I'm a Hynedamned coward.

Seifer grit his teeth as the thought crossed his mind. He tried to focus on the sound of the water crashing against the side of his boat, drown out the plethora of self-conscious thoughts that kept running through his brain. Apparently, any and all thoughts of Selphie weren't much different from the girl herself: chaotic, rambunctious, relentless—like a torrential rainstorm that plagued a village that also suffered from intense earthquakes, all at the same time.

He didn't have time for this shit.

With a strained sigh, he crossed his arms over his chest as he watched the cliffs in the distance approach. The week-long journey to the orphanage was usually relaxing, an opportunity for him to reflect or escape from responsibilities. Granted, that didn't usually end well since being idle made him think too much, especially about the past, but it was what it was. On this particular return trip to Winhill, Seifer had been plagued with questions—questions about Selphie, about Matron and Cid, about fate, about coincidences. It was all too much. It had been years since he'd been overloaded with so many uncertainties, and while he wanted answers, asking the questions in the first place would only make more arise for those he asked.

Hyne, he hated being bombarded with invasive questions. That, and he wasn't about to call Messenger Girl up and ask her what the hell was up with her the entire time they'd been at the orphanage.

He knew it was a dick move to just up and leave without telling her, especially after her birthday party, but he couldn't bring himself to find her the next morning. After packing up his stuff and walking out of the shed, he'd glanced up at the orphanage, debating whether he should go in and say his goodbyes for the year or not. As he stood there, staring through the window, Matron walked into view. She'd been puttering around the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the kids. When she headed over towards the curio to grab some plateware, she paused by the small table and looked down at the vase of flowers that Selphie must've put there at the end of the night. Matron gazed down at the flowers with a tiny smile on her face, though what exactly she was smiling about, he had no clue. Warmth spread across his cheeks. Did she realize he'd been the one to give the flowers to Selphie? Did she even know the flowers were Selphie's?

If Selphie had taken the time to put the flowers in a vase, clearly, she'd appreciated his gift. It had been such a last minute gesture, he would've thought she'd hated it. That left him feeling slightly awkward, and he shuffled in place. How had she looked when she'd put them into water? Had she been smiling? Laughing? What? Whatever her expression, the fact that he'd been the one to put it there was a surprise to him. She should smile more, he thought. If Selphie of all people wasn't smiling, then things in the world had gone to shit.

Just like she won't be if I tell her I'm leaving, he'd thought with a frown.

It was the possibility of taking away her trademark smile that had caused him to turn tail and run. He couldn't be the one to ruin her happiness. That was already on his conscious, and he couldn't bring himself to do it again. A flashback of her face as she'd railed at him that first night in the meadow, all red and angry and tearful, had sealed the deal, and he'd quickly walked around the side of the orphanage to the path leading away from the front door, back to where he'd moored his boat. He hated himself for being too scared to tell her to her face, but opting out of the guaranteed drama was a much better alternative than . . . well, dealing with the consequences.

A spectacularly loud splash against the side of his boat pulled him out of the past, and he realized he was nearing the dock. He moved out of the shelter of the cabin and onto the deck to prepare for landing. He'd built the small boathouse for himself a few years ago, finally deciding that he was sick of his socks getting wet every time he had to anchor the damn boat. It had worked out well; he was the only person who ever used it, and since he had the annual orphanage trip, it had been well worth the time and effort.

When the boat sidled up to the dock, Seifer stepped over onto the wood planks before reeling it in. With familiar motions, he wound the rope around the bollard, tying it securely in place. Once that was settled, he hopped back onto the boat, grabbed his things, and dropped anchor. Without a backward glance, he left the pier and started the trek back towards Winhill.

Despite the fact that he'd been gone longer than he'd originally intended, the plains were quiet. He was grateful for the reprieve—mostly because he wasn't equipped to handle a sudden monster attack, but also because the walk was more soothing than he'd anticipated. It was a nice way to ease back into the norm. It wasn't as if his time at the orphanage hadn't been relaxing, but there had been far too many surprises—and too much company—which resulted in him feeling way more exhausted than usual. Even his physically taxing responsibilities here in Winhill didn't leave him feeling quite so drained.

Grass soon gave way to dirt, which then morphed into cobblestones, and he was officially back home. His first stop was the mayor's house, and he was dreading that visit just slightly less than he'd dreaded telling Selphie he was leaving. In other words, quite a bit. He'd had to pull a favor from the man, from his already miniscule favor bank, and he knew that as soon as he returned, the mayor would ask him to pay his dues.

A few minutes later, when he stood on the doorstep of the mayoral residence, he took a deep breath. On the exhale, he rapped his knuckles on the door in three, quick beats. The door opened shortly after, revealing the timid brunette who served as the mayor's maid. With the meekness of a jumpy squirrel, she waved him into the house and explained that she'd be right back with the mayor in tow.

While Seifer waited for them to come back, he wandered around the room. His heavy boots thudded against the finely polished marble floors, echoing back to him. He was inspecting a shiny suit of armor that was propped up in one of the corners when the mayor's booming voice called out to him from the upstairs balcony.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Flower Keeper! I was wondering if you'd ever come back!"

Seifer narrowed his eyes and turned around, watching the man plod down the stairs with a slight scrunch to his nose. "Mayor. I told you I'd be back."

"Sure, sure, but you know, with your type, you just never know what's the truth," the Mayor said with a chuckle that Seifer assumed was supposed to friendly, but fell way, way short. It just made the rotund man sound like he was mocking him instead.

"My 'type', huh?" Seifer crossed his arms, glaring down his nose at the shorter man.

The Mayor let out another chuckle—this one sounded more nervous—before clasping his hands behind his back. "So, what brings you around to my home?"

