A/N: I'd like to make an apology and insert a credit here. In this story, the library girl with a pigtail is referred to as Mina. Now, before you credit me on my choice of name, I'd like to tell you that I didn't think of it. No, it was my friend and fellow writer, Raine Ishida, who is the author of Just Like Me, which I'll plug without any reservation here. If you look in there, you'll find it. It was never my intention to pass another's work as my own and I am sorry if I offended the author or anyone else in doing so.
One: Private Universe
The salty aroma of brine and sea water floated in through the open balcony area where, silhouetted in a sunset that had lost its glare, Quistis Trepe cut a stoic figure against the darkening western sky. How long she had been standing on the vine-entangled marble balcony was a fact lost in lengthy periods of reminiscing and wistful staring into the dark red clouds. Nobody had thought to ask her if she wanted to join the party, save for a flirtatious invitation to dance from Irvine, and she doubted if anyone even noticed her absence amongst the crowds and scenes of exuberant celebration.
Story of my life, she mused somewhat bitterly.
It was commonly acknowledged that Instructor Trepe was known almost as much for her brooding as her extensive fanbase; over the lengthy course of the last month, interspersed with the tumultuous events surrounding Sorceress Ultimecia, she had found time to spend immersed in her thoughts. Everyone had a personal space of their own, which they spent time in when they needed an escape from the pressures of reality, but one could argue that Quistis' was too close to the real world for comfort. One word, a name, repeated ad infinitum until her conscience became clouded, the point where it was impossible to judge where her own mind and the real world took charge.
What she saw in Squall Leonhart she didn't know, but it was something she had seen from a young age, well before Garden and training to be an Instructor, back to a carefree period in her childhood. They blamed the amnesia on GF junctioning, a theory Quistis was reluctant to accept; not one to trust scientific theory, she believed memories would only stay in the mind if the owner considered them important or sentimentally significant. Nevertheless, she and all her compatriots had forgotten the pre-Garden years at an orphanage on the southern crest of Centra, a desolate structure of white brick lined by barren, uninhabitable red desert.
Perhaps it was because, according to her personal theory, there wasn't anything from that time which she immediately remembered, nothing which struck her as a happy time. She was a lonely child for much of her earlier years, spending her time immersed in books taken from the long bookshelves lining the back room of the orphanage, not socialising with the other children for fear of rejection. Her anti-social tendencies frequently came out in anger where she insisted the other children do what she wanted, an act which earned her the tag of "bossy little Quisty" from Irvine, which she wasn't sure suited her now.
Her loneliness stemmed from the absence of parents who might have given her the basic support she needed, and she spent those years avoiding company as much as she could—although she had to tolerate the other children whether she wanted to or not. These self-centred tendencies wore off with age; unlike Squall, she could deal with the absence of other people, and as she grew, she learnt the importance of having shoulders to lean on and support, and to accept the friendship others offered.
Her wine glass now drained after what seemed like an age, she placed it on the edge and gazed into the dark ocean below. The piled clouds on the horizon blurred the demarcation between water and sky, and the fresh breeze had chilled ever so slightly over time.
Movement blurred the corner of her eye, a shadow against the little red light remaining, shifting around gently in time to an unheard melody. She observed them with a feeling of mild resentment, even though she was not one to harbour unkind feelings toward others. But try as she could, she couldn't help the feelings of jealousy whenever she observed her with Squall. The her in question was Rinoa Heartilly, the frivolous freedom fighter from Timber who had appeared in Garden one night and made off with Squall's heart, the person who had changed Squall's entire outlook on life from personal ideologies to alliances and friendships. He had transformed from a taciturn into a true leader, and he was beginning to accept his new station as Garden's commander thanks primarily to Rinoa. Quistis felt the pang of jealousy whenever she saw Rinoa, whether she was with Squall or sitting alone in the library, researching for the SeeD test that would probably never take place.
