The next time they are together is on Besaid, two nights before the wedding. More than two months later. Rikku is already there; an extended trip to Besaid's spa to calm the bride's nerves, a drawn-out bachelorette party. They are hosting a small rehearsal dinner, less rehearsal and more quiet catch up. The spa's private beach sequesters them from the rest of the island. There is a long table set up there, torches plunged deep into the sand. Wakka and Lulu towards the head of the table with the bride and groom. Vidina in a booster chair, daydreaming, as Wakka tries to focus his attention on the dinner plate in front of them. Paine, one of the bridesmaids, side by side with Nooj. Cid and Brother opposite them. The remaining bridesmaid, Rikku, and groomsman, Gippal sit opposite one another at the end of the table.

In Luca they have a kind of language between them. She would predict the course of night by how he greeted her. Cid's girl when they are in heavy company, at public events and the highest risk of cameras, and usually they would get too drunk and spend the night laughing, dancing, friends extricating them from each other and getting them home safe at the close of the night. Princess when there was the space for him to get close to her, and purr it privately into her ear, enrage her and draw away to kiss her once on each cheek. Those were the inevitable nights, where the alcohol didn't go down well, and they would run into one another in the corridor, and she would find herself kissing him, and then wildly excusing herself early, after she sees him leave first. On princess nights, he would be waiting outside her door, and she'd tug him in behind her, trying not to fall over Lana on the way to the bedroom.

The Rikku nights were the rarest, but most unpredictable. She can never quite tell if he wants her on these nights. Sometimes, these were the drunkest, tumbling out of clubs together, drunken mutual support; Rikku's wine glass still in her hand; Gippal's jacket, always, around her shoulders. And this is how they would get away with those nights; Brother and Buddy. On these nights the magazines could buy that they were these party animal childhood friends, orbiting around one another simply out of habit. Sometimes the party continues on the Celsius; they collapse in separate beds. Other times, she ends up back in his office- he insists this is his apartment- and the next morning she shamefully slinks past a smirking Sarra when her taxi arrives.

Sometimes Rikku nights are spent in their entirety talking, slowly progressing through one bottle of wine. They usually were at hers, or small industry dinner parties. Even the occasional pretentious charity galas where they would dance with their rusty childhood ballroom to the mediocre band. The nights they'd laugh the hardest, and actually remember their conversations the next morning. On these nights, he kisses her first after repeating her name, again and again, like he can scarcely believe she is still there. The nights where things are most tender. Slow, sensual kisses when they are back home, at hers, the agonising pace with which he unwraps her from her lingerie. Sometimes, though, he doesn't kiss her; instead untangles her hair with his fingers as she sleeps on his chest. Sometimes he tells her horrific things about the Crimson Squad; sometimes she cries about the fall of Home. These nights they don't sleep until the dawn. Sarra's polite Commsphere call around 11am would inevitably come, pull him back to the office. Time only for a quick, stilted goodbye.

Tonight, she is the last to sit down at the table, late. The flickering orange glow of the torches dances off the fruit and flowers arranged in the middle of the table. She directs a quick apology towards the end of the table. She seats herself and meets his eye- playful smirk already there.

"Rikku." he says.

"Gippal." She finds a catty slant to the way she delivers it.

She hates how he's turned her name into a game. Maybe he doesn't realise; maybe this is his way of making her work for it. Maybe it's because Cid is within ear shot. Maybe he misses the feel of her fingers in his hair. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. He infuriates her. That painfully slow way he is pouring her wine, which she hasn't asked him to do. His widening smile and her deepening scowl. She stops herself and pushes it away with her own smile. She doesn't let him break eye contact when he finally looks up. She takes that first sip, rolls the dice of how this evening is going to go.

"Earth to Rikku!"

Yuna is yelling at her from the end of the table.

"Sorry, Yunie."

"You and your wine." Gippal murmurs. She glares at him because he loves to flirt with her like this. Cid and Brother distracted by Nooj, so frustratingly within earshot of what he's saying to her.

Yuna summons her to the end of the table for a photo with some static camera Gippal had given Paine for her last birthday. Yuna directs Tidus to take their picture. YRP reunited. They are giggling, Yuna and Rikku, and Paine is despairing at the bubbling excitement, betraying herself with a secret smile. When she settles back in to her own chair, Gippal and Brother are arguing about Blitzball. Gippal is pulling at the collar of his linen shirt, and the glimpse of his collarbone in the torchlight distracts her. He doesn't even look up at her, slides another full wine glass over to her, brazenly lets his fingers linger there against hers. She is lucky it is so warm; she gets away with the flush on her cheeks. She wants to throw her wine over him. He hasn't seen or heard from him for two months. She wants to grab the front of his shirt and kiss him fiercely over the flowers, then walk away laughing as her father skins him alive.

"You're quiet, sweetie." Cid suddenly turns to her. His voice always has the accidental volume of a startled Shoopuf. She feels Gippal and Brother looking at her. She slides her eyes blankly past Gippal to smile sweetly at her father.

