He's always wanted to be more than what he is - he's always had the dreams, the ambitions, the goals lost in far off misty places that I can't reach. His romantic dreams. He wants to grow, to expand - in a way, to learn. He wants to experience.

I suppose I'm as apathetic as he says; I don't want.

But I know I'm going to lose him.

He's lusted for power, lusted for me, made his conquests and left them like so much rubbish when they weren't quite enough to satisfy his thirst, his romantic dreams. He had power with the sorceress, and that taste of it made him shun it, not worthy of him. And then he has me... but someday, he'll decide that I don't fulfill his needs, either, and then he'll be gone.

Now it's a wanderlust that fills him; a need to see, a need to have been everywhere, touched everything worth touching, set his feet all over this world and mark it with the tiny traces of his passing. He's made his marks here in Garden, seen it all, done it all. Soon it'll be time for him to move on. He'll ask me not to follow him, of course.

As often as I've told myself that, it's still a surprise when he stands opposite me, on the other side of my desk, the wood already separating us, already creating distance as he salutes. Requests permission to leave SeeD service and fend for himself.

And for a moment, I toy with the idea of refusing him. But I can't, he needs this to be himself.

I nod, just nod, and he smiles, relief there.

"Where will you go?"

"Everywhere," he says, just as I knew he would. "Squall..." And here it comes. 'Don't follow me,' he'll say, his eyes - like chips of emerald - glinting in that so familiar face. The face of the man I have been foolish enough to love. I wait anyway, hoping against hope that I'm wrong.

"Don't follow me."

The pause there is long enough for my heart to shatter and spin, out of my control, the distance widening like a physical ache even though we are both still. I have come to need him, not just want him, need him in my life. Not so apathetic anymore, perhaps, though my goals are not like his. My "romantic dream" is not to be at any sorceress's side, but to be at his.

"Come with me."

What?

He smirks at the surprise in my eyes, stalks round the desk, closing the distance between us, pressing against me until there is no distance, kissing me with his eyes closed. His breath is on my face as he pulls back, warm and comforting. "Come with me."

I don't think I've ever been as whole hearted in agreement.