Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sidewalk and street gleamed as dusty mirrors beneath the unrelenting shine of the midday summer sun. Long, angular shadows eclipsed car and crowd alike, cast from towering buildings of steel and glass, shimmering jewels in the desert’s crown city of Ran’dellah. A bus like any other weaved slowly about the ebb of traffic, surrounded by the clamor of eager speech and step. Whether by tire or foot, all sped forth to the soon to be filled convention hall, grains of sand into the waiting hourglass.

Upon worn leather within that very bus, its plastic walls the palpable barrier to her ever felt solicitude, sat Jill. Shoulders hunched and silver veiled, she tapped away at her phone, safe and wholly separate from the morass of visitors outside the dirty window. Cool grey eyes darted to and fro, reading and rereading the sparse blurb about her ticket email, thumb lingering at the tiny cartoon Minfilia solemnly gesturing at the convention logo. Wake the Sands 2024: two days of panels, cosplay, games, and music! Featuring special guest Cid Telamon from the upcoming Final Fantasy XVI! Pray join the largest gathering of FF fans in all of Valisthea! An even smaller Tataru bore a wink and wide smile beneath what Jill had now certainly full memorized.

She felt the slightest curl at the corners of her own lips, only to fade quickly as she closed her email, swiping and scrolling from feed to feed. Despite finally having a new game on the imminent horizon, it seemed that nothing could inhibit the endless rhetoric of fan pessimism. She rolled her eyes at some, breathed a soft laugh through her nose at others, and closed the whole before pointless anger could rise the greater in her blood.

As she most often did, she instead sought solace in Discord, checking her mentions before flipping over to see to her friends. There was nothing new, but she still found comfort rereading their previous messages; all encouraging, all loving. Day after day she trudged about her tedious job before heading home, alone and unnoticed. Here, she had companionship, if only through a screen. Here, she was seen and supported.

And it was only through the support of one person in particular that she had finally found the will to attend her first convention. A person she had never seen nor heard, but whose near daily messages gifted to her something like hope: Stellar_Ifrit. Just seeing his little profile picture, aflame with the classic summon, brought a frankly perplexing level of comfort. She skimmed through their many conversations, each bringing a passing twinge to her chest with their genuine concern and undisguised sweetness.

Stellar_Ifrit: hey i saw you seemed down earlier. i hope everything is ok and im always here if you need to talk

…

Stellar_Ifrit: i saw the wip you posted and i just want to say i thought it was really beautiful. it made me feel a lot of things and you should be proud of it

…

Stellar_Ifrit: i know work sucks but i hope you have a great day today ♥️

Almost all were accompanied by her own words, or should she say, the words of Lunarshiva. She liked Lunarshiva’s words. Her words were honest. Her words were bereft of anxiety or fear. She bit her lip. Her words were often even flirty. 

There was a slight heat upon her cheeks, perhaps from the sun streaking harshly through the window.

The softest nudge at her ribs brought the still painful reminder that here, she was only Jill.

“That ticket’s not going anywhere, you know.” She turned from her reverie to see Tarja, arms crossed and bearing a slight smirk. “Constantly checking won’t change that.”

“I know…” She breathed out a small laugh as her gaze narrowed at the sight of her roommate and Jill’s best friend. Tarja was done up in full cosplay, something for which she had tried and failed to get Jill to join in. They were somewhat the mismatched pair in this and most other regards, Jill hunched just so with her features hidden in argent curtain, dressed modestly in jeans and a t-shirt. And Tarja, confidently sporting the rather revealing regalia of one Tifa Lockhart.

“As usual, you’re missing what’s around you.” Tarja gestured towards the sundrenched glass, the crowds grown thicker still as they drew closer to the convention hall. “There’s a whole world out there, Jill.”

Jill shook her head as her view swept back over the interior of the bus, making note of a pair of men a few seats ahead whispering as they clearly ogled her companion. “What a world, indeed.” She nodded in their direction.

“Hey!” Tarja's brow lowered to narrowing squint, and not it seemed from the still reflectant saffron glare.

Jill found her own smirk now forming as she watched a touch of panic play across the men's features, clearly taken aback by Tifa’s directness.

“Yes, you.” She brushed away a stray strand from her raven wig as the men seemed wont to pretend as if she were speaking to literally anyone else. “I see you seem quite interested in my friend, here.” She nodded at Jill with a nigh imperceptible curl of the lip.

Her own smile was swift to fade to blush and burgeoning horror. “Tarja, what—”

“So sorry, boys. But I’m afraid she’s taken.”

Jill couldn’t spy a trace of contrition in her verdant gaze, blue irises bathed in golden glow. And no such green either could be seen about men's affects, chagrin rather than envy plain as they turned away, whispering in red.

“Have a nice trip!” She waved playfully with fingerless glove.

Jill shook her head as their eyes met anew, her own emotions a curious blend of anxieties.

“What?” Tarja looked as if there was no question in existence for which she did not know the answer.

“What’s gotten into you?” She endeavored as best she could to maintain a stern glare, biting her lip to near injury.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Tarja chuckled. “Maybe it’s the costume?” She readjusted a half-sleeve just so. “I swear, just wearing it makes me feel…I don’t know? Stronger? You’re really missing out.”

“Uh huh.” Jill rolled her eyes, unbidden laughter at the edge of her lips. “Why Tifa, anyway?”

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t Aerith suit you better?” Jill paused for a moment to take in Tarja’s comically raised eyebrow. “I mean, you’re both healers—”

“Healers?” Tarja scoffed, the elderly woman across the aisle grunting just as derisive at the doctor’s raised voice. “Did she spend four years in medical school and then slave away in residency? I must have missed that part.” She recrossed her arms. “Maybe if I’d been born of some special bloodline, I could have instead spent my youth planting flowers.”

“Your youth?” Jill snickered. “You’re only—”

“Tifa.” Tarja ignored Jill’s interjection. “No, you see Tifa, she’s a self-made woman. Built herself up from nothing. Started a business in a rough part of town. I’m definitely more of a Tifa.”

“Tarja, you’re a doctor. We live in a nice neighborhood—”

“Well, there’s no Mako or monsters, true.” She nodded as if these were actually important facts that needed to be set straight, counting from finger to finger.

Jill smiled wider still. This was the dynamic they had always had. Arguing just to argue, serious and yet unserious.

“But there’s the smog. And don’t forget the neighbors.” She shuddered. “Point is, she had to work for everything she got.” Tarja flexed playfully, and Jill found herself feeling just a touch warmer at the sight of her exposed abdomen.

Leaning back in her seat with a soft sigh, the warmth of memory brought only suppressed laughter. Tarja may talk a big game, but she knew full well that her roommate had both Tifa and Aerith figures on her shelf. And that she had on more than one occasion caught her making them hold hands when she didn’t think Jill was looking.

“You know, we wouldn’t have had to deal with that,” Tarja gestured towards the now stiff-seated men, the two seemingly afraid to risk another glance back, “if we had just taken an Uber—”

“Surely Tifa would support public transportation?” Jill smirked, recalling how they had argued about how to get to the convention hall for nearly an hour upon waking. “It’s much better for the environment…”

Tarja nigh on snorted as she smoothed out her skirt.

“What’s so funny?”

“Jill, how much of your rather limited spare time have you spent at the animal shelter this month?”

“Well, things are tough over there…” Her thoughts drifted unbidden from simple comforts, of being surrounded by curious puppy and kitten, to more distant memories, still.

To being the much younger dreamer, face full alight, strained from over-smiling. Gaze wide at her foster mother bringing home a little ball of grey fluff, selfsame eyes brimming with a knowing kindness.

“They’re quite understaffed. Everyone is so stressed—”

“And you’re not?” Tarja shook her head, though her soft smile did not abate. “Speaking of, how much of your last paycheck did you donate to…what was it this time? That climate study?”

“Oh, they do really important work!” Jill could practically feel that echo of youth about her cheeks. “The North is rapidly warming, frost wolf habitats are disappearing, the coasts are—”

Tarja gently placed a gloved hand upon her forearm. “Believe me, I know.” She laughed lightly, eyes softening. “Always trying to save the world.”

Jill looked low, silver to cloak about her returning sheepishness. Somewhere, in most wistful echo, the image of a slightly older heroine aspirant, with a more than slightly larger mass of fluff at her side flickered, ephemeral. A girl with a plastic controller held tight, in flight of fancy. A fancy where she could be someone who could change the world. Where she could be strong. Where she wasn’t alone.

She cleared her throat. “Why did you tell those guys I was ‘taken’, anyway? You know that they were staring at you.”

“I don’t know, I just assumed…” Tarja looked as if she were about to tease but decided against it. “It’s just that you are always messaging that guy. I thought maybe it was becoming a kind of long distance thing.”

“What?” Jill straightened upright in her seat, the swiftness of such bringing a returning huff of laughter to her companion. “We’re just friends—”

“Uh huh.” Tarja could no longer maintain even a play at nonchalance, smirk again in full display.

“It’s true!” Jill got out her phone and started flipping through Discord, her hand with the slightest of shakes. “I’ve never even seen his face, heard his voice…”

“So, is he coming today?” Her chin was at Jill’s shoulder as she watched her scroll.

“Well—” Jill swallowed. “I don’t know, we talked about it, but then there was this thing with his family, and this all just sort of happened, and I didn’t want to bother him, and—”

Tarja chuckled as she squeezed gently at Jill’s other shoulder. “Take a breath.”

“Right.” Jill found laughter spilling free unthinkingly, something for which Tarja was ever there to provoke. “Sorry.”

She scrolled for a bit longer still, rereading more of Stellar_Ifrit’s previous messages. It was frankly absurd how close she felt to this person whom she knew only through text, how certain she was that he was a true friend. How certain she yearned for something more.

