Miss Balamb Garden

Chapter Fourteen | The Winner


Life at Balamb Garden was certainly flat and lacklustre after the excitement of the beauty pageant. Posters were stripped down; the auditorium returned back to its regular stage; all the contestant props pinched by keen students except for the life-size cardboard models which Raijin kept as souvenirs. (Seifer wasn't sure how he fit all four of them in his room, but he wasn't about to go look). Slowly but surely students and staff resumed their regular routines and schedules, although there were a few after-effects of the pageant.

Nida was thrust into some strange stardom as Balamb Garden's resident beauty queen. Showered with praise and attention wherever he went, as well as swarmed with gifts and notes from admirers, Nida took this all in his stride with good grace and modesty. Irvine remarked that he thought more students now knew Nida's name than his - "and I saved the world!" the gunslinger intoned reproachfully.

Squall apparently had once overheard Nida mutter something about Garden being his one day, and it appeared as though his wish had been granted as he had the campus population eating out of his hand.

Xu was no less prosaic; she was positively gloating about Nida's success at the pageant and was always ready to answer people's questions about how she trained him to be such a nimble exotic dancer.

She was not the only one to be proud: Ellone and Matron, similar in their warm, gentle manner, were all glowing smiles and soft praise for the contestants and their assistants. Ellone's orphanage now had an official opening date, and the whole gang were gearing up for a visit, anticipating a day of activities and games with the children to help them acclimate to their new home.

"I'm bringing slime and silly string!" declared Selphie, which to Seifer did not bode well.

And then…

There was Quistis.

The thought of her made his heart wrench some sort of way.

Seifer didn't know how to face her. If he had to say it straight, he was ashamed. Ashamed of not winning a drag beauty pageant. But, of course, he knew it ran deeper than that.

Not winning the pageant was another blow to the ego, another rung in the ladder of Seifer Almasy's failures and unworthiness, another reminder of why he didn't belong. There had never been a reason for him to be around someone like her, and this just cemented it. They had nothing to do with each other. Different as night and day, black and white, hero and villain.

And there really was nothing that bound them together anymore. Maybe cafeteria meals with the others at times, but he'd been skipping those. There was no reason to visit her room, nothing to discuss or decide, no agenda to follow or practise.

Seifer had known this would happen when it was over.

And Quistis had tried to maintain the contact, had come up to him smiling and waving when they passed each other in the walkways, but Seifer was quick to move on and avoid taking the same routes as her.

She'd said she didn't want to lose this thing between them, this friendship or whatever, but he couldn't do it. It was making him moody and hostile, and rather than fall into a pattern of petty arguments or make a hurtful jibe or do something stupid like declare his undying love for her in front of the headmaster or Chicken-wuss or Hyne forbid Selphie, he decided he'd just leave her alone.

He'd heard and seen very little of her in the past fortnight, which only depressed Seifer some more, but he doubled down by training harder and asking Squall if he could have priority on the next mission.

To which Squall raised an eyebrow and said flatly, "This is not how you deal with this, Seifer."

Bloody Leonhart. Thinks he can go all therapist on me since he's saved the world.

So it had been a few weeks of moping, of hardcore training (almost becoming paint on the ground after a rough encounter with a T-Rex) and living in the "fits of the sullens" as Zell lamely put it, and Seifer was preparing himself for a lifetime of mediocrity and solitude.

Yet the aftermath of Miss Balamb Garden was not quite over yet, as each of the contestants still had dates with their highest bidding suitors to fulfil.

The night arrived for Seifer to go on his date at last, something he regarded with a sense of uncertainty and dread. He'd received a fancy piece of card from Matron - an actual physical invitation - that had stated that his date would like to meet him for dinner at the Open Pearl, an upscale seafood restaurant by the Balamb harbour. A fancy place with pressed tablecloths and well-dressed patrons.

Seifer scowled to himself as he buttoned up his shirt. A casual checked blazer was thrown expectantly on his bed (because the guy had paid 60,000 gil for him, after all). He had no idea what this person wanted from him.

