Miss Balamb Garden
Chapter Six | Dead Weight
The annual boot camp at Balamb Garden. Held in mortal dread by all cadets. After a week of intense drills and rigorous exercise regimes, every single student - from the scrawny ten-year-olds to the weathered almost-twenties - were required to make the fifteen kilometre trek up Heartbreak Hill (aptly named by their predecessors) weighed down by a pack of rocks. Each year, as they advanced through their classes, the bag became heavier.
The sweet victory of reaching the summit and discarding the pack aside was always a most gratifying feeling. It was as if Seifer had never fully appreciated before just how light and springy his body was; so buoyant, so feathery, so free. (Only to forget a few weeks later until next year's boot camp rolled around).
But some kinds of weight weren't so easy to shed, and Seifer came to realise he'd never known what true heaviness actually was until the fog had lifted and he was facing the tribunal for his crimes.
These days, it was still there. A pressure on his shoulders, his neck, his mind, as if he was carrying an invisible bag of rocks. But it was tolerable. Hyne, he'd been to hell and back with his mind still somewhat intact. He could suck it up. He would carry it without complaint. So long as he kept his brain occupied and his hands busy.
And the following week was exactly that: busy.
Suddenly Seifer found himself being yanked in all directions. He felt like a Gysahl Green thrown into the midst of some hyperactive Chocobos.
There was extra training to do as well as meetings for his upcoming Timber mission. These he could usually dick around, but as team leader he actually had to be somewhat prepared. The first two meetings with his squad already placed a substantial strain on his leadership. One boy asked what hotel they would be staying at and if they served vegan meals, and another member seriously stated that everyone else would have to equip extra magic for her because of her fragile mental health.
The thing with being the leader was that Seifer couldn't just cast them a disdainful look. He actually had to listen and try to make it all work, while maintaining some sense of "you're a soldier, suck it up". Hyne help us all. Hopefully we get back in one piece and not with my ass on my face or something. Garden could probably stand to lose some of these idiots though.
The stupid questions made the meetings run over time and then he was late to everything else. To cap it off, the dreaded gastro bug was doing its rounds and had caught Zell, Irvine and Squall in its rancid claws, meaning that Seifer had been on his own trying to finish off a cabinet for some naggy fussy old lady in Balamb who insisted she needed it by the weekend. All while anticipating the gastro to come get him at any moment. Zell had only just recovered a day ago and confided in Seifer that it had been the worst, that there had been "liquid projecting out from all holes, man."
Urghh.
Then there were the pageant sessions, which Quistis had increased to four times a week as the event drew closer. These weren't nearly so interesting anymore as she drilled history facts into his overloaded brain and nagged him incessantly about his posture (if she made him walk back and forth with a book on his head one more time, he was gonna bash his face into it), all while keeping a "pleasant, neutral resting face".
Suffice to say, Seifer was in a bit of a dour mood come the end of the week. He was starving because he'd missed lunch, he'd accidentally hammered one of his fingers instead of the nail, and one of his squad members accosted him excitedly in the walkways and wouldn't shut his trap for fifteen minutes as he blabbered on about his weapon upgrade.
When it rains, it freaking pours.
That evening, Seifer scoffed down some dinner before hurrying to Quistis' dorm, but of course to make his night even better, someone rounded the corner and collided right into him. He leaped back and exclaimed aloud.
"Hyne! Watch where you're going - " Seifer growled before realising it was Stick-Up-The-Ass Xu who looked pissier than normal. Maybe he wasn't the only one on the verge of murdering some rookie SeeDs. "Ugh, it's you," he said distastefully, and without further ado he carried on walking.
"Hey, are you not even going to apologise?" Xu shouted after him.
"Can't. Late for my pageant training, ya know," he called back in a great impression of Raijin.
"I'm surprised someone with such a massive ego as you would even do it," Xu said loudly even as the space between them grew. She clapped in a sarcastic, mocking manner. "Well done, Almasy. You're no longer a little boy."
