7

Three weeks before I left Zanarkand Tidus kissed me. I don't think he realized that by doing so he had stolen my first kiss, but I never revealed that fact to him, too embarrassed to admit that I had graduated high school a virgin in every sense of the word. Truthfully, I didn't want to change that fact—not entirely. I didn't want to be anyone's girlfriend. I didn't want to feel the depths of physical intimacy or share stories of weekends home alone and post blitzball celebrations. But after eighteen years of telling myself I didn't want the typical I began to crave the start of it. I wanted to be wanted in the purest of ways. I wanted the fairytale, the innocence, the young and the honest. I wanted someone I didn't call mother or father to tell me they loved me and to hold my hand as they did.

I knew he was drunk when it happened. We had spent an hour in the backyard of my nearly empty home shoulder to shoulder, swinging on the bench chained to the soffit of my porch. He stumbled in the dead of night with whiskey on his breath and his eyes bloodshot and low-lidded. I told him I couldn't sleep with the stress of packing on my mind, but the truth was I couldn't sleep with the stress of Tidus on my mind. So I coaxed him outside, setting him on the porch swing while I fetched a glass of water and ibuprofen. I wasn't mad that he was drunk. In twisted selfishness I was happy he needed me. I was happy to be the one he allowed to take care of him in the height of his grief. It was insensitive and thoughtless to find pleasure in his sorrow, but I had missed him so much I couldn't help but revel in whatever attention he had given me—sober or not.

"I hate that you're seeing me like this," he told me through a slurred speech I had learned to decipher effortlessly. He sat with his head cocked back, eyes glazed over in the direction of the ceiling above us. He was crying but I wasn't sure if he had noticed. Each tear fell in perfect form down the sides of his face like synchronized choreography from eye to cheek, to jaw to neck.

"It's just me," I replied, watching his tears stream without effort and paint reflective lines across his face.

He titled his head to the left, never lifting it off the bench but merely rotating enough to break the course of his tears and send them into a new dance over his nose and into the corner of his jaw. I laid my own head down, resting my right temple against the humid white wood. We sat in a mellow standstill, my body perpendicular to his and our eyes both fighting sleep. Tidus blinked back more tears before breaking our silence.

"I'm sad," he said.

I nearly cried at his statement, more so for the softness in his tone than the words themselves. I had seen Tidus cry countless times in the fifteen years I had known him, but I had never heard the level of vulnerability he expressed in that moment before. This wasn't Tidus frustrated with his father's verbal abuse or his mother's neglect. This was Tidus exhaling his hope and his soul in the guise of two words.

I couldn't find it in me to respond, partially at a loss of words and partially aware that no words would help. Instead I reached for his face, laying the tips of my fingers on his damp cheek, trailing further to his closed lids and running along wet lashes. My hand returned to his jaw and my gaze met his own open stare. When he lifted his head I dropped my hand from its hover, afraid the gesture was suddenly unwelcome. And yet despite my fears I can't say I was shocked when he leaned in instead, furthering our contact with his lips on mine. There was something incredibly intoxicating about that moment of silence and touch.

Tidus' kiss was the equivalent of my fingers in those first few seconds—hesitant and soft, and agonizingly slow. Though I could hear my pulse echo in my ears I wasn't nervous or uneasy in any way, I just was and I let him mimic my previous gesture, placing a hand where my neck met my jaw. Each wing in my stomach synchronized to the seconds passing by, and when Tidus advanced the kiss with a flick of his tongue I could swear they were going to fly right out of my mouth and into his own.

I don't know how long we sat on that bench with our bodies barely touching and our mouths striving to get closer. I didn't think, I didn't pause, I just felt and followed as intuitively as I could to the rhythm of Tidus' lips. If I allowed myself to process the situation perhaps I would have found it awkward to be catapulting through the phases of kissing I had never known just moments before. Perhaps I would have recognized the gravity of kissing my best friend while he was drunk and depressed—the gravity of giving in so easily to overdue intimacy.