"You know why. I need my keys back."

"Right, right. Of course you do. Now," he began as he paced around the room, avoiding Seifer's eyes. "You remember the favor we spoke of, don't you?"

Seifer let out a short, annoyed sigh. "The favor I asked you for, or the favor you seem to think I owe you now?"

"The latter, of course."

"Yeah, I remember. It hasn't been that long, and I ain't that old."

"Oh, good." The mayor about-faced and met Seifer's gaze. "I'll give you your keys back, yes, but don't forget that you owe me now."

"Sure, whatever you say, old man. Can I have my keys back or not?"

In truth, the mayor wasn't that much older than Seifer. But the man's haughty, better-than-thou attitude had always rubbed Seifer the wrong way. Now that he believed Seifer owed him a favor, it was ten times worse. After Seifer got his keys back, he planned on hop-skipping out of there and getting back to his daily routine. And pointedly avoiding the mayor from now on.

With an eerie, sly smile, the mayor pulled a small keyring out of his back pocket, dangling it from his pointer finger just out of Seifer's reach. When Seifer moved to grab it, the mayor lifted it higher, causing Seifer's fingers to graze the keys instead of taking it out of his hand.

I am not dealing with this shit, Seifer thought, irritated. He crossed his arms again and glared at the man even more intently than before. Though the mayor shifted in place, he didn't hold out the keys again.

A few seconds passed until Seifer, from between clenched teeth, said, "I guess you can take care of your monster problem yourself after all, huh?"

The mayor's smile fell, and reluctantly, he held out the keys again. This time, Seifer snatched them out of the man's hand before he could react, and headed for the door. As he was passing through the doorway, the mayor called out, "We'll chat a little later, yes?"

Seifer didn't respond, just waved his hand in the air dismissively before the door slammed shut behind him. Apparently, Amma had been right. People in this town knew who he was—he'd been an idiot to think they didn't. Most of them just didn't care. But some of them, like the mayor, thought they could exploit him because of that knowledge, because they were the only town in the world who was willing to house a supposed psychopath, ex-criminal, fill-in-the-blank-with-your-own-term. That might've been true, and yes, he did owe them, but he didn't owe them every part of himself.

He didn't owe that to anyone.

The second stop on his list was home. Before he swung by Amma's shop, he wanted to drop his things off and take a quick shower. One straight week on the water, operating the boat and sitting in the unrelenting rays of the sun with limited respite, did little wonders for one's scent.

After unlocking his front door with his retrieved keys, he let himself inside. The first thing that caught his attention was the gleam of something metal where it leaned against the stairs: Hyperion. He stood by the doorway, staring at it with a fond expression. It was somewhat silly to miss an inanimate object as much as he'd missed his weapon, but Hyperion was . . . different. For so many years, it had been an extension of him. It was the one thing he continued to take care of, almost lovingly, and he knew it better than anyone or anything else in this world. He moved towards the stairs, pausing to run his fingers along the hilt, before heading up to the bedroom.

Once he was inside, he threw his duffel onto the bed and starting unpacking. Piles of dirty laundry went into the hamper in the corner, his miscellaneous items were crammed into the drawer of his nightstand, and when his fingers grazed the small wooden box in the inner pocket, he slowly drew it out. A quick unclasp of the latch revealed a luminescent turquoise ball that mirrored the bright shade of his eyes. Veins of shimmering liquid swirled within the glass, and Seifer picked it up between his thumb and forefinger, twirling it to capture the light streaming in from the window behind him. When it pulsed and became warm to the touch, he placed it back in the box before closing the lid. Almost reverently, he placed it in the back of his nightstand drawer before shutting it with a push of his thigh.

Grabbing a change of clothes from his closet, he made his way to the bathroom next. After spending some time in the newly renovated shed at the orphanage, his house suddenly seemed run-down and in need of some remodeling. When he twisted the valve to get the shower going, it groaned and sputtered at the effort of starting up. With a slight tap from his fist, the water started flowing at a more regular pace and he climbed in, avoiding the metal rung above his head.

As per usual, his mind was inundated with thoughts as he showered. All of the questions he'd had while he'd been sailing home made their ill-timed return. Why had he given that shitty little bouquet to Selphie, anyway? Sure, it had been her birthday, and he felt bad being the only guy in the group who hadn't brought her anything, but that was a half-assed attempt at a present and he knew it. Also, why had she cared so much that he show up in the first place? The party would've gone off without a hitch even if she hadn't dragged him up to the orphanage's back patio, so why go through all that trouble?

After scrubbing his head a bit more vigorously than necessary, Seifer shut off the water a few minutes later. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he eyed the clothes he'd brought into the bathroom with him, overwhelmed with a sudden bout of exhaustion. The dying rays of the late afternoon sun filtered in through the tiny porthole window just above the tub. It was later than he'd wanted it to be, considering he still planned on checking up on Amma's shop.

A few seconds later, he grabbed just his sweatpants and pulled them on before heading back to his bedroom. After shoving his now-empty duffel bag onto the floor, he collapsed onto the bed, feeling a slight ache settle into his arms from working so much the past few weeks. He draped his forearm over his eyes to block out the fading sun, trying to relax his mind enough to get what little sleep his body usually let him have. Since he never got much, the two or three hours he managed to squeeze in were precious. Amma's shop could always wait until the morning.

Not long after the sun had set, and Seifer was on the verge of falling into a deep sleep, a loud boom, followed by an explosion of color, burst outside of the window across from his bed. In quick succession, firework after firework went off. His foggy mind connected the sound to a memory of mines going off on the Dolletian beach, a decade ago, and he shot upright in bed, drenched in sweat.

