Author's note : this was written for the 5K 2024 event by #ficwip on Tumblr: "Write an AU for any fandom using no more than 5,000 words." This was fun, but the word limit cut a lot of things I wanted to tell! I hope you may like the story. The premise for this AU is: what if Ultimecia's threat never existed?

RED THREAD

Balambese Sea, August 23rd
From behind his sunglasses, he can stare at her as much as he wants, and no one will be the wiser.

She is an impossible contradiction that his logical, realistic brain cannot unravel, a mystery he cannot even fathom. She is idealistic and yet effective; she is naïve and yet watchful; she is compassionate and yet sometimes selfish; she is stubborn and yet pliant; she is weak and yet she is power incarnate. The only known Sorceress of their era, after Mrs. Kramer voluntarily surrendered her magic to her, and yet she is the one hellbent on using that incredible power to do good, and in particular for Timber's independence. She is everything that could go wrong, and yet everything that's going right.

She is everything he wants, with an intensity that can only match the ferocity of their disagreements, yet she is everything he will never have.

On the other side of the boat that's taking them to Balamb Isle, Sorceress Heartilly is standing proudly in the sun, with her light blue dress flowing around her legs in the summer ocean breeze. Her ridiculously large straw hat with its similarly ridiculous blue ribbon hides her face from him, but he is sure she is smiling, or probably laughing, at the seagulls flying over their boat, or maybe the dolphins racing with them in the deep blue Balambese Sea. He wonders, with a slight smirk he's thankful nobody can see, if she's going to fall into the water, and he'll have to dive and save her. He's not all that opposed to feeling her body against his, after all.

She turns, looking at him with a knowing smile – knowing what , he'd like to ask, though he won't ask her anything – and she raises one finger to the sky, holding her hat in place with her other hand. Hyne knows what she means by that gesture, but then she starts walking, and before he knows she is sitting next to him.

"You never told me Balamb Isle would be so nice," she says, with a small smile still dancing on her lips.

He shrugs, licking his lips. "You never asked," he says, kind of gruffly, and she laughs, a melodic sound that reminds him of the wind chimes on the balcony of his favorite restaurant, down at Balamb Harbor.

"After the meeting, I'd like to visit the city. Will you give me a tour?"

He wants to say something scalding, to make sure she'll leave him alone, but he can't. He kind of likes being at the center of her attention. Realizing she is looking for him, when she enters a room, and that she smiles when she sees him. Noticing some not-so-subtle body language. Knowing she wouldn't resist, if he tried some flirting.

But he's not known as the lone wolf for nothing, and he won't tarnish his reputation for a woman – as complex and mysterious and truly gorgeous as Sorceress Heartilly is.

"You can't say no," she giggles.

And he knows she is right. He can't , just not for the reasons she's thinking of. "I'm not your bodyguard," he replies, and she laughs again. He doesn't want her to laugh.

"Not as my bodyguard. As my friend," she says, and before he can reply she clasps her fingers around the ring on her necklace. "I never saw Balamb. My mother promised me she would take me, but then…"

He sighs. "Just don't let me wait too much under the sun."

Balamb Garden, April 23rd
At twenty-five, Squall Leonhart was the youngest Commander that Balamb Garden had ever had. Son of the man who had freed the world from the evil clutches of Sorceress Adel, he had spent his childhood in Esthar, with his father, his sister, and the guilt gnawing at him, when he realized, at an early age, that the day he was born and the day his mother had died were the same, thus convincing himself he was the cause for his father's and his sister's pain.

From that, it was but a short step; and he had enrolled in Balamb Garden when he was barely fourteen, impressively becoming Commander just after turning twenty-two.

Cid Kramer looked at his most promising SeeD, noticing how the young man was reading through the mission's details without any emotion whatsoever. Sometimes, he wished that Squall Leonhart was a worse soldier and a better human being; he thought he would be happier, if he managed to accept friends, even a girlfriend, in his life. But he had heard how harsh his Commander could be when his philosophy was challenged.

"So I leave this afternoon?" asked Squall, and Cid sighed.

