plate_builder | [Open Post]

Reeve offers a brief nod and moves to the door. But he pauses and looks back at Tseng, putting his things down on a shelf to straighten himself out. And once that's done he smiles.

"I think I'm going to enjoy this."

"I hope you do." Because it's not often he's willing to put himself out there like he has with Reeve tonight and if it doesn't work the way he wants? Well, there are ways of handling that, but it's never a pleasant path.

Reeve, though, at least has a level of immunity in that regard.

"And Tseng? Leave the coat off for when I come back."

HE smirks and undoes the lock and slips out of the office. Because that's a damn good line to leave on.

Tseng watches him go, expression as neutral as ever before returning to the files on his desk. And by the time midnight rolls around, he's in the kitchen to the side of his office, putting the finishing touches on the food. It's nothing too fancy, just soup and rice, but it's enough to be a decent meal.

And the drinks are on his desk when he brings the dishes out before Reeve comes back.

For once Reeve is actually attentive of a timer he set for himself. Sure, he'd been crashing at his desk for an hour or so before returning, and hadn't bothered to freshen up much, but he does return. And once he does he gives the door the briefest knock before slipping in and closing it behind him.

"I was promised food and drink?"

Tseng's standing behind the desk, gaze drifting to the door when it opens and lingering on Reeve when he walks in before he gestures to the desk. It's got two bowls on each side, one soup and one of rice alongside a bottle of top shelf scotch and two glasses.

"Lock the door."

Of course he does that almost immediately upon entering. It seemed the implication was that things like earlier might recur. Which he would heartily welcome.

As he crosses the room, Reeve loosens his tie and takes off his coat, tossing it over the back of the chair before he sits down in it.

"This looks good. I didn't know there was places that delivered soup this late."

"They don't deliver." He drops into the chair behind the desk again, giving them that much space while they eat.

Then where did... Oh. Oh. Yes, Reeve REMEMBERED the work that went into making the attached 'apartment' per the request of the former Turk leader, but he hadn't expected Tseng to make use of it.

"I didn't know you cooked."

But he gives Tseng a thankful look. He hadn't had a home cooked meal in forever.

"It's not something I make a habit of broadcasting, no, but I do." He picked up a spoon to start on his soup.

"Given how much time I spend here, it made more sense than spending money on delivery." Even if he can more than afford it.

Ouch, that almost sounds like a jab. But Reeve's cooking hasn't been reliable due to not stretching those skills out in a long while. So he takes up the spoon himself and offers Tseng a somber nod before starting into the soup. And he makes a pleased sigh at the taste.

"You're good at what you do."

"I try, at least." He sets his spoon down. "Having the kitchen right there makes it more convenient so I tend to spend some time in there every day I'm able." Tseng fills their glasses and slides one over to him.

"But that's not a luxury everyone has." And he can thank Veld for the room to have it installed, at least.

"Ah, if only I had ever considered such a thing when making my own space. Granted my floor has a premium need for space," Reeve admits. Even his own office is hardly as large as it should be, and highly cramped. The couch is the only 'excessive use' of space that he allows himself.

And yes, the glass. Reeve sets his spoon aside and takes up the glass. Goes through the behaviors of a connoisseur, observing the color, swirling the liquid, scenting it. Once he'd had a taste he nods in satisfaction.

"Definitely to my taste."

"I have to keep the best in here in case of unexpected meetings." Meaning Rufus or his father coming in, not that it happens all that often. "And for myself." Tseng watches him as he examines the contents of the glass before turning back to his meal.

"What would you eat if you had the choice?"

What would he eat if he had a choice? Not something Reeve tends to contemplate.

"It's been a while since I've put a lot of thought into it, to be honest. I keep a pile of takeout pamphlets in my desk. Each numbered. I have three six-sided dice, and the pamphlets are numbered from three to eighteen. I roll the dice to select a restaurant. And then just select what I like."

Which is a HORRID way of doing things. But it's how he's lived for a few years now.

"...You roll dice to decide what you're going to eat." That's not something he honestly expected to hear, although it's as valid a method as any. Odd, but it fits Reeve in a way, given how much math is involved in the kind of work he does.

"Make a list sometime and send it to me. I'll keep it in my desk."

"I know, I'm a rather shameful man, aren't I?" Reeve sighs as he takes the spoon and dips it into the soup again. "At some point the... work got far more important than myself. Every moment I spent trying to make a decision was minutes I wasn't spending on helping people."

Reeve: a self-destructive level of helpful.

"But if you insist, I can try and come up with something."

"You can't help people if you're not helping yourself to some degree." As harsh as that may sound. "And the company is demanding, I know that." He more than most given he all but lived in his office for various reasons, but also the nature of his own work.

"And no, you're not shameful because you care."

Reeve had been letting the company pick him apart since day one. And this was what he was now.

"I wasn't always like this," he admits between mouthfuls of soup and before a bit of rice. "When I was younger, more idealistic, and the plates were only just starting... It was different. I was different."

"Do you regret coming to work here?" He sets his spoon down again once he's done.

Does he? There is a lot that lends itself to the idea. And it's complicated. So he doesn't really comment for a while. Just eats and things how to phrase it. And when he thinks he's got an idea he sets the spoon aside and throws back all of the scotch.

This... could get him killed.

"Yes. I fear that I've done terrible damage to many lives by creating the reactors. By designing Midgar. By making this tower."

"So you regret your role in the development of everything that defines the company as it is today?" His tone is conversational, Tseng setting his spoon down as he refills their glasses, his gaze fixing on Reeve again.

"But you have done something none of the other executives have managed, at least." Loyalty to Shinra stretches only as far as the paychecks for most of the employees, that and fear of reprisal from his own department keep them in line, but it's not an environment meant to foster anything more than competition and betrayal on the higher levels.

What has he managed? What has he done? All he can do is spend every moment of his life fighting for these people that ShinRa does not truly care for.

"What is that, Tseng? You seem to think there is more to me than there really is."

"You care." It's simple, his fingers curling around the glass before he drains it again.

"You actually care about the consequences of your actions." Tseng sets the glass down, hand dropping to the desk.

He does. He cares more than anything. For a moment he frowns, but mostly he smiles. Smiles softly and even self-consciously.

"Why shouldn't I? People's lives are dependent upon me."

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