When he saw glittering ribbons of color falling past his window, he ran his hands down his face before threading his fingers through the still-damp strands of his hair. Fuckin' fireworks.

He'd always hated fireworks. Every year, during the Garden festival, Cid ordered the committee to coordinate a grand fireworks show that would close out the week-long event. Like a little kid, the old man always clapped with glee every time the finale occurred; the pride and joy he felt had been as obvious on his face as the information on the page of an open book. To Seifer, though, they'd been loud, disruptive, and distracting. He would've rather spent his time in the Training Center, or even sleeping in his dorm, but the volume of the show had always prevented that.

Disoriented, he pulled his phone from its place on his nightstand to check the date. When he realized what day it was, he threw his phone back onto the nightstand with a groan. The anniversary of the end of the war. He hadn't realized yet another year had gone by, or that he'd been at the orphanage so long. Despite the fact that he was a somewhat-recovered alcoholic, this was the one night he allowed himself to binge at the local tavern. After all, didn't he deserve at least that?

Though it wasn't too late to head out, Seifer found that, for once, he didn't particularly want to. He didn't want to be around people, he didn't want to pretend to socialize with anyone. That was why he'd quit, wasn't it? To never feel like he was spiraling out of control, ever again?

It was then that the memory of sharing a bottle of brandy with Selphie, as they'd relaxed on the beach together, hit him. He'd chalked it up to a moment of weakness, of being somewhere other than home and sitting beside someone he hadn't talked to for years. But as he laid there, now staring up at the ceiling in deep contemplation, he realized it was because he hadn't felt the threat of his usual worries. With Selphie there, he hadn't been worried about losing control. In fact, it hadn't even crossed his mind.

"Huh", he said aloud, without meaning to. The realization blindsided him, and with it came yet more questions. Why was that the case? Why her, of all people? Why? Why?

Another explosion sounded outside his window again, and he rolled over onto his side with a frustrated sigh. After curling into a ball, he tucked his face into the crook of his elbow, trying to silence the voice in his mind that was questioning everything that had happened the past month.

There was another first he could add to his now longer-than-expected list: this time, the voice in his head was his own.


Two months later.

Seifer watched the stream of water leave the spout and make its way into the metal watering can. Occasionally, a stray droplet would bounce against the side of the can, causing a quiet, musical ping to ring out. When the can was full, he shut the water off and made his way back into the main room of the flower shop. The second he stepped through the archway, he took a deep breath, reveling in the sweet, potent fragrance that permeated the air. It had been way too long since he'd been here.

The mayor had begrudgingly agreed to stop by the shop once a day to water the flowers when Seifer had been gone. Considering the man's job was to govern the city, and not guarantee the quality and healthiness of greenery, Seifer was a bit wary of the flowers' condition.

Before he moved out from behind the counter, he pulled out a small pouch of fine white powder from inside the cabinet. It must've taken Amma ages to grind up the Grendel teeth Seifer brought back for her. She claimed it worked wonders on the plants, and he trusted her opinion in that regard. According to the instructions she'd taped to the bag, just a pinch was more than enough, and he was supposed to add it to a full watering can. After doing as instructed, he beelined for the flowers.

It had always been relaxing to him, watering the flowers and seeing them grow with time and care. It was one of the few things in life that was consistently rewarding, provided he didn't fuck things up. Thanks to Amma's inadvertent tutelage, he knew how to prevent that from happening. For once.

When he finished with the flowers under the windowsill, he realized that the shop was far too quiet. He didn't mind the silence as much as he used to when he was younger, but there were times when it left him more prone to overthinking. This was one of them. After he finished watering the tulips, he set the can down and ambled back over to the counter. Amma always kept a small radio on the shelf underneath the register, and after grabbing it, he placed it on the countertop, positioning the speaker towards the other side of the shop. There were only a few radio stations that reached Winhill, and he went with the least grating option: classical music.

Hyne forbid if anyone he knew walked into the shop and heard him listening to classical music.

With a satisfied nod, he returned to the tulips and resumed his watering route. He was all the way on the other side of the shop, attending to the orchids, when the jingle for a public announcement came over the radio. They happened from time to time, usually letting people know if severe weather was heading their way, or one of the mass transit lines was temporarily down. He usually ignored them, and this time was no different.

Except when he moved to the next section of flowers, the announcer came on. "We apologize for the interruption, but we have a very serious, very urgent public announcement to make. We've just been informed that Trabia Garden has fallen victim to a violent, horrific terrorist attack."

Dread penetrated Seifer to his very core, into the essence of his bones. He was too frozen with shock to realize what was happening. When he faced the radio, the spout of the watering can knocked into one of the flower pots, causing it to crash to the floor.

"Shit," he mumbled, kicking aside some of the clay shards and fine clumps of dirt. The radio jingled again, and with a slack jaw, he focused on the announcer's next words as if they were his lifeline.

"We are still waiting on a few of the details, but according to our source, at approximately nine in the evening last night, a bomb detonated in the headmaster's office. There were numerous injuries, but we've yet to receive a comprehensive list of the victims. This attack comes at a time when . . . "

The announcer's voice faded out of focus as Seifer slid down the wall until he collapsed against the ground. Trabia Garden . . . bombed again. How could this happen twice in one lifetime? And if he wasn't behind it, then who was?

How was Selphie feeling now? She had to have heard the news. Of course someone must have told her. Was she taking hold of the reins, declaring that she'd be the one to find out who was behind all this? Or would she be . . . like the Selphie he'd seen at the orphanage? A bit unsure sometimes, a little hesitant, maybe, about what to do? If it had been ten years ago, he'd know with absolute certainty that it would be the former. But now? Now he wasn't quite so sure.