"I'm just so excited for Yunie and Tidus," she says. This spurs Cid into action. He declares the need for a toast. Despite how heavy-handed his enthusiasm often is, he manages a rallying, sympathetic and practically hilarious monologue about how much he hated Tidus when he first met him, throwing him across the bridge of the Fahrenheit- this she had forgotten and it pulls a genuine laugh from her- and now how he loves him for saving her. The world, too, but Yuna, more importantly.

"No hope of this one here getting married anytime soon," he finishes, pointing towards Rikku out of nowhere. Gippal almost chokes with laughter on his wine. Rikku fumes.

"Hey!" she yells. She kicks Gippal under the table and he spills wine on his shirt.

"Shit, princess, watch it!"

"Princess? Ha!" Cid booms, and maybe its the wine or his sentimentality, but he laughs, and soon the whole table follows. Rikku smiles despite herself, although deeply embarrassed. Gippal grumpily finishes his glass of wine. She childishly sticks her tongue out at him. The rest of the meal passes quickly as the wine works its magic. Cid and Brother leave the table to smoke, then settle afterwards at the bar. Tidus and Nooj join them, as Yuna and Paine continue their conversation. Yuna has collected flowers from the centrepiece, is weaving them together. With her family out of earshot;

"Busy few weeks?" she asks casually. He is pouring the rest of the bottle out between them.

"It was constant," he says, avoiding her eyes.

"Lana misses you." Rikku says, as close to chiding him as she will ever get.

"Sure Graav has been keeping you both busy." The tone he delivers this in is very dry, measured.

"What do you mean?" she glares at him.

"You know, your new squeeze."

"He is not my new- " she starts.

Yuna interrupts her by sliding tipsily into the seat next to her. She delicately places a crown of flowers into her hands; she's been weaving it throughout dessert and drinks.

"A crown for Princess Rikku!" she declares airily, then a tipsy giggle.

"Minus ten respect points for that nickname," Paine says, sliding into the seat next to Gippal, and a sharp elbow to his side.

"Ugh." Gippal places his face down on his arms.

"It's just a childhood nickname." Rikku finds herself defending him.

"From when you made quite the couple?" Yuna stage whispers, sipping from her cocktail.

"Someone kill me," Gippal moans.

"Oh, Gippal's never had a girlfriend. Ever." Rikku says, bitchily. She is unsure if the burn in her cheeks is the wine, or simmering rage.

"Aw, how come?" Yuna asks, then suddenly suspicious, "ooh, you're a player, I remember now."

"A ladies' man." Paine confirms, smugly.

"You three are the worst."

"Stay away from the princess!" Yuna fake scolds him in an imitative elderly voice. The three of them collapse into giggles, even Paine, the generous amount of wine and cocktails catching up to them. Yuna is trying to pull Rikku away to dance by the bonfire that's been lit closer to the shore.

"As soon as I've finished my wine, promise." She says, and stays seated with Gippal, who is quiet and long suffering during their giggly conversation.

"What is your problem?" she hisses.

"Me?" he retorts, looking at her with such utter disbelief.

"I don't see you for two months, and you're pissed at me for hanging out with someone other than you." She fumes, "You know, it's actually quite nice, not having to dodge the fucking cameras every ten minutes because you don't like them."

She senses things escalating, and wishes she could take it back.

"I don't like them?" he whispers frantically.

"Yes, you!" Rikku says, simmering with frustration.

"You're the one who insists we always sneak around in the fucking dark, princess."

"I'm not interested in making the headlines as one of your many conquests, Gippal!"

"I wasn't even in the headlines until you came along!" he snaps, and then quiets himself, he almost says something then but stops himself. This will-they-won't-they obsession the magazines have has translated in to Gippal on camera, every new woman he sleeps with now well documented for all of Spira to see. Rikku's idea to create a perfect friendship narrative. To throw them off the scent.

"You don't get to be territorial about me," she is gulping the rest of her wine down then to stave off the ridiculous tears that are forming, "Mr I'm-too-busy-for-a-relationship. Fuck you."

She throws the flower crown at him, aggressively banging her wine glass down on the table. He throws his hands up and doesn't follow as she trudges off towards the small jetty. He knocks the rest of his wine back and starts the walk up to the bar, fumbling to light a cigarette. Blind in frustration, he walks into Tidus, who steadies him with a strong hand on his chest.

"Everything okay?" he says, uneasy concern as his gaze follows after Rikku.

"Yeah, sure," he murmurs.

"Think you best go-" Tidus hesitates, "sort that out, don't you?"

He tries to look nonplussed and shrug. Tidus steers him round, pushes him in her general direction.

"Go kiss and make up."

"It's not like that." He says defensively.

"Just go before I kick your ass!"

Rikku crackles, standing taut and glaring murderously over the waves. Away from the globe of bonfire light and the satellite of torches, she is practically invisible. Mastering her frustrated tears, she breathes in and out. Count to ten, then walk back to the party. She feels his presence prickling there at the edge of her consciousness, wishes she isn't such a slave to his attention, so attuned to where, when, what he is all the time. A swift gust of sea air awakens a shiver across her shoulders. Frizzy from the sun and sea water, her hair is a masterless mess this evening; her lips are chapped from letting the salt dry there in the afternoon sun. She is always closing her eyes; seeing herself instead on Bikanel, that confusing morning, staring dumbfounded out over the ocean, when he'd taken a different ship to theirs, no warning, and how hard she'd cried.