Quistis wasn't sure why it bothered her; after all, Squall was her pupil and she was his teacher, so it was very difficult to talk to him as a person sometimes. Their conversations always seemed to take on the form of a lecturer giving advice to a member of their audience. But she had a strange fascination with the morose student; mainly because she couldn't understand his tendencies to consider himself instead of showing concern for other people, and the way his attentions drifted from matters at hand to something which concerned him. Sure, he had managed to wrestle his personal demons over the course of his graduation to SeeD, and he had finally managed to find a person who he put before himself on every occasion, but old habits die hard, and Quistis remained unconvinced that he could suddenly abandon all his selfish leanings. Realising that she was thinking too much again, Quistis signalled to the travelling waiter to bring her another drink. As much as she abandoned her own self-absorbed tendencies from her childhood, now was a time she needed to be alone.
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The overhang a few feet away from Quistis was not a place of regret and indulgence in misery; instead, it was a carefree celebration of new-found freedom, and the one thing all humans needed: love. Not just to love, but to be loved. Squall didn't know how his life had changed so dramatically over the last few weeks, or even what was to become of him in future years, but for the moment he was the happiest he could remember himself being. It was like a time in his childhood where he felt loved, as every child should, but to him this feeling was made more special by the addition of one thing: hope. For years, Squall had struggled with the idea that everything good came to an end at some point, loved ones disappeared into oblivion and any happiness would evaporate as soon as it seemed like he was taking it for granted. Almost to ensure the unseen eye that this wasn't the case, he pulled Rinoa tighter.
At first, she didn't notice the gesture, possibly assuming it was all part of Squall's routine. But when she felt a gloved hand rest on her hair, she looked up at Squall and gave him a smile. It was the smile he'd seen before, back at the Garden Festival; a true, caring smile unspoilt by selfishness and showing the kind of warmth and affection Squall had never been accustomed to. In many ways, he wasn't sure how to react – having never had that kind of love and appreciation when he needed it, it seemed like an alien concept that someone actually needed him. He'd spent so many years of his life searching for someone he could rely on for comfort and compassion, and here he was with a person who considered him to fill that role. And it felt good. For the first time in his life, Squall was putting someone else's interests first.
"Squall?" A gentle voice, accompanied by a playful tap on the nose. Squall shook his head, as if to bring himself back to reality.
"Sorry," he apologized, turning his attention to her. "I was gone for a second there."
"You know, it may seem like a strange question to pose, but what do you actually think about?"
Squall looked down at her, wearing a confused frown. "You know, I've had this pain between my toes for some time now… I don't know, I thought it was just athlete's foot or something."
"You were thinking about me, weren't you?" Rinoa accused.
"If you knew that already, why did you ask?"
"Could be something to do with conversation. After all, you're not exactly good at it, are you?"
"Yeah, I didn't talk to anyone for years," Squall excused himself. "Well, that's if those voices in my head don't count."
"Schizo." She poked him gently. He jerked backwards.
"I'm not a schizo."
"Hey, hey, I'm only kidding," Rinoa laughed, squeezing his arm gently. "You know, you take everything way too seriously."
"Nobody's ever told me that before," Squall replied ironically.
Rinoa giggled, flicking her hair to the side. "You know, you can actually blame your sister for you escapes from reality, if you want. You know, after all that stuff with Laguna and his pals."
"Rinoa," Squall scolded gently. "Would I?"
"Hey, you take the fall for everyone." She adopted a monotonic growl. "I am Squall Leonhart. I don't need anyone else's problems. I live for myself—" She ducked as a weak fist swung over her head, not intended to connect or harm her in any way. In response, she hit him teasingly on the arm. "You big meanie!"
"Sorry," Squall apologized again, this time with a lopsided grin. For the umpteenth time, he told himself how lucky he was to have Rinoa. The feelings he got whenever he looked at or merely thought of her were unlike anything he'd experienced before—it was totally consuming, as if he needed nothing else in his life. As far as was he concerned, she was everything he needed and wanted.
He'd known this for some time—to risk his own life in space to save her told him she was more than just a friend or a client. To him, losing her was like losing a part of himself; as if he couldn't soldier on without that part, he always ensured she remained close to him, like a materialistic instinct.