As he sat there, staring off into the distance, the announcer's voice seemed to come back into focus.

"Though the unrest towards Garden has increased exponentially since the end of the Second Sorceress War, reports in the past year reveal that the political landscape has been quieter than usual. With this recent development, it has come to light that . . . perhaps that is not the case. We will provide more information in another announcement when more evidence comes to light. For now, we advise that citizens of all major cities stay inside, recall your children from any Garden academy if they are a current student, and come forth to the authorities with any information you may have to assist the investigation. Thank you."

There was a brief moment of static once the announcement ended, before the lilting notes of a piano concerto began playing again. Somehow, instead of the music calming him down like it had before, it gave the shop an eerie atmosphere. He rose to his feet and staggered over to the radio, shutting it off with a little more force than necessary.

Silence took over the room, and his hand lingered atop the radio as he traced the patterns on the wall. His mind raced with newfound concerns. He'd heard about all of the unrest towards Garden over the past few years, but Winhill was isolated from the heat of the discontent. Out here, it was difficult to imagine the magnitude of the turmoil in the larger cities. It must've been worse than he'd initially thought. Bad enough to drive someone to bomb such a prominent military force.

He wasn't an idiot. Garden had never been at the top of the public's favorites, and immediately following the war—hell, even during the war—they'd dropped even lower on the list. What had happened in recent years to push the culprit over the edge?

There was nothing he could do to help, though, and he knew it. He'd never made SeeD all those years ago, and considering his role during the war, he couldn't imagine that anyone would want to willingly ask for his help. Definitely not Squall, and if he said no, Quistis wouldn't be far behind. He was well past reaching out to Rinoa, so that left . . . no one. His only option was to stay in Winhill and hope that everything worked out for the best.

As he turned away from the counter, he scoffed. Since when had he ever hoped that things would "work out for the best"? Just who the hell was he turning into?


A week and a half later.

Up above him, the deafening roar of a jet engine blew past. The fall-out from the turbines shook the leaves in front of him, and he braced the trellis against the sudden gust of wind. When the sound faded, he glared up at the sky, wondering what the hell it had been. No aerial vessel came this far out, and neither Garden could reach that high of an altitude. Whatever it was, its engines were strong enough to leave quite the trail of turbulence in its wake.

Seifer mumbled under his breath, complaining about interruptions as he faced the trellis again. Shears in hand, he continued pruning the vines, still curious about whatever had flown overhead, but not concerned enough to let it bother him. A minute or so later, he'd forgotten all about the excitement and was focused entirely on the task at hand.

Off in the distance, the sound of wind being pulled in gradually grew louder, and Seifer glanced up from the trellis yet again. Just beyond the cover of the clouds, he spotted a glimpse of something metallic, and a deep shade of ruby. Within moments, the clouds were forced to disperse and a gigantic ship, shaped like a dragon with elongated, mechanical talons, emerged from the sky.

He'd seen that ship once before, and never thought that he'd see it ever again.

"What the hell," he grunted, rising to his feet from the dirt. He threw his shears down tip-first into the ground, and started for the archway that marked the town's entrance.

As he walked, the ship descended onto the plains just outside of town. Though it was now out of view, he could hear the hum and drone of the ship's engines powering down. When he reached the archway, he squinted off into the distance and saw two figures approaching the town. One was significantly shorter than the other; he assumed it was a woman because their figure was far more slender, and she was wearing what looked like an obnoxiously bright canary-yellow shirt. The other had a much wider build, and their outfit was significantly darker in comparison. Then again, canary-yellow had a tendency to block out any and all other shades with its intensity.

He'd only ever known one person who could pull off canary-yellow, and it was still questionable on the best of days.

Instead of going out to meet them, he leaned against one of the pillars supporting the arch. Hyperion was at home, but he knew he could look plenty threatening without it, so he crossed his arms and set a scowl on his face as he waited for them to arrive—not that scowling was difficult for him.

It was when they were only a few yards away that the details of their appearance finally came into focus for Seifer. He straightened when he realized the woman wearing the canary-yellow shirt was Selphie. Selphie. The briefest of glances to the side told him he didn't recognize the brunet she was with, and his attention was quickly pulled back to his former peer.

Why the hell is she here? I go ten years without seein' her face, and suddenly it's twice this summer?

When she realized he was looking straight at them, she waved enthusiastically, and the biggest smile he'd seen in . . . probably ever, took over her face. "Seifer!" she shouted, speeding up a little to reach him before her companion.

"Yeah, hi," he grunted in greeting, arms still crossed, though he was no longer leaning against the pillar. "What are you doing here?"

Selphie faltered, rocking back onto her heels. Her smile quickly morphed into a twisted frown. "Wow, what a way to greet a friend."

"Who said we were friends?" he deadpanned.

"Nice try, tough guy," she said, crossing her arms with the slightest of glares. "I'm here because I wanna talk to you about something, duh."

"Okay," he said, finally lowering his arms. Selphie's companion walked up to stand beside her, but Seifer didn't give the other guy so much as a glance. "So talk."

"Well, not out here." She glanced around them, making it sound like the verdant green plains beyond was equivalent to a rank alleyway. "Don't you have somewhere we could, you know, sit down? It's a long flight here from Balamb."

He stood there, seething in silence. Sure, he did, but they didn't know that, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted them to know that. Their time together at the orphanage had been awkward at best, downright terrible at worst, and he wasn't sure how to act this time around. Yeah, just before he'd up and left, it did seem like they were in this strange place resembling friends, or at least, reluctant acquaintances, but . . . that was months ago. Now what were they?

