Chapter Text
Like all the other so-called liberi fatali, Seifer hadn’t gone to Garden of his own free will. And yet there was something about it that still felt like home. Even after everything. He remembered hearing somewhere along the line that family are the people who, when you have nowhere else to go, have to take you in. It wasn’t a pretty notion, but there was a distorted sort of comfort there just the same.
The paperwork had been approved, he’d officially been cleared of any wrongdoing by the TriGarden Council, and his readmittance papers were signed by Cid Kramer and golden boy Commander Leonhart.
Evidently Quistis Trepe herself was the one coming to pick him up. Newly appointed Head Instructor, and apparent babysitter.
Some things never changed.
Seifer stared up at the blue and silver structure, Hyperion case at his side, and exhaled.
Like so many of his fellow classmates, Janz Ilsen hadn’t gone to Balamb Garden of his own free will. No, he was one of those second sons shipped off to the military. Except, with his new-money parents trying to break into that upper echelon of society the military itself wouldn’t do. No, they wanted to be avant-garde. Send him to the newest and best military academy. If only to say they had a son at Balamb Garden.
Well, he would show them. That’s what the young cadet had thought all those years ago. He’d study hard, be the best, and come back smarter, stronger, and better than all of them.
That was the plan. That was the attitude he took into class. And that was the eagerness with which the tender-hearted young man first beheld the woman who would become the object of his every desire.
Instructor Trepe. With a small, shy smile, she addressed her first class. Her voice crisp, proper and intelligent - and surprisingly young. Barely older than Janz. Just one year. So close, and yet so far away.
And so, a deep, unnatural affection was born.
And along the way, Janz found he was not alone. There were so many like him – so many who idolized her, cheered her on, wanted nothing but the best for Instructor #14. The prodigy, Quistis Trepe.
So many of his fellow Trepies daydreamed about asking her out, and none of them did. None of them even tried. Well. There was the story of Skylar. Allegedly. But no one really believed that guy actually had the guts. And no one believed him when he said that Instructor Trepe had told him that she would say yes, if only he weren’t an underclassman.
But that was just it. Janz knew. She was like him. A rule follower. A standard bearer. There was no way she would ever date a student. No way she’d ever break Garden protocol. No matter how kindly she smiled at him; and even though he just knew the gentle praise when he would do well was a telltale sign of her returned affections, he knew it could only happen properly.
And so Janz would just have to become a SeeD first. And then he’d ask her to dance at his graduation. He drew it out perfectly in his mind; he could see the lights, the fireworks, hear the gasps of his fellow Trepies. The radiant smile on her perfect face as she blushed prettily and took his hand. It was a flawless plan.
The slight trouble was, Janz had a bit of an issue focusing in class. All these daydreams about what the future would look like got in the way of him actually passing the written exam. And to be be fair, it wasn’t like the test was easy anyway.
So maybe it took him a little longer than the break-neck speed at which he’d hoped he’d excel. But he got there. About a year after the end of the Second Sorceress War.
But now was his moment. The SeeD ball was coming up in just a few hours. He stared at himself in the mirror, making sure every line of his new uniform was perfect.
Because tonight had to be perfect.
He nodded at himself and smiled, throwing a thumbs-up into the mirror for good luck before turning and walking determinedly out of his new dorm and towards the ballroom.
Towards his destiny.
Seifer surveyed his new dormitory with a detached sort of satisfaction. It was nice to have a room all to himself now, he had to admit. But mostly it just looked barren: the only personal effects so far were Hyperion’s case sitting open on the desk and a coffee mug with a cartoon fish on it courtesy of Fujin and Raijin. Under the fish's smiling face it said, SEAS THE DAY. Was this what making it felt like? Note to self: he should get more personal effects.
Suddenly there came a knock at his door. Not bothering to check who it was, he slapped his hand against the panel to open it, revealing Quistis standing there, holding a freshly pressed SeeD uniform.
“Straight from the tailors!” She smiled up at him. He stared down at the suit, trying to feel as detached about it as he did when looking at his dorm room. But a small thrill of excitement rushed up his spine despite himself.
“Do you bring all your favorite students their dressies?” He crossed his arms across his chest and aimed for an unimpressed air.
Her nose crinkled in amusement. “Just the ones that show the most promise.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. Ever since he’d come back, Trepe had been so… nice to him. He’d thought it was pity at first and had tried to slam his fist through the gesture – metaphorically, that is. But she’d kept it up over the last few months, a pleasant smile nearly the entire time, and simply told him she believed in him, over and over again. That she was glad to have him back.