"Yes. This mission is of the utmost importance to the world, therefore your status will be incredibly valuable during negotiations. Zell Dincht will come with you as the second neutral mediator, while Selphie Tilmitt will come as Communications Advisor. The boat for Dollet will depart at four o'clock this afternoon."

"Understood, Sir," nodded Squall, standing up and lining up the documents in his mission folder.

"Dismissed, Squall," sighed Cid once again, watching the Commander as he exited the room without a word.

Dollet, April 23rd
Dollet was spectacular in late spring, thought Rinoa, laughing as a gust of wind pushed all her hair in front of her face. She suspected everything would look spectacular to her, because there was a deep feeling of rightness blooming into her chest: Timber was going to be free. She had worked hard for many causes, in the past; advocating for more humane and fair conditions in D-District Prison, obtaining the release of several political prisoners, and using her position as General's Caraway daughter to slowly, but surely, erode the base of consent that kept President Deling in power, until his demise one year prior. Caraway had been appointed President ad interim, and her campaign for Timber's independence had been relentless.

And now there would be negotiations in Dollet. Her mother would be proud, and that twinkling star must be her, thought Rinoa with a satisfied smile.

She closed the French doors of her hotel room, brushed her hair once again, and then descended the stairs, finding Irvine Kinneas waiting at the bottom. She smiled at the bodyguard that Zone and Watts had insisted on; they wouldn't be so sure about his usefulness if they knew how he flirted with every beautiful woman in sight.

"Ready?" whispered Irvine, gallantly offering his elbow, but Rinoa shook her head, stepping into the hotel's ballroom with determination. This was the opening gala for the negotiations for Timber's freedom; this was the result of her hard work, and she wanted to enjoy it.

A shooting star crossed the sky above her head, taking her breath away; and when she lowered her eyes, someone took her breath away, too. Leaning against a wall, with a champagne flute in hand and the most bored expression on his face, a stunningly good-looking young man was watching her, his head slightly tilted. She smiled, looked for Irvine, saw him flirting with a spunky-looking woman in uniform, and realized she was free.

"You're the best good-looking guy here," she said when she reached the young man. "Dance with me?" He said nothing, drinking his champagne, looking at her over the rim of his glass. "Or maybe you only dance with girls you like?" No words, yet again, so she pressed on, slightly invading his personal space, moving her hand in a circle in front of his eyes. "You're-going-to-like-me… you're-going-to-like-me…" she chanted, earning an amused chuckle. Even his voice was stunning; deep, rich, velvety smooth.

"I can't dance very well," he warned, placing his glass on the tray of a passing waiter.

"I can live with that," she smiled, taking his hand and dragging him to the dance floor.

He looked relaxed. Sort of amused by her antics. And he may have been a mediocre dancer, but he was a fast learner, and through a few missteps and some bumping into each other and other couples, by the time fireworks exploded over their head he had guided her in a perfect spin and she found herself breathless against his chest. His eyes were looking at the sky, and in their clear blue she could see the reflection of the colors amidst the stars; and she was going to ask him his name, when she noticed Irvine waving his arms on the other end of the room, and she huffed, gaining her handsome partner's attention. "I'm sorry, someone's calling me," she said, gently disentangling herself from his arms. "I guess we'll see each other around, right? I'm here for the negotiations!"

"So am I," he answered, and his eyes were intense, now, more focused, as if he was trying to analyze her.

"Thanks for the dance," she added. "Guess I'm among the girls you like, then?"

He didn't have the time to answer, as Irvine called her loudly across the room and she impatiently rolled her eyes, leaving him in the middle of the dancing floor.

"Making conquests, Commander?" joked Zell, approaching his comrade.

"It was just a dance," mumbled Squall, hiding the unsettling feeling the girl's parting words had left in his chest.

Dollet, May 16th

She was so infuriating.

How Mrs Kramer thought it would be a good idea to let this girl receive her immense power was beyond him; and for all the pains Miss Heartilly took to make clear she considered herself a woman , he was fairly convinced she was a spoiled rich girl far too immature to be adult enough to realize her ideas were too naïve, if not openly stupid.