“You know, it’s different.”

“What?”

“The way that you look when you’re reading that.” Tarja released her hold. “It’s like…you are more you, or something. It’s hard to explain.” She brushed a bit of stray silver from out of Jill’s eyes. “I like it.”

“I…” She didn’t know how to respond, only that when she full lifted her gaze, she felt grateful. Beyond the bounds of her once more dimming phone, Tarja was one of her only two real friends. And the only one that didn’t wake her up with howls when the moon was particularly luminous.

“But you know…” Tarja gestured once more to the growing crowds beyond the window, the bus certainly coming closer to the convention hall. “That’s no excuse to not live in the real world. At least for a bit.”

Jill nodded and smiled slightly as she joined her in gazing along the horizon, her emotions a strange mix. Every step of the passing mass of fans brought a quickening to her heart, a burgeoning anxiety at the prospect of being surrounded by so many people. But there was also something else, something like longing—a deepest want to only be amongst the many. For once to be a part of the crowd, to be unafraid to be herself.

Every day she knew the comfort of a life without risks, the safety of routine. Every night she dreamed of doing more. Of being close to someone.

She held to her phone as she continued to observe, streaks of sun shifting as the bus rounded a final corner. In the aged window did she catch a glimpse of slate eyes staring back, even in passing the longing full present. She squeezed her phone tighter.

Somewhere, in the television’s soft glow, the eyes of a young girl had yearned to save the world, controller in hand.

In a nondescript room of white worn walls and frayed greying carpet, a group of onlookers gathered close. Huddled and aglow about a large monitor, and with no shortage of colorful costumes, it was as if they were the very party of adventurers in a game bereft of finished background. They traded words and smiles, watching with delight as one amongst their number, a young boy with eyes focused, held tight to plastic controller. Upon the screen a great battle played out, and all in the room seemed to radiate warmth.

Outside the room and beyond its long glass windows, the pedestrian hallway rife with passing pedestrians emanated only detachment. And separate still from its quick stepping crowd did two men stand, beyond the transparent barrier. Watching.

“Damn! Come on, kid! You’ve got to keep the pressure up!” Clive had originally stopped to watch in only momentary curiosity. Yet he now stood close enough to the window to see even azure eyes, enamored in reflection.

A quiet scoff came from behind, less so enamored. And he needn't turn to know eyes of green yet rolled.

“What?”

“Don’t ye think yer takin’ this just a bit too seriously like—”

“It’s the Chocobo Eater fight, Gav!” Clive found himself with both hands palmed to glass as he focused more intently at the game upon the monitor: Final Fantasy X. So many times had he been in that boy’s position that he needn’t be near a speaker to hear the battle music play out in his head.

“The what…?”

“You’ve got to keep up the offensive, keep pushing it back…” For a passing moment the feeling of being that boy flickered in his mind’s eye, as like the humming and oscillating light of a secondhand screen. 

“Keep pushing it, Clive! You’ve almost got it!” The strawberry haired boy sputtered between coughs.  

“…otherwise, it will push your party back and send you falling off the cliff.” He felt a strange twinge in his chest, fingers risen to graze at his scarred cheek.

“Fascinatin’.” Gav nodded apologetically to a few perturbed passerby, their steps hurried at what must seem Clive's odd enthusiasm.

“No, not that, you need piercing weapons!” Clive backed up slightly as his breath ghosted at glass. “Get Auron in there, you’ve got to swap characters—”

“Clive, could we, uh, get goin’ maybe?” Gav placed a hand at his shoulder. “The panel’s startin’ soon and—”

“Gav,” Clive briefly turned towards his friend, having completely forgotten that he had donned full Cloud cosplay, “you have to swap characters, everybody knows that. It’s one of the most important strategies in Ten.”

“Clive, I don’t think that kid is even ten years old.” Gav rubbed at his temples and brushed a stray blonde spike away from his increasingly creased forehead.

“Oh good, he’s swapping in…Yuna? Well, I guess that could work. We just need to summon Ifrit and…” He watched as the boy cycled through the battle menus, thinking about how Ifrit had always been his favorite. There was something about the infernal eikon that had just always spoke to him, regardless of its place as one of the weaker summons in the series.

Lunarshiva: oooh I like your new avatar!!! that’s one of the best ifrits i’ve ever seen lol

Stellar_Ifrit: yeah im pretty happy with it

Lunarshiva: where did u find it btw?

Stellar_Ifrit: i actually drew it myself

Lunarshiva: what???? thats amazing!!! u are incredibly talented 😍

Stellar_Ifrit: i know its not like professional or anything wait what

Lunarshiva: its so good! we should collaborate on something 😘

Stellar_Ifrit: what like art for your fics? lol i dont think its that good is it

Lunarshiva: yesss!!! and it is! tbh every time ur message pops up im like wow ur cute

He swallowed as his gaze refocused upon the window mere inches from his nose, the scarred visage he now beheld revealing full the limit of what she had mistakenly referred to as cute. Still, even in waking reverie was it sometimes difficult not to play the dreamer—

“Is that yer bloody Ifrit, then?” Gav gestured in reflection, bringing an end to the secret pleasure of daydreams.

“What…I…” Clive cleared his throat as he returned to watching this curiously familiar and foolish child. “No, that’s Valefor…wait, Gav, how is it possible that you don’t know Ifrit?"

"Well, y'know—"

"You do realize this is a Final Fantasy convention, right?”

“I, uh—” Gav mimicked his own throat clearing. “What does it matter, anyhow?”

“The Chocobo Eater is weak to fire.” He spoke these words as if they were the most commonly held knowledge in all of Valisthea.

“And that’s…good?”

“It’s weak to fire and Ifrit is fire.” He sighed as Gav continued to look befuddled. “Fire, Gav!”

“Right, of course!” He mockingly pressed his palm to his forehead. “Tell ye what, Clive. Why don’t we actually go in there and ye can yell and scream about fire all ye want to a room of parents and children?”

He ignored Gav’s jeering, watching with a passing sadness as the inevitable played out. The boss knocked the party clear from the top of the cliff, the boy looking to the ceiling in palpable frustration, his unheard sigh as like a ghost beyond the veil of glass. And in memory thought forgotten there was another cough, a woman’s unceasing insults, a boy keeping his frustration hidden as best he could as he watched his party fall—

Again did his gaze linger at reflection and scar. Ghosts.

“Wait, so he didn’t even lose the game?” Gav pointed at the screen as the boy checked the menu before maneuvering around the ravine. “It just keeps going? He didn’t even die? What’s the big deal, then?”

“You don’t get it, Gav. There are very important items you only get if you push it off the cliff. Not the other way around.”

“It looks like he’s doin’ just fine, Clive.” He shrugged.

Just as Clive opened his mouth to respond, to tell his foolish friend that he had no clue what he was talking about, that he didn’t even know what Ifrit was, that he looked ridiculous with that spiked wig, that they shouldn’t even have come in the first place—

Another voice filled the silence, and somehow he knew that there was no place he’d rather be.

“Looks like somebody fell off the cliff.”

The two turned to see what seemed their perplexing mirror. A pair of women, one dressed casually, the other in full cosplay. One eyeing the gameroom with piqued interest, the other peeking about for literally anything else potentially interesting.

As Clive gazed full upon the more mundanely dressed of the pair, he realized that this was where his mirror lie cracked, bereft of even passing similarity.

And that mundanity could not be a more inaccurate descriptor.

Eyes of shimmering stone met his own, and he could only hope to remember to breathe.

“I, uh…” He suddenly found his lips incompatible with basic speech. “That’s right, um…”

She brushed stray silver strands behind her ear, and his fingers twitched at his side. She smiled gently, and the magic of rudimentary words rekindled at the tip of his tongue.

“He did!” Clive found his voice a touch louder than he intended, a couple passing attendees eyeing him yet again strangely.

She smiled just the slightest bit wider, and he no longer cared.

“Did he use Auron?” She was glancing back and forth from the screen to what he hoped was a not too desperate expression.

“He didn’t!”

“Did he use Ifrit?”

“No!”

“It’s weak to fire.”

“That’s what I said!” Clive turned briefly to Gav, who looked utterly bemused, his own peering in concert with the woman dressed as Tifa.

“He’s going to miss all the rewards!” She was shaking her head, and he found himself somewhat distracted from the way her silver caught the light.

“I know—”

“What is happenin’…” Gav seemed halfway between laughing and leaving.

The other woman was difficult to read, but she appeared oddly satisfied at watching the sudden familiarity between her friend and Clive. “Nice cosplay.” She spoke with utter directness as she turned to Gav, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

“I’m Cloud!” He blurted out with what could only be described as the affect of a child in a school play.

Clive’s heart skipped a beat as he shared a swift smile with lips curled to cheeks caught in silver frame.

“Yes. I can see that.” She was already looking around the corridor, seemingly having lost interest in whatever else Gav had to say.

“Er, what I mean is…” Clive fought to stifle the onset of laughter as he watched him stand up straighter. He could swear that Gav was flexing his exposed arms at least a little. “It’s just that, yer Tifa…and I’m Cloud, and well…”

Tifa appeared utterly unconcerned with being the cosplay counterpart, her gaze looking to be swayed by something or someone else. Clive couldn’t be sure, but she seemed more interested in a particular Oerba Yun Fang cosplayer than the Cloud standing in front of her.

“So, uh, I was thinkin’…” Gav was definitely flexing now, his chest partially puffed. “How’s about you and me—”

“I’ve got to go.” Tifa was nodding at Fang, he was certain now. “But it’s really very impressive that the two of you,” she gestured at her casually dressed friend and Clive both, “know more about a game from over twenty years ago than a small child. Why not talk about it some more?” She winked at her now blushing friend. “Maybe actually even introduce yourselves?” She snickered softly to herself as she traipsed away, Gav turning to follow.

