Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: This came unexpectedly in bursting sequence. The ending was complicated for me to write out so I hope it makes sense and is relatable to people.

For three years she had woken up to the off-white and water-stained apartment ceiling. One pathetic stream of light would infiltrate the room through the ragged, checkered sheets meant to pass for curtains. Her phone would ring incessantly with its alarm feature she would set the night before. The sound would normally irritate her enough to lose the comfort of warmth underneath the covers, and she would roll out of bed and onto her feet. From there, her normal routine was to feel her way to the door and make her way around the corner to her cramped bathroom so she could freshen herself up the best she could for work.

When Olette peeled her eyes open and yawned, she almost repeated that very series of events. She shrugged the comforter off of her shoulders and nudged the rest of it off of her with her foot. It seemed odd that she was still wearing her sneakers, but she attributed it to fatigue and guessed she had been too tired to remember to heel them off. She stretched and barely held in a yawn. There was no time to be overly tired; she needed to get to the bathroom so she could clean up and walk the six blocks to her job.

She rolled to the side off of the couch and landed on the floor with a startled squeak. Unaccustomed to sleeping up and off of the floor, the brunette suddenly realized that something was different. Belatedly, she noted the absence of the pesky alarm. The comforter was too warm and soft to be hers. The floor was too smooth to belong in her apartment. Her eyes flew open and she reflexively squinted at the flood of light swimming around in the room.

Olette felt her senses assaulted by fresh air, endless light, a large room, and the faint sound of a person humming. This was definitely not her house. Her mind brought to her attention that she had agreed to stay the night at Seifer's. She flushed when she recalled how terrible of a guest she had been more than once, even after she had begged not to be alone. That thought made her frown. There was no way she would allow herself to be a burden by becoming overly dependent; she was her own person and needed to stand on her own. Last night was merely an exception.

She must have fallen asleep on the sofa after dinner, Olette reasoned. She picked herself off of the floor and consciously neglected to massage the offended area on her posterior in case anyone might have seen it. Out of courtesy, she folded the comforter neatly and placed it on the cushion of the loveseat. Then she noticed a mirror near the door and shuffled over to it while she yawned into the back of her hand.

Her hair was horrifically out of place, the curls mashed together and strands defiantly standing loose on top of her head. Her eyes had signs of swelling, though it was not too obvious. The brunette smoothed her hair down and tenderly pressed at her eyes, wishing that somehow her fingers would cause the puffiness to disappear. Nothing changed. She pressed her lips together and found they needed lip balm soon or they would become too dry and would crack. She sorely wanted to shower and change into clean clothes, suddenly noticing an abundance of wrinkles spread all over her clothing. She needed to find Seifer so he could take her home before she was late to work.

The phone belligerently rang at her. Olette stepped to it with haste and felt her face fall when she read the caller information. Her eyes frantically searched the room for a clock and the impassive face of one located above the door read ten past nine. A huff of disbelief forced its way out of her mouth and she answered the call just before her answering machine took over.

"Hello?"

"Olette?" She cringed at the sound of the drawling woman's voice.

"Yes, this is she."

"Is there any reason why you're not in yet?"

"Yes, there is." There was a significant pause as the female on the other line was clearly waiting for further detail.

The brunette bit her lip nervously and struggled to think of some sort of reasonable explanation that did not involve anything shameful. It would be pitiful to say that she had spent the previous night wailing and beating on an acquaintance from her childhood and had, in the end, chosen to stay at his house because she was terrified of being mugged or raped in her apartment; or that she had exhausted herself because of self-pity, confusion, anger, and a myriad of other emotional and psychological issues stemmed from pent up frustration and discontentment at the choices made in her life.

"Well, Olette?" Time was running out and she had no time to make up a story. She blurted out the truth.

"I slept in."

"You… slept in."

"Yes."

"Did you not set your alarm?"

"No, I did not."

"And, may I ask, why not?"

"I was too busy."

It might have been the wrong thing to say. The silence following was terribly long and thick. Olette stared at her reflection in the mirror and adjusted a stray curl. She shifted her weight from one foot to another. Her hand without the phone glided along the back of the loveseat. She checked the time again – 9:12. The second hand ticked audibly in the room, the sound of humming now missing. A bird's shadow darted across the windows. The call of the Siamese sounded in the kitchen, followed by a clatter of dishes.

"Hello?" No response. She tried again. "Hello? Mrs. Walwood?"

"Miss Olette." The tone was clipped and direct. She flinched.

"Yes?"

"Would you explain to me why, exactly, you were too busy to set your alarm in order to come to a job you seemed to so desperately need?" The voice was condescending, impatient, and loaded with oncoming tides of anger. She jawed quietly at the phone, wracking her mind for some sort of something that would get her out of this mess and allow her to keep her job. She needed the money! Her rent was due at the end of this week and she needed groceries! She stammered into the phone.