"Squall!" Rinoa reprimanded again, tilting his head toward her. "Reality check!" she proclaimed, tapping his head intently. "It's the waltz next, remember? I can't be—"
"—Out on the floor alone, I know," Squall resigned, and he allowed her to take his hand and lead him into the dancehall. It was like the first time they met all over again, and he smiled at the retrospective scene. Somehow, though, it seemed a whole lot easier than dancing with a stranger.
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Well, the evening's gone as well as I expected it to, Seifer Almasy told himself as he strode briskly through Balamb Garden's main hall. A worthless, no-hoper mercenary returning to the place where he wasted so many years of his life only to be told at the end of it, "Oh sorry kid, you were shit all along." If truer word was never spoken, Seifer had no idea why he'd been invited to the festival in the first place; after all, he had no discernible links with SeeD or the Headmaster, and it seemed he was only being drawn into the celebrations so that he still felt part of the equation. Ironically, his position in the whole saga was something of a pivotal point in the wrong direction—his impassioned attack on the President of Galbadia coincided with the announcement that Edea would be Galbadia's new ambassador, something quite intentional. But how his dream of being a knight became a horrific vendetta against Balamb Garden was something he chalked down to the sorceress' influence.
There was one word that triggered this entire campaign, a name that belonged to the girl he would have done anything for. A girl whose only purpose in life was to find a peace that everyone could share. And yet, somehow this had resulted in a war which consumed lives like a blazing inferno, a ruthless whirlwind which claimed lives like thousands of hands picking flowers in a field coloured by the dawning spring. But at the end of it, she finally had what she wanted, that all-inclusive peace for all nations, and it had nothing to do with him whatsoever. She had said bluntly during one of their confrontations she wanted nothing to do with him, and she was even willing to fight him to halt his homicidal rampage. And now that he was able to control his own emotions, strange feelings arose in his stomach, and he wasn't sure whether it was guilt or regret he was feeling, being someone who cared little for sentiments. It could have been something to do with the fish Raijin cooked the previous day, however.
He had by now forgotten anything they had together, and he was grateful for the intervention of the GFs in that matter. As he entered Balamb Garden's extensive Quad area, he saw no sign of her anywhere, and he was almost grateful for that. Walking back into that ballroom after a month's exile, it would have been like a sign exclaiming "Welcome back, you murderous bastard!" in garish pink neon. Headmaster Cid Kramer was conversing with a lower-rank student near one of the full-length tables, cradling his wine glass and adopting a pinkish tint in his cheeks. The head might have had a partiality for wine, but he wasn't able to hold it all that well.
As Seifer approached Cid, the other student thought it a good time to make herself scarce, and promptly scuttled off in to the nearest clique she could find. Cid's glare wasn't one of caring, or resentment, or even disdain; it was merely a look of apathy which made Seifer feel instantly uncomfortable. He often found it easier when a person shouted his guilt to anyone in earshot, rather than letting him dwell on it.
"Ah, Seifer," Cid said. "I was hoping you'd join us here. Do have a drink, that's what they're there for," Cid proclaimed, sweeping his hand over the pyramids of ornate glass. Try as he could, Seifer couldn't exactly talk to Cid like a friend or a comrade, seeing as this was a man who had petitioned for his expulsion without his knowledge. But he wasn't averse to a shot or two of the finest Trabian whiskey, and selected a shot glass from a nearby rack.
"Never thought I'd be welcomed back here with open arms," Seifer remarked as he tilted his head back and poured the fiery liquid down his throat. He thought he saw a spectre of a smile flit across the Headmaster's face.
"Oh, Seifer, you're a prodigal son to us," Cid responded. "Every lost sheep is welcomed back into the fold, whatever they were cast out for." Right, Seifer thought sardonically, but instantly dashed his bitterness, as Cid was technically the only person with any sort of faith in his capabilities. Cid knew exactly what he was capable of, and knew he wasn't afraid to use his powers, so the civil war between Galbadia and Balamb Gardens must not have come as a surprise. Seifer tossed the drained shot-glass onto the table, and Cid in turn placed his own empty wine-glass on the checked tablecloth.