“Hey, wait up, I…”

Clive found himself quickly losing track of what thoughts he had been able to wrestle free of his mind’s tangled mess of anxiety and nerves, Gav’s ridiculous wig disappearing into the crowd about all he had space for. “Sorry about my friend, he’s uh—”

“She wouldn’t be interested even if he were actually Cloud, trust me.” She laughed lightly, and he could feel his chest alike come to lighten.

“I uh…sort of thought so.” He couldn’t hold back a widening grin as he turned full to meet her gaze, the lightness now coming to more of a drum. “Anyway, he’s a good guy. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, she can more than take care of herself, believe me.” Her delicate grey eyes darted about with palpable anxiousness, and he knew his own to be the mirror as realization began to set in.

They had nothing else to talk about.

Time passed in what felt both ephemeral and unending, and he was once more as the ghost. His every thought was a desperate hand, clinging. Clinging to whatever scrap of essence yet remained in silver shroud. Words had failed him, and yet—

Still standing plain was a girl more beauteous than any he would ever dare approach.

He endeavored as best as he was able to first find his breath, anxiety flowing full from quickened heart to tingling fingers. He swallowed thick, reaching up to attempt a smooth swipe at the onset of sweat at his temple, fingers lingering for an unthinking moment at his scarred cheek. He knew he spied a light twitch at the corner of her eye and then selfsame cheek, and he knew she was undoubtedly disgusted by his deformity, repulsed by his unkempt hair, his scruffy jaw–

Lower your hands. Stop touching it. If he wasn’t such a fool, perhaps they could have carried on a bit longer without her full notice. Spent just a precious moment more as someone other than the guy with the scar. 

As if it would matter. She was still here, still radiant even in her simple clothes. And eventually, she would find out. Everyone always finds out.

Shaking just a little as he watched her eye him with something he dared not hope to be even friendly curiosity, his fist clenched and unclenched, struggling to find just what he should be doing with his hands. Pocket. No, not the pocket. Okay, maybe pocket is good. No—

When at last he had pulled his hand free, he brought with it the old out: his phone. Glancing up at her and back down as the screen came to light, he found that he had no messages, which came as little surprise since Gav was in the same building. He thought about pretending to type out a text, but instead decided to make a quick check of Discord as he caught glimpse of her looking around the hall. She was seemingly fifty-fifty on whether she should just walk away. And he was likewise split as such. Part of him prayed she would just go without a further word, calming breath to come in merciful return to his belabored lungs.

The rest yearned for nothing more than the sweet air of her company.

Taking a quick pass through his mentions, his thumb settled on the avatar of one Lunarshiva. There was nothing new; she had been giving him space for the last few days after he had explained the latest mistreatment suffered at the hands of his loving mother. He didn’t know why he always sought isolation in these situations, since it was her messages that often gave him the strength to get through days both good and bad. Truly, he wished for nothing more than to talk to her right now, for her to tell him that he was doing okay, that everything was going to be alright.

But although they had talked about attending, he doubted she was anywhere close.

One last touch at that little circular Shiva, and he flipped off his phone, daring to raise his gaze anew. In the glow of fluorescent bulbs and framed by pale white walls, her silver hair bore curious shimmer. Whether by trick of light or heart, he could almost believe her to be of ice.

“So.” Words returned, though he still felt as though his tongue was not made for his mouth. “Um…”

“Yes?” She looked up at him, and his heartbeat thrummed full.

She's still here. She hasn't left.

“Sorry, I, uh…” He swallowed. “Don’t usually talk to people so…”

Beautiful.

“Is this your first time?” She again brushed some of those silvery strands behind her ear.

He felt lightheaded. “No, I talk to people all the time.”

She chuckled. “I meant your first time at the con.”

“Oh!” Sweat once more tingled at his forehead, heat emanant entire. Never before had he felt so alike his favorite summon. Aflame. “Yes. It’s just—” He cleared his throat. “You’re so…interesting…and, I’m so…um—”

“Really?” She tilted her head just so, argent curtain dancing over porcelain skin. “I never…I don’t think that I am…” She bit her lip. “Did I say anything interesting?”

“It’s just, like, uh, what you were saying earlier, you know…” He searched aimlessly for something to say, self loathing as ever daring to dominate his aught. “Uh…about Final Fantasy? Yeah.”

“This is a Final Fantasy fan convention.” Her utter directness brought to him the strangest of smiles, unconcerned to play the fool.

“I, uh—”

“Not much reason to talk to me.” Her gaze lowered sheepishly, and realization dawned swift to his painfully slow brain. 

She thinks she’s unworthy to talk to me. She thinks she’s the one that’s not good enough.

She gestured about the thinning hallway, most having made their way to the main panel. “You could talk to literally anyone else—”

“I don’t want to talk to them.” He blurted out unthinkingly, the warmth at his skin now nigh on unbearable. “I mean, uh…” He reflexively reached back into his pockets, finger and thumb grazing over his phone. 

Her eyes softened, and he found his courage.

“I’m Clive.” He pulled a hand free, offering it to her with a steadiness he had scarcely known.

“Jill.” She took it firmly, and he fought full against worrying over the obvious sweat at his palm. “It’s nice to meet you, Clive.”

“Jill.” He tested her name at his lips, ease mirrored in her eyes. “What I wanted to say was that,” he found his breath, “I’m about to go to the XVI panel and seeing how my friend saw fit to abandon me, I was hoping—that is—it would be nice if—”

“We could go together.” Color filled her cheeks as her gaze widened. “I mean, it wouldn’t be right to leave you here. The damsel. All alone.”

“Yes, thank you for saving me.” Somewhere, deep down, he knew his words to be only half the joke. He smiled wider, and for once he felt as though that was okay. That he was okay. He needn’t hide his inner feeling as he often endeavored to keep hidden scarred flesh. He needn’t be unhappy—

“Clive?”

“Yes?” He tried to not sound too pleased at the way her voice sounded speaking his name.

“You’re still holding my hand.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry—” He released her immediately, mortified that he had even deigned to dream for more than he deserved.

“It’s okay.” He could swear that she had squeezed just so before they parted, but he feared to even entertain the possibility.

She flexed her hand and fingers gently at her side, and the meager part of him not ruled by fear wanted nothing more than to take hold anew.

“Jill?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” The slightest makings of a grin traced from gentle gaze to tugging lip.

“I…” For sticking around no matter how awkward I am? For not recoiling at my touch? For not treating me like a scarred weirdo? He took a deep breath, his many lingering anxieties grappling back and forth, dragging him deeper and deeper into that most familiar void—

“Clive?” She smiled full, and shadow gave way for naught but silver. “Let’s go.”

Jill followed as Clive shuffled and weaved about the remaining stragglers making their way into the main hall, her eyes scarcely leaving her feet. She was grateful that most of the erstwhile crowd had already taken seat within; every breath the sharper rise whenever those cosplaying and casual alike crowded full at the bounds of sense. Each step a dance in anxious dark.

Sweat threatened at her brow as thoughts blackened with every shadowed pace, only to dare flicker upon her newfound companion's mere backwards glance. Beckoning. Alight.

And in the soothing ebb of that azure gaze did she find her heart quicken, still.

Stepping through the double doors at last, they paused just inside, the great many folding seats mostly already occupied by overexcited patrons. The room was vast, much larger in person than what she had expected from the videos upon videos she had studied of previous panels. And even here did she find her gaze drawn swift to screen anew, a massive display above the stage cycling through promotional footage, light aglow upon faces nigh kindled. It seemed to be playing a montage of Cid and his many previous roles, and each iteration drew both cheer and jeer alike from segments of the restless crowd. Jill in particular couldn’t suppress a huff of laughter at the silly mustache of Cid Fabool, or the stylish hair of Cid Raines, magnified in full. Here, what seemed even the silliest image could bear the strangest majesty.

“There.” Clive pointed at his Cloud-costumed friend, metallic glove shimmering as he too waved them onward. Along the way to the hall, Clive had told her about how this man, Gav, had been his best friend for years. And how he had pushed for them to attend, how had even tried to get Clive to cosplay, too. She couldn’t help but be reminded of Tarja as he spoke, wondering where her friend now sat amongst the ever charged crowd. Every pace felt the parlous pulse as they made their way closer to the oddly jovial SOLDIER First Class. Electric.

They shimmied into the aisle as Gav withdrew his prop sword from the seats he had saved for them, his stern expression betraying a sense of absurd ceremony as he gripped tight to hilt. She exchanged a swift smile with Clive, the two shaking their heads as their attentions were taken once more by the luminous attendees, more than a few voices risen near to shout somewhere about the front. Her grin returned in full as Tifa caught her eye just a few rows ahead, bantering excitedly with the Fang from earlier. Tarja never was one to waste time.

Turning back to the aisle, misgiving quick took the place of mirth. She nearly fell over as she walked right into Clive, standing firm, gaze oddly grim at the pair of seats.

“Sorry!” She felt heat at stiffening cheeks, unconscious smile to abate anxious thoughts.

“No, it’s my fault, I, uh…” Azure flowed rapid from floor to ceiling, his throat clenching in what seemed the overreaction from simple clumsiness. “Would you mind if…”

He took a closer step and then back, every motion full awkward. It seemed as though he wanted to pass back around her.

“Oh!” He must want to sit by his friend. She attempted to maneuver to the side, nearly tripping over outstretched legs as the light went low.

“Down in front!” There was an impatient hiss a row behind as his hand briefly brushed at her elbow. 

With visibility and patience diminished, they resigned themselves to their original seats. An overly defeated sigh was just audible as he slumped alongside. 