All the other guys had gone on their 'dates' already, and everything had actually gone very positively for them all. Seifer thought back to what they'd told him. Martine had Nida put on the transcontinental train to Deling City, where he spent a very enjoyable week both in the city and at Galbadia Garden. He dined at all the delicious local joints the melting pot of Deling City had to offer, and when he was at Galbadia Garden he was sharing his piloting skills and expertise with the crew there. Apparently Martine was keen to understand how to manoeuvre Galbadia Garden to its fullest capacity.

Laguna had taken Squall out for a teppanyaki dinner, and Rinoa had conferred that the dinner had been as pleasant of a 'bonding experience' as it could be, even as Squall received a fried egg to the face.

Raijin had been treated to a long lunch by his suitor, who actually offered him a contract in voice-overs for various videos and best thing about this was that Raijin could do it remotely, meaning he could still reside at Balamb Garden. "Which is awesome, ya know, 'cuz this is my home!"

Yippee for everyone else, Seifer thought sardonically. Now watch me get human trafficked or stuffed into a suitcase.

He eyed his Hyperion case as pulled on his blazer, lamenting that the gunblade was too big to hide down his pants (crudeness fully intended) in case the dude ended up being a massive creeper.

Still got that Fire magic in my veins, baby. One wrong look and he's friggin' toast.

Seifer took one last look in the mirror, comforting himself with the fact that he at least looked good. Very polished, very clean, slightly unhinged and dangerous. Total heartbreaker.

Then he wondered if he ought to be putting in this much effort for a date with some unknown broseidon.

Grabbing his phone, Seifer stepped out of his dorm door and was met by both Raijin and Fujin whooping and exclaiming over him.

"Whoo, whoo! Look at you, Mr Hot Stuff!" hooted Raijin.

"DASHING," quipped Fujin.

Their over-the-top reactions made him crack a slight smirk. Seifer struck a mocking pose. "How much more gil d'ya reckon I can milk out of him?"

Raijin chortled. "Depends how far you're willing to go, ya know."

"Ugh, no thanks."

"NOT HAPPENING," confirmed Fujin. "Exactly, thanks Fu. I have my dignity, you know."

"NOT DIGNITY. HUNG UP."

Seifer looked at her questioningly.

"On Quistis, ya know!" Raijin clarified, not at all abashed even as Seifer glowered at the pair of them in a we're-not-talking-about-this sort of way. "Speaking of which - she left you something. Again. Here it is."

Raijin picked up a tupperware container and held it out to him. The blonde tried not to let the way his heart stuttered suddenly show on his face, and instead just gazed dully at the box.

"...I'll look at it later," mumbled Seifer.

"Really? Can I open it then?"

"N - yeah."

Fujin clicked her tongue impatiently, ripping the note off the box and thrusting it out to Seifer. "READ IT."

It was hard not to look when Fujin was holding it right in front of him. Trying not to go cross-eyed, Seifer stared at the achingly familiar neat script.

Thank you for all your hard work with the pageant, Seifer.

Another wrench in the chest.

"Oohh, yum!" Raijin's happy voice broke the listless stupor that was closing in around him. "Cookies!"

Snapping out of it, Seifer immediately reached out towards him, grabbing the box with his hands. "Wait, no, don't eat them - "

Rajin was too quick for him. "Catch, Fu!"

Fujin caught the single cookie he lobbed to her and took a large, hearty bite, saying, "MMMMMM," obnoxiously loudly. She waved the bitten cookie in front of Seifer.

"Screw you guys," Seifer muttered sullenly, making a beeline straight back into his dorm. The other two guffawed outside as he glanced down at the box of cookies. They were freshly baked, macadamia and white chocolate.

He looked at them for a long time before tucking them safely away in his dorm. He wasn't allowing even the slightest chance for Raijin to sneak any. Seifer took a small bite, the sweet nutty crumbly biscuit causing more tightness in his chest as he chewed and thought about Quistis flashing a mischievous grin up at him after licking the raw cookie dough.