At this, Seifer paused, stiffening at the words. Little boy. His mind bloomed with the vision of a purple haze, a ringing noise growing in his ears, the pressure suddenly intensifying on his shoulders.
Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned back around. "Your opinion means so much to me, Shoey," he sneered.
Xu raised an eyebrow, putting a hand on her hip as she pointed at him with the other one. "I hope you're being nice to Quistis, at least," she said cooly. "No idea what she sees in you, but if it had been me I would've left you out to hang and dry."
"Oh yeah?" Seifer's lip curled, "Speaking from experience? With a face like that, I'm not surprised."
"Ha ha," said Xu sardonically, waving him off with a dismissive hand. "Well, good luck with the pageant, Almasy. Prove it's not a mistake."
"The only mistake I see is your dad not using protection," returned Seifer delicately, flashing his pearly whites at her.
Xu rolled her eyes at him, turning around and making an obscene gesture with her middle finger over her shoulder. Seifer also continued on his way, the smirk wiped off his face as soon as he turned around. He grounding his teeth together as he walked. Don't think about it. Hyne, he was tired.
Encounters with Xu were a bit of a mixed bag; she grudgingly accepted Seifer was a part of Garden again, obviously knew he was loyal to them and respected him, at least, as a member of SeeD. Sometimes they could keep it civil, particularly if someone superior was also in their company, and their insults could be flung at one another in carefully disguised words; but otherwise conversations tended to degenerate into swearing, name calling and threats of violence (on Xu's part) while Seifer struggled not to laugh in the face of her outrage.
Normally these encounters left him heartened. The vulgar harsh exchanges never ran deep. Xu could handle a kick in the balls and it was refreshing to give a dose of donkey dickery to someone who was just as much of a hard ass as him.
But tonight he was left with a sour taste in his mouth, a dull ache building in his temples, and the feeling persisted when he finally reached Quistis' room and found her narky and unimpressed that he was late.
Seifer sat in a heap on her couch, arms wound tightly around a cushion and head splayed back as Quistis sat at her dining table and lectured him about the building of the west wing and fair pay and industrial action. He closed his eyes when she went to fact-check something in one of her heavy volumes, letting the merciful darkness take over him… Ahh…
"Seifer?"
Mmmm…
"Seifer!"
The next thing he knew, there was a sharp pain in his ear and his eyes flew open. The comforting darkness was gone and everything was too bright. Too loud.
And Seifer didn't need to look to know what had happened. He jerked his head away with a groan, stretching backwards and up as he was rudely yanked from his brief reprieve.
"You need to stop falling asleep!" snapped Quistis, standing in front of him with disapproval on her brow.
Seifer grunted, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back onto the couch. "I'm frickin' tired. Plus your droney instructor voice doesn't do me any favours. Geez. It's like hearing paint dry."
Quistis rolled her eyes, registering that he was in a mood. One of those moods. Knowing this did not improve it any further.
"Are you rested well enough now?" she asked loftily as she returned to her table and sat back down. "I want to get back to this."
The way she said it, enunciating her ts with just a snap of sarcasm lacing her tone, made him annoyed and reckless.
"Well, I don't," Seifer retorted, throwing away the cushion he'd been holding. "I need a break." He jumped up and strode over to her mini fridge, helping himself to a can of flavoured sparkling water. Not his choice; she had nothing else with more kick in there. With a grimace he cracked it open and gulped it down.
"We've barely started," said Quistis, watching him through narrowed eyes.
"Yeah. So?"
"So I'd like you to try a little harder, Seifer. You're not the only one giving up your time to do this."
Ah, the guilt trip attempt. Classic teacher-slash-authority figure remark. Designed to shame one into action. And even though Seifer knew that was what it was, the underlying implication that she didn't actually want to do this made him feel an ugly sort of way.
He scoffed as he slammed the fridge door shut. "Quit nagging, instructor. It's a freakin' drag show pageant and you're even managing to suck the life out of that."
Quistis' face did not change, remaining impassive, in control. It just bugged him some more. "Are you done now?" she asked peevishly as if he was an overemotional toddler.
