Seifer fought to control his pace as he walked away from Selphie. Selphie, the Messenger Girl from Squad A; the annoyingly optimistic one in Squall's group of . . . friends; a girl from his past—a past he could no longer deny or avoid, it seemed. He could hear her skipping away from him, back towards the orphanage, her steps tapping against the dirt and stones with a lightheartedness he'd always secretly been envious of. Turns out her relentless cheerfulness wasn't actually a constant thing. He wasn't sure whether he found that to be a relief or a disappointment.
When the one person you feel like you've got pegged in your mind turns out to suffer from the same nightmares that you do, what the hell do you do then?
Grunting, he adjusted the scythe on his shoulder—it had started to dig into his muscles a little too much. He headed for the patch of grass that was on the edge of the garden, as he'd originally intended, before accidentally walking in on the kids' afternoon lessons. Hyne, he felt like an idiot for that. It had been so unexpected to see Selphie sitting on a stool and teaching the children basic arithmetic, that he'd frozen in the doorway and stumbled his way through some half-assed apology. He hadn't even bothered to finish it before promptly running away, like some little coward.
With a little more force than necessary, he whacked at the grass that threatened to encroach on the plants, shearing it clean at the base of the stalks. Each swing made his arms ache in a way that was familiar. With a couple more swings, he was completely lost in the motions. Hours passed, and he continued to work until he noticed the world around him was now tinged with shades of burnt orange and rose. Glancing up from his work, he noted how far he'd gotten from his starting point. The briefest hint of disappointment spread through him before he stuck the scythe tip-first into the dirt, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. If he hadn't been so Hynedamned distracted with what had happened over the past day or two, he would've made more progress.
He shook his head at his train of thought; it seemed like he was forever doomed to be a disappointment to himself.
What the fuck ever, he thought bitterly, before yanking the scythe out of the ground and trekking back towards his shed. He was way too old for this shit, and damn it, he'd kill for a cigarette right now. Sadly, he hadn't brought any, and he knew Matron would highly disapprove of him doing it around the kids—or at all, really.
When he was passing the main area of the garden, he glanced up at the orphanage, and a light in the window on the first floor caught his eye. He halted in place, transfixed by the sight before him. Selphie was standing in the kitchen with Cid and Edea, laughing so hard at something that tears were streaming down her face. With a wide smile, she reached up and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, much like he'd done earlier with his sweat after finishing his work. Except, there was a stark difference in their situations and in their expressions, and he was struck with the realization that, yet again, he was somehow on the sidelines.
Inside, they were the perfect picture of a true family, a family that included acceptance, forgiveness, happiness. He, the child who always strove to be the best, and yet, always seemed to fail, had always been on the perimeter of that dynamic. All throughout his childhood and his time at Garden, he constantly fought to remain in that number one spot—the most important spot—regardless of whether it had to do with family dynamics, the Discipline Committee, the field exam results—anything. Yet, even now as a full-grown man, he was still standing on the outside.
In reflex, he gritted his teeth and his grip on the handle of the scythe tightened. As he was glaring into the window, Selphie happened to glance out and their eyes locked. Part of him desperately wanted her to wave him inside, to include him like no one had in the past, but he knew that would never happen, not this soon, and he was almost relieved when she just nodded in greeting.
He returned the gesture before continuing on his way. Once he was back in his shed, he hung up the scythe in the tool closet and slid the door shut before heading into the bathroom. Prior to showing up at the orphanage, he really only showered once a day, but physical labor did disgusting things to human beings, and he couldn't stand being soaked in sweat.
His shower was quick, but by the time he got out and dressed again, the sun had already sunk below the mountains. The thought of calling it a night appealed to him, but there was a lingering sense of restlessness in him, and he knew if he tried to lay down now, he'd only end up tossing and turning for the next few hours. Going back to the main house sounded like a terrible idea, since he knew Selphie was still awake. That left either the flower field, which apparently was no longer safe, or the beach, which was also no longer safe. There was a fifty-fifty chance of running into her in all three locations.
Frustrated, and feeling like he'd been backed into a corner, he ran his hands through his still-damp hair with a short sigh. In the back of his mind, he vaguely remembered agreeing not to run away anymore. That was close enough to a promise, something he rarely, if ever, made. He let out another groan, knowing that now he had no choice but to stick to his words and live with the consequences, regardless of what they might end up being.
Without warning, his stomach let out a loud growl, and he sighed as he shook his head. Apparently, his choice had been made for him.
With less than enthusiastic steps, he headed towards the orphanage. When the window that he'd seen Selphie in earlier came into view, now dark and empty, he let out a sigh of relief that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He may have promised not to run away, but that sure as hell didn't mean he had to be excited for their little "talks".
As quietly as possible, he let himself in the back door and beelined for the kitchen. Matron always made sure to save him a portion of their dinner that night if he didn't make it in to join them—which was practically all the time. It wasn't that he intentionally avoided the dinner table. It just seemed like he had way too much work to get done to quit mid-evening; he had no problem with eating later at night when everyone had gone to sleep.
He opened the fridge, eagerly scanning the shelves for his bowl. After shifting around some items on the top shelf, he finally found it. There, in its usual back, far corner, sat a bright aqua bowl labeled, "Seifer".