"I, well, I – I was busy because I was, um," she was what? She knew what she was doing, but she did not want her employer to know it! It was pathetic and humiliating by all accounts. There was no way she was going to tell her – there had to be a better answer.

"I was busy because I forgot." Another pause.

"You were busy because you… forgot."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"I meant that I forgot because I was busy."

"Mmhmm." The sound of lips smacking apart in disapproval. "Okay. Well, Olette, I think –" Your thoughts don't count when I have to pay my rent! She thought in terror. Panic stole her control from her.

"You can't fire me, please! It was an accident, and it won't happen again. I really didn't expect it to happen, believe me!"

"Olette, you –"

"I just – I was out last night with someone and some things happened, and this guy came out of nowhere off of the streets and he wasn't leaving even though I told him I wasn't interested – you know, one of those people – and so I wanted to go home, but when we got home, I realized I didn't want to be home alone so I asked to come over to his place, and I was a jerk and things got out of hand, and I just – I – we – we had dinner and I must have passed out after that. When I got up this morning I thought I was at home and I was going to get ready for work, I swear! I want to come in – I need this job, please! You can't fire me!"

Her breathing threatened to tip over into a state of hyperventilation. Another span without words prevailed on the phone. She bit her lip in careless repetition and stared down at the ground. Her hand curled into a fist around the phone and it shook against her cheek. This woman could not fire her. She could not. Her thoughts avalanched.

She will not fire me. She will not fire me. She can't. She won't. There's no way she'll fire me. I need the money too badly. Why would she fire me over one discrepancy? That would border discrimination or something – there has to be some reason that she'll give me one pass. One chance is all I need. I'll never forget my alarm again. Even if I get married and have children and acquire some sort of handicap and go well into my old age, I'll never forget my alarm again. I need this paycheck. I don't have anywhere else to go. My other job won't cut it on its own. She has to keep me. I don't even have a vehicle; if I get fired, I have to walk all over between towns on foot. I'll have to waste time on the tram. I can't do that today. I'm too tired. She has to let me come in and do my hours today. She can't fire me. She can't fire me. She will not fire me. She-

"Olette – "

"Yes!"

"I'll tell you what." Olette sucked in a breath of suspense.

"Why don't you take the day off for now, and I'll call you when you need to come back in."

"But I –"

"Take the day off, Olette. I'm not going to lay you off right this minute. I have another call to make with the head boss and we'll see what he says. It's up to him. For now, get some rest. It sounds like you need it." She blew out the air in marginal relief. It was a compromised result, but she would have to take what she could get.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me."

The call ended abruptly and her phone dutifully informed her that she had been on the phone for eight minutes and fourty-nine seconds. She eased herself down onto the folded comforter and stared at the device. It was tempting to fling it into the wall or hurl it down at the floor with the intent of crushing it, but the blame rested on no one else but her. It was her fault that she had forgotten the alarm, and her employer was only fulfilling her own set of responsibilities. Jobs were touchy things right now; as a citizen of lower-class means, there was little point in being fussy over it. It was something like "Beggars can't be choosers."

The Siamese strolled into view from the kitchen, tongue sliding along its gums from side to side. Its eyes met hers with a cool stare, and it held its gaze for a moment before it padded out of sight behind her. She suspected they were not yet on friendly terms.

There was no point in sitting around for the rest of the morning. Olette pushed herself off of the seat and willed herself to explore the rest of the house in search of Seifer. She owed him a great deal already and still had one more favor to ask: she needed to get home. She had meant to restock her pantry today and, since she had the rest of the day off, she had ample time to do so. Maybe she could look around for a job with better pay in the meantime in case Mrs. Walwood's conversation with the head manager did not turn out too splendidly.

Several steps brought her into the kitchen, the space considerably larger than what she had seen last night. In addition to the stove and small counter space beside it, there was further countertop that spread to the right, cabinets both beneath and above it with glass door framed in glossy, dark wood. The small table with three chairs turned out to be a small table with four chairs, the set allowing just enough space in front of the refrigerator for the door to be swung open, and on top was a box of breakfast bars next to a cleaned out tin of what was once cat food. The appliances were the new stainless steel type, though the furniture looked as if it had weathered many years. The floor was the same midnight marble and it stretched out into the next room, the door on the other end of the kitchen past everything.