"I think this wine's been drunk before," Seifer commented with a condescending look. Cid chuckled and raised a fresh glass.
"Ah, it's nice to have bad wines sometimes. I get so bored of good ones."
"You know, my romantic dream turned out to be a crock of shit," Seifer mused with an arched eyebrow. "Ain't it strange how you wait years for something to happen, and when it does, it's nothing like what you expected?"
"Indeed," Cid agreed, but his mind was focused on something else—most likely the decanted bottle of Dollet red that was being ferried between Instructors. When Cid's mind turned to wine, it probably didn't have room for anything remotely important—what a man to run a Garden, Seifer told himself with a smile and the collection of another shot-glass. Suddenly feeling the need to get out of the Quad, away from the packs of unforgiving trainees he had led a violent campaign against just weeks before, Seifer made his excuses and departed more hastily than someone taking a toilet break would.
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Batteries – you could never rely on them, Selphie thought to herself with a trench-like frown. Kinda like people – whenever you most need them they give out on you. Sighing defeat, she lowered Irvine's camcorder gently, and turned toward him, bouncing up and down in protest."
"Bummer," she said, her face falling into a sulk. "Not one bit of power left."
"Hey, don't complain," Irvine responded, retrieving the hat from her had and placing it on his own, tilting it downward slightly to obscure his face. "At least we got something. Not sure Zell will be too enthusiastic about his role in there, though."
"I can just see it now," she laughed, raising her fists in a boxing stance. "Turn the damn thing off! Get it off!"
"You know, he really needs to get a girlfriend," Irvine said. "That hotdog obsession is ever so slightly disturbing."
"Hey, you need to get a girlfriend too!" Selphie placed her hands on her hips. "Don't act like you can be a good judge of women, you big stud!"
"Hey, no fair," Irvine whined, quickly swiping a glass of wine from the departing waiter. "You like me, don't you?"
"Not at the moment I don't," Selphie answered, pouting slightly.
"Come on, I know you have feelings for me," Irvine assured her, tossing his hat over to her. She promptly placed it on her head again. "You're just in denial."
"N—" A pause of a few seconds. "Yeah, I suppose I am." This was enough to elicit a smirk from the gunslinger.
As Irvine looked out toward the balcony, where Squall and Rinoa were shadows against a sky painted with black and red, he almost found himself wondering what his own feelings were. From the early teenage years at Galbadia Garden, Irvine had become renowned for his love of female company almost as much as his shooting prowess. It was one of the unwritten rules of the male mind; to not only appreciate this company but to actively seek it, to spend one's time trying to impress the opposite sex.
But Irvine now found himself at something of a crossroads. As much as he made himself out to be revelling in the discovery of female SeeDs at Balamb, his mind was now focused primarily on Selphie, and he was fairly positive the façade hadn't fooled her either. He wished he didn't find her carefree character and sweet charm so fascinating, but there was an untouched depth to her character—she was a complex web of emotions, not just the attractive facial features he took delight in. She was there in his mind, even when he was deliberately flirted with students and instructors alike. It was a problem that wasn't going away, mainly because it was a problem without a visible solution.
"Sweet, aren't they?" Selphie commented, and Irvine realised she was standing right next to him, staring intently in the same direction. "They were made for each other, don't you think?"
"Ah, I suppose time will tell," Irvine replied. "Squall's got more personal problems than Dr. Kadowaki's guidebooks, but I suppose only a love-crazy fool would jump out of a space station and smash up the Sorceress Memorial."
"Shame we didn't get any footage of them together," Selphie sighed, ruing the missed opportunity. Immediately, she turned to Irvine, and frowned when she saw the disdainful expression he now wore. "What? I'm a girl, we like gossip! Come on, it's not like we have anything better to talk about, is it?" Involuntarily, Irvine found himself smiling again.