Damn, he missed her.

But there wasn't time or luxury to bask in all the sad feels. With one last look at her note, Seifer stood up, straightened his blazer and walked back out of his room. He had the rest of his life to live.

And a date to meet.


The walk through Balamb was calming and tranquil. It was dusk, the watercolour sky casting the harbour town in a hue of deepest blues and purples with rays of orange and burnt amber threading through. The houses and shops were quiet, but as he approached the pier the noise picked up. Laughter and chatter rose from the row of restaurants, brightly lit along the water.

Seifer arrived at the Open Pearl right on time, wondering if he would be able to recognise his bidder. The restaurant was already quite busy with most of the tables occupied. There was a comfortable, effortless ambience with warm lights glowing over an impressive display of topiary and pristine ivory tablecloths. A large bar ran down the side of the room while floor-to-ceiling windows gave a beautiful view of sunset over the water.

There was no need to look for his date, because as soon as Seifer walked in, one man sitting alone stood up and inclined his head. Feeling a little awkward, Seifer lumbered over and shook his proffered hand over the table.

"Uh… hi," he said lamely. He realised he didn't even know this guy's name. What the hell would they even talk about all evening?

Just order a ton of expensive seafood. The clams. A couple of lobsters.

"Ian Stevenson," returned the man. His grip was firm but not threatening. "It's nice to meet you, Seifer."

"You too… I guess."

He took his seat, distinctly discomfited. Seifer was used to being on the front foot, being in control of the situation, but this was not one of those moments. This man - Ian Stevenson apparently - had initiated this contact, had shelled out an inordinate amount of gil for his company, had apparently booked one of the fanciest restaurants in Balamb and turned up early to wait for him. Seifer knew his place and so waited with a subdued air, though he couldn't help feeling slightly on edge.

"Shall we order first?" his company asked, passing a menu. "I hear the clam chowder is exquisite."

Seifer's mouth, which had been half-open about to obnoxiously declare his expensive order, snapped shut. Damn. Now he couldn't even use that to assert dominance. Could this guy read minds? As Seifer scrutinised Ian Stevenson's calm demeanour and neutral expression, he got the impression that this would be a difficult man to bully.

"Yeah. Right," Seifer murmured, tossing the menu down onto the table. "Get a couple of those then."

Ian Stevenson surveyed him serenely, not at all perturbed. "Whatever you like. In fact, why don't you be in charge of ordering tonight?"

Seifer eyed him critically, assessing his body language. The guy appeared genuine enough. He reluctantly picked back up the menu, grunting out, "Yours too?"

"Sure."

"...Anythin' you allergic to?"

"Nope. I'm fair game. Surprise me."

Seifer raised an eyebrow. "And you're paying, right?"

"It would be rude of me to ask you to pay when I've summoned you here."

"...Right."

The young brunette waitress arrived five minutes later, eyeing the pair of them curiously although her countenance was all polite and helpful smiles when she took Seifer's order. Clam chowder, a seafood platter, crispy pork belly and a beef tartare dish that came highly recommended. Ian cut in smoothly at the end to order a bottle of wine.

The waitress returned just a moment later with the aforementioned bottle of wine, pouring a glass for each of them. Ian raised his glass to Seifer with that calm, slightly amused look in his hazel eyes.

"To Miss Balamb Garden."

Unsure what to say, Seifer clinked his glass with his and took a sip.

Ugh. Gross. Why do old people drink this stuff?

Then they sat in silence, listening to the tinkle and conversation of the other patrons. Seifer got the funny feeling that Ian Stevenson was waiting patiently for him to ask who he was and why he'd bid for him.

Well. I ain't giving him the satisfaction of that. He can tell me himself. And whatever wig agenda he's got goin' on.

"So…" Ian said conversationally, setting down his glass. "Tell me about yourself, Seifer."