She eyed him curiously as the room was illuminated now by only the massive monitor, company logos playing in sequence. He rested his elbow as his hand rose to his cheek, denying any closer inspection. Just trembling fingers flexed and unflexed, and it was almost as if he were trying to keep his left side shadowed—

The crowd clamored with eager whispers as speakers kicked on, the familiar melody of the Prelude playing out note by note. The screen went black. Drums. Fire.

The camera pulled back to show what was undoubtedly the protagonist of this new series entry. A young man, scruffy, yet handsome. Melancholic, yet still with an air of heroism. A mark upon his cheek which did little to distract from his soft sea eyes.

Jill wanted only to know him better. A part of her felt like she already did.

She made quick glance at her right, Clive still with a fist at his cheek. There was a strange allure to his gaze, images of flame dancing across illuminated eyes. He shifted slightly, fingers drawing slowly over stubble and scar.

“You all know the target: Shiva’s dominant.”

Her attention was immediately drawn back to the screen at mention of the Lady of Frost; always had she held the strongest affinity for the ice element summon. She felt just a bit hot at the mention of ‘dominant’, blush blessedly hidden by the darkened surroundings. To this, she could never claim connection.

The raven haired man touched at his cheek. Clive audibly stirred at her side.

Utter giddiness swept the crowd as Titan appeared, imposing and impossibly huge, more the mountain than man. Hushed cheers became less so as he was confronted by Shiva herself, ice crystals forming about elegant hand. All around Jill were there electric murmurings and fingers pointing. Her face hurt from smiling.

The scene changed abruptly with a man being crushed by a stray boulder, laughter alight from aught in the dark. This was followed by what seemed a flashback featuring younger characters, and to the awwing of many, a small pup. For the briefest moment, Jill’s thoughts were overtaken by the image of a strangely similar pup, looking up at teary eyes of grey, tireless yips bringing the sweetest comfort—

Again there was a creak to her right, and waking eyes were drawn to Clive shifting in his seat. There was an intensity now in his selfsame gaze, azure narrowing, brow furrowed.

Jill looked back to the screen, and a young boy coughed beneath his mother’s reproach. The seat creaked again.

She glanced from new characters back to her newfound companion, fingers delicate at scarred flesh. In blue eyes caught by flickering light, she could swear that a trace of moisture flickered, too.

For a lingering moment, despite the clang of clashing steel, the banging of drums, the soaring of strings—she merely remained sentinel to some unspoken pain.

Finally drawing back to the screen, she saw a final montage play out; what were likely the key characters of this tale flashing by one after the other. All seemed to be linked to a summon, and all were given a brief focus. Her breath caught as the trailer cut swift from Shiva to a young woman, fierce and garbed in blue, bearing rage and rapier in equal measure.

“Now, it is you who shall bow to me!”

She took up a fencing stance, steel clenched tight. Jill felt a slight tingle at her fingertips.

The music swelled one last time, and her heart seemed to swell the same, chest full, growing and growing—

The final logo appeared: Final Fantasy XVI.

The room was brightened once more by fluorescence and feeling alike, the crowd raucous and cheering. Celebrations rose even louder as an arrangement of the series theme played over the speakers, accompanied finally by the onstage appearance of what was undoubtedly the panel’s host.

A rather tall and somewhat heavyset man of middle age, balding and bearing a t-shirt with the XVI logo, made his way to center stage, waving all the while. Jill hadn’t noticed before the lights dimmed, but the platform bore only a pair of armchairs and what looked to be a small coffee table. Truly, it looked more what she would expect from a university seminar rather than a convention panel.

“Hello!” The man rather facetiously spoke into his handheld microphone, elation apparent on his face even from her moderate viewing distance. “So, how about that?” He gestured to the crowd. “FFXVI! Am I right?”

He paused for further cheers, a fair few whistling and hollering. A current of most palpable joy raced about, sparking hearts full to light and life. Outside, the summer heat danced across dune and demesne, burning. But here, it as if aught were touched by the very levin of Ramuh. And Jill could feel it.

“First, I’d like to say, thank you for coming to Wake the Sands 2024!” There was greater cheering, still. “The team back home has been hard at work for the past few years, and it is my great honor to be here to finally get to share some of that with all of you, our most cherished fans.” He bowed briefly. “But, I know that you didn’t come all this way to listen to me. So, without further ado, it is my even greater honor to welcome onstage the man, the myth, the legend himself: Cid Telamon!”

Drums started up once more, punctuated by staccato strings and the rhythmic clapping of most in the crowd. Even Jill, who was rarely comfortable participating in this type of thing, found her hands coming together in nigh unthinking motion. In stolen glimpse she spied that Clive too had joined in. She felt returning smile tugging at her lips, and not only because Cid himself was now waving at the enthused attendees.

Following a fair few ostentatious bows, the actor took his seat alongside the host and now interviewer, taking up his own microphone as the crowd noise at last began to die down.

“It’s good to be here.” His voice was even deeper in person than what she had heard for years in performances and other interviews. “Real exciting, this.” He winked, his affect still carrying that familiar laconic streak, where one could never be clear how seriously he was truly taking the moment.

“So, Cid,” the host, though the much larger man, seemed so small now in comparison, “I was hoping that maybe you could start by just telling everyone here a bit about the game?”

“Sure, I can do that.” He remained facing the audience; this was a man who knew how to play to the people. “So, it’s called Final Fantasy XVI, and—” he turned briefly towards the interviewer, “can you believe we’ve made sixteen of these things? Bloody mad, that.”

“And…?” The host seemed only somewhat amused by his antics, clearly he was a professional here to simply do his job.

“And, uh, well, believe it or not, I play Cid.” He shrugged slightly at the audience, which replied with laughter and minor applause. He then glanced again at his stage companion, seeming to notice the man’s desire that he continue with actual detail. “Anyway, I’m sure you lot noticed from that trailer, but this one looks a bit darker than the previous ones. A little more grim, more serious, more adult.”

There were a spate of murmurings amongst the audience, at least some sounding unsure of this new direction.

“I know, I know. But well—” He leaned forwards in his seat, almost as if speaking to a small circle of friends. “It may seem dark, but there’s a lot more to it than all that. It’s about people, community. About the bonds, those we hold onto in the darkest times and how they raise us up to face down foes we could never beat alone. How we, together, can change the world.” He paused, and Jill noticed that he seemed to fiddle with his necklace. “It’s about love.”

Further applause rang out amongst the enraptured audience, Jill feeling naught but deepest comfort at his words. This man knew how to talk.

“Could you also tell us a little about the characters? Your character?” The screen now began to cycle through renders of what the trailer had called ‘dominants’.

“Right. Well, this one stars a lad, who…” He looked to be searching for the right words, brow furrowed. “Bears a lot of burdens.” Any passing melancholy vanished from his aspect in an instant as he turned around to point up at the screen, now displaying the dark haired young man from the beginning of the trailer. “You all saw him. Look at that scowl.”

It was impressive how easily Cid could draw casual laughter from all in attendance. Jill made a quick glance at her periphery, smile fading at even passing sight. Clive's visage bore but the faintest trace of joy.

“He’s had a hard life. A real hard life.” He again faced full the crowd. “Thinks of himself as a bit of a monster.”

The screen now showed a render of Ifrit, and she couldn't resist looking to Clive anew, recalling their first words together. He merely remained locked forwards, swallowing. Just trembling fingers traced over stubble and scar. A dulling ache gripped at her chest, and she could scarce find the strength to look away.

“But trust me.” Cid’s voice carried what seemed genuine sincerity. “He may look it on the outside, but on the inside he’s a real beautiful person. He’s got a…an inner strength.” He made one last glance at the screen. “A heroism.”

Clive’s hand fell slow, and revealed naught but the slightest of smiles. Jill took a deep breath. She felt good.

“He protects the people he loves.”

The image on the screen now shifted to show the woman garbed in blue and white, rapier at her side, braid dancing in eternal wind.

“And speaking of love,” Cid smiled with a newfound softness, “you may have noticed this character. A certain young lady.” He looked to be thumbing at the pendant hanging from his neck, silver catching shimmer of overhead light. “She…She’s got her own heroism…” His smile faded slowly, hand sliding back to his lap. “Well, I won’t spoil it. But it’s just really very lovely, this game. Very loving.”

Jill found her gaze once more taken full by the young swordswoman, eyes of selfsame grey aflame with purpose. Burning with a determination for which Jill had always been in search of. A heroism she had long grasped for as true as that woman’s rapier. A love for which she had never been granted nor given.

“And Cid?” The interviewer grinned with passing unease as Cid swiftly turned back towards him, seemingly having been near lost to reverie.

“This Cid is such a delight to play.” He quickly rediscovered his actor’s affect. “He gets to talk about real issues, big issues. Environmentalism, capitalism…he’s a bit of an anarchist. A rebel.” He winked as a few in the audience whooped at this news. “I really connect with him.”

The interviewer laughed, again sounding a touch strained. It didn’t seem like he wished to delve further into discussion of capitalism at this all access weekend, sitting beneath a massive monitor playing a multimillion dollar trailer, in a building full to brim with tables featuring copious piles of merchandise. Or perhaps that was just how it seemed to Jill, sitting several rows away.

“You know, with all the lightning coming off of him,” he nodded up at the screen, now showing Cid himself, “I can’t help but be reminded of T.G. Cid, from Tactics.”

“Right,” Cid smirked, “the ‘Thunder God’.”

“Any Ivalice fans in the audience?” The interviewer gestured at the crowd, earning a handful of meager cheers. He simply didn’t have Cid’s natural ability to play up their reactions.

“Yeah, there’s definitely some of him in there. But he couldn’t pull that off.” Cid chuckled as the screen now showed a more closely framed render, his chest blown up for all to see. “This Cid, well, let’s just say he gets things done. And he looks good doing it.”