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The person who strode intently through the glass doors was not the one Quistis was expecting; automatically assuming it was the waiter bearing more gifts of alcoholic beverages, she was surprised to see the shadow of Seifer Almasy looming over her, outlined in golden light from chandeliers. She regarded him with a look of disinterest—the last thing she needed right now was an exchange with a student who considered her an amateur, an overly emotional one at that.
"Seifer," she muttered, applying a rubbing hand to her eye. Not a question, or any sort of surprised reaction. "Come to poison the party food? Assassinate the Headmaster, maybe?" But the response this elicited was not the sarcastic grin she was so accustomed to, but a slight tug at the corner of his mouth. Seifer didn't smile like others; when he smiled, he was usually reprimanding you or sarcastically commenting on something you'd previously said, often repeating the speech fragment in question in a tone of derision. When Seifer was genuinely pleased about something, he didn't smile at all; instead, his eyes emitted a twinkle, conveying emotions the too-oft-used grin couldn't ever hope to.
"I hope we're not going to spend the evening exchanging sarcastic wit," Seifer stated in the vain hope that someone might be interested. "I'm only here because they asked me to. Maybe they need a beer sponge or something."
"So what are you doing out here?" Quistis asked tiredly. "If you want to compare testosterone levels with Squall, he's on the next balcony."
"Ah," Seifer announced with a chuckle. "Nope, he's otherwise engaged. He may stay that way for some time…" He let his voice trail off as if to prompt laughter, but the Instructor looked as if she'd just woken on a Monday morning.
"Can I get you a drink? Coffee?"
"No, I'm thinking of something more intoxicating. And I don't mean one of those weak cocktails that are watered down to the extent that chemical analysis needs to be used to detect the presence of alcohol."
"Trust me, go for the coffee. How many sugars? Two? Three? A thousand?"
"Only one."
"One thousand?"
Quistis almost smiled. "No. One, singular." Even the most oblivious onlooker could see Seifer took pride in power, and his summon for the waiter oozed smugness and arrogance.
"Well, I was in a relationship once," Quistis replied, absently tracing he finger around the rim of another empty glass beaded with wine. "His name was Bobo, I was five years old. It was a one-way relationship, really: I talked, he listened. Bears listen to you, you know that? They don't scorn you if you say something stupid, and they don't judge you either." Seifer laughed into the wind, a hoarse bellow of a laugh muffled by the strengthening breeze.
"Yeah, it's no fun not having anyone to talk to," Seifer agreed, glancing across at Quistis. Her hair was being ruffled gently by the cool wind. "I don't even remember anything about my childhood, and I'm not worried about it, either. Well, I remember the fights with Squall, so not much has changed."
"You're telling me?" Quistis sighed, flicking the glass with a nail. The glass rung with the impact, a clean, crisp sound which rang out across the balcony. "So, have you ever been in a relationship, Seifer? Hm?"
"What's the criteria for it to be considered a relationship?"
"It has to last longer than ten minutes."
"Damn," Seifer answered, playfully pounding the edge of the balcony with a fist as if to concede defeat. "Well, I guess that's a no of sorts," he announced, gazing over the edge at the vast mass of blue and white that was the Garden. It was silent for a period, a quiet still broken occasionally by the anguished squawk of a seagull riding the thermals overhead. At last, Seifer spoke to break the wind-swept peace. "Yeah, love fucks you up," he said, staring out toward the horizon.
"I'm not assuming what I feel about Squall is love," Quistis affirmed, flicking the glass again. "More of a morbid interest, really. Somehow, he fascinates me, and I almost wish he didn't. You'd have to be an idiot to fall for someone who pays no attention to you at all, but it's not like you can do anything about it, is it?"
"Yeah," Seifer agreed, eagerly selecting the two steaming bone-china mugs from the waiter's tray. He set them down on the balcony. "You know, if I ever fell in love, the result would be somewhere between an issue of Occult Fan and a vodka orange."
"I think you've been spending way too much time in the library," Quistis chuckled. "Those graphic novels change places every week."
"It wasn't me," Seifer said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I'm illiterate. I just look at the pretty pictures."