Normally he'd rebuff anyone else with a swift jab, but, once again, that strange sense of obligation was nestled over him, so Seifer mumbled, "...What do you want to know?"

"Start from the beginning. Your family."

"I don't have one," he answered shortly.

"Oh?"

"I'm an orphan."

Most people went sympathetic at this, but Ian continued to look politely curious. This answer turned into a few short sentences about the orphanage in Centra, coming to Balamb Garden, being raised to fight, to defend, and working towards SeeD status. Here Seifer stopped short.

"And?" Ian prompted. To his credit, he'd actually listened attentively with interest. The waitress returned with the clam chowder, the seafood platter and a salad.

It was Seifer's turn to be incredulous. "You don't know already?"

Ian took another measured sip from his glass. "I haven't heard your side of it."

"Is this what it is, then?" Seifer said gruffly, eyes narrowing. "Some free therapy to make yourself feel good?"

"No. I simply wanted to know more about you." Ian's tone was airy, nonchalant as he indicated that Seifer should start eating. "But if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. We can talk about something else."

Once again unsure how to respond, Seifer stuffed some lettuce into his mouth and chewed. The vinaigrette on the salad was good.

"Tell me about the pageant. How did you come to be a part of that?"

Seifer swallowed. Don't remind me. "I know the people organising it a little too well."

"Your friends?"

"I guess so."

"Why do you say it like that?"

Does this guy give it a rest? It's like talking to a shrink. Everyone's my damn therapist these days. I know I'm unhinged, thanks.

Seifer lowered his voice, humourless. "Friends - you choose them, don't you? Sometimes it feels like I didn't have a choice in the matter. Like things were already decided."

Ian appeared curious. "So you don't like them?"

"I didn't say that."

"Good. I felt like you had a strong group of people around you."

"Maybe they shouldn't be," Seifer muttered.

The mains arrived. He eyed the plates of delicious food; as weird and annoying this whole experience was, he made a mental note to bring Rai and Fu here the next time his pay check rolled in. Place lived up to its reputation.

"So what do you do?" Seifer grunted, starting to cut into the pork. It was perfectly crisp. Ian appeared to be enjoying the food too, which was a relief. Seifer didn't know how to feel about digging in if his company (his paying company) wasn't eating much.

"I am retired," replied Ian easily.

Seifer snorted. Of course. "Must be nice."

Ian smiled serenely, "It has its perks. I was into finance before. Nothing interesting. Not like your life, at least. It always felt like my life path stretched out in front of me all-too-easily. Like you said before, like things were already decided. I just had to receive and follow along."

"And now you're rich and retired after an easy path laid ahead of you. Does it piss people off when you say it like that?"

Ian looked amused. "Some."

They ate in quiet for a few minutes, Seifer cracking into his lobster with greater vim than necessary. Bits of shell and white flesh flicked across the tablecloth. The next table eyed him disapprovingly.

"So what do you want, Seifer?" Ian Stevenson ventured conversationally.

"A napkin," the blonde grunted out, holding out his sticky fingers.

Ian tossed his one over to him. "I mean out of your life. Your dreams. Heart's deepest desire, that kind of thing. You're young with your whole life ahead of you."

Seifer shrugged, wiping his mouth and tossing his napkin down. "I'm pretty damn chipper slicing things apart in my right frame of mind. It's enough for me."

"I see. When I was your age, I wanted a family. My own family. Simple desires, eh?"

Quistis' words came to mind. A family. One that won't leave or disappear at any moment.

"It hasn't happened," Ian said reflectively, and Seifer could tell that this was once a sore point for Ian Stevenson, though now there was some form of acceptance.

"Why not? You're rich. Sure there's a lot of women lining up to suck your - I mean, to date you."

"Not the kind you'd want to stick around. Not in my experience, at least."

"Am I supposed to feel bad for you?"

"No. Just getting to know each other better. That's the point of this meal, isn't it?"

"You tell me," Seifer mumbled.