With something akin to a smile teasing at the corner of his lips, he moved to pull it out of the fridge. That was when the overhead light flipped on, surprising him, and he banged his head on the freezer door when he went to bolt upright.
"Fuckin' Hyne!" he cursed, backing up a little bit before he attempted to straighten again. He turned around as he rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, ready to rail at one of the kids. Instead of a child, he saw Matron standing in the doorway with an amused expression.
"Oh . . . Matron. I, uh—" He broke off and cleared his throat. An apology seemed strangely insignificant, so instead, he lifted the bowl in his hand and said, "I got hungry."
"I figured you would. You always do," she replied with a smile as she glided into the kitchen.
"Yeah, I guess so," he mumbled, picking at the edge of the plastic covering the bowl.
"Are you going to warm it up?"
"What?" he asked, looking up sharply at her.
She pointed at the bowl in his hand. "Are you going to warm your food?"
"Oh, uh, no. I'll just . . . I can eat it cold. The shed doesn't have a kitchen or anything."
"No, but we do have a microwave over there," Matron said, pointing at the small table beside the fridge.
Seifer whirled around, and when he saw the compact white microwave resting on the tiny mobile island, he groaned inwardly. How had he missed it? "I guess I can warm it up," he muttered in concession.
"It would taste better." She pulled out a chair and gracefully sank down into it, looking like joining him for a midnight snack was the most natural thing in the world.
Avoiding her eyes, he placed the bowl, sans plastic, in the microwave and pressed the "Quick Minute" button. Instead of facing her, he stood there and watched his bowl spin around and around, feeling like an awkward teenager who was in trouble with their mother. It was stupid, and Hyne did he know it. It had been ten years. One would think he would be well over it—the past—but every time he saw Matron's face, he was flooded with guilt.
She seemed to understand because she didn't say anything the entire minute his food was warming up. Finally, when the timer on the microwave showed one second left, he hastily opened the door and pulled his food out. Left with no other choice, he made his way to the table where Matron was sitting and lowered himself into the chair opposite from her as gingerly as he could; it was difficult with how large his frame was.
Even as an eighteen-year-old, he'd been tall—six-foot-two, to be precise. In his early twenties, he hadn't grown much more, topping out at six-foot-three. However, he'd widened considerably. In his youth, he'd technically been more on the lean side, but with more upper body mass than most because of the way he wielded his gunblade. Ten years later, a still-active lifestyle did wonders for his physique, and he now clocked in at roughly 200 pounds of pure muscle. It was nice to not have a beer gut and an addiction to donuts, or whatever, but it made fitting into small chairs a bit . . . troublesome.
He shifted in his seat, slightly uncomfortable, and Matron rested her folded hands in her lap as she watched him try to adjust. Eventually, he felt settled and moved to dig into his food, only to realize he'd forgotten to grab a utensil. With a knowing smile, she rose from her chair and returned momentarily with a fork in hand.
Muttering his thanks, he started to eat, trying not to feel her eyes on him. He knew that she wasn't trying to scrutinize him—Matron never scrutinized anyone out of anything other than concern—but he couldn't help but feel like it was years in the past, when he'd failed in some task she'd given him, however small it might've seemed. They sat there in silence, him eating methodically, and her watching him with a tiny smile on her lips.
"I take it you've spoken with Selphie."
The sound of Matron's voice jerked him out of his self-imposed silence, and he choked on his food. He coughed, hard, trying to dislodge some of the food that had gotten stuck in his throat when he'd inhaled. "W-What?"
"Selphie. She's been here for quite some time," Matron noted, smoothing her dress along her thighs. "I take it you two have spoken at least once by now."
Seifer lowered his hand onto the table, fork still grasped tightly in his hand. A few seconds passed before he said, "You could say that."
Matron raised her eyes, and when she met Seifer's gaze, he felt frozen in place. Not because he felt like she was trying to manipulate him, or compel him to do anything. For once, the feeling of being sucked into their depths, into infinite pools of liquid gold, was absent; her eyes stayed brown as he held her gaze. No, he couldn't look away from the staggering amount of hope and absolute faith that he saw.
He could count on one hand how many times people had looked at him like that. How was it that, even ten years later, after all they'd been through, that Matron could still look at him that way? It was difficult to feel anything other than completely dumbfounded.
"She's struggling too, Seifer. She has been since the war. Most people don't notice, because she's so very good at keeping up pretenses. But inside, I know that she's every bit as haunted by the past as you yourself are."
With a deep sigh, he leaned back in his chair. His appetite was gone now and he laid his fork down on the table, his food forgotten. In a quiet voice, one almost impossible to hear, he murmured, "I know."
Silence filled the room again. The only sound was the slight hum of the refrigerator behind him. Eventually, Matron sat up and propped her elbows on the table so that she could lean forward to look into his face. He couldn't ignore her forever, or even a little while, really, so he turned back and locked eyes with her again.
A gentle smile spread across her face. "It isn't a coincidence that you are here at the same time. I truly believe—" She reached out and placed her hand over his, and her touch was cooler than he'd anticipated. "—that there is no one better to help the both of you than each other."