I didn't think of Tidus in any carnal light prior to that night. He had always been special to me, and maybe it was fair to admit that I had certainly felt something for him that was more than platonic. But I never found it in me to label my feelings or my desires. Whatever I felt for him brewed under our history of comfort in one another. I knew Tidus like no one else and I caged that truth deep into my heart, careful to never break his trust nor instill my reciprocated trust into anyone else. We were always intimate with our emotions, but physically, we were as distant as possible. Tidus was undoubtedly animated in his affection, never shy to offer a hug or a shoulder to lean on, but he had his groupies and chased them just as often as they chased him. He made sure his affection toward me was never open to interpretation and so I did exactly that—I never interpreted it. That is until I knew what it was like to taste him, whiskey breath and all.

Tidus was the first to break away from our kiss. It was abrupt and followed by a sharp exhale. He collapsed into me, dropping his head into the crook of my neck and releasing a sob of incredible anguish. His cries shook him. I wrapped my arms around him, encouraging his flood of tears down my neck. Tidus cried until his body was empty, leaving only the shiver of dry heaves and hiccups in its vacancy. I shed my own tears with him, careful not to let them escape audibly. When Tidus' breathing evened I managed to sit him upright. He moved like a rag doll, his limbs and head void of any effort to stiffen. I did what I could to wipe his face from the storm he endured, and carefully, as a final declaration, I placed a light kiss on the corner of his mouth. He didn't reciprocate, but I hadn't expected him to.

I lead him from the back porch into my old Zanarkand home, passing the remains of boxes and unwanted furniture. My father was asleep upstairs, my mother already in Bevelle to prepare our new life. We walked hand in hand into a first floor guest room, the room Tidus had claimed as his own for the past week. I knew he didn't have it in him to return to his apartment just yet, and luckily my father didn't protest when I first offered.

When Tidus finally fell asleep I lifted myself from the room's queen bed. The entire space was an unusual condition of untouched decor. While most of the house was empty the guest bedrooms were not. My mother didn't want to move any furniture that had no place in our memories. I never thought fifteen years later I'd find a reason to grow attached to that guest room, but watching Tidus fall asleep laced itself into my mind. I climbed out of bed reluctantly, praying to Yevon that when day broke my friend would retain a sliver of the peace he had found in his sleep.

When I woke up the next day I hurried through my morning routine in hopes of finding Tidus deep in his sleep. Despite it being only a few hours after I had fallen asleep Tidus was gone along with his duffle bag of temporary clothing. I called him nonstop for three days, worried he had taken a page out of Jecht's book and tried to drink himself to death. One week later, on my way to the mailbox, I caught him outside of his own childhood home.

I nearly flew across the street in fear of losing my chance to see him—in fear of an imaginary portal opening up to take him away from me forever. Halfway through our shared cul-de-sac I think my speed had caught his eye. He glanced briefly, almost accidentally, only to immediately return to his task of unlocking his car.

It was swift and paralyzing, the coldness in his glance; it stopped me in my pace just before the start of his driveway. I stared at him, hesitant to speak, but mostly confused by his actions. He lifted a box from the base of his stance, shoving it somewhat carelessly into the back of his car. I watched his composure bleed from his hands, moving angrily from the box to a duffle bag and then the passenger door.

"What?" he asked, abruptly turning from the car to me.

I stood there dumbfounded. Had he expected me to leave in those shorts moments of ignorance? Did I anger him the last time I had seen him and somehow forgotten in my sleep? I didn't respond to his emotion, too confused to comprehend his behavior at all. Tidus grunted in response, fed up with my silence and apparently my existence. He shook his head and turned around, opening the car's door with the same anger he used to close it.

"Tidus!" I yelled at his back, stepping closer to the car. He stopped in his tracks, left hand still gripping the handle of the door. "Where the hell have you been?" I shouted again.

His hand dropped from the door, a result of my cries impairing his tension. I thought I saw the start of his body turning toward me, but he kept his stance still, merely dropping his shoulders when I called his name again. My legs found their mobility, fueled by the determination to break through his silence. I grew angrier with each step, forcing him to face me when I was close enough to grasp his arm. He turned without resistance, his face somewhat unreadable and guilty at the same time.

