A/N: I very highly recommend you all get your hands on a copy of The Rasmus' "SAIL AWAY." It's the best Irvine song ever.
89. "I'm sorry..."
It's Quistis who caves first–it always seems to be her–and she knocks reluctantly on his door. "Seifer," she calls. "Seifer, open the door."
She will never admit to him how much better it makes her feel to just say his name and know that he'll respond to it.
"It's open," he calls from somewhere within, and so she enters, feeling like a stranger even though she's been in this room a thousand times before. Seifer is stretched out on the couch, eyes closed and the television on, some talk show she knows he doesn't care about. "What do you want?" he mutters, his eyes sliding open to reveal faint shards of green.
"I just wanted to see how you were doing."
"Fine." His response is curt and sharp, and tells her in no uncertain terms that he really doesn't want to talk to her.
"Seifer, about at the station..."
"You love him, don't you?" Seifer's never been one to mince words. It isn't the question she was expecting, at least not in that tone, the one that says he's resigned himself to the idea and hates himself for doing so.
"You were dead. What was I supposed to do? Mourn you forever?"
"I don't know." He grasps her hand and this time she lets him. She should at least let him have that before it's all over. "Why him?"
"I'm sorry..." she begins, but he moves faster and suddenly his arms are around her waist and his lips are against hers, and Quistis can't quite remember what she was going to say next.