a chocolate box treat wingsyouburn on AO3
She never expected to see him again.
But what was she to expect? Time realigned itself, though they all changed. Whether it was the perpetual nightmares haunting them or reevaluating what mattered after cheating death, it rippled through everyone like a single raindrop lost in a lake. She stopped raising her expectations of life—shattered it outright, in a sense—and allowed herself to exist. The anger, the rejections, the silence, the bitter truth, the stillness and inaction, the broken promises and forgotten dreams—everything she loathed. All of it. She allowed it to wash over her until she learned to move on.
Apparently the threads of fate weren't satisfied with her self-imposed lesson; Rinoa had more to experience and let go.
He wasn't the welcoming committee she desired upon arriving at Fisherman's Horizon. If his bemused expression revealed anything, he hadn't planned on bumping into her, either. But it was him. The sandy scruff covering his face was enough of a mask to fool most—even she checked twice—but the faded scar carved between his eyes had yet to blend with the rest of his complexion.
A nearly perfect mirror image of another one she knew too well.
The reminder brought a hitch to her breath. She blinked and returned to a time better forgotten. The memory blurred, but the dread burned within. He had dragged her to… she couldn't remember where. Or why. He smirked all the while, not valuing her life. He had once. Or perhaps that was another pretty lie she swallowed in her youth. Whatever she had believed then shattered; she didn't recognize the young man sacrificing her to the sorceress who tugged his strings.
She did recognize him now, though. Her stomach turned and gurgled. With an inhale, she relived the moment a hundredfold. With an audible exhale, she returned to the present moment.
He stepped forward. She took two steps back. He lifted a free hand, the other clutching a hefty sack lumped over his left shoulder, and parted his lips. Maybe he said something. A greeting, an apology, her name, anything. By then, Rinoa turned and stormed off.
Besides, she had bigger matters to attend to than humor the likes of Seifer Almasy.
"Hey."
Rinoa closed her eyes and sighed. She retreated to the hole-in-the-wall pub by the docks to unwind, not to subject herself to men—more like boys, truth be told—and their terrible one-liners. But the stout was decent enough and the counter was clean. The rest was typical bar ambiance: the dim lights, the off-kilter ceiling fan, the constant game of billiards, the tired locals at the other end, and the even more tired bartender cleaning glasses. The holo-feed accompanying the radio was new, though. Mimicked Estharian attempts, but it was Timber's tech which adorned the wall—crude and bulky, yet practical.
He was no different. Something old and worn, pretending to blend with the world. She liked to say the same about herself—on a good day, anyways.
With one last swig, Rinoa swirled on her stool to glare at him. The trenchcoat was gone along with his usual bravado, standing several inches shorter than she last recalled. A thick, baggy sweater covered his wide shoulders with a faded t-shirt peeking out from the collar. Several patches on his denim jeans wore thin. Same could be said about his face.
Rinoa raised an unamused eyebrow. "What do you want, Seifer?"
He scoffed—the first glimmer of his old self. "Well, when you say it like that—"
"How else do you want me to say it?" She swiped her glass to drink and grumbled when not a drop remained. "What did you expect, anyways? Just stroll on up without a care and strike up a conversation?"
"I didn't expect anything, but doing nothing didn't feel right, either."
"You would've been better off doing nothing," Rinoa muttered, turning to face the bar. "Leave me alone."
Those heavy boots of his stayed still. She glimpsed his shadow from the side. Rinoa grimaced.
"What?" she almost hissed.
"Can I at least get you a drink?"
Oh, that was rich. She wanted to laugh. Instead, she coughed up a pitiful sound that left her eyes prickling with a promise of tears.
"You can get out of my life," she offered. "That's all."
Nothing. Then a drawn-out sigh, followed by the groan of old floorboards needing replacements a year ago. She never lifted her head. Not to thank the bartender for another round, not to listen to the news development of Garden disbanding, and certainly not to watch Seifer shuffle on out of the pub.
Rinoa lifted her refilled beer, sipped, licked her lips, and sighed. Her business in Fisherman's Horizon wasn't over. Six more days stranded in the middle of nowhere. Six more chances to run into the shadow of a life she once had.