She doesn't think of him anymore.
So much, that she doesn't realize how much she doesn't think of him until she finds an old letter years later, and she marvels at how long it's been.
It's not hard to picture him, but it's hard to remember. Somewhere along the way he stopped being strength and confidence and rebellion and exploration. Instead he became fear and power and possession and her.
She can taste him, if she thinks about it, but the taste is mixed with magic, and betrayal, and death.
.
"What." Fujin is as pointed and obvious as always. It is not a question, and Rinoa gives no answer. The door opens and they say nothing else. Rinoa is sure she can feel Squall's eyes on her with every step. He didn't argue when she told him she was going to Balamb, even though he knew, because he always knows. Told her to say hi to Ma Dincht and they kissed goodbye and they pretended.
Fujin shoves a box at her with one hand and holds a drink with the other. For a second their eyes almost meet in shared disgust over the particle board and the smooth, plastic finish, but Rinoa looks down before she gives too much away.
"A flag." Her voice is dry.
Fujin shrugs and takes a long draw from the bottle. She offers it to Rinoa, and Rinoa shakes her head.
.
She spends the night in a hotel even though Garden is only an hour's drive. Squall assures her it's fine, Irvine's been trying to organize a card night, and she's been wanting to get away for awhile anyway.
He doesn't say she's been wanting to get away together, and she doesn't correct him.
She lays in the foreign bed and feels cold and alone, and she listens to the sea, and when she dreams, she sees him, ripping through Garden flags and marching on, away, into time and space and into another story entirely. One without her, and one without condolences in fake wooden boxes.
She hears him laugh, and when she finally wakes there are tears on her cheeks. She takes her time leaving the next day, and when she lays in her own bed that night with Squall wrapped around her, she feels a hole, something she left behind. A gap that's never really been filled, and long after he's asleep, she weeps.