Despite his confusion and the murky definition of their relationship, he did agree that they couldn't just stand there by the town's entrance and have a supposedly "important" conversation. With an irritated sigh, he pivoted on his heel and waved for them to follow. The patter of their footsteps against the cobblestones was indication enough that they were tagging along, so he didn't bother to glance over his shoulder to check on them. Besides, they were just going across the square.

When they stood just outside his house, he unlocked the door and held it open for them. Once they were inside, he shut it behind the brunet and gestured to his table. Not entirely to his surprise, Selphie moved beyond the seating arrangements and beelined for the fridge. She returned with two cans of beer a few seconds later, and plopped down into one of the chairs, pushing the other beer towards Seifer.

Her companion lowered his brows in disapproval. "Already, Selphie? I dunno . . . don't you think it's a little early?"

Seifer scoffed. Who is this guy, her dad?

Selphie must've shared his opinion, because she rolled her eyes and proceeded to down the contents of the can. The brunet just sighed and shook his head slightly, before looking at up Seifer and saying, "Hey, man."

"Uh, hey," Seifer replied, staring at him in confusion. Had they met before?

The guy's face fell. "I'm Nida? We went to—I saw you a few months ago, at the orphanage?"

"Yeah . . . right. I remember." Seifer didn't, but he wasn't about to tell the guy that. He seemed crestfallen that Seifer hadn't immediately recognized him.

Seifer glanced over at Selphie, but she didn't notice, just crushed the now-empty can before tossing it over her shoulder towards the trash can. It bounced off the lip and clattered to the floor, though she didn't turn around to look at it. Instead, she leaned forward on her elbows and held her hand out at the only empty chair. "Sit, sit!"

"It is my house, you know," he reminded her as he pulled out the chair and sank into it.

"Right," she agreed with a chuckle. "Of course I know that. I don't live in Winhill. You do."

"That's pretty much what I just said."

"Right. Oh, but I already said that, too. Ha ha!" Selphie reached up and tugged on the ends of her hair, seemingly nervous. It was significantly longer than the last time he'd seen her, which was already much longer than it had been in their younger years.

"So you said you wanted to talk," Seifer said, crossing his arms over his chest again.

"Yeah, I did. You, uh, you've heard, right? About Trabia?"

At the mention of her old Garden, Selphie's expression sobered and the tone of her voice completely changed. As he'd expected, she was clearly affected by the news. There was no way she wouldn't be. But she didn't seem as upset as he'd expected, and he wondered if she was fighting back the onslaught of emotions, trying to keep her mask up. He knew perfectly well how hard it was to do that. He just never would've pegged her as the type to as well.

"Yeah, I did. I—" Hyne, what did he say to her? He was shit at comforting people, and "I'm sorry" weren't words he often said. It seemed vapid and uncaring to offer such a standard nicety in the wake of an actual disaster. Especially one so personal. After clearing his throat, he tried again. "It sucks."

Ugh, that's even worse, he thought with an inward groan.

To his surprise, she seemed to understand what he really meant. The tiniest of smiles teased at the corners of her lips and she nodded. In a quiet voice, she started again. "Anyway, yeah, so that happened a little while ago."

Instead of launching into her explanation for showing up out of the blue, she just sat there, staring at her hands. Seifer narrowed his eyes at her, filled with a strange, equal mixture of concern and annoyance. Eventually, when she still didn't say anything else, he asked, "Did you seriously come all this way just to tell me that?"

Startled, Selphie's head snapped back up. "What? No! No, that would've been downright silly," she chuckled. "Heh, we came to recruit you!"

"'Recruit' me? What the hell for? Some sort of fundraiser or something?"

She wrinkled her nose in what seemed like distaste. "Psh, no! To come with us! We're going to Trabia!"

Seifer's expression slackened until his face was devoid of emotion. Unable to process enough thought power to form a response, he just stared at Selphie, confused at the optimism in her own expression. Go? To Trabia?

"Hell no!" he exclaimed, shoving his chair back as he shot to his feet. "What part of your Hynedamned brain told you that it would be a good idea to come here and ask me to come with you to fuckin' Trabia?"

At the venom in his voice, Selphie cringed ever-so-slightly. Her companion—what did he say his name was again?—looked shocked at the level of anger in Seifer's tone, but he had to have known why it existed. They both did . . . right?

With a frustrated sigh, he ran his hands through his hair before looking down at Selphie. In a much quieter voice, he said, "Look, it's shitty that your old Garden got bombed. I already said as much. I hope they find the guys that did it, but I'm not about to go there and—"

Out of nowhere, Selphie jumped to her feet, her face contorting in anger. "Seifer," she stated, interrupting him in mid-rant.

He closed his mouth with a snap and stared down at her, breathing heavily through his nose. His rapid breaths were the only sound in the room until she spoke again, in a tone far more serious than he'd ever heard from her.

"You owe me. I don't want to be that guy, and . . . I know you don't want to go to Trabia for your own reasons, which, trust me, I get. But you don't get to back out of this one. You never saw what happened last time, but I did. I helped them rebuild, and here we are again." Tears pooled in her eyes, and Seifer clenched his fist in response. His nails bit into his palm. "I'm asking you to come with me and help this time. It won't, you know, change the past, but . . ."

She trailed off and wiped at the corners of her eyes, before looking back up at him again with a smile that was more like the Selphie he knew—the mischievous, cunning, playful Selphie. It also terrified him, just a little bit. "This is your chance to redeem yourself!" she exclaimed, shaking her fists in emphasis.

Another scoff escaped him and he looked away from her as he crossed his arms, yet again. "Redeem myself, huh?" he mumbled, staring at the calendar he'd tacked to the wall. It was a few days away from October, and Trabia would be frigid already. He hated the snow, hated the cold. He also hated giving in to her whims, but . . . as much as he hated to admit it, she was right. He did owe her.