Part of him wanted to pull his hand away, but he knew that would likely hurt her feelings, so he left it where it was. A few seconds later, as if she knew exactly what he'd been thinking, Matron pulled away herself and rose from her chair. "You help people more than you think you do, or can, Seifer. Talk to Selphie. The two of you are more similar than either of you realize."
All he did was nod in response. She brushed past him and paused to lay her hand on his shoulder ever-so-briefly. Then she was gone.
Four days later.
"Hyne, I hate the desert," Seifer muttered under his breath as he wiped the sweat from his brow for the fifth time that morning.
This was the worst year that he'd spent at the orphanage thus far over the entirety of the past decade. Contrary to what he'd initially thought, it had nothing to do with the added company or the amount of kids—which was more than past years, too. No, it had to do with what little Cid had done since Seifer had last been here.
Ever since he'd arrived, he'd been playing catch-up. First, the garden and the field. Now, it was the roof. He'd only been gone a year. How was it that the roof needed this much work already?
Grumbling under his breath, Seifer pulled the next roof shingle out of the box and laid it in place. Apparently, there had been a larger amount of storms this past year than ever before, and a few of the shingles on the edges of the roof had started to peel up. They shouldn't have, since Seifer and Cid had installed the shingles themselves when they'd built the second floor, but yet, here he was.
When he had the hammer raised, ready to pound the nail into place, a voice called out to him from below.
"Hey! Mr. Monster Hunter!"
Seifer halted in mid-swing, before letting out the world's longest, deepest sigh. He liked children—really, he did. Or at least, that's what he kept telling himself as he lowered the hammer into his lap.
"What, kid?" Seifer shouted back, peering over the edge of the roof at a boy with chestnut brown hair, who looked to be about ten or so. Then again, he wasn't entirely sure. He wasn't an expert when it came to guessing the age of kids he rarely saw.
"Matron says you should come down and get a drink, because it's super hot outside today!" the boy said, cupping his hands so that his little voice would carry more.
"What the hell?" Seifer mumbled, confused.
Yes, it was hot today, but Matron rarely interrupted him because she knew he preferred to work and take breaks at his own pace. In addition to that, since when did these kids find the guts to talk to him? Before this week, they'd all given him a wide—a very wide—berth. In the past decade, they'd only spoken to him maybe three times, and that was usually because they dared one another to approach the "big scary Galbadian murderer". Never had one of the children approached him out of the goodness of their hearts, and never before had Matron asked one of them to.
Chalking it up to yet another dare, Seifer finally waved his hand at the kid, though it was more of a shooing gesture than anything else. "Okay, whatever, kid. Thanks."
For some reason, Seifer's words caused the kid to freeze in place, his eyes wide like he'd seen a ghost. When Seifer peeked over the edge again, the kid scrambled back inside without a backward—or rather, upward—glance.
He chuckled to himself. Definitely another dare. "Little punks," he said under his breath, though it was without malice.
After he finished nailing the shingle into place, he shifted along the roof to the next one that needed attention. It didn't take long for him to get back into his prior rhythm. It was strange, the contrast between the things that caused his mind to race and the things that kept it calm. Being idle had always been the number one culprit of his anxiety, but for whatever reason, the tasks that could qualify as "mind-numbing work" kept his thoughts quiet. Maybe it was the rhythm itself that filled the empty space in his brain, the constant thump-thump-thump that prevented his self-doubts and insecurities from creeping in.
Whatever it was, he'd take it.
A few hours later, he drove the final nail into the final shingle. His back popped uncomfortably when he straightened, and he pressed the heel of his palm into his spine with a grimace. He knew he always referred to himself as old, but Hynedamnit, he wasn't actually that old. It was far too soon for him to be feeling aches and pains.
Like a crab, he shuffled back towards the ladder that he'd propped against the roof. With his tool crate hanging from his wrist, he climbed back down and hopped off onto the dirt. Seifer jumped when he glanced over and spotted Matron in the doorway; he hadn't even heard her come out.
She was holding a tray in her hand and when she saw that he'd seen her, she lifted it slightly. A pitcher and a single glass of lemonade were on the tray. "You've been working since before noon, Seifer. You should drink something."
Huh, I guess the kid wasn't playin' a prank.
Here she was, concerned for his well-being as always. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Nah, I'm okay. I've got water back at the shed." The kids were always in the house at this time of the day for their lessons, which meant loudness and running, and company . . . which meant Selphie.
Damn it, why does it always seem like I'm runnin' away?
A frown flashed across Matron's face. Clearly, she was not a fan of that suggestion. "I know that Cid wasn't able to install air-conditioning in the shed just yet . . . You couldn't possibly wish to return there in this heat."
"I'll be fine. Can't be any worse than outside," he said as he gestured behind him towards the gardens. He'd been outside in the middle of the day, every single day since he'd arrived.
Matron lowered the tray a bit so that it rested just in front of her hips. "Seifer . . . please come inside. At least take a short break. I worry about you working through the heat and the exposure. We are still in Centra, as much as it seems like we aren't, thanks to your hard work with the garden and whatnot."