"You know what?" said Seifer loudly, lifting the can in the air towards her. She raised an eyebrow at him. "I think I am done. We can revisit these riveting facts next time. Good night, toodleloo, adios."
Quistis' tone was icy, designed to flick on the raw. "It's always like this," she said as he strode across the room. "You just don't care. You don't really try."
Anger and resentment surged up inside of him. Instinct told him to insult, to hurt, and he knew this was spiralling into something bad. He was old enough now to recognise that walking away was the only good outcome in this situation, but not yet self-controlled enough to actually follow through.
"Yeah, yeah," he spat. "Damn, why am I even bothering to listen to this crap?" Seifer threw his hands up in the air. "I quit. You happy? I'm done with this spectacle." He crumpled the empty can in his fist and threw it into the bin.
"Yes, quit when it gets just a little bit too hard, that's what you do, isn't it?" retorted Quistis, the words tumbling out in her exasperation. "Blow a gasket when it doesn't go your way and throw a tantrum."
Seifer barked out a humourless laugh. "Would you like me to throw one right now, instructor? It'd be my pleasure." He shook his head, "I'm getting the hell outta here. I don't need to hear this damn lecture."
He was almost at the door when she spoke, voice too quiet and calm contrasting to his acerbic tone.
"You can't just quit."
Seifer turned around, flicking her a careless look. She stared back at him, gaze focused and resolute. "Sure I can," he said rashly. "I'm doing it right now."
"It's for the orphanage."
"Does it look like I care?"
"Don't you remember it was all we had when we were little?" Quistis asked quietly. "It was the only home for us."
He snorted. "It can't have meant that much if you all forgot in a few short years, eh?" Her expression wavered as he glared at her, and he felt a brutish lurch of satisfaction that he could still break her composed instructor facade.
"I - I remember…" she said unconvincingly.
"Yeah?" Seifer sneered. "Tell me what you remember then."
"I…" Quistis swallowed and tried again, "We'd play down at the beach - "
He folded his arms and rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Real nice memory there."
"And we set off fireworks at night."
"So I've heard a thousand times," scoffed Seifer, expression hard and unrelenting, not showing the bitterness rushing through his chest. He knew it. She forgot. They all did. "You guys repeat that story like it's the only moment from the last two decades."
Quistis frowned at him, but then she spoke again. "I remember Matron and Cid made us tickets to Selphie's magic show. We got shown to our seats and you and I made money for everyone to buy popcorn and juice boxes."
Seifer stayed silent, clenching his jaw suddenly.
"I remember I'd draw horses on my gil and you'd draw dragons. That was a really fun night. It felt like we were going to a real circus."
He didn't move; just looked stonily back at her.
But it appeared she wasn't done yet. Quistis continued to recount, her voice soft and quiet, full of unexpected feeling.
"We'd play war. And you were always the strongest and you never, never let us forget it." Here she paused and looked up at him, eyes searching. "But sometimes you let us win. Like when Zell squashed that frog and he was distraught. You let him win one time after that. You let Squall win the day after Sis left. And there were a few times you let me win against you… usually after I was sad."
Still Seifer didn't say anything, barely aware of his fists clenched at his sides. She does remember. He continued to glare at her as he was suddenly, unwittingly, transported back to that time. Always strong-arming the others, so desperate to prove his importance and dominance. He'd almost broken Squall's arm once in a wrestling match until Quistis had intervened in that pushy, holier-than-thou attitude she'd been born with.
And yet, despite all the tears, the shrill and exasperated complaints of "Sei-fer!" and being sent to his room in a huff, there was a veil of belonging and comfort that hugged his childhood. Squall never backed down from his constant challenges; the next day Zell would still seek his approval no matter how many times Seifer put him down; Selphie always made him captain of the other war party; Irvine snuck him cookies in timeout when he felt sorry for him; Sis was always smiling and understanding, trying to get him to empathise with the others; and Quistis might've had a third eye for getting him into trouble, but she tidied up his room for him and put band-aids on his cuts without being asked.