Somewhat hushed yet still audible murmurings played about the hall, and Jill was certain she heard more than a few present announce some variation of rather lewd agreement.

“Look what they’ve got me wearing this time. That low cut!”

Most present now mirrored his enthusiasm fully; whistles, hollers, whoops, and nigh on cackles.

“Sounds like we’ve got a lot of big Cid fans here today.” The interviewer spoke somewhat hushed into his microphone, as if this obvious observation were truly forbidden knowledge. “And they, uh, definitely seem happy to see you dressed like…that.”

“It’s nice to be appreciated.” He winked again, doing little to dampen the avid atmosphere.

“How’s it feel to be playing the sexy Cid this time?” The interviewer chuckled, no longer resistant to that avidity.

“It’s somethin’, isn’t it? Last game, they told me I needed to have a granddaughter wearing… well, you know, you all remember.” He smirked, earning further echoes of mirth. “They said I couldn’t do sexy.” He growled just a bit at that last word, and more than a few whistled in reply. “Maybe it’s just me voice?”

The interviewer tapped at his microphone as he waited for the cheers to die down. “It does seem to be getting more…gravelly, doesn’t it?” He glanced back at the screen. “I’ve noticed that this Cid seems to be a bit of a smoker? We haven’t seen that since—”

“Since seven, that’s right. You know, that one's where I actually picked up the habit. Had to really sell the character.”

“And we’re currently in the midst of a series of remakes for that game.” Again, the interviewer spoke as if this were somehow newly unveiled evidence. “Might we be seeing old Cid Highwind show up soon?”

“Can’t talk about that.” He winked once more. “But let’s just say hypothetically that I was talking to someone recently, and it seems bloody ridiculous that it’s such a big deal these days to have a little smoke on screen—”

“Uh, Cid?”

“What?

The interviewer pointed at his subject, laughter again rising all about. Cid had seemingly absentmindedly pulled a cigar from his pocket and was looking ready to light up.

“Oh! Uh…” He swiftly yet awkwardly stuffed it back into his pocket as he readjusted his shirt. “Don’t smoke, kids.”

“So, what’s the big deal with this guy?” Gav whispered loudly at her left, Jill turning to realize she had forgotten he was dressed as Cloud.

“What do you mean?” She replied with raised eyebrow.

“Like, what’s his deal? He’s just in every game or somethin’?” His voice rose just a touch, drawing the attention of a large, muscular man seated one row behind.

“You don’t know Cid?!” The man leaned forwards, with a glint of odd malice flickering across his narrowing green eyes.

“No, I, uh…of course I’ve heard of him—”

“Really?” Jill chuckled in disbelief. “It’s not an FF without Cid. He’s always there…”

“Really?” Gav, however, betrayed genuine revelation. Jill endeavored to stifle further laughter as he brushed a stray blonde spike away from widened eyes.

“How is this guy at this con?!” The seat behind creaked louder, an undercurrent of actual resentment now full apparent.

“I thought it were just those uh, flying fluff balls and bird horses.”

“Is this guy for real—” Jill felt a twinge of honest worry at the man’s baffled anger.

“Gav?” Clive leaned closer, his voice bringing about a surprising level of comfort. “Come on, man. You know moogles and chocobos…”

Gav merely nodded silently, mouth just agape. It could not possibly be more plain that he had no idea what Clive was talking about.

Jill could no longer fight the onset of giggles, turning towards Clive to see him snickering just the same. She watched as sincere joy danced across his visage, and her gaze found its fateful way to those soft eyes the color of the sea, serene.

Perhaps it was only a trick of the light, but there was something different about them, here, in this moment. More than a softness, naught but an utter solace. Eyes that didn’t seem to fear that they sat above scar.

And she could feel that solace, too.

“Well.” Gav’s still stupefied affect shook her from pleasant reverie. “They weren’t in the movie I watched.” He shrugged as the man behind sounded ready to come to blows.

“This guy is dressed as Cloud and he never even played the game? He only watched the dumb movie?!” He stood up, and to Jill’s surprise, so did Clive.

“Leave him alone.” There was something she hadn’t seen before flickering in eyes no longer soft. A steeliness that filled her chest with a new feeling, still pleasant, but of a different sort.

In her mind’s eye, a man with branded visage stared into raging fire.

The interloper glared for but a moment, his hands clenched. He looked to decide whatever he had thought to do was no longer worth it, shaking his head and moving away to the now bustling crowd. It seemed that the panel had come to an end.

“Gav,” JIll smiled as she watched Clive’s aspect fade from forceful to friendly, “man I thought you played Seven.”

“I tried, I did…” Gav shrugged. “But there were so many battles…so much reading…”

Jill merely shook her head, her jaw feeling a touch stiff from laughter. “Shall we?” She pointed to the line forming, long and snaking to the stage.

“What?” Clive looked over before comically pirouetting back towards her. “Oh! The signing! I forgot, I didn’t bring anything…”

“That’s okay.” She bit her lip, trying to hide any disappointment threatening to spread about her face. “The line looks pretty long, and…um…I’ll be alright by myself, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want—”

“Jill?” He smiled, and it was as if every lingering doubt she still carried was cast to the screen’s flickering flames. “Let’s go.”

Clive wasn’t sure exactly how long the two had been standing in this seemingly never-ending queue, time itself becoming more and more out of mind with every mere glance of silver. The pair waited together but not together, only silence to remain after having long exhausted what meager small talk that either could dare muster. Clive was, for his part, laboring his utmost to keep anxious thoughts at bay, the void as ever threatening about his feet. Fear full lingered that he had nothing to say, that she would find nothing he did say interesting, that she would find out something, anything about him and leave—

Relief came ephemeral, but potent with even the slightest of looks glimpsed, of smiles shared. And the thought, the fear, that if in even one of those looks she might deign to view him less favorably…

He took a deep breath. Never in his life had someone made him feel this way, at least beyond the bounds of his phone.

“Oh!” Jill’s voice broke his reverie, and never had he felt more pleased to be freed from the tether of daydreams. “I should show you.” She was reaching into her bag, probing with a determined gaze and bitten lip.

Clive merely leaned forwards wordlessly, unsure what exactly she would pull from within. And with every closer moment the observer, he found the more important concern to be only how the light captured her features, thoughts again at void's slick edge. A bottomless churn of of anxiety. Of guilt.

Guilt at just how much he was enjoying this opportunity to observe with her none the wiser.

“Here.” She was holding a somewhat large print, carefully outstretched for him to see. “This is what I’m planning to have signed.”

His first thought upon taking its measure was that it was an exceptionally beautiful piece, a most vivid portrayal of one of the later iconic moments from Heavensward. At the center was Shiva, fierce and heroic, surrounded by crystals of ice. Behind her hovered the airship Enterprise, the dragon Hraesvelgr, and a remarkably well rendered version of the structures of Azys La.

The Lady of Frost’s last stand.

“It’s amazing.”

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could swear that he had seen this specific piece before. But in view of her earnest eyes, he could only focus on the here and now.

“But…”

“What?” Her slight smile was enough to make continued speech the greatest challenge.

“Why this, specifically? To have signed, I mean.”

“Well, Shiva’s my favorite.” She smiled wider, as if this answered any and all questions. “And Ysayle is my favorite Shiva.”

Stellar_Ifrit: well i finished heavensward

Lunarshiva: that bad huh

Stellar_Ifrit: lol no i loved it! i just keep thinking about haurchefant im in pain why did they do this

Lunarshiva: yeah i still miss him 😢 but tbh i think i miss ysayle more. I will never forgive

Stellar_Ifrit: thats fair i wish we had more time with her

Lunarshiva: obv i love shiva and i think she was my fav shiva

Stellar_Ifrit: agreed

Lunarshiva: oh i should show u the—

“You still there?” Jill was eyeing him curiously, smile still present as she nudged him at the elbow.

“I…” He struggled for a moment to make clear of his mind's haze, aught overpowered by the realization that she had just touched him.

“Look here.” She pointed at the small airship in the background of the composition. “See?”

Skin still atingle, Clive labored to draw his gaze from her amiable visage down to the print, shimmering in the overhead light. There, at where her finger lightly tapped, was what he could only be half certain was a miniature Cid, steering the ship.

“I guess…” He returned to her peering, and with every second passed between did he feel his chest lighten. “That counts as a picture of Cid?”

Laughter came fast and easy as she put the print back into her bag. And yet, some of that shimmer seemed to linger, still.

The two returned to pleasant silence as traces of mirth faded, captured glances and memory of her meager touch enough to pass the remaining wait. Eventually, there were only a pair of bespectacled and gangly men ahead of them, excitably chatting with what seemed an increasingly unamused Cid.

“The reins of history, back in the hands of man!” There was a nigh imperceptible grimace about the actor’s features as he spoke true the frequent words of his FFXII counterpart, the pair demanding it of him seeming none the wiser.

Clive knew well discomfort's paltry veil, that glint of animus to flicker in passing sight. It oft crossed his own mirror, every effort to keep honest feeling hidden failing in the safety of solitude.

“Wow!” The two men high-fived, mouths just agape at the apparent immensity of hearing the words of Dr. Cidolfus Bunansa in person.

Clive stifled a grin as he now spied Cid’s selfsame lips parting with a labored sigh. The glint flickered.

“I’m glad you're havin’ such a good time, now if we—”

“Wait, get the glasses, have him wear the glasses!” One of the men was pointing excitedly as the other fished within his pack. He swiftly withdrew what looked similar enough to what the character had worn in his game appearance, thrusting them in front of Cid’s rapidly furrowing brow.

He let out an even longer sigh before finally acquiescing, looking rather more like a librarian than an evil megalomaniac in Clive’s estimation.

“The reins of history, back in the hands of man.” He spoke somewhat flatly, a passing twitch behind the lenses.

