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Chapter Text

When Claire Farron was three years old, she almost lost her father in an automobile accident.

It was early on a Tuesday. The other driver had been tired after working into the early morning and Claire’s father was on his way to the airport to catch a six A.M. flight for business. Luckily, a cat ran into the road right as the tired driver nodded off at the wheel, causing Claire’s father to change lanes just before the other vehicle swerved into the lane he’d just vacated. Claire’s father would go on to recount the tale often at social gatherings, saying that someone up there was looking out for him and his family that day, because if circumstances had been slightly different, he’d have left behind his wife and two little girls, one of whom had been an infant at the time. The story lost much of its entertainment value after being heard time and again, and by the time she was ten, Claire was well and truly sick of it. However, she never forgot the lesson she learned from it: to be grateful for and cherish the family you have, because you never know if the universe might snatch them away.

oOo

When Claire was eleven, she discovered a talent for tennis. She’d always been a coordinated and athletically capable child, a good runner with great reflexes, so she fell naturally into the sport alongside many of her peers at school. Tennis was the Big Sport for preteen girls since her city had mandated the expansion of sports education, and everyone wanted to make the school team. It was unsurprising to all when Claire was offered a spot. Pretty, popular, and sporty Claire was a shoe-in. The jealousy of some of her classmates upon her receiving the news was palpable, but Serah was all smiles and congratulations as she helped their parents make a special celebratory dinner for her sister that evening. As far as she was concerned, her sister deserved a spot on the team more than anyone else in the world, and when she was old enough, she would of course try out for the tennis team too.

oOo

Becoming a teenager brought with it a previously unknown whirlwind of drama to Claire’s life. The highs were high and the lows were subterranean. Emotions and friend groups erupted and changed. Jealousy became cattiness while admiration evolved into ride-or-die levels of near hero-worship. At fourteen years old, Claire was the star of the school. A tennis prodigy who was certain to make the varsity team despite still being a freshman. Urged by her friends, she began to take an interest in makeup and fashion, which propelled her to even greater social heights. She was asked out weekly. Sometimes by boys who were nice. Often by boys who were not. Naturally, Serah joyously followed in her beloved big sis’s footsteps and had become something of a modern-day princess among her own school friends. Bright, sweet, and gregarious, she never wanted for friends and she often told Claire how much she looked up to her and wanted to do all the fun high school things Claire did when she was old enough. Claire didn’t tell her about the vile, jealous messages sharpied on bathroom stall walls or the horrible gossip whispered in dim hallways or why some friends didn’t come around the house anymore.

oOo

When Claire was fifteen, she discovered her mother had been hiding an illness. There were a tense few months during which Claire forgot about fashion, about friends and tennis. She spent her hours after school following her mom from appointment to appointment as medical professionals tried to figure out what was wrong with her. Luckily, her father’s work gave him connections to good doctors and in the end, thanks to some new technological advancement they were able to access through those connections, the disease was caught and treated before it could become life-threatening. Once again, Claire was reminded of the ephemeral nature of good fortune and that you should never forget to look out for family because the universe isn’t going to do it for you.

oOo

At seventeen, Claire’s life was back on track. Her mother’s medical scare had cooled the opinions of many of her naysayers and granted her the sympathy of her teachers who promised to write her good recommendations to university. She was back in tennis and supported her team to many victories. The highs were higher than ever while the lows were less low, and if she ever saw a face around town which caused her heart to ache in a strange and nostalgic way, she ignored it. Her life was full and happy.

oOo

Graduation came and went. Some classmates went off to join law enforcement or the armed forces. Claire chose to pursue fashion. She’d been scouted to be model in her final year of high school and she split her time between work and studying fashion at a premier university in the city. At twenty years old, she was making a name for herself in the industry, appearing in occasional online ads at first but soon elevating her image to posters and magazines. Her fame and connections grew, and soon she was being invited to high profile parties and events. It was at one such event, on the eve of her twenty-first birthday, when she began experiencing the oddest episodes of recollection. The event had been a fireworks show at their local beach, and as she stood on the sand looking up at the bursting colors of light and noise, she was overcome with a dreamlike sense of déjà vu. For a moment, she saw another sky, one twinkling not with stars but with the lights of civilization from across a great distance. She felt a pang of longing accompanied by a great and confusing sadness.

That longing followed Claire as she navigated the days following her birthday. She felt it keenly when Serah glowingly gushed about her new boyfriend, a rough and tumble delinquent-looking sort whom Claire only tolerated because he genuinely adored her sister. She felt it as she watched a happy couple enjoy a picnic with their young son in the park while she sipped her weekend latte on a bench. She felt it when a bubbly teenaged girl excitedly pulled her older friend into a boutique that Claire was about to enter. She felt it as she passed a pair of high school sweethearts on her walk back to her apartment after a morning of classes. She felt it from the smiles of strangers in cafes, from musicians warbling on street corners.

She grew to hate it. She was trying to enjoy her life, and yet the universe persisted in throwing confusing feelings about strangers her way. She went out of her way to avoid the street the high schoolers walked on; the boutique; the park. She kept busy with school and modeling and family. She accepted dates, grew her connections, and cut people from her life who became unproductive weight. She devoted herself to her burgeoning career, spending her energy only on those who would help her advance.

She blocked everything else out.

The new world was meant to be a fresh start.

Gloved fingers gripped a felt-tipped pen stiffly, a physical reflection of their owner’s humor. The tip of the pen hovered over lined paper; a crisp, well-maintained notebook. Soon, more words followed, carefully penned in neat strokes.

And so it is. Exactly as advertised. A cruel, blank canvas. A world with no past. Like a child born alone, never having known its mother. Fresh, but contextless. There are no gods here. None for the living. It could be called a perfect world, well worth the blood and tears shed to see it realized. A world full of promises. If you asked anyone but me.

I can’t call this place anything but a prison. The longer I spend here, the clearer it’s become to me that I don’t belong here. The world I belonged to has vanished and it took the people I loved with it. I’m a remnant of the old world trapped in a foreign place.

I want to go home.

The tip of the pen paused, still resting atop the paper. Ink from the felt spread, causing the freshly penned ending punctuation to grow to an ugly blotch which bled through the page to stain the paper underneath. Still, the hand didn’t move. Green eyes stared down at the paper, reading the last five words over and over again.

I want to go home. The felt tip slowly scrawled above the printed blue line once more.

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

The gloved hand moved in a sudden frenzy, the clean lines becoming disorderly. The letters tumbled frantically from the pen.

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. Save me—

Wide eyes burned and blurred from being held open past the point of needing to relubricate.

Lightning.

Twenty-one was a busy year for Claire. As if some cosmic floodgates had opened, new experiences and life events were thrown relentlessly into her path. She was invited to a multitude of functions for work and embarked on plenty of personal adventures, and yet no matter where she went, she seemed to encounter the same familiar faces over and over again as if destiny willed it. She got used to seeing the same pilot as she boarded private flights, a tall, good-natured family man who liked to shoot the breeze before settling into the cockpit for departure. The same unlikely duo of women always seemed to show up at whichever venue she was scheduled to hold a photoshoot. Her sister’s obnoxious boyfriend always managed to be around whenever Claire visited home. Moreover, the high school couple whom Claire had frequently encountered near her apartment had somehow met and befriended Serah at an interschool event and they were now thick as thieves.

It seemed like the more Claire tried to avoid them, perplexingly, the more these people persisted in popping up in her life. She was well and truly tired of it. Barring the pilot, there was no benefit to her to be friendly with any of them. She hated the way her emotions roiled and vacillated when they were around. She hated the way her body and mind would begin to feel, in brief flashes, like someone else’s. Pretty, popular Claire had no time to waste on thugs and randos.

“What’s got you down, Sweetheart?”

Claire barely glanced at the man occupying the driver’s seat of the luxury vehicle she demurely sat in the passenger seat of. She’d been looking out the window, resting her cheek on her knuckles as she watched the scenery go by. The man she was dating had one hand on the wheel and was watching her sidelong as they sat stopped at a light. His fingers drummed the leather in a fashion that was meant to come off as thoughtless but was really a ploy to get her to notice the expensive new watch he’d bought to impress her today. He was smart enough to recognize that she was losing interest in him.

She made a noncommittal noise in her throat—not quite a grunt. “Do I look down?”

He let out a laugh that was a little too casually-offhand to be genuine. “You were in an awful hurry to leave the restaurant tonight. Don't tell me that guy you kept staring at was an old flame?”

Claire did grunt this time. How insecure. By no means was Cid Raines an old flame, and she hadn’t even been staring at him for his sake. She’d merely been distracting herself from the tacky décor of the restaurant by focusing on a face she knew. Raines was yet another often recurring presence in her life, though she didn’t have any particular feelings regarding him. On the contrary, he was much easier to look at than the awful black and white checkered tile the business had barfed all over its walls and floor. Claire had found herself so agitated by the environment that she had jumped to put on her coat the moment the check arrived.

She had no reason to divulge any of that to him, however, so she simply said, “I’ve had better steak.”

Months passed. Claire spent all of them on edge. The same feelings of uncanniness and agitation continued to dog her steps. Her patience was running razor thin, and it was for this reason that when one day, as she was walking across campus and a man she’d never seen before stopped and stared at her as if he’d seen a ghost, she rudely avoided eye contact and power walked in the opposite direction. Naturally, she assumed that he recognized her from social media and was dreaming up an excuse to approach her, and she had absolutely no desire for that. The way he looked at her with shocked green eyes, his posture ramrod stiff, radiated recognition and intent.

Claire had experienced this exact situation enough times now that she didn’t feel remotely guilty about fleeing. She felt his gaze like a laser on her back the whole way as she rounded the nearest corner and concealed herself within a great crowd of students waiting to enter the Center for Life Sciences. It was helpful that today her university was hosting a big shot guest speaker, meaning every science-adjacent major at the university was on campus. Claire expertly wove through the throng and circled back using a lesser travelled walkway to her building.

The next day, she was excitedly pulled aside by the receptionist to the main building of her department.

“A man came around here asking about you yesterday!” the woman told her, her eyes sparkling and a sly grin curling her lips. “He wanted to know if we had a student with pink hair and blue eyes. He was very adamant about finding you. I heard he asked around at all the departments.”

Claire regarded the woman with a confused frown. She wracked her brain for anyone she knew who might do such a thing but came up blank. Everyone she was close to knew what department she belonged to. A stranger, then?

“He was super handsome,” the woman added when she saw Claire’s confusion. “And very well-spoken. Claire, you don’t have a new mystery beau, do you?”

Claire stared at her and then shook her head, completely perplexed. “If I did, don’t you think he’d at least know my name and what I’m studying at school?” she remarked levelly. “Did he give a name for himself?”

“Estheim,” the woman answered readily. “Here, he left a card. Said to give it to you.” She pulled a mint-colored card from behind the reception counter and handed it to Claire.

Claire took the card and read the front curiously. It had a name matching the one the receptionist had given as well as a phone number and a business address. She turned it over but the back was blank.

“Do you know him?” the woman asked eagerly. “He said he really wanted to speak with you. He didn’t state any business, but he talked like he knew you. He seemed hopeful that you’d call him when you got his card.”

Claire lowered the card. The printed name lingered before her eyes even when she’d set the stiff rectangle back on the counter. She scoffed and shook her head. “Well, he’s living in a fantasy then, because I’ve never heard of him.” She crossed her arms across her chest and raised a brow. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe he’s a stalker hunting for my personal information? You didn’t give him any details, did you?”

The receptionist’s face fell. Clearly, Claire’s lack of recognition of the man had taken the wind out of her sails. “Well, of course not. I didn’t even confirm that you were a student here. I just said that I’d hold onto the card in case I found someone matching your description. You really don’t know him?”

Claire shook her head. She would definitely remember meeting a man with such a unique name. Whoever he was, it was bold of him to go around doling out business cards on the assumption that she would call him despite never even providing a reason for her to do so. The whole thing screamed ‘stalker’ to her. He was probably some nutjob who had convinced himself that he was her boyfriend because he couldn’t tell the difference between a parasocial relationship and a real one. It was a common occurrence in her industry.

She glanced again at the discarded business card. The color stirred something in her memory. Eyes of the same color, staring at her, wide with shock. Could the owner of the card be the man she’d seen yesterday? She tried to recall his features. She’d really only gotten a brief glimpse of him, but he definitely wasn’t anyone she’d met before. She fought to picture him in her mind. “Wait, by any chance, did the man you met have silver hair? And green eyes? On the tall side, but not toweringly so?”

The receptionist’s expression immediately brightened. It was all the confirmation Claire needed. “Yes! He was very striking. Absolutely stunning skin. You can’t airbrush skin that good. So, you do know him?”

“No,” she denied quickly. “But I’m pretty sure I ran into him yesterday.”

So, that man had continued to look for her after she’d made her escape. He could be a student in another department, perhaps a graduate student, but whatever he was, he was no acquaintance of hers and she had no business with him.

She put her hand on the card and slid it toward the receptionist. “Do me a favor,” she said. “If he comes back, return his card to him and tell him you never found me. My life is hectic enough without adding a stalker to the mix.”

The receptionist took the card but her lips turned downward into a pout. “It’s a damn shame,” she lamented. “He was so handsome.”

“He’s all yours,” Claire declared as she brushed past the reception desk to head upstairs to her classroom.

Twenty-one continued. Claire broke up with her boyfriend and struck a deal with a luxury brand. Serah and their parents celebrated with her. Her likeness was pinned up on storefronts and in subway stations, all dolled up in fanciful, high fashion whimsy. One of these Serah insisted on stopping in front of when the two sisters were out together shopping and spending some quality time together.

“Look at you!” Serah gushed. She clasped her hands together in delight as her eyes roved over the larger-than-life image of her sister sporting a silver designer mini dress and matching handbag. “My sister, the supermodel.”

Claire shook her head and laughed. “Hardly. One brand deal doesn’t make a person a supermodel.”

“But you’re well on your way,” Serah countered back over her shoulder. “And it’s not like it’s just one brand deal. You’ve been invited to all kinds of fancy parties and even taken private flights. You got this deal because you’re already big in the industry. You’ll keep getting bigger and bigger, and before you know it, you’ll be a household name. Your future is bright.”

Claire scoffed. “You can see the future, can you?”

All at once, a feeling of such affliction washed over Claire that she felt momentarily nauseous. A strong burst of emotion that felt as if it were tied to a memory had crashed over her.

Loss. Devastation. Anguish. A raging torrent of emotions for a sister who could see the future.

The feeling passed as quickly as it came, leaving Claire shaking where she stood. Serah had already turned back to look once more at the advertisement and carried on the conversation none the wiser to any physical manifestations of her sister’s odd episode.

“Your future,” she laughed. “Since it’s so obvious.” She turned back around properly and gave Claire a big, genuine smile. “You’ve worked hard for this. You earned it.”

Claire shook her head, as much to clear it as in response to Serah’s statement. “Thanks. Let’s just hope—”

The words died on her tongue. Her attention was caught suddenly by a familiar figure emerging from a taxi just a short distance behind her sister. Despite only having briefly glimpsed him once before, her brain instantly identified him.

Either destiny or happenstance was obsessed with her. She was convinced.

She hurriedly grabbed her sister’s arm and tugged her across the sidewalk toward the open door of an adjacent café. Gently but swiftly, she pushed Serah through the entrance and followed behind. “Sis, what…?” Serah protested as Claire quickly found a table near the window and set their bags down.

“I’ve been wanting to try this place,” she lied. “I’ll watch our things. Would you order a coffee for me? Get whatever you want. My treat.” She pulled her wallet out of her bag and passed her credit card over to her sister.

Serah gave her a confused look but took the card and obediently left the table to get in line at the counter.

Claire took a seat in one of the wicker chairs and made a show of straightening their shopping bags but really her gaze was directed outside to where the mystery man still stood on the sidewalk. The cab had begun to pull away and the man was now walking up the sidewalk toward the café. She took the opportunity to study him.

Today, he wore a dark jacket overtop a black shirt. Around his neck, a teal, tasseled scarf was loosely tied, the ends tucked beneath the collar of his jacket. Long legs were encased in charcoal-colored pants and finished with beige Chelsea boots. It was a sensible weekend outfit which suggested a tidy personality. 

Rather than his outfit, Claire’s attention was drawn to the man’s face. He had one of those effortlessly handsome faces. Boyish rather than manly. His curious platinum hair was well-kempt without looking deliberately styled. Claire had made the acquaintance of enough narcissists to be fairly certain that he wasn’t one, and that was a small virtuosity to help his cause, as it was common for stalkers to be narcissists.

His gaze was directed away from the café toward the store Claire and her sister had been standing in front of moments ago. She watched his pace accelerate into a half jog until he was standing right in front of Claire’s image. It was hard to tell from his face what he was thinking as he studied the advertisement. His expression seemed… hopeful, maybe? Surprised? Whatever he was feeling, he stared at her like a starving man might stare at a feast.

Scratch what she’d just thought. He was clearly not functioning normally. Claire couldn’t think of many non-creepy reasons why a man she didn’t know would stare at her likeness like that, and those were much less likely to be the case than the creepy ones.

She considered what she should do. Ignore him and hope whatever fixation he had on her dried up on its own? Go out there and confront him—nip this in the bud? She had half a mind to do the latter. If talking to him now could potentially save her some greater grief down the line, it was worth doing. The problem was that she was out with Serah. Supposing he was not only a stalker, but a violent one, she couldn’t put Serah at risk.

She ultimately settled on doing nothing about the mystery man today. If he appeared before her again, she’d confront him then.

Luckily, the man didn’t loiter for long and Claire was soon able to enjoy a pleasant hour of drinking coffee and chatting with her sister. By the end, Claire had put all thoughts of Hope Estheim from her mind and was able to chalk her time out with her sister up as an afternoon well spent.

We’re all cursed in some way. I’ve spent centuries believing that. We’re all cursed in frequently tiny, always unique, and often ambiguous ways. Colloquially, we refer to it as being unlucky. In the span of a normal human lifetime, one might find a pattern to their unluckiness and get curious about it. It took just twenty-seven years for me. I realized very quickly the pattern to my unluckiness, and as the centuries passed, I studied this phenomenon in both myself and the people around me.

My curse is that I am the odd one out. I was fourteen years old and in the wrong place at the wrong time when I got swept up in a purge that had nothing to do with me. I had no connections to any l’Cie, and yet I was branded and swept into the Fal’Cies’ plot simply because I was there. When I was twenty-four, I learned that I alone had been left behind while all my friends found paths through time. I stubbornly invented my own. Near the end of a dying world, I was—

The hand holding the pen stopped abruptly. A shuddering breath fell across the page, drying the ink. There were some experiences that couldn’t be put to the pen. Not yet.

I was forced to play housekeeper for a mad god while every willing soul, living and dead, in Nova Chrysalia was saved but mine. Now, here I am. The only person in the world whose heart still lives in the old world. That’s the price for passing on with uneased regrets. In the end, I was just like him. I built a world, hoping it would last forever, but my dream was shattered, I couldn’t stop it, and I was dragged down with it.

The funny thing is, it wasn’t until I got here that I realized that world meant everything to me.