Trabia was one of the things from his past that had never quite let him go. The guilt festered in him, refused to let him sleep, refused to let him forgive himself. When he'd seen Selphie at the orphanage, after so many years, the poisoned wound had re-opened and he'd been teleported back to the first initial years after the war—the years filled with too much guilt and self-hatred. Her emotional rant had sent him spiraling back down into the all-too familiar pit of self-disgust. Even still, he had a hard time looking her straight in the eye because of that guilt. He couldn't live the rest of life with this burden, and he knew it, so what other choice did he have?

With his mind made up, he looked back at Selphie with a determined set to his jaw. "Fine. I'll go with you. But let's be clear that I'm doing this for me—not really even for you, and sure as hell not for Garden."

Selphie leaped into the air with an exuberant shout. "Woohoo! I'd say thanks, but like I said, you owe me! Let's go, then! Hurry, hurry! Pack!"

"Hyne, calm down. You're gonna give me a heart attack with all your damned energy," he muttered, moving past the table to head upstairs.

"We gotta make a pitstop first, but we should be able to head to Trabia in a couple of days!" she explained, pulling her companion out of his seat a little rougher than necessary.

With his hand on the banister, Seifer looked over his shoulder at her with a heated glare. "A pitstop?"

"Yeah! We've gotta stop by Garden and get you fitted up and processed—you know how Quisty can be about paperwork."

Oh, I don't fuckin' think so. She didn't mention anything about going back to that hell-hole!

Seifer clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together uncomfortably hard. His grip on the banister tightened so much, the creaking of the wood could be heard throughout the room. When it was so silent, he swore he could hear his heart beating in his chest, he faced Selphie head-on.

"What?"


The next day, an hour outside of Balamb.

"Do you really have to smoke that in here?"

Seifer tore his gaze away from the panoramic, picturesque view, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He looked down at Selphie where she sat in the pilot's seat, glare firmly in place, as he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth. "I don't see a "no-smoking" sign. Do you?"

She rolled her eyes and faced ahead again, bobbing her head from side to side. "Well, duh, no. Of course not. I didn't say you couldn't. Just asked if you really had to."

"Yeah, I do." He popped the cigarette back in place, taking a long drag and blowing it towards the windshield. It followed the curve of the glass, bowing back on them and right into Selphie's face, like he knew it would.

When she let out a chain of dry, hacking coughs, he chuckled under his breath. She heard him and threw a heated, angry look his way, eyes narrowed and lips puckered. Shaking his head, he stubbed the cigarette out on the console and tossed the butt over his shoulder. "All right, all right. Since you won't shut up about it, I'll stop."

"Thank you!" Selphie exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air before letting them fall back down to the steering wheel.

A smirk teased at his lips, but he suppressed it before she could see. It wasn't that he was averse to smiling. He just didn't do it as often as he used to—or really, ever had. Granted, he wasn't permanently grumpy like Squall had always been, but a genuine smile was rare for him. Oddly enough, in the past few months since he'd been seeing Selphie again . . . had he been doing it more often?

They were still an hour away from Garden, and most of the view ahead was saturated with water. In the center of the windshield, a tiny, dark pinprick sat on the horizon. As they steadily approached, it gained shape, and details began to form. Spiky crags of the mountain range along the north edge of the island solidified, and a flat protrusion jutted out from the left side of the plains—he knew from memory that it was the pier.

The view filled him with ambivalence. It had been ten long years since he'd been back here—for good reason—and if it hadn't been for Selphie guilt-tripping him and practically dragging him along with her, he likely never would have returned. That would have been fine with him, too. But now that they were here, he had to face his demons, whether he wanted to or not. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. Angry? Frustrated? A bit melancholy? Truthfully, it was a mixture of all of those emotions; each one of them had their brief, but strong moment in the spotlight. Then, the wheel continued turning, bringing each spoke to the forefront again, over and over.

The desire for another cigarette shot through him, and his hand, wrapped around the pack in his pocket, twitched. "I'm gonna go smoke."

"Again?" Selphie questioned, craning her neck over and back to stare up at him in surprise.

"Yeah, again. This shit is stressing me out." He continued to stare ahead until he saw her look forward again. A few seconds passed as he tapped his foot against the metal flooring, before about-facing and marching towards the door. As it slid open and he crossed over the threshold, he yelled, "Come get me when we're landing."

He took the lift down to the hallway and veered to his right, heading for the passenger cabin. There were only two—no, three—of them on the ship, so he knew he'd likely be unbothered there until it was time to disembark, time to face his past. With heavy steps, he stomped down along the aisle until he reached the first row. A deep sigh left him as he collapsed, hard, into one of the seats, kicking his legs up onto the crimson, metal railing that ran along the edge of the room.

Unfortunately, he realized a little too late that the view was still visible from down here. A groan escaped him, echoing back from the enclosed walls and making it sound even whinier than when it had left him. He pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and yanked one out, stuffing it between his lips with a slight shake of his head. A lighter was procured from his other pocket, and when the cigarette was lit, he took a deep drag, relishing in the burn as the chemicals scorched its way down into his lungs.

His eyes slid shut and he threw his head back against the headrest, concentrating on the regular hum of the engines. Why the fuck did I agree to this?

Behind him, the mechanical swish of the doors opening had him sitting up again. He let out an irritated grunt and twisted around in his seat to see who had decided it was a good idea to interrupt his peace; there were only two possible options. To his surprise, Selphie was the one bounding down the aisle towards him. With cinched brows, he lowered his legs to scoot forward in his seat so he could face her head-on.

"What the hell do you want?" he rasped, purposefully taking another drag when she stood just in front of him.