Their plates were cleared a surprisingly short time later. Seifer still had no idea what this was all about, but the longer their exchanges went for, the more he noticed just how different him and this Ian Stevenson were. Clearly this guy had alway been on the straight and narrow, done as he'd been told, never questioned what was handed to him, probably aced every class. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth. The good kid. The good guy. An easy life.

Seifer didn't necessarily like him, and by all accounts he was the sort of guy he'd normally disdain. The kind of person who didn't know what a rough life even meant. But Seifer was also finding Ian difficult to hate. He was so relaxed and sure of himself without needing to one-up anyone.

Seifer could respect that.

The waitress appeared again, and this time Ian was the one who made an order for dessert. Seifer contented himself with the thought that this whole ordeal was almost over. Making some excuse and escaping after dessert was acceptable, wasn't it? He wasn't going to spend any more minutes with this enigmatic man than he had to. Sixty thousand gil or not, Seifer had fulfilled his end of the deal. He'd been more than polite.

Dessert came out soon. A plate with an ice cream sandwich was placed in front of Seifer, one with choc chips. He chewed the inside of his jaw as he registered this sight. Not freaking cookies. I never want to see a damn one again.

"Pretty basic thing to serve at a ritzy place like this," Seifer groused, picking up his fork (who eats an ice cream sandwich with a knife and fork?) to stab his dessert.

Ian shrugged, already having had a big mouthful of his. "Sometimes the basic things are all you need."

The ice cream sandwich was very nice, Seifer had to admit. He devoured the dessert in minutes, keen to finish this date and wallow back in his dorm. Shed the blazer and pants. Oooohh yeah.

Ian Stevenson placed down his knife and fork, sitting back in his seat.

"You're probably wondering why I was so keen to dine with you," he said pensively. "Is that correct?"

Seifer shrugged, offhand. "Uh. Not really."

His date didn't shift position, his fingers pressed together casually. "As I said before, my name is Ian Stevenson. I know that means nothing to you. But my godson was Trent Shiro. He was a Trabia Garden student."

Trabia.

Was.

Seifer's blood went cold. His breath left his lungs, and all of a sudden he was very aware of where he was.

"What…" He ran a dry tongue over his lips, willing himself to be calm. "What is this?" He felt jerky, alert, as if he was in danger while surrounded by dining patrons and warm lights.

Ian's gaze was not accusing or cold. "Not what you think it is, Seifer," he said, and he sounded apologetic. "For the longest time, I wanted to know who. Who caused this to happen. I wanted to meet the sorceress of Galbadia."

"You mean… Edea?" Seifer wasn't sure he was following.

"Yes," replied Ian meditatively. "I watched the tribunal unfold. I heard the sentencing. We all did. But that did not dim the loss of Trent. So I requested to meet Edea Kramer."

Seifer's heart was pounding inside him, but he sat still, face set, not betraying a flicker of emotion. "And?" he prompted.

"I heard her story, and perhaps this is why we need to meet with people more and have a yarn with them instead of allowing resentment and bitterness to stir deep in our souls," Ian sighed, and there was a tinge of sadness about him now. "It did not bring back Trent, but it helped me understand that his death was a consequence of something far bigger than I could hope to control."

Adrenaline rushed through Seifer and he lunged to gain the front foot, trying to bring the conversation to a plane he understood. "You're okay with Edea so you want to kick my ass now?" he asked brusquely.

Ian blinked, for the first time taken aback. "No, nothing of that sort. I didn't actually know who you were. It was her suggestion that I meet with you."

The hell?

"What?" Seifer frowned. He was getting that unsettling feeling again, the feeling he detested, like things were being decided for him out of his control.

"Yes. She didn't think you'd agree to it, so she asked that I make a bid for you at the auction."

"...Why?"

"Why should I meet you? She was afraid you hadn't healed," Ian answered simply. "She said you still carried the weight of everything that had happened. She said that meeting the family of a victim, hearing words of kindness and forgiveness, might help with that."