Usually when Claire dreamed, it was because she was processing some form of real world stress. The life of a college student and fashion model was full of deadlines, obligations, and delicate social navigation. Stress dreams weren’t enjoyable by any stretch, but she was accustomed to them and knew how to handle them.

The dream she’d just woken from, on the other hand, she did not.

In her dream, she’d been back in the café with her sister. Her mystery stalker was in his right place in front of the store ad, and the dream was stuck on the part where she was deliberating about whether or not to approach him. Dream Claire was ready to stick to her awake self’s decision to ignore him, but whenever she’d try to, the dream would send her right back to the point of decision. Again and again, she tried to stick to the plot, but it was as if the dream was telling her that was the wrong answer.

While she struggled with progressing the scene, the mystery stalker remained where he was, though his form morphed and shifted so sometimes it wasn’t him but the pilot, or the high school sweethearts, or the bubbly girl with her older friend. As the repetitions went on, the man stopped changing into other people and instead seemed to shift between himself and a more youthful, teenaged version of himself. His form flickered before her eyes and dream-her began to have trouble telling which version she was looking at. Finally, the teenager turned to look right at her but his face was hazy and unclear and she woke up before she could discern his features.

In the end, she rolled out of bed and began her morning routine, choosing not to dwell on it.

She did this quite successfully for about a week, focusing on classes and photoshoots. Her agent reminded her of the upcoming Spring Gala, an enormous party and important networking event that would be held in just a few weeks’ time, and she began planning her outfit for it.

Then, on an otherwise typical Thursday evening after her final class of the day, she exited her department’s building and there he was, sitting on a bench under an oriental plum tree which had just acquired its blossoms. He’d been looking up at the building, perhaps admiring its architecture, but his eyes snapped to her just a handful of heartbeats after hers found him. She stood frozen in place as he stood from the bench and swiftly approached her, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Light…” The voice that issued from his lips was nearly a whisper, but Claire heard the word as if he’d shouted it.

Now Claire was faced with another decision. Hear him out, or go on the offensive. He’d already confused her with just his first word. What was “light” even? A name? A description? If it was a pickup line, she swore…

“I finally found you,” he continued before she could make her choice. This close up, she could see his facial features clearly. His eyes, rather than being green like she’d thought, were really a pale gray-blue which darkened at the center in a ring of flecked emerald. Those eyes watched her with a soft and very evident fondness beneath gently furrowed silver eyebrows. “Do you, by any chance,” he spoke slowly, tentatively, “know who I am?”

“A stalker, I’m beginning to think,” she answered, making her voice firm so that there was no room for misinterpretation. “I hear you’ve been snooping around campus looking for me. I need you to understand that that’s incredibly creepy and absolutely not okay.”

The man’s eyes widened. He leaned forward and placed a hand on his chest. His fingers were long and slender and pale. “No, I—” he started to defend himself but faltered. He was silent for a moment as he seemed to pull his thoughts together. His eyes studied her face for a long moment, roving across her features and looking deep into her own. She watched him back impassively, and at last Claire saw the light of hope dim within them. His eyebrows unfurrowed and the line of his mouth straightened. He seemed to decide something, and when he finally continued, his tone was gentle, if reticent. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ve been searching for you for some time now.”

Claire crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to one side. “Searching for me,” she echoed. “For a reason I expect you’re about to tell me.” She deliberately framed this as a statement to convey to him in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t in the mood for nonsense or faffing about.

The man’s lips pursed; a tiny gesture, but one that spoke of disappointment. It was a look that seemed somehow familiar despite being on the face of a stranger. “I hoped that I would find an old friend,” he said softly. “I hoped that not everything had been lost.”

This hardly sufficed as an explanation and did nothing to endear the man to Claire. She was tired and hungry after a long afternoon of classes and she felt very much that her time was being wasted. She moved her hands to her hips and exhaled a frustrated sigh. “I’m going to be frank with you,” she said plainly. “I don’t know you and I have no desire to. Please leave me alone. If you approach me again, I’m going to call the police.” She punctuated her statement with a turn of her chin to indicate that he was encouraged to take his leave before she made good on her threat here and now.

The man closed his eyes. His mouth didn’t frown, but it was easy to see his dejection. He dropped his arms to his side and Claire saw his fingers curl into loose fists. He took a deep breath and then opened his eyes. “I understand,” he said in that same soft voice. “Your feelings have reached me clearly and I have no intention of disrespecting your wishes. I won’t appear before you again.”

Claire watched with satisfaction as the man turned to leave. Stalker averted. That had been easier than she anticipated.

The man walked a few steps away from her and the building and then stopped. Without looking back, he added, “I just want you to know that I was really, from the bottom of my heart, glad to have met you. I hope your life is full of happiness.” His head bobbed briefly downward. “Goodbye.”

Claire’s eyes remained on the man’s back as he walked away and then eventually disappeared as the path bent around an adjacent building. What a bizarre encounter, she thought in the privacy of her mind. In the end, the man had been less a stalker and more just a straight-up weirdo.

At least he was easy to get rid of, she mused as she adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and resumed walking. He’d been a respectful weirdo, if nothing else. Perhaps she’d been a bit harsh. Then again, there was no guarantee that he’d keep his word. If he tried showing up again later with some convenient excuse she wouldn’t hesitate to call the cops on him.

Good riddance, I suppose, she thought as she walked home.

Chapter Text

Good riddance, it was not.

While Claire indeed did not see the mystery man again—he’d been telling the truth about not appearing before her—the memory of him wasn’t as easy to banish.

As someone whose job necessitated meeting many people, Claire was always purposeful about which faces and names she committed to memory. People she knew she would never see again didn’t enter long-term storage. There simply wasn’t room for them. Once a person stopped being relevant in her life, they were quickly forgotten. There were so many names and faces that she couldn’t afford to forget for the sake of her career that she was essentially forced to be this way.

The mystery stalker was not someone she couldn’t afford to forget. His was the very definition of a person not worth remembering. And yet, the memory of him followed her like a phantom. She saw him in crowds—would swear that she’d glimpsed him only to find it was someone else. She saw his face in her mind every time she passed the reception desk in her department’s building. She even saw him in her dreams, always watching her with those steady gray-green eyes, as if begging her not to forget him. “I’m glad I met you,” he’d say with a smile and then he’d vanish like a candleflame snuffed out by a breath.

She found herself hung up on those words. Why would he say that? She hadn’t given him a single reason to be glad to have met her. Their encounter hadn’t even been long enough to exchange names and she’d been short and frosty with him the whole length of it.

From the bottom of my heart, he’d said. I was glad to have met you.

Was glad. The odd way he’d said that final handful of words niggled in her mind. The past-tense lent ambiguity to their meaning. He might have meant that he was glad to get the chance to meet her up until she was harsh with him and killed the idolized version of herself that he carried in his heart. That was where Claire’s reasoning had initially landed her. But then he’d wished her a life of happiness, which didn’t quite fit with that theory. Who would be glad from the bottom of their heart to be bitched out by a stranger?

The whole thing had been nothing but bizarre. She wished she could move on from it.

It was fortunate that the Spring Gala was approaching quickly. Claire busied herself with preparations. She made phone calls to reconnect with acquaintances who would be attending. She acquired the dress she would be wearing, the designer of which was of course strategically chosen in conjunction with her agent for the event. She hit socials hard, teasing makeup brands and ideas for her followers. She carefully marketed herself in such a way as to be virtually irresistible to the brands that would be in attendance.

The night before the event, Claire enjoyed a homecooked meal with her family for the first time in a shamefully long while. Her mother and father were all smiles as they sat around the Farron family table and discussed the gala. Claire was reminded of just how keenly she loved these people. Despite being so often away, she truly cherished the time spent with family, surrounded by unconditional love. It felt so freeing to drop the mask of Claire the successful model and just be Claire the daughter. Claire the sister.

For a moment, she imagined what her life might have been like if these people weren’t in it. She’d once nearly lost her father and then her mother too. If she’d been left to raise Serah alone, she probably wouldn’t be preparing to attend one of the world’s top fashion events tomorrow. She likely would have entered the workforce right after high school in order to support her sister. Nice clothes and makeup would surely have been the furthest things from her mind.

It was funny. When she let her imagination drift on the current of these musings, she found she could picture such a universe quite clearly: her coming home late every night from long shifts; her relationships fraying and dissolving as she put her everything into keeping the household going; the anger and frustration of finding out that her sister was dating a hoodlum—that she planned to marry him; learning that Serah had become caught up in a divine plot that would take her from Claire forever; embarking on a suicide mission to punish those responsible. An entire confusing lifetime flashed before her eyes.

“I’m glad I met you.”

Green eyes and silver hair. A boy who smiled as the world ended.

“Claire?”

Serah’s voice snapped her back to reality. Claire blinked. Her eyes felt dry as if she’d held them open for a long time. She blinked a few more times to rehydrate them. “What?” she answered, a rough crackle in her throat from not speaking for several minutes.

“You were totally spacing out,” her sister announced, her lavender-blue eyes watching Claire’s face with obvious concern. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

Claire was quiet for a moment as she simultaneously processed her sister’s question and grasped at the fading threads of the tapestry she’d just watched unfurl before her. “Perhaps a little,” she replied for want of a better answer.

“You’ll be great, darling,” her mother chimed in from across the table. “It’s just a shame that you don’t have a date to go with.”

“All the better, I say,” her father followed his wife. “I never liked any of those boys.”

“Please, Honey, you hardly met them.”

“And that’s exactly why! I wonder when my daughter is going to date a man she can introduce to her family.”

The topic of dinner table conversation successfully shifted to Claire’s love life and the strange episode of almost-remembering slipped from the forefront of Claire’s mind. The remainder of the evening was spent in good cheer and lighthearted family banter.

Claire stood by a high table with a glass of champagne, resplendent in her shimmering silver gown. Around her, an eclectic collection of important individuals stood as well, discussing a myriad of topics, some of which Claire chimed in on when she happened to have an opinion.

The evening was going smoothly. Claire had succeeded in having fruitful conversations with the industry players on her checklist and was currently engaging in a bit of casual networking. She’d been paid countless compliments on her dress and past work and was welcomed among many circles. The gala was brimming with familiar faces, so it was never hard to find someone to talk to.

Far more than merely a fashion event, the Spring Gala was attended by all manner of high-profile people representing many different industries. It was a playground for the affluent and Claire had the good fortune of being introduced to many prominent individuals from such specialties as politics, investing, pharmaceuticals, security, entertainment, and high tech. She’d been paraded around a fair amount in the past hour and was now enjoying a few moments’ rest with her glass of champagne.

Alas, her respite was to be short-lived. The topic of conversation had shifted to technological advancements in medicine and she found herself being addressed by an older gentleman, a doctor of renown named Arnoul, in the group. “Miss Farron, you once said your mother’s life was saved due to the Omnigen System, didn’t you? This is a perfect opportunity to introduce you to the man who built the AI program for the project. He happens to be here tonight.”

Claire felt the pressure of a palm on her lower back and found herself being escorted away from the group. She swiftly but gracefully extended her arm and set her nearly empty glass on a nearby table as she was ushered through the crowd. The old gentleman continued his introduction as he did so. “Did you know he was only nineteen when he completed it? A bonafide child genius. Completely changed the field of genetic disease research.”

Claire listened to the old doctor with genuine interest. She hadn’t known that the technology that cured her mother’s disease had been made by a teenager.

“He’s a bit of a recluse,” Dr. Arnoul continued. “It took a lot of cajoling to get him to come tonight. He’s never been fond of being in front of a lot of people. But his brain is something else, I tell you. Absolutely fascinating. Ah, there he is.”

The hand on Claire’s back steered her toward a less crowded corner of the event hall where a man was sitting in a low chair studying a tablet which he supported loosely with one hand atop his crossed legs. Claire’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. The man looked oddly like…

“Estheim!” the doctor called out to the seated man, waving his free hand.

At the sound of his name, the man looked up. Pale eyes scanned the crowd and quickly landed on the two of them. They widened.

Claire’s own eyes widened in turn.

“Here you are,” the doctor went on, oblivious to the way his two associates stared at each other. “I’d like to introduce you to Miss Claire Farron.” He gently pushed Claire forward, and all she could do was allow her body be puppeteered by the old doctor. “I thought you’d be interested to meet her since her mother benefitted from your program. I’m sure you’re aware of her work—”

The doctor continued to talk, but neither of his audience were listening to him. Claire’s thoughts were running a mile a minute. This was the person who had invented the technology that saved her mom? Even for someone as used to frequent and perplexing coincidences as her, this was a lot.

She didn’t like the idea of fate, but this couldn’t be anything else.

The man called Hope Estheim swiftly stood from his chair, set the tablet on the seat, and bowed his head to her. His soft silver hair fell in front of his eyes, hiding them from her view, and his hand rose to his chest. “Miss Farron,” he said in a controlled, polite voice. “I did not expect to encounter you here. I—I’m sorry.”

What he was apologizing for was obvious, however, although Claire certainly wasn’t happy to see him, she couldn’t be angry at him for a circumstance so obviously outside his control. This meeting was a surprise for both of them.

“Oh my,” the doctor halted his introduction to look between the two. His gaze settled on Estheim and one of his eyebrows rose. “Could it be that the two of you are previously acquainted?”

Estheim didn’t raise his head or lower his hand. “Only in the loosest terms,” he replied diplomatically.

Claire knew she should say something as well but had yet to settle on what. This was the man who had invaded her privacy by hunting her down. He was also, she had just learned, the person responsible for saving her mother’s life.

She supposed she owed him the courtesy of her gratitude for the latter.

“It is a surprise to meet Mr. Estheim again here,” she spoke at last, keeping her own voice just as controlled and polite. “Thank you for introducing us, Doctor. Could I have a few minutes to speak with him?”

Estheim lifted his head. His eyes, once again visible, showed his confusion clearly. The old doctor’s expression brightened and he nodded eagerly. “Of course, my dear! I’ll be over by the refreshments if you need me.” His gaze swept between them once more before he gracefully made his exit in the direction of the hors d'oeuvres.

When he was gone, Claire cleared her throat and shifted her weight a little awkwardly. “So,” she broke the silence that hung between them like a blackout curtain. “You work in medicine. I’m told you’re to thank for the technology that saved my mom.”

The young man’s confusion melted into a look of understanding. He held up a hand between them. “If your mother was saved, it was due to the efforts of the doctors who cared for her, not me. You don’t owe me any thanks.”

Claire crossed her arms. “An apology, then. I was very short with you the last time we met. I should have heard you out before threatening you.”

There. She could go on now with a clear conscience. If she couldn’t thank him, she could at least forgive him. That made them even in her book.

Silver hair swayed softly as the man in front of her shook his head. “No,” he refuted. “It was as you said. We don’t know each other. It wasn’t right of me to approach you the way I did.”

Claire inwardly huffed in annoyance. For such a polite man, he wasn’t making this easy for her. Whatever. She’d done what she could. If he didn’t want her gratitude or her apology, that was his problem, not hers.

Despite her annoyance with him, Claire found that her curiosity about the man before her had yet to wane. Now that she’d learned a little more about him, the urgent need to escape was dwindling and being replaced by the desire to ask him questions.

In particular, there was one question burning in her mind. It was clawing to get out. “You said last time that you were very glad to have met me,” the words bubbled up out of her like a glass of champagne poured by an inexperienced waiter. “What did you mean by that?” She tilted her head to the side and shifted her weight onto one leg as she watched him, waiting for his answer. After weeks of being haunted by those words, today, thanks to this unexpected encounter, she would get an explanation.

Estheim’s expression softened, turning wistful. His eyes swept over her just the way they had the last time they’d met. She watched his gaze linger on her posture, her hair, her face, and finally her eyes. She saw in the familiar arch of his pale gray-green eyes a deep and curious longing, like he was searching for something that only he knew to look for. “A slip of the tongue,” he said at last. “I confused you with someone I knew a long time ago.”

Claire frowned. If that had been a slip of the tongue, it was the most deliberate slip of the tongue she’d ever heard. There was no way this man was about to gaslight her into thinking those words had been anything but intentional. “Don’t insult my intelligence,” she warned him in a dangerous voice. “I think it’s about time for you to start making sense. You owe me that, I’d say. Tell me why you sought me out. What connection do you have to me?”

Estheim flinched as if she’d struck him. His mouth tightened into a thin line and his eyes darted away to look briefly off into the crowd of party guests. She saw him take a deep breath and seem to recenter himself. He looked back at her and his expression had become impassive. “Light, we should stop here,” he spoke in quite a different voice than he’d been using up until now. It was low and serious. “I can’t make you remember me, and if I tell you what you want to know, it will only confuse and frustrate you. I’d rather part as acquaintances than for you to think me a liar.” He paused to take another breath. His eyes closed with the motion and when he spoke again there was a small but obvious shudder in his voice. “I’m sorry I sought you out. I did it in a moment of weakness and I shouldn’t have.”

Claire could only stand in shock as the man before her reached out his hands and gently clasped her shoulders with them. “This world is for you,” he said, the volume of his voice lowering to just above a whisper. “You need to focus on living in it as deeply and as full of love as you can.”

The pressure lifted from Claire’s shoulders and she blinked, stunned to silence as Estheim took a step back to put distance between them. His lips turned upward at the corners to form a polite smile and he gave her a nod. “It was lovely to meet you again, Miss Farron,” he said at a normal volume. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the party.”

Before Claire could get a word in, Hope Estheim had retrieved his tablet from the chair and turned from her to disappear into the crowd.

Perplexing. There was really no better word for the series of interactions that the universe had invented for Claire and the man called Hope Estheim. Very little about him was clear to her except for the fact that, for reasons completely unknown to her, he knew her. Or he thought he did, in any case.

It was the first time a recurring stranger had professed any kind of previous familiarity with her. Every other time, Claire had been the one to feel a bizarre connection to people she didn’t know, and none of them had ever indicated that they knew her back.

Hope Estheim hadn’t merely indicated that he knew her. He’d not once but twice called her by a name that wasn’t hers. He’d talked of her ability to remember him, which meant he believed that she had known him in the past. That couldn’t possibly be right because there were no gaps in her memory where a medical-field-revolutionizing child prodigy would fit, but then, there weren’t any points which would have led to confusing feelings about pilots or high schoolers or shopping buddies either.

And in addition to all that were the odd episodes of recollection that felt very much as if they were tied to another life. Claire had no empirical reason or desire to believe in spiritual mumbo jumbo like previous lives, but mounting evidence was weakening her conviction.

“This world is for me, huh?” she muttered under her breath as she sat in class, absently gazing out the window down to the building’s entrance where an empty bench sat beneath a freshly leafed plum tree.

That evening she visited her sister. More and more, Serah was becoming someone she could share her thoughts with when she was feeling unsure.

“Have I felt like I knew someone who I’d never met before?” Serah repeated after listening to her sister talk. “You mean like déjà vu?”

Claire nodded. “It sounds loony, I know.”

Serah shook her head. “Not at all. Funnily enough, I felt that way about Snow when we first met,” she revealed, surprising her sister. “It was like… hmm… like we were reuniting again after a long time apart. Like our meeting was destined. I figured, this must be what people mean by love at first sight.”

Claire stared at her sister in shock. Serah had never mentioned any such thing about Snow before. She’d known her sister was head over heels for the guy, but to think that she had felt toward Snow the same sort of déjà vu that Claire had experienced time and again with many different people… “Was there…” she said hesitantly, “ever anyone else? Besides just Snow?”

