"If you can steal an idea from someone's mind,
why can't you plant one there instead?"
[Saito - Inception]
"The subject's mind can always trace the genesis of the idea.
True inspiration is impossible to fake."
[Arthur - Inception]
Chapter 3: Just The Rage
Quistis remained on edge for the next week, afraid that Seifer was going to confront her any second and exclaim that he had been onto her plan from the start.
But nothing happened.
He never brought up the topic of PJ again.
It was almost too good to be true…
She kept her guard up just in case.
His recalcitrance gradually diminished with each session. Perhaps the therapeutic 'rapport' that she had read about—that coveted state of clicking with a client and making them feel safe and respected—was finally becoming a reality that she could claim, even if it wasn't precisely what she had in mind.
Meanwhile, she could not get Seifer's book of dreams out of her head.
What did he mean by not losing himself?
Surely the interpretation was a cinch, but she wondered if there was something deeper, something beyond the inherent simplicity of the words.
As she racked her brains over this, life went on as usual with its unchanging rhythm.
Now that they were in the homestretch of Seifer's required therapy hours, she hunkered down and reviewed all of her notes up to this point, determined to make the remaining time a resounding success.
The sense of duty was there, but she was driven by a more powerful emotion. One that was soft and sweet and sentimental…
Quistis was naturally inclined to deny its existence.
Seifer groaned. "Why does this look like homework?"
"It'll require some effort on your part. But, we'll work on this packet during sessions only," she promised.
"Are you gonna grade me?"
Quistis shook her head. "No, this isn't about your performance. I'd like for you to just be aware of different cognitive distortions. The more you know about your enemies, the greater you'll be prepared to defeat them."
"Catastrophizing," he read aloud.
"Here's an example: I'm going to fail my SeeD exam."
"Fallacy of Fairness."
"This isn't fair!" she dramatized. "I've put so much effort into my career and it's going nowhere."
"Emotional Reasoning."
"I don't have anything to offer to people. If I feel this way, then it must be the truth."
Seifer set aside the packet with raised brows. "Are we still talking about me…?"
She cleared her throat, mildly embarrassed. "Right, sorry. You try now."
"I'm not a catastrophizing kind of guy and I don't really expect life to be fair all the time," he replied with disinterest. "As for emotional reasoning, sure—I do it from time to time, but is that really such a bad thing?"
"Emotional reasoning can be a bad thing if it's clouding your judgment or leading to poor decisions."
Quistis really could have used this advice for herself.
There was an apology in Rinoa's grin. "Selphie has asked me to kidnap you."
"Oh, dear," said Quistis resignedly.
"I'll wait until you're done with lunch. Then, I'll walk with you to the quad!"
"A kidnapper who makes me feel at ease?"
"It's your lucky day."
"You know what? Let's just leave now," suggested Quistis. "I'll take my chicken wrap to-go."
Rinoa pouted. "Now I feel bad for interrupting your meal."
"Please don't be! Is there some kind of event coming up?"
"There is!" said Rinoa as they began walking out of the cafeteria. "A school dance—an informal one."
"That sounds nice."
"Selphie's trying to give it a public school vibe. You know, the kind of dance that you hold in a gym with all of the annoying but addicting top-40 hits blaring in your ears?"
Quistis chuckled.
She was surprised when Selphie asked her to coordinate the music for the dance.
"I'm the worst person for this job," she said honestly. "I haven't listened to the radio in years and I have no idea what's popular these days."
"Sorry, Quisty!" Selphie opened up a glitter spiral notebook and showed a page to her. "As you can see, this is the only unassigned job left. I've been trying to find you for a while but it's so hard to track you down!"
"In all fairness, Selphie did try to ask you for help that one day," added Rinoa, "but I distracted her with a sandwich, remember?"
"Oooh, yeah!" exclaimed Selphie. "That prime rib dip was super delicious. Anyway, I promise it won't be too hard. You can just look at peoples' public playlists for ideas."