Inwardly, Seifer groaned. She was using her tone again. He knew that she didn't do it on purpose to get her way, but it ended up happening anyway because whoever she was using it on knew that she did it out of love and concern. It was a strange cycle that occurred due to a mixture of guilt and mutual affection.
He let out the quietest curse he could before lifting the crate on his wrist. "Let me drop this off and take a quick shower. I'll be back in a few."
Matron's frown morphed into a genuine smile, and she nodded before turning around and heading back inside. Seifer watched her leave, and when the door shut behind her, he shook his head.
Can't believe she still manages to do that to me, he thought wryly as he traipsed back to the shed.
Without bothering to put the tools away—he just tossed the crate down onto the ground in front of the closet—he quickly showered and dressed in fresh clothes. Twenty minutes later, he headed back up to the main house.
When he let himself in the back door, he could hear Cid's voice drifting down the hallway from the classroom. It sounded like he was reading the kids a story. All of the reasons that made the old man a terrible headmaster did make him a surprisingly good teacher: he was patient, had a captivating, warm voice, and he had the sort of face that encouraged kids to trust him.
Seifer chuckled under his breath when he realized that the description of Cid he'd just come up with could easily be used to describe a kidnapper, or a molester. Anyone who knew Cid knew that couldn't be farther from the truth, but on first glance . . . well.
The tray of lemonade that Matron had been holding earlier was now resting on the counter. He ambled over to it, hand outstretched, ready to grab a glass, when someone burst through the doorway and smacked right into his back. He stumbled forward with a curse, catching himself on the lip of the counter before turning around to glare at the offender.
He'd expected to see one of the children, but again, he was proven wrong. It was Selphie who bounced back onto her heels with her arm thrown out for balance. When she glanced up, mouth open and ready to apologize, she closed it with a snap when she saw that it was Seifer she'd run into.
"Oh . . . it's you. Heh, sorry, I was . . . kind of in a rush," she admitted with an awkward half-grimace, half-maniacal grin.
"I noticed," Seifer deadpanned, turning around to grab the glass of lemonade that he'd come in for.
"Wait!"
He paused, his fingers just barely touching the glass; the condensation from the ice just barely dampened his fingertips. With an annoyed sigh, he faced her again. "What?"
"I was going to take the tray into the classroom. You know, for the kids? They get thirsty. If you take one, I won't have enough glasses for everyone else."
What the hell . . . is she serious? He stood there, blinking down at her in bewilderment. Slowly, because he still couldn't believe that was the excuse she'd settled on, he raised his arm and pointed at the curio across the room. "Did you not see the extra glasses over there?"
Selphie waved her hand through the air, dismissing his response. "I'm not talking about the glasses, but like, the actual lemonade. If you take that glass, there's less in the pitcher for the kids! You wouldn't steal lemonade from a kid, would you?"
She clasped her hands behind her back and stared up at him with hopeful doe eyes. Instead of responding, Seifer crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the sweat on the back of his neck and along his spine cool to an uncomfortable tackiness. When she didn't stop, just continued to bat her eyelashes at him, he dropped his arms with a sharp exhale.
"Take your damn lemonade."
"Wow, I didn't think puppy eyes would work on you," she commented, moving around him to grab the tray. It didn't slip his notice that she kept enough space between them so that nothing on their bodies touched.
"It didn't. I just don't want to deal with it." He turned away from her and made his way to the refrigerator, hoping there'd be water in there. At this point, every swallow he took felt like sandpaper grating against the soft tissue of his throat, and he'd take anything that was available.
"Ha ha! You mean, deal with me?"
Seifer stuck his head into the fridge, both to find a drink, and to imply that he was one-hundred percent finished with the conversation. He heard Selphie laugh before her light footsteps skipped out of the room, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Again, he wasn't running away—he'd talked to her, hadn't he?—but there was something about her that had always made him feel slightly uncomfortable. He never knew what to say to her.
He found a pitcher of water towards the back of the fridge, and after pulling it out, he poured himself a glass. Feeling slightly claustrophobic in the kitchen, he wandered out into the hall with his glass of water in hand. A landscape painting on the wall caught his eye, and he ambled over to it. It was a painting of rolling waves, though whether it was the beach down the hill or the beach in Balamb, he wasn't entirely sure.
As he was studying the strokes, an airy voice filtered down the hall, and he realized Selphie was speaking to the kids now instead of Cid. The last time he'd heard her teaching a lesson was a few days ago when he'd mistakenly barged into the room and interrupted her. Curious, he quietly made his way to the classroom and peered around the doorframe.
Selphie's back was facing him, and she was holding out a small chalkboard in front of the children. Every time she spoke, she wrote something new on the board, and the kids would nod, eyes wide and eager for knowledge.
Seifer stood in the doorway, watching her as she taught. It seemed like her boundless energy and optimism wasn't excluded from her teaching style, because every time she made a point, she'd wave her arms in the air for emphasis, voice rife with drama. Finally, when she finished whatever lesson she'd been working on, she handed the chalkboard to someone sitting beside her.
His gaze followed her motions, and he did a double-take when he realized that the person was neither Matron nor Cid. Who the hell . . . ?