Seifer focused on the Quistis in front of him now, several years later, several years older, with so much having happened between them. His heart gave an unexpected wrench as she looked up at him with those blue eyes, something like hot guilt and regret boiling up in his chest as he thought of her tired, battle worn face a year ago. The faces of the others flashed through his mind; some set and unrelenting, some confused like they didn't know how they came to this (I don't know how we came to this either), and he didn't care, he was trying to hurt her, trying to hurt them all. For the greater good.
And look where that got me. Hyne.
It was heavy again. Crushing. The weight. The burden. The guilt.
And Seifer didn't want to face this. Not here, not now, and especially not in front of Quistis Trepe. He'd spent an entire year isolating himself from that part of his life, and he was doing just fine. He didn't need to heal, dammit.
Which was why he turned his head away and forced indifference into his voice. "Don't remember that, and even if I did, it's probably better I forget," he said brusquely. "Not a sunshine and roses place to have grown up, was it?"
There was a moment's pause.
"That's not fair, Seifer." To his surprise, she sounded hurt.
Seifer shrugged, regarding her coolly. "It is what it is, Trepe. So what? Our parents died or abandoned us and we got shipped off to a house in the middle of nowhere. We weren't family. We were just a bunch of messed up orphans with nowhere else to go."
Quistis' brow was furrowed, her azure eyes somehow quivery in the light. "You don't mean that," she murmured.
"Stop trying to make it something special. It doesn't mean anything."
"We're still together now."
"So what?" Seifer said coldly, "You all forgot. "
She pursed her lip, glowering at him, obviously not knowing what to say. Seifer knew that look all too well. No one could outmatch him in a verbal spat. Quistis was the closest one able to, and he didn't shrink back from cheating and hitting her sore spots. No mercy.
And then her expression cleared as if realising something, her eyes softened, and Quistis spoke in her steady, quiet voice again. "You're not quitting."
He snorted brashly. "Watch me."
"You're not quitting because I'm not quitting," repeated Quistis, her gaze never leaving him. "I'm not quitting on you, Seifer. This… this is a good thing. You like doing it."
"I like cross dressing in front of the entire campus?" Seifer shook his head with a raucous laugh, "Hate to burst your bubble, instructor, but I really don't."
"You like being part of this," she said, sounding more confident this time. She kept her eyes on him. Honestly, it was a little unnerving, giving Seifer the feeling that she could see right through him. Did her Blue Magic give her x-ray vision? Crap, listen to yourself, Almasy. Just shut up.
"Being part of the group again. Doing things together. You're our family, Seifer, and we haven't forgotten. We're remembering." Quistis took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with her conviction, "So you're not quitting. I know what you're trying to do."
Seifer tried to sneer, but he wasn't sure it had the intended effect as Quistis just looked back at him demurely. "And what is that, exactly?"
"You don't believe you deserve something, so you ruin it."
He froze for a fraction of a second, the words striking his heart and not bouncing off like they were supposed to. Instead they sank down, deep, clawing right into the recesses of his soul, and he had to swallow to muster up his reply.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Trepe. I'm just eating my damn heart out." Seifer slammed his hand on the door panel, waving his hand over his shoulder. "Enjoy the wig and dress."
And ignoring the stupid squirming guilty feeling curdling in his chest, he left her room.
All next day Seifer expected Selphie or someone to come tearing up at him, trying to convince him not to quit the pageant, to beg and plead for him to do them all a favour and return since he was such a sensational contestant, so talented and strong and handsome and compassionate…
But no one said anything. No one even looked at him differently. Maybe Trepe had meant what she said and not taken his leave of absence as fact… just yet. Maybe she really hadn't quit on him.
Wasn't so quick to cover my ass after the disciplinary room fiasco though.
She did try to chase you down. All the way to Timber, that annoying voice replied.
Stupid inner voice.
