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At
an Arm's Length
A Final Fantasy VIII Story
by
Aligator
Chapter 6 - Long December
Blue-green eyes stared off into the distance, mesmerized by the cool afternoon’s dying rays of light.
The water had always calmed his nerves, so in some ways Seifer wasn’t surprised that he found himself on the small pier outside Fisherman’s Horizon. After all, it was just steps away from Rai and Fu’s house and his shack on their property.
So, okay, it is better than a shack.
He had built it for himself, when he realized that his two friends were starting to become more than friends. He grinned to himself. . . that was nearly a year ago.
So many things had happened since Ultimecia’s defeat. Since Fu and Rai found him on the beach, dazed, confused and lacking any memories past his infamous breakout from detention.
At first, he didn’t remember what had happened, but everyone else did. He thanked heaven on a daily basis that his “Posse” had been the first to find him and take him in.
Fu later told him she had been worried that he might never get back to his “old self,” until the day they were on this very same pier. She kicked Rai in the shin, causing him to fall into the water. Seifer burst out laughing. . . until he saw B-Garden pass overhead. Then his laughter was replaced with a look of sadness that she couldn’t place. I started to remember.
Barely perceptible footsteps crept up behind him, and a gentle hand tapped him on his left shoulder. “Seifer?”
“Fujin?” he swung around to look at his guest in disbelief. She and Raijin weren’t supposed to be back from their honeymoon until –
“STUPID SEIFER!” she grinned broadly at him and continued, at a considerably lower volume, “Ya know, we wouldn’t forget your birthday.”
“You’ve been hangin’ around with Raijin too much,” he grumbled affectionately as he gave her a bear hug.
Seifer smirked. 5-4-3-2-1 –
“HEY! Hands off my bride, ya’ know.” Five steps behind, like clockwork.
The two men shook hands and carried on as if they hadn’t seen each other in a year instead of only a month.
Fujin just looked at them in amusement. For as much as they make fun of women, they sure like to gossip.
She cleared her throat to get their attention, and two pairs of eyes quickly met hers. She responded by handing Seifer a small, gift-wrapped package. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY.”
“You didn’t have to –”
“We wanted to, ya know?” Raijin continued, “You were our best man, and you’ll always be a member of our family.”
“Thank you,” Seifer responded softly, and that sad look that Fujin so feared crossed his face for just a second. “So, can I open this up, or what?”
She nodded. “AFFIRMATIVE.” But as usual, he hadn’t really waited for her answer, and most of the paper was already ripped from the box.
The lid was discarded to reveal a leather-bound book, with a pen holder attached to its interior and a title page written in Fujin’s neat script. The Journal of Seifer Almasy.
He blinked, not knowing exactly what he was supposed to do with this present. “Thank you,” he said, again.
“RAI. HOUSE. DINNER.”
“See ya later, ya know!”
“O.K.,” the blond replied, partially to himself.
“You’re supposed to write in this,” a soft voice answered his unspoken question. He looked up to meet her gaze, and unhappily found her reddish eye, sans eye patch, glazing over with the beginnings of tears.
“Fu, I love it, honest.”
“NO. That’s not it. It was that look – after my husband mentioned the word 'FAMILY.’”
He gently pushed the small hand that had been on his arm away and returned to his original location, moving to sit with his legs dangling over the dock’s edge.
You’re not getting rid of me that easily, she thought as she joined him. “It was the same look that you got that day when we saw Garden and the same look you get when you remember something from when you were –”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” a low voice growled, softly.
“That’s why I thought you could use this,” she resumed, patting the cover of the volume still resting in his hands. “I know some day, you’re going to leave us. We convinced you to stay and not turn yourself in until you remembered.” She took a deep breath. “And now I’m asking you to stay for at least a little while longer, but I’ve – we’ve – always known that someday you would go. . . It’s in your eyes.”
She glanced down at her wedding and engagement rings. Just as a solitary tear escaped her exposed eye, a masculine hand gently grasped her right hand.
“I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is make you cry.” I’m tired of making people cry.
“I know,” she whispered, as she moved to stand up.
“I’ve never kept a journal before,” he started, his voice returning to its normal, teasing tone. “How am I supposed to do this?”
“Write a letter to someone, as if they are in front of you and you’re talking to them.”
“But who –?”
She stopped him mid-sentence by grasping his shoulder and leaning in to meet his ear. “THINK!”
“Hey!” he mock-whined. “You don’t have to yell in my ear like that!”
Seifer shifted in a futile attempt to catch her, but Fujin was already skipping up the path back to her home.
As he watched the last of the sun’s rays disappear into the sea, he found himself caressing the book’s leather cover.
“Quistis.”
*****
The rest of the evening had been relatively normal. Well, as normal as it ever gets with our newly-married couple around.
He had retrieved their mail from his place and was on his way to deliver it when he heard Fujin shriek, “NO! SEIFER’S CAKE!” This was followed by noises that sounded like a smack-down, Raijin’s protests and then other noises.
He had to grin at the concept of his two friends getting it on – one of these days, someone’s really going to get hurt – and then banished any images that might scar him for life from his thoughts.
At least, I haven’t caused *irreparable* damage to their lives.
The idea was a sobering one: Things were bad, but they could have gone even more wrong.
Not that I helped things along, any. He locked the door, turned on the radio and a lamp, and grabbed an instant dinner from his stash. A minute later, the boiling water had been added to the Cup’o’Grub – it tastes about as good as it sounds – and he was seated at his small table. Their gift sat across from him. Taunting him.
He finished up and tossed the remains of his so-called dinner into the garbage and the fork into the kitchenette’s sink.
It was still there on the table.
He seated himself and picked it up, looking at it from all angles. Finally, he opened the journal and, after taking a deep breath, pulled the pen from its holder, turned to the first blank page, and began to write.
December 22, XXXX
Dear Instructor Trepe,
Today is my 20th birthday, and I received this journal as a gift from The Posse. I’ve never kept one before. Fujin said I should write as if I was actually writing *to* someone. So, I’m writing to you…
To be continued.
. .
Next week: Chapter 7 – The Garden Festival Committee & The
Anti-Valentine’s
Day Bash
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