Serah’s eyes travelled up to the ceiling as she thought for a moment. “Mmm… Noel and Yeul, I guess? Not in the same way as with Snow, but when we met at that school event all three of us felt as if we’d met somewhere before.” She laughed. “None of us could think of where.”

Noel and Yeul. Those were the high school sweethearts who lived in Claire’s neighborhood. The same couple Claire herself had felt that weird sense of “knowing” toward. That couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.

“What sparked this anyway?” Serah asked, eyeing her sister curiously. “Did you have a feeling like that?”

Many, many times, Claire wanted to say but didn’t. “More like someone else thinks they know me,” she said instead. “But I’ve definitely never met him before.”

Serah hummed contemplatively in her throat. “But you feel like you have, right?” she prodded. “If it was just a case of mistaken identity it wouldn’t be bothering you.”

Claire looked away from her sister and sighed. “I don’t know. He does feel a little familiar, but…” She struggled to put the way Hope Estheim made her feel into words. “It’s what he says, more than his face, that stands out to me.”

Serah listened with interest as Claire described the two interactions she’d had with the man and the feelings she’d been having. She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded along, the gears of her thoughts turning behind her blue eyes. Serah, unlike Claire, loved notions like fate and destiny and spiritual mumbo jumbo.

“It definitely sounds like there’s something there,” her sister said when she’d finished. “He clearly thinks he knows you and you’ve been having feelings like somewhere in your heart you know him too. Why don’t you try talking to him again?”

Claire’s eyes widened at her sister’s suggestion. “You can’t be serious. Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds? This is a stranger we’re talking about. One who stalked me and whose sanity is questionable at best.”

Serah wagged an admonishing finger at her. “But he has told you that he can tell you what you want to know. The only reason he hasn’t done it is because he knows you’ll act like this.” She waved her hand in a sweeping gesture at Claire demonstratively. “Say there was another universe that you and I and Snow and this man have met in before, and that he has memories of it. There’s no way he could talk about it without sounding totally crazy. If you dismiss him out of pocket, you’ll never get anywhere.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking this nonsense seriously,” Claire said incredulously. “Listen to yourself.”

Serah held up her arms palms upward by her shoulders and turned around so that her back was to Claire. “Listen to yourself,” she parroted. “You’re the one who’s all bent up about this. Nobody’s making you do anything. If you think it’s nonsense then ignore the whole thing.” She crossed her arms again and peeked back over her shoulder with a Farron-brand look of smug knowing. “If you can.”

Serah could, upon occasion, be infuriatingly right about her big sister. And that’s how Claire ended up in front of the reception desk of her department building.

“Yep, I still have it,” the perky receptionist said as she opened a drawer and produced the mint-colored business card. “You’re actually gonna give him a call, then?” she asked eagerly.

Claire took the card from her hand. It was still as crisp and fresh as the last time she’d held it. “I’m considering it,” was all she said as she stuffed the card into her purse and hurried off to class.

Chapter Text

The card stayed in Claire’s bag for about a week. During that time, she deliberated over what to do. She hoped that by putting off making the call, the matter would naturally begin to fade from her mind and would eventually cease to bother her. Her pride also didn’t like that Serah was right and wanted Claire to prove her wrong.

In the end, her pride was no match for her driving need for answers. The horrid déjà vu would never leave her in peace if she didn’t snuff out its root cause, and the only person who could help with that was Hope Estheim. She needed to call him.

Claire dug her phone out of her purse along with the green card. The phone number flashed at her, expensive ink glittering in the sun. Heaving a heavy sigh at what she was about to do, she punched the numbers into her phone and hit the call button.

She waited, not quite patiently, as the speaker issued a trilling series of rings. In the end, there was a click and then the familiar recording of a feminine voice. “At the tone, please record your message…”

Claire hit ‘end call’ and sighed again. No answer, huh? Fine. She would try again later.

She tried three more times. All to the same effect.

Now Claire was beyond frustrated. For someone who had wanted so desperately for her to call him, Hope Estheim sure didn’t check his phone much. She’d even left a voicemail so that he’d know the identity of the number in his call history. Her reward for all the effort she put into reaching him was radio silence.

She supposed he could be avoiding her. It wouldn’t be all that surprising if he were, given the way in which he left her at the gala, however, it didn’t explain why he’d failed to pick up the first few times when she’d called from an unknown number. Maybe he was the type who didn’t answer unknown calls unless he was expecting one.

This left her with very little in the way of options. The only other link she had to him was the business address on his card. Was she bent up enough about this to go see him in person?

Yes, she was. Now that she’d invested real energy into reaching him, she was prepared to see it through.

Her phone’s navigation led her on a bus ride to the city center followed by a short walk which finally deposited her in front of a tall glass office building. She entered the lobby and checked the floor map for the correct level. Her destination was a lab on the twelfth floor. She entered one of a series of elevators and punched the number twelve.

The floor she was let out onto contained only one door, making her life easy. It seemed the whole level was leased by a single company. She pulled the door open and found herself in a spartan but clean reception. A man and a woman wearing official-looking badges were shooting the breeze with the receptionist as she walked in and all three looked over at the door as she entered. They obviously weren’t expecting a visitor.

Claire cleared her throat and approached the counter. “I’m looking for Hope Estheim,” she announced, getting straight to the point so as not to waste anybody’s time. “Is he here?”

Much to her surprise, the receptionist met her inquiry with a look of utter bafflement. “I’m sorry,” he said, not impolitely, “you’re looking for who?”

Beside the counter, the two individuals Claire assumed were lab personnel shared between themselves a similar look.

“Hope Estheim,” she repeated in a clear voice. “He works here, doesn’t he? Is he in today?”

This time, all three employees shared incredulous looks amongst themselves. The man who had been talking with the receptionist before she came in gave her a purposeful once over, taking in her fashionable attire, makeup, and the designer handbag she wore. He looked utterly flabbergasted. “A pretty girl’s here to see Hope?”

The woman coughed into her fist and nudged him with her elbow.

The receptionist cleared his throat to draw her attention back to him. “I’m sorry, but he isn’t here today. Actually, we haven’t seen him in quite a while. You’d be lucky to catch him at the lab. He doesn’t spend much time here.”

Once again, Claire found her frustration mounting. Just how hard could one man be to get a hold of? This was ridiculous.

Her feelings must have shown somewhat on her face because the receptionist hastily picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Wait a moment,” he said quickly. “I’ll call over someone who can help you out.”

The receptionist shared a short conversation with a person on the other end of the line and then hung up the phone. “Our chief will be here in just a minute,” he assured her. “He can point you in the right direction.”

Claire’s frustration melted away to be replaced with confusion. They were bringing her the head of the lab? Just like that? Just because she’d said she wanted to talk to Hope Estheim? She couldn’t get this good of service at a five-star restaurant.

Sure enough, before a minute had passed, the employee door by the reception counter opened and a very familiar form stepped into the room. The old man’s eyes brightened as they landed on her. “Miss Claire Farron!” Dr. Arnoul greeted her amicably despite surely having had his work interrupted by her unannounced visit. “What a surprise to see you here! I hear you’re looking for Estheim.”

Claire nodded. She allowed the old doctor to take her hand and kiss it.

“Well, I’m very sorry to tell you that he isn’t here right now, but I’d be happy to supply you with his address. In fact, I was intending to drop some items by his place later today. If you plan to pay him a visit, I don’t suppose you would be kind enough to deliver them for me?” The old man brandished a small brown briefcase which he’d been holding at his side.

Understanding well that there were certain people of prominence you simply don’t say no to, Claire nodded indulgently and answered, “Of course. It would be no trouble at all.” She graciously took the briefcase from the doctor’s hand. It was light and obviously didn’t contain much.

“You are a dear girl,” the doctor said merrily as he turned to the reception counter to grab a notepad and pen. “Estheim will be thrilled to see you. Here’s his address.” He scribbled down a few lines of text onto the notepad, then tore off the top sheet and handed it to her.

Claire took the paper and slipped it into her purse. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

“Not at all.” The old man waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “You’re doing me a favor. And him, too. That boy needs to be checked on from time to time. He’ll get stuck on projects for weeks at a time and forget to eat and sleep. Sometimes seems like he thinks he doesn’t need it.” The old man crossed his arms and shook his head to indicate his disapproval.

Claire said goodbye to the kind old doctor and went on her way, laden now with a briefcase and address paper. Her mission had evolved again.

This certainly wasn’t how she’d intended this day to go. At no point did she expect to have plans to show up at Hope Estheim’s front door. One could argue that what she was about to do made her a bigger stalker than she’d accused him of being. She would need to make a point of carefully explaining herself to him when she got there.

Another bus ride brought her to a polished suburb on the edge of the city. The neighborhood was obviously expensive; all gardens and trellises and fancy cobbled streets. Her phone brought her to a line of slender, manicured townhomes and, at last, to a door belonging to the endmost home situated on a streetcorner. Claire wove her way through a somewhat wild garden of rosebushes up to the front door and knocked. She waited.

And waited.

Growing impatient, she knocked again, louder this time.

When it became apparent that nobody was going to answer, Claire grimaced and grabbed the doorhandle. She didn’t want to leave an important delivery outside where anybody could pick it up. If the door was unlocked, she’d deposit the briefcase inside the entryway and then be on her way. If not, well, she’d figure something out. Maybe she could go around to the back of the house and leave it by a backdoor where it would be safer.

A whole day, wasted. Claire couldn’t believe she’d gone to all this trouble just to make a delivery to a stranger’s home. The man she was looking for was slipperier than an eel.

To her relief, the handle turned and the door cracked open. Was he home after all?

Claire swung the door open fully and peeked inside. “Hello?” she called in a strong voice to announce her presence to whatever part of the house he might be in.

There came no answer, but Claire momentarily forgot to expect one as she took in her surroundings, properly looking for the first time at the inside of the home she’d entered.

The place was a spectacle. Claire couldn’t think of any more fitting word to describe the sight that greeted her eyes. Every inch of wall space was covered with either papers or strange items she’d never seen before. The papers ranged from pages of scribbles to giant posters of complex looking blueprints. The items included bizarre machines, tools, devices, and even a few items that looked like they could be weapons.

Stepping into Hope Estheim’s home felt like stepping into a cartoon mechanic’s workshop, except for the fact that everything was arranged in the tidiest way one could imaginably organize such an eclectic assortment of things. The blueprints were all matched to the items they depicted and Claire was sure that the notes were accordingly matched as well. The place felt somewhat reminiscent of a museum, displaying feats of engineering as a curator would works of art.

Claire took a few more steps into the house, allowing her eyes to rove around the place. The briefcase hung from her fingers, barely a thought in her mind. A splash of color caught her eye across the hallway and her feet ferried her over to it automatically to get a closer look.

It was a collection of illustrations penciled by a careful hand. Faces that Claire knew despite her best efforts to avoid their owners stared back at her from the wall. There was the pilot and a little boy she assumed was his son. Next to him was another paper with the likenesses of the two women Claire would sometimes see around town. Their clothes were completely foreign to her, but she easily recognized the curly red pigtails of the shorter girl and the easy confidence of her taller friend. Next in line were, shock of all shocks for Claire, the unmistakable forms of her sister and Snow. Her sister’s face smiled atop the paper just as if Claire were seeing her in real life, her eyes colored the precise shade of lavender-blue that Claire had looked into just a week before. After them came Noel and Yeul, both dressed as exotically as the two shoppers in clothing that wouldn’t stand out in a fantasy video game but certainly would in real life.

Finally, Claire’s eyes reached the final picture. Her own face stared back at her, her expression serious but radiating a warm kindness which Claire thought looked strange and out of place on her face. She too was dressed in an extraordinary outfit consisting of a long vest, short skirt, tall boots, and a crimson cape. Next to her stood a familiar-looking teenaged boy with the same silver hair and green eyes that belonged to the owner of the house. A teal scarf encased his neck. His mouth was smiling.

Claire’s eyes traveled back and forth across the line of pictures. The longer she looked at them, the less outlandish the outfits began to seem to her. Quite the opposite, the people in the illustrations actually felt more familiar to her than their real-life counterparts. There was just one person who didn’t fit...

The creak of floorboards startled Claire out of her study of the wall. Someone was in the hallway with her.

“Hello, Miss Farron,” the voice of the house’s owner came from a few feet away. Claire swiftly turned around to look at him.

Hope Estheim stood before her. He was dressed much differently than she’d seen him up until now. He wore a black sleeveless shirt, bearing long toned arms encased at the hands in workmen’s gloves and dark colored cargo pants. Around his neck was the same teal scarf she’d seen him wear once before. A scarf nearly identical to the one sported by the boy in the picture.

“I wonder how I’m supposed to react to finding a woman who I promised not to appear before in my home,” he continued, watching her with a level gaze. His expression was unreadable.

“With gratitude,” she answered, holding the briefcase up in front of him. She watched his eyes lower to study it. “Your boss sent me to give this to you. I figured while I’m here you and I could have a chat.”

Estheim observed her warily for a moment then stepped forward and took the briefcase from her hand. Without a word, he stepped past her and shut the front door with a soft click. He then gestured with his shoulder to follow him deeper into the house. Claire obliged.

She walked behind him in silence as he led her down the hall to a combined kitchen-dining-living area. This room too was decorated from floor to ceiling with artifacts and papers. In the spot where a typical house might have a TV stood a series of large monitors connected with wires to various machines stored neatly beneath them. In front of the room’s largest window was a perfectly normal couch, across from which, on the opposite wall, was a large workbench bookended by two large cabinets full of tools.

Claire didn’t know what she expected an AI-building genius’s house to look like, but in her opinion, this fit the bill pretty well.

Her host gestured for her to take a seat on the couch and then pulled a kitchen chair over for himself. Claire took the invitation and seated herself. At once, something hard pressed against her lower back and she dug her hand under the cushion to find, of all things, a sleek black phone. The display lit up showing several missed calls and a voicemail. Well, that explained one of the roadblocks that had hindered her on this mission. She raised an eyebrow at her host and tossed the device over to him. He caught it easily with one hand and deposited it onto a nearby end table without glancing at the screen.

“So,” he said at last as he made himself comfortable on the chair. “How may I help you?”

Claire crossed her legs and leaned forward overtop them. “I want to know how you know me,” she repeated her demand from the gala without preamble. And my sister too, she could have added but chose to leave that for later in the conversation.

Estheim clasped the knee of his right leg, which was crossed over his left, with both hands. His gloved hands were large and steady. “I don’t know you,” he stated bluntly. “I told you I was mistaken.”

“And I told you that’s bullshit,” she reminded him, imitating his tone to deliver her point clearly. “You have a picture of me and my sister in your damn hallway.” Later in the conversation had come in like a wrecking ball on demolition day.

The man sitting opposite her remained silent. It seemed he had no rebuttal prepared for that piece of evidence. He pressed his lips together and tightened his fingers around his knee. Finally, in a soft voice he said, “That woman isn’t you.”

Claire furrowed her eyebrows and laid an elbow across her knees to lean as far forward as her spine would let her. “Like hell it’s not. That was my sister, and Snow. I know every single face on that wall. You’re going tell me that’s not me?” Her voice was rising in volume as she spoke.

“No, it’s not,” he shot back. His own voice grew louder in reaction to hers. His lips pulled back from his teeth to form a grimace of pain that Claire could see but not understand. “The people in those pictures died a long time ago.”

Claire recoiled, her back straightening and her legs uncrossing to plant her soles on the floor. Confusion overtook her. She didn’t know what he could possibly mean by that since all of the people depicted in those illustrations were obviously alive and well, herself being very much proof of that.

Estheim wasn’t finished. The slope of his shoulders dipped and his eyes fell from hers to look somewhere below her as he continued. “Every one of them,” he went on, his voice cracking now with emotion. “They’re gone. The things that made them them don’t exist in this world. You can’t be her because you’re a product of this world. You’re her hopes and her wishes but you’re not her.”

Claire watched the man across from her without remark. He was looking down at his lap now. His hands had left his leg to clench above his thighs. His not-quite-green irises roved over his gloves. He looked as if he was seeing something that existed only in his mind. Whatever it was was invisible to her.

It seemed he’d run out of words and Claire let the silence hang between them for a few moments. She didn’t quite know how to react to what he’d just said. The only thing that was clear to her was that this man was strongly convinced that what he was saying was fact.

“You keep saying “this world,” she said at last. “What do you mean by that?”

Estheim lifted his gaze from his hands to look at her face once again. His mouth was set in a deep frown which he broke to sigh. “I guess there’s no point in trying to look sane in front of you now,” he muttered, and accompanied it with a low, humorless chuckle. “I mean in contrast to the old world. This world we live in now is like… it’s like a do-over.” His eyebrows pinched together as he searched for words to explain what he meant. He apparently found them because his brow relaxed and his face adopted an expression that to Claire looked halfway to resigned. “There was a world before this one where we—everyone—lived very different lives. That world got mucked up really badly and had to be scrapped. Now we all live here, in a new world. In beautiful, merciful ignorance.”

Claire, who was trying her best to take in and process what this man was telling her without immediately jumping to judgement, was startled when her host stood from his chair and gestured with long arms at the walls around them. “All the things you see here are inventions, relics now, of that world. I recreated as many as I could to keep me company in lonely misery here.”

He dropped his arms and the line of his mouth straightened back to neutrality. His eyes travelled around the room, over the displays covering every wall. He looked back at her and his gaze softened. “I tried my best to live in this world,” he continued more calmly. “After everything, I thought I could be happy here. But nobody remembers our past but me. I can’t bear the weight of multiple lifetimes by myself.”

Claire wet her lips in lieu of speaking. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say? She had just listened to what anyone would call the ravings of a madman, and she could easily believe that to be the case. Genius is just the flip-side of madness, as they say. But nothing he’d said yet contradicted any of the strange episodes of déjà vu she herself had experienced. She supposed that whether she deemed him mad or truthful would come down to how he answered her next few questions.

“Tell me this,” she said slowly. “In this ‘old world’, you say we lived different lives. Did I go to college?” She asked this carefully, hoping he would himself reveal the information she wanted to know. If his story matched with the strange recollection she’d had when she visited her parents before the gala that would lend a fair amount of credibility to his story. Or at the very least it would indicate that the two of them were crazy in the same way.

Estheim looked down at her with newly sparked interest. It was a positive sign. “No,” he answered, watching her face appraisingly now. “May I ask the reason for your question?”

Claire shook her head. “Rather than that, tell me why I didn’t. You know, right?”

Slowly, her conversation partner lowered himself back into his seat. His eyes stayed on her face all the while. “To take care of your sister,” he answered, his tone neutral. He was awaiting her reaction to his words.

She nodded. “And I had to do that because my parents…” she trailed off meaningfully.

“Passed away,” he finished for her. His eyes grew wide.

“Last question.” She was speaking lowly now. Her heart beat more quickly as a feeling of anticipation bubbled up within her. So far, this man had answered every question perfectly. She didn’t want to think too deeply yet about what that might mean so she kept going. Estheim leaned in to hear her. “My sister, Serah, she could see the future.”