Selphie clapped her hands—pulling his attention back to her—and sprang to her feet. "Okay! That's it for today, guys! Go play!"
All of the kids bounced up and instantly, the noise level in the room increased tenfold. Seifer cringed and slid back from the doorway to make room for the herd, and they all sprinted past him without even glancing in his direction—much to his surprise. The kid from earlier must've spread the word that, no, he wasn't a monster-human hybrid or a murderer, just a guy who fixed the roof from time to time. Such evidence would definitely lower his mysterious quality, he thought to himself with a scoff.
Without warning, Selphie about-faced and darted into the hall after the kids. When she saw him standing there, she pulled back abruptly, staring up at him with wide eyes. "Woah! Who just creeps in the doorway like that?" she exclaimed.
"I wasn't creeping," Seifer said with a shrug. "I was watching your lesson, and then you ran out into the hall. Maybe you should think about slowing down once in awhile, since you keep running into people."
"Ha ha . . ." She trailed off, glancing away before looking up at him again. "Nah, what's the point?"
Confused, he raised an eyebrow at her. "The point of what? Slowing down?"
She waved her hand in the air and brushed past him—he assumed she was heading outside to supervise the kids during their recess. He turned, watching her disappear out the door before facing forward again. To his surprise, there was someone standing right in front of him.
The guy had a similar haircut to Squall's—or at least, what it had looked like ten years ago when he'd last seen his former rival—but it was a tad bit shorter. It wasn't often that he met people who were close to his height, and he pegged the guy at around 5'10" or so.
"Hey Seifer," the man said with a small wave of acknowledgment.
Seifer furrowed his brows at the guy, and he cringed ever-so-slightly at the hostility in Seifer's eyes. Intentional or not, people always seemed to think he was being hostile towards them. The way the man had said his name indicated a level of familiarity that, unfortunately, Seifer didn't reciprocate. He racked his brain, trying to remember whether he'd met him before in passing. A few seconds passed and nothing popped up.
"Do I know you?" Seifer asked, leaning against the stone wall.
The man's face fell. "I'm Nida! We . . . we went to Garden together . . .?"
Garden? Nida? What the fuck kind of name is Nida?
Instead of voicing his thoughts, Seifer just shook his head. "Sorry, not ringing a bell. Don't think we've met."
"No, we—" Nida broke off and let out the tiniest of sighs. "Never mind. I, uh, I'm glad you've been doing well and all. It was nice to see you," he added, before following Selphie outside.
"Sure," Seifer mumbled, hunching his shoulders so that Nida wouldn't bump into him.
Once Nida walked out the door, Seifer turned around and stared out the open doorway at the view. How was it that Selphie always seemed to find time to be down at the beach? With that thought, he shook his head and headed outside as well. Instead of following the group down to the beach, though, he hung a left and walked back to his shed. The second he opened the door, a wall of heat swept forward and slapped him in the face. He reeled back, hand still on the doorknob.
"Holy Hyne!" Was the shed always this hot in the middle of the day? Granted, he'd never been in it in the afternoon except for to take quick showers, but there was no way in hell he was going to sit inside in the sweltering heat now. No wonder Matron had wanted him to follow her into the main house so badly.
Unfortunately, he'd done all he could as far as tasks went. The garden and the grass were finally groomed back to his high standards, and the roof was now repaired. Cid hadn't mentioned anything else that needed his attention, so what the hell was he supposed to do with the rest of the day?
A vague memory of Cid and Matron mentioning that they had a small library popped into his thoughts, and he trekked back up to the orphanage with the intent of asking them about it. At least it was cool inside the main house.
Once he was back inside, he traipsed down the hall, wondering where exactly the library was. He'd never actually seen it, and he'd also never asked Cid or Matron about it. A quick glance at his phone revealed that it was just after two, and he knew that Matron often took naps throughout the afternoon to bypass the heat. He didn't want to wake her for such a stupid question, so he shrugged and figured he'd explore, find it on his own.
The kitchen was in the first room to his left, and he knew there were no other exits there. The next door led to the classroom, which was just a simple square room, not nearly large enough for a tacked-on library. That left two other rooms: the new, larger room that the kids slept in, and the room that used to belong to the original orphanage gang, all those years ago.
Obviously it wasn't the bedroom, so he made his way through the main room to their old space on the opposite side of the orphanage. Lo and behold, he'd found the library. As soon as he opened the door, the musty smell of old parchment and leather swirled into his nostrils. He took a deep breath, reveling in the familiar, but long since enjoyed, scent.
Contrary to what people often thought about him, he liked to read. Fantasy novels were his favorite, but he was always game for any sort of well-written story with a good plot, and well-developed characters. He enjoyed being sucked into another universe, seeing the world from a different person's eyes. It was reading boring, dry textbooks that he'd never enjoyed—hence why he always failed the written exam. He didn't have the patience for poring over definitions and examples, but creative writing was something else entirely. It amazed him that people found the words and inspiration to create something so captivating and real out of absolutely nothing.
Slowly, he paced around the room, inspecting the spines of the volumes for something that piqued his interest. When he reached the last bookshelf, just beside the window that overlooked the beach, he read the title of a book that made him freeze in place.
