Lining the halls of the Gardens are new recruits, seen and unseen, all vying for a peek. Bold students of all ages who stand straight-backed and hold their salutes, exerting as much neutrality to make an impression as they can muster. Behind them are those more timid, sitting in a window pretending to read as they sneak a glance, or small groups running exercises that are too sloppy to be focused.
Squall doesn't notice any of them.
Garden is a strange place to him now, even if he is not strange to it. Hair staring to grey, and the scar between his eyes faded to where only those who knew him then can tell, he hasn't changed much, not in appearance. He feels it, though, and feels how Garden is the same, will always be the same.
They call it early retirement, but Squall never expected to live long enough to retire. He makes decisions now (in theory) from a house in Timber, and visits the Gardens once a quarter, to greet new Commanders, speak at SeeD inaugurations, and have his ass kissed by faces that started blurring together years ago.
The Training Center is reserved on days he visits, but it doesn't stop the oglers, the whispers, "yes, it's true, he doesn't even junction."
.
"I missed you." Rinoa never asks about the visits out of courtesy. One side of his lips pull into a smile, and he kisses her before he takes off his coat. She has aged even less than he, except for a madness in her eyes he doubts (hopes) anyone else can see.
"Things are the same as always," he tells her, and feels her shoulders relax just so in his embrace.
"I missed you, too."