"Rikku."

Soft, tentative, as gentle as the breeze, his voice breaks her silence. She stiffens, pulling her arms closer to her chest. She smells the smoke.

"I wish you wouldn't do that." She says quietly, turning to him.

"Do what?" she gestures at the cigarette, "Because it's bad for me, or because I'm doing it without you?"

"Both," she mutters, and turns to face the sea again.

She can't help but lean back into him as he wraps her in an embrace from behind, murmurs an apology, presses a kiss to her neck. She melts like butter then. They both smell like wine; Rikku's hair like strawberry; his breath ashy, familiar. He is tipsy tender right now, starting to sway them both as the music from the bonfire swells upwind from the beach.

"You can't just disappear like that, you know." She says, not that easy. She links their fingers, squeezes punishingly.

"I know," he says, "come and dance."

"And you know better than to believe-"

He turns her head to him, kisses her deeply. The swoop and thrill of desire that floods into her, and she realises how much she has been aching for his touch. Speechless, then.

"I was jealous," he admits, pressing his lips into her neck, and she is forming the retort on her lips then, "and I know I have no right."

"No, you don't," she agrees.

"I told you," he murmurs, "this is gonna fuck us up."

"Not if we don't let it," she whispers.

"Can we start over?" he asks. He feels her nod, and spins her round into a platonic embrace. The heavy kind, both his arms over her shoulders, and crushing her to him. Sorry, again.

"Fine," she releases her anger then. And she is about to tell him, about moving to Bevelle, but this shift in affection silences her.

"Will you dance with me," and he's leading her back to the party, and she can't even be angry when he follows with, "princess?"

More wine, and the company of trusted friends. Gippal and Rikku dance the night away as fiercely as the rest of them, spinning. Yuna begs them to dance in hold- the way they used to as children- and the laughter at Rikku's refusal to be led overtakes most of them. They argue like old lovers; Rikku authoritative, whilst slurring, trying to correct his posture. She shrieks when he is upending her into a romantic dip, then tries to spin her but in her stubborn refusal to follow they both crumple entangled on to the sand. Hilarious entertainment to their friends. As the fire dies, the night closes quietly around them. Cid retiring first. Then Lulu and Wakka carrying Vidina to bed. Tidus and Yuna enmeshed and murmuring endlessly. They are the last two couples left on the beach.

They leave the soon-to-be wed behind. Gippal leads her, a flimsy excuse that he's escorting her to her small chalet. She is giddily drunk, pulls him in to sway with her to an imaginary song, before she unlocks her door. Selfishly, her hands cupping his face, as something serious and sad settles on to his face. Sweet, platonic kiss on his lips, practically chaste, and he is quite drunk too. He is running his hand over her thigh, pushing it under the loose crocheted dress that covers her bikini, lifting her leg up on to him, and she follows the routine with ease. He hitches her up on to him, and she kisses him again and again and again, in the dark, on her doorstep, back pressing tightly into the door. Choppy breathing, beautiful harmony, to the rhythmic sigh of the waves that is deafening, back and forth.

"I missed you," he breathes.

"Funny way of showing it," she teases.

He snatches her key from her, and they stumble into her room. Princess-night deja vu; poorly executed passion. Just another clumsy night. Then, in the muted lamplight of her room, sobriety draws nearer, and he adopts that slow, reverential pace. The gradual inch by inch undressing of her, covetous regard in his eyes, and the shy, grateful pressure of his fingers, tracing that invisible tattoo of where he's been again and again over her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, her neck. Kisses her name into her neck, into her lips. Naked and warm in the tropical air, he worships her, and she receives his tithes, tangling and rolling atop the blankets, until they are both done. They settle up to their waists under the thin linen, still entangled, and fall asleep embracing.


He knows by now that she is a morning person. She learns the timing of his morning-afters- coffee on the bedside table always that perfect ready-to-drink temperature. Rikku, hands to heart centre, calm on her balcony as he throws his shirt and tie on and runs out the door, late as normal. He wakes up and blinks the sun away and realises with some relief, this is not a normal work day. Rikku sits cross-legged next to him, glowing in that radiant post shower way she does, long damp hair a curtain around her own morning cup of coffee. He collapses one hand on to her knee.

"What time is it?" he mumbles, barely audible as he rubs sleep off his face.

"Ten am." she says brightly. He groans and rolls over until he is face down, she prods him in his side, "Get up! We have babysitting duties."

She is referring, not to Vidina, but rather the bride and groom, who by ritual were to be separated the day before the wedding. He dresses then, Rikku following him out of her room, walking away to the spa, and he prays that no one sees him on the way back to his room. No such luck: Tidus leans against the door to his room and laughs as soon as he sees him.

"Made up then, did you?" Tidus is smiling. Gippal can't look at him. He is at a loss. He is in last night's clothes. There is no other logical explanation. "I came to get you. We're starting earlier than planned."

