Rating: PG-13

A/N: Hey, sorry about the delay of update. I've been busy with Christmas and school and stuff. Anyway, at long last, here it is! My characterization keeps getting further and further off....sorry. Anywayz, I'll try to get seven out a little quicker.

Chapter 6: Reading Romance

Seifer looked down at the cover of the book in his hands. Pink...he hated pink. The tagline didn't make him anymore excited about his one form of entertainment: Their love could tear apart cities, and unite souls. He already wanted to vomit. Quistis was a smart woman, he couldn't believe she would read such trash. They were books that didn't require any thinking at all, mostly because if a person thought about it, they'd realize how stupid the plot was. Of course, she had thrown it down afterward, so maybe he wasn't giving her enough credit.

"You're really going to read that?" she asked from across the room, arching an eyebrow. She'd gotten up some time before he had and was dressed in a fuzzy black and gray sweater. Her hair was down and had no line from her ponytail the day before. It wasn't as short as he'd first thought, down to her shoulder blades. But it certainly wasn't as long as her hair had been when he'd last seen her. Distantly, he wondered again why she had cut it.

"It's not like I have anything else to do," he replied stiffly.

"I suppose you have a point," she shrugged. She hadn't tied him back up, he felt that was some sort of victory. His wrists were slightly raw, not enough to be openly painful, but there was a noticeable redness to his skin.

Trying to hide his distaste, he flipped open the book. Quickly moving past the long list of other books by the author and the dedication (a heartfelt passage to the woman's husband, the "real romantic" in her life) he moved strait to chapter one. Settling down, he started to read...

Milla pushed her way through a crowd of people, holding a tray of drinks she was praying wouldn't spill. Her boss at the Deling City Bar, a fat Trabian man named Dutch, wasn't known for being one of the most generous men. Milla felt lucky that she'd even been able to get a job at the establishment, although she was certain it probably had something to do with Dutch's preference for women with red hair. Milla's own fiery locks had been loose the day she'd interviewed, wearing a black skirt that shamelessly showed more than just a little leg. It was a blatant misuse of her womanly wiles, but it had gotten her the job and a monthly paycheck.

"Hey, Waitress!" a man from the other end of the bar barked. Milla ignored him, she knew who he was. Her sister's boyfriend, a tall, somewhat nerdy man named Henri Dobson. He would flag her down eventually, and she was too busy to stop and talk to him anyway.

The night wore on, and Dutch had yet to show up at the bar. He generally arrived around ten, but as midnight came and went she had yet to see hide nor hair of him. Puzzled, she finally made her way over to Henri who was nursing a glass of strong wine. Just like Henri to come into a filthy bar and drink the wine.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Having myself a mint classic," he replied, smiling from behind his thick glasses. "Actually, I was gonna ask you a favor."

"A favor?" she leaned back against the bar.

"Yeah, a favor." He took another sip. "I've got a friend coming into town, needs someplace to stay."

"I don't have room for anybody."

"Sure you do." Henri smiled. He had a nice smile, the kind that drew a person in. "Besides, Sher assures me that the two of you would get along."

"How does she figure?"

"Guess you knew him when you were little or something," he shrugged.

"What's his name?" Milla was intrigued now. She could think of a hundred boys she'd know when she was little, but none that she'd particularly want to see again, let alone live with in her tiny apartment.

"Ryan Krieter," he announced, watching her closely to gauge her reaction.

Ryan Krieter...Milla felt her feet going out from underneath her at the familiar sound of his name. They had been childhood friends when she was little, prospective lovers when she was young. He'd left her though to go off to a school somewhere, he had high hopes of becoming something big.

She still remembered the bitterness she'd felt when he left her, but she also remembered the way her heart had pounded when he was near her. The way her knees got weak when he kissed her, the way he tasted and smelled. He was intoxicating, the mere thought of him made her want to move in all directions at once.

"You know him?" Henri guessed.

"Yeah. I do..."

Seifer rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe it was getting sappy so quickly. Undoubtedly, the rest of the book would be just as bad. Quistis wasn't paying attention to him, she was digging through her bag for something. Probably another awful book, he reflected.

He was surprised when she pulled out a long, silvery needle. For a second he jumped back, then relaxed when he realized that it was a knitting needle. Gathering up a bundle of yarn, she sat down and went to work, her hands moving with a swift adeptness that belied any assumption that she was a novice knitter.

"You knit?" he asked.

"Sure."

"What are you making?" He put down the book, much more interested in what she was doing than how the waitress felt about her teenage flame.

"A blanket," she replied, holding it up a little for him to see. "It's been an ongoing project. I've worked on it on the trains while traveling around trying to find you."