"Why didn't you call me?" I yelled almost instantly. I felt myself struggle to keep my words coherent with the threat of tears choking my throat. "I've been a worried mess because of you! How can you disappear in the night like that and not even tell me?"

His head was cast down. He kept his body away from me, perhaps ready to make a dash for it if I asked one more question. After a few seconds of silence I lost my patience. Even right in front of me he felt the need to ignore me. I was hurt and confused, and above all angry. I knew underneath those emotions was a common thread of worry, but if my calls didn't express that enough I decided I would communicate the other three instead.

"Tidus!" I yelled, shoving his closest shoulder in the process. "Say something damn it!"

"What do you want, Yuna!" he yelled back, this time facing me fully. "What do you want me to say? I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realize I needed permission to live in my own damn apartment."

His response startled me. Tidus went from dead silence to anger in less than three seconds and I couldn't understand what I did to warrant the change. I tried to find all the strength in me to reply calmly, to combat his displaced candor and sympathize instead.

"You know that's not what this is about," I replied.

He let out a cynical laugh. "Then why hell are you here, yelling at me like I owe you something?"

I took a step back, hoping to distance myself from the venom in his words. "I was worried, Tidus," I replied softly.

"Yeah—you and the whole fucking world," he spat. "It's suffocating."

"I didn't—" I stopped briefly, not trusting my ability to commit to full sentences. Tidus shook me deeply, lacerating my pride in a matter of minutes. I swallowed down a growing lump in my throat and continued, "I didn't mean to—"

"Leave me alone, Yuna," Tidus said in instant fury. "Forget it—all of it. Forget what I said. Forget that I kissed you. It should have never happened."

My face twisted under his confession. I bit back the instinct to cry, knowing it would only add fuel to his fire. Of course I had thought about our kiss since it had happened. I'd nearly obsessed over the impression it left on me, but somehow in my naivety I never expected him to regret it. Up until that moment I thought back to those minutes on my porch as nothing short of amazing. I enjoyed kissing Tidus and I thought he had too.

"Why are you saying that now?" I asked just above a whisper. Tears had broken through despite my fight against them. I kept my head low, trying to mask my heartbreak as best as I could. I heard Tidus sigh. Glancing upward I found him leaning against his car, face fixed toward the adjacent lawn. His expression was softer, somewhat muddled in remorse and solemnity.

"I was sad. And you were there."

I felt my world shatter in that instant. Tidus had admittedly taken advantage of me and I was pathetically clueless to it all. I begged for him to tell me, I begged for the embarrassment of being told what I should have already known. I stood there tear-stained and silent, completely void of any ability to respond.

"I'm sorry, Yuna. I fucked up."

I shook my head at his apology, slowly unravelling from my state of anger. His sincerity only hurt more. One week ago he poured himself into me and I welcomed it with open arms. We spent most of our lives being there for each other when we needed it most, when no one else would listen to us. And yet he ran away, most likely drunkenly, and chose to shut me out in panicked regret. Maybe he was sorry for hurting me, but I never thought he was truly sorry for regretting what happened—kissing me in the heat of his sorrow and not out of genuine desire.

"Yuna, I have to go. I have practice in a few hours. I just came to grab the last of my things."

"Oh," was all I could offer. I felt defeated. I had hoped that when I would see Tidus again he would come running, sorry, hopeful to patch things up. I wanted more. I wanted an explanation, his feelings, the truth. I didn't want the best offer to be no more than a few words—words only spoken because I had forced them out of him. Most of all I wanted to talk about that kiss. I wanted him to talk about that kiss and tell me how long he had dreamt of it. It was a naive and stupid wish, the result of too many bad movies and not enough reality. I didn't know how to tell him what I wanted so I didn't say anything at all, opting to step back instead as a gesture of dismissal. He lingered for a moment. I think he wanted to tell me he was sorry again, but luckily refrained. Another flat apology would have made me sick.

Tidus turned his back to me and entered his car. I heard the engine rev up, prompting me to step away from the sound. I watched the black SUV reverse down the drive way and stop parallel to the road. He paused, eyes glued to the street. My naivety refused to leave, planting the idea that maybe Tidus had come to his senses. Second-long thoughts of him exiting the car flashed through my mind—of him running up the driveway full of sorrow and need.

