Some Comments:

This fanfic is much sadder than the other ones. Angst is good too, sometimes, lol. There was so little dialogue in this fanfic that I decided to bold all of it for convenience. But don't go skipping through to the dialogue without reading what's in between. That's where most of the goodness is. Not a single lemon; it's all emotional and from the heart and it's all about death and Yuna's decision to murder Tidus. That does sound strange, doesn't it? And I thought she loved him. Oh well, people change over time. This one is short and simple, but there's a lot of emphasis and elaboration on some parts. Have fun reading it, and please rate!

Note: if there is a second chapter, read that one first. I might add on to the beginning and that's where it'll be.

Disclaimer: I don't own FFX.

Reminiscence

Time had passed, and he had changed. He no longer looked like the carefree adolescent teenager he once was. His skin had lost its tanned quality and his eyes had lost their shining sparkle. No longer did he smile to the people he met as he passed through the streets. No longer did he stop to chat with old friends and acquaintances. No longer did he feel emotion. He was, in all ways, a changed man; a man transformed; a man disfigured.

She stared at him and watched him as he crossed the road towards the building. She held her breath and kept silent in the dark shadows beneath the eaves as she stood, her back pressed against the cool glass of the large windowpane. The sun shone bright from above and the clouds were absent from the cerulean skies, but beneath the eaves and the wide roof of the cold building, she felt safe and secure, for she stood in the shadow and, in the shadow, she could fear nothing and nothing could frighten her. She was a dangerous person in the shadow and she had learned and adapted to the nighttime and the darkness and she had turned that one concept to her advantage. She would not be caught alone in the bright sunlight. She would wait.

He paused at the edge of the street, as though caught in indecision. She watched the eyes that flicked constantly beneath his hair, still bright and blonde as it had been the first time she had met him. His face, however, no longer looked round and childish; he had become thin and wearied and tired, and it showed in his features, clear and obvious. The difference was startling and it might have misled a lesser and incompetent hunter, but it did not startle her and it did not mislead her. She had dogged his footsteps for months; long and painful months that were filled with boredom and tiredness and, at last, in this crowded and bustling city, she had found him. She had found him and, at last, in this crowded and bustling city, she would kill him.

He knew that he was being followed and he was suspicious of a quick, looming death, but he had no idea of who it was that followed him with such care and such precision. He would not expect her to return, for he had closed that chapter of his life and had ended it long since, and he did not expect it to be recovered. He had buried it in a deep and desolate grave that even he could not find, and, not in his wildest of dreams or imaginations did he expect it to be dug up once again and explored. She had found the grave and she had found the remainder of his book. She had knowledge of each chapter and each page and each word, but she craved for more; she craved to find the missing chapter and she craved to accomplish the book at last and make it whole, but even more so, she craved to be the one to seal the book and shut it and return it to the grave as a completed novel. She craved to be the one to kill the man.

It would be simple. The man did not suspect her. He did not know of her changes through the years and her traitorous movements and so could not, and would not, suspect her. He had once loved her and loved her so deeply that he could feel remorse in her absence and pain in her tears. She smiled at the reminiscence that burned at her heart. It was an old ache; an old pain and she had long since learned to ignore it whenever it reappeared. But she did not ignore it now, for it would be the last time she would feel that pain as fully and as completely as she had before. She stood in the shadows, quiet and despondent as the pain engulfed her and filled her heart with blackness like a rotten candle. She felt the pining sensation that she had not felt for months and months; the sensation of longing and desire; the want of love. For an instant, in the deep and dark shadows, she felt an overpowering urge to reclaim the life that she had led previously; to step down from the windowpane and to talk to him again, to hug him and kiss him and tell him of her absence. And, for a second, she considered the idea. It was appealing and, in that instant, flooded with emotion as she was, she almost took it. But she bit back the pain and she refused to let it take control. She had been planning this afternoon for a long time. She could not give up. Not now. The time was ripe and the time was good. She leapt down from the windowpane and landed on the hard cement without a noise; she was as a moth and she could make no sound, for she was nimble. She crept along the shadows and followed the man.