“Oh my god!” The two looked like they had just been witness to the announcement of Final Fantasies XVI, XVII, and XVIII.

Clive caught a quick glance of Jill, who looked equally as between laughter and perplexity as his own mess of thoughts.

“Right, if we could—”

“We’ve got to record this!” The man on the right was pulling his phone from his pocket, ready to capture in video this oddly treasured memory. But just as his friend was excitedly clapping him on the shoulder, his other side was met by a markedly less enthused hand.

“No photos.” A gruff, bearded man of middle age spoke completely matter-of-factly, an intensity yet aflame in his stone grey eyes. Little as such seemed to reach any other aspect of his stubborn visage.

The clean shaven man opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, eventually nodding as he put away his phone, his free hand suddenly filled by spectacles hastily returned.

“What did you say your name was?” Cid swallowed as he seemed to regain his professional demeanor.

“Uh…Brian—”

“So, ‘uh…Brian’,” frustration unveiled itself for but a passing moment, “is there anything in particular you’d like this,” he smoothed out what Clive could now see was a large print of none other than Dr. Cid, “to say?” 

“Well, if you could have it say something like…” The man pantomimed deeper thought, “‘take back the r—”

“Take back the reins of history, Brian. -Cid.”

Clive couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter at Cid’s deadpan delivery, quickly raising a hand to cover his mouth. He could swear he had seen the man himself crack a slight smile in response before he turned towards Jill, who was eyeing him curiously with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s so great!” The man who would be Brian leaned over the print, his smile just a touch restrained. “But, uh, if you could make it say ‘Dr. Cid’ that would be really—”

“Sorry lad, but impersonating a medical professional is a serious crime. Next!” Cid nodded to his stern handler, who swiftly ushered the pair of Ivalice aficionados away from the line. Nothing but empty space now remained between Clive and a man he had watched with awe since the age of ten.

“Next!” He rumbled again in that gravelly affect, though Clive didn’t take note of any lingering displeasure.

He breathed deep, feeling as if his feet were moving of their own volition, every hastened pace shuffling him closer to Cid’s kindly visage.

He’s just being professional.

And yet, it was if each crease about stubble and squint were the barrier crossed, aught of disbelief to lurk in the before. He came nearer, and trepidation could but flee to shadow.

Never had he found the will to attend one of these cons, and never in a million years did he think he would be meeting the Cid face to face. Stilled and touched by harsh florescence, his eyes traced at shapes writ long to memory, aglow with the nostalgia of screen's hazy flicker. His fingers curled in unforgotten shape, ready to press firm, his steps coming yet firmer. In fleeting glimpse, he could almost believe the man's gaze to soften, brow to bend, lips wont to curl—

A trick of the light.

Clive's hand touched gently at the table as he arrived full close, meeting eyes most venerable, yet vital.

In weathered emerald did Clive see that he was only a man.

“Well?”

And he was smiling.

“I, uh—” He cleared his throat before looking over to Jill, selfsame anxiety apparent at her unsettled hands, fingers gripping and twisting at the end of her shirt.

“Let’s see, you two.” Cid’s voice lilted gently, a light less harsh dancing in his verdant eyes. “This is a signing. Do either of you have anything you’d like to have signed?”

“I, um, yes…” Jill pulled free the print from her bag, hand now shaking just so. “It’s um…well, it’s not—”

“Wow, would you look at that!” Cid’s gaze reached full bright at sight of the Shiva centric print. “Downright gorgeous, that is. Otto, look at this!” He held it up for his handler, now returned to standing stoically off to the side.

“Beautiful.” He grunted after only a passing glance.

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout him. Never one for art.” Cid smoothed it out on the table as he took hold of his pen. “Now, what’s your name, lass? Is there anything you’d like it to say?”

“Um…I’m Jill…and um,” her eyes were darting down and about, “I know it’s not what you’d expect to sign, and, um…” She swallowed as she seemed to be toying at something in her pocket. “It’s just, Shiva’s my favorite, and I, um…I’m Jill, and—”

“Nice to meet you, Jill.” He raised his hand to cease her rambling, though even this carried the slightest hint of softness. “And I must say,” he tapped at the rendering of Ysayle as he eyed Jill warmly, “you don’t strike me as having an Iceheart.”

“I…” Clive watched as that warmth seemed to flow free across Jill’s calming features, a sheepish smile its ultimate destination. “Thank you, I—”

“You’re in the picture.” The words came free from Clive’s tongue before he could form more coherent thought, warmth of a different sort blossoming about his cheeks.

“You speak, do you?” Cid laughed, though with no trace of teasing, eyes still soft as he turned to Clive. “Right here, is it?” He tapped at the Enterprise, tiny in the background.

“Yes, that is—” Clive swallowed. “You’re rather small—”

Cid again only chuckled lightly, making no jest of Clive’s awkward and accidental double meaning. “You think I didn’t recognize me own mug?” He drew his finger over his meager doppelganger.

"I, uh—"

“You know, a fair few people in this very line told me that I was wrong earlier." He pointed beyond them with swaying pen. "About getting to finally be the ‘sexy Cid’ this time around. Said I had forgotten about Fourteen.” He huffed out another laugh. “Always thought I looked a bit like Santa Claus meself.”

Jill’s own laughter joined in chorus, and Clive felt only further heat at her melody. “Then…you don’t mind—”

“Of course, not.” He again regarded her amiably. “To be honest, it’s a bit hilarious. Though I suppose you’ll want me message to be just a teensy bit larger. Let’s see…” He tapped his chin lightly with the pen. “Jill…Jill…” After a passing moment, he swiftly scribbled out a few words.

Jill took back the print, holding it to the light so that Clive too could read the words.

Fare you well, my lady Jill

-Cid

“You…you know it?” Jill swallowed thick before rubbing briefly at her eyes. Clearly Ysayle’s journey and subsequent sendoff held great meaning for her.

In the back of his mind, Clive could just recall having previously had a lengthy discussion about such events. Yet try as he might, every meager flash of forgotten text dimmed to dark ere he could draw it back to waking sight.

In view of her widened gaze, stony and shimmering, any such recollection was but ephemeral as the dunes outside the window.

“I was bloody well there, wasn’t I?” He winked before turning to Clive. “And what about you, lad?”

“Oh, I, uh…” Clive was as ever unsure what to do with his hands, awkwardly into and out of his pockets, thumb brushing lightly upon his phone. “I don’t have anything.”

“Just one for the lovely couple, then.” Cid winked again, pointing from Clive to Jill.

“We aren’t—” Clive cheeks full burned, as like face first amongst the sunkissed sands.

“Well, how about…” Cid tapped his pen upon the table, unclear if he had taken Clive’s protestation true to heart. “Is there anything you’d like to ask?”

Clive stood utterly stupefied, lips motioning open and closed wordlessly. Try as he might, he could do naught to expel the words lovely and couple from his brain. Anything else simply did not bear greater thought.

“Um…” Jill took a small step forwards, and Clive could spy a trace of selfsame redness in what fleeting glimpse he dared to risk. “What would you say were your easiest and most difficult roles?” 

“Easiest and most difficult, hmm…” He looked up at the rafters, a slight grin tugging at his whiskered visage. “Well, easiest, that’s easy as it were.” He grinned a bit wider, seeming to enjoy getting to answer an honest question, free from being made to repeat well worn lines. “Nine.”

“Why Nine?” Jill looked to be genuinely comfortable in this back and forth.

“Well, seeing as I spent most of the game playing a CGI frog, it was pretty much a booth job, that.”

Clive couldn’t prevent honest laughter from spilling forth, smile unrelenting neath Jill's warm regard.

“Look at that, he smiles.” Cid nodded at Clive. “Cheer looks good on you, lad.”

“And the hardest?” Jill inquired, eyes never leaving Clive.

“Let’s say…Ten.” His voice was back to its low growl.

“Ten? I love Ten!” Jill appeared even further at ease, and in her winsome presence could Clive feel his selfsame shroud of stress to lift. “But to be honest, I don’t recall you being in it that much? What was so hard about it?”

“Had to shave me head!” He ran a hand through his swept back hair. “Looked bloody ridiculous…”

All three shared in heartfelt mirth, Clive’s gaze coming to catch at the glimmer of silver hanging from Cid’s neck, reflectant as he took it to tender grasp.

“I tell you, me lady at the time…” Cid continued to brush a thumb over the pendant, which Clive could now see to be of a griffin, flanked by two swords.

As the remnants of laughter faded, an air of unease dared shadow the three. Clive caught a glimpse of Jill, whose own gaze belied genuine concern, grey eyes following the griffin's gleam.

“Take it from me, lad.” Cid swallowed and looked to Clive, his smile seeming just a touch strained. “Don’t do it. She’ll never let you hear the end of it.” He pointed at Jill, along with what sounded a rather forced laugh.

Jill smiled softly in reply, Clive’s thoughts now captured by the fact that she did not deign to correct him in regards to their relationship.

“So, no signing,” he put down his pen, “but surely there’s something you’d like to ask rattling around in that stoic head of yours.”

“I, uh…” Clive looked briefly to Jill before turning away, knowing that if he lingered the only questions like to spring from his lips would be regarding her availability. Cid’s expectant grin too made complex thinking difficult, and so, he elected to make a quick glance about the room.

He took the measure of the man called Otto, still standing gruff and bereft of selfsame grin. He looked about at the still handful of those queued, some looking rather upset at the length of his and Jill’s time with the guest of honor. Eventually, he found himself taken by the images still cycling across the massive screen overhead: ethereal Shiva, enormous Titan, regal Bahamut…

The monitor then darkened to briefest black, before again coming to light with a render of the apparent main character of this forthcoming adventure. A dark haired young man, bearded and scowling. Fire burned in pools of azure, dancing across eyes strangely soft, still. He was touching gently at his branded cheek, and in those eyes was a feeling, or perhaps, an absence of feeling. A something indescribable. A something that Clive knew well in every glance in the mirror.