The peculiar noise of humming touched her ears again as Olette stepped out of the kitchen and into a formal dining area. A long table of glass reached to the other end of the room and chairs lined each side. She avoided counting how many the table could seat. The space gripped her with a feeling of awkwardness, the setting suggesting that she was not well-off enough to be seated in such a place. It was a room that reminded her of the extremely wealthy holding stiffly conducted meetings over exquisitely prepared food, the sort of atmosphere where one did not slouch, speak too loudly, sneeze, mention anything politically incorrect, use the wrong fork, or even set the napkin in the wrong place. The thought was distasteful and, upon seeing the stairs to her left, she promptly excused herself from the room by that exit.

With each step she gained on the way up, the brunette found that the distant noise had cleared out some and had become plainly masculine. By the time she had reached the top of the stairs and entered into the hallway, she could make out most of the melody and found the song to be strangely familiar, though she could not place a title or singer to it. It was, altogether, a pleasing tune, though a bit too jazzy for her tastes.

Light escaped through three doors to her left and illuminated the four doors to her right. Contrary to her expectations of a richly furnished house, none of those doors was shut to prevent nosy guests from snooping around. Each door was swung inside, inviting her to take a peek. Although she was here to ask her host for a ride back to her apartment and though she was sure he was somewhere in one of these rooms, she was unsure of which one it was – so a little peek would not hurt, she decided.

To her surprise, the majority of the rooms were well-furnished but empty guest rooms. The first pair of doors on both sides proved to contain rooms, each having a varied shade of color with different photographs framed on the walls to match, but there was no sign of any person inhabiting those rooms. Warm orange, cool blue, sweet pink, soft lavender – they all were tastefully applied on sheets, drapes, walls, rugs; but frames and furniture were all the black polished wood, and though the floor was no longer marble it was still dark. The last room on the left was a calming sage and across from it was the third room on the right which she discovered to be a bathroom. An unusual arrangement of grays, accented by porcelain white or satin blacks, streaked across in the form of tiles in the guest restroom; and it was impossible for her not to notice that the room boastfully displayed a rather ornate and peacock-blue-green wall of tiles and carvings to separate a section for the standing shower.

Whatever the final room on the right might have been was beyond her. The brunette had no time to look into it because the blond came out of it sporting a white college sweatshirt with tan slacks, and a baby pink apron with white frilly hems tied around the front of him. He was momentarily oblivious to her, a canister of furniture polish and a rag in hand, song reverberating in his throat, the music filtered into his ears through ear buds. His eyes met hers as he turned into the hallway and he saw her standing there, hands clasped together, giving him a bewildered stare. Seifer pulled the ear buds from his head and stuffed them into a side pocket, now divulging her with his full attention.

"Morning, Olette."

She was able to give him a nod of acknowledgement, suddenly at a loss of words. Olette had intended to find him and ask for a ride back to her apartment. Now, her throat constricted inexplicably and it took great effort to swallow. There was an appraising look on the blond's face that made her restless. Fingers threading through each other, she shifted her weight and stared past him, determined that if she avoided eye contact – or ignored his stare altogether – that she would be capable of smoothly forming her request.

"I need a ride home," she managed, noting a mirror on a closet door behind him. Though one of his shoulders slanted in front of the image, she could still see the wearied gaze of discomfort in the reflection of one of her eyes. Seifer seemed to notice the mild distress it just as she did.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Seifer. I just need to get home now."

Something flickered across his face and Olette caught it before he masked it. It had resembled something akin to pain, disappointment, or anger, but she could deduce no reason for any of the three emotions. Seifer Almasy was not known for weakness or public displays of feelings, either; if she had seen something, it was better to keep it to herself.

"I'll take you back," he agreed finally. The polish and cloth were placed on the floor near the mirror, and the bedroom door was shut behind him. There was a subtle change in his body language, she found, as he proceeded to escort her down the stairway to the living room. While he had been talkative and entertaining last night, he was no longer as conversational, even refraining from small talk. He did not ask her what she thought of dinner, he did not check to see how she had slept, and he voiced no pleas for her to join him for breakfast. The blond did not even bother to attempt to spend more time with her before he took her to her apartment. As it was not a date, there was no, "I enjoyed this; I hope we get to do this again," or anything of the sort. Real life was decidedly unromantic, she decided, as he let her gather her things and then led her to the Porsche.

Olette gave the flowers a wistful stare while she waited for Seifer to lock up. In the morning light, they were just as beautiful as when she had seen them by moonlight. Had her landlord allowed it, she might have taken up gardening. If her income had been sufficient she would have sought out a pet for companionship. Had her bravery not been lacking, she would have phoned Pence more often. She might have had more friends – more of a social life – if she had not isolated herself in college.

She had foolishly passed by so many chances that life had occasionally offered to her. Now, she was about to reject another opportunity at socializing and enjoying herself. Once he would generously drive her to the apartment, she was going to politely thank Seifer and refute any more attempts at contact with her; but what type of thanks was it to shut someone out of your life when they had shown undeserving kindness? He knew that she could offer nothing in return besides company, and though she felt obligated to return his generosity somehow she doubted that mere interaction with her would be enough.