Tidus shifted the car into first and drove off without a glance behind. I had no idea that would be the last time I would see him before returning to Zanarkand three years later. I waited as long as I could the day of my flight, hoping he would pull up to my house and hug me goodbye. It never happened and I left my home a little broken. Loyal despite it all, I decided I would follow through with Tidus' wish—I would forget. I would forget his vulnerability and I would forget the kiss.

Three years softened my anger and I forwent a vow to never speak to him. The truth was I needed Tidus in my life in some way. It was impossible to move back to Zanarkand and not crave our friendship. I learned to forgive him without an apology and I learned I would never let him use me the way he did again. If Tidus could learn from his mistakes I decided I could too.


Mid-November

When I walk out from the basement door Baralai doesn't question me. I break through the first floor in a panicked fit, reeling from the hurricane that is Tidus' presence. My whole body feels ridden in flames, like they had made their way into my bloodstream to charge every vein along their way. I am static personified and my fiancé doesn't make a point to ask why.

He stands in the kitchen of Wakka and Lulu's home holding my stare in the seconds that follow. The change is as sudden as his initial intrusion. He blinks and softens tenfold without a trace of the tension he held before. I am almost not convinced I have read him correctly—if it's all an figment of my imagination and Baralai has been nothing but calm since the day we first met.

"Let's go," he says, voice even in tone. "We're going to the park to light our lanterns."

A smile lifts the corner of my mouth. I nod along with it and lead through the kitchen into the dining room. I grip the last flight of stairs into the main floor and count each second Baralai doesn't question my panicked ejection.

We make it to the formal living room. Most everyone from dinner has left, leaving only the closest members of the group to continue the night's celebrations. Baralai walks ahead to grab our coats from the foyer. I half follow, trailing slowly by the living room archway to shield myself behind Wakka and Lulu. They adjust their own winter wear, heavily consumed in conversation with Graav. Baralai's unnerving smile finds my eyes and walks to me with my coat in hand, stopping just behind me to help me into the wool trench.

I loop my arms into the garment behind me, accepting Baralai's help to complete the motion. Tidus' appearance catches the corner of my eye in an instant. I bite back the urge to look up at him, turning my gaze toward Baralai's hand on my shoulder instead. My fiancé's grip squeezes me gently and trails the length of my back, resting just above the small of it. He coaxes me to follow his steps toward the front door and I oblige. I don't look up in time to catch Tidus next to the foyer's staircase.

Baralai and I walk the length of the home's stoop, crossing through cold air and onto the street to find his parked car. His palm is glued to my form. Not a step down or between cars breaks the declaration his fingers have made on my back. I am hyperaware of Baralai's proximity, his touch not on my skin but on the layers above it—their taunting pressure, their judgment I am highly receptive to. My thoughts break into a frenzy of reading my fiancé's body language, masking the reactions that follow, and then compartmentalizing the events leading up to this moment. I blame Tidus entirely for my heightened anxiety.

I hear the sound of doors unlocking before realizing Baralai is opening the passenger door for me. My eyes find their way into the car and my body follows immediately. I drop my bag onto the floor, lock myself in, and inhale my composure, making sure not to let a drop of it slip through my exhales. Baralai ignites the engine and shifts, veering left through Wakka and Lulu's C-South neighborhood.

Not a full minute later his hand returns to my body, landing this time on the satin of my skirt. He grips my thigh lightly, much like he did to my shoulder moments before.

"That was fun," he says.

I nod my head. "It was," I agree and offer no more.

"Maybe next year we can celebrate at our house."

"Our house?" The words spill from my mouth before I can understand them.

Baralai's reaction is light. He smiles toward the road, allowing me the silence to comprehend my own response—my response out of character for someone engaged.

"I thought when you agreed to marry me you'd want to live with me too," he says jokingly.

I exhale a chuckle. "Of course," I begin. "I guess I hadn't thought that far with the wedding on my mind. Sometimes I forget it continues after that."