And now he would be on the receiving end of her whining wrath. Just as the last two weeks.

"You could at least have let me explain!" she hissed, turning abruptly.

"Explain what? You need to realize these are negotiations , not some kind of world summit in which you make requests and everyone rushes to accommodate you," he spat, watching as her face reddened in vexation.

"The people of Timber-"

"The people of Timber," he interrupted her, his voice even, still cold in seething anger, "are just one small part of those who will be affected. You should remember this. I find it hard to believe you can do it, though," he couldn't help but add. "Things won't go your way just because you're daddy's princess . How serious are you…? Really…?"

She recoiled as if he had slapped her. Behind him, Zell discreetly cleared his throat, whispering he had gone too far. But he wouldn't let himself be berated by his Lieutenant in front of a civilian, no matter how powerful. "I'll leave it at that," he added, and Rinoa turned, moved her hands in a way that looked suspiciously like she was drying tears, and when she turned back, her eyes were rimmed with red, flaring with golden power. She glowed with determination.

"The people of Timber are important to me," she hissed, careful to mark every word. "Their freedom takes precedence over everything else."

He scoffed.

"Huff all you want. I am serious . So serious it hurts. It may look stupid to someone like you ," she spat, with unconcealed disgust. "But there are people who care about other people. Maybe you should try that, for fucking once."

And then, for the first time since their dance, she invaded his personal space, and even though he towered over her, he swallowed, feeling the raw power she exuded. "And for the record, you are an awful neutral mediator."

Haspberry Plains, June 9th

It was hot as hell, and Rinoa – Sorceress Heartilly, he corrected himself, annoyed by the sudden intimacy of calling her by her name in his mind, was so silent it was unnerving.

Since their argument in Dollet, things had been tense, in a way he wasn't used to. She had worked even harder during negotiations, challenging his opinion of her. He couldn't consider her just a rich, spoiled little brat thinking she could get whatever she wanted anymore; he was forced to see her commitment, her passion, her determination to change things into something better. She was intelligent, charismatic, strong, cultured, and she was captivating. It was a dangerous path to find himself on.

They boarded the train in silence, and he observed her as she read, again and again, the documents she had prepared for her speech to Timber's government. The way she moved her lips while rehearsing the statement was unbelievably endearing. A testament to her ungodly stubbornness and determination.

She raised her eyes to meet his, and before she could strike up a conversation, the intercom boomed through the entire train. They had reached East Academy station, and had to stop for a few hours to repair a malfunction.

Rinoa whined loudly in frustration. "We'll never reach Timber in time," she commented.

"Nothing we can do about it."

She shot him a look that he wasn't quite able to decipher, and then stood up, gathering her things.

"Where are you going?" he asked, as she marched to the door of the private SeeD car.

"To Timber!" she replied, as if it was totally normal to get up and go to frickin' Timber on foot.

"You can't," he said, with all the calm he could muster, standing up to stop her. "You'd have to walk for hours. Be reasonable and sit down, I'm sure-"

"You can stay here, I've already said I don't need a bodyguard," she replied. "I'm not gonna wait for Hyne knows how much."

"For the umpteenth time, I'm not your bodyguard. I'm a neutral mediator."

She shrugged and exited the train car, and he could do nothing but follow.

The Wendigo charged them at full speed, and even Squall, who was blocking the attacks with his gunblade, had a hard time containing the monster's brutal force. Rinoa was scrambling to her feet, her hand trembling to the point that her kinda rudimentary weapon was effectively useless.

"Rinoa!" roared Squall, pushing back the Wendigo and making it stumble. "Use magic!"

But magic required concentration, and she hadn't had her powers long enough to be able to use them to defend herself. Frustrated, Squall grunted, "Blind it!"

She shut her eyes closed and cast, and then shuddered, hearing Squall's grunts and the monster's laments as the gunblade pierced its heart. She was still trembling when his footsteps came closer, and she heard his sigh when he stopped in front of her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"You can open your eyes," he said, almost gently.

"I was scared," she sobbed.

"It's over now," he tried, even though he knew it was not very comforting.