Quistis was seriously considering paying someone to complete the task for her.
There just wasn't enough time to get everything done.
She sensed that she was being followed, but when she turned around, the street behind her was empty.
She rounded the corner to Seifer's house with a tense grip on Save the Queen.
Just a few more paces to the front door…
Quistis heard a telltale sneeze.
She swiftly beheld the intruder.
It was just a boy, and he was perhaps the same age as the young Seifer who had fed her peanut butter and jelly.
The boy's hair was sticking out at odd angles, and he had on mismatched socks.
"Hi there," she said in a friendly tone. "Do you live on this street?"
"No."
"Are you lost, then?"
"No."
She tried an open-ended question next: "Can you tell me why you're here?"
"Seifer," answered the boy earnestly. "I wanna visit Seifer!"
"Oh! Okay." Quistis knocked on the door, figuring she should have Seifer confirm the boy's identity first. "Seifer! Are you home?"
He opened the door, confused. "Did you forget your k—" He saw the boy behind her and broke into a dazzling smile. "HEEEY, BUDDY! How'd you find me!?"
The boy pointed to Quistis matter-of-factly. "You said the goddess with golden hair comes to your house on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I saw her and I followed her!"
Quistis blushed profusely.
Seifer laughed in delight. "Buddy, how're you so smart?" He ruffled the boy's messy hair. "Come on in!"
The boy eagerly accepted his invitation, running into the living room as fast as his legs would carry him.
"And this," said Seifer to Quistis, "is the friend I was talking about."
"The one I was supposed to meet?"
He tilted his head, grinning. "You look surprised."
"I didn't expect your friend to be a child!" she marveled. "What's his name?"
"Buddy."
One morning, Quistis caught Nida walking out of the cafeteria.
"Are you going to the dance?" she asked.
"Probably not."
"What if Xu were there?"
"Does Xu like going to dances?" he wondered.
"She's been known, on occasion, to enjoy such events."
Her response was convincing enough to Nida.
"I'll be there, then!"
"I'll try to get her to attend," she committed.
He smiled brightly. "Appreciate it, Quistis."
"Good luck, Nida."
It suddenly occurred to Quistis that music was important for establishing the right mood. She would need to take her role for the school dance more seriously. She had yet to begin her research.
…It seemed that all she did these days was research—even for Selphie's dance, something that was supposed to be fun and lighthearted.
"Children are the best companions," declared Seifer. "They don't care about your pedigree or how much money you make or whether you have a mental illness. They'll treat you like royalty if you just show 'em a little kindness."
"That was a moving speech, but I'd like to add a contender for the title of best companion," said Quistis confidently. "Pets, specifically dogs, are there for you no matter what. They'll listen to you and comfort you and even help you make decisions."
Seifer snickered. "Help you make decisions?"
"Dogs may not be able to talk, but they still find ways to communicate."
He stopped snickering and looked at her with interest. "Do you have one?"
"No, but I'd love to be a dog owner someday…"
"Meh. I get along better with cats."
Quistis smiled and opened up her copy of the Cognitive Behavioral Therapy packet. "Okay, we're getting way off topic now."
"No we're not," said Seifer seriously. "We're talking about our core beliefs and how they shape our thoughts."
"So you have been paying attention."
"Obviously. By the way, can we double up on sessions next week?"
She grinned at him smugly. "Mm-hmm. Do you enjoy our sessions that much?"
"No way," he said unenthusiastically. "I'm just trying to get 'em over with faster. Besides, the library's closed for some kind of deep cleaning so I won't be getting any pay."
"Oh…"
"That a yes?"
"No, I just thought of a possible gig for you," said Quistis excitedly. "Are you at all familiar with today's pop music scene?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"I've been asked to compile a playlist for the upcoming school dance. I'm rather short on time, and even if I wasn't, I wouldn't even know where to begin."
Seifer nodded. "I'll do it."
"Really?"