It wasn’t really a question, but the man across from her knew what to say. “And it took her life,” he spoke just as lowly. “She had the eyes of Etro. A blessing and a curse.” His eyes stared deeply into her own. She saw the light of hope flicker to life within them. His bottom left his seat as he clasped her shoulders just the way he had at the party. “Light…”

Claire shook her head and drew back gently. “No,” she refuted in a stern voice. “Don’t get your hopes up. I don’t have memories from that world and I still don’t know who you are. I’ve had some feelings and hazy recollections, enough to believe your story, is all.”

Estheim pulled back. She saw pain briefly paint his features with hard lines, but then, for the first time that she’d seen since she met him, he smiled and the lines melted away. “It’s okay,” he said, his tone sincere. “Even having that much is more than I had dared to hope for.” He closed his eyes and exhaled a long breath. Silence once again hovered between them and this time Claire waited for him to break it. He did.

“When I approached you that day at your university, I had hoped against all odds that you would remember the past. I thought that if anyone would, it would be you.” His eyes reopened. “But I’m glad that you don’t. It’s hell, Light. Just knowing you believe me is enough. I can be satisfied with that.”

Claire nodded seriously. Up until today, she had lived a perfectly ordinary and respectable life. She had prided herself on being ambitious; down-to-earth; respected; successful. She felt like she’d just thrown that normal life out the window. It was going to take her time to come to terms with that.

Another world… As insane as it sounded, there was really no way to refute the possibility. Smarter people than her had suggested concepts such as multiverse theory, which wasn’t all that different a thing. It didn’t feel quite real, but she could better accept the feelings of déjà vu she’d been experiencing this past year with it as an explanation.

And speaking of.

“Since I’m here, would you object to telling me a bit about the people in those pictures?” she requested. Exiting her comfort zone had to start somewhere. “Mr. Estheim.”

Estheim made a face at the sound of his name. “Just Hope, please,” he insisted. He stood from his chair and extended a hand to her. “But sure. I’d be happy to.”

Claire took the hand he offered, her palm sliding naturally into his, and a feeling of familiarity so potent it felt like recollection crashed over her like a sneaker wave at the beach. She hardly noticed as she was pulled to her feet, so intensely was she held in the grip of déjà vu. For a moment, all she could perceive was feeling of his hand gripping hers; pulling her out of darkness.

He had been the only one to hear her cry out her heart’s true wish. He had come back for her…

When she was finally able to surface from the powerful feeling, Hope had released her and was walking back to the hallway with the pictures. She was left to follow, her thoughts muddy and sluggish as she shook off the residue of the emotions she’d weathered.

For a substantial chunk of an hour, Claire listened, still somewhat dazed, to this man she didn’t quite know describe the past lives of other people she didn’t quite know. She learned that the pilot, Sazh, had been a pilot in his past life too. His son had been branded by a divine creature called a Fal’Cie which, as Hope explained it, was virtually a death sentence. He told her about how her sister had been branded by the same type of being, but one from the other side of an age-old war between the people of the earth and sky, Pulse and Cocoon.

She learned about Vanille and Fang, two “Pulse l’Cie” who had been brought to the world in the sky as part of the Fal’Cies’ plot, and how they had given up their freedom to save the home of their enemies. She learned of Noel, the last human to be born on earth before he was hurtled through time to help the her of that world on a mission given to her by a goddess. He told her of Snow, who through thick and thin loved and supported Serah at great personal cost, and Yeul who was cursed with the Eyes of Etro just like her sister.

By the time Claire returned to her apartment that evening, her head was full to bursting with the information she’d learned. She wasn’t sure just what she was going to do with all of it yet, whether she would tell Serah about what she’d heard or keep it to herself, but that was a problem for tomorrow’s her to figure out. She was tired and ready to not think about anything for at least seven hours.

Her plan didn’t pan out the way she wanted. That night, her dreams were awash with faces, scenes, and emotions that served only to tangle her thoughts further.

She saw strange scenery: glowing plants as large as buildings, a frozen crystal sea, a great, wild plain teaming with life, a broken city ill with rot and decay, a lonely throne atop an empty palace. She saw people: faceless soldiers in glowing uniforms, glamorous entertainers, listless, world-weary vagrants. She felt pain, joy, sorrow, hope, anger and despair. It felt as if her brain had become a colander leaking images without reason or rhyme. Everything inside was spilling out and running together into an uninterpretable soup of sensation.

When she woke at last, it was with the thought that she shouldn’t ask Hope Estheim to explain too many things all at once.

She went about her day as if in a daze. She showered, dressed, brushed her teeth, put on her makeup, and went to class the same as any other day, but the whole while she felt as if a line had been drawn through her brain. Half of her was present to the task at hand but the other half was still swimming through soup. She couldn’t be certain if she was seeing the world in a new light or if she was even seeing the world at all. She was slow to react when people talked to her and she almost ran into another student while walking to her second class because she didn’t realize she’d already arrived at the classroom door. At the same time, she was hyperaware of the scenery that surrounded her. She noticed things that never stood out to her before, such as the shapes of the trees on campus; the architecture of the buildings; the designs of the cars parked along the roadside. All were things she’d grown up looking at, but it felt as if today she was seeing them with new eyes.

It was as if she was seeing them with eyes that were accustomed to different sights. It fascinated her and filled her with unease all at the same time.

She needed to talk to someone about it.

She needed to talk to Serah.

Chapter Text

Claire sat on the comfy sofa of her family’s living room while her sister mixed dough for cookies in the kitchen. Serah listened to her talk while she measured ingredients and cracked eggs.

“So you talked to him and now you think that there really might be another universe you’ve met in before?” Serah paraphrased her sister’s story.

“I know what it sounds like,” Claire hurried to add. “I’m still wondering if I’m somehow being conned by some insane conspiracy-cult. But his descriptions of that other world match up perfectly with the feelings of déjà vu I’ve been having. I can’t think of any way he would know the things he does unless he was really there.”

Trying to explain how she could be almost certain of the existence of a previous world was no easy feat. She could understand now why Hope had chosen instead to walk away when they’d met at the gala. If he’d attempted to convince her then that he knew her from a past life she wouldn’t have reacted kindly.

Was that how he’d lived all this time? Meeting people he knew, who were precious to him, but being unable to reach out to them? She could only imagine how lonely—how isolating that must be.

“The question remains, then, who is he?” Serah mused. “The two of you must have been fairly close if he knows personal details about your life. You really don’t know anything about him?”

Claire thought about this. In all the time he’d talked about the strangers in the illustrations in his hallway, Hope hadn’t said much about himself. She had a theory that the child he’d drawn next to her was him. She’d seen that same child in her dreams. But if Hope had been younger than her in the old world, why was he older now? And, indeed, how did he know her? He’d drawn himself smiling right next to her as if the two of them had been particularly close. She had no solid memories of him, but by the way he haunted her thoughts and dreams, she thought that must be true.

“I really have no clue,” she answered honestly. “I don’t exactly have a lot to go on.”

Claire heard the sound of running water followed by the rustle of a hand towel. A moment later, Serah stepped into the living room. Claire inferred that the cookies must be in the oven now.

“I want to meet him,” she said, placing a hand on her aproned hip. Her eyes were bright and her lips were pulled upward into a smile.

Claire immediately dropped her hand, which had been held to her chin in thought. She shook her head, her brow pinching into a frown. “No.”

Serah frowned in return, her lips puckering into a pout. “Why not? You said he drew a picture of me too. That means he knows me. Maybe I’ll recognize him if I see him.”

Claire shook her head again adamantly. “I’m not taking you anywhere near him until I confirm that he’s not dangerous,” she said sternly. “He’s still a stranger. And what if this is all a con? I’m already incredibly uncomfortable with the fact that he had a picture of you. He could turn out to be a violent psychopath.”

Serah crossed her arms and continued to pout.

“Besides,” Claire added. “Who’s to say I even intend to see him again? I’m extraordinarily busy right now. Finals are coming up and I have three photoshoots scheduled this month. I really don’t have time to waste playing make-believe with him.”

Or so she had said. Her next free afternoon, Claire found herself punching a familiar number into her phone. 

It’s Claire. Are you home?

The text message was brief and to the point. She hit the send button before she could second guess herself. In all likelihood she would receive no response. Hope didn’t seem to care much for checking his phone.

She was surprised, then, when her phone dinged right away.

I am.

The message stared up at her from the lock screen, hovering just under the time, which read 12:43 pm. Claire stared back at it for a handful of seconds before tapping the notification with her thumb. She typed out a quick reply and then stuffed her phone into her purse.

I’m coming over.

This time, when Claire wove through the rosebushes to reach the front door of the townhome on the corner, its owner was waiting for her. He opened the door and stood aside politely so that she could enter.

Today he was dressed more presentably in a casual black turtle-neck which was currently rolled up to his elbows. His hands were once again encased in workmen’s gloves. The green scarf was present as well, this time tied around his waist. Claire got the feeling it held some personal meaning for him as this was the third time now that she’d seen him wear it.

“I assume you’ve come with more questions today, Miss Farron,” he said when she’d settled herself onto the couch. He busied himself in the kitchen putting a kettle on the stove. “Tea?”

She nodded and set her purse on the seat beside her. “Not Light today?” she asked, a small edge of amusement coloring her tone. Since her host was busy in the kitchen, she took the chance to study her surroundings. The living room looked much the same as it had the last time she was here, with the exception of a new assortment of items laid out atop the workbench. It seemed Hope was in the midst of some new project.

“Would you prefer that I called you Light?” he answered. His tone was perfectly neutral, not bestowing her with any indication of his feelings one way or the other.

Claire turned her attention back at the kitchen and found him looking at her. His mouth was set in a straight line and his green eyes watched her without expression. The look on his face stirred something in her memory.

Rather than answering his question, she instead said, “Why don’t you tell me what Light means? I’ve been wondering why it is that I’m the only person you call by a different name. My name wasn’t really Light in that world, was it?”

Hope averted his gaze from her to fiddle with a box of tea. Claire heard the scrape of cardboard and the clinking of metal on porcelain as he prepared two cups to receive hot water.

“Lightning,” he said at last. “When I met you, you were calling yourself that. You told me you changed your name after your parents died. According to Serah, you did it because the law didn’t recognize you as a legal adult. You needed a new identity to continue to look after her.” He was quiet for a moment as he poured water from the kettle into the cups. “You told me to call you Light. To me, you’ve always been Light.”

Claire took a moment to think over what Hope had just told her. From the way he talked about her and her sister, it did indeed seem as though they’d been close. Serah wouldn’t share personal information about Claire with just anyone. It sounded like Hope had once had a good relationship with both of them. The name ‘Lightning’ was a strange choice for her to have made, but she supposed she didn’t have any real problem with the nickname.

“Call me what you want,” she said finally. “If I’m Light to you then that’s what you should call me.”

Hope nodded. A moment later he appeared from behind the counter with two steaming mugs of tea. He handed her one and stood by with the other clasped in both hands. His face was turned upward to gaze out the window at her back. Not for the first time, Claire admired the cut of him. His forearms were strong where they were exposed above the edge of his gloves. His form was long and slender. His pale skin and hair contrasted elegantly against his dark attire.

“You once told me that you thought you could change who you were by changing your name,” he spoke again, still looking out the window. “When I met you again here, I thought that must be true. You have a new life free of the hardships that turned you into Lightning in that world. I decided that you weren’t her. It made it easier to walk away.” His fingers tightened around the mug in his hand. He had yet to take a sip. “But I was wrong. Talking to you, I can tell that you are her. Even without that name, you’re the same person. I think that must always have been true, even back then.” He looked down at her and his lips pulled upward into a soft, genuine smile. The corners of his eyes crinkled handsomely.

Claire felt a tug of emotion in her chest. He looked suddenly radiant, wearing a smile. It completely changed his face. If it hadn’t been clear to her before, the feelings roiling within her now confirmed that this man was indeed someone precious to her. Just a smile from him affected her this much.

“So, will today be the day you finally tell me how we know each other?” she asked a little gruffly. “It seems like we were close in that other world. You talk like you know everything about me, but I don’t know anything about you.”

Hope’s smile relaxed back into his usual expression. He lifted his mug to his lips and took a drink of hot tea. His eyes found the window again and he looked out at the sky thoughtfully. “There’s not much to say,” he admitted. “I was a soft, spoiled kid from the suburbs who would’ve gotten himself killed pretty quickly if it hadn’t been for the good will of a tough as nails soldier with a soft spot for angry teenagers.” His lips quirked upward again as he let out a short chuckle. He looked back at her. “Meaning you, of course. You took me under your wing. Taught me to survive. We were only together for a short time, but you became a lifelong friend. In the end, it was thanks to you that I made it to this world.”

Claire traced her index finger around the rim of her untouched mug and raised an eyebrow at him. “I feel like you’re leaving out a lot of the story.”

In fact, she knew he was. Hope made it seem as though his role in her life was insignificant. He brushed himself off as just a chapter in a much bigger story, but the way he featured prominently in her recollections and dreams told her otherwise.

“I am,” he admitted easily. “It’s a much longer story than I can tell in just one afternoon.” He took another sip from his mug. “But if you’re willing to hear the whole thing, despite knowing it will take more than one day, I would be happy to tell it to you.” He raised his eyebrows inquiringly at her.

Claire considered his offer. Despite the posturing she’d done in front of Serah, she couldn’t deny to herself that she was very curious now to know more about the old world and her role in it. It was why she’d come today. She wanted to know just who this man was—and, more importantly, who he was to her.

“I am very busy…” she began, trailing off meaningfully. “But I think I can find time once or twice a week to stop by. If you don’t mind fitting me into your schedule.” She lifted the lip of the cup to her mouth and took a drink, watching him back all the while.

Hope’s mouth once again rose into a smile. “I have nothing but time.”

So it was that the two conjured up an arrangement. Claire would visit when she could and Hope would tell her the story of Lightning Farron. According to him, it was a long and very involved story that was ultimately tied to the destruction of that world. But, she was assured, it was also a story of hope.

So, that afternoon, Claire began to learn of the early life of Lightning Farron—about how an angry orphan was set on a path to destroy God.

oOo

The seasons changed. Soon it would be Claire’s birthday once again.

Twenty-two. It felt like a very long time coming.

Claire was busier than ever. Finals were over, ushering in the last term of her program. In just a few more months she would have her degree and be able to focus full time on work. The changing seasons meant a steep increase in photoshoots and modeling contracts. Just about every swimwear company under the sun wanted a piece of her, and makeup brands were blowing up her inbox with sponsorship offers for their summer palettes.

Still, she honored her arrangement with Hope, squeezing out a couple afternoons a week to visit him at his home for what she called Old World Story Hour. Often, she had to run over after a shoot, still decked out in whatever she’d been paid to wear for the camera. Hope didn’t seem to mind and indeed they often shared a laugh about it.

“You look great, Light. Purple polka dot shorts suit you,” he greeted her one afternoon after she rushed over from taking photos for a beachwear catalogue.

“Ha, ha,” she said in a flat voice as she let herself through the doorway. More and more, she was seeing a snarky, playful side of Hope emerge as they spent time together. Already, their meetings had become comfortable; routine. It surprised Claire how easy it was to spend time with him, as if it was something she was long used to.

Because it is, she reminded herself. Hope had told her of how the two of them had wound up as partners at multiple points throughout the story of their lives in the old world. She could see why they had. Hope, once he’d shed his persona of professionalism and politeness, was easy to talk to. He was more outgoing than Claire, but he had a good understanding of her boundaries and how to coax her out of her shell of comfort without driving her to frustration.

On the afternoons when she visited him, he would tell her of the old world, enthusiastically showing her the relics he’d amassed and explaining their roles in it. Hope, she quickly realized, was his happiest when he was talking about the old world. He seemed to take a lot of pride in the people, technology, and infrastructure of that world. She knew from his stories that he had spent many years in a role of leadership overseeing the progress of civilization while humanity adapted to a new life on the surface after the fall of Cocoon.

She enjoyed watching him talk. Hope was animated when he spoke, his hands gesturing and feet pacing. She enjoyed watching his face shift between expressions. He was an open book when he talked about the past. Just witnessing his joy made her almost want to remember that world for herself.

But then she’d remember the look he’d worn when she visited him the first time. The bare grief on his face when he’d said, “It’s hell, Light.”

She must have forgotten those memories for a reason. Best to let sleeping dogs lie, as they say. Perhaps her recollections would one day become frequent and clear enough for those memories to return, but she wasn’t going to help them along.

“Oh, speaking of outfits,” he said as he followed her into the house, “I happen to have a few that might interest you. Come upstairs and I’ll show you.”

Hope walked past her to the staircase and began to climb without waiting for an answer. Claire, having been left no other choice, followed.

The top of the stairs let out into a short hallway containing three doors. She assumed two belonged to bedrooms and the last was probably a bathroom. Hope opened the nearest door to the stairs and gestured for her to enter.

Just as she predicted, the space had clearly originally been intended as a bedroom, however there was no bed in it. It had instead been repurposed into a workshop. There were two tables situated against opposite walls. Both contained machines, mundane and specialized alike. The walls in this room were not decorated but were instead hung with tools. On the innermost wall was a sliding door belonging to a closet and it was this which Hope led her to upon following her into the room. He pulled open the door and flipped on an interior light.

Inside the closet hung a variety of garments in different colors and styles. She looked at him in confusion.

“Pick one and try it on,” Hope said, his lips twitching upward in amusement. “It used to be my job to make outfits for you. I recreated a few for fun.”

Claire raised an incredulous eyebrow at him. “You really do have nothing but time.”

Her curiosity getting the best of her, she sifted through the closet. The pieces were whimsical and complex. More costumes than clothing. She could only imagine what her followers would say if she posted a photo in one of these. “You’re telling me these are all in my size?” she asked as she scooted hangers to get a good look at each piece.

“They fit you in the old world, so I assume so,” he answered, still watching her with amusement. “They’re a bit over the top,” he added unnecessarily. “It’s hard to exercise restraint when you don’t have feelings.”

Hope had talked about that. He’d said that neither of them had been able to properly feel anything during the final thirteen days of that world. He had been evasive about explaining when asked why.

Finally, Claire reached the end of the collection. The final garment snagged her attention, conjuring something from her memory. The outfit had two pieces: a long vest with a crimson cape and a short brown skirt. She began to reach for it but was stopped by the sudden weight of Hope’s hand on her shoulder.

“I was just joking,” he said, the quality of his voice suddenly somewhat odd. “You don’t actually have to wear one.” He tugged her gently backward and used his other hand to close the closet door. When she looked back at him in puzzlement he teasingly added, “It would be a shame to replace those polka dot shorts.”

His hand released her shoulder and dropped down to grab her hand instead. He pulled her back from the door. “Come on. I bought a new brand of coffee for us to try.”

Claire said nothing but allowed herself to be escorted back downstairs.

As the weeks passed, Claire found herself at Hope’s house more and more. She enjoyed having someone to talk to after work and classes rather than going home to an empty apartment. Before she knew it, visiting him had become a normal part of her daily routine.

Hope never turned her away or appeared bothered by her presence in his home. He would chat with her while he worked at his bench. Sometimes about the past, but more often about anything at all. She began to bring her homework and they would pass long periods of comfortable silence working on their own things.