I want to smack myself after hearing my own words. I feel horribly awkward speaking. Every sentence sounds like it should be coming from someone else. Baralai is trying hard to interpret the multiple meanings in my words—not the ones flippant to the reality of marriage, but the ones stirred by innocent ignorance. It's not that I haven't imagined my life married to Baralai, I just haven't imagined it in the coming year. Luckily, this time, I don't voice my thoughts.

"I hear it's called 'til death do us part' for a reason," my fiancé counters.

I laugh again. I laugh to show my equal lightness. I laugh to tell Baralai that I can't wait to celebrate in our house next year, that I can't wait to live out the days of our marriage. I laugh because if I speak I may end up saying the exact opposite.

We keep silent for the remainder of the drive. I am both relieved and nervous to sit in silence. My thoughts drift from anticipating Baralai's questions to the very actions that lead me here. With the heat of his fury extinguished by my abruptness, Tidus' words start to gain meaning in my head. 'You can't marry him,' echoes in my conscience boiling newfound anger in my body. I am angry he dared the words, that he felt it right to demand something of me and do so without the slightest explanation. I am angry that he didn't learn from his mistakes, but most of all I am angry that I let myself succumb to his drunken desperation. I am angry that neither of us has learned a damn thing in three years.

A very stupid part of me wants to ask Baralai what happened between him and Tidus. I want to know what words were exchanged that lead to the blond's erraticism—the words that lead Tidus to question my engagement, justified or not. I glance to my fiancé focused on the darkening road before us. I decide in that moment, whatever immediate satisfaction an answer to my question may bring, it would only tip my faltering balance into complete turmoil.

"Is this it?" Baralai asks, leaning his head forward as he slows the car.

The view of a local park fills the scene before us. Strung lanterns dot the space between red and orange maple trees. I see a dark crowd of people gathered centrally, some of the figures smaller than the others and full of much more energy. Every so often a large glow fills the crowd, simmers behind the foliage of dying trees, and reappears as a floating lantern above the park's natural canopy. For a moment I ease entirely, forgetting my domino effect of blunders, and allow myself to be under the meditation of lantern-lighting.

"Shall we?" Baralai asks again, half-opening his door before my response. I nod my head and follow his lead, letting myself out of the car into the darkening night.

We find Wakka and Lulu prepping their first lantern. Vidina sits in the crook of Lulu's hip while Wakka unfolds two paper lanterns. He tells us the first one is dedicated to Chappu.

Rikku's presence is made with a humorous 'boo.' Gippal is by her side, along with Graav and a slowly trailing Tidus. I don't know why, but I'm almost surprised by the blitzer's arrival. He walks with his hands deep into his pockets. His eyes never meet mine as I watch him stop beside Graav's side. The last time I celebrated the Eternal Calm with Tidus it had been just the two of us. My father's position as high summoner meant endless requests for his presence. As his daughter it was impossible to have a reason to stay home on the anniversary of Spira's greatest holiday. That year, however, I convinced my parents the age of fourteen allowed me the privilege of being home alone. Tidus and I lit a lantern in my backyard and drank sparkling cider on the porch.

"I think most everyone is getting ready," Baralai speaks, interrupting my thoughts. "Will you light this lantern with me?" he asks.

I smile and nod.

We distance ourselves from our friends. Baralai opens the lantern, adjusting its paper form on the given wire frame. He fills the lantern with air by rotating it upside down. I hold the lantern's candle while he swings it gently from side-to-side. My gaze catches Tidus observing Gippal's own preparations. His smile is faint, but seemingly genuine.

Baralai props the lantern upright. I fix the candle to the end of the frame. Wick lit, we share our grip on the lantern from opposite ends. His smile is broad and loving. Baralai parallels the glow of the diffused candle between us, his own skin radiating shades of natural bronze. I am almost completely distracted by my fiancé's sudden adoration.

A few cries of delight catch our attention. Most of the crowd is lifting their lanterns in lazy unison. Baralai and I exchange one final glance before releasing our own grip on the paper sky light. I step back to admire it's ascension into the winter night, watching it join the others to light the sky in a hazy, orange glow. We stand with our necks pinched, our cold bodies relaxing under the warmth of a hundred flying lanterns. I am captivated by the beauty of floating fire.

"Wouldn't it be nice to float away with them?" Tidus asks.

