Dull, azure-green eyes stared back at deep blue irises.

He was not in the mood for this.

And what was the point? That the Director of Academia had a shit childhood? What was so interesting about that? More importantly, what was this eager woman willing to do with the information? Nobody just randomly barged into another's office, demanding an interview, without having a damn good reason behind it.

A soft sigh escaped his lips and he leaned his head against an open palm, gaze averted all the while. He stared at the purse by her ankles, the way the fabric was (poorly) stitched and sewn together... And though he's not anywhere near a seamstress or fashion designer, he knows someone who is and having talked with her for years on end, it was hard for him to ignore the out of place construction of fashion from shirts to the simplest of coin cases. He wouldn't dare call the interviewer out on it though... One more thing to jot down on her pretty little notepad.

The woman sighed, leaning back in her seat with arms crossed, and he shot her a lidded glare, biting back a scowl.

"Director—"

"Why do you care so much for this information anyway?" He chipped in, pulling away from his hand to sit straighter. "It's in the past, so why bother?" Heh. That was very hypocritical of him... He couldn't let anything go; it all haunted him. A dank spirit refusing to feed off another host.

Alyssa Zaidelle leaned forward in her seat. "Because everyone is asking for some sort of back story and being the leader of a large city, it's not easy to sneak behind curtains." He refused to respond, lips sealed shut. She huffed, patience running thin and she let her gaze wander around the room, hoping it would steal her faltering grip on tolerance. His room was quite... spacy, and there was white. A lot of white, devoid of any other color. She pondered why he preferred it this way when something caught her eye.

He was ready to send her out, give her a warning to not come back unless absolute emergency when her voice sliced through his thoughts.

"You play piano, director?"

"It's not mine," the young man responded, eyes shifting to the grand instrument with ivory keys. "It's a friend's. She just hasn't come to pick it up yet." The words that rolled off his tongue gave off a rather awkward vibe. Even to his ears they did not sound the least bit right. And since this Alyssa girl seemed to love hurling question after question, he knew she was going to jump on his response.

"...Did you say 'pick it up'?"

Bingo.

"Yes."

"...Oh."

Silence cut in, blockading either one from speaking.

His sudden exhale broke the ice, and he stood. "All right, that's enough for today. I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She looked ready to protest but he shook his head firmly. "No. That's not question of can or can't. You really ought to be leaving. Until you give me a reason why you're trying to get information on my personal life, I'm afraid my lips are sealed." He had succeeded in quieting her protests and she pouted (and really, that was the last he needed...). He pointed his forefinger at the door across the room. "Out. Now. Before I—"

Bang!

He groaned irritably slapping his forehead as a brunet man walked in. By the time the hand slid down his face, the resistance concealing his ire shattered. But rather glaring, he ended up pouting just like Alyssa, jerking his head away from the two. All he asked was for one day off! That was it! One bloody day!

"Whoa, sorry for the sudden..." the other male bent down to pick up a shard of... something that broke when the door had swung open, smacking against the wall and whatever in between. He made an uncomfortable noise in the back of his throat and tossed it to the side. "Erm... sorry."

"Good God, how many more people did you bring?" He snapped at Alyssa, teeth gritted.

She opened her mouth to respond, but the other male beat her to it. "Just me, sort of... Kinda... overheard commotion and wanted to check it out. On guard, nothing to do and happened to... walk by..." He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit. "I'm Noel, by the way. Noel Kreiss."

"Nice to meet you two!" He smiled mockingly, irritation slowly reaching his nerves. The grin fell from his face. "Now tell me what's going on, or go!"

"Director, I need your story for a child support care." His breath hitched in his throat and he stared at her with wide eyes. "There are apparently records of you having gone to one when you were younger..." She looked up from the notebook she was flipping through. "Apparently in your teen years?" Noel had stopped fidgeting at that point, staring at the director as if he were analyzing him, blue eyes questioning, yet not demanding. "There were also reports of someone else who went with you at the same time..." The sound of shuffling pages flitted through his ears. "Someone by the name of Vanille...?"

He whipped around and leaned against the wall for support. Pressure built behind his eyes and his lips quivered from restraining tears... Tears that could not be shed... not yet. He scowled and slammed his fist against the surface, a sob escaping him, and he cursed himself for all he was worth. Damn weakling... Crying in front of them like a freaking kid... Get a grip. The internal commands didn't work and they only succeeded in dragging him further back... back to darker days. His breathing was ragged, but seconds later, he convinced himself to calm down, inhaling deeply.

Despite how much it bothered him, he couldn't bring himself to tell the other two to leave. Inside, something raged... It slammed its being at the cage he built around it, the barrier. It screeched, wanting to be let out for it's been too long... The chains enwrapped around its wrists cut deeply, drawing blood and to him? He could've sworn he felt the physical pressure bite into his wrist with unrelenting teeth. And he didn't want these random strangers knowing, but if Alyssa was telling the truth that it was to... well... help a support center, then... Why be selfish when he could help people who had suffered an unfortunate fate?

"What do you want to know?" he bit out, wiping at his eyes furiously.

No response, so he turned.

When they stood face to face, Alyssa sighed.

"Everything."

He flinched as if slapped, but his posture simmered, less tense. "Okay..." his voice was soft, nearly a whisper and both Alyssa and Noel had to strain to her. He sat back in the chair facing Alyssa, refusing to make eye contact. "Might as well get comfortable then..." he coughed out a one note laugh, but it was hollow. "It's a long tale..." He lifted his head, switching from one person to another, finally landing on the interviewer.

"My name's Hope Estheim. And it began when my mother, Nora Estheim, died- no... killed, when I was seven years old. My parents were split up at the time, and if it weren't for my father, I wouldn't be where I am now... But," his hands clenched tightly and his jaw tightened. "It doesn't matter because when everything was going on, he wasn't around... I wanted to give up more than anything, and when I had reached fourteen, I thought I had enough..." Hope's eyes softened, and it was the first time any emotion other than anger made itself known in the past half hour, she noted.

"I met her..."

Author Note: FFXIII archive rather FFXIII-2 since the bulk of the fanfic will be written about younger Hope and Vanille. Not sure about ages; I'm thinking of dropping Vanille down a bit, but I'm not really sure. This fanfic is actually told by two different people.

There are some "graphic scenes", I should warn you, but not so much where you have to hit the back button near the browser. I'm not expecting reviews. This is an experimental account; if I get feedback, awesome. If not, oh well.

Chapter 2 will be up at a later date.