the trick is to keep breathing

He hates patrol. Where’s the excitement? Just a bunch of drunks and lowlifes fighting for the best spot in the gutter. And now he’s saddled with her.

Not that he minds really – she’s gorgeous. He never thought of a Turks uniform as something sexy, but then again, Elena spends most of her time yammering on about how it makes her ass look huge. On this girl it’s like a glove, hugging her curves in all the right places – does she have any idea?

Probably not. She’s too busy gawking at all the neon lights that make it look like daylight in the slums. Tseng must have thought he’d been the one to eat the last box of Moogle-O’s in the break room and sent him to wander around as punishment. He watches her lips as she bites them in her barely concealed excitement, her eyes widening as they pass a few bars and gentlemen’s clubs. He supposes that this isn’t the best neighborhood for a lady, especially one from another world entirely, but surely there are brothels where she’s from.

He’s startled out of his staring when she tugs on his sleeve. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

She is sheepish and gestures with her hand. “That over there. What is that man selling?”

Reno lifts his gaze finally from her cleavage to spy an ice cream vendor at the end of the row. The hell is this guy doing setting up in this neighborhood? But Rydia’s eyes are sparkling at the thought of such a treat, and he realizes that she’s probably never seen such a thing before. Fumbling around in his pockets for some change, he tugs her by her elbow over to the stand.

“Alright, which one do you want?” She still looks so confused, and since they have places to be, he shakes his head and points to a chocolate and vanilla swirled cone. The vendor hands it over, and she nearly stumbles back in her surprise.

“It’s cold!” she squeals as she gets her very first taste of ice cream, and he can’t help but smile. He gives the vendor a nod and drags her away.

“Don’t spill on that uniform, alright? It looks unprofessional.” She raises an eyebrow at that, looking pointedly at his untucked shirt and loosened tie. “Shut up,” he mutters.

They continue through the streets, and he sees that a bit of the chocolate has settled at the corner of her mouth. He shouldn’t really, but he hasn’t had ice cream in a while either. Stopping her with a hand to her wrist, she looks up in confusion. “Is there something on my face?” she asks quietly, trying to wipe her mouth but hitting the wrong side.

Too easy. The chocolate isn’t the best he’s ever had, but it’s the slums, so his expectations are low. But the way the ice cream has mingled with the taste of her makes it worth the handful of gil. “All good now,” he says with a smirk as she turns away angrily. Patrol isn’t so bad.