Fourteen-year-old me scoffs at his poetry. "You know they always come back, right?"

I lower my gaze to the scene of awestruck observers. Tidus stands directly in front of me though a few meters away, blond head cocked back to watch the burning sky. His expression is dull under the monochromatic light, but I read the slight melancholy is his body language. The slowness of the holiday always dampened his spirits. I don't think he ever understood the concept of peaceful reflection. I wonder if the same question he asked me seven years ago is with him tonight.

I place my palm on Baralai's shoulder. "I'll be right back," I say softly.

My fiancé turns immediately. "Are you all right?" he asks worriedly. I assure him I want to retrieve my phone from his car and he offers to accompany me.

"No—stay," I insist. "I'll be right back, I promise."

I turn away from Baralai's disappointment and walk into the tree-lined boundary of the park. The adjacent parking lot comes into view, a scene much different from the one I emerged from. The lot is empty and cold, and cast under the gray tone of speckled streetlights. I find Baralai's car and round my way to the passenger side, leaning my back against the closed door. My eyelids lower and I exhale a wave of heavy air. My cellphone is in my purse held between my hands. It sits on silent under folds of olive leather, untouched by my fingers and desires. I am alone in a parking lot because the sight of public harmony is somehow too saddening to bear.

I open my eyes at the sound of him. The crunch of his steps is distinct to my ears. He walks slowly, timidly. I've heard this walk only a handful of times and it hits me just as hard as it had in the past, when he'd come to me with a confession or a heart in need of healing. I keep my eyes fixed ahead of me, staring off into the distance of parked vehicles. His steps slow and he stops at the hood of Baralai's car.

"Do you still wish you could float away?" I ask, never moving my head in his direction.

"More than ever," he says.

We stand there silently for a few seconds. My eyes remain fixed to a sea of metal objects. I don't know what Tidus is looking at, but I feel at ease with the intrusion. I know he understands why I left the park—he understands it for the same reasons he followed. I don't believe if I hadn't left he would have stayed much longer on his own.

"I don't know what to say," he speaks first, breaking our silence.

"Maybe you don't need to," I reply softly.

"It doesn't feel that way." I look up to catch his gaze fall to the ground. He stands a few inches from the side mirror, hands tucked into gray pockets. I wonder if it's a new nervous habit or a reaction to the cold air.

"It's okay, Tidus," I say and he looks up.

"I'm sorry," he replies.

I shift my position against the passenger door, propping myself up to face Tidus. I play with the strap of my purse in my hands, debating how to handle his apology and the meaning laced within it.

"I know it doesn't make much sense to you," I begin slowly, pacing forward to close our distance. "I know it's confusing with three years missing in the equation but Tidus," I capture his eyes with my own, "it makes sense to me. This is who I am. This is what I've chosen."

"You're happy," he replies, the words coming out more as a statement than a question.

I sigh under the conclusion and look up to the sky. My peripherals catch the floating cloud of lanterns in the distance. Guilt pokes at my side for abandoning my doting fiancé. I wonder if he'll come looking for me and find me with Tidus instead of my cellphone.

"Not always," I answer his hidden question. "But I'm not sure if that's the point."

I hear Tidus scoff. "Then what's the point?"

"I think the point is to enjoy it while you can—to hold onto it for as long as possible and cherish it for what it is, so that when you're sad again you have something to smile about." I look up from the cold ground. "Your memories," I say with finality.

Tidus scoffs again, this time with a hint of a laugh. He paces the side of the car, hands still glued to the lining of his pockets. "And what if your memories make you sadder?" he asks.

"You should think about the good ones."

He kicks at a few loose pebbles beneath his shoe. A short 'hm' escapes his throat before he asks, "Like getting drafted by the Abes?" I smile at the chosen memory. "And…leaving my old man without a smart comeback for once?"

My smile evolves into a laugh. "Yes, exactly. Just think about that when you're sad." Instead of trying to kiss me, I finish internally.

"Yuna." Tidus faces me, his expression bearing no trace of humor. "It wasn't because I was sad. I wouldn't do that to you again."