He led her into a dark and deserted passage between two tall buildings. In this crevice, the darkness was complete and absolute. She smiled as she followed the man. He walked further down the passage and she noticed his haste. He began to move faster, as though, somehow, he had sensed her and he had become suspicious. His movements were less agile and less careful and he began to stumble along the cobblestone street as he almost rushed, brushing past the walls and scraping his hands as he felt along blindly before him, tripping and falling. He could not see in the darkness and he did not know, for darkness creates something that all beings are frightened of: the unknown and the mysterious. But Yuna was not frightened of the unknown. In her absence, she had faced it on numerous occasions and with each time she faced it, she had become more immune to it and with each new time, she learned something more of it, almost as though she were learning more and more of a mysterious enemy that she suddenly thought not so dangerous; the darkness could not hurt her. It was a veil of shadow and nothing more. The man reached a dead end and turned around in the dark. Yuna could sense him press his back against the cold wall of the crevice. She moved forward.

A light flared. The woman who held it was stunning and beautiful. In her absence, she had not become less attractive, and the time she had spent training and preparing herself was not time enough to mar her once breathtaking features. He looked at her and he noticed that her face was pale and soft and unblemished, like a flawless and fragile egg. He noticed that her nose was straight and her chin was rounded and that her lips were thin and delicate and beautiful in the dim light. He noticed the dark and luxurious hair that fell down to her shoulders and curled around her face. His mind blinked at him and he began to remember.

He felt that he knew her, that he recognised her. He had seen her somewhere before. He had spoken with her and he had laughed with her and he had loved her. The longer he looked at the face, the clearer his mind became, but he did not recognise her; who was she? He sensed a hidden recollection, buried deep in his mind in a secret vault that he could not find.

His desperation must have showed on his face, for she smiled at him, as though she knew how hard he struggled against his confines; as though she knew how much he wanted to remember. The smile was a cold smile, but beneath it, he sensed a small ounce of happiness and relief. He sensed, also, pain and regret, and as he looked at that smile, he, too felt pain; a pain that he had not felt in a long time.

It pierced his heart and broke the boundaries of his mind and he sensed that realization would come soon. It must come. He looked into her eyes and searched for the truth, but he could find no truth; only darkness and deceit. One iris was blue. One iris was green. Odd.

"Hello again," she said. "It's been a long time, Tidus."

He stared at her. Her voice was cracked and hoarse and different… different from how it had once been; soft and sensual and wonderful, like melodious music. He had heard that voice somewhere before, but it had been a different voice then. In his mind, he could see the bright sun and the green grass and the peaceful sound of crashing breakers on the smooth expanse of sand on the luxuriant beach. He stared, in his mind, across the vast gulf of reminiscence and tranquility. And then he remembered. His mind clicked into place. Yuna.

Before he could move or speak or think, she had moved closer. She placed her arms around his neck. He felt her hands; cold, lifeless, dead. It felt unnatural and alien as she pressed him against the wall. He felt the hairs on his neck rise and, whether from excitement or fear, he did not know. He did not care. She leaned forward slowly and stood on her toes to press her lips against his.

Her lips touched his and her nose pressed against his cheek. Her heart began to speed up, and she could feel the blood that trickled through her veins and the love and emotion that she had not experienced in such a long time. For so long, her life had been devoid of all human feeling, and there had been no love or emotion in that time, and as she felt it now, so strong and so vibrant, she closed her eyes and pleasured in the feel of it. It had become alien to her, but she held on to it with a strong grip, nonetheless, that she did not relinquish. She felt the heat in her face rise as she kissed him softly, slowly and passionately, holding onto his neck as he kissed her back. She felt his tongue as it touched her lip and she could feel that it was wet and moist and delicious. She felt lightheaded and unsure, as though she were in a dream and she felt as though this could not be happening, for it was a good thing and good things had not happened to her for a long time. As she realised this, her mind constricted and her will hardened, and as she stood there, lost in lust, she prepared herself. She steadied her feet and loosened her arms. She pulled away from him and stepped back, into the light of the fire again. The glow was warm and beautiful on her pale skin. She smirked at him.