"No Gregorian chant, I promise," he said with a smirk. "I might throw in some punk if it's danceable enough. The rest is a piece of cake. How much will you pay me?"
"A decent amount."
"You'd better!"
"Thank you, Seifer."
"Yeah, no problem."
Quistis was very much aware that even if Xu agreed to attend the school dance, there was no guarantee that she would suddenly develop romantic feelings for Nida.
She decided to try a slightly different tactic with her best friend.
"Nida's going to be at the dance," began Quistis.
"I know."
"You do?"
Xu nodded curtly. "He asked Squall if he could have that night off from piloting."
"He thinks you don't like going to dances…"
Xu's tone was unnecessarily sharp. "Then why is he going?"
Quistis smiled sagely. "The world doesn't revolve around you, friend."
Xu placed an indignant hand on her hip. "You're brimming with quick-witted rejoinders these days. Must be all that fabulous practice you're getting as Almasy's therapist."
"I won't deny that! For more quick-witted rejoinders, be sure to sign up for a session with me. First one will be on the house."
Xu grimaced. "You're kidding me."
"Of course I am! When I'm done with these fifty hours, I never want to hear the word 'therapy' again."
"You'll need your own therapy for having provided therapy."
"Yes, that's a real possibility."
Xu regarded her with sincere worry. "You would tell me if it's unbearable, right?"
Quistis waved off her worry. "It's not unbearable."
"That's a relief," sighed Xu. "Oh, and remind me again why you're so interested in my dating prospects?"
"Because I can sense how good this could be for both of you."
The ulterior motive to help Seifer had developed into a genuine interest to help Nida.
Or was Quistis just meddling?
Fujin and Raijin were back from another fishing trip, so Seifer and Quistis moved their session to Seifer's room.
His bed covers and shams were blue and white. Gauzy linen drapes fluttered in the ocean breeze. There was a framed canvas of a watercolor seascape. It looked like the kind of picture-perfect room that one would find photographed in Balamb Homes & Gardens Magazine, Coastal Edition.
And the heavenly scent!
She whiffed curiously. "Is this…?"
The room smelled like Princess Jukebox.
"Sugar cookie mist," said Seifer in a tone so confident that nobody would have been able to insult his effeminate choice.
"I like it," said Quistis contemplatively. "I don't know why, but it makes me feel cared for."
"Me too."
He fell onto his bed with exaggerated languor.
She perched on a rattan lounge chair by the window.
"So what are we talking about today?" he asked.
"Do you ever feel like you could lose yourself…?"
It was a risky question to ask, but they were running out of time. In less than a month, Seifer would be free, and Quistis would no longer be a part of his life.
He grunted indifferently.
"I think…" she continued, gaze steady, "that it's a universal worry that hides within us. We want to do well and we want to be liked, so we build our lives on external markers of success and we put our faith into peoples' opinions—but deep inside, we wonder how 'real' we are once all of those things are stripped away. Can we hold onto ourselves? Or, will we lose ourselves?"
It was the best interpretation that Quistis could come up with, and she hoped that it was what he had meant in his book of dreams.
"Can't lose myself if I don't dream in the first place," he murmured darkly. "No dreams…no disappointments."
His response completely threw her off.
"But, Seifer…"
He immediately grew irritated. "Accuse me of apathy all you want. Don't tell me it's wrong, 'cause I can't help how I feel!"
"I'm not here to accuse you of anything," she said reassuringly. "I remember a time when you said you wanted to be healed."
"That was before I knew what all this therapy crap required of me."
"A time when you wanted to go back to the old you," she cajoled him.
"I've changed my mind!" he bit out. "I can see that the old me brought nothing good in my life."
"And that's perfectly okay!"
He was getting increasingly disturbed. "What is perfectly okay?"
"Disappointments. Regrets. The questioning of your morals. Whatever it is you may be feeling."