"Yeah, sure, just give me a few minutes."

Gippal showers and changes quickly, swimming trunks and white cotton t shirt. Today a tamer encore to the bachelor party they'd thrown him in Luca. This time though, slow day drinks and casual Blitz games, on the beach. Yuna and her small posse of bridesmaids remain tucked away for most of the day in the spa. A buffet style lunch is set up, and the remaining wedding guests start to filter in, via Celsius and ship. Champagne is flowing. The bridal party escape their seclusion for an hour to greet the guests. Tidus and Yuna part with a passionate kiss as they all cheer at this last contact before the big day.

Later in the evening, the sun sets as he enjoys a cigar away from the rest of the party. Tidus joins them, for the view, not the cigar.

"You know," he starts, and Gippal's heart sinks, here it comes, "it's kinda obvious now I think about it."

"What is?" maybe he can play dumb.

"Yuna said you guys were childhood sweethearts, or something."

Gippal groans then- he was joking when he said that, and the High Summoner wouldn't let it go.

"Childhood friend," he corrects him, and is telling him then about the long summers at Home, lodging with Rikku and Brother- Buddy a constant fixture, too. Then losing touch due to Sin, the Crimson Squad. In fact, all the things he's told him before but previously the Rikku parts missed out; redacted. Tidus is smiling into his beer, listening intently.

"You guys don't speak much in Al Bhed?" he asks.

"I helped her learn Spiran, when we were, like, seven. Just habit, I guess. Look, Rikku is pretty private about- this-" Tidus laughs, "- no, honestly, she doesn't want anyone to know."

"It was Rikku's idea for this to be a secret?" he eyes Gippal suspiciously.

"It gets complicated-" he holds his hands up when Tidus scoffs, "her words, man. The cameras, and all that."

"You know every person on this beach right now will kill you if you hurt her."

"Noted."


The suite they spend the day in is luxurious. A small private pool on a vast balcony, plush cabanas and sun loungers and a view over the ocean that is unparalleled. Inside the penthouse size interior is a large jacuzzi, and a small team of beauty assistants and massage therapists. The spend the day, settling Yuna's nerves with massage, face masks, and an abundant supply of champagne and sweet tropical cocktails. They break away from this hidden paradise to have lunch with the majority of the guests that have arrived from all over Spira. Tidus and Yuna make the most of those last unwed moments.

"Are you excited to be relocating to Bevelle?" Yuna asks her. Her face is covered in a dark green paste, and she is struggling to gracefully sip from her glass without smearing it.

"I think it's going to be different," she says, "Fun different."

"I think it's a good idea to increase the visibility of the Al Bhed. I know Baralai is trying his hardest, but their media is really outdated, nothing like Luca." Yuna says. She spends more time there than in Luca. During Blitz season, especially, she leans into the role of advisor. Her counsel highly valued. The Youth League and New Yevon meet monthly, or at least the representatives of both. As Spira progresses technologically, these are attempts at a unified approach, an equitable division of the work the Machine Faction is offering.

"Just watch yourself," Paine says over her champagne glass.

The rest of the day passes swiftly. Girly bonding, tipsy giggling, emotional outbursts. They retire to bed early, Yuna's excitement palpable. Lulu and Paine promise to wake them in a timely fashion.


The private beach is transformed overnight. A pale blue carpet stretches down towards the shore towards a woven white arch, twisted with pastel pink and blue chiffon. Enchanted torches ablaze with white flames, sink symmetrically into the sand along the aisle. They crackle in the gentle breeze. Two large stone vases bracket the archway; tropical flowers, foliage, pampas grass bursting forth and over. Delicate wicker white chairs face the focus of the event, each with either pink or blue chiffon bows that dance lazily in the breeze. The guests are seated already. Tidus bobs nervously from foot to foot, as Wakka claps him on the back reassuringly. The pangs of harp strings burst from the back of the viewing area.

The bridal procession emerge. Bridesmaids- Paine, then Rikku, then Lulu, uniform in pale blue chiffon, simple floaty layers, plunging neckline that gathers into a halter, delicate long bow to line their backs. Pretty, petite bouquets of white roses, pink lilies, cream pampas anchored between their hands.

Then, resplendant, the bride.

Cid escorts Yuna. Shrouded in the faintest veil that shimmers in the brilliant sun, Yuna's dress is pure white silk, cinched to her sillhouette. Thin straps over her shoulders and the silk collects in a deep, slight cowl that dips slightly between her breasts. The silk gathers delicately at the lowest point of her spine, and the train flows from there, rolling over the sand like the sea on to the shore. A large bouquet of cream, pink, white tied with blue ribbon. Long brown hair teased into voluminous romantic curls, that cascade over her shoulders, bouncing on the stark bareness of her back. Cid's cream linen tuxedo is a mere canvas to her masterpiece.

Ever the crybaby, Tidus' cheeks are wet as he observes that slow walk; his future wife floats closer. She instantly slips her hand into his and squeezes, a single tear escaping her. The veil flutters in the breeze as he lifts it away from her. Yuna passes her bouquet to Lulu. An elder stands, stunted, in the arch and leads the ceremony. Sweet exchange of vows- that eternal, rule-defying love, redefining the very notion of existence, of obtaining a dream- words that barely echo the pain, and resolve, and depth of the love that has led to this.