. . . The Sorceress' Knight . . .
With arms that felt like lead, he pulled the volume from the shelf and let it fall open in his hand. It had been years since he'd first read this book—twenty-two, to be precise—and he never thought he'd see it again, let alone hold it again. In fact, he was sure it was the exact same copy that had inspired his dreams as a kid, in this very house.
When the book had been adapted into film, he'd watched that thing nearly every single night for years. It had been his favorite movie for a long, long time—no matter how ridiculous people found the main character.
Aeons ago, powerful beings called 'sorceresses' held power in the world. Descendents of Hyne, these daughters of magic often fought side-by-side with their faithful 'knights', sworn to loyalty by ties stronger than any in existence thus far . . .
Seifer ambled over to the leather armchair below the window and sank down into it with his nose still buried in the volume. Though it had been years since he'd last read these words, it all came rushing back to him as if only days had gone by. Within minutes, he was fully immersed in the world of sorceresses, wars, and magical abilities beyond any modern, normal human being's comprehension.
Memories came hand-in-hand with the imagery in the book, and he felt his fist clenching involuntarily, over and over as he read. He remembered the burning fire that coursed through his veins when Matron had been possessed by Ultimecia. Such power, such control that he'd never had before in his life, and never again since those days. He remembered the sensation of rising above his peers and the rest of the world, of looking out on the crowd in Deling; every single person there had looked up at him with awe and reverence in their eyes. He had been glory personified.
Now what was he? Who was he? Nothing more than a glorified handyman, a loose end that was kicked out to the curb, never to be claimed by anyone after all was said and done.
He hadn't even realized he'd risen to his feet, fingers holding onto the volume so tightly that his knuckles were white. A light breeze drifted in through the open window, ruffling the sheer curtains that flanked the view, and the ends of Seifer's hair. He turned away from the outside, hunching over the novel in his hands, his brows drawn so tight that the muscles in his forehead were starting to ache—not that he noticed.
The sound of soft footsteps entering the room barely registered in his mind. When slender fingers came into his view, blocking the words on the page, he reeled back, pulling away from the intruder to his thoughts.
Matron stood before him, a concerned expression on her face. Gently, she pulled the book from his hands. All of the fierce energy that had been boiling under his skin prior to her appearance dissipated into nothing, as if it had never existed. He let go of the novel, his gaze dropping to the floor as his hands fell to his sides.
"Are you all right, Seifer?" Matron whispered.
"I'm fine," he snapped, turning away to run his hands through his hair. A shaky exhale escaped him as he looked out the window, realizing it was just before sundown.
Matron didn't speak again, but instead, laid her hand on his forearm. Reluctantly, he faced her again. Her expression sent a sharp spike of pain lancing through him. He didn't deserve her concern or her love. He didn't deserve anything but what he'd gotten thus far: loneliness, self-apathy, worthlessness.
When Seifer looked away once more, in a quiet voice, Matron asked, "I was wondering if . . . you could do me a favor?"
Unable to form any more words, he simply nodded. She held out her hand and when he looked down, he saw that she was holding out a small, white, squeezable bottle. Confused, he glanced back up.
"Could you take this to Selphie? She's been down on the beach since earlier this afternoon, and I know how terrible she is at remembering to put sunblock on. This much exposure isn't good for her skin."
"Uh . . ." He trailed off, before reaching up and taking the bottle from her. "Sure."
She offered a gentle, knowing smile. "Thank you, Seifer."
Again, he nodded, before stepping around her and heading down the hall for the back patio. Listlessly, he trekked down the hill towards the beach, and the sound of the waves cresting on the shore increased as he got closer.
Up ahead, Selphie was lying on a towel that she'd spread out on top of the sand, watching the kids as they splashed about in the water. She was wearing an oversized sunhat which, in his opinion, looked downright ridiculous. It was nearly triple the size of her head. He noted that there were no shoes resting beside the towel. Offhand, he wondered whether she'd left them at the house out of convenience, or because of what had happened the last time she'd brought shoes with her.
Did people really feel that uncomfortable with him doing favors for them?
As he trudged through the sand, he had to work extra hard to lift his feet with each subsequent step. He still had a ways to go to reach Selphie, so with a grunt, he leaned down and unlaced his boots. After stuffing his socks into them, he placed them against the cliff face and continued on down the beach, now barefoot. Sand was strangely effective in masking the sound of his footsteps. By the time he reached Selphie, she still hadn't turned around.
"Hey," he called out, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his pants.
She jumped a little before glancing over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were blocked by bug-eye sunglasses, but when she realized it was Seifer standing behind her, she tilted them down to stare up at him.
"Well, well, well! Look who decided to join us! Come to swim with some sharks?" Her lips quirked upwards in a teasing smile.
He cringed. "No. Matron told me to come down and give this to you." He tossed the sunblock onto the sand at her side, before turning away to head back up the beach.
"Hey, wait!"
Why did it seem like she was always asking him to wait? He sighed as he faced her again. "What?" he drew out, making sure his exasperation was audible in every letter of the word.
