~Mimza hurr.

Totally unfinished. Totally not proof-read, yet. Totally cant be fsked doing it, as it is 5:42am and I gotta wake up at.. oh. 6am.

Bwaah, I really wanted to finish this story tonight and have it posted, but here's a snippet. 8D Just to remind myself to finish it!

Italics n'crap all lost. Fwah. xD;

Dedicated for *kureno, the OTHER HALF of zis aacccoouunt! You = wiiinn~!

This is actually the most I've written in a while. x3; Enjoy. Ze fluff.

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It had been a horribly busy day for the twenty-three year old delivery boy; travelling back and forth, street after street, on a day when most had taken to relaxing into the holiday spirit. Not for Cloud. Not when his personal delivery service was on the line.

For many, it was the one day that they would relinquish entirely to their partner.

For Cloud – and the plethora of other delivery services – it was the most tiresome, tedious and toiling day of the year.

Valentine’s Day. Twenty-four hours of flowers, cards, glitter, confetti and love-song dedications. For a fatigued blonde, eight hours of having his rear moulded against his bike-seat, two hours of walking around to doors and post-boxes, fifteen minutes of rest at Tifa’s place, and forty-five minutes of trying to remove the confetti Marlene had shoved into Fenrir’s exhaust pipe; eleven hours, in total, of playing Cupid to every person in the world, but himself.

For the most part, he was kept busy enough not to let the guilt affect him too severely; that being, the guilt of working away the day of all days, whilst a certain special somebody was at home… Alone. Disappointed. Unembraced. Unravished… Probably immersed in his own work, too, but that wasn’t the point.

All he could say was that he was glad his shifts were finally over.

And so, Cloud approached his final delivery for the day - the delivery of his aching body, into the comforting embrace of Mr Squall “It’s Leon” Leonhart for the remainder of the night. Or, at least to the chair next to his boyfriend, seeing as Thursday nights did tend to be the “Holy-Shiva-I-got-so-much-work-to-finish-before-the-week-ends” time for the brunet. Seeing as Cloud barely understood what Leon was working on half the time, he could… watch?

… maybe he’d be better off delivering himself to the lounge. Cloud sighed, swinging a motor-numbed leg over and off to the side of Fenrir ( “his motorific work husband”, Leon would - often - mockingly complain ), slipping his goggles into one-of-many pockets and making a deliberately lagged descent to the front door.

Leon wasn’t the romantic type – that was a given. His affection, towards most, was limited… barely accountable as existent to begin with. The closest he would come to touching was either violent or condescending; a shove in the chest, a pat to the shoulder…never a warm cuddle or ecstatic glomp-tackle. Unless you were Cloud Strife, that is.

Cloud was grateful that he, of all people, was the receiver of the brunet’s tender hugs, and the victim of his even rarer kisses. But he would sooner shave himself bald than see the scarred, stoic statue of a boyfriend to anything more than what he had already shown, which – Cloud would admit – was already a large success for someone so… frigid.

Bah. Who needed rose petal baths and candle-lit dinners, anyway? When you could have quality time… with the back of your partner’s head.

Another sigh escaped the blonde’s lips, as he raised his knuckles to the door and knocked, awaiting the screech of a chair or hefty groan that would indicate that Leon had heard and was making his way over. His legs still felt as though they were vibrating, and all he really wanted was to sit on a perfectly stationary stool or bed, whether it be in Leon’s overworked vicinity or not.

Unusually enough, silence ensued. The blonde waited a moment, before knocking again, his hand hesitating against the wood.

No response.

“Leon?” He called, tilting his ear towards the door as he rummaged through his pockets, retrieving delivery-notifications, loose change, tissues and a cell phone, before finally extracting a key-ring, littered with keys of brass and silver.

Assuming – with a disappointed pout – that his partner had dozed off, Cloud unlocked the door and stepped over the threshold.

“… What in the hell -”

Just as quickly, he stumbled back, past the door-frame and onto the doormat, his eyes unbelievably wide and mouth even wider. He blinked, and craned his head to see the number on the door… then the neighbours… then, for good measure, stepped a little further back to check the mailbox.