"I do." They both say.

They kiss joyfully on their cue. Yuna throws her arms around his neck and Tidus lifts her from the ground. They spin once gleefully. Then, hand in hand, she pulls him along behind her, back up the beach to the reception. The guests wander back to the spa, the buzz of touched chatter bubbling loudly between them. The bridesmaids gather some of the flowers around the edge of the ceremony and carry them back inside. Paine politely reminds the newlyweds that it's picture time and they are pulled away from one another's gravity for an hour of posing, and arrangements with the bridal party, then small groups of guests. The champagne flows freely, the painstaking arrangement of photos flying by smoothly and quickly.

The spa's large dining hall, in the style of modern Spira, is a vast minimalistic space- a large octagonal room dotted with large circular tables. Blue chiffon accents the furniture. Above each table hangs large clear fishbowls that overflow with flowers and foliage in the style of the bridal bouquet. Small silk pouches stitched with the guests names serve as place holders. Each embroidered pouch encloses a minisphere capable of catching a limited number of still images. Pale gold muted cutlery and tall crystal glasses. The middle of each table houses large gold receptacles lined with ice, upon which nestle magnums of champagne and multiple bottles of white wine. The rearmost three facets of the room form the bar and hide the kitchen from view. The remaining five sides of the grand room are glittering paned windows that also function as doors, concertinaing on to the shift, sound, smell of the sea air. The rhythmic play of the waves on the shore serves itself up, a natural soundtrack. The top of the room, right of the bar, the top table, those coveted wedding party seats. The other tables occupy the centre of the room. The dancefloor, expectant of later festivity lies behind the tables. Across the threshold of the sliding glass doors, a sunbleached pale wood deck, unfettered views of the endless ocean that had brought Tidus here to start with.

To Yuna's right: Cid, Lulu, Rikku, Brother. To Tidus' left: Wakka, Vidina, Paine, Gippal. Rikku chances a couple of glances Paine's way during the meal, which passes as quickly as they down that first bottle of champagne. Paine's face a mask of composure but Rikku can tell from the set of her shoulders she is close to exploding between the childish neediness of Vidina, and Gippal's incessant joking chatter. Things settle and Wakka delivers a speech of such hilarity that even he seems surprised at himself. Rikku even hears Lulu laugh quietly, the noise breaking the barrier of that soft half smile that settles upon her face whenever Wakka speaks. Then the toast to the happy couple. Some of the formality shatters as Tidus and Yuna wander the tables to mingle with their guests.

"I'll give you fifty respect points if you swap seats with me," comes Paine's whispered plea in her ear.

"Things are bad if you'd prefer to sit next to Brother." She says drily. She knocks the rest of her fizz back, then wanders over the Paine's seat. Gippal is nursing a champagne flute, is playing catch with Vidina- the head of rose tossed between them. Vidina giggles ridiculously every time Gippal feigns a clumsy fumble. Lulu has hopped up a few seats to talk secretly with Wakka, her mouth incredibly close to his ear, and a pink tinge to her cheeks that Rikku has never seen there before.

"Paine said you need assistance getting through all this," she pats the sweating bottles in front of them.

"Auntie Rikkoo" Vidina says shyly. She lets him climb on to her lap and he perches there.

"Hey, you stole my friend." Gippal says, going to clink his glass with hers, before realising hers is empty. He pours for the both of them. Rikku stretches with some effort, Vidina anchoring her to her chair. She snatches up one of the small bouquets and hands it to Vidina. His face lights up and he starts to pull the petals from it slowly.

"Glad you've finally met someone as mature as you," she teases, sticking her tongue out at him, some of Vidina's childish glee infusing her.

"You're savage today." He acts hurt, "You always get this way when you're all dolled up."

"Dolled up? Are you forty?" she teases. Instead of a comeback, she jolts with pleasure as he laughs, tipsy already.

"Let's play a game," He says. She thinks he's aiming this at Vidina, but he leans closer to her, bumps her shoulder. He points at Shelinda and Vincent, "we take it in turns: pick two people from each table who you reckon are gonna bang at the end of the night."

"What!"

"Look at those two," he points to Vincent, whispering something in Shelinda's ear, as she squirms slightly and a flush creeps up her cheeks.

"Fine," she says, "Me first."

She turns to him, and points discreetly over her shoulder at Lulu and Wakka. He rolls his eyes at her.

"Too easy."

"I wanna win. What am I winning?"

"The best sex of your life," he purrs, whispering it in Al Bhed, children in earshot and all that.

"Gippal!" she slaps him playfully on his arm, and he looks around the room.

"Okay Sarra and-" he spends a long moment considering, "Calli."

"You're good at this," her eyes sparkle with secrecy, "I thought knowing all the gossip would give me an advantage."

Vidina chooses this moment to become restless, tears collecting the in the corner of his eyes.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" she soothes, and he blubs that he needs a wee-wee as he clamps around her neck. She starts to stand.