"You didn't really think I'd let the kids swim if there were sharks, did you? Geez! You really can join us, you know."
"I'm good," he replied, turning away again.
"Oh, maybe you're afraid of the water. Totally get that. It is pretty freaky, being bottomless and all. But the kids don't seem to mind it . . ." She trailed off, and Seifer halted in mid-step, his hackles raised.
What the hell is she getting at?
Slowly, he turned back around. When their eyes met, he saw the sparkle in hers and knew she'd baited him. There was no way he could walk away now, not after she'd insinuated that he was some sort of . . . of pussy that was afraid of getting into the water. Not when there were eight-year-olds in there, and he wasn't.
"Maybe a swim does sound nice."
"Oh yeah? You, uh, gonna swim in your cargo pants and your work shirt?"
" . . . No."
"Do you even own a swimsuit?"
" . . . No."
Selphie waggled her eyebrows at him before lifting her sunglasses back into place. Every inch of her expression reeked of success, and it set his nerves on end. From between clenched teeth, he said, "I can just . . . swim in . . . ugh!"
He was a twenty-eight-year-old man, for Hyne's sake. Why did he feel so . . . so dirty saying the word "underwear" to Selphie, of all people?
When she turned back to him, she pointedly looked down at the lower half of his body before looking back up at his face. "Your—" She cupped her hand around her mouth, and in a dramatic whisper, finished, "—underwear?"
Fuck. Fuck! His face felt flushed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd blushed like a teenager. "Yeah. That," he murmured, looking away as he scratched at his stubble.
After all that, after all of her teasing, all she did in response was shrug. "Yeah, that's not that weird. People do it all the time. Go for it."
What the actual—. He broke off his own thought with a groan. "Why aren't you in the water?"
"I was before. The sun got too hot on my shoulders. Why, do you need moral support?" she quipped.
"Uh, no. I'm fine." He moved past her and pulled his shirt over his head before tossing it onto the sand. He tucked his fingers under his waistband, but right before he moved to push his pants down, he hesitated. Was he seriously feeling awkward about undressing in front of Selphie? Not the kids, but Selphie?
With a mental "fuck it", he went ahead and did it anyway, kicking his pants aside once he was done. To his surprise, she stayed quiet behind him. Much to his chagrin, he couldn't find the guts to look back at her to find out why. He'd chosen to commit to this, to prove her lighthearted ribbing wrong, so by Hyne, he'd get in that damned water.
After a quick roll of his shoulders, he beelined for the shore. All of the kids turned to stare at him when he dove in, but by the time he surfaced, they'd already gone back to playing with . . . what was his name again?
Seifer hadn't even realized he'd been in the water the entire time. While he was watching the kids soak the other guy, nearly swamping the poor soul, he heard another loud splash to his side. The aftermath of whatever had caused the splash splattered against his cheek, and he turned back towards the beach.
Selphie was no longer on her towel; she'd apparently jumped into the water after him—a cannonball, judging by the volume of water that had hit him. Oddly enough, she never surfaced, and Seifer paddled around in a circle, keeping an eye out for a brown blob. She wasn't stupid, and he couldn't have imagined that she'd jump into the ocean without knowing how to swim. Plus, she'd said earlier that she had been in the water. So where was she?
Something tickled the back of his calf, and he kicked his foot, trying to get away from it. Seaweed wasn't uncommon this close to the shore. When it brushed against his other leg, he mumbled, "What the hell?"
Out of nowhere, his leg was yanked down and he sputtered as he slipped beneath the surface. Frantically, he pushed himself back up and gasped for air, swiping the back of his hand across his eyes. "Fuckin' Hyne!" he exclaimed.
One of the kids gasped at his language, but it was quickly drowned out by peals of laughter coming from the beach, slightly off in the distance. He quickly spun around and saw Selphie, bowed over, pounding her fist against the sand. When he realized what had happened, and the rest of the kids started laughing, he glared in her direction.
With quick strokes, he swam back to the beach. As soon as his feet touched the bottom, he stomped over to Selphie. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I'm sorry! I just . . . you really thought . . . there were sharks . . . didn't you?" Her words were interspersed with bouts of hysterical laughter.
He stood there with his hands on his hips as he seethed, his chest heaving with deep breaths. Eventually, he bent over and swiped his clothing from the sand before stalking up the hill and back towards the house. He didn't even bother to grab his shoes.
When he got back to the shed, he threw open the door and tossed his clothes onto the couch. He wasn't entirely sure why he was so angry. Yes, she'd made him look like an absolute fool, but . . . there was a small part of him, deep, deep down, that questioned whether he'd actually been having fun.
When was the last time he'd felt that way?
The sun was now setting, and the interior of the shed was bathed in shades of auburn and ochre. It was still warm inside, but it was nowhere near as stifling as it had been earlier. He was still pacing around the room with his hands on his hips when Selphie's voice called out to him from the doorway. As he was turning around, something thudded against the wood floors.
"Hey, you left these."
He glanced down at the object she'd tossed to the ground—his boots that he'd left behind in his haste. Instead of walking over to pick them up, he looked back up at her. Without an invitation, she sauntered into the shed, glancing around. "Wow, Cid really outdid himself, huh?"