"Which reminds me," Quistis said, raising a finger. "You better remind Raijin he still has 'Insect Guidebook: Colour Edition.'"
"He only borrowed it because he was trying to figure out which creature bit him on the ass in the Training Center, ya know?" As sullen as Quistis' mood was, even she managed to raise a smile at the awkward reference.
"See, you've at least got someone to talk to when you unlock the front door tonight. What have I got? A cat who falls asleep in my lap every time I talk to it. Give me Bobo any day."
"I'd rather have a feline than a hyperactive musclehead and a greying woman who replies with shouted one-syllable words whenever you start a conversation with her. They're company, nothing more."
"Loyal company," Quistis insisted, taking a long sip from her coffee. "They've been through hell and high water because they respect you. You're their friend." She set her mug down again. "Oh, and thanks for the drink. For once, you proved me wrong – this is making me feel a hell of a lot better."
"That's okay. It came out of your salary."
"Bastard, taking advantage of my wages. How did you do that, anyway?"
"Don't ask, don't tell. It's one of my personal mantras."
"Any others you'd like to share with me?"
"How about this one: Why do today what you can put off till tomorrow?"
"That's no good!" Quistis exclaimed, driving an imaginary screw into her temple. "Whatever happened to 'carpe diem' and all that? What happens if you die today? You'll never get a chance to do it."
"Nah, I was thinking more of homework assignments and exams," Seifer corrected, draining his mug with a loud slurp. "I live for today, not tomorrow. Hell, it ain't gonna break my heart if I'm not there the next morning. Anyway, if I did it today, what would I have to do the next day? Nothing, exactly. I'd get bored."
"Nice conversation killer," Quistis sighed. "Can't think of anything to say now." The tranquil silence returned for a while, the faint strains of a polka drifting around the Quad coupled with the ringing of toasts and warm chatter. "Need another coffee? Mine's half empty."
"Ah!" Seifer exclaimed, reacting as if he'd been stung by a Bite Bug. "So you're a pessimist, is that it? Always looking for the bad things in life."
"No, no!" Quistis replied. "It was just a figure of speech."
"But you are a cynic, am I right?"
"If we're talking about romance, no. I think the most exciting thing in the world is meeting someone you love, because it changes your outlook on everything. True love is tunnel-vision; you don't ever stop thinking about it. But the problem is when they don't feel the same about you, or they ignore you, or don't see the signs and make you feel like you aren't wanted. It's a heartbreaker."
"Sorry, Instructor, nothing good comes from love," Seifer disagreed. "My theory about marriage is that people do it to stop the other from getting away, so that no-one else can get hold of them. It's selfish, sure, and it's about possessions, but hell, isn't that what the human race is about? Each person for themselves?"
"Now who's the cynic," Quistis replied, with a wry smile. "Anyway, you're wrong. Marriage is about… Well, you know…"
"Ha!" Seifer proudly exclaimed. "I'm right, aren't I? You can't think of a single selfless thing about it! Take Cid and Edea, for example—he only married her for her looks. Well, not the kind he's getting now."
"No, you're wrong!" Quistis argued. "Love is good."
"Bad."
"Fine. We'll continue this argument in five minutes. For now, you can buy me another drink."
"Hey – you're paying, remember?"
Quistis shuddered slightly. "I've had a wonderful evening. But this wasn't it."
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One person who wasn't in the Quad revelling in shambolic karaoke sessions and drinking enough wine to sink a cargo ship was Balamb's only bare-knuckle fighter, Zell Dincht. He wasn't accompanied by anyone; instead, he sat at a table in the desolate Cafeteria, drumming his fingers on the wood intently and listening to the whistles of ocean breeze through an open window.
Zell felt, in a single word, miserable. Anyone who asked why he was so glum got the same prefabricated excuse—you know, after you kick a sorceress's ass, reading up on the history of Centra doesn't seem all that interesting, does it? Well, to the less discerning listener, they were told this and believed it, as it was a fairly realistic and plausible excuse. But in reality, Zell's problem was far easier to pinpoint. He was lonely. It was like a throwback to the days at the orphanage – he knew all his friends from that time had the same problem, seeing as they all had no parents to love or be loved by, but most of them had learned to live on their own, and make their own friends. He felt sad that his only real friend was a sausage in a bread roll.