Standing up, Rinoa hid her face in her hands, and her shoulders racked with sobs for a few minutes. It was awkward, and Squall didn't know what to do, so he waited silently for the onslaught of emotion to pass. It was kind of hard to watch her come to terms with the limits of her resolve. She was strong, noble, and determined to do good, but she wasn't ready for all that it entailed.

"We better get going," he said, swallowing, but he just took two steps before her trembling hands grabbed his arm, and Squall felt like everything was about to change.

"I was scared," she repeated, squeezing his arm softly.

He sighed, and it tasted like surrender. It left an unexpected taste in his mouth.

"Just stay close to me."

Balamb City, August 23rd – evening

He's been feeling on the edge of surrendering all day long. First during the negotiations with Headmaster Cid, when she showed competence in assuring SeeD's services for Timber's free elections; then during what should have been an innocent tour of Garden, when he found himself joking about her being his girlfriend with Dr. Kadowaki; and finally during the promised tour of Balamb, so dangerously close to being an awkward first date, since she insisted to celebrate after finding out it's his birthday.

She talks, and it's not an annoying chatter about trifle things. She laughs at his terse jokes, and it's an unsettling feeling of warmth in his chest. She looks at him with those big brown eyes, and he feels like she could be what he's looking for.

His equal.

The Sea Festival makes the town even more fascinating, and Rinoa – he has given up forcing himself to consider her Sorceress Heartilly – watches with sparkling eyes. A gentle breeze makes her hair flow around her face, and when she turns, realizing he is watching her intently, she sends a warm smile. It makes him feel calm. Tranquil.

"Your ring is so intriguing," she says, drinking her azure concoction through a bright-colored straw. "What's that monster on it?"

Nobody has ever shown him interest enough to inquire about his ring. Not even Quistis Trepe, with all her insistence about opening up, who turned to Seifer Almasy shortly after he said her, scathingly enough to scare her off for good, to go talk to a wall if she wanted to be listened to.

But Rinoa is different. She truly wants to know him, gently encourages him to open up without pressuring him into something he despises, and makes him feel like she'd listen to help him . He doesn't feel like a challenge to be won, with her.

"It's not a monster," he replies. He wonders, can she imagine how deep of a secret he's going to reveal, now? The embodiment of his pain, his guilt, forged into platinum to be worn as a memento on his finger, every day? "It's a lion. They are known for their great strength and pride."

She leans her chin on her hands, watching him with a curious smile. "Mmh… great strength and pride, eh? Kinda like you, Squall."

His shoulders sag. "I wish," he simply comments, and her smile falters a little. She understood what is left unsaid.

"Does it have a name?" she asks, softly.

"Griever."

She nods, and he knows she understands. She buried her mother at five years old; she sure knows what grieving means. And she knows, now, the bundle of pain pulsing at his core, the turmoil of wanting closeness while rejecting the suffering it brings with it.

There's a moment of silence. She grasps her mother's ring on her chain, and gives him a secret smile. "You know, I'd like a ring just like yours. Maybe Zell can make one for me, too. Can you imagine it? It would be so crazy, having the same ring. People would get all kinds of wrong ideas about us!"

He crosses his arms on his chest. "If it's so crazy, why do you sound so delighted?"

"YO! There you are," booms Zell's voice as he reaches them, covering Rinoa's gasp. He grabs a chair from a nearby table and drags it so he can sit with them. The awkwardness of a too-intimate conversation dissipates, and Rinoa gulps a little more of her drink, cheeks enticingly flaming.

"Why don't you dance with the girl with the pigtail, Zell?" asks Rinoa, subtly changing the topic to avoid embarrassment.

Zell's cheeks are flaming too, now. "Bad idea," he mutters, gulping his beer.

Rinoa chuckles. Then, she twirls her hand in the air, and an electric blue thread appears on Zell's finger, unraveling through loops and weaves until the blue turns to sepia and wraps around the finger of a girl on the other side of the terrace. Then the thread splits, glowing red for a few, pulsing moments, and dissolves in magical powder.

"What was that?" asks Zell.

