed to be born to announce. Even a single glimpse of these fiery locks truly did not foretold anything good at all. The name of Reno seemed to automatically attached to the one of Jinx or Cataclysm, without forgetting Apocalypse.
However, there was yet no world in human language that could characterises a just-out-of-the-bed Reno.
The slouched form of the said creature whose was to blow into the trumpets of doom had currently appeared in the door frame of the coupled kitchen and living room. It was no surprise to observe that the usual Generic White Shirt he seemed to wear on everyday of his existence was crumpled and ruffled, having obviously served as a makeshift pyjamas, only with the brand new addition of two buttons that had miraculously appeared during the night at the bottom left. There were also two lacking at the right top. For the split second where the man's eyes tore away from the boiling container of coffee; which was the convenient re-incarnation of whatever only god the Turk seemed to believe in. It was to be forever worshiped and loved, or that was until two large brown drops fell upon his shirt. He took notice of that little detail in a few seconds, probably because of the burning sensation. With a groan and a fail of arms that definitely lacked energy, or a hint that the redhead could have some spine for that matter, he turned back to disappeared behind his bedroom door.
It was only then that the quiet chatter of a blond news reporter rose back subtly into the modest apartment, along with the occasional sound of a sip of coffee being taken. No one knew how the inhuman task of living with the man who had just engulfed into the dark pits of his lair could be managed, but what they knew for certain was that the only man who could do it was named Rude. No one knew his secret, perhaps endless supplies of alcohol, sleeping pills, prostitutes, but he was still breathing and alive. Some said it was those sunglasses of his…
Rufus actually considered ordering a statue of the dark-skinned Turk for the remembrance this heroic act, but he had also been very, very drunk that night.
The silent man suffered the yelling, the whining and the vomiting that usually came after that little whiskey shot of too much, and this with his eternal shades on and his everlasting calm. Well, okay, he did remove his them sometimes, but it was only to clean them. Or due to a power failure; seeing through the dark with a darkened sight could indeed end up giving some dark moods to the man… Hitting his pinkie on the corner of a desk was painful even for the greatest of men.
The two Turks seemed to have been living together ever since the world began, as partners yes, but also as twisted replacements for brothers and for any family for that matter. Even before the ShinRa, they had been together. It was a settled fact just as the Earth gravitates around the moon- err I men sun. The two Turks were inseparable.
The younger counter part of the duo re-emerged with a decently buttoned and clean shirt a moment later, painfully trudging his feet across the linoleum to reach his ultimate goal that was the counter. No, the coffee pot on it, but he had to make to the counter first. After much pain, and much moaning, he could finally reach out and pull himself onto a stool. He sat there up straight and victorious for a few seconds, apparently proud for having survived through the distance of two meters, before crumbling onto a boneless heap upon the cool the surface. The contact of the colder surface against his burning forehead seemed to out-best all the bliss of heaven, earning a grateful sigh from the pained man.
Raising his hand to grab the plastic handle of the pot was out of question.
Basically, it was one of those Mornings After The Little Whiskey Shot Of Too Much only this one had the small addition of Accompanied By A Psychotic Nightmare. They were worth worse than a beat up by that brunette boxer chick, followed by a screw with his boss, along with a severe scolding from his forever partner. To put it short: certainly the best, put heavy weight on the sarcasm here, way to start a day.
"Huuuurts." One-worded sentence were also irreplaceable in these situations; so much for education…
What a wonderful day it would be indeed.