It was funny, when she stopped to think about it. The first time they’d met she had called him a stalker and threatened to call the cops on him. Since then, they’d become friends who hung out daily. To think she’d once been glad to be rid of him, and now he was the one who couldn’t get rid of her. It had been a very long time—not since middle school—that she’d had a friend like Hope. It made her realize just what she’d been sacrificing by putting her career first. Sure, she’d dated a few guys and she occasionally went out shopping with a friendly classmate, but the only person she was really close to was her sister. She hadn’t let anybody else get so near.

She snuck a peek at the object of her musing. Hope currently had a laptop open and was typing something with his left hand while his right hand fiddled with the underside of some sort of small robot which was currently connected to the computer by a cable. He wore a small smile while he worked.

Claire had come to realize lately that she really liked Hope’s smile. Luckily for her, Hope seemed to love smiling.

That smile pulled suddenly into a grin as a line of text lit up in green on his laptop. “Aha!” he exclaimed softly, and just as he said it, there was a mechanical sound as the robot began to move. Claire watched in fascination as Hope turned to the robot and brightly said, “Good morning, Bhakti. How are you feeling?”

The little robot swiveled its body around and its binocular eyes looked up at Hope. Claire couldn’t have been more surprised when, in a tinny voice, it answered him as if he were speaking to another human. “Greetings human. I am well.” Its intonation was not quite natural—a little flat—but its rhythm and cadence were surprisingly sophisticated. “I appear to have been in a state of suspended operation for two-hundred sixteen days. Were you performing maintenance on me?”

Hope nodded. “That’s right. I was making some modifications to your program. I apologize that it took so long.”

The robot swiveled its body again and seemed to take in its surroundings. “I see. I do feel that my emotional processing has become more refined.”

Hope turned around then and motioned for Claire to come over to the workbench. Claire set aside her textbook and joined him in front of the small robot.

“Bhakti, this is Light,” Hope introduced her, placing a hand on her back. He turned to her and said, “Light, this is Bhakti. He’s modeled after an old rover bot from Pulse. I had to recreate his AI from scratch and modify his power source, but in every other way he’s identical to the original Bhakti model.”

Bhakti looked up at Claire with what she presumed was the robot version of curiosity. “A human female,” the robot reported upon completing its inspection. It turned its body to face Hope again. “I believe this occasion calls for celebration. Felicitations on your marriage!” Its little head shutters flapped in an imitation of joy.

Hope immediately dropped the hand at Claire’s back and let out a choke of protest. His cheeks flared red.

Claire snorted in amusement and shook her head. “Not exactly, little guy,” she corrected the robot. “We’re just friends.”

Bhakti’s shutters gave another little flutter. “I see. That is great news. Then I may still be invited to the wedding.”

Claire snorted again while beside her Hope raised his hands to his face in mortification. She elbowed him and, with a smirk, said, “He really is something. A real technological marvel.”

Hope cleared his throat in embarrassment. His cheeks were flaming. “Bhakti is still learning about the world. You’ll have to forgive him when he makes mistakes.” He reached down and removed the cord that attached the robot to his computer and then scooped the little bot up and set him on the floor. “Bhakti, you remember where your charger is, right?”

Bhakti fluttered his flaps and began to drive himself across the room to a corner where an odd-looking device was plugged into a baseboard outlet. Bhakti stopped in front of it then turned his body around and backed into the device. Claire heard it attach to him with a click. “Affirmative. Thirty-three minutes until fully charged,” the robot reported.

Hope nodded. “Good. You’re free to do as you like. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

“Roger. I would like to come to your wedding.”

This time Claire laughed out loud as Hope turned red all over again.

“He really is amazing. You could make a fortune if you unveiled him to the public,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

Hope ran a hand through his hair as he once again fought down embarrassment. He looked at Bhakti with rosy cheeks but obvious fondness. “No, I made more than enough from the first AI I developed. The world isn’t ready for Bhakti yet. It would be irresponsible to put technology like his into the hands of the sorts of people who would want to buy him.”

Claire made a noise of understanding in her throat. “Fair enough. There’s no shortage of profit-driven bastards in the world. Speaking of which, I’m amazed that the government just sits back and lets you spend every day doing whatever you want. I’d think that they’d want to drain every drop from a brain like yours.”

Hope smiled at her statement, but it wasn’t his usual happy kind. “They would,” he agreed. “And believe me when I say that they’ve tried. I’ve managed to get around them by being a terribly unmanageable eccentric. I have a carefully crafted reputation for being impossible to work with.”

Claire’s eyebrows rose. So, that’s why the employees at his lab had looked so baffled when she’d shown up there looking for him, she surmised. A dolled-up model was probably the last type of person anyone would expect to ask after a person like that.

“The only person who knows the truth about me is Dr. Arnoul,” he continued. “We became colleagues when I was hired to write the program for the Omnigen System. I participate in his projects and in return he looks out for me. He makes sure the wrong people don’t get too excited about me.”

“So, the reason you don’t visit the lab very often is to keep up the charade,” she said. “You get the freedom to do what you want at the cost of your reputation.”

As someone whose career was dependent upon her good reputation, Claire had a hard time wrapping her head around how Hope had chosen to get by. He was her complete opposite. It seemed to her a very lonely way to live.

Hope chuckled humorlessly. “Perhaps not the best for my mental health,” he acknowledged. “But I’ve been on the other side as well and I couldn’t do that again. I do what I can to help in small ways but I won’t become what I was in the old world.” The line of his mouth turned downward and for a moment it looked like he was reliving something from his past. His eyes stayed open but he didn’t appear to be looking at anything. His lips tightened and he blinked, shaking himself out of it.

Claire said nothing. Instead, she took a moment to examine the man in front of her. Though he looked well enough, she was smart enough to pick up the small clues he sometimes dropped. It was clear to her that as much as he loved the old world, he was processing trauma from it. She knew from his stories that his life hadn’t been easy. It sounded like none of theirs had. But while Hope was always forthright in answering her questions about herself and her sister, there were things about himself that he kept under tight lock and key. She wondered if the reason was that they weren’t close enough yet for him to share those things with her. Or perhaps they were simply too traumatic for him to deal with himself.

She decided to change the subject. “You know, Serah’s been wanting to meet you,” she casually announced. “How would you like to get lunch together tomorrow?”

Hope blinked at her in surprise. She knew her offer seemed as if it was coming from out of left field. She waited patiently for him to orient himself to this new topic.

“Lunch with you and Serah?” he asked, his eyebrows rising up his forehead.

Claire nodded. “I’ve told her a little of the other world. She’s been hounding me to introduce you for weeks. What do you say?”

Hope crossed his arms and adopted a look of contemplation as he considered her offer. Claire watched his face cycle through emotions. Finally, he looked back at her and nodded a bit hesitantly. “I would very much like to see Serah again. If that’s really okay with you.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t,” she assured him. “Come meet me on campus at noon. The place isn’t far. I’ll tell Serah to meet us there.”

It was funny, Claire thought. Rather than feeling apprehensive about Hope meeting her sister at last, she instead found herself suddenly looking forward to tomorrow. Perhaps, after everything she’d learned, it felt right for them to meet.

She knew for certain that Serah was going to be ecstatic.

Chapter Text

“So, you’re Hope!” Serah greeted Claire’s companion to lunch brightly.

Just as Claire predicted, Serah was overjoyed to finally meet the man her sister had been talking about for weeks. Serah was smiling from ear to ear as she took Hope’s hands in hers and looked deeply into his eyes. Hope smiled back a little nervously but genuinely, indulging Serah in her desire to study him from head to toe.

At last, Serah took a step back to give the man space and nodded in approval. “Yep, you haven’t changed a bit.”

Hope’s eyebrows rose in clear surprised and Claire looked at her sister in much the same way.

“You…remember me?” Hope asked her tentatively, disbelievingly. He lifted a hand as if to reach for her but he didn’t follow all the way through with the motion so his hand just kind of hovered between them.

Serah made a humming noise of consideration, then said, “Nope. But I know that I know you. You’re one hundred percent Hope.”

Hope turned his incredulous look toward Claire who shrugged helplessly. As close as she was with her sister, there were things about Serah that had always been a mystery to her. Her way with people was one of them.

Serah laughed. “I just know,” she explained. “I don’t have any memories that I can call up, but seeing you feels just like seeing a regular old friend. Like, if I don’t think about the fact that I can’t find any memories with you then it doesn’t feel for a second like you’re a stranger.”

Hope pulled back the hand he’d halfway extended and used it to scratch his cheek. “Indeed,” he muttered to himself more than said aloud. His pale eyes showed his fascination clearly. Properly, he said, “That’s truly remarkable, Serah.”

Serah laughed again and waved a hand in front of herself. “No, not at all. Rather than me, I think you’re the remarkable one. You remember a whole other world that existed before we were born. You need to tell me all about it.”

Those words spurred them into motion. They entered the restaurant of Claire’s choosing and found a table in a more private part of the dining floor where they wouldn’t be easily overheard. When they’d finished ordering, Hope gave an abridged version of the story he’d spent the past few weeks telling Claire.

It helped that Claire had herself recounted many of the more significant details to her sister already. Serah listened in rapt attention, frequently interrupting to ask questions. Unlike Claire, she didn’t struggle to accept any part of it. She wholeheartedly believed everything Hope said about the old world, even the terrible parts, though Hope made a concerted effort to soften them for her.

“So Claire killed God and we pinched his new world right out from under him,” she summed up when he’d reached the end of his tale. She used her right hand to grasp her empty glass in demonstration.

Hope chuckled a little awkwardly. “Something like that,” he concurred. “Light probably didn’t kill him so much as put him indefinitely out of commission. He might come back someday, but not for a few good lifetimes if we’re lucky.”

Claire cleared her throat, partly to cover her embarrassment. There was no established etiquette for gracefully listening to someone praise you for killing God. The fact that she had to believe it had really happened was hard enough for her.

“My sister really did that,” Serah said in wonder. “And now we’re all here in the world we snatched away from him but we don’t remember any of it.” She leaned across the table to look into Hope’s eyes much the way she had upon meeting him. “Except for you. Is it because you were God’s servant?”

Hope didn’t answer right away. His pale eyes fell down to look at the table. He didn’t wear much of an expression, but Claire had been around him enough now to tell that he was uncomfortable. This was a point that Claire herself had dogged him on but he had never provided a satisfying answer.

Eventually, Hope did speak, and it seemed to Claire that he chose his words carefully. “The requirement for being reborn in the new world was to clear away the regrets that tied you to the old one. That was Light’s job,” he said, glancing at Claire as he did. “If a person didn’t—or chose not to—have their regrets eased, they wouldn’t be able to start afresh here. Light worked tirelessly to help as many people as possible meet the requirement to move on.”

He was silent for another moment as he seemed to decide how to phrase the next bit. His fingers drummed lightly on the tablecloth. “Light saved me from Bhunivelze, allowing me to be reborn here. If it hadn’t been for her, I would’ve been dragged into the chaos with him and probably been lost there. But… my unique situation barred me from receiving the savior’s aid. I wasn’t able to ease the regrets that bound my heart to that world.”

“So, you can’t move on, is what you’re saying?” Serah asked with a concerned frown.

“Right,” he confirmed. “That’s my theory.”

Claire frowned as well. “Then, is there no way to ease those regrets now?” she asked, leaning forward slightly over her crossed legs.

Hope lifted his hand from the table to cross his arms contemplatively. “Probably not wholly,” he confessed after a time. “And even if there was, I doubt I’d suddenly lose all my memories because of it. I think that no matter what I do, I’ll be stuck like this for at least one lifetime.” His lips rose into a small smile then and he added, “But you know, now that I’ve met both of you, I’m starting to feel like it’s not all bad. It’s because of having those memories that I was able to connect with you again. The people I love are alive and well living the lives they were denied in the old world. I could call myself blessed to get to see that firsthand.”

Claire felt her chest tighten in a way that was quickly becoming familiar at the combination of Hope’s smile and his choice of words. The latter in particular caused a pleasant tingle to run through her. She was overcome with the urge to make him say it again. “I may not have any special powers like I did in the old world,” she remarked, some of what she was feeling leaking into her tone. “But I’ll do what I can to help.”

Serah looked back and forth between them and then set her hands on the table and stood. “Me too,” she said brightly. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Hope looked at Serah and then at Claire and smiled handsomely. The combination of the crinkling around his eyes and the lighting of the restaurant caused the green in his irises to preponderate over the gray and for a moment she felt as though she were looking at the child in the picture in his hallway.

Silver hair. Green eyes. A smile lit with trust, joy, and admiration. The face of a boy who had faced despair and chosen to hope anyway.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I’m really glad I met both of you again. Your friendship means a lot to me.”

Serah nodded approvingly. “Now we just need to introduce you to everyone else! We’ll start with Snow and Noel and Yeul, then we can find Fang and Vanille and…” she trailed off, her face pinching in thought as she struggled to remember the names Hope had told her.

“Sazh,” Hope supplied. “And Dajh.”

“Right!” she said, snapping her fingers. “We’ll get the whole gang back together again. Surely that will spark some memories in everyone.”

“Easy there, Serah,” Claire admonished her sister. “Maybe we should start small. A big reunion should be our last step not our first. We don’t want to overwhelm a bunch of people we don’t know.”

Serah waved her hand at her sister. “Fine, fine. So, what do you suggest?”

Claire, Serah, and Hope talked for another half hour and made a preliminary plan of attack. They would begin by introducing Hope and Snow. After that, they could plan a larger gathering with Noel and Yeul. Claire would find a way to coax Sazh into joining them as well, possibly by putting on a barbecue in the park where she knew the pilot liked to spend time with his family. Fang and Vanille would be their most challenging hurdle, but Claire encountered them enough out and about in her day-to-day life that she felt confident she could arrange something.

The whole time they planned, Hope displayed an energy that Claire had rarely seen in him. His eyes were bright with tenor. He spoke freely and easily, supporting or shooting down ideas without reservation. If she hadn’t already believed that he and Serah were previously acquainted from the old world, just watching them interact now would be enough to convince her. She was strangely glad to see the two of them getting along so well. It lifted a weight off her shoulders that she hadn’t known she’d been carrying.

They wrapped up their lunch on a high note and when Claire returned to her apartment that evening her heart felt full and happy. Making plans to meet with others, for the first time in many, many years, filled her with excitement instead of annoyance. Claire almost didn’t recognize the feelings whirling inside her. For so long she had only made plans with others when it would help her advance. All her interpersonal relationships had functioned that way. She’d forgotten what it felt like to hang out with others just for the fun of it—forgotten she could.

It was all to help Hope Estheim. He was the axis upon which her life was now turning. Maybe once she would have been mad about that.

Now, she couldn’t be if she tried. These days she found herself willing to do all kinds of things just to see him smile.

The sisters didn’t waste any time in setting up meetings with Snow, Noel and Yeul.

Surprisingly, these meetings went very well.

Now that Claire knew what to look for, she saw the spark of recognition on all three of their faces upon meeting Hope. That spark was particularly strong in Snow and Noel. They obviously didn’t have any recollection of meeting him before, but they greeted him with warmth and familiarity much the way Serah had. It was almost as if Hope had always been a part of their circles.

Claire herself felt the same déjà vu that always overtook her when she was with them. Now that she knew what it was, it no longer felt like something she needed to guard herself from. Thanks to Hope, she had context for the feelings these people evoked. They had been her comrades once upon a time—people she had trusted; fought together with; watched the birth of a new world alongside. It only made sense that her soul would recognize them and guide her to find them in this world. Claire had always just been terrible at following her heart.

Hope confessed to her later that he was perplexed by how easily Snow and Noel had opened up to him.

“It was just like with Serah. Even though they don’t know me, they treated me as if I were an old friend. I spent so long thinking that all our connections were severed when we were reborn here, but they still exist. It seems our hearts remember even if our brains don’t.”

Claire smiled and reached up to lay a hand on his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was warm from his skin and felt nice on her palm. “It’s something.”

Hope raised his own hand to cover hers. “It’s more than I ever hoped for. I thought the friends I fought with were gone forever but they’re not.” He returned her smile. “We can be together again.”

That familiar clenching sensation returned with force. It brought a shiver to Claire’s back. Those words struck her somewhere too deep for her to access consciously. A memory was connected to them. A memory that had to be from the old world.

She nodded mutely and found herself staring into his eyes. His fingers curled gently around hers as he stared back. It felt as if there was a connection, invisible but strong as steel between them, holding her fast.

His face was beautiful—made all the more so by how his gaze was directed only at her. She wanted to bask in this man’s attention. She wanted to be wrapped up in it.

Hope broke the spell by pulling her hand to his chest and holding it there. “Thank you, Light.”

Claire shook her head and huffed out a small laugh. “I have more to be thankful for than you,” she said huskily. “You’ve helped me fix a problem that was bugging the hell out of me and more. Introducing you to Serah’s friends was the least I could do.”

Hope’s eyes twinkled with mirth. The look on his face caused Claire’s heart to squeeze all over again. This man specialized in being stupidly handsome and it was impacting the formation of coherent thought in her brain. “You’re welcome, then.”

Claire was forced to look away before she was enticed to act on a very dangerous impulse.

The rest of the evening Claire spent at Hope’s house was suffered rather than enjoyed for the emergence of a heart condition wherein Claire’s heart pounded like a jackhammer in her chest whenever Hope spoke to her.

She wound up leaving about an hour before she normally would simply because she was struggling so to calm herself. If she stayed, she might have been tempted once again to act out on the feelings that were roiling and surging within her, and that would have been a difficult thing to explain to the man who would become the victim of them.

She hoped that a day’s separation would settle her. It did, somewhat.

The next morning as Claire prepared for her day, she did some thinking.

It was becoming increasingly apparent to her, after their more recent interactions, that she might just, possibly, have feelings for Hope.

Whether that was the product of spending many afternoons at his house or of emotions carried over from the old world, she didn’t know. What she did know was that being with him made her heart flutter and brightened her mood. She looked forward to spending time with him—anticipated it even. She felt a keen yearning to see him, and now to be close with him physically as well. She loved how she felt when he touched her; his warmth and care that lingered like a tangible thing on her skin.

More than any of the people she’d dated in the past, she found herself desiring intimate contact with Hope. Some part of her, either physical or emotional—or both—demanded she act on her feelings. Claire had never been a romantically forward person, so the intensity of these feelings disconcerted and confused her. Hope was an attractive man, certainly, but so were the other people she’d dated. In fact, Hope even shared a few physical characteristics with a couple of her ex-boyfriends, and yet she found herself eons more attracted to Hope for those things than she had been when they belonged to her former flames.

This must be what it felt like to truly like someone. In twenty-one years, it was the first time Claire could say that she did.

But this brought her musings to the matter of Hope’s own feelings. He talked often of having looked up to her in the past. In the old world, when they’d met, he had been much younger than her. Would he be able to see her in a romantic light? They’d known each other in that world long enough for him to grow up, but, as he told it, time had been broken in many ways back then. It muddied the context surrounding their relationship. Hope was older than her now, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he saw her as younger. To her, they were both adults, but he was operating within an entirely different paradigm.

It wasn’t as if it was the end of the world if Hope thought of her only as a dear friend. Claire had never required the fixture of a man in her life and she didn’t intend for that to change now, but it was going to take willpower to refrain from acting on these feelings when the man was so insidiously and effortlessly charming.