"The red thread of destiny," she replies, twisting the liquid in her glass with the small decorative umbrella. "Come on, go and ask her to dance!" she encourages him, and when Zell eventually sighs, as if trying to gather courage, and finishes his beer in one gulp, she turns to Squall and winks.

"Destiny, uh?" Squall asks, as they both watch Zell leaving. "You believe in it?"

"It's not something you believe in," she replies. "I didn't create the thread. It was there. You saw it too. It was real."

For a split second, he wonders: has she ever tried the same magic on them? Is that why she insists on knowing him? Is there something so real and tangible, between them?

As the song of their first dance starts, he thinks that it doesn't matter. He stands up, offering her his hand, and she smiles, taking it, and as he makes her twirl in his arms, under the stars, he realizes that it may already be too late.

Dollet, September 2nd

So this is it, he thinks, drinking some champagne as he stares at the sea glittering of stars from the hotel's balcony. The closing gala is in full swing, and Squall feels a bitter taste in his mouth. He knows why, and yet he refuses to acknowledge it.

Behind him, high heels hit the stone of the balcony, and soon after Rinoa is standing next to him, looking at the sea, too. They stay silent for a short while, and it's so comfortable it's unsettling.

Eventually, she sighs. "So this is it, right?"

He swallows. "Timber is free, as you wanted," he replies. "You got excellent conditions, too. Free elections will be held in October and SeeD will ensure they run smoothly." He sighs. "You've been successful, and you should be proud of yourself."

She smiles, her cheeks reddening slightly, and nods. "I truly am. Thank you, Squall." She pauses, reaching for her necklace. "I'm sorry I told you you were an awful neutral mediator. You guys did a wonderful job, and I want to thank you for that, on behalf of all Timber's people."

"And I'm sorry I doubted how serious you were about this. I was-"

"Oh, no!" she interrupts, shaking her head. "Your words made me think and whatever success I managed to achieve is also thanks to how you opened my eyes back then. Please don't be sorry. You made me better."

He nods, slightly perturbed by her admission. She looks so beautiful against the night sky, her dark hair flowing free around her face, her cream dress hugging her curves.

"Can we…" she starts, looking at him. "Can we see each other again?"

He swallows, because he so wants to say yes, but he's so scared.

"You're not the mediator anymore," she continues. "You don't need to be neutral, and I… I wish I could know you better," she concludes.

From the stairs, Zell is shouting his name, and Squall rolls his eyes, because he always interrupts them when they're on the cusp of discovering something more intimate between them. And it scares him, but it also trills him, to realize that he wants that something.

It's now or never.

He takes off his Griever, and offers it to her. "Here," he says, and she takes it, her fingers brushing against his and giving them both goosebumps.

"Why?" she asks, softly.

Because it's his Griever, he thinks, representing his guilt, his pain, and he is surrendering to her and he wants her to have it. His guilt, his pain, and maybe his affection, if she thinks it's worth having.

"Don't you want it?" he says, looking at her. She smiles, holding it close to her heart, and he watches as she slowly slips it on her necklace. It looks so good on her.

"I'll come back to Dollet," he says, and she nods.

"Leave a message for me at Timber's hotel. I'll come back to Dollet, too."

He nods, and she comes closer, raising on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. She touches his ring and smiles. "Who knows," she jokes. "Maybe I can become a lion, too."

He gives a small smile. "You already are."

Dollet, September 26th

He has never done something like this, and he is unsure about everything. The fact that she told him she wanted to see him again does nothing to quell his anxiety, and he wonders about every little thing – what does she expect? What does she want from him? Will he ever be enough for such an open, caring, compassionate, strong woman?

So while he waits for her in Dollet's plaza and an old woman offers him flowers – fresh from Winhill, she says – he buys a bouquet of sky blue lilies on the spur of the moment, immediately wondering if roses would be better, and while he stands feeling like an idiot, Rinoa is suddenly there. "Hi."

She is as beautiful as he remembers, even more stunning in a short cream dress that makes his mouth water and dry at the same time. She laughs, pleased by his reaction, and pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, in a seemingly calculated shy move. "For me?" she asks, pointing at the lilies, and he nods, feeling awkward and a little socially inept, giving her the bouquet.