So the day passed and at night he didn't turn up to Quistis' dorm for their allotted session, and she didn't try to come find him (not that he was hoping for it or anything), and he sat in his room glaring up at the ceiling. Still fuming over the argument ("It's always like this. You just don't care"), pissed off about everything, and mostly angry at himself for even caring in the first place.
Lost cause. That's what they all see me as. Won't take her long to let them know.
Several days passed in a similar fashion. Felt like quarantine. Seifer was exhausted and so slept most of the days away, but come night time he was restless. On one such evening, he tossed and turned for several hours before finally checking the clock.
Blergh. What time is it?
0200 hours. Crap. I need to stop sleeping during the day. Body clock's all screwy.
He lay motionless for a few more minutes, trying to lull his mind back to drowsiness, but eventually gave up. Seifer kicked off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, exhaling loudly as he massaged his temple and forehead with his fingers.
The hell do I do now?
He hated to admit it, but the pageant sessions with Quistis had given structure to his day and some semblance of routine. Being forced to wake up early and to eat dinner at a certain time to make the evening session had helped him not procrastinate so much on everything else he had going on. Which is jack all right now. Damn. Had to friggin' quit right before everything went quiet again.
That, and he kinda missed the company. With Raijin and Fujin MIA with their own pageant prep, and him actively avoiding the others since he didn't have the patience (balls) to face Quistis just yet, Seifer had been keeping to himself a lot.
Back to square one. Nothin' new.
He groaned and slid a hand down his face. Without much enthusiasm he dragged his laptop over and flicked it open, deciding he might as well check the Garden Square forum. He'd been hunting down the book Return of Pupurun for Raijin for three months now and was wondering if there'd been any replies to his post. Anonymous, of course. He didn't need Garden students thinking he was into that kind of thing.
There was no proper reply, just a few messages also wondering where the copy of that book went. Seifer scrolled down aimlessly until a certain thread caught his eye and he paused.
Lifecycle of a Bite Bug. 127 posts.
127 posts? What the hell? Frowning, he clicked into it. Back before sorceress-soup hit the fan and he'd been a mere innocent enforcer of the disciplinary committee, Seifer had developed a natural intuition for dodgy message board posts. This particular thread was raising all kinds of red flags. Who cared about the life cycle of a bloody Bite Bug that much?
A savage sort of satisfaction settled over him as he scrolled through the posts.
She wore a blue barrette in her hair today. What do you think happened to her red one?
I wish she'd let her hair down, just want to run my fingers through those golden tresses...
Smiled at me today. Could die happy.
Trepies.
Trepie-hunting was a favourite pastime of his, and hadn't Cid encouraged him to pursue some hobbies? With nothing else to do at this hour, Seifer cracked his fingers and set to work.
He scrolled and clicked for the next hour, swearing under his breath at regular intervals and resisting the urge to punch a hole through the screen. Everyone was anonymous, but it wasn't hard to click through people's post histories and make connections when students were asking for help in a particular class with a particular instructor, or posting in the sustainability society group.
The Trepies were evolving in intelligence, though, he had to admit. The usernames that posted the most frequently were all throwaway accounts, solely dedicated to just talking about Instructor Trepe, and these were the ones he wanted to dox. The hardcore fans who didn't know their boundaries. The ones he had to put in place.
Seifer's eyes bugged out when he eventually clicked on a strange link that he'd found embedded in one of their post histories. It took him to a page off Garden Square, hosted on a separate network, and he knew he had struck gold.
Some utterly disturbing gold.
Quistis. Quistis everywhere. The page was entirely dedicated to her and the content here was much less censored. "Mother…" Seifer swore aloud, scrolling through with a nauseated expression. The latest thread was full of photos of her all taken at the same, strange angle, obviously without her knowing. He peered closer and his blood ran cold.
That's her freaking dorm corridor. Bloody bastards. They've put a camera there.
He checked the dates. The most recent photo was from today. Today, at 1900 hours as she returned to her dorm. In fact, as he checked, these sickos had to have her routine down pat by now. She pretty much entered and left her room at the same times every day, and there was a screenshot of her at each interval.