It seemed to her that her first step now that she’d properly acknowledged her feelings was to come up with a strategy to gauge his. She made that her goal for this afternoon.

As luck would have it, her day wrapped up more quickly than she expected. She had a photoshoot scheduled for the morning which brought her to the beach, and due to clear weather, the cameraman was able to get the shots he wanted early into the shoot, leaving her with enough time to change and get a few shots of her own to post to socials.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, she felt ready to tackle the situation with Hope. She changed into more casual clothes and makeup and hopped the now familiar bus to his suburb.

She was greeted at Hope’s door not by Hope but by Bhakti.

“My creator has left to perform maintenance on himself via thermodynamic locomotion,” the little robot explained as she shut the door behind herself. “He will return shortly.”

“So he went for a run,” Claire paraphrased as she walked into the living room and set her bag on the kitchen table.

“Living organisms are truly fascinating. You repair and strengthen your bodies with use rather than wearing them down.”

Claire huffed out an amused chuckle. “To a degree. Entropy takes us all in the end.”

She took a moment to look around the kitchen, opening cupboards to peruse Hope’s coffee collection. She settled on a medium roast and began filling the kettle on the stove with water. The routine of making coffee was mindless. She barely thought about what she was doing as she grabbed two mugs and the French press from another cabinet and emptied beans into the coffee grinder.

While she waited for the water to heat, she ventured back into the living room to see what state Hope had left it in. He was a naturally tidy person but he often left evidence of the projects he was working on and Claire enjoyed piecing the clues together to figure out what he was making.

Today, there wasn’t much to peruse. Hope’s laptop sat shut on the workbench. Next to it lay his gloves, neatly stacked, and a plain drugstore notebook which Claire couldn’t remember having seen before. Out of curiosity, she approached the workbench and flipped open the notebook, assuming it would be full of designs and notes about his projects.

She was surprised then when she scanned a page and found that the notebook didn’t contain anything of the like. As her gaze swept down the page she’d opened to, it quickly became evident that the notebook was a journal.

I keep looking for traces of the old world in this one. Sometimes I wonder if this tree or that flower existed in Nova Chrysalia. Many plants here look similar to ones in that world. Unfortunately, I’m not much of a botanist and since I can’t go back to the old world I’ll never know for sure. The fauna here are markedly different, so I can hypothesize that the flora, regardless of the many similarities, are different as well. Organisms that evolve in different environments develop different traits. Plants, animals, and people all are products of the world that shaped them. There may indeed be nothing here that remains from the old world but us.

The words were penned neatly from margin to margin down the page. There were no errors; no crossed-out words or smudges. The contents of the page aside, the hand that wrote this could belong to no one but Hope.

Automatically, Claire flipped to the next page. It too was filled from top to bottom with neat script. Claire glanced at the contents of the page, key words and sentences giving her the gist of what he’d been thinking as he wrote. She did this a few more times until she came to a page that broke the pattern. This page contained only one short sentence.

I met Vanille today.

The sentence stared up at Claire, heavy in its solitude. Hope had written nothing to accompany it. No thoughts or feelings or musings. He had either chosen not to or been unable to write more. She glanced at the date penned in the top left corner. The entry was from three years ago.

A feeling of foreboding crept over Claire as she moved to turn the page again. Silently, she read the next few entries. They were all on the short side, containing little of Hope’s thoughts—more reports than anything—but as Claire kept flipping, the entries began to grow longer and the quality of them started to change.

This place is hell, isn’t it?

This is some kind of cruel joke.

Troubling sentences began cropping up in his reports. It began with just a smattering, but as Claire read on the entries became full of them.

I’m alone in this world. Is this punishment? Is it torture? My friends are right here, but I can’t reach them. This is wrong. None of this should have happened. I would rather have been crystal forever than for this to be how it ends. Send me back. Give me my friends back. Give me my family.

I want to go home.

Her eyes swept over page after page of this sentiment repeated over and over again until finally Claire couldn’t stand to keep reading. She’d been able to put together from occasional clues that Hope was not well, but to see his suffering laid so bare on these pages was too much for her. She felt as if his barefaced pleas for help had wrapped clammy fingers around her heart and were dragging it down out of her ribcage. She shut the notebook and turned from the workbench, raising a hand to her chest where her heart was beating at an accelerated pace.

Two things happened at once. The kettle on the stove began to issue a high-pitched whine over top the dull rush of water boiling within it. At the same time, Claire heard the click of the latch of the front door. Hope was home.

The more pressing of the two matters was the kettle, so it was this which Claire attended to first. She let autopilot drive her back into the kitchen to remove the kettle from the stove and resume brewing the coffee. A moment later, Hope appeared on the other side of the counter, smiling at her with a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His hair was pinned back into a half ponytail and he wore a fitted gray activewear shirt with black running pants.

“Light! You beat me home today,” he remarked brightly as he set a pack containing a water bottle and his phone on the counter. He then bent down to give Bhakti a pat, who had scuttled over to greet him.

Claire glanced at him as he did so, examining him surreptitiously while he was occupied.

Hope’s green eyes were bright and full of fondness as he stroked the small robot. His cheeks had a healthy pink flush from the exercise he’d just finished. He looked perfectly well; fit and lively. She exhaled a sigh of relief.

Hope heard her sigh and straightened to look at her curiously. “What’s up, Light? Something happen?”

Claire’s eyes rose to meet his and she took a moment to admire his face before shaking her head. “No, just lost in thought,” she brushed his concern away easily. “Welcome back.”

Hope’s mouth stretched into a cheeky grin. “That’s usually my line,” he joked. “Welcome home, Light. You saved a lot of souls today, etcetera, etcetera.” His tone was full of easy mirth as he referenced their time in the ark. After what she’d just read in his journal, it relieved Claire to hear him able to speak of the old world with levity.

She recalled his words from yesterday: “We can be together again.”

That’s what he’d wanted all along; to be together with the people he considered family. She could imagine now how he’d felt the day he met Vanille and discovered that she had no memories of him. He’d been devastated. It had probably shaken him to the core. He had thought that everyone would be reunited in the new world to carry out their lives just as they’d dreamed in the past. He had been waiting—anticipating—his whole life for that reunion.

Then to have that day come at long last only for his hopes to be shattered so cruelly. How many friends and colleagues from the old world had he met here only for each one of them to act exactly like Vanille?

And then he’d met her. Claire had called him a stalker and told him to fuck off.

I was really, from the bottom of my heart, glad to have met you, he’d told her then. I hope your life is full of happiness.

God, she’d fucked up magnificently. It was a true wonder that he was able to smile at her, to forgive her, after she put him through heartbreak like that, however unwittingly.

She smiled at his joke and placed the two steaming-hot fresh mugs of coffee on the counter beside his bag. “Well, this time it’s my turn and I made you coffee.” She quirked an amused eyebrow and added, “I don’t recall you saying anything about doing that for me on the ark.”

“I prepared plenty of gifts for you,” was his rebuttal as she walked out from behind the counter to join him on the other side.

“Then here’s one more freebie,” she stated with a small smile and stepped forward to envelop his middle with her arms, holding his body tightly against hers. His body was warm and smelled lightly of sweat from his run but it wasn’t unpleasant at all. “A welcome home hug.”

Hope initially stiffened and swatted her shoulder with one hand. “Ew, Light! I’m gross from running,” he protested. She could feel his face heat against the crown of her head.

Claire just continued to hold him, sending the message clearly that she wasn’t bothered in the least by this fact, and in the end, Hope gave up and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Don’t blame me if you start to smell like sweat,” he warned her as he moved a hand to cradle the back of her head and pull it against his chest.

Honestly, hugging Hope was the farthest thing from gross. She breathed deeply of him and basked in the dependable security of his arms around her and his firm chest against her cheek.

She really, really liked this man.

But, she decided, she wouldn’t tell him today. Her head was full of what she’d read in his journal—his anguish and despair. It didn’t feel right to speak of romance and her needs. Today, she would give him comfort and let him know that he wasn’t alone.

She would resume her plan next time.

The next day, Hope had a surprise for her.

“I’ll be flying to Amsterdam for a conference next week. I know it’s short notice, but would you like to come with me?”

Claire blinked at him in surprise. She slowly lowered her bag onto the table and pulled the strap from her shoulder. She’d just arrived and was in no way anticipating this as a greeting.

Hope read the confusion on her face loud and clear and cleared his throat. “Right, details would be helpful. I’m planning to fly out next Wednesday and will spend three nights in the Netherlands while I attend the conference with Dr. Arnoul. I’m only speaking on Friday, so I thought it would be fun to spend some time exploring the city together. You could use it as a chance to take pictures and do some shopping. All on me, of course,” he added with a cheeky smile.

Claire placed her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow at the man smiling so easily in front of her as if he hadn’t just dropped an absolute bomb on her. “Short notice is a hell of a way to put it,” she said at last. “You couldn’t have given me a little more advance warning?”

Hope shrugged in a manner that seemed a little too innocent to be genuine. “I wasn’t confirmed as a speaker until this morning. You know how hard I am to work with. It was extraordinarily difficult to get me to commit.” His smile grew into a smirk. “You never know, I may decide to back out if my plus-one can’t make it.”

Claire’s eyebrows shot up. “You would cancel on them just because I said no?” she asked incredulously. “Wouldn’t that put them in a bind?”

Hope shook his head. “It would be frustrating for them, sure, but my plan was always to send my speaker notes along with the doctor to be presented on my behalf. I’ll only go if you want to. I just thought it might be fun to go on a trip together.” His smile softened and he broke eye contact to look out the window as he was fond of doing. “It would be a little like old times.”

The look on his face was what did in her resolve. Honestly, the thought of going on a trip with Hope did sound like a ton of fun, and Claire had never been to the Netherlands before. She would have to talk to her professors about missing a few days of classes and let her agent know that she would be unavailable during the dates of the trip, but all in all the timing wasn’t terrible. It wouldn’t interfere with any major commitments.

“Alright,” she consented. She smirked as well and added, “Since you’re offering to be my sugar daddy.”

Hope’s eyes returned to her and he snorted loudly in amusement. “I’ll thank you for giving me something new to spend my money on.”

Claire watched him grin with mirth and thought about the trip she’d just agreed to. This threw a bit of a wrench in her plans, but she couldn’t deny that the prospect of traveling together with Hope excited her. It would be an experience in any case.

She was looking forward to it.

Chapter Text

Claire dedicated the days following Hope’s invitation to preparing for the trip. She sent the necessary emails and made the necessary phone calls. She announced her travel plans to her followers and began putting together outfits to wear while in Amsterdam. Hope had warned her to pack for a variety of activities so she pulled out her two largest suitcases for the trip. One to hold everything she’d need and the other to fill with the fruits of her shopping.

Serah helped her select which pieces from her massive wardrobe to bring along, buzzing excitedly all the while.

“I can’t believe you’re going on a trip with him!” she gushed as she sifted through Claire’s collection of designer evening gowns. “I mean, obviously you’ve been spending a lot of time together, but he must really like you to invite you on vacation like this.”

Claire regarded her sister with surprise. “You think so? I didn’t get that impression. I think he just invited me as a change of pace.”

Serah tore her eyes from Claire’s closet to round on her sister with incredulously raised brows. “Are you serious right now? I know Hope is a little atypical, but it’s gotta mean something that he asked you to go on this trip with him. He obviously likes you, sis.”

Claire’s heart did its familiar little flutter at Serah’s declaration. She wished that were the case, but… “Of course he likes me. We’ve been friends for a thousand years,” she reminded her sister. “Don’t you think that if he felt that way toward me, I’d know by now?”

Serah frowned thoughtfully and placed a finger to her chin. “Well, everything you know about the old world you learned from him. Isn’t it totally possible that he’s left some details out?” she pointed out. “Like, what if the two of you were in a relationship before and he hasn’t told you because he’s worried that you don’t feel that way anymore?”

Claire was struck as if Serah had reached out and smacked her upside the head. She had never considered anything of the sort. The fact that Claire had feelings for Hope now could indicate that she’d felt that way in the old world too. Moreover, it was true enough that most of what she knew about the old world came from him. It would be easy for him to withhold information from her for any reason at all.

That truth fairly considered, however, she didn’t think what Serah said was right. Hope had been a teenager during the time they’d spent together in the old world. It was difficult to believe that she would have been romantically involved with a boy seven years younger than her even if that age gap was only physical.

But just because Serah was probably wrong about them having a relationship didn’t mean that the first point she’d made didn’t still stand. There were things that Hope had trouble talking about. His feelings toward her could be one of those things.

Or was that merely wishful thinking? Claire sighed and scratched her head. Probably. “Whatever the case, I don’t have any way of knowing how he feels about me unless he tells me.”

Serah made a movement with her lips that was difficult to interpret and then turned back around to continue rifling through Claire’s closet. She spent a few moments quietly pushing hangers around to examine gowns. Her next words, when they came, surprised her sister.

“Do you want him to feel that way about you?”

Claire, who had resumed folding and packing items into her suitcase, faltered at her sister’s question. Ever the perceptive one, Serah had seen past Claire’s manufactured nonchalance and read her like a book.

There was almost no point in denying it, but Claire couldn’t simply admit such a thing outright. “He can feel however he wants,” she said without expression, directing her attention stubbornly back at her suitcase.

Serah giggled, her back still to her sister. “Can he, hmm.”

The day of departure came. Funnily enough, it was the week before Claire’s birthday.

Claire emerged from her taxi at the private airport where she would board the flight with Hope and his colleagues. Dr. Arnoul was there already waiting with a group of scientists from the lab, two of whom Claire recognized as the man and woman who had been chatting with the receptionist when she’d visited. The taxi driver helped her wheel her luggage over to the group and Claire’s heels clicked on the tarmac as she approached. She lowered her sunglasses over her eyes to protect them from the bright morning sunlight.

She heard whispers as she joined the gaggle of researchers. She knew exactly what image she made with her bold outfit and flawless makeup.

Dr. Arnoul greeted her warmly. “Miss Farron! I was ecstatic to learn that you would be accompanying us on this trip. It is a pleasure to have you along.”

Claire smiled and placed a hand on her hip. “The pleasure is wholly mine,” she replied. “I’m grateful for the opportunity to join you. I’ve always wanted to visit Amsterdam.”

She knew that the doctor was more grateful to her for getting Hope to come on the trip than for her presence in particular, but that would remain a secret shared between the two of them.

“Now then, we just need Estheim and we’ll be ready to depart,” the doctor remarked cheerfully.

A couple of the scientists looked at each other unsurely. One of them cleared his throat and in a tentative voice asked, “Do you think he’ll actually show up?”

Claire discreetly turned her gaze behind her sunglasses to the man who’d spoken. He looked worried. Hope had evidently done his job well.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Dr. Arnoul answered without apparent concern. Just as he spoke, another taxi pulled into sight and stopped at the unloading zone.

Sure enough, Hope’s unmistakable silver hair appeared from the rear passenger door. A moment later, Hope and his suitcase joined them, much to the undisguised shock of his colleagues. Today Hope wore a casual gray t-shirt beneath a brown blazer and dark green pants. He was smiling just the way he always did as he took his place beside Claire and the doctor, but the reactions of his coworkers to seeing his expression seemed to indicate that this was at best a very rare sight for them.

Knowing firsthand how much Hope loved to smile, Claire was struck again by a wave of sadness for her friend. How often did he get to be his genuine self around others? She understood why he did it, but she hated that this was how he chose to live. It wasn’t right.

Just as the doctor said, now that everyone was present, the next step was boarding. Claire should have been ready for the face that moseyed over to bring them to the plane. She’d experienced this so many times now that it should have been a given.

“Now boarding the Katzroy express flight to Amsterdam, ladies and gents,” a very familiar voice announced, accompanied by a similarly familiar green uniform and nest of tight, dark curls. Brown eyes widened as they landed on Claire and their owner’s mouth stretched into a grin. “Well, well! if it isn’t Miss Fashionista.”

The pilot stepped forward and clasped Claire’s shoulder comradely. He caught sight of Hope then and shook his head with chuckle. “And of course you’ve got the kid along. Nothing changes, I swear it.” He patted both their shoulders and then turned from them to gesture to the group to follow. “Your carriage awaits, milords.”

The group began to follow the animated pilot but Claire and Hope remained behind. They shared a look of out-and-out shock.

“Do you think he knows…?” Claire said after a beat.

Hope shook his head but appeared no less stupefied. “How could he?”

The many curiosities of Sazh Katzroy left aside for now, the duo followed their group and headed for the plane.

The flight to Amsterdam wasn’t long, taking only an hour and a half from takeoff to landing. Claire and Hope spent that time chatting with Dr. Arnoul while the others in the team talked amongst themselves and reviewed their notes for the conference. Claire told the doctor of their plans to shop and sightsee in the city to which the old doctor chuckled merrily and nodded in approval.

“There’s plenty to do, without a doubt. I’m sure Estheim’s prepared a full itinerary.”

Hope said nothing but smiled when the doctor elbowed him knowingly.

“Ah, but we’re in for a treat this year ourselves,” the man continued. “Estheim here is a true magician with words. It’s a rare thing to get to hear him speak. I’ll have my work cut out for me beating the hyenas back when he’s done.”

“You always do a wonderful job,” Hope indulged him.

“Speaking of which,” Dr. Arnoul said, “the last time you spoke publicly was at a local university, wasn’t it? A few months ago, if I remember right.”

“You do,” Hope answered. He reached over his armrest and took Claire’s hand. “That happens to be where I met Miss Farron. She’s currently enrolled as student there.”

The old doctor’s bushy eyebrows rose and he nodded thoughtfully. “Is that right! I did wonder just how the two of you were acquainted.”

Claire looked at Hope, surprised. So that’s why he’d been on her campus that day. She did recall that her university had been hosting a speaker of renown. To think that speaker had been Hope himself.

“And now, thanks to that meeting, we will all get the pleasure of hearing Estheim speak again at this conference,” Dr. Arnoul said with a merry laugh. “The scientific community owes you its gratitude, Miss Farron.”

Claire laughed and shook her head. “Please. It sounds like you have a much sturdier leash on him than I do.”

Dr. Arnoul glanced past her to Hope and his eyes twinkled mischievously. “I do wonder about that.”

Unfortunately, Claire and Hope didn’t get another chance to talk with Sazh before they were taxied away to their hotel. The group had lunch reservations post landing which put them on a tight schedule.

The hotel was in the heart of the city, a short drive from the Amsterdam Convention Center where the conference would be held. The building itself was stunning and sat right atop the famed Herengracht Canal. Claire and Hope shared a two-bedroom suite which overlooked the canal and was richly decorated with authentic 18^th century furniture. Claire wondered if this was a standard accommodation for guest speakers or if, far more likely, the suite had been booked by Hope himself. The two took fifteen minutes to freshen up before joining Dr. Arnoul and his team in the lobby for lunch.

Their first day in Amsterdam was dedicated to getting settled and making plans. After lunch, Claire took a few obligatory hotel photos for social media which Hope—sniggering all the while—helped her with. He volunteered to be her cameraman as she posed artfully around the suite.

Even after so much time together, it still surprised Claire how easy it was to spend time with Hope. Normally, the thought of sharing a hotel suite with a man she’d only known for a few months would have sent her running, but she felt no discomfort at all staying with Hope. It was evident that subconsciously she trusted him profoundly.

