69. "You never know when to stop."
"Quistis."
He hates Seifer, and he hates himself. Irvine stands in front of the door, where she can't avoid him. He can't deal with her avoiding him like this--it's been three days.
Quistis ignores him, and punches in the number sequence to unlock her door. Hers. Not theirs.
Irvine decides that he hates himself more than he hates Seifer, and he hates Seifer a lot right now.
"Quist--look."
She twists the handle violently, and shoves the door open.
"Would you just listen to me? For one minute?"
"Sixty seconds, Irvine." Her eyes, ice blue and without a hint of compassion lingering them, watch his every move. Analyze, document, prepare method of attack accordingly. Quistis Trepe, always the soldier.
He was dead, you wanted this, I wanted you, what did you expect?
His head aches. "I'm not losing you to him."
Quistis has had twenty-one years to perfect a cold and deadly silence, and she wields it now like it's a Degenerator spell.
"...You just never know when to quit, do you?" she asks quietly, finally, her words puncturing him--proverbial bullets between the eyes. "It's not your decision." Quistis steps into the room, touching him with her shoulder, an accidental kiss of cloth and skin, the sensation a blistering rush of heat from Irvine's head to his toes.
The door shuts.