Eighteen Minutes
Synopsis – It's not about how far you go, it's about how far it feels. For the 2020 Successor Challenge theme "Distance."
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From his dorm to the front entrance, the walk took eighteen minutes, give or take a few seconds.
Not that Squall was timing himself today, it was simply an indelible truth for an average day where his gait wasn't hampered by injury and his pace wasn't interrupted by somebody accosting him to fork over some piece of paper that either had to be stamped or signed within an inch of its life to account for something he forgot to hand in among the mountains of pulp that inevitably crossed his desk on a daily basis.
As his eyes scanned his surroundings for the sight of a rental car in the distance — Rinoa had told him she'd chosen a light blue car because of course she had — he reached for the handle of his large, not-blue suitcase to grip the coarse plastic before coming to the conclusion that it would not sprout wings and fly away.
When nothing caught his eye, he looked back at the front gate. The shift in locus changed nothing – it was still an average sight in front of him with a sparse amount of cadets and SeeDs alike milling about, coming to and fro from the turnstiles. Some formed tight groups along the main thoroughfare to hold conversations, others intent on reaching whatever their destination was with laser-focus precision. A few even caught his gaze and gave him a curt nod out of respect. He had half a mind to nod back even.
Something was off at how normal this was. But what?
'Once a SeeD, always a SeeD,' Dr. Kadowaki had mused aloud to him during the last physical he couldn't weasel his way out of despite the protests of his desk pulp.
How right she was.
He couldn't shut his brain off. It didn't help that his GFs had ended their residency in his grey matter during said exam as part of protocol. Gave his thoughts too much brain real estate to frolic and play around since the repressed trauma hadn't forcibly annexed the land just yet. Needless to say, anxiety was less useful when it wasn't weaponized for life-or-death judgement calls on missions.
Squall absentmindedly gripped the handle for lack of anything remotely constructive to do as he turned to look at the picturesque scenery of nothing once more. No one was close enough to hear the soft sigh underneath his breath.
He was the last person to want any sort of fanfare. If given the choice, this is what he would have chosen.
…And yet it rang hollow.
He was no longer Commander, no longer SeeD even.
And while this was not forced retirement — earning a few scars was more a rite of passage than anything else — or some kind of acrimonious split —he'd asked Cid to step down because it was becoming increasingly more clear that he was outgrowing Garden and besides, there were no shortage of successors thanks to those orphaned by the latest Sorceress War — today had more in common with the mundane sort of discombobulation that occurs with a small schedule change rather than an actual chapter of his life closing.
Then again, as he thought about the more acrimonious splits — Seifer, Raijin, Fujin — the forced retirements — Selphie, Irvine, Zell, Xu — and even those who remained — Quistis, also Xu, Nida — he also realized how little he'd thought about those no longer around if they weren't in his immediate orbit for some contrived reason or another.
Perhaps it was by design that there was no fanfare for escaping this sort of life if so many did not get the luxury of choice.
And perhaps the significance of this ordinary day would catch up with time as he finally spotted Rinoa in the light blue car she had chosen from the rental place roll up, his gaze preoccupied with the big smile and a wave she gave him before she clumsily fiddled around with the parking brake for longer than it should have taken.
Perhaps.