"If this is your way of convincing me to cultivate dreams and create goals again—that's right, I haven't forgotten the time you asked me that question!—then you're doing a Hyne-awful job of it."
Quistis had no idea what to say.
These were the times that she disliked the most.
Being a therapist didn't mean that she was a perfect conversationalist who always had an answer at the ready.
Quistis had no energy today. Angelo looked just as droopy.
The dog had become her personal therapist.
"The strange thing is that we've never talked about what he went through during the war—no mention of Ultimecia or Matron whatsoever."
Angelo barked wearily.
"I've been too afraid to ask him about that part of his life," confessed Quistis. "I always figured there was too much pain and anger there. Later, the visit to his library confirmed that he didn't want anyone to know about his history. Does that mean my work has been in vain this whole time…?"
Angelo yawned.
"I know it sounds like an obvious omission, and it is. A skilled therapist would have approached that topic first. I guess I've been too soft! My tactic ended up getting us nowhere from a clinical standpoint. But from a personal standpoint? I got to know him in an emotional context that I may never be able to experience with anyone else. It's equal parts sad and beautiful."
Angelo placed both paws over her eyes.
"Does that make you cringe, girl?"
Angelo whined lightly.
"I suppose I'm reliving the story of my ineffectual authority. Lack of professionalism and all. You know how the rest goes…"
Angelo gazed at her with commiserating eyes.
"Buddy doesn't have an easy life."
"How so?"
"His mom's really sick, right? So his dad's always taking care of her to the point that poor ol' Buddy has nobody to play with. He does have two older siblings but one of them's a snotty ass and the other one's obsessed with cars and chicks."
"Oh my goodness," said Quistis with concern. "Do you…" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Do you think it's the kind of situation where he's being…?"
"No," said Seifer, shaking his head. "He's healthy, if a little disheveled, and there's no sign of abuse—not even neglect, to be honest. I've hung around his family plenty of times and everybody's just…distracted, I guess. Sometimes I stay overnight at their house."
By now, she was more touched than annoyed. "So this is why you're consistently late to our sessions."
"Yeah." He shrugged and grinned. "My schedule pretty much revolves around playtime, snacktime, et cetera."
"May I ask how you hurt your wrists?"
"Carpet burn."
A giggle escaped from her mouth. "What?"
"We got a little rowdy and slid down the staircase on our stomachs," he explained. "Naturally, my wrists took a hit."
Quistis must have looked horrified, because he hastily said, "And THAT was the only time we ever did that."
"So you're saying Buddy got carpet burn as well!?"
"No, he was wearing a long-sleeve shirt that day. I swear that our playdates are safe!"
"I'm afraid to ask what your definition of 'safe' is."
A smirk. "Wilder than your version of 'safe,' that's for sure."
"This is my last question. What was the ten gil for?"
This wasn't truly her last question, because she was also curious about what Seifer had dug out from his safe. If she remembered correctly, he had called that day 'urgent' in the same manner that he had called the ten gil 'urgent.'
But she couldn't bring herself to ask this, too.
Give the man some privacy! she scolded herself.
"I used the gil to buy a couple pints of gelato for Buddy."
"You said it was urgent!" said Quistis accusingly.
"You're so unsympathetic!" he shot back. "What's inconsequential to an adult can be a LIFE-AND-DEATH matter to a kid!"
"Okay, okay!" she huffed, surprised by his vehement yet noble outburst on behalf of all children. "You're right, Seifer. That was a bit thoughtless of me to say."
"You were a kid once, too."
"I was," she agreed sadly. "If only I could remember more of my childhood."
"What, are those GFs still eating your brains?"
"Eating brains is not a scientifically accurate term."
He snorted. "Yeah, okay."
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I could see you being an influential humanitarian of sorts."
He rolled his eyes. "Not the cheesy speech about dreams again! Seifer, you have so much potential. Seifer, you need to make a ten-year plan," he mimicked in a high-pitched voice.
"I do not sound like that, and I'm just trying to guide you!"
