Renewed Spring
It's hard not to feel a certain hope in spring, when the first snowdrops win their battle with the iron-hard ground to bloom quietly. It just so happens, that this year it occurs on the same day, in Trabia and in Balamb.
She picks one in the morning on her way to work.
He picks one in the evening on his way back.
Both flowers are placed on display – one in a stem vase specifically for the purpose, as with everything around her. The other is placed in an empty beer bottle, standing proudly none the less.
It's not until they've faded and shrivelled and died that the picker of the evening flower makes a decision. He doesn't know why, or what'll happen, only that the time feels right. It's time the prodigal son returned. It's time he went home.
She's watering her little pot of new ferns when he arrives. She picked them because of the colour: a glowing, emerald green that she knows only appears in one other place, and since she can't have that she'll have to make do. She looks outside and decides that, yes, the sunset is pretty enough to brave the still-cool evening and watch it. Wrapping an old shirt that still smells like him around her shoulders, she heads out into the ecstatic explosion of red, orange and purple.
It's there on the beach that he finds her, half an hour later. He isn't surprised when she isn't surprised when he comes to stand beside her. Without words, a large rough hand joins with a softer, smaller one in between them. They watch the sun go down together. Then she turns with a soft kiss and an afterthought. "Welcome back."
He just smiles – really – for what has to be the first time in years, and returns her kiss, sharing with her a spark of that fire she's craved. "Thank you."
And as they head back into Garden, they're both content. He doesn't need the winter anymore, and she no longer hungers for summer. They share the renewal of spring.
A/N: There you go, the drabble's out of my system. All is good, review please!