In the afternoon, they took a stroll through the canals and Claire took more pictures—some for socials but mostly for Serah and her parents. She and Hope took a selfie with ice cream cones from a local shop which Claire immediately sent to Serah to assure her sister that the two of them had arrived in the Netherlands safely.

Hope smiled contentedly as they strolled with their ice cream enjoying the sights and the nice summer weather. His eyes travelled about, studying the businesses and shops which surrounded them. “You know, I always wanted to do this. Just walk around together like normal people. Do normal things.” He nodded to the ice cream in his hand and looked at her. “When I was a kid, I imagined showing you around Palumpolum—taking you to all the places I would’ve gone to on a typical day. But then Cocoon fell out of the sky and you disappeared and everything just…” He trailed off and the curve of his smile fell away. “There was no going back. For any of us.”

He shook his head and to Claire it seemed as if he was trying to shake away unhappy memories. His smile returned and he held out his arm for her to take as they crossed an intersection. “Sorry. I’ve made peace with the fact that that world is over, but it’s difficult, even after all this time, to accept that some old dreams can’t come true anymore.” His eyes lifted to the blue sky and were illuminated in sea green by the afternoon sun. “There were so many things I couldn’t wait to tell you about and show you when you finally returned from Valhalla. I wanted to give you the grand tour of Academia and show you how magnificently humanity had grown up all on our own after we left Cocoon. I never imagined that it would take another five hundred years and a whole new world just to finally get to walk around together again.”

Claire held his arm more tightly than she needed to as they continued their stroll. She was always glad when Hope opened up like this and shared little glimpses of his feelings with her, especially now that she’d seen his journal and better understood the hell he’d been weathering all on his own. As much as he talked about the past, it was rare to hear him speak from the heart. He preferred to share only objective facts about his life in the old world: that he’d been the director of the Academy; that he’d worked closely with Serah and Noel to steer humanity toward a better future than the one Noel had come from; that he’d been tasked by God with assisting her on her mission to ease the regrets of the people living in Nova Chrysalia before the world ended. It was the primary obstacle Claire had been preparing herself to face in her mission to glean hints of potential romantic feelings he might hold for her.

Since he was in a sharing mood, Claire decided to press him a little.

“You always speak so highly of me. I wonder just what it is about me that garners such admiration.”

Claire knew of course that Hope had looked up to her for watching over him when they’d been l’Cie. She could gather that she’d been the recipient of some hero-worship back when he’d been a teenager. What she wanted to know was exactly what part of her he continued to carry in his heart as he grew into adulthood. What did he think of her now that he had the life experience and maturity to view her as an equal?

Hope slowed to a stop and only then did Claire realize that they’d returned to the street in front of the hotel. She’d lost track of their route as she allowed him to take the lead. He looked down at her, the sunlight spilling across his face still illuminating his eyes as he said, simply, “You’re my partner.”

Claire felt her cheeks warm as the man whose arm she still held watched her with open fondness. He looked like an angel from a painting with the sunlight bathing him in golden radiance. Her words stuck in her throat and she found herself unable to utter any additional statements.

As always, she was able to glean nothing of his feelings toward her and was left instead feeling only surer of her own for him.

The next day was Thursday and the first day of the conference. Hope’s colleagues and the doctor woke early to prepare for it and were already gone by the time Claire and Hope came downstairs for breakfast. The two of them had plans to shop and sightsee today.

Shopping and sightseeing were exactly what they did, and they had a blast.

They enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at the hotel before hitting the town. Amsterdam boasted a number of independent shops and up-and-coming brands which Claire and Hope spent the morning perusing with interest. Claire had thought at first that the shopping part would be boring for Hope, but he was just as engaged as her as they compared fabrics, patterns, styles, and stitching. She’d forgotten about the collection of costumes in his upstairs closet—that he’d been the one to make them. Hope knew his way around garmentry and the two of them had many great conversations about pieces that caught their eyes. 

Hope hadn’t been kidding about funding her shopping spree either. He didn’t bat an eye at price tags regardless of how intimidating some numbers looked to Claire. He followed her to each register, bank card in hand, and gladly purchased whatever she desired. She was reminded of her prior boyfriends who had thought to use their credit cards to buy her affection. They’d been rich philanderers who had wanted a pretty model on their arm, and Claire had been glad to play along, using them to get her feet through doors and access premium brands as she started out.

Hope didn’t think one way or the other about flaunting his wealth. He wasn’t trying to impress her. Rather, he was having just as good a time as her buying many borderline comical pieces for her to model for her followers online. He even got into his role, stage-playing being her sugar daddy to the associates on the salesfloor by putting his arm around her and dropping lines like, “Anything you want, kitten.” Of course, he would crack up the moment the associate’s back was turned and serious, no-nonsense Claire would often find herself holding a hand to her mouth to stifle her own mirth.

It was a lot of fun. Much more than Claire had ever had shopping before.

They enjoyed a lovely lunch on the patio of a stylish bistro where Claire snapped a few more selfies as well as a couple of food pics for her sister. Hope grinningly twirled for a photo with her many assorted shopping bags dangling from his hands which she sent to Serah as well.

After lunch, they stopped by the hotel to drop off their purchases and then hit up Amsterdam’s famed upside-down museum where they derived enormous entertainment from taking even more silly photos among upended furniture and from inside a life-sized swimming pool ball pit where their visit devolved quickly into a heated ball fight which involved much snorting and laughter. When they’d sufficiently tired themselves out in the museum, they retired to the affiliated café to share an ice cream sundae.

“Your throwing arm is as good as ever,” Hope remarked with a grin as he rubbed his bicep where she’d pegged him with a particularly powerful shot.

“You’re no slouch yourself,” she returned the compliment as she scooped a dollop of whipped cream and sprinkles onto her slender silver spoon. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised given your skill with boomerangs.”

Hope had showed her his collection of the boomerangs he’d recreated from the old world. According to him, they had been his weapon of choice. He’d even demonstrated his skill for her once, bringing her to a nearby park and expertly hurling the odd weapon high up into the air where it had angled around and returned to his hand with a crisp snap. Claire had been sufficiently impressed, never having seen anyone use such an instrument in real life before.

Hope laughed and folded his arms atop the table. “Thanks, but I could never hope to beat you in a throwing match, much less in a fight. I wish you could remember the way you threw the lost moogles when you were the savior. I’m pretty sure you could’ve sent them straight into orbit if you’d wanted to.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Claire answered as she delivered whipped cream to her mouth.

Hope continued to watch her as she went in for another spoonful of cream. He wore a small, wistful smile as his eyes followed the motion of her spoon returning to her lips. “What?” she questioned with a quirk of her brow.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just really glad I got to spend the day with you today.” His eyes crinkled at the corners the way she loved as his smile extended to them. “Thanks for agreeing to come on this trip with me.”

Claire felt her cheeks warm like the day before and looked casually away to hide her blush from him. “Of course. I was happy to.”

The next day was Friday; the day Hope was scheduled to speak at the conference.

Claire wasn’t an official attendee but she was granted entry as his guest. She was curious to see him speak for herself after hearing the doctor’s glowing praise of his skill.

She was unprepared for the sheer magnitude of the hall they were brought to. The place had been set up as an auditorium and was utterly packed with people to the point of overflowing. The hall was abuzz with excited chatter as Claire entered alongside her friend. The moment Hope stepped through the door, cameras turned on him. A giant screen behind the podium displayed his name and credentials. He politely escorted her to a seat in the front row before walking to the foot of the stage for his presentation.

Even more than the crowd, Claire was surprised by just how at ease Hope looked as he spoke to a group of professionally dressed people next to the stage before climbing the stairs to take his place behind the podium. She would never guess by his face alone that he was about to speak in front of hundreds.

The screen behind him changed to show a live feed of his face and a smartly dressed woman with a microphone introduced him to the crowd. Hope stood at the podium looking unaffected as the woman glowing called him the “child genius” who had “forever changed the landscape of genetic disease research”. It was the same language Dr. Arnoul had used when introducing him at the Spring Gala, and if this was Claire’s second time hearing it, Hope had clearly heard it a hundred times. 

When the woman handed the microphone to Hope, he promptly opened with a joke about being Europe’s foremost twenty-seven-year-old child genius which garnered laughter from the audience and broke some of the anticipatory tension in the room.

After that, Hope dove into his presentation. He spoke animatedly, articulately and passionately with a natural charisma that captivated his audience. Claire found herself captivated right along with them despite having no context or professional understanding of the concepts he talked about. He was indeed a very skilled speaker; effortlessly eloquent and able to weave dry data into a stirring narrative which held his audience fast.

She was witnessing firsthand the skill of an orator who had spent literal centuries at the forefront of civilization guiding the confused masses as they were swept into an era of chaos. For the first time, she was able to appreciate what that meant.

Hope could do the same in this world if he wanted to. He had the talent and experience, but he’d adamantly turned his back on politics this time around.

Again, she wondered at the weight of the trauma he was carrying from the old world.

oOo

Hope’s speech ended to uproarious applause. Cameras flashed. The woman from before took the microphone back and nearly fumbled as she gave her post-presentation wrap-up. Hope exited the stage and shared a few words with his colleagues who had gathered by the stage to congratulate him. Claire stood and approached them.

“The turnout this year was insane!” one of them was gushing as she joined them.

“That’s the power of our Hope Estheim,” another chimed in, clapping Hope on the back. “No social skills except when he’s in front of a crowd. How do you do it, Hope?”

Claire’s eyebrows rose in surprise as she witnessed the borderline friendly exchange. So, Hope did share some level of comradery with his coworkers despite his poor reputation.

“Man, do you ever get the feeling he’s playing us,” a third said in a conspiratorially low voice. He nudged Hope with his arm.

Hope said nothing, but smiled.

Claire cleared her throat to make her presence known. Hope’s attention snapped to her at once and his smile widened in greeting. “Miss Farron. Did you enjoy the presentation?”

Claire returned his smile. “It was a little above my head, I’m afraid,” she confessed as Hope took her hand.

Hope gently squeezed her hand and weaved his way out from the crowd to stand beside her. “Then hopefully you’ll enjoy our next activity a little more,” he said cheerfully. He fit her arm into the crease of his elbow and began walking to the door.

“Oh? What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking we could get some dinner and then go on a little cruise,” he revealed. “Enjoy our last evening in style.”

Claire raised both eyebrows at him. “A cruise? Of what sort?”

“Just wait and see,” was his cryptic response.

That evening, Claire donned an evening gown and Hope matched her in a formal vest over a tailored white shirt and dark slacks. They dined on the roof of a gorgeous high-rise restaurant with a 360-degree view of the city. Dinner was lovely and enjoyed in easy conversation.

It was a pleasant change of pace, Claire thought, to eat a nice meal with a man without the awkwardness and forced politeness of a date. Not that she would have minded if Hope had meant this as a date. It would’ve been the first that she’d properly enjoyed.

She wondered for the first time what Hope’s experience was with dating. He had never mentioned a girlfriend to her before but surely he must have dated. He’d lived to be an adult two times now. It would be surprising if he hadn’t played the field at least a little.

She didn’t particularly want to think about Hope opening his heart to another woman, but she realized that she’d just been presented a chance to do a little innocent digging into his romantic history. “Do you always take girls on this classy of a first date?” she joked nonchalantly as she reached for her glass of wine. She gave the glass a swirl and looked through it at her dining partner expectantly.

Hope’s eyebrows rose. “Pardon?”

“You heard me. Don’t play coy.”

Hope reached for his own glass. He lifted it to his lips and took a thoughtful sip. Claire waited in anticipation, her heart beating prominently in her chest.

“That’s a difficult question to answer,” he said at last. “I’d need to go on a few more dates to be able to tell you for sure.”

That was not within the realm of replies Claire had been expecting to come from his mouth. She looked at him blankly as she attempted to make sense of it.

Hope saw her struggling and smiled wryly. “I don’t date, Lightning.”

It was the first time Hope had referred to her using her full old-world name. It wasn’t enough to distract her from what he’d said.

She frowned, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

His wry smile remained firmly in place. “You heard me.”

She had. She’d been hoping for an explanation and told him so.

He acquiesced easily enough. “I can’t,” he said simply. “Or, rather, I guess you could say I abstain. I always have, for personal reasons.” He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not something that’s easy to talk about.”

Claire shook her head slowly, still frowning. “So, you’ve never been on a date before?”

Hope placed his chin on his hands and watched her with darkened green eyes in the low light of the rooftop. “I’m on a date right now, aren’t I?”

It was obvious that he was teasing her—she was the one who had joked about this being a date first after all—but Claire couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her at his words. “Does that mean you’ve never had feelings for a woman before?” she asked to disguise the way he’d flustered her.

Hope smiled mysteriously. He didn’t answer, and instead declared, “It’s just about time for our cruise. We should head down to the harbor or we’ll be late.”

Infuriating man, Claire thought as she stood and grabbed her bag. Hope Estheim was a very difficult nut to crack.

When Hope had said they were going on a cruise, Claire had imagined a cramped riverboat and expensive beer.

The boat that greeted her at the pier was open-air and spacious. The inside of the boat was ringed by cushioned benches lined with colorful pillows. In the center was a built-in table on top of which sat a large tub of ice containing a bottle of champagne. Next to it was a platter of chocolates and fruit and a small vase of cheerful yellow flowers.

Hope offered his arm to help her into the boat and Clair had to sweep up her long skirt to descend the short steps into the craft’s belly. Hope followed after and when they were comfortably situated the boat’s driver came over to pour the champagne and describe the route.

The boat was big enough to seat a dozen people comfortably but no other passengers joined them. Night had fallen and the broad, starry sky stretched above Claire and Hope as they were ferried gently through the canals of Amsterdam.

“Good call,” Claire remarked approvingly as she sipped her champagne. “This is nice.”

Hope grinned. “Isn’t it? I figured you’d appreciate something lowkey.”

Claire looked around them at the finery; the chocolates, fruit and champagne; and her lips twitched in amusement. Hope had a somewhat different definition of lowkey than she did.

The two of them sat back against the cushions and admired the city lights in silence for a time. The summer air was pleasant and Claire found herself feeling quite comfortable and mellow. For someone who claimed not to date, Hope sure knew how to put out.

Again, Claire thought about the turn twenty-one had taken. Somehow, her whole life up until this year felt mundane compared to the bare few months she’d spent with Hope. She had thought she was happy, but maybe she’d just been content. She’d found a path that suited her talents and dived headlong into it, but had that really been as fulfilling as she thought?

In the months since she’d met Hope, she’d found herself slowing down and living more presently in the little moments day by day. Twenty-one felt immeasurably long compared to the years that came before it, but that wasn’t a bad thing at all.

She peeked at Hope over the rim of her champagne flute. He’d reclined back against the pillows and his eyes were shut. He had a contented smile on his face. Claire watched the gentle breeze play with his silver hair and studied the smooth planes of his face at rest.

She wanted to continue to live in these little moments, just like this.

Silently, she rose from her bench and stepped around the low table to take a seat beside him. She would much rather be close to him than sit like a stranger across the table.

Hope’s eyes opened as he felt her settle at his side. Claire gave him a little smile and clinked her champagne flute against his. “It’s no Palumpolum or Academia I’m sure, but I feel like this has been a nice city tour all the same,” she told him softly, no longer needing to raise her voice now that he was right next to her.

Hope hummed deep in his throat. He raised his glass to his lips and took a long pull. The lights of the buildings reflected off the glass and danced across his face.

“It’s been fun to spend time together like this,” she went on. “I might not have all of Lightning’s memories, but I think she would have been happy to be taken out by you. That’s the feeling I get, anyway.”

Hope lowered his glass and his eyes fell to meet hers. His cheeks were just the smallest bit flushed from the alcohol he’d consumed this evening. He looked dangerously kissable, but Claire held tightly to the reins of her self-control. “Thank you,” he said in just as low a voice. He watched her with eyes that shifted from sea green to forest and back as the boat took them in and out of pockets of light. “Are you happy, Claire?”

It was the first time Hope had called her Claire. Not Light or Miss Farron. Her name sounded very intimate coming from his lips. Claire blinked in confusion at his unexpected question. She wasn’t sure exactly what he was referring to. “Right now? In general?”

“In this world,” he clarified. “With the life you have here.”

Claire watched him back for a moment silently as she considered his question. “It’s the only life I know,” she said at last. “I can’t personally speak to whether or not it’s happier than the life I had in the old world, but by the sounds of things, it would be difficult for it to be unhappier.” She smirked a little wryly. “Lately I’ve been finding joy in places I didn’t notice it before. I feel like having all these new experiences has been good for me.”

Hope’s eyebrows rose when she wrapped her arm through his and leaned against him. “I have you to thank for that.”

Claire couldn’t have been more surprised—or pleased—when Hope shifted and slowly leaned down to press his face to her hair. It was a gesture that was hard to interpret as anything but romantic and it caused Claire’s heart to quicken in her chest. This was exactly the sort of sign she’d hoped to elicit, though she’d done it completely unwittingly.

Hope’s breath warmed her crown and he turned his face so that his cheek rested against her head. “Me too,” he said, the quality of his voice slightly higher and more boyish than usual. “I was struggling to find any joy at all in this world before I met you,” he admitted so softly that she could have missed his words if she hadn’t been paying attention. Louder, he said, “I’m so glad I found you again.”

Claire held her champagne flute loosely in her lap, having mostly forgotten about it. Her hand tightened on his arm and she pressed against his side. His scent surrounded her, light and comforting. “Even though I called you a stalker?” she couldn’t help asking in a teasing tone.

Hope exhaled, causing a few strands of her hair to flutter. “Bumps in the road.”

Claire sat in silence again as she basked in Hope’s closeness. It felt very nice to be snuggled up against him and it was causing her thoughts to wander to risky places.

She could turn and kiss him right now. It would be the easiest thing in the world, just a tilt of the neck, to align their mouths and drink of him until they both were breathless. Claire really, really wanted to do it. What better time was there than on a romantic evening canal cruise, surrounded by the twinkling golden lights of the city. They were both wine buzzed and lacking in inhibition. Who could fault her for a momentary lapse in judgement?

She almost did it. She was a second away from lifting her chin when The Consequences reared their ugly head from a more rational region of her brain. On vacation in a foreign city was not a good place to gamble with romance. She and Hope still had one more night together here before they flew back home and if she were to lose this gamble it would end up being a very uncomfortable night for both of them. She wasn’t sure enough of Hope’s feelings to take that risk.

Her resolve crumbled to dust, her courage abandoning her. She raised her glass to her lips for want of some kind of outlet for her antsy energy and drank long from the flute. The champagne burned and bubbled on her tongue. It was no substitute for the thing she really wanted to taste but it served somewhat as a distraction.

Claire spent the rest of the cruise feeling restless and, dare she admit it even in the privacy of her own mind, somewhat horny. Being snuggled up against Hope like this, his scent in her nose and his warmth radiating into her she was keenly aware of him—of his maleness. She had stopped short of taking a man to bed in the past because she hadn’t felt ready to share that kind of intimacy with another person, but, as with many things, Hope was an adept at being an exception. Her body was sending clear signals that it would be plenty okay with taking him to bed.