He blew a frustrated puff of air. "No thanks!"
Perhaps it was an impossible task to instill motivation in Seifer Almasy.
Seifer kept his promise and produced a well-rounded music selection of 100 songs for the Balamb Garden school dance. Quistis was surprised by his extra effort, as Selphie had requested a minimum of 80. Quistis listened to every track to make sure there wasn't anything outrageously inappropriate and then handed off the mix to Selphie, who declared that it was "the most perfect playlist ever!"
Quistis attended the school dance on Friday night, not necessarily to enjoy herself (or even to see if people liked the music) but to devote her efforts to Nida and Xu.
Hopefully she wouldn't have to carry out any damage control concerning the two.
She shook off these thoughts. Why was she being so negative?
"Vacation," she told herself persuasively. "At the end of all this, I will finally take a vacation for myself."
She sat on the steps of the quad, leisurely enjoying a prime rib dip cut into a neat slab of brioche bliss. Selphie had ordered catering from The Penny Whistler to much success; a good amount of the food was already wiped out and the event had barely kicked off.
Nida snuck up, looking nonchalantly casual yet deliberately sharp with his henley tee and slim jeans.
He gestured at the empty spot next to her. "Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all!" replied Quistis with a smile.
Nida scanned the crowd. "So it's been half an hour since the doors opened…"
"Xu still isn't here yet?" Quistis' smile turned into a frown. "Being late is very unlike her."
"Well, it was worth a shot…" He shrugged in a poorly concealed attempt to hide his discouragement. "I'll stay for the tunes, though. Whoever came up with this set did a pretty good job!"
"I can try calling her—"
Nida smiled and shook his head. "It's okay, Quistis. You've done so much to help me. You gave me the courage to approach Xu in the first place, and I'll never forget that."
Apparently he had spoken too soon.
Xu appeared on the scene in a corset minidress and matching canvas sneakers with the same kind of casual yet not casual vibe that Nida was trying to give off.
Her greeting was brusque. "Quistis. Nida."
"Xu," said Nida nervously. "You look great."
There was an awkward pause.
But then Xu's eyes darkened with determination. "You, me," she instructed Nida. "Tango. Now."
Nida was flabbergasted. "Wha…?"
"Tango number 33, to be specific," said Xu smoothly. "I trust you remember the combo from our last mission together?"
"Of course! But, uh, now? This music doesn't really go with the whole tango aesthetic."
One of Seifer's beloved punk songs was driving the crowd to wild abandon with its fun-loving anti-authoritarianism. A short distance away, Quistis spotted Selphie and Irvine jumping up and down as the leaders of the mosh pit.
Xu hugged her bare arms and gave a little scowl. "If you don't want to dance with me, just say so."
Nida leapt up in panic. "N-no, I do! I do want to dance with you! I've been wanting to dance with you for ages!"
Xu bit back a grin, pleased by his emphatic confession. "Okay, then. Let's go, Hot Stuff."
Nida flushed red at the term of endearment and scrambled after the girl of his dreams.
Quistis watched with admiration as the mosh pit dissipated at the newcomers' arrival. Xu and Nida commanded the dance floor with their stunning two-way dialogue of drama and passion. The partygoers went nuts at the impressive finesse with which the couple kept their choreographic rhythm to an unlikely soundtrack.
She couldn't have been happier for the two.
"I used to think I was special," said Seifer. "Like I was some kind of 'chosen one.' That no matter what kind of crazy shit I threw myself into, I'd always come out of it alive."
"You're not wrong…" said Quistis, thinking of his amazing ability to evade death and destruction.
He scowled, displeased. "That I'd come out of it alive and well."
"There's always a chance to become well," she said encouragingly, "even after you've finished these sessions with me. My hope is that I've sufficiently equipped you with the skills necessary to self-regulate your emotions and cope with chronic stress."
"Which do you think is worse: falsely believing you're a god for your entire life or coming to grips with the fact that you're just an average Joe?"