I freeze at the implication. It's been two months since my return to Zanarkand, since I called it my home once again. Tidus and I have propelled through three years of silence in less time than I anticipated, nearly rekindling our entire friendship upon first sight. And yet, despite our speed, I never expected him to bring up the reason we nearly lost each other for good. I never expected him to tell me, in the most open of ways, that he had in fact changed. That maybe this time it was more than convenience—it was a choice he had made with intention.

I don't know how to counter his confession so I remain silent and static. I think I expect him to realize his words and recant them vehemently, but leave it to Tidus to never do as expected.

"I know what I did to you before you left," he continues. "I know I never properly apologized for it, but I was sorry Yuna. I'm still sorry, Yuna." I look up at the second mention of my name. Tidus' stare is haunting and raw, paralyzing my mouth further. "I was stupid and immature, and it took me a few years to realize it, but Yuna when I kissed you—"

"Stop it, Tidus," the words fly through my mouth with sharp clarity. I feel the anger in me rise from my balled fists. "It took me a long time to forgive you and if you want me in your life at all you have to stop yourself right now."

"You don't even know what I was going to say," he counters.

"I don't want to know, Tidus. Did you consider that?"

He steps closer to me, releasing his own fire against mine. "Isn't it possible that I've changed, Yuna? What makes you so sure this time isn't different?"

"You had your chance, Tidus!" I yell suddenly. "You had your chance and you ruined it."

"You wouldn't speak to me for a whole year, Yuna! What kind of chance is that?" I look away from his accusatory stare. "Don't stand there and pretend I didn't reach out to you while you were in Bevelle—that's not fair. I tried, Yuna, I did." His voice cracks at the end of his sentence. He speaks softly this time. "A person can only try for so long before they give up."

I turn away from Tidus' deflating tone. Tears collect in the corner of my eyes and I fight to blink them away, struggling not to let Tidus witness the effect he has on me.

"You didn't say goodbye," I say with defeat, turning back around to face him. "I waited for you. I almost missed my flight just hoping, begging you would show up or at least call me… You broke my heart, Tidus. I needed that time to recover."

"My heart was broken too, Yuna. You knew that. You knew what I had been through."

I nod my head at his response. He's right; I knew. I knew what had prompted Tidus to plummet into his depression. I knew he was suffering from post-traumatic stress, that his behavior was hurtful and uncalled for, and rooted from a place he didn't want to be in. He was drowning and ignored my lifelines. I was hurt and turned it against him.

"I know," I voice aloud. "I'm sorry, Tidus."

We stand there in the cold, face to face and not even a meter apart.

"We can tell each other we're sorry all we want, and maybe even truly mean it, but it doesn't change the fact that things are different now. Whatever you thought you could start again is over." I shake my head at the ground. "I don't know if it was ever there to begin with."

"It was there," Tidus says.

I step away from the side of the parked car and slide my purse up to my shoulder. "I'm going back to Baralai. Don't follow me, please. And don't try to contact me either. I think we could both use a little bit of time apart."

"Does it have to be that dramatic?"

I sigh at the irony in his words. Leaving before our list of regrets grows infinitely feels like the least dramatic thing I can do. Tidus and I have been nothing but theatrics since the day we first met. We were barely children and he pushed me into an anthill. I cried incessantly and then begged to play with him again the next day, and perhaps that will always be the essence of our relationship. There is no middle ground. Tidus and I will always be up and down, never steady enough to fully realize whatever it is we keep burying and uncovering—our oscillating cycle of poor timing.

"Yes," I reply. "It does."

I walk past Tidus, careful not to make eye contact or allow him the time to respond. I walk with my vision tunneled for my fiancé. The fact of the matter is my memories of Tidus will always begin and end with the sad ones. He will always be an ellipsis of extremes. And so I walk toward Baralai, back toward the warmth of community and balance. I walk toward the even, the steady, the memories I keep on speed dial for when my thoughts turn to Tidus.


Author's Note: I wanted to title this one "Why is Tidus Such a Sad Boy?" and the next chapter, "This is Why." Jokes aside, thank you all for the kind reviews and follows. This story could go completely unnoticed and I would still try to finish it, but the interest certainly helps! Until next time. TL