There wasn't even the slightest resistance when Seifer pushed her into the wall, loosely grasping her wrists. Self-defense had been her strong point for ages, and now she couldn't remember a single move. He had failed the SeeD exam again, for the second time, and he had tried so hard… 'Problem child', the instructors had always called him, but Quistis always saw that he really did try. Seifer was a victim of circumstance, she had heard him joke, and how true that was! No matter how hard he tried, his impulsive nature in situations unspecified always ruined him.
Not like Squall. Squall was a star, the perfect military man. Her Squall, she called him only in the deepest reaches of her mind. How she wanted him to excel, to spread his wings and soar, to notice her once in a while. She played for his attention almost constantly, attempting to start conversations only to be shut down. It was Squall she wanted, and yet here she was being accosted by the 'problem child'.
There was alcohol on Seifer's breath, strong and pungent, but she did not turn her head. She looked straight up into his eyes, hazed with the intoxication he had forced upon himself. Had he always been a drinker? Or had the habit formed itself on the eve of his first failure?
"You know, Trepe," he hissed, blowing more of that repugnant scent into her nose, "there's something I never noticed about you."
"And what is that?" she asked him crisply. With her instructor's exam not far away, she had to prove – if only to herself – that she could handle any situation a student might create. Was this normal for a young teacher? Were they frequently shoved up against walls and spoken to in tones she'd rather not recognize?
Slowly, pondering, his gaze wandered from the ice-blue of her eyes, sending a shockwave of panic through her. He had caught her in a vulnerable moment, just finishing with studying late in the library. Her hair hung loosely about her shoulders, as it always did, and Quistis felt her heart stop when the emerald daggers he usually pierced people with stopped to stare. He leaned forward ever so slightly, enough to make her wish she could fade into the wall. Squall swam up before her eyes, and she caught herself wishing desperately that he was there to kick Seifer's ass. Surely he wouldn't let this happen… or would he? Seifer had summed it up on more than one biting occasion (being one of the many people who had noticed her infatuation) – he did not care about her.
"You're too good for Leonhart," came the drunken slur. The comment was enough to stun Quistis, and when he took his hands away, she was too surprised to take the opportunity and run. For a moment, she half-thought he was going to throttle her then and there, but instead one hand dangled lifelessly at his side. "Then again, you share the charming trait of constantly having sticks jammed up your asses."
Seifer's other hand reached for her face, making her knees shake. Why couldn't she move, run away, knee him, anything that might get her away from this conversation and the perpetual threat of violence coming from a drunken 17-year-old who she very well knew could kill her. "Oh?" was what she managed, and he laughed in a raspy voice. His humor never seemed to change, drunk or not, for he was still making the same rude comments hardly respectful to a SeeD superior (and hopefully soon, an instructor).
"Yeah." Before he touched her face, the direction of his hand changed a little bit, and instead it went to her hair. Seifer held onto the strands of dark, reddish blond gently for a moment, letting it slip through again to rest against her shoulder. "You know what else?" His lips were by her ear, close enough for him to inhale the scent of her shampoo. When he spoke, her heart stopped fully, terrified by the distance between them and yet mesmerized all at once. "You're damn pretty with your hair down."
Without another word Seifer slipped away, perhaps to vomit off his drunken stupor. It took Quistis a moment, but she did stumble through the Garden to her room. Her mind reeled, full of everything and yet nothing, and she could still catch some whiff of that breath. Barely recognizing her surroundings, she stared blankly until her eyes caught sight of the carved clip she had received for her birthday ages ago. Fingers trembling, she took it and a wooden brush, not bothering to look in the mirror and see what she looked like for the last time. After careful teasing and some minor frustration, she had taken most of her hair and forced it to fold upwards, clinging to the back of her head.
What Seifer had said scared her, forced her to look into her heart and realize something. For years, she had been trying her hardest to get Squall to see her. Even for the acts of kindness, the little comments, and the blatant attempts at pathetically seducing him, he had not once said a single thing back. He never acknowledged what she did, and he was cold to her advances. It was not Squall that noticed her, recognized that every change in her appearance that she made was for him.
It was Seifer. For fear of not being noticed, for fear of being noticed, for fear of that drunken look, for fear of that steely glance, she would not wear her hair down again.
Running down the hall, Quistis did not allow herself to care about the people she shoved aside. She had to see if the rumors were true, if the stories circulating around Garden had been credible. They said, over and over again, that the criminal was back, seeking another chance, hoping that they would accept him this time. Selphie, the queen of all things gossip, had came to her room early in the morning herself with the news, saying that he had been spotted waiting for the headmaster in the entrance. It was not excitement that coursed through her veins, nor anticipation. Instead, she needed to know… had to see him again.
Chunks of strawberry-blonde were blown back from her face as she ran, still a little damp from the shower not half an hour earlier. She was so intent upon learning the truth that she did not initially recognize that she had plowed straight into someone. Before she fell, the someone caught her, and she looked up in recognition and a strange emptiness. Quistis did not know what to feel. He smiled.
"Hello, Trepe." For a moment, the same eyes inspected her, a little humor in their depths. There was a cheerfulness about him, different from the last time they had met. Broken, bruised, tattered, hopeless… that was the knight they had known. "You know what?" His mouth was next to her ear, and the breath smelled of mint rather than liquor. "You look damn pretty with your hair down."
Seifer let her go, and the grin grew a little bigger. Unable to help herself and with a trembling lip, Quistis smiled back.
Author's Note: Okay… so this was a little strange. It's based off a comment an old friend of mine made to me, though a little different and in a completely different situation. Oddly, I had the absolute opposite reaction to Quistis (figure out on your own what that meant), so it was fun to play with. I had to throw in something at the end – the story was incomplete when it ended just with her not wanting to wear her hair down anymore. Still, there could be some credibility to this, though I've never seen Seifer as being a drinker (making him drunk was the only way I could see him delivering that 'pretty' line), as only someone who has a direct reason to put their hair up like that would be able to deal with Quistis's hairstyle. I know I couldn't.