Disclaimer: All rights to Final Fantasy VIII belong to Squaresoft. Thanks to w-inds. For their songs—"yakusoku no kakera" (Fragments of Promises), credits to lyricists Kiyohito Komatsu and Shungo; "izayoi no tsuki" (Moon of the 16th Night), credits to lyricist Shungo. Translations by me, thanks to ogachivVrio of www . idolthoughts . com for cross-check of "yakusoku no kakera".

A Promise for Christmas
Prologue

Even if I wish for you, it's an unreachable thought
Even if I believe in it, it's a wish that doesn't come true
And even though I understood,
I continued to wait for you…

The little boy ran down the quiet path past marble columns half-overgrown with ivy and crumbling with abuse and age. There was a pen clutched in one hand, a sheaf of papers in the other, and he kept the loose pages tucked close to his chest, bending over as he ran to protect them from the light drizzle that slicked the stones beneath his sneakered feet and dewed in the unruly strands of his dark brown hair. He ducked off the path, slipping between two pillars and crouching down in the cool, shadowy darkness behind.

His breath panted between parted lips, and he peered around the pillar to make sure nobody had followed him. There was a twinge of loneliness that whispered beneath the relief at the sight of the abandoned path, the stillness of the misty water in the air that drifted softly down to earth. Nobody ever followed him, not anymore. Sis was the only one who had ever followed him when he'd tried to run and hide; Sis was the only one who had cared enough to take his hand when he was sad and reassure him that things would be okay.

Now Sis was gone, and nothing was okay.

The little boy scrubbed the sleeve of his worn dark green sweatshirt across a damp mark where water had splattered onto the paper despite his efforts to keep it dry before uncapping the pen and spreading the sheets of plain, lined notebook paper across his knees to write. Matron had taught them how to properly write a formal letter, and, in his best handwriting, he meticulously wrote the date in the upper right hand corner of the paper, skipped a line, and then began his letter.

Dear Santa, he wrote.

I have been a good boy this year. I only fought with Seifer six times. This year for Christmas, I would like Sis back. I miss her a lot. Please find Sis and bring her back to our orphanage. This is all I want for Christmas.

Thank you.

Sincerely, Squall.

He reread the letter again and again before folding it, carefully smoothing the crease, and fitted it into the single envelope he had taken from Matron's desk. He had felt guilty, stealing from Matron when she gave so much to them already, but he had justified his actions by telling himself that he couldn't very well send a letter to Santa without an envelope, right? The little boy nodded, confirming his thoughts, and carefully moistened the envelope seal with his tongue, pressing it firmly shut. On the front side of the envelope, he had written his return address in the corner and affixed a stamp. He wasn't sure how much it cost to send a letter to Santa Claus, but he could only hope his letter would reach him. Written in bold on the front cover were the words "Mr. Santa Claus, North Pole".

He lifted the envelope to eye level to critique it, then capped his pen. Now he would just have to slip it into the mail and hope Matron wouldn't find his letter before it went off to Santa. He didn't think Matron would be upset with him for writing to Santa, but he didn't want her to find it all the same. It was just too embarrassing to think of her discovering that he was asking Santa for something special for Christmas. In all the years past, he had never joined the other kids at the orphanage in writing to Santa, asking for things—when Matron asked, he'd said he would be happy with whatever Santa thought he might like. In reality, he knew Santa wouldn't be able to bring him anything that would make him happier than he was when he was with Sis. But this year, since Sis was gone, Santa could bring only one thing that could make him happy.

That was Sis.

The little boy hid the envelope in the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt, then stood and stretched his cramped legs. It was a little bit chilly outside in the wet, and he knew that the other children were inside the orphanage, where it was nice and warm, drinking hot cocoa and playing board games or listening to Matron tell a story. He didn't like being with the other children all the time, though, even if it meant being uncomfortable in the damp outdoors. They were always looking at him, looking up to him, for no good reason, and it made him unhappy. He didn't want them to look at him as if he were the leader, the responsible one. He didn't want anybody to depend on him the way he had depended on Sis.

Because he didn't want anyone to have their heart broken the way his had when he'd been abandoned. He didn't want anyone else to be left behind the way he'd been.

The little boy wiped his sleeve across his eyes before hugging the extra sheets of paper to his chest—maybe he could return them without getting caught—and hurrying back up the path towards the great stone building that had been home for as long as he could remember, sheltering him from inclement weather and the dangerous monsters that lurked without the protective stone walls surrounding the yard, offering him a place to live when he'd had nowhere to go and no one to love him.

Santa didn't get his letter that year. The little boy had to pretend to be happy when he unwrapped the silver-and-gold paper to reveal a toy model of a red flying space machine in the form of a dragon. He had to admit that it was pretty cool. At any rate, it was much better than the book Seifer got—PuPu's Adventures in Centra.

But it wasn't Sis.

He put two stamps on the letter to Santa the next year and sent it a week earlier—just in case there hadn't been enough postage to cover the cost of sending the letter all the way to Santa's house, just in case he hadn't sent it early enough the first time. But that year he got a stuffed animal with a book about the first GF summon. All the kids got stuffed animals that year—Selphie named her Moomba "Moombie", which made her the target of Zell's jokes about her 'lack of creativity', but at least Squall didn't have to worry about naming his—his came pre-named as 'Griever'. The accompanying booklet was pretty interesting, and Squall had reread it and memorized its contents in three days.

But it still wasn't Sis.

He tried again the next year, and the year after that, and the year after that. But by the end, by the time he left the orphanage to enlist at Balamb Garden and train to become a SeeD, the little boy had decided that Santa didn't exist and that Christmas, for all its sparkly lights and festive cheer, wasn't worth believing in.

Santa didn't listen to his requests, he thought, so he was going to stop asking.

Just for you
It's a melody that can't be sung a second time
On that day, without saying "good-bye"
I was separated from you…

12.23.05

Edited: 9.18.07