"Yuna," he said, and his voice was surprised, "You've come back… at last."

He looked at her with a fond expression and smiled. Yuna looked at the smile on his face and she froze. It was not a cold smile and it was not a grim smile, but one that spread across his face and brought the wonderful light into the cerulean eyes that she had once known. In his eyes, she saw no depression and she saw no pain, for she could not see what there was not in his soul; a soul that was filled with nothing but goodness and innocence. And, as she looked into those deep and translucent pools of moisture, she noticed something. He was crying. But he did not cry tears of unhappiness as she had so often done, and his tears did not contain agony, as hers so often did. He cried tears of passion. A knot formed in her throat. In that instance, as she stared at the man that she had wanted for so long, she felt indecision.

He could see the indecision. It must have shown on her face, for she had let her emotions run amok and out of hand and she could not bear for it to continue. But she could not control it, and, somewhere deep in her heart, she did not want to control it. She wanted, more than anything, to live her life with this man, the man who she had once loved as a teenager, but now, no longer did. The battle in her mind became too powerful; the emotions, too great, and she could no longer restrain it. She did not want to restrain it. She reached out and hugged him, this time, with complete honesty. Hot tears fell from her eyes and dripped onto his chest as he held her warm and shaking body against his. He held her tight in a comforting embrace as she cried, spilling the emotions that had been bottled in her soul for so long and could not be contained further. He was the one person in her life that she had ever been able to confide in. He was the one friend in her life that she had ever been able to tell her secrets and her worries and her passions and troubles. He was, in her life, the one safe harbour that she had ever known, and he would always be there for her…

"What is it Yunie?" he asked. His voice was kind and gentle and understanding. Each word he spoke was beautiful and comforted her further. She wondered, for a moment, how it would be if he were not there, and she knew, instantly, that she could not live if he were not there, and because she believed in what she was prepared to do, she knew that this would kill her and that she would soon be dead. She cherished the thought. He felt surprised as he touched her arm, for it had turned cold and hard and coarse in his hands. He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I love you." He said.

She smiled a thin lipped smile against his chest as she prepared a response. She breathed in, savoring the dark and damp air of the passage again as she slipped from his grasp and stood back, looking at him for a final time in the dim light of the fire on the cobblestones. He looked at her. She snaked an arm behind her back and unhooked the wooden weapon. It was a beautiful and elegant longbow, painted a dark shade of red and scarlet to match the crimson pallor of fresh blood. He looked at it and, even now, so close to the end, Tidus did not suspect it and he did not show fear. He did not speak.

In a single, fluid movement, Yuna reached behind her back and pulled out an arrow. It was long and pale and thin and it had been whittled and sharpened to a fine, perfect point. She placed the arrow on the arch of the longbow and pulled back the bowstring so that the wood creaked and groaned against the pressure, and the string bit into her flesh like a searing fire. But she was strong, and her mind did not quiver. In the dim light, she looked at his face for a final time, and then released the bowstring. She heard the dull and inevitable thud as the arrow buried itself deep into the stone of the wall.

She looked at the man. He was still standing against the wall, pinned by a thin, wooden shaft that protruded from his neck, just beneath his chin. A thin stream of blood seeped from the wound and it snaked down his neck and pooled at his collar. His face turned pale and cold as his life drained and his vision blackened. She leaned forward and she looked on, with remorse. And then, she kissed him softly on the lips. Just above the wound that she had inflicted. "I love you, Tidus."

And then she fell down in the cobblestone street and cried in despair.

End Notes:

Angst. Such a beautiful and picturesque word. I've been wanting to write this thing down for some time, but I've never gotten around to it until now. I have written a prologue to this, but I'm still editing and deciding on whether or not it's good enough to go before this. I need to change some more strings to make it couple along with this one though. Please rate!

Signed, thecorrespondent