He ran his finger along the grain of the wooden table, staring out the landscape windows at the dark, foreboding sky outside, black and blue whirls of cumulus cloud drifting past aimlessly. Why am I even here? he wondered sadly, his chin resting in the palm of his free hand. Sure, he had Ma and Pa Dincht, who respected and loved him as their own son, and followed every rung of his climb up the SeeD ladder. But, caring and kind as they were, they weren't his to love.
His train of thought was interrupted by the squeaking of shoes on the polished cafeteria floor, and long strips of white flickered into view. Whoever it was, they'd turned the lights on.
"No-one's home," Zell pronounced, knowing full well the person could see him.
"There are easier ways to remain anonymous," a female voice responded. Selphie.
"You're not the kind that needs to be told when to quit."
"I'm not the type that lets someone tell me to." She made her way over to the table, still wearing Irvine's hat, and pulled one of the black chairs aside. Instead of sitting on it, she perched on the edge and cocked her head to the side to examine Zell's facial expression. He turned his head in the other direction.
"I'm not letting you get out of this that easily," Selphie insisted, and took his arm. "Now, I know you've got something of an infatuation with the cafeteria's hotdogs, but in case you need an eye test, they're all in the Quad. So, I'm figuring you've got a different problem, and I'm not going anywhere till I know what it is."
"Sorry, Selphie." Zell shook his head in despair. "I know you mean well and everything, but I could do with some time with myself."
"That's it," Selphie cut in. "You may have gotten away with forsaking an unwanted hotdog. But I will NOT have you taking a leaf out of Squall's loner book."
"This isn't helping, Selph."
"You're being deliberately difficult."
"You're being a pain in the ass."
Selphie cocked her head even further, ensuring he could not escape her wary gaze. "Look, I'm your friend, aren't I? Come on, Zell, we've gone everywhere together over the last few weeks, so I know you better than anyone."
"Yeah, but that wasn't your choice, was it?"
"I suppose not, but we're like old buddies, aren't we? Just because we didn't choose to go to Timber together, doesn't mean I don't want anything to do with you." Her voice trailed off, echoing in the deserted white confines of the cafeteria. "Hey, I'm not gonna make you talk. It's just… If you need anyone, you know where I am."
"I wish I could say," Zell sighed. "But hell, I'm a fighting man, and we don't get upset about things. We just kick ass and destroy stuff, and save the good-looking women."
"Hey, I'm not gonna tell everyone you're a chicken-wuss, am I? You know me—I wouldn't want to give Seifer the satisfaction."
Zell seemed to digest this well, and he turned to face her. "Thanks, Selph. I suppose you are helping after all."
"I'm the head of the Garden Festival Committee," she said, hauling him to his feet. "Helping's my business. Come on, Cid's going to make his speech in a moment."
"Sure," he said, feigning indifference. "I've been having trouble sleeping lately."
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This is my first attempt at a romance story, so if it's woefully inaccurate, go easy on me. It doesn't help that I'm about as experienced in the field as a McDonalds worker in a law firm…
I'm not sure if this opening chapter came out the way I wanted it to, but it had plenty of dialogue and introduced each character and their unique contexts. It should become a little more light-hearted as it progresses, but be warned, it may have some of my outlook on romance (I'm something of a bitter, cynical pessimist on the topic, so I suppose the Seifer dialogue was really me talking.)
I was actually inspired to write this because of my monumental writers' block when tackling Final Fantasy: Retaliation; try as I might, I just can't get the seventh chapter right. I think it's because I've lost interest in action stories lately. So I took this on to keep me occupied, and it's working very well for me at the moment—can't tell if it will stay that way. I like having two stories on my plate; when I get bored of one, I can just switch to the other.
Well, I'm done. Laters!