Or, even better, letting him take her to bed. If being pressed up against him felt this nice, imagine him arched above her, covering her body with his larger, longer one as she was pushed down against soft sheets…

God, she was arsed. She really wanted this man. It was becoming a problem.

The cruise eventually ended and Claire couldn’t decide if she was happy about that or disappointed. Whatever the case, she knew that the memory of his warmth would follow her to bed tonight.

Chapter Text

On the morning of their departure, Claire and Hope enjoyed a cheerful brunch with Dr. Arnoul and his team before returning to the airport for their flight home. Claire distracted herself taking pictures to avoid fixating on Hope and how nice he looked in the white, yellow and blue anorak he’d chosen to wear this morning. The sporty look was dangerous on him.

Their pilot for the return flight wasn’t Sazh. Even as accustomed as Claire was to compounding coincidences, she would have been very surprised if it were. She said a silent farewell to Amsterdam as they boarded.

During the flight back, Hope’s colleagues chattered excitedly about the conference, discussing what they’d learned and how to apply it to their projects. Hope himself even chimed in a few times, surprising and delighting his fellows.

“You should spend more time with them,” she told him when he returned to his seat beside her. “They seem like good people, and they like you.”

Hope merely made a noncommittal noise as he buckled his seatbelt. They would be landing soon. “By the way,” he said, changing the subject. “Next Friday is the fireworks festival. I’ve been talking with Serah and we think the festival would be a good opportunity to get everyone together. There’s a chance that Sazh and Fang and Vanille will be there too. What do you think? I know it’s the day before your birthday…”

Claire considered this. It was the day before her birthday, but that had never stopped her from going in the past. In fact, there was a part of her that felt it in some ways fitting to have a reunion at the festival. According to Hope, a fireworks festival was where all their fates had initially converged in the old world. How poetic would it be for that to be the case for all of them in this world too.

“Talking to Serah behind my back now, hmm?” she remarked dryly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Hope smiled guiltily but there was a marked lack of remorse in his expression.

Claire closed her eyes and shook her head. “When did you become so sneaky, Hope? I raised you better than that.”

She felt the displacement of air against her face and opened her eyes to find Hope’s face right in front of hers. His eyes were bright and mischievous. “And just how did you raise me, Light?”

Claire’s cheeks heated at his proximity. He had to know what he was doing to her. There was no way he could be that oblivious, surely.

That aside, she was finding it difficult to come up with words with him so close. The emerald flecks in his irises were the only thing she could focus on.

The plane lurched as they hit a patch of turbulence. Hope was forced to throw out a hand to keep from colliding with her and at the same time Claire’s hands wound up on his chest from a similar attempt. They held this position for a protracted moment as the plane continued to shake until finally they exited the turbulence and the ride smoothed out again. The two of them looked at each other and laughed, and then Hope retreated back to his seat to avoid any more such incidents. The tarmac could be seen out the window now. They would be touching down any moment.

“Fireworks, right,” Claire said, bringing them back to the topic they’d been in the midst of. “Sounds like a plan.”

Hope sat back against the back of his seat and folded his hands over his lap. He nodded, wearing a pleased smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

In the days following their return, life went back to normal.

Mostly.

Claire posted photos from the trip for her followers, which garnered an influx or reactions, mentions and messages. She attended classes while her agent continued to negotiate with brands. She visited her parents’ house and shared details about the trip with her family, who were very curious to learn more about ‘this man’ she’d ‘been seeing’.

She also weathered her sister’s knowing looks and ‘offhand’ remarks about her relationship with Hope. And that was precisely where things hadn’t quite gone back to normal.

Her relationship with Hope had shifted, just a little, following the trip. Or rather, Claire thought it had. It might just be in her head, but she felt as though Hope’s treatment of her had changed. He acted… a little more forward?

Dare she say a little more flirty?

He didn’t go as far as dropping pick-up lines on her or overtly indicating that he was interested, but when they were together at his house he maintained a closer physical distance to her, often sitting beside her and joining her when she got up to make coffee or stretch her legs after a long period of sitting in front of her homework. He allowed her to rest her legs on his lap and even massaged her calves while she read on the couch.

Nothing he did tipped across the line of what could be considered friendly contact, but to Claire there was something not quite platonic in the way he smirked at her when he teased her or smiled softly when they sat together.

Or maybe she was losing her mind looking for signs of reciprocation to the feelings that had her in a chokehold. He’d said very clearly in Amsterdam that he didn’t date. That should be her answer, and yet she wasn’t ready to accept it. That mysterious smile he’d worn when she asked him if he’d had feelings for a girl before screamed that there was something he wasn’t telling her.

After a few days’ deliberation, she decided enough was enough. She had to know how he felt. It was driving her crazy.

On Tuesday, after classes were done for the day, she set out on her mission. Hope was sitting at his workbench when she arrived tinkering with something that she couldn’t identify. Whatever-it-was was carefully laid out in pieces on the tabletop and he looked as if he’d just begun to assemble it. He delicately held a long piece that looked like some kind of handle or hilt in one hand and was affixing another, smaller piece to it with a slender, fine-tipped screwdriver. He was just as stupidly attractive as he’d been the previous day.

Claire took some time to settle in, putting her bag down and exchanging the usual greetings with him. She made coffee and brought his mug over to the workbench to deliver it to him before propping herself against the shelf next to his table.

“So,” she said as he smiled gratefully at her and brought the cup to his lips. “When are you going to tell me about that girl you like?”

Hope faltered. His eyes rose to her and she could read confusion in them clearly. “The what?”

“The woman you have feelings for,” she reiterated, pegging him with a knowing look. “Or was it had?”

Hope continued to look confused for another moment as he apparently thought back to what she could be referring to. His eyes widened in realization. Setting the cup on the workbench, he slowly swiveled in his chair to properly face her and crossed one leg over the other. He laid one arm on the table and placed the other on his knee, giving her his full attention. “I don’t recall saying there was one?” He raised a silver brow at her.

Claire was ready for this deflection and was unfazed by it. “You didn’t answer my question,” she reminded him. “That tells me you have had feelings before, even though you said you don’t date. As your partner, I think I ought to be made aware of the competition.” She said this with a small smile to show that her statement was made in jest—at least halfway.

Hope regarded her with some surprise. He once again brought his cup to his mouth and this time he did take a sip before answering. “But since I don’t date,” he retorted, “what does it matter?” He looked genuinely curious as he watched her steadily over the rim of his mug.

Claire fought to keep a straight and unflushed face as she answered as casually as she could, “Because I was thinking that it would be fun to go on another date together sometime. Given you seem willing to make an exception for me.” She nonchalantly took a drink from her own mug and glanced across the room out the window just to convey how little this topic affected her. “But I wouldn’t want to butt in the way if there’s someone else you have your heart set on.”

Hope slowly lowered his mug and set it back on the table. The whole while, his eyes didn’t leave her. She could see the gears turning behind them as he attempted to interpret her statement, though she couldn’t get any kind of read on what he was thinking.

Suddenly, his eyes widened. Around the handle of his mug, his fingers tightened visibly. “I see what’s happening here,” he spoke abruptly, confusing Claire because she very much didn’t see whatever he was seeing. He exhaled a short sigh and smiled. Claire watched his head slowly shake from side to side. “Thank you, Light, but you don’t have to push yourself for my sake. Really, please don’t.”

Claire couldn’t have had less of a clue what he was talking about. She was sensing that the two of them were not on the same page. “You lost me,” she told him honestly. “What am I pushing myself to do?”

Now it was Hope’s turn to be confused. His look of understanding faded away and his eyebrows furrowed. “You…” he started as if to explain, but the rest of the sentence died on his tongue. Instead, he just said, “What?”

Somehow the awkwardness of their misunderstanding made it easier for Claire to throw her reservations to the wind and come out and say her feelings honestly. “I’m trying to say that I like you.” She said this slowly and clearly, almost as though she were talking to a child. That wasn’t her intention, but at least her point was relayed with zero room for misinterpretation.

The man sitting in the seat before her still managed to be baffled, as indicated by the way he stared at her for an uncomfortably long moment during which neither of them spoke. Finally, he opened his mouth and said, “I’m sorry?”

Claire stared back at him. Just what part of what she’d said did he manage to get confused by? She set her mug on the shelf and pushed off it to step forward and place a hand on his shoulder. She had to lean down over him to do so. “Please don’t make this more awkward for me,” she begged, looking straight into his eyes. “I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same way. If that’s the case, just tell me and we can pretend I didn’t say anything. Your friendship is more valuable to me than having my feelings returned.”

She could have gone on, but Hope silenced her by suddenly raising his hands and clasping her face between his palms. Claire blinked in surprise. Hope stared deeply into her eyes. “No, say that again,” he demanded, his brow still scrunched up in a frown.

Claire lowered her other hand to his opposite shoulder. “That I like you?”

Hope’s eyes fell closed and he exhaled. This close, she could feel his breath rustle her hair. When his eyes opened again, his face had relaxed out of its frown but his expression was still serious. “Are you sure?”

Claire would have shaken her head if his hands would’ve let her. This man was excruciatingly hard to confess to. She gripped his shoulders with firm fingers. “Is it really that hard to believe?” she questioned him incredulously. “We spend enough time together, and I don’t know if you’ve looked in a mirror lately but you’ve got looks enough that it shouldn’t be that surprising for a girl to show some interest.” She quirked a brow at him.

The pressure on her face eased somewhat as Hope released her enough to gently stroke her cheeks with his thumbs. The pads of his thumbs were soft and moved hesitantly as they traced slow, tender circles over her skin. Claire was glad he wasn’t wearing his gloves today. The feeling of his skin on hers set her body tingling in a very nice way.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m acting like an ass,” he admitted. “I don’t mean to. I just— this is hard for me.” He shook his head as if to clear it and added, “I didn’t think you felt that way.”

Claire was having a terrible time trying to interpret this response. The way he touched her was at odds with his words. Was he happy? Upset? Frustrated? Relieved? He needed to throw her a bone, here. “Is that a problem?” she asked, one eyebrow still raised.

Hope’s eyes widened and he quickly shook his head. “No,” he denied, and the word lifted some of the anxiety that had caused Claire’s heart to begin sinking in her chest. “I’m sorry. I’m mucking this up.” It was the third time now that he’d apologized to her and at this point Claire didn’t know if she should laugh or hit him.

“Yes, you are,” she agreed. “And I’m about to start tearing my hair out if you keep me in suspense. Do you or do you not accept my feelings?”

The feeling of Hope’s thumbs on her cheeks disappeared as his fingers moved up into her hair and then around to the back of her head. He pulled her head down to set his forehead against hers. She felt the warmth of his skin and the softness of his hair against her face. He closed his eyes. “Yes.” He breathed the word out like a sigh. His eyes opened and they stared into hers, overflowing now with affection. “Yes a hundred times over.”

That was more like it. Finally, something Claire could work with. Her back was beginning to protest from being arched over the chair and she took his reply as permission to be a little daring. She smoothly shifted forward and lowered herself onto his lap. Her hands slid from his shoulders to wrap around his neck. In response, Hope’s hands dropped from her head almost automatically to find purchase on her waist. She breathed deeply of his scent, wrapping herself in the comfort of his nearness. This was all she’d wanted. Being close to him felt like heaven.

After a few beats, she pulled back a little to better see Hope’s face. He looked happy but a little disoriented. She gave him an inquisitive look.

His hands tightened on her waist. The way he gripped her felt almost as if he were trying to ground himself. He smiled a little weakly and opened his mouth to speak. Claire sensed that he was about to apologize again and she unwrapped one arm from his neck to cover his mouth with her hand. “Don’t apologize. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Hope blinked slowly and nodded. Claire removed her hand from his mouth. “A little overwhelmed,” he admitted. “I wasn’t expecting this to happen today.”

Claire again arched a brow. “And just when were you expecting it to happen, then?” she joked to ease his tension.

Hope’s hands slid up her waist to her ribs, perhaps for want of something to do with them. “In my dreams?” He smiled that weak smile again and his hands continued to travel upward to clasp her back. He pulled her against him and held her there, his cheek pressed against her ear. “I’m thinking maybe that I’m dreaming right now.”

Claire wrapped both arms around him and held him. She felt his heartbeat against her chest and she had a feeling he could feel hers too.

“I spent centuries out of my mind for you,” he confessed in a soft voice. “You were always, always the only one for me. But I made peace with the fact that you would never see me in that way. Even now, I’m afraid that the only reason you’re saying you like me is because you don’t remember the old world.”

Claire stiffened. She pulled back to frown at him. “Did I tell you that I didn’t like you?” she asked. “Back in that world.”

Hope shook his head. “No, you never said anything. But you were busy with other matters and I was just some kid you knew back before the world went to shit. I chased after you because of my own obsession but you always kept your eyes front, fixed on your goal. There was no room in your heart for me.”

Claire listened to him until he was finished and then snorted. She furrowed both eyebrows and grabbed his face in her hands much the way he had done to her. “It sure sounds like you’re putting words in my mouth,” she told him plainly. “You can’t know for sure how a person feels if they don’t tell you. I might not remember the old world, but I know that you have a nasty habit of selling yourself short. And in any case, it doesn’t matter one bit how Lightning felt. I decide how I feel, and I know for damn sure how I feel about you.” She lowered her face to his until their noses touched, just an inch shy of making the contact she desired. She wanted him to be the one to bridge that final gap—to prove that he was genuine about wanting her back. She wouldn’t be satisfied unless he claimed her with the same possessive desire that she felt for him.

Their breaths mingled. Hope continued to hesitate, though his hands held her back securely. She could see her own desire reflected in his eyes but the expression he wore was apprehensive. Something was holding him back. More old world ghosts, she would bet her favorite bag. She wondered if whatever he was battling with was connected to his assertion that he “couldn't” date, as he’d put it at the restaurant in Amsterdam. It had been a peculiar choice of words which had piqued her curiosity at the time, though she’d chosen not to dwell on it.

Whatever was holding him back was something that he would obviously need to overcome for this to work. She wished she could help him, but there wasn’t much she could do as long as he remained tight-lipped about it. It pained her, but she would just have to be patient with him.

“There are no gods in this world,” he said in a slow, quiet voice, and it was unclear to Claire if he was talking to her or himself. “And you’ll still be here tomorrow, and the day after that… and the day after that.”

Claire snorted and smiled. “Obviously. We made plans to see the fireworks, didn’t we?”

Hope’s lips curved upward at the corners and his eyes crinkled. As always, her heart squeezed from sheer affection for this man whom she couldn’t help but treasure, ghosts and all. He released her back and raised his hands to cover hers where they gripped his cheeks. His fingers curled around hers and he gently pulled her hands away. For an alarming moment, Claire worried that he was rejecting her, but then he tilted his chin just a hair and closed the gap to press his lips tenderly to hers.

Claire’s heart did a flip in her chest. Her initial surprise quickly wore off and her eyes fluttered closed. The feel of his lips was warm and soft and made her shiver all over. Hope allowed her to free her hands from his grip so that she could grasp his shoulders. She held him firmly as she promptly kissed him back quite a bit more hungrily than his soft, tentative brushing of lips. Hope quickly adapted to match her vigor, one hand rising again to the back of her head to hold her close while the other returned to her back to coax her body into arching against him.

It was a wonderful kiss. After waiting for so long for it, Claire felt practically giddy as she drank him in to her heart’s content. Hope was nothing if not receptive, letting her set the pace and take the lead in the kiss he’d initiated. She wondered if he’d always been like this; dancing a dance with her where he sometimes took the lead, sometimes provided support. They worked well together, indisputably.

Months ago, Serah had spoken of soul mates. She had met Snow and claimed to know right away that he was the one for her. Claire’s road to accepting her connection to Hope had been far bumpier and fraught with uncertainty. She didn’t know if the universe had orchestrated the match between the two of them—didn’t know if she particularly subscribed to the idea of her soul having a predetermined partner—but the bond they shared had transcended worlds, and that sure as hell counted for something. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she utterly adored Hope and wanted to stay just like this with him for as long as she was able to. It seemed apparent enough that he wanted that as well.

She broke the kiss to press her lips to his cheek, then to his forehead. She was quickly developing a fancy for kissing him. Hope weathered her attention without complaint, closing his eyes and gently caressing her skin where his hands held her.

“I always knew you enjoyed hugs,” he remarked with humor in his voice when she pulled back again, “but I didn’t expect such a shower of affection from you.” He opened his eyes and set a light kiss on her nose in retaliation.

There was that familiar playfulness she loved. It seemed he’d regained his footing from his earlier unsureness. She paid him back with a playful smirk. “You were the one who told me to focus on living in this world as deeply and as full of love as I could,” she reminded him of the words he’d said to her at the Spring Gala. “As my partner, you should be prepared to bear some of that love.”

Hope’s smile stretched wide. “Nothing would make me happier.”

Claire nodded. She screwed her face into a serious expression and said, “Good.” Then she kissed him again.

She kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until finally she felt nearly satisfied.

.

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On the eve of her twenty-first birthday, Claire had looked up at a firework-spangled sky, bursting with colors and noise, and thought of another world.

That world had been a sad, broken place doomed by flawed Gods, and had met its end weeping the tears of a dead goddess. It had also been a beautiful world overflowing with love, joy, and hope; a world that had given birth to her and the people she cherished.

Now, on the eve of her twenty-second birthday, Claire looked up once again at a stunning, bursting sky. Somewhere nearby, she was sure that just like in that previous world, all her friends were looking up at the same sky. Soon, they would be reunited. She could feel it.

A warm hand alighted on her shoulder. Claire didn’t need to turn her head to know who it belonged to, but she did anyway. Hope stood beside her holding a decoratively wrapped square box.

“I know there’s still a few hours before your birthday, but I hope you won’t mind receiving your present now.” He smiled at her and his face was illuminated in pops of colorful light from the show happening above their heads. “I asked Serah what she thought I should get for you and you’ll never guess what she said.”

He handed the box to Claire.

Claire tested its weight in her hands and studied it curiously, wondering what her sister and Hope had concocted together. She looked back at Hope for permission to open the gift and he nodded. His eyes were twinkling with mirth.

Slowly, she pulled the ribbon apart and lifted the lid off the box. Hope took it from her so that she could pull aside the tissue paper within. Her eyes widened.

Resting inside, carefully laid upon a bed of velvet, was a survival knife. She recognized the gold-trimmed, black handle of the knife right away. It was precisely the handle Hope had been tinkering with at his bench the day she confronted him.

She gingerly lifted the knife from the box and Hope took that too. Using her left hand, she flipped the blade open and admired its craftsmanship.

Her first thought was, ‘How impractical.’ She had no need in her life for a rugged survival blade such as this, and yet, she couldn’t take her eyes off it. Her heart pounded in her chest. This knife…

While she stood, spellbound, staring at the gift, Hope had set the empty box on the ground. Now free of his burden, he placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Happy birthday.”

It was only when she looked up into Hope’s smiling eyes that she realized her face was wet.

Once upon a time, a little girl named Claire Farron lost her father in an accident.

When she was fifteen, she lost her mother as well, and was left to raise her younger sister all on her own.

In trying to save that sister, she destroyed the order of the world, the cradle of humanity, time itself, and finally God. It had all begun on a night lit with fireworks. A night that brought eight unlikely individuals together under the same sky and set the wheels of their destinies into motion.

But that was in another world.