Seifer sat there at the table, processing this with a yo-yo of emotions, of suspicion and denial and grief. He clenched his fists to stop them shaking.

"But I think she misjudged you a little," Ian continued, leaning forward as though contemplating him. "You don't seem as harrowed as I expected. Perhaps she hadn't realised you were healing already."

Seifer's gaze flicked up to him, still frowning severely.

"Has it got something to do with that lovely assistant of yours?"

His heart skipped a beat again. "You mean Trepe?" he blurted out in a completely different tone.

Ian raised his eyebrows. "That's her name?"

"It's her last name," Seifer mumbled, and now the yo-yo feelings included exhaustion and defeat as he thought about her yet again. "Her name is Quistis."

This must have shown on his face, because understanding flitted into Ian Stevenson's posture as he sat back again.

"I saw the way you looked at her. You haven't told her, have you?"

Seifer exhaled through his teeth, shaking his head. "Not you too, old man. Why does everyone think it's okay to be all up my ass about this? I know," he growled. "I know how I feel. But that's not the only thing to take into consideration. She's used to this. She's got a whole bunch of dorks who are waiting to sweep her off her feet. They're geeky and some are downright creepy, for sure, but they're - " He stopped suddenly, the words caught in his throat. His jaw locked together and he felt furious with himself.

"They're what, Seifer?" Ian said quietly.

It was a moment before Seifer continued. "They haven't hurt her before," he finished flatly. "They're not going to screw up her life."

Silence followed this and Seifer tipped his head back, weary and tired as everything from the last few months pulsed through his mind and body.

Ian spoke, still in that quiet and non-threatening way, yet with such conviction that Seifer would have believed him if he said the moon was square.

"You can have it, you know. You can have a good thing. Your past doesn't exempt you from deserving good things. And that doesn't just include your lovely lady."

Seifer didn't say anything.

"Besides, it's cliched," sighed Ian, "but since you called me an old man I've earned my right to say it: life is short. Like you said, if you don't tell her, someone else is only all too keen to do it. The men on my table at the pageant were pretty interested in her, and some of them were probably twice her age so…"

Seifer looked up at once, grunting out angrily, "Who?"

Ian chuckled and said reassuringly, "She didn't look at them the way she looked at you."

And Seifer once again had nothing to say as he let these words sink in.

"You'd be a fool to let her go. A child." Ian looked pointedly at him, "Like a little boy that wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine a holiday at the seashore."

Seifer considered this for a moment. "I hate the sand."

"Really? Another thing I've learnt about you."

"And I don't mind being a little boy. Things didn't go so peachy for me when I wanted to grow up."

"I see. A coward, then. You'd be a coward to let Miss Trepe go."

Seifer scowled. "I'm not a coward," he intoned.

Ian shrugged, spreading his arms out. "Then prove it."

The waitress appeared then asking for tea and coffee orders, her voice stuttering slightly as she processed the sight of Seifer glaring at Ian and Ian returning his gaze back undeterred.

"No, thank you, we're done here. I'd like the check, please," said Ian charmingly, breaking eye contact and smiling at the girl.

With a whirlpool of emotions and decisions inside him, Seifer didn't remember leaving, but soon he found himself standing outside the restaurant and he knew that this was it now. The end of the date he'd been anticipating all evening, yet now for some reason he felt like he wanted to drag it out a bit longer. The next move would be more difficult.

With his coat back on, Ian Stevenson turned to regard him face-on. "Thank you for coming out to meet me, Seifer. It was a pleasure." He extended his hand again which Seifer took.

"Thanks for dinner."

"You're welcome, Seifer."

Seifer hesitated and, before he could lose his nerve, murmured, "And I'm sorry about your godson."

Ian permitted himself a small smile and inclined his head. "Thank you for saying that. And good luck, you know."

For the first time, Seifer felt like he needed it.

He began his walk back out along the harbour, his thoughts closing in on him, pushing him into one direction. An energy was flooding his veins, giving him purpose, a sense of urgency.