"I've got this, ya?" Wakka extricates Vidina from her grip, squeezing Rikku's shoulder warmly. Lulu slides into the seat next to them, and is stretching her hand towards Gippal. They have definitely met before, very fleetingly, usually in the whirlwind of a highly publicised event.

"What are you two whispering about?" she asks, her usual composure upon them.

"Ah," Gippal says nervously, "nothing, really."

"We're trying to guess who's gonna get lucky tonight!" Rikku chirps, and quickly explains the rules. Gippal shifts in his seat and thinks he is withering away when Lulu settles her discerning gaze upon him.

"Interesting," she states. Lulu takes the minutest sip from her glass, appraising the pair of them closely. Without even blinking, she turns and points at Elma and Clasko, laughing and blushing at one another respectively.

"Ooh, yes!" Rikku says, then, pointing directly at the newly married couple, "Easy!"

"Refill, please, Gippal." Lulu drily commands. Rikku smirks. Gippal complies, no jest, no protest, just- of course. Rikku giggles at his discomfort.

"You're acting strange." She pokes him in the ribs, and he yells as he almost drops the bottle.

"Watch it, princess."

Lulu smiles then and tells him to relax. The game continues- more and more ridiculous proposals of couples. Rikku almost pushes him out of his chair when he suggests Leblanc and Cid- ew!

"Okay, then, last one," Lulu sighs, spotting Wakka bouncing a restless Vidina on his hip. Lulu downs the champagne remaining in her glass. She makes a show of pondering, then gestures between the two of them.

Maybe the alcohol has weakened their resolve, but neither of them muster the usual amusing rebuttal to the suspicions. Instead a slow flush rises steadily over the pair of them.

"Have fun, you two." Lulu says, swiftly gathering herself up before gliding away to collect her flustered husband- her agitated child- and her son.

"Well, shit," Gippal groans, he collapses his head on to his hands.

"Oh, don't worry, that was Lulu practically giving you permission to marry-" she glances quickly at him as she catches herself. He hasn't noticed.

"Why do all your female friends hate me?" he moans.

"If Lulu hated you, you would know it."

"Is there anyone that doesn't know at this point?" He grumbles. She shoots him an incredulous look.

"Who? Lulu. Literally the most discreet person I know. Oh and Paine…" he trails off when he looks at her incredulously, "she guessed!"

"Tidus saw me walking back from your room yesterday."

"Okay, we're screwed then." She laughs though and knocks her alcohol back. "Is it really that bad, if our friends know that we have a- whatever this is?"

"Easy for you to say. You know half the people in this room will murder me-"

"I warned you." She says. Something somber settles on her face. Then she looks away.

"I should have called. Princess." He murmurs. She notices that she is princess tonight, and it slightly bothers her that he doesn't even try to flirt anymore, seduces her instead with that simple word. Under the table his hand squeezes her thigh.

"Well, work is important," she says, "Forgiven."

"I wanna spend more time together," he starts, sitting again, arm round her shoulder, clumsy kiss to her temple, "when we're back home. No more Djose."

"Home?"

"Luca." He gestures with his free hand, whilst topping up their glasses.

"Gippal, about-"

The room erupts in activity, Cid's voice commanding the attention of all the guests. Cake cutting. They join the other guests clamouring round as the photographer snaps them pre-emptively holding the knife, ready for it sink into the tiered chocolate cake. Tidus licks a dollop of frosting off Yuna's finger. They are parted for the next couple of hours, the hype of the party building in anticipation for the first dance.

Yuna and Tidus collect together on the dancefloor. Calli takes to the small stage. Golden cocktail dress, her trademark glossy long high ponytail. The piano notes begin to ring out, the pang of harpstrings swelling in the room. The lights dim, only torchlight, the warm orange glow, drawing all eyes to the centre of the room.

"The sun is setting, and you're right here by my side," Calli sings, and Yuna and Tidus begin to sway. He holds her waist, and her hands settle tenderly on his cheeks. Inaudibly, he whispers sweetly to her.

"Cause I never knew, I never knew," Calli's gentle, powerful voice carrying delicately over the music, "I could hold moonlight in my hands, til the night I held you."

As the dance is winding up, the restlessness of the guests to partake in dancing builds. Other couples begin to filter on to the dancefloor. Rikku glances around, manages to miss Gippal hooking his hand into the bend of her elbow. He pulls her on to the dancefloor with him, shushing her protests, with the authoritative placement of his hand on her back.

"Wanna dance?" he asks, after the fact.

"Do I have a choice?" she grumbles, but leans in to his touch anyhow.

"I'm hard to resist."

The next song is similarly romantic, slow. She can't hear the lyrics as she frantically tries to avoid catching his eye. This close proximity, so familiar, but unsettling this brazen. So blatantly, innocently, in plain sight, and perhaps the most romantic thing they've done together. She sags with relief when the next song is more jovial, upbeat. They break away from one another, the group of them dancing grows, and the night pulls them away from one another once again. She is dancing, holding hands with Yuna, half jump, half sway to Lucan pop. She is panting, giggling, at the end of the song. A slight heave to her chest, redness builds in her cheeks, and it is time for a break.