Seifer shoved the laptop away, fuming. The fact that he had joked about selling her schedule, only for these perverts to already know it, made him want to roll all the Trepies up into a ball and throw them into a wall.
Your regimented timetable is gonna have you stalked and killed, Trepe.
Seifer stood up, the adrenalin pumping, by all accounts intending to run over to her dorm right now (so what if it was the middle of the night?) and rip out the camera and burn it or something. This was all kinds of sick and disturbing and she had no idea about it.
But no… that wouldn't help him figure out who was behind it.
Slowly, Seifer sank back down on his bed. This would need some brains. He had to think with his head instead of his hands. Then, as a plan formulated in his mind, he smiled grimly to himself, feeling invigorated and motivated for the first time in days.
Hanging near the instructor dormitory corridor all day without looking suspicious was harder than Seifer thought. It was a little simpler by the fact that instructors were used to seeing him around because of the pageant sessions, so at least there were no dirty looks being thrown at him, but having to scamper and hide every time Quistis emerged or returned was more difficult than he anticipated.
Bloody Trepies. Where the hell are they?
Master Plan wasn't looking so grand right now. Seifer had been at it since noon and had only left twice to take a leak. Faithful Raijin had come to his aid with curry buns and a can of soda so he wasn't entirely famished. Raijin thankfully hadn't asked too many questions, probably assuming he was just waiting for Quistis to return from something so they could start their session.
It was now almost 7PM and still no sign of any perverted sus kids.
The execution hadn't been easy either. First, Seifer had to deduce where the camera was without stepping into its line of sight. He knew that once the Trepies saw him onto them, they'd be hauling ass faster than a toupee on a windy day. He detected the camera quickly enough, a tiny gadget of a thing fixed onto the corner of the opposite dorm door. Then he had to slide against the wall to avoid being seen, sweating as he leaned up and stuck a sticker dot over it.
Then, time for the boring part: staking out and waiting for the natives to come once they realised their camera was no longer working.
They were disappointing Seifer a bit. How dedicated could they be to their beloved instructor if no one had come running in the first hour? Geez.
Several hours later, and Seifer was resigning himself to the fact that he'd have to give up for the day. Quistis had entered and left three times already and the Trepies had to have noticed the blacked out camera by now,
And then, just as he was about to give up, two scrawny junior classmen emerged. They stood close together, walking and glancing over their shoulder with the air of someone who knew they shouldn't be here.
Seifer shrunk back into the shadows, silently triumphant.
Aha. Time to skin some rats.
The boys whispered to each other as they snuck down the hallway. Seifer watched closely as they pointed at the door opposite Quistis', and one of them reached up to where he knew the camera was hidden.
"There it is," hissed a boy. "Get it, quickly."
The other boy hesitated, frowning as he peered closer, "Wait, there's a - "
Seifer chose that moment to step out behind them. "Hey, punks," he announced his presence nonchalantly.
The cadets whirled around in a panic.
"Oh sh - ARGHHH!" As one of them made a run for it, Seifer swooped down and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. A second later and he'd grabbed the other boy by his shirt too, proceeding to drag both of them away kicking and yowling.
"Noooo!"
Seifer shoved them down like rag dolls, towering before them as they spluttered and shook. He took in their appearance with disgust. Man. They can't be more than fourteen years old. What the hell is this place coming to.
"I think you both oughta stay right here, don't you?" Seifer said casually, folding his arms and surveying their pitiful state. They were like cornered animals, not daring to meet his eyes as they struggled to their feet. "How're you doin'?"
Silence. One boy had gone deathly pale.
Seifer sighed heavily. "Man, I must be talkin' to myself. How're you doin'?"
The boy with black hair ran a tongue over his lips, managing to mutter out, "We're… we're good."
"Good. Good," Seifer repeated with a nod, pacing slowly in front of them. The air was thick with fear and dread. They didn't dare move. "You're both good. That's great." He halted and looked straight at them with piercing eyes. "You should ask me now. It's called manners, cadets."