Regrets concerning her failures and resentment in regard to her perceived inabilities both weighed Olette down. It was noticed too easily by Seifer as he returned to his vehicle and slipped into the driver's seat, but he did not comment. When their seatbelts were properly fastened, he inserted the key and turned the ignition. In a low rumble, the car became alive, and he steered it into the street.

He already knew the way to Olette's apartment; he had been there only some hours ago. His sense of direction had always benefitted him and Seifer could not recall the last time he had been lost before last night. Yesterday, he had been confident and secure in his standing with both people and his general life. He had seen her after the graduation ceremony, consistently aloof and so quiet. There had been no one with her; she had always been peculiar in her social habits since they entered college, and her mannerisms had seemed to repulse most people. He had never been most people. What was different ordinarily caused fear and distance with the average man; for Seifer Almasy, what was different aroused his curiosity and attracted him.

She had turned out to be unpredictable. An untypical woman, Olette had scorned every attempt he made to be a gentleman. It was plain to him the more he spoke to her that her issue was more than a wounded pride or mere self-consciousness. Alone, frustrated, and worn out with life and society as a whole, the brunette had allowed him to take her to dinner with a vague sense of hope. The meal had been abandoned as she had exploded, and he had almost quit on her; it was then he had truly begun to feel unsure of what course of action to take, of what was acceptable to discuss and what was forbidden, and of what she expected. It made no sense to him that she would ride with him to a night out to dinner if she would detest every moment of it; there must have been something that had attracted her to it. Eventually she had returned only because she was obviously shaken by undesirable advances from some stranger.

Her misconceptions of herself seemed to have been engraved, and whenever she seemed unsure of anything she would fall back on those delusions. Whenever she seemed to have been confronted about anything, she either lashed out or crumbled, both of which she had done last night. It was like there was a wall she had carefully maintained for years to prevent outsiders from discovering some vulnerability or insecurity, and she guarded it armed to the teeth. As long as he did not try to breach that unseen defense, she was relatively pleasant; but it was impossible to guess the invisible limits she had placed on him, and it was almost unfair for her to assume that he would respect what she would not explain and what he therefore could not understand.

Now, this morning she had unexpectedly appeared in the hallway upstairs, clearly looking for him but strangely speechless. The woman had seemed stricken with shame or discomfort. While he understood that one night was not enough for her to fully relax around him, she had not even been able to voice a reciprocal "Good morning" to him. Then she had wanted him to take her home, and his own demons had crawled out of hiding to lurk in the back of his mind. Doubts whispered that though her demeanor was different, she was the same within those walls; materialistic, vain, irrational, discontent, self-centered, spoiled – with those aspects she could never approach him for his own person over his wealth and successes. He refused to allow himself to believe it, but it haunted him persistently.

Insecurities were just a series of stepping stones leading down into an abyss of isolation. There was never turning back. One could only build over it with painstakingly laid stones of conscious trust and continue forward. In the end, it came down to whether or not someone thought it was worth the effort of an emotional renovation.

He eased the Porsche to a smooth halt by the sidewalk. The blond wanted to express the enjoyment he had received from her company last night, but he was too slow. Olette muttered something undecipherable and let herself out onto the asphalt. He would have offered to carry her duffel bag up the stairs for her but she beat him, already taking the liberty of heaving it out of the back seat. The brunette shut both doors with resonating slams and hurried into the building without even a glance back.

Seifer curled his lips back between his teeth and stared after where she had last been. He was distantly aware of an occasional stare from a passerby and eventually shifted the gears of his vehicle. For some time, he sat there, car parked on the side of the road, gazing far beyond the people that strolled by him on the street. After a while, he rested his head back against his seat and made eye contact with himself in the rear view mirror. He wanted to smash the reflection there with his fist, to go after her and unleash his frustration conceived as a result of her sullen behavior, to demand why she was so impossible and incomprehensible. What had happened to the beaming ray of sunshine that had been the Olette in their childhood? Where had she gone? She had hidden herself deeper than a dingy apartment room, and he had no idea where to begin to search; Seifer was really unsure of why he wanted to look at all.

He gave one last fleeting glance toward the entrance of the apartment building. Impulse suggested that he barge in there, storm up the steps, and sort this all out with her even if he had to slam down the door; but reason chided him and convinced him that he needed to give them both space, and that he needed some time to think.

Seifer released an exasperated sigh, set the Porsche in drive, and pulled out into the street. With a sense of anxiety and wonder, the brunette watched him leave from the hallway window, unable to even guess why he had stayed there so long.