"I would think the former. Isn't it worse to live a lie?"
"But the lie ensures that I won't hurt."
She was struck by his use of the word 'hurt.' Suddenly he was the young Seifer again, crying himself to sleep even as he put on a show of hardihood.
"Are you okay with being average?" she asked quietly.
There was no response from him.
The emptiness in Seifer's eyes told her all that she needed to know.
Angelo had become greatly attuned to Quistis' emotions. The dog paced around with nervous energy like a warning.
A warning for Quistis to not ask Rinoa what she was about to ask.
"Rinoa."
"Yes, Quisty?" The sorceress placed a steadying hand on Quistis' shoulder. "You look miserable."
"It's not me you should be worried about…"
Rinoa let out a little gasp. "Did something happen to Seifer?"
"Rinoa, he's lost his dreams. Even worse, he's lost himself."
"Oh…"
"I'd like to give it one more try," said Quistis firmly. "One final trip to his subconscious to see if I can influence his outlook on life."
Rinoa was clearly uncomfortable with the idea. "Quisty…"
Quistis' appeal came out in a whisper. "Please."
"I'm worried about you. Do you have to go this far?"
"My last session with Seifer is tomorrow afternoon," said Quistis imploringly. "After that, I won't have any more chances to help him, and I doubt he would ever seek real therapy on his own."
"Okay…" Rinoa sighed. "Okay, let's do it."
"Thank you, Rinoa. I'll make sure you don't regret this."
"I'm going to extend the sleep spells so that you and Seifer can have more time together."
"Congratulations," said Quistis with flagging cheer. "You've officially finished all of your required therapy!"
"Thanks, Quistis." Seifer looked at her closely. "Except that you're pretending."
"Pretending what?"
"To be excited for me."
"No," she insisted. "I am excited. Very excited. I'm also very tired, and I apologize for letting that dampen my response."
"If you're tired, then why don't you take a quick nap?" Seifer casually patted the couch beside him. "After all, I've tortured you for a grand total of fifty hours. More than that, if you count all the times I was late."
Quistis was thankful for not having to figure out the logistics of falling asleep together for her final visit.
"That's kind of you, Seifer."
He yawned. "I'm gonna conk out in my room. Seriously, take a nap! Your body's gonna collapse on you someday if you don't slow down…"
"Yes," she said. "If you don't mind, I'll do just that."
"If I don't see you again…" He gave her a crooked grin. "Well, have a nice life, I guess."
She chuckled. "You as well."
"Sweet dreams."
He went off to his room.
Quistis hoped it would be smooth sailing.
She was lying down in a bed with him.
This wasn't young Seifer. This was present-day, eighteen-year-old Seifer.
His eyes were closed, his skin was pale, and one hand was loosely holding onto a semi-wet paintbrush. Thick black paint had pooled onto the bedcovers, and something about this sight felt ghastly to her, that same feeling of gut-twisting empathy she had experienced upon seeing all of Seifer's blotted-out content in his book of Beautiful Dreams: Evolving into New Versions of Myself.
Propping herself up, she glanced around her and observed that more black paint had been spattered onto the walls in turbulent patterns, perhaps in an attempt to drown out the base gradient of pretty pastels. The floor was littered with overturned paint buckets and the remains of a smashed-up electric guitar. Behind an unassuming step ladder stood a lovely vase of lotus blooms. She wanted to believe that the flowers symbolized the part of him that yearned to overcome his struggles and dream once more.
He stirred awake and looked at her with unmitigated anguish. "If this is all that my life amounts to," he rasped out, "then what can I do about it…?"
For once, Quistis did not try to offer any bland advice.
"If I'm dissatisfied with my lot in life, then who can I argue with?" He shook her hand roughly to convey the urgency of his statements. "I can't fight back. It's pointless to fight back. I wouldn't win. I'd never win."
She looked deeply into his eyes, hoping he would feel her support.