Yes, it was their house.

Why, then, was there a trail of petals along the carpet? Why were the lights dimmed? Why were there candles lit? … Since when did they even have petals, dimmable lights or candles?!

‘Tentative’ was a gross understatement – Cloud was downright frightened to enter his own house. It was different - not to mention wrong, on so many levels - and smelt so strongly of roses that he could almost feel his brain turning to a red, thorny mush. But it was only typical that, soon enough, natural curiosity took hold, and he took a ‘tentative’ step… inside.

The stifling heat of the fourteen candles lined and lighting the short passageway leading out of the empty living-room made it difficult to breathe, forcing Cloud to move just that little bit faster toward the door to the kitchen. The kitchen. Perhaps, there, things would be explained. At least, that’s what Cloud was praying for, as he pushed the door open, and –

“…”

Obviously, things just weren’t made to make sense. The already widened blue-eyes practically bulged out of their sockets, as Cloud’s gaze fell upon the presented setting. The round dining table, which was usually adorned with nothing more than two mugs of half-drunk, cold coffee and perhaps a box of tissues, was now completely transformed. A lacy white scroll-cloth lay across the diameter of the table, over a white and gold floral tablecloth, set upon the wood without a crease or ripple. The coffee mugs had been replaced with sparkling wine glasses, each standing and shimmering beside a plate of finely presented food and a neatly folded serviette. To top it off, three tall candles burnt in their swirling, charcoal stand, erected as the eye-catching centrepiece for the layout, and perfectly measured to glow against the golden glitter and confetti that had been sprinkled along the table.

Cloud was too shocked to gape, too surprised to smile… And too captivated to register the source of the husky voice, until two warm arms encased him from behind, looping through the blonde’s arms and around his stomach. The younger male gave a startled gasp, flinching and tensing immediately… until that deep, soothing voice rang into his system, and he all but melted into the embrace, happily aware of whom he was relaxing against.

“That better be you, Leon.”

A soft snigger was all the confirmation Cloud needed. “Welcome home to you too, Strife.”

The blonde smiled, breathing out in a sigh as one hand travelled to the arm around his stomach, and rested upon the other’s wrist. What a nice way to be greeted… Well, yes - weird, and undeniably sappy, but nice, nonetheless. He tilted his head back, resting against Leon’s shoulder as he puckered his lips, ready to return the favour, when –

“… Whoa, whoa, hold on.” Cloud’s head snapped downward – much to his partner’s dismay – and he pulled himself away, a bemusedly amused smirk successfully overruling the warm smile his lips had formed. He turned to his boyfriend, a hand on his hip, the other still attached to Leon’s wrist. “What’s with the petals and the candles and – oh my god, is that a tux?” The blonde couldn’t help it; he scoffed, the hand that had previously held Leon’s wrist darting up to clap over his mouth.

The brunet stood straight and tall, adjusting the black suit-jacket unnecessarily, hoping to distract Cloud from the uncharacteristic redness that was flash-flooding into his sculpted face. He cleared his throat and turned his head to the side, disguising his insecurity with a mock-insulted pout.

“Yes. Tuxedo. Problem?” He stated harshly, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall behind him, just avoiding falling through the kitchen door. Suaveness only took you so far, when your face was swelling with unexplained embarrassment.

“N-no, there’s no problem.” Cloud sniggered, banishing the last of his chuckles into oblivion before attempting to speak again. “It’s just… a little… different.” Yeah, ‘a little different’, like comparing a Cactuar to a Moogle. “Kinda like the living room and the table and… what’s going on, anyway?”

Those narrowed grey eyes flickered back at the blonde, half surprised, almost genuinely offended. “What day is it today, Cloud?” Leon responded, eyes fluttering shut as he spoke.

Cloud blinked. “… Thursday?”

“… Elaborate.”

“Thursday… the fourteenth of February…?”

“Which is the day of…”

“… Valentine’s Day.”