More silence.
Seifer raised an eyebrow. "Well?"
"How… are you?" mumbled the black-haired boy.
"Not good. Something's bothering me. And that something's snug in your right hand." Seifer couldn't quite keep his voice casual as he glared pointedly at the camera in the red-haired boy's hand.
He trembled. The other boy let out an involuntary gasp.
Seifer took a menacing step forward. "Seems like you've got some explaining to do," he said in a low voice.
"It's not ours," the red-haired kid burst out, horrified, shaking. Clearly he was in way over his head. "Please - we just got sent to check on it!"
"So you're telling me you have no idea what it's actually doing?" snorted Seifer in disbelief.
The boys exchanged terrified, guilty looks with each other that confirmed all Seifer needed to know.
"It's just some pictures," the dark-haired boy said pleadingly, but instantly cowered at Seifer's deadly look.
"It's freakin' harassment is what it is," he growled. "And you're going to tell me exactly who's sending you."
"We - we don't know."
Seifer narrowed his eyes at them in a very clear message: Do you think I'm stupid?
"No, really! Please believe us. We just get sent messages. No one - no one meets in person anymore, we - uhhh - heard what you used to do. It's all just online and the messages are anonymous. Sometimes the usernames change. Some of us know each other, but we just admire Instructor Trepe, that's all. We'd never… do anything to scare her. We don't want that."
Seifer glowered at them both as he processed this.
What in the actual name of Hyne. Clearly the Trepies had evolved into a disturbingly complex and organised society. One based on anonymity while sending brainless cadets who were only thinking with their peckers to the front line.
"And you really think it's okay to stick a camera in front of her room?" he snarled, and they flinched.
"Well… no…" mumbled the darker one, dropping his eyes to the ground. The other kid shook his head vigorously.
Seifer placed a hand over his eyes. This wasn't exactly the confrontation he'd envisioned. There was much less violence and more pity than he anticipated. These kids weren't the ones he was after.
He glared back at them, gaze hard and menacing as he ordered, "I want you idiots to go back to your dorms and pass on a very clear message from me. Make sure they know it's me."
Still frozen in horror, they nodded.
"Leave Instructor Trepe alone - and I'll know if she's not being left alone - or I will find them. I've got a lot of time. And not that strong of a moral compass." Seifer flicked his chin up, his eyes darkening. "You oughta know already."
The boys seemed too afraid to ask, but the one with black hair managed to whisper, "...And?"
"I will shove my entire fist down their throats," replied Seifer airily. "Among some other things. Learnt some new tricks, you know."
They gulped.
"Un - understood, sir."
Seifer glared at them for a few seconds before flinging an arm out to the side, pointing. "Get outta here."
The boys didn't need to be told twice. They instantly made a break for it, one of them stumbling in the process, and Seifer shouted after them.
"And go study instead for Hyne's sake!"
He watched them go with a grim sort of satisfaction, although that wouldn't be complete until he had squeezed the life out of the stupid fan club. Seifer bent down and grabbed the tiny camera, mentally planning the best way to send another charming message via it (plugging it into his dorm and mooning it was top of his list right now) when he heard a door slide open and someone walk out.
"Seifer?"
He froze. Oh, shoot me.
Very slowly he turned around. Quistis stood there, wearing a black hoodie over a pair of shorts with her glasses perched across her nose. She appeared confused and tentative as she looked at him, still standing there with the tiny camera in his hand.
Seifer had no smart response for her in that moment, his mind still concocting more ways to mess with the Trepies. "Hi," was his clever automatic greeting.
Her brows creased in the middle. "Hi. Was that… you yelling out here?"
There was no point denying it. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Why?" he repeated incredulously. Her naivety caused a wave of exasperation to crash over him, and Seifer snapped with sudden fervour, "You need better damn security, that's why. Have you not realised there's been a bloody camera stuck up there watching you enter and leave your dorm for the past month?"
Quistis looked shocked. "What?"