“Did you…” He felt his fingers trace unthinkingly across his scar. “Ever wish that you could be someone else?”

He swallowed as his gaze returned to Cid’s widened peering, drawn by the most meager of sigh. Yet, still there was a weight.

And he could feel it, too.

“Seeing as how you are always playing Cid, I mean.”

Cid merely watched him for a moment, brows drawing together, eye contact unabating. “Let me ask you something,” he leaned forwards, “what do you do for a living?”

“I…” Clive looked low, wishing for the first time since their initial meeting that Jill was not present. “I’m a barista.”

“Really?” Cid raised an eyebrow sharply, as if this were truly fascinating information to uncover.

“It’s not much—”

“That’s fantastic!” He leaned closer still, enthusiasm radiant as he nodded to Jill and back again. If this display was not genuine, he was truly the accomplished actor indeed.

“How…?” He fought to suppress memory of how his mother would oft speak of his employment, laboring to focus on Cid.

“I bet that you have quite the impact on people.” Cid’s speech was steady and measured. “On their lives.”

“What?” Clive laughed briefly, mirth withering as neither Cid nor Jill joined in. “That’s absurd…”

“No, I mean it.” Cid continued to maintain eye contact. “Nothing in this world saves more lives than a good cup of coffee."

Clive could only shake his head in reply, as if expecting to wake from this most assured dream.

"How many old fools like me would make it to a place like this,” he gestured around the room, “without the right cup?” He took hold of what looked to be half filled and cold styrofoam. “See this? Swill. Rubbish. I’m this close to keeling over.” He made a pinch with his thumb and forefinger.

“I—” Clive swallowed, still unsure if this was all some sort of skit, if anything that this man said was true. In deepest desire did he wish it were so.

“Lad, we all end up in places we never thought that we would, become people we never thought to choose. Call it fate, I don’t know.” He set down his cup, verdant eyes aflame in deepening gaze. “What I do know is that we all do the best we can with what we’ve got. Some fools, like me, end up more fortunate than others. And some make their fortune in the way that they treat others. You,” he pointed at Clive, “strike me as the latter.”

“You don’t even know me—”

“Say,” Cid looked low for a moment, fingers once more grazing about the pendant’s gleam, “how’s about a picture?”

“…what…?” Clive merely watched as Cid looked up at him kindly, as if this made complete, unquestioning sense. As if he hadn’t passed at least two posted signs in that interminable queue that specifically said ‘No Photos.’ As if the man's taciturn handler hadn’t just told the last pair of fans as much.

“No photos.” Otto spoke succinctly, as if on cue.

“Come now, Otto.” Cid turned that irresistible charm now upon his own man. “We can make an exception, this time. Surely?”

Otto stood with arms crossed, selfsame stubborn gazes locked in wordless struggle.

After what seemed an eternity, he at last shook his head in resigned defeat. “Do whatever you want.” He shrugged, muttering to himself as he returned to his silent vigil. “What else is new…”

Clive wasn’t exactly certain as to why, but he came to realize that he had been smiling ever since Cid made the suggestion. He could scarce refuse as Cid motioned for him to stand at his side.

“You too, my lady.” He chuckled as he nodded to Jill, gesturing to his other side. “Got to get both lovebirds in now, don’t we?”

“We aren’t…” Clive’s resolve to correct him quickly faded as he realized Jill seemed wholly unfazed by the epithet. Rather, she merely nodded in response as she tapped away at her phone. His smile returned in force.

“Otto, would you mind?” Cid pointed at Jill, who was holding out her phone, seemingly done with setup. The handler grumbled something imperceptible and snatched it away quickly, Jill taking her place alongside.

“Alright, you two.” Cid’s voice had the even greater rumble at this proximity. “Pretend like you like each other.”

Clive again felt color rise upon his cheeks, unable to resist a stolen half glance at Jill. She too was only partially focused on the camera now, selfsame blush and raised brow, mouth just agape, the slightest smile curling—

There was a flash, and he was full certain they had just taken the worst photo since the invention of the camera.

“Time to move along.” Otto handed Jill her phone, and despite his terseness, Clive could swear he spotted the ghost of a grin forming upon his chapped lips.

“Take care.” Cid waved warmly.

Clive could still hardly believe what he had just experienced, knowing only just that it could not be a dream. Dreams rarely concluded with such surety. With such joy.

“And behave yourselves.” He winked.

Clive turned to leave before his cheeks dare redden anew, finding Jill standing a few paces ahead, turned away, shoulders draped in argent veil.

“Jill, listen, I’m sorry, I…” He sighed. “I know it didn’t come out right, pictures I’m in never come out right, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, it’s just—”

But as she pivoted round to face him, holding out her phone, that unerring joy danced full about her features.

And it stole away his very breath.

He looked down at the screen, and beyond her obvious beauty, and Cid’s wide winking smile, there was something more that he could scarce look away from. In his eyes, more focused on Jill than the camera, there was a spark, a meaning. There was life there, in eyes that he had seen day after day lifeless in every glance of the mirror. Upon his lips, a smile more honest and true than any he thought capable neath scar's ceaseless shroud.

He raised his gaze to her own, seeing that very life there, gleaming.

“It’s perfect.” She smiled wider, and spark took shroud to flame.

“It’s ridiculous.” Clive shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Right?”

He looked to her for affirmation, widened eyes yet betraying a certain earnestness. A certain softness.

And it was aught she could endeavor to not slip neath azure waters.

“Isn’t it ridiculous?”

“It is.” She bit her lip, thoughts now mercifully straying to nostalgic mirth. "Ridiculous."

In his utterly guileless gaze, she could but be reminded of Torgal back home, pawing about in search of a treat.

“I know!” He gestured perhaps a touch too intensely, drawing a few curious looks as they made their way nearer to the artist alley. “Why would he—”

He seemed to be walking faster unthinkingly, Jill straining just a bit to keep up with his longer strides.

“Who even calls people ‘lovebirds’?”

“Clearly he didn’t know what he was talking about.” She glanced about the hall, full to brim with table after table of handmade collectibles and prints of palpable artistry. A tapestry of crowd and color.

And yet, her thoughts still lie shadowed as ever. A monolith of fearful grey. Alone.

“Clearly.”

“The years must be getting to him.” Clive nodded to himself as they continued to weave about attendees. “Just a crazy old man.”

“He’s not that old.” The words sprung free ere she could consider them further, her mind suddenly awash with images of low cut tunics, of cigar smoke and a rumbling growl—

“Did you see him in those glasses? That must be what put him on edge." He rubbed at his chin as if solving some elusive case, the slightest sneer upon his lips. “Anything that could take away from him being the sexy Cid… He was certainly enjoying the attention.”

“Don’t most men enjoy being seen as such?” She meant to sound playful, but her breath caught as she spied his near forlorn reaction. It was a guise she knew all too well.

“I…” He looked away briefly, and it was passing odd how light her chest felt when he deigned to face her anew. “I don’t know…”

She swallowed. “And, there’s nothing wrong with glasses. Some women actually like or even prefer things like that, things that some may see as…defects.”

She stepped a pace nearer, reasoning to herself that it would be easier to pass through the thickening crowd as a pair in closer proximity. There was a soft tingle at her nose, something like cedar or pine drifted in passing scent. It was as like the smoke born of firewood in winter, not to burn, but to blanket. To smolder.

“Imperfections make us human, make us unique, they…” She watched as a just shaking hand brushed at his scar. “Make us who we are.”

He continued to face her as they made their way onwards, the yearning in his gaze ensuring that the lump in her throat still lingered. After a few more steps, his hand began to slowly fall to his side, yet with shake unabated. There was a part of her, a part unafraid, a part that recalled the dominant, that longed for nothing more than to reach out and take that hand as surely as that woman had clung to steel. Peering unceasing, she risked another step closer, cheeks burning, heart at full drum—

Her breath disappeared fully as she stumbled, having just about walked into a rather sneaky stationary table of merchandise. Her body met not with the floor, however.

Looking up slowly, apprehensive longing and sheer horror made battle amongst what thinking her brain could muster. A hand cradled her back gently, and eyes of sweetest azure watched with purest concern. Longing won the war.

“Are you alright?” He spoke softly, still holding her close enough to feel the warmth of his very breath upon her lips.

The smolder.

“I…” She could feel panic making its common claim, regardless her honest want. Further warmth sparked from sweat of brow to crimson cheek, fire catching free with every glimpse of onlookers pointing in their direction. When her eyes again found his own, she saw that he was rather red, too. Following his gaze, she finally took the measure of the table that had probably ruined her life, and could but stifle a groan.

Above the booth, there was a sign which simply said LOVE accompanied by what she assumed to be the same in other various languages. Covered in cloth of purple and pink, the table held what looked to be exclusively merchandise related to character interactions of the romantic variety. Stickers and charms, posters and prints, heart eyes and heartfelt hugs. She saw pair after pair in tight embrace, her heartbeat quickening with every rapid blink over each. And at the end of the table, there was a standee that brought that pulse near to burst.

She turned slowly back to Clive, and in his eyes she knew. He had seen it, too.

Immortalized in plastic and bathed in fluorescence stood the tackiest of mirrors. It was a now too familiar depiction of the FFVIII logo, Squall and Rinoa held close and impassioned, together. Unending.

Their blushing doubles but stood with shocking swiftness, Clive releasing her and taking a step back before they could continue their unplanned reenactment. Her thoughts were an utter jumble, knowable only in their habitual anxiety and doubt. But as she continued to watch him, bashfulness writ about his every movement and mien, there was something more. A deepest longing that she dare not let free from the daydream hidden.