She smiles, a warm smile that somehow manages to calm him, and he finds the courage to smile back. He notices his ring on her chain, resting on the swell of her breasts, and he raises his eyes to her face. "You look beautiful," he whispers, and her smile grows brighter.

"And you're still the best-looking guy here," she answers, and he knows everything's going right.

None of his casual, meaningless hookups have prepared him for this. He guesses, after all, that his good looks played an enormous part in his past experiences, and he feels now as shy and awkward as a teenage virgin.

Holding her lilies bouquet, she leans against the door of her hotel room, an innocent temptress he feels an undeniable, brutal desire for. He wants her, not as some kind of stress relief who won't be there in the morning, but as the flesh and blood woman with an astonishing mind who bewitched him. He places a hand near her head, against the door, and swallows as she looks at his lips, at his eyes. He barely has the time to whisper, "Can I…" before she snakes a hand around his neck, through his hair, and pulls him in, her "yes…" a puff of breath on his lips.

And he is lost.

And everything feels like an avalanche after that.

She is pliant when he presses against her, his arousal drawing a moan from her throat, and when he pulls away to suckle on her neck, her name just a hot, needy breath on her skin, he seeks confirmation once again.

"I want-"

"Yes!" She pushes the key into his hand, and he fumbles with the lock as her nails dig pleasurably into his neck, and they tumble into her room, still kissing, and she is the one to press him against the door, now. He barely hears the bouquet landing on the small sofa near the entrance, and his senses swim in everything she is: her mouth still tasting of caramel ice cream, the silk of her dress, the fruity scent of her skin, the scrape of her nails against his chest as she opens his shirt.

Then she suddenly steps back. Kicking off her high heels, she raises her hands to her neck, undoing the halter top of her dress, and lets it pool at her feet.

Dressed only in black lacy panties, the moon shining silver on her skin, she looks unbelievable. His ultimate fantasy, turned violently real. His desire, invincible, brutal, and visceral, kicks at his loins, and he takes her face into his hands, his kiss rough around the edges, and when they fall on her bed, he is once again lost.

And it's utterly inebriating.

He may have been propped on his elbow, looking at her, for hours, he thinks, or maybe just for a few minutes. Time doesn't matter as she lays next to him in bed, purring in satisfaction as he follows the line of her spine with his finger.

Wrapped in white silken sheets, her face half-hidden in the pillow, she looks like a seductress from old black and white movies, turned into shocking technicolor by her sheer sensuality. He is so lost. He feels so complete. He is so in love .

He pulls his hand away, opening his mouth to say something and immediately closing it.

"What is it?" she asks.

"…I've fallen for you," he sighs, and she smiles, turning to lay on her back. She is so unashamed of her nakedness, both of her soul and her body, while he is ashamed of being so guarded still, even though she tore his shell asunder by being herself.

"So have I," she smiles, and he places his hand on her sternum, his thumb between her breasts.

"I guess I'm scared," he confesses, and she makes a sound, raising one hand with her fingers spread, and he immediately laces his fingers with hers.

"I need to use my magic to show you something," she warns him, and then a warm, orange light envelops her fingers, turning into a thread between their hands. Squall watches the blue pulsing thread on her finger fusing with the silvery one wrapped around his. Then, the magic spreads the thread like a flower, and a hot red bond glows underneath the blue and the silver.

The red thread of destiny, bonding soulmates together.

"I guess we'll be together for a long time," she whispers, as the thread becomes invisible, and she turns to press against him, with a delicate kiss on his lips. "We'll do our best, and we'll manage," she laughs, as his hand skims over her back, smoothing the rich curve of her backside.

"We'll manage," he breathes. So beautiful. So comforting. So scary. So real. "I'm so in love with you," he whispers against her lips, stealing a kiss through her happy laughter.

"Me too," she replies, holding him even closer. "Me too."

Author's note : thanks for reading! Betaread with Grammarly as usual, so feel free to point out mistakes and all those instances in which Italian may have seeped into my English.