What does your heart deeply desire?

Immediately Seifer signalled down a passing taxi and jumped in. His heart was racing. During the drive, he glanced down at his watch. 9PM. She's probably in bed.

As soon as the door was open at the Balamb Garden front gate and he'd thrown a whole fifty gil without waiting for his change, Seifer was flat on his feet, running at full tilt.

"You don't believe you deserve something, so you ruin it.

"Well, it might not mean anything to you, but you've got mine. My forgiveness."

"Are you in?"

"To answer your question, Seifer… I think you're priceless."

He didn't stop running, only one thought and mission pulsing through his mind as if his life depended on it. Hell, maybe it did.

Out of breath, Seifer skidded to a stop outside the familiar door, pressing the panel impatiently. When there was no immediate answer, he pressed it again. And again.

C'mon, c'mon…

The door slid open suddenly and Quistis stood framed in the doorway. She didn't look like she was in bed yet. She looked bewildered as she took in the sight of him, panting and dishevelled in his blazer and shirt. Still a heartbreaker.

"Seifer?" she gasped. "What are you - ?"

"Ask me that question again," he interrupted her, as if there hadn't been a two-week silence stretched between them that needed explanation.

Quistis still seemed utterly confused. "What question?"

Seifer took a deep breath, his eyes piercing hers. How could she not see how much he wanted her?

"What does your heart deeply desire?" he asked roughly, and there it was, she had to have seen it now, because something shifted in her gaze and there was fear, there was hesitation, and was that desire? Hyne, he hoped so.

Quistis' brows pulled together, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to ask what was going on but then decided against it. He kept a hand against the door, in case she was about to press the panel shut. She wasn't running away this time.

Finally, she swallowed and whispered, "What does your heart deeply desire?"

"You."

He said it with no hesitation, no embarrassment, no uncertainty. Because she had to know.

Quistis let out a little breath of surprise and she bit her lip, her eyes suddenly as unshuttered and open as they had been that night she'd first asked him that question.

"I want you with all your nerdy Triple Triad cards," Seifer said, voice tight, eyes searching hers. "I want you telling me about those stupid romance novels. I want you to bake cookies just for me. And I want to kiss you again - and again - and again - before I lose my Hyne damn mind."

Come on, Trepe.

Quistis gazed at him, shock and disbelief fighting in her eyes even as they filled with tears. He hadn't seen her cry since they were kids. Finally, she mustered up a watery smile.

"I was hoping you'd say that," she whispered.

Seifer stared openly at her, barely able to register what she was saying.

"Seifer," Quistis warbled in a rush, sounding more vulnerable than he'd ever heard her. "I can't stop thinking about you - "

He cut her off abruptly, pulling her close and kissing her fiercely. As soon as their lips touched and her tantalising smell took over his senses, Seifer felt like a drowned man finally coming up for air. This was it. This was Quistis Trepe, and she was melting right into him as though he were a balm to her soul.

And she was kissing him back, shakily at first, then with purpose and fervour. She gripped his arms as if she was afraid he would disappear, and with a grin that had sprung out of nowhere Seifer moved into her room, one hand slapping the panel to close the door on them. Her hands clawed up to his hair with a kind of desperation that made him moan, and he lifted her up easily as she wrapped her legs around his waist. It felt like they couldn't get close enough.

And in that moment, it didn't matter that it had taken him five times to pass a SeeD exam. It didn't matter that he was the black sheep of the liberi fatali, or that he was a washed up ex-sorceress' knight who had once almost ended the world, or that his mind and dreams were in tatters needing urgent repair.

It didn't even matter that he hadn't won Miss Balamb Garden. Right now he friggin' had Quistis Trepe.

Ah, who was he kidding, Seifer thought as they broke apart for a second, her lips hovering just millimetres from his, and Quistis smiled at him, a deep, fond smile that made everything inside him turn to putty. He grunted in satisfaction and captured her mouth again with his.

He'd won.