Disclaimer: I do not Final Fantasy XIII or any of the content within its now-trilogy.
"You can play the guitar?" Alyssa prodded him, staring at the damaged instrument in his hand.
Her having let herself in as always, Hope internally cringed. He hadn't touched the thing in years and he wanted to harshly inform her it was a rather sensitive topic - though in reality, he was more embarrassed than anything at the prospect of her listening in on something he hadn't tried in so many years. Voice tight, he said "I did."
"Play it! Play it!"
"No." Normally he would find a more polite way to brush her off, but there were limits to his patience. Instead, he sort-of-politely guided her to the door and shut it again. How she had gotten in – he always kept the lock active – was beyond him, but he decided he was installing a new system starting tomorrow.
He turned back to the dusty guitar and carefully wiped the film off with his damp handkerchief. Tentatively placing his fingers on taut strings, he tried to remember the chords he had memorized so thoroughly before. His covered fingers plucked out a few muffled notes before he opted to remove the gloves first. But the moment his now-exposed fingers touched the strings, his mind brought back memories not of chords specifically, but of family long since buried.
The exact moment when it began, he couldn't recall, but he had started learning with his mother under the same tutor and she had picked it up with such enthusiasm he couldn't begin to find the courage to tell her he wasn't interested. His progress was slow, he didn't jump in with vigor like his mother did. Within a weeks, she was experimenting with her own tunes and plunking out original melodies while he was still trying to memorize notes and their corresponding finger placements.
Something changed a couple of weeks later when Hope's mother was jamming (there really was no other word to describe it) something that grabbed him. The underlying melody, one that was certainly new and fresh, danced around the uneven beat that he strummed. Renewing his efforts, Hope had started paying closer attention and jotted down the melody his mother had become so obsessed with. It was about a year later that he had been in the process of slowing down the rhythm and editing some notes when she announced they would be visiting Bodhum.
"Why Bodhum?" he had asked, holding the guitar close. "Why tomorrow?"
His mother had bounced with the idea, hustling around the kitchen in the way that she always did when high-strung. "Your father's vacation week is being pushed up and Bodhum is showing off their fireworks – it's perfect timing!"
Hope wasn't sure what to think when approximately three hours later his father came and announced that, due to an emergency, he would be unavailable for the early train ride the next day into Bodhum.
First, Hope felt genuine disappointment. Sadness that they couldn't enjoy the trip together, that his mom wouldn't be as happy as if he had come, that all her enthusiasm so quickly hollowed out into an obvious charade to keep Hope happy. But his regret quickly turned to bitterness. Anger that his father would be so quick to blow off the both of them in the name of work. Like it was more important than his own family.
Snapping back to the now, to reality, Hope shook his head. He had recovered from such emotional distress and far worse. All that was behind him. He replaced his now-bare fingers and got to working the old tune out. A few simple notes -D, E, F#... D?- accompanied by an awkward chord or two. He really hadn't gotten very far, and now his scientific pursuits were taking up all of his time and attention and it was a struggle just to strum at the thing. The callouses he once had had faded long ago to soft skin and the strings now scratched at his fingers.
He was used to typing, to reasoning, to figuring out strange anomalies. This was a life left behind, lost with his mother. The old guitar would probably spend many days more locked up in the musty closet that it had been transported to upon its recovery. It wasn't his original, this one having been rescued from a nameless ruined structure in old Eden, but it was a guitar nonetheless. The workings were the same, the way the strings vibrated, the way the turning pegs stretched and pulled.
The beautiful, real, solid wood rested on his lap, solemn in its silence. He would never be able to give it the attention it deserved, as it wouldn't do chasing after old ghosts when there were others in the present that required his attention.
Snow wasn't coming back, not after thirteen years of absence without a single message back to them. Hope was getting nowhere in his research when it came to Lightning, Fang, and Vanille, and he didn't know where to start looking for Sazh and his son, wherever they'd disappeared to. And then Serah and her mysterious new companion disappeared through the gate without a sign some years ago, without giving him so much as a message.
His father was alive, at least, but every little harmless virus that Bartholomew picked up, that the doctors said was no concern, turned Hope's stomach. He had lost all faith in any of his friends' abilities to stay alive or near him, including the one remaining member of his family. He reached for his notepad, scribbling a reminder to set up an activity for him and his father sometime within the next few weeks.
Alyssa's voice broke over the com system. "Director!"
He heaved a sigh, dragging his gloves back onto his too-pale hands. "Yes, Alyssa?"
"There's activity around the time gate near the Archaeopolis!"
And there was that stupid spark of light within him that threatened to fill him with – dare he say it – hope. Like a cockroach, it never seemed to let the power of constant defeat crush it into oblivion.
Reluctantly setting the dusty guitar aside, he pushed himself out of his chair, snatching the intercom, and started for the door, trying to keep himself ready for disappointment. Lifting his intercom, he calmly replied to the spastic Alyssa. "I'm coming."
Fifteen minutes later he was charging his boomerang until the familiar vibrations hummed and tried to break through his protective gloves. Flashes of battles ranging from open fields to swirling nexus ran through his mind and he could've sworn that, for just a second, he could feel the inner tumble of magic channeling through his veins.
Upon spotting the whirling vortex, however, the feeling vanished, though Hope still couldn't help feeling rather exultant as he brought Airwing high once more and flung it toward the beast working to claw its way out from the gap in reality, trying to take with it-
Pink. Pink hair and white clothing and pink.
He readily snatched the boomerang, now shooting right back toward him, and leaped nimbly from his vantage point on the cliff. As he straightened, he absently and automatically explained the electromagnetic charge he'd used, stepping towards the target party. He followed route sentences as he took in the white and gloves and far too much pink-
The face was wrong. It wasn't not Lightning. "It's been a while, Serah," he announced, more to himself than anyone else. She called his name in surprise and he forced his mouth to spread in a smile, a token of warm greeting.
Alyssa had said a few words from their visit seven years ago – the man Noel was present now as well – and her physical description so perfectly matched the pair of them. He quickly learned that they'd been traveling together for the entirety of a week of their time and that they had seen Snow, who was working to prevent flan of all things from destroying the pillar that kept Cocoon in the air.
Because people, evidently, never changed.
Author's note: For those wondering, the music discussed was his own theme, one of my favorite tracks from the game and most of the inspiration for this specific piece. Kudos to those who were able to guess it.