What the hell was he supposed to do with that? He had no defenses against her when she was like that, and he didn’t know how to act these days when someone like her (who’d seen him at his worst), was being genuinely nice to him.
“Actually, no one else aside from Raijin is quite as tall as you are - they had to order it special – I made sure it was tailored to your measurements. That took a bit longer, so I figured I’d bring it to you myself.”
That seemed like a lot of extra effort. And also, damn straight he was the biggest. He straightened up a fraction more.
She smoothed down the clear plastic bag that encased the uniform. “Just in time for you to wear it to the SeeD ball tonight.”
“I’m not going to the SeeD ball.”
“Oh, but you must. It’s mandatory. All new SeeDs are required to go to the ball.”
“But not instructors, huh?”
Quistis dropped her gaze; her fingers played with the edges of the bag, and he could tell that no matter what came out of her mouth it wasn’t going to be a whole truth. That was a side effect of spending so much time with her again: he’d remembered what a crap liar she was.
“I’ve found that it’s better for my students to focus on their future once they graduate. To see the ball as a step beyond the classroom.”
Yeah, that was a load. Plenty of instructors went to the SeeD ball.
“Why the hell should I go if you won’t even be there?”
Shit, that didn’t come out right.
Her lips quirked up at the corners, and she tilted her head just slightly as she met his eyes; clearly she'd taken his comment the wrong way entirely. Her long bangs swayed with her movement.
“It’s an opportunity. For everyone to see you as a SeeD. For them to see how far you’ve come and what great things you’ll accomplish.”
Spoken like a freakin' teacher. And yet that fact did nothing to quell that tiny spark of excitement at the thought. He rolled his eyes anyway.
“Yeah, or just gawk at the traitor in their midst.”
It didn’t seem to matter that he’d been around the Garden for four months now. At every turn there came another shocked face. Seifer guessed he didn’t blame them – the war wasn’t so far behind them that they could forget so soon. But what were those stupid brain-eating GFs even good for if not that?
But Quistis has gone out of her way to be seen with him – to offer to train with him, to catch him in the halls, eat lunch with him in the cafeteria. When he’d snapped at her, accusing her of pity, she’d shrugged and said, “Believe it or not, I know what it’s like to feel like I don’t belong. Besides, it’s nice to have the company.”
He’d thought she was placating him and avoided her for weeks after that. Quistis Trepe feeling like she didn't belong in Garden was like a Snow Lion feeling out of place in the frozen Trabian forest. And he hadn't bought it.
But then he started to notice: she really was alone a lot. Eating alone, training alone, reading alone. Sure, the war heroes all ate dinner together at least once a week. But mostly Squall spent time with Rinoa; the cowboy hung out with the messenger girl; and chicken wuss spent a weird amount of time in the library for someone Seifer was pretty sure was illiterate.
And that left him maybe understanding what she meant. Just a little bit.
And so it was that a foolish part of him (definitely the same stupid, mushy part that remembered their shared childhood together) had him slamming his cafeteria tray down on her table, plopping himself into the chair across from her, and asking her to pass the salt. She'd said nothing about it, just simply done so.
That rough start had turned into regular interactions.
Which gave way to non-hostile conversations, amazingly.
To talking about what she liked about teaching.
To her offering to help him put together a class if he wanted to give it a try once he became a SeeD.
To some sort of friendship.
And suddenly he was spending a lot of time with Quistis Trepe. He told himself it was only because it was better than being alone, but that didn’t account for that stupid flutter in his gut that seemed to flare up randomly around her.
“You’ll do great. Everyone knows that Squall supports you being here. And that I do, too. We all do.”
Seifer continued to stare at the pressed uniform in her hands, his eyes tracing every inch of gold piping. She held it out for him to take.
“Besides, since when do you care what other people think?”
His lip curled into a sneer.
“I don’t.”
He reached out and snatched the hanger from her, turning around and heading back into his new dormitory. The whoosh of the closing door ended the conversation for him, and he flung the uniform onto his narrow bed.
Just because he didn’t care what people thought didn’t mean he relished the idea of a whole mess of people he’d once fought against all hanging out and singing kumbaya in the same place.
He glared at the uniform sprawled across the bed. Three personal effects now.
Damnit, Trepe.
She never said he had to be on time, though.