"Really?" He looked closely at it, taking in the muted colors and erratic patterns. "It's...nice."

"You think so?" she grinned, proud of her creation. For a moment, she looked like the childish Quistis he vaguely remembered. She used to make things and show them off, demanding that everyone see what she had done. The only thing he really remembered was a sandcastle she'd spent an entire afternoon perfecting. He'd kicked it over, and it was the first time he'd done something mean to he that she hadn't run away bawling. Instead, she'd looked up at him with those blue eyes, hurt and angry and determined.

"Yeah," he shrugged.

"Thanks." Smiling a little, she turned back to her blanket and continued knitting. Her head was low and her hair fell over her shoulders. She was pretty when she wanted to be, beautiful in fact. She'd always been startlingly attractive, but had always had trouble with men. His role in the Disciplinary Committee had brought him quite a bit of information on the Trepies. For some reason, he'd tried to keep them under control. He imposed threats on those too openly adoring, keeping Quistis relatively oblivious to the large number of adolescent boys following her every move.

He couldn't even imagine what it would be like to have that many people adore him. No one had ever even particularly like him. Rajin and Fujin, they were...well, he wasn't exactly sure what they had been. Followers maybe. They certainly weren't like the Trepies, were they?

"Enjoying your book?" she asked, disrupting his thoughts.

"It sucks."

"I warned you," she shook her head.

"You read the entire thing?" he asked, looking back down at the hateful pink thing.

"Yeah, boredom does that to a person."

"Sappy shit," he grimaced. "I'd rather read something with action. Ya know, blowing up buildings, assassins, that sort of thing."

"You read much?" she asked, a surprised glint crossing over her eyes.

"Uh...no," he firmly shook his head, covering his tracks. He hadn't anyway, although he'd read quite a bit since leaving Garden. It wasn't very safe for him to be out among people. Aside from running for his life and quite a bit of forced training, he'd picked up a few things here and there to read. Magazines and newspapers were especially nice because they were big enough to hide behind.

"Yeah, didn't really peg you as the literary type," she replied.

"Why not?" he demanded, defensiveness suddenly rising up in him. "Because I'm stupid? You think I'm stupid?"

"No, I didn't say that," she shook her head and narrowed her eyes. "You just admitted that you don't like to read, why are you getting all defensive?"

"I'm not an idiot, you know," he growled. "Just because I don't doesn't mean that I can't."

"I never said that you can't read," she retorted, her voice rising. "You're too damn self involved to ever read something and really understand it. You'd be sitting wondering when you'd enter the story!"

"I'm self-involved?" he was on his feet now, the book tossed aside and forgotten. "I'm just trying to survive! The whole world out there hates me, you've been on my heels for Hyne knows how long! Do you know what it's like to look over your shoulder every five seconds because someone might be about to kill you?"

Quistis squared her shoulders, dropping her knitting, and stood up to face him.

"If you don't sit back down this instant, you're going to be tied back up," she announced, her voice low and dangerous.

"Why? Are you scared of me?" he took a step toward her. "Think I'm going to run you through?"

"I'm not scared of you."

"Then why tie me up?" he countered.

"Seifer," she ground out between clenched teeth. "Did you ever consider that if for even a moment you thought about someone other than yourself, you might find the world a little more hospitable?"

"Not even for a moment," he replied.

"Sit down."

"No."

"I untied you in the first place because I thought you'd changed," she announced. "You look half starved, beaten down. But you're not, are you? You're the same old Seifer who dug into Squall's face just for the thrill of it."

"He dug back," Seifer reminded her, tracing a finger along his own scar. "Not that you ever noticed, Miss Un-Self-Involved."

"Sit down." Her jaw clenched and unclenched spasmodically.

Seifer waged his chances against her. He was confident that, if he wanted to, he could easily beat her. Her whip was on the other side of the room, his gunblade was still in his old room. Hand to hand, he was ten times stronger. As long as she didn't have help, he'd come out on top.

She stared up at him, her gaze unwavering in its intensity.

"Seifer..." she let his name slip by her lips, and it sounded almost pleading. Still, there was the essence of instructor to her. That demanding, strong willed woman he'd gone with on so many failed tests.

Turning his back on her, he walked over to the bed.

"Wake me when it's time to eat," he announced bitterly, rolling over so his back was to her.

Romance novels were never realistic. His knees had never been weak, his heart had never begun to pound at the sound of a woman's name. Still, as he closed his eyes and let his anger rumble at a low boil, he couldn't force himself to do away with Quistis Trepe. Self-involved, indeed...she was lucky he'd been alone for so long on the icy flats of Trabia. There was something about her, something that she meant to him. Perhaps Cid had known that when he sent her to get him. He couldn't kill Quistis, he never could.