"I guess."
"I dunno, this is a pretty nice shack."
"It sounds so much shittier when you call it that," he noted.
"Well, I mean, it is technically a shack . . ."
He narrowed his eyes at her and she shrugged unapologetically before spinning around. "Anyway, just wanted to bring you your shoes. The tide probably would've washed them away overnight, and you know, sharks eat anything and everything. I was saving them a suuuper bad stomachache by bringing them to you."
"Uh, yeah, thanks." Is she being serious?
She stepped over his boots, before about-facing again. "Hey, when's your birthday?"
What? How the hell does anyone have a conversation with her? She's all over the place. "In December. Why?"
"Oh, cool. Mine's in a week."
"O . . . kay . . .?" Really, it made sense. For someone who had such a bubbly personality, how could she not be born in the summer, of all seasons? Why she was telling him, though, he had no clue.
"So, technically, we're the same age for like, a few months!"
"If your birthday is in July and mine is in December, then, no. We're not the same age."
"But for six months we are."
" I'm . . . still gonna go with a no on that one."
"Man, has anyone ever told you you're a party pooper?" she asked as she crossed over the threshold.
Under his breath, he mumbled, "Yeah, a lot of people, actually."
As planned, she didn't hear what he'd said, but much to his surprise, she still turned back around. "If I throw a birthday party, will you come?"
He lowered his brows. "Who the fuck throws a birthday party for themselves?"
"Cool people."
"When is this supposed birthday party?" he asked, finally trekking across the room to pick up his boots.
"Duh, on my birthday. When else would it be?"
"Do I look like I know when your birthday is?" Even if he didn't outright ask her, he knew she'd tell him anyway. As he waited for her response, he set his boots against the wall beside the tool closet.
"It's the 16th. So now you're not ever gonna forget it, right?" She pointed at him with her eyes squinted.
"Sure, sure. And no, I'm leaving in the next few days."
The room stayed silent, but he didn't turn around to look at her so he wasn't sure whether she was even still standing there. As he was taking mental inventory of the tools on the wall, he heard her scuffling back into the shed again. Surprised, he looked over at the doorway where she was now standing.
In a quiet voice, with her hands behind her back, she asked, "You're leaving that soon?"
"Why the hell else would I stick around? The garden's fine now, the grass is trimmed, the roof is fixed. I've got nothing else to do."
"Well . . . I just thought—" She broke off and glanced down briefly before meeting his eyes again. "I don't know what I thought, heh."
Unsure of what to say, and unsure of what to think about her reaction, Seifer crossed his arms over his bare chest as he stared at her. Water dripped from the hem of his boxer shorts and pooled between his toes. The entire time he was looking at her, she pointedly avoided his gaze. Eventually, she pivoted on her heel and skipped back outside.
She faced him again with her arms spread out wide. "Sucks to be you, then! You're gonna miss the best party in the entire existence of the world!"
"Yeah? I'll bet," he deadpanned.
Selphie's face broke out into a lopsided grin, and after she spun around once, she tucked her hands behind her back again. "You know . . . even though I—Our first night was rough, and that sucked. But . . . it was good to see you again . . . Seifer."
Every time he heard his name coming out of her mouth, he felt . . . like the absolute worst sack of shit. He knew what he'd done to her, to Trabia, and even if he'd forgotten, she'd reminded him in the most effective of ways that first night. Somehow, his name sounded wrong coming out of her mouth. Like she was too pure and good to say something as dirty as his name.
Without meeting her eyes, he rubbed the back of his neck as he focused on the grains in the wood flooring. "Yeah, same."
She chuckled. "I know you don't mean that, but thanks for saying it anyway. I guess I'll see you around!" And she was gone before he had a chance to reply.
He looked up sharply, watching her as she walked back up to the main house, her gigantic sunhat still perched on her head. It had been a strange experience, seeing her here at the orphanage, of all places. For years now he'd been coming back, and not once had he seen anyone from the original gang. Why, this year, did he happen to be here at the same time as Selphie?
As he stood there, the only thing he could think about was the look on her face when he'd said he would be leaving soon. Such utter disappointment, and maybe, just maybe, a hint of sadness? It was so terribly out of place on her face, that he couldn't stop trying to figure out why she'd looked so upset.
His past had taught him that coincidences didn't exist. He was here, and she was here, and it couldn't have been because of luck. But for the life of him, no matter how long he stood there and tried to dissect it in his mind, he couldn't figure out the reason why everything had turned out the way that it had.
A/N:
So I've been avoiding author's notes because, for this story in particular, it didn't seem like we needed any. Also, especially because this story is a collaborative effort, it just seemed weird posting notes on only my chapters, and not Aren's. That being said, I just wanted to pop in really quick and thank everyone who's left reviews thus far. We realized going into this that this pairing was a little unconventional, and that as a result, it may not be at the top of people's desired reading lists. So thank you to everyone who's given it a chance!
We'd love to hear your thoughts if you haven't piped up yet; because this pairing is so off the beaten path, we're extra anxious to hear what you guys think. Don't be shy! Drop a line ;)
See you guys Friday when the next chapter gets posted!