She searches the room, and doesn't see him under the muted nightlife lighting. Then she catches Brother and Buddy walking back inside. The smoking area. She crosses that non-existent barrier, inside to outside. Gippal is leaning over the railing of the decking, directing his gaze at the ocean. She sees the pinprick orange glow of his cigarette as he rests his hand down on the beam.

"Hey you." She says. The ocean looks impenetrably deep, turbulently dark in the moonlight. The brush of the waves against the shore is an eerie sound- it draws her attention outward. She shivers.

"Hey." He states. Quiet. Closed.

She slides up close to him, laces two fingers around the cigarette and steals it from him. She releases a messy cloud of smoke, the breeze blows this back into her eyes.

"When do you go?" he asks, uninterested.

She pauses, cigarette half way to her lips. Away from the torchlight, some ethereal barrier between the two of them out here, and the main activity of the wedding, her dress glows almost white, illuminated, ghostly, in the moonlight. Of course he now knows, someone has told him, why wouldn't they? It isn't supposed to be a secret. She formulates her response. He fills the stretching silence.

"Were you gonna say anything?" he asks. He reclaims the cigarette. He flicks the lengthening crust of ash over the barrier into the sand, eyes reverently to the shore. "Or were you just gonna disappear?"

"I-" and it sounds pathetic in the air between them, "I was waiting for the right time."

"You're so impulsive." He mutters. He won't look at her. She is furious.

"What is that even supposed to mean?" she says. He makes no effort to answer "You would know if you'd been here. I-"

"Oh, I see," he shrugs. "You're moving to Bevelle to get back at me. Mature."

"You're the one who hates goodbyes." Her tone is acidic. He glares at her, sombre slant to his mouth, brow furrowed. She knows. He knows. What she is getting at. This large unacknowledged teenage betrayal of his that she neither talks about nor lets go. Complicated, messy. Don't overthink it, she insists, on the countless times she pushes a finger to his lips when he tries to start the conversation. The sex. The fooling around. This intoxicating command she now has over him- that broken part of him that is not allowed to say sorry. The physicality works for her when it is nothing. The physicality works for him because he convinces himself she is his in those brief lustful moments where she holds him in her spotlight.

It works because it's just fun, right? It has no capacity to hurt them, right? Memories are painful, but that's all they are, right?

"Rikku," his resolve melts. He pushes himself away from the railing slightly, glances at the floor, "I don't wanna fight with you."

"Look," she starts, "I'm going to set up a make up label. Six months. Luca isn't going to sink to the bottom of the ocean in that time."

She walks a few steps away, pacing then with some nervousness, and spills the story. Her contract ending. The manufacturers. How she wasn't planning to move, but it would be easier. The opportunity. Rin's plea to raise the public profile of the Al Bhed in Bevelle. She doesn't want to model forever. He nods. It's a good idea. Logically. He knows she can handle it, as impervious as she is to the media attention she attracts, with her refusal to read anything about herself. Then, she makes him promise to come back in and dance. Then, as she turns to walk back in. Irrational. He grabs her hand. She turns, bemused.

"Don't." He says, not meeting her eyes.

"I've already arrange-"

"Stay in Luca."

"What," she closes her eyes, pulls away, looks at her hands as though burned, "What are you asking me?"

"I-" he pauses, as though assessing what she wants him to say, then "I don't know. We were having fun. I want it to continue. What do you want me to say?"

"I can't," she says, cautiously, eyes never leaving his face, gesturing, "do it, like this, anymore."

She stops with a shaky breath. She watches the shift from vulnerable to poise. She is too stubborn. But he should know what she's getting at. He draws himself up. She smiles, laughs at some one-sided joke. His obstinacy. Then, she gathers both of his hands in hers, kissing him chastely on his lips. A minute passes, and he won't look at her. This is how she knows how pissed off he is. She sighs and draws herself up.

"Forget it," she says, "Come back inside."

The difference in the hold teenage Rikku and young woman Rikku has over him catches him off guard. She is princess, tonight, after all, and he caves when she flexes her authority. He wants her, as always. This is the last time for a while. The olive branch of her hand is waiting, and the smouldering eye contact signals that she knows this, too. Guiding him back onto the dancefloor is a small reparation for the missed goodbyes.

"Wait."

Moonlight. Her hair glows silver. He feels the bumps of chill on her arms when he places his hand there. Out here in the dark, this moment, before they walk back into the festivity, this is the moment of farewell. The private one, the one they will remember, not too drunk yet. The music swells like the tide and he pulls her in to dance. Her thumb lightly caresses the pale blue flower wilting on his lapel- the corsage steadily battered from dancing and Vidina earlier.

"You can visit me." She says shyly.

"I'll try." He mutters.

"See. You're not even gonna notice I'm gone."

"Might miss Lana more," he jokes, and she stands on his foot on purpose as they sway in the breeze.

"I'm gonna train her to attack you on sight." she counters. He laughs.

"You know, the cameras caught you and that-" the next word with some distaste, "Blitzer kissing, right?"

She flushes to her hairline.