"There's only so much I can change for myself." He closed his eyes and eased his grip just a bit. "Can you…?"
She leaned in. "Yes, Seifer?"
"Can you help me finish painting?" he whispered.
There was a desperation in his request that made her want to embrace him, but now was not the right time for comforting gestures of the physical variety.
"Of course," she said, squeezing his hand lightly.
As Seifer dozed off, she went to work painting over the black stains on his walls with peaceful washes of cotton candy hues.
And with each stroke of the brush, she gave him a secret blessing.
"…Because you're beautiful," she declared to his sleeping form.
Quistis could feel that Rinoa was dilating time in this world, a spell layered upon the original spell.
She was quite tired by the time that she had finished painting two of his four walls, but she was proud of her work.
Seifer suddenly jumped out of bed.
"What's going on?" she asked, startled.
"I just remembered that we have a dinner reservation."
She looked down at her paint-splotched clothes. "I'm not really dressed for the occasion."
"You look fine," he stated. "It'll be a casual affair."
In five minutes, he was dressed and ready to go. The paleness of his face had subsided, though he still seemed ailing in some way.
She followed him out of his apartment and into the busy street.
"Did you like my paint job?"
"I did," he answered solemnly. "The colors are soothing. The patterns are soothing. Everything you do is soothing."
She felt a small surge of pride. "What a marvelous day this is, receiving such praise from the great Seifer Almasy!"
"You think I'm an angry person, don't you?"
His question wiped the smile off from her face.
"And that's why you wanted to soothe me with the paint." He shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. "Remember when I told you all that's left is just the rage?"
"Yes."
Quistis remembered.
That view of his bare back, his cigarette poisoning the air, those lost dreams gasping for resurrection…
"You probably assume my rage originates from everything that's happened to me in the war, but that's merely one aspect of it."
She stopped walking.
"You know where most of my rage comes from? The fact that I'll never be able to talk to anybody about my traumas. Even a sloppy attempt to explain my life to you would be like disemboweling my soul." His gaze turned flinty. "Don't you understand how painful it is!?"
"Seifer, you don't owe an explanation to anyone. You control your story and the way it's told."
"I have a say in how it's told—not how it's perceived."
"You don't have to talk about your pain," she tried again. "Your life is precious. Your life belongs to you."
His jaw clenched spasmodically. "That's what you're saying now, but will you still think the same a year later? Five years later? Fifteen years later?"
"What do you mean…?"
"Do you want to be my friend?"
Yes.
Yes, please, yes.
She wanted to be his friend. She wanted to be his lover. She wanted to be his everything.
And it scared her to know that she wanted to be all of these things!
"If you were my friend, would you be okay with not knowing about that part of me?" challenged Seifer. "The darkest corners. The vivid nightmares. The aftereffects that I may never be able to stop."
"Of course I would be okay with that."
"Would you accept me just the way I am?"
Quistis needed to show him that she was serious.
"Yes!" she said decisively. "I would accept you!"
Her words were not enough for him.
"You're lying."
He took off crossly, leaving her staring at his retreating form in the dusk.
It felt like being dumped without ever having been in a relationship.
She must have stood there for no more than several seconds, but by then it was too late. Seifer's form had already been absorbed into the nightlife crowd, where not a single person was paying attention to her unfolding drama.
She took shelter inside of the nearest building—some kind of small vintage hotel. She sat forlornly on the bench beside the revolving doors and debated whether or not to chase after him.
"Hello, miss."
An elderly woman in a bellhop uniform was peering at her through thick spectacles.
Quistis forced a smile. "Hello."
"Are you lost, by any chance?"
"Actually, yes," admitted Quistis. "I'm supposed to have dinner with my…friend, but we got separated on the street and I don't know which restaurant I'm supposed to go to. I doubt that he even wants me there anymore."
"Well, that's easy enough to solve! There's a new lounge that's very popular with the youth. I can't remember what it's called, but it's in the glass atrium across the street."