Instead of sitting in the seat opposite his, like he thought she would, she came around to the front of the cabin and leaned back against the railing where his feet had been only moments before. "Well, it sure wasn't to see the sights. Coulda seen the view just as well from the pilot's seat."

"Yeah, so . . ."

Selphie rolled her eyes and bounced forward onto her toes, peering down into his face. "So I came to talk to you, dummy."

"What about? Last time you popped up wanting to talk, I ended up on this ship with you, so what else could possibly go wrong?" He shifted so he was facing her again, his knees almost brushing up against her legs, he was so tall.

"Ah, ah, ah," she said, wagging her finger from side to side in front of him. "I wouldn't say that. Something can always go wrong."

"For the love of Hyne, get to the point!"

"Okay, okay," she conceded with a frown. "I just thought it would be a good idea to, you know, maybe bring up what happened at the orphanage?"

"What the hell for?"

"Because it would be good to talk about it?" Her tone of voice implied that her topic of choice should've been obvious to him. But she didn't know that this was the very thing he'd been trying to avoid when he left without so much as a goodbye all those weeks ago.

A sigh leaked out of him as he threw his weight back against the leather seat. With the enthusiasm level of a janitor having to clean up fresh vomit, he said, "I hate talking about shit, but I have a feeling you won't let it go until we do, so . . . have at it."

With a firm nod, she launched right into the heat of things. "Why'd you leave without saying goodbye?"

"Ah, Hyne . . . " He trailed off, leaning forward on his elbows. "I don't know."

"Pshhhhh." Her long, dramatic exhale elicited a raised eyebrow from him. He hadn't expected her to call him out on his bullshit, but at the same time . . . it wasn't entirely a surprise. This was Selphie, after all. "I'm not buyin' that in the slightest, mister!"

"Mister?" he echoed. "Who calls anyone 'mister', anymore?"

"Figure of speech." She waved her hand through in the air before crossing her arms and glaring down at him—rather impressively, too. "Start talking."

"Okay, okay," he agreed with another sigh, straightening in his chair and running his hands up and down his thighs. "I left because . . . I didn't wanna tell you."

"A five-year-old could've guessed that. Try again!"

Frustrated at being put on the spot, he ran his hands through his hair. "I didn't wanna tell you because I knew this would happen! You'd try to talk me out of it, make those big ol' puppy eyes at me—the ones you think work on everyone, but I swear to Hyne, they don't work on me—and, I don't know, fuckin' cry or some shit! Who would walk into that willingly?"

"Okay, but, don't you think I kind of deserved to know?"

"Deserved to know?" he echoed, rising to his feet. He towered over her, and when he glared down at her, he could've sworn she shrunk back ever-so-slightly. "I don't think anyone deserves anything. I know I sure as hell don't, and a helluva lotta other people don't either."

She stayed quiet and just stared up at him with wide eyes, as if she was surprised that their conversation had escalated so quickly. Under her sympathetic, seemingly all-knowing gaze, his anger simmered to a mere smolder as opposed to its prior boil. Drained, he looked away from her and out the window, watching as they approached the Alcauld Plains.

In a low voice, she asked, "Seifer . . . was it more about you than . . . it was about me? You not telling me, I mean."

Somehow, she'd nailed it. His eyes slid shut and he dropped his head, letting his chin rest against the curve of his shoulder. He chose not to answer, instead wallowing in his own self-pity. Yes, he hadn't told her because he couldn't stand to ruin one more thing in this world, couldn't stand to be the person who dimmed her light once again. It had been more about preserving his own self-interests, preventing himself from feeling that guilt, rather than preventing her disappointment. To have her call him out on it was even worse.

When he still didn't elaborate, or answer directly, Selphie pushed off of the railing and stepped up to him. After the slightest bit of hesitation, she placed her hand on his upper arm as she moved to pass him. Her touch was incredibly light, almost impossible to feel through the layers of his leather jacket, but before he could think about it further, she lowered her arm and continued past.

A few seconds later, he realized that he hadn't heard the doors opening again. Confused, he turned around and saw Selphie standing just before the exit, her head bowed and her hands clenched at her sides. Before he could speak up and ask why she was just standing there, she whirled around, fire blazing in her eyes as she stated, "You know, I-I think I forgive you. For not telling me you were gonna leave. The other stuff is . . . it's complicated—way more complicated—so it's gonna take time, but . . . this is different. So don't beat yourself up over it, okay?"

"Uh, okay?" He didn't mean for it to come out like a question, but her words were so unexpected that he wasn't entirely sure how to process them.

With a firm, determined nod, she added, "Good. We'll be disembarking in ten, so come out to the ramp." Then, she walked out of the room.

How the hell does she do that?

Fifteen minutes later, Seifer, Selphie, and . . . the other guy, trekked down the ramp from the bowels of the Ragnarok, and headed through the mountain tunnel towards Balamb Garden. As they made their way down the path, Seifer's gaze flickered from side to side, unable to stay in one place. There was limited lighting in the tunnel, just the occasional spotlight at their feet, and their footsteps echoed back from the walls. It was wide enough for the three of them to walk side-by-side, and he wondered when they'd found the time to carve such a wide tunnel through the rock.

Seifer shifted his bag on his shoulder, impatient to get to their destination, yet also dreading their impending arrival. Would the entire gang be there? What was he going to say to all of them? Hell, did they even know Selphie was bringing him back?

He cleared his throat, and the cavernous space magnified the sound. Selphie glanced up at him with a silent question in her eyes. Without meeting her gaze, he asked, "So, uh . . . when did you guys build all this?"