"Oh, yeah. Your photos are plastered all over some secret site."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Quistis studied him for a few moments before saying, in a conversational tone as if they were discussing the weather, "I actually put that camera there. It's mine."
It was Seifer's turn to be surprised. "What? This is yours?"
"Someone was leaving strange things at my door a few months ago, so I put the camera there and it stopped after that. But how are they getting the footage?" she wondered out loud.
"They must be hacking into your network." Seifer paused, mind running back to her earlier statement. "Wait. What were they leaving?"
Quistis' face tightened just the slightest. Blink and he would have missed it. "Just the usual," was her cryptic response.
Seifer was livid, shaking his head and swearing under his breath. "This is friggin' mental, Trepe. How can you stand there and act like this is okay?"
She crossed her arms. "It's easier that way. Besides, I can take care of myself. I suppose I'll need to up the security of my camera."
"They need to put an extra clearance before the instructor dorms," grumbled Seifer. "To stop people from coming close."
"Like you?" she humoured him.
"Ha ha," he said shortly.
Quistis unfolded her arms, looking at him uncertainly as she ventured, "Well… thank you? I guess."
"You're welcome," Seifer said stiffly. He suddenly felt tired and deflated, as well as a little awkward. He hadn't intended to actually speak to Quistis tonight. He wasn't sure if she would ever want to talk to him again, actually.
"So… are you going to come in?" she asked.
He froze again, sure he'd misheard her. He looked at her with a frown. "What?"
"For our session," elaborated Quistis.
Seifer narrowed his eyes, ignoring the thumping of his heart in his chest. "I thought I said I quit," he said flatly.
"And I thought you said you didn't care, and yet here you are outside my dorm scaring away junior classmen." Her eyes glimmered with some humour that he'd come to realise Quistis actually possessed. Is she making fun of me?
"I didn't do it for you," said Seifer at once. "I was merely clearing out the trash."
Quistis gave a slow, exaggerated nod as if she didn't quite believe him. He didn't blame her. "Right. So do you want to continue our session? Because like I said… I haven't quit."
The hope lifting in his chest plainly told him that yes, he did want to continue (what is the world coming to?), but habit - old, stubborn, prickly habit - made him say, "It only takes one side to end something."
"You're right," mused Quistis. "But are you ending it?"
"Quit the instructor questioning, please," Seifer finally burst out with a groan. "It's giving me a migraine."
Quistis cracked a small, impish smile and her manner became much more casual. "Come on, Seifer. We can't let the Miss Balamb Garden title go to Squall or Raijin or Nida. We shook hands on this, remember?" She held out her hand to him, and the gesture was so unexpected that Seifer blinked at it dumbly.
Then, a second later, he realised she was nervous too, just trying to hide it under that smile, and her genuineness and vulnerability took him right back to that moment months ago in the cafeteria when she'd offered him that hot chocolate with the same shaky bravado.
His throat appeared to have sealed itself as he stared. Quistis didn't retract her hand; just waited patiently for him, and the very way she looked expectantly at him with those wide, unhidden blue eyes chipped away at the last of his prickles. She wasn't bringing up the argument or any of the hurtful things he might've said. She was just offering her hand to him. Willingly.
And just like that morning in the cafeteria a year ago, he couldn't find it in his heart to dismiss her. He just couldn't.
Seifer took her hand and squeezed it, and Quistis' responding smile made something in his stomach jolt.
She was pleased. She was happy. That he was holding her hand, acquiescing to her, effectively saying yes to spending more time together. That she was going to stand by him.
It was very, very disarming. And she didn't even seem to realise.
"We can't let that happen, I suppose," he managed to mutter out.
Quistis pulled him into her dorm then and dropped his hand, saying something about a category and an event and needing to prepare for something or other, but Seifer could barely hear her as he struggled to get his emotions in check.
Or maybe he was just tired and delusional.
Seifer had an inkling then, though he didn't fully know it, that something fundamental inside of him had shifted. And perhaps even on him.
It was not complete, he knew, but he found he could walk a little taller, a little more freely, just when he thought he could carry no more.
