Chapter Text
The hum of excited chatter filled Balamb Garden's grand halls, echoing off marble floors and towering columns. Sunlight streamed through the expansive windows, casting long shadows that danced across the polished surfaces as students and SeeDs hurried by. The usual military precision had given way to a joyful chaos—ladders leaned against walls, colorful banners fluttered from balconies, and the scent of fresh paint mingled with the aroma of sizzling food from half-assembled booths.
Squall Leonhart stood at the heart of this whirlwind, his leather jacket and distinctive lion pendant a stark contrast to the festive atmosphere. His brow furrowed as he consulted his clipboard, the weight of responsibility evident in his steel-blue eyes.
A young cadet, her uniform crisp despite the day's exertions, rushed up to him. "Commander Leonhart! We've run out of decorations for the central plaza. I've checked every storage room, but—"
"Selphie," Squall interjected, his voice low but clear. "She's handling supplies. Check the Quad; she might have extras there."
The cadet's face lit up. "Of course! Thank you, sir!" She snapped a salute before darting off, her boots echoing on the marble.
Squall's gaze followed her, then drifted to the transformed Garden around him. String lights twinkled like stars along the walkways, their glow softening the austere architecture. Game booths, half-assembled, promised laughter and friendly competition. For a moment, the weight on his shoulders lightened, and the corner of his mouth turned up—not quite a smile, but close.
"Well, well. Look who's embracing his inner party planner."
That drawling voice, etched in his memory through years of rivalry and conflict, pulled Squall from his reverie. He turned to see Seifer Almasy lounging against a nearby column, his grey trenchcoat a familiar sight amid the unfamiliar decorations.
"I didn't think festival prep was your style, Seifer," Squall replied, his tone neutral but lacking its usual edge.
Seifer pushed off the column, his movements fluid and confident. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises." He sauntered over, his smirk softening as he drew near. "They've got me on decoration duty. Figured I'd see how you're handling all this... merriment."
Squall raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought you'd be ditching your duties."
"Please," Seifer scoffed, but there was humor in his voice. "The main plaza's looking pretty good, if I do say so myself. My artistic talents were wasted on gunblades."
A snort escaped Squall—not quite a laugh, but the closest he'd come in a while. "Right. Well, since you're so talented, you can help me check on the stage setup."
They fell into step together, an unlikely pair amid the bustling preparations. Students did double-takes as they passed, unused to seeing the legendary rivals without weapons drawn. Their reactions didn't go unnoticed by Seifer.
"Look at their faces," he murmured, amusement coloring his tone. "You'd think we were dancing together, not just walking."
Squall shook his head, but the tension in his shoulders eased. "Give them time. They'll get used to it."
As they neared the main plaza, the sound of bickering reached their ears.
"Zell, I swear by Shiva's Frigid Thighs—you best put those down!" Selphie's voice, usually so bubbly, was sharp with exasperation.
They rounded the corner to find Zell Dincht, his spiked hair and face tattoo unmistakable, juggling two small rockets over a crate of fireworks. His audience was a less-than-impressed Selphie Tilmitt, her yellow dress a bright spot against the plaza's stonework.
"C'mon, Selphie! Live a little! I am practically a juggling expert. I should go on the road," Zell protested, his deft movements belying his words.
"Yeah, and how many times did you almost blow up your mom's house?" Selphie retorted, hands on her hips.
Seifer barked out a laugh. "Some things never change, eh, Chicken-Wuss?"
Zell fumbled, nearly dropping the rockets. "S-Seifer?! And... Squall?" His eyes darted between them, confusion warring with old instincts.
Squall gave Zell a stern look, but there was no real anger behind it. “Just be careful. We don’t need any accidents before the festival.”
The martial artist's shoulders slumped. He carefully placed the rockets back in the crate, then rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah... sorry, Squall. Old habits, y'know?"
Squall nodded, then turned his focus to the plaza's centerpiece. A grand stage rose before them, its scaffolding a web of metal against the sky. SeeDs and students swarmed over it, hanging lights, testing speakers, and arranging seating. The sight was impressive, even half-finished.
Seifer whistled low. "You're not doing this by halves, are you?"
"It's important," Squall replied, his gaze distant. In his mind's eye, he saw the stage not as it was, but as it would be—alive with music, laughter, unity. "After Ultimecia, after everything... we need this. To remember what we fought for."
Seifer fell silent, his blue-green eyes losing their usual sharpness. When he spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically soft. "You've changed, Leonhart. We were always fighting each other. Now you're fighting for... this." He gestured at the festival preparations, the mingling of SeeDs and students, the shared laughter.
Squall turned to him, really looking at his old rival. Gone was the arrogance that had once defined Seifer, replaced by something more contemplative. They had both walked through fire—Squall to save the world, Seifer to find his way back to it.
"Maybe we all have," Squall said quietly. His hand unconsciously touched his lion pendant, a symbol of strength and solitude. But here, amid the warmth and bustle of the festival preparations, that solitude felt like a choice, not a necessity.
Seifer grinned, a flash of his old self returning. "Don't get too sentimental on me. We've still got a festival to set up, Commander." He emphasized the title, but without mockery—a rare show of respect.
"Then let's get to work," Squall replied, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
As they moved through the plaza, directing, adjusting, occasionally even laughing at a student's joke, something shifted between them. The Garden, once a backdrop for their fierce rivalry, now cradled a different kind of energy—one of growth, understanding, perhaps even friendship.