Instead of Selphie answering, the other guy leaned forward with a proud smile. "A few years back! It's pretty impressive, huh? Squall and Quistis decided we couldn't just park the Ragnarok on the plains—bit conspicuous, am I right? So we got together with Esthar's engineering team and they built the landing pad atop the mountain, while we handled building the tunnel that leads down into the parking garage."

"This goes down to the parking garage?" Seifer questioned.

"Yeah! Just under the side of the Garden, on the east side if you're facing it. Like I said, impressive, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, impressive." He looked over at Selphie. "I'm surprised you didn't help. They had to have used explosives."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "How'd you know I like blowin' things up?"

Avoiding the question, Seifer shook his head and faced forward again. "I didn't. Now I do."

"He he he," she laughed as she reached over and jabbed him with her elbow. "Nice trick, there."

This time, he shook his head with a slight chuckle, which seemed to surprise both Selphie and her companion. The tunnel was starting to curve upwards now, and they continued the rest of the way in silence. When they finally reached the door that led to the parking garage—or so he surmised from the obnoxiously neon-green "P.G." that had been painted on it—Selphie stepped forward with an extra spring in her step.

"I got it, I got it!" she exclaimed, pulling a keycard out from her back pocket. Unfortunately, when she swiped the card through the reader, it beeped and flashed red. "Hey, what the heck?"

She tried again, only to get the same result, which prompted a frustrated groan from her. The other guy joined her in front of the door, pulling out his own keycard to try. When he swiped it, the reader let out a different, more cheerful beep, and flashed green. He pulled the door open for them and Selphie walked through the doorway first, muttering under her breath in displeasure.

As soon as they were all inside the parking garage, surrounded by the familiar, acrid scent of gasoline, she piped up. "Why didn't my card work?"

"Quistis probably just forgot to activate it. We used mine on the way out when we were here last, remember?"

"No, but okay. Whatever you say," she replied, sounding like she didn't believe the guy in the slightest.

Their conversation continued, but Seifer heard little of it as it faded into the background. As they bickered beside him, he looked around the garage, thinking that it hadn't changed in the slightest, despite a decade having passed since he'd last been there. The official Garden cars that transported cadets to Balamb for field exams were still parked in their same spots, and the one "undercover", civilian vehicle was still resting in the far corner opposite the glass partition. He tried to keep his thoughts neutral, disinterested, but he couldn't help but notice the pang of nostalgia that throbbed in his chest.

"Hey, Seifer, you comin'?"

Startled, he looked to his left and realized that Selphie and her companion had already made it to the hallway. The brunet was peering around the glass, back at Seifer, with a slightly confused expression.

"Yeah," he replied, glancing around the room one last time before following after them.

Again, their footsteps echoed down the hallway, and none of them said anything as they headed for the main hall. As they got closer, the sound of water splashing from the fountains Seifer knew were there, got progressively louder. The pangs in his chest grew, and he gripped the strap of his bag tighter than before, causing his knuckles to whiten.

When the overhead lights from the lobby threatened to spill into the relative safety and darkness of the hallway, Seifer was struck with the sudden desire to turn around and bolt out of there. He tensed up, his knees locking in place as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, staring ahead at the familiar, and yet, now so foreign, landscape of the lobby.

The other guy kept walking, waving at someone up ahead, but Selphie turned around at the last minute and looked back at Seifer. Her eyebrows were lowered in concern, and when she saw him standing there, stiff as a board, she took a couple steps back in his direction.

"Hey, it'll be okay," she said quietly, as if she were trying to soothe a wild animal who was ready to run. He supposed that that wasn't too far off from the truth.

"Somehow, I don't buy that, sunshine," he mumbled.

A chuckle left her; it was loaded with a mixture of nerves and amusement. Twisting her body so that she faced him head-on, she clasped her arms behind her back. "I . . . haven't told you this, but . . . I haven't been back to Garden in a long, long time, too."

Surprised, he raised his eyebrows at her. "Why's that?"

She shrugged, glancing over her shoulder briefly before looking at him again. "Just didn't feel right. Everyone's been doing their thing, and I—it's tough, you know? When people think—no, expect you to do one thing, and do that thing always. When you don't wanna do that thing anymore, when it doesn't feel right anymore, sometimes you just have to, I don't know, try something else. For me, that something else just wasn't here."

Her words struck closer to his own truth than he'd ever expected they would, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. "Yeah, trust me. I know."

"Mhm, now I know that you know. Not a lot of people get that. But see, that's how I know it'll be okay, 'cause when I came back for the first time a few days ago? It just was."

At that, he looked back up and met her gaze, so bright and hopeful. He let out a short, dry laugh, and finally nodded. She returned the gesture, and he walked towards her. When they stood side-by-side, she pivoted on her heel, and they made their way into the lobby together. Her companion was standing beside a woman with golden, shimmery hair—hair that looked so soft, she had to wash it every damn day. It probably smelled like something ridiculously girly, like strawberries and freesia.

When she and the brunet heard them approach, they faced them, and when Seifer recognized the woman, he nearly dropped his bag in shock. Since he'd last seen her, ten years ago, she'd grown out her bangs. Her hair was past her shoulders now, curled and pinned to the side in a professional, elegant manner. It appeared that she was every bit the headmistress and leader she'd always strived to be. Despite the change in her appearance, the shrewd, ice-blue eyes behind those glasses were just the same as he remembered.

She too must've seen the recognition in his eyes, so similar in color to her own, and yet, so different. With the same level of formality she'd had since she was eight, she clasped her hands in front of her and offered him a curt nod. When she raised her head again, the tiniest of smiles, though still a bit tense, teased at her lips.

"Hello, Seifer," Quistis greeted in her lilting voice. "Welcome back to Garden."