"Thank you for the information."
"Just a hunch, miss, but I'm sure that your…friend still wants you there."
Quistis' hopes were restored.
Forget convincing Seifer to pick up a new dream. At this point, she would just have to focus on making amends with him before their time together was up.
The lounge in the atrium was packed, teeming with young people looking for an escape from reality. She found him sitting at a table with his head resting in his hands. Two servings of dinner were laid out and he hadn't touched his plate of food yet, as if he was confident that she was eventually going to find him here.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, taking a seat. "I'm sorry for everything."
He looked up at her with a wounded expression. "Who gave you permission to be here…?"
The betrayal that he felt was all too evident.
Quistis froze on the spot, knowing that her cover was totally blown. She had been so close to ending things well. What had tipped him off to her subconscious visits?
His question was purely rhetorical. She would answer him honestly. By now, she owed him the truth.
"It was you," she told him softly. "You said to do whatever it takes…"
But she was the one who had interpreted his words so liberally, and now she wanted nothing more than to erase the events of the past few months, everything that led up to this shameful moment of being discovered committing a tasteless act of invasion against the one whom she cared for.
Quistis thought she could finally understand Seifer now—his desire to purge all that had failed in his life, the instinct to hide his hurt from sight.
"I never said you could fuck with my mind!" he hissed with venom.
"I'm not…" She blinked away sudden tears, unprepared for his harsh reaction. "I'm not trying to harm you. I've never tried to harm you."
Her mind scrambled to recall de-escalation tactics.
Think, think, think!
"If this isn't the real world…" His eyes glinted dangerously. "Then it means that I can kick you out of it, right?"
A sense of foreboding clawed at her stomach.
He swiftly pulled out a gun and pressed it to her heart. "Like this."
"Seifer…" She closed her eyes to conjure up a sense of calm that was nowhere to be found. "Please, put the weapon down."
She thought of how absurd they must look to everyone right now: a candlelit dinner gone terribly wrong.
But when she dared to glance around, the chill inside of her only intensified. Some of the patrons had stopped mid-conversation and were looking at her warily with hands hovering near their phones and purses as if they were about to flee from the scene. The more fearless ones were glaring at her with a coldness worse than the metal of the gun penetrating her thin blouse, and she had a feeling that they would stick around to remove her from the premises if necessary.
They knew that she didn't belong here.
"Please," she said gently. "Just give me a chance to explain myself without this physical threat."
"You can explain yourself later." He gritted his teeth and kept the gun pointed at her heart, though she could feel small tremors in his hand. "Just get outta my head, Quistis."
The tremors were NOT coming from his hand.
The entire restaurant started to quake.
Her dinner fork rattled off the table.
Wine glasses wiggled free from the wall-mounted rack and shattered upon impact.
A row of hanging lanterns crashed to the floor, plunging their side of the restaurant into murky shadows.
Then, a powerful roar was closing in on them.
Water burst through the crevices of the building with all the frenzy of a flash flood, spraying in all directions, drenching their clothes and washing away their dinner.
Seifer's subconscious was collapsing.
Quistis belatedly remembered that she had a way out and inwardly cursed for not thinking of it earlier.
[Rinoa, can you hear me!?]
"Listen to me!" she shouted over the rushing waters. "You don't understand how vulnerable we are in your subconscious!"
Should she try to disarm Seifer?
She was trained for these types of situations, dammit!
But she remained physically paralyzed, so frightened was she by his growing ire and the instability of their environment.
[Rinoa, please end the spell!]
"I understand the concept fine!" he shouted back dismissively. "This'll just wake you up faster!"
He was provoked and seething. He wanted her to leave his mind and never come back.
[Rinoa, both of us need to get out NOW!]
As the water levels rose, Quistis could feel his emotions peak.
"Seifer, don't!" she cried out in full panic. "Whatever can kill us here can also kill us in the real—"
BANG!