"I didn't," she confesses, "you know me, I don't check the gossip."

"I actually haven't," he swallows. There is comfort between them but he realises with a jolt that they are not often in the business of being candid, "I haven't actually made any conquests the whole time we've been-"

"I know," she pouts, cheeks still warm, "but neither have I! I was wasted. I barely remember. Leblanc dragged me home before I could embarrass myself anymore. I told you not to-"

"I wanted to see your face."

"Um, I'm on the Commsphere network, dummy."

"Me too, darling."

"You're infuriating."

"You love it."

"Enough of this," she starts to pull him back towards the venue.

Swiftly, he's spinning her back to him. A swoon inducing kiss, bruising in its intensity. Dizzy, she traces her thumb across his lips, magnetised to him helplessly.

"Don't leave here without me." He murmurs, and strides past her back to the light, leaving her shivering in the gentle breeze.

The night ends. She wears his jacket around her shoulders. They are two of the last standing. His sleeves rolled up from the hot work of dancing, arms rippling in the relative chill descending on the beach. Rikku's new trademark, hovering at the outside edges of the party, illegally touting a wine glass. She is playing with her wedding favour. He is leaning, back to the ocean, on the railing, watching her. Last shot. Out here in the dark the sphere emanates its own burst of light to help capture the images. She aims it at him. Cigarette between his lips, hair limp, fuzzy, falling forward from those spikes. He fixes her with a nonchalant eye, smirks anyhow. At some point the top three buttons of his shirt have popped open, and the tendrils of the bow tie peeks from behind the gaping collar. At some point, he has placed the drooping corsage into the mass of curls pinned perfectly still atop her head.

"Come on." He says.

She darts away back into the dining room to place the minisphere in the large bowl where they are being collected. Some poor fool- not Yuna, she hopes distantly- has the unenviable task of collating the stills over the next few days. Gippal hovers by the gaping doorway, the pinprick smoulder of his cigarette now her guiding light. She unceremoniously downs the dregs of the glass in her hand. She walks back to him.

They wander a few hundred yards, fingers interlocked. He pulls her lazily, securely, over the natural mounds and mini dunes of the sand. She childishly pulls him down on to the sand. She insists they sit in the midnight breeze to catch the moonlight frolicking on the waves. She properly dons his jacket. She falls back, arms outstretched. Insistently, she hooks her fingers into where his shirt is rolled at his elbows. He is lying down next to her then. They both stare at endless stars.

"We used to do this at Home." He says. There is a hoarseness to his voice. He blames it on the cigarettes.

"Yeah," she says, "you told me all these bullshit names for the constellations when I was dating that guy who was into astronomy."

"Sabotage."

That startles her into silence. He continues talking after a few moments.

"I should have told you. I regret that I didn't." he says. Rikku swallows, because normally he starts to want to talk about this after sex, and they are too naked, too close to be safe from the fallout. Or worse, when they've drank way too much and are arguing about something. The times when she kisses him to shut him up, or insults him so outlandishly in Al Bhed to make him chase her round the room.

"Why didn't you?" she asks, voice small and insignificant, drowning under the cacophany of the tide.

"You know why."

"I really don't, you know"

"Because I would have stayed," he says simply, "You would have asked me to."

"Don't." but this time it is the threat of tears, a quiver in her voice, "Don't do that. That's not fair."

"And I would have-" that hoarseness returns, briefly, "stayed."

The waves roar, swallowing his words. He knows she's heard because he feels her shift beside him. She curls into him. Instinctively, he knows she is crying- the telltale hitch in her breathing, that perfected silent release he knows she has, because that's the only way to cry in privacy in the cramped quarters of Home. He pulls her into his chest, as his own scant tears fall. A further ten minutes here, and sobriety is gaining on them, bringing a tropical chill with it. She stills- memories pushed back to where they belong.

He carries her back to his room, bridal. He almost swoons with relief as she giggles at the gesture. She traces the features of his face with her fingers, all the while regarding him with a tentative affection. She kisses him roughly, a tinge of an angry greed for him that both hurts and thrills him. He murmurs sorry into her lips, her neck, her ear. He hesitates when she starts to touch him, when the heat starts to build, as she starts to undress him. He is here now and that is enough for her she thinks, distantly.

The echo of their first night of passion in Luca. The slow descent of her zip, the fall of chiffon from her waist, unwrapping her like chocolate. For the last time.

Another endless night. Kissing, talking, exploring each other, committing the map of their passion to memory. Again and again.

The bittersweet dream of passion- this farewell trysts- stretches over the following two days remaining on Besaid. Tight exclusive gravity, liberal with the touches, more daring, skirting around exhibitionist, quick kisses and embraces. They let the lines between friendship and something more blur those hazy, humid, heated days. Giddy on the rush of the end of it- the thrill of this dying potential that they share.

The unwrap each other countless more times. Before it ends.

She stands on the docks and waves dutifully as the ship departs. The solemn wave he gives, slouching over the edge of the ship, cigarette in hand of course. Rikku's sunglasses on to conceal her tears, and it feels like the unsatisfying end to the epic romance she longs for.