An unspoken wish that he had not let go.

“Sorry, I, uh…” He brushed raven hair free from his downcast gaze, seemingly unwilling or unable to meet her sight. “I only meant to—I was just trying to—”

“Thank you.” The words flowed effortlessly, despite her still shrouded thinking.

He smiled in reply, and in his returning warmth did the fog dare to lift.

“Quite the table, isn’t it?” Awkwardness was as ever her inescapable companion. “Rather impressive collection. I daresay every popular pairing is well accounted for.”

“More than the pair, in this case.”

He stepped forwards, and even in such meager closeness did her breath catch for the fleetest moment.

“Look.” He chuckled as he showed her a plushie of Cloud, with both Tifa and Aerith clinging each to a muscled arm. “Gav’s final fantasy.”

Selfsame laughter came full bright in spite of his overly cute wordplay, thoughts drifting to Tarja as she recalled their silly discussion that morning. Morning. Until this moment, she had failed realize how long they had been apart. How long they had been together.

She could scarce believe how such a day could be real, going from Tarja nearly having to physically push her out the door, to naught but undeniable joy. The genuine and budding ease she felt in every passing moment in Clive’s presence was like nothing she had experienced free of Discord or dreams. Somewhere, in back of mind lingered a faint wonder if this was truly their first—

“So, which one is your favorite?” He gestured across the table at the many works bearing couples in midst of romance.

She hummed as her gaze followed his hand from print to print, all of impressive quality, many a worthy choice. She saw Zidane kneeling before Garnet, the princess imploring her own kidnapping, the two aglow in soft candlelight. There was Tidus and Yuna, the former teaching the latter to whistle, a scene that brought an instant twinge to her heart. Her gaze eventually settled upon a gorgeous rendition of Noctis and Lunafreya, embracing in a dreamlike swirl of sylleblossoms. She bit her lip to stifle a widening smile. She had countless times found herself waking from a dream of an endless field of white petals, the sun rising above the hills, an ache of yearning in every breath—

“Can’t decide?” Clive looked upon her as ever with but the softest eyes.

“I don’t know…” She raised and lowered upon her heels.

“Let me guess, not enough Shiva?” He chuckled, but there was naught but kindness in his affect.

“Well, she wouldn’t be here, would she?” Jill pointed at the silly LOVE sign. “The Lady of Frost is cold. Remote, untouchable…”

“Ice vanishes swift in close embrace.” His unbroken gaze lingered upon LOVE.

“I—yes…” She found herself a bit taken off guard by his poetic wording. “That’s right.”

He reached into his pocket before withdrawing a just tensing hand, still avoiding her peering.

She swallowed. “Some people are just meant to be alone, I think.”

“Maybe.” He was now glancing about the prints. “But you know, when the ice melts…” He bit his lip. “You get to see what’s hidden beneath.”

“I—” She felt a strange rush from chest to tingling fingers, her breath coming short and strained. “Which one is your favorite?”

“Oh, I don’t go in for this sort of thing.” He pivoted towards her, but she could tell both from his clumsy movement and manner that this was but a lie. Hand still clenched to the table’s edge, it seemed he had been eyeing a rather striking print of Celes grasping tight to Locke’s lost bandana.

Jill risked a step closer, gaze lingering still at his hand, her skin just ashiver at memory of its tender touch. She dared drift upwards to irises of purest blue, and in her mind’s eye there was only the image of ice given way to bracing water.

He laughed, and she leaned back to her heels, color again at her cheeks.

“What’s so funny?” She endeavored to keep honest feeling hidden, even from herself.

“Nothing…it’s just,” the palpable warmth in his gaze dispatched any remaining chagrin, “look behind you.”

Jill turned to see that although she had nigh on forgotten, there were in fact many other attendees present, as well as many other tables of merchandise. And right across from where they now stood was one such table, draped in yellow and full to brim with statues, figures, and prints. Each an artist's interpretation of everyone’s favorite bird horses.

She looked back to Clive, still not quite certain as to why chocobos of all things should draw such mirth. He merely nodded upwards to the still ridiculous LOVE sign and then to the yellow table again, brow rising up and down in concert. She shook her head as realization dawned, Cid’s indelible smirk utterly inexorable about her thoughts.

“Lovebirds?” She couldn’t prevent a widening smile, regardless how simply dumb the whole situation felt. There was something about the way Clive looked so completely unabashed, so at ease—that made joy truly unavoidable.

“Sorry, just thought it was a funny coincidence.” He shrugged as they at last resumed their walk amongst what seemed a thousand tables.

“A coincidence…” She muttered to herself, still strangely unable to stop smiling.

“Though, I was going to say it was a ‘kwehincidence’—”

“Don’t you dare.” She smacked him playfully upon an arm she was surprised to find so well muscled.

“Ow!” He turned away, and for a brief moment she genuinely worried he was hurt as he continued to show his back to her.

“Really playing it up, aren’t you?” She stepped around his side to see what had actually captured his attention.

Clive was holding a small plushie, or perhaps it only appeared as such in hands that still brought a brief shudder to her breath. It was one of many little chocobos, feathered and felicitous, with an utterly charming expression that was now reflectant upon its bearer. Unique to the others, this one was white.

“Friend of yours?” She watched as he brushed a thumb lightly over its soft beak, eyes aglow with palpable nostalgia.

“It’s…it’s just like the one I had as a kid…” He squeezed softly at its little wing. “She used to keep me company.”

"She…?"

He swallowed. “Whenever mother used to…”

And as she saw his aspect shift to what could only be painful recollection, she felt an unfamiliar courage guide her hand to rest upon his own.

“What was her name?” There was the slightest warmth, like a campfire in haze of morn.

“Ambrosia.” He took a deep breath, glance fleeting at her hand.

“That’s lovely.” She nearly dared to squeeze, pulse pounding in her ears. “You know, you can buy it if you like. You can even hide it in my bag.” She playfully bumped him with her hip. “That way nobody will know that you 'go in for that sort of thing'.”

The sweet taste of joy tingled at her lips as his own dared trace at a smile. Soft, but potent, risen to gaze of serenest blue.

“It’s alright.” That same softness now manifested in his voice.

And it made her feel good.

“Better she stay here,” he sat the chocobo down, “and bring some other child comfort.”

Jill hummed in reply as she brought to bear greater will still, pulling free her hand to gesture forwards. “Shall we?”

He nodded, and they resumed their wandering, steps just a touch closer than before.

They passed by table after table, sharing frequent laughter and sparkling glances, Jill feeling present in the world in a way near wholly unfamiliar. It was as if she could see things she would more common miss, touch that which she would oft be too afraid to touch. Each meager moment shared saw her every sensation amplified.

And she could spy plainly from his every unrestrained gesture that he could feel it, too.

“Clive, look.” She pointed across the hall to the place of their first meeting, the glass outer walls of the gameroom coming into view.

“Looks like he’s still at it.” He maintained his easy smile as they could just see FFX still aglow on the large monitor. “Odd way to spend your time here, but hey, it's a great game.”

“I’ve loved it ever since I was a child.” The lightest tingle of warmth danced across her skin. “Playing it was such an escape, it was…”

In echo now there was a darkened and drab room, the screen’s flicker and Torgal’s eyes both the only lights in her life.

She swallowed. “A comfort.”

“I know. I can still remember how J—” He cleared his throat, a slight strain at still curled lips. “I remember spending too much time with it.”

“Even just hearing that Besaid music still puts me in such a chill vibe.” She hummed a few notes, finger tapping at air.

“Definitely.” His smile looked a touch more genuine. “And Auron was always one of my favorite characters. He was so strong, he always knew what to say, he was reliable…” His eye twitched, a passing pain shrouding his gaze. “...he was always there.”

Jill thought hard for a moment about Clive’s words, wondering if they had anything to do with the fact that she had heard him speak a few times now of his mother, but never of his father. Beyond the threat of anxiety at the prospect of posing such an inquiry, she decided it was simply not her place. He would tell her when he was ready.

“Don’t make fun of me,” she endeavored to sound bright, “but the first FF I ever played was actually Ten Two.”

“You played it before Ten?” He turned full towards her, dolorous memory traceless upon his face.

“Yes…” She bit her lip, thinking back on how often certain gamers had seen fit to ridicule her for this supposed grave error.

“Cool.” He shrugged, smile unflinching.

In even his most meager reactions could she feel her cheeks tense to joyous mirror. Patrons hastened about in all directions, but here, in his presence, there was naught but ease. Sun outside the reach of curtain's shadow.

“I know it’s an odd starting place, but I just have…so much nostalgia for it. I remember being in the store with Marleigh and seeing the cover with three women on it, when most were lucky to have any.” She could still recall clearly that day with her foster mother, no matter how many long years had passed since. “And they were so cool. They were powerful. They were…” She felt a slight blush forming. “Sexy.”

They were who I always wanted to be. Who I could never be.

“That’s awesome, Jill.” Her blush deepened at his continual sincerity. “In all honesty, I’ve always loved it, too.”

“Really?” For the briefest moment, she imagined a different childhood. One with a dark haired friend she could talk to. A friend with which she was unafraid to be herself. “Cool.” She did her best to imitate his pleasing smile.

“I’m just wondering how you were able to follow along with the story.” He laughed lightly.

“It was pretty weird, to say the least.” Imitation now came unthinkingly, laughter more and more unavoidable today. “Though I think when you’re a kid, you just kind of roll with it. You’re less cynical.”

He hummed as he continued to behold her wholly uncritically.

“And I know people would always say it was a bad sequel, but even after playing them in the proper order, I was still taken by it. The ending was maybe a bit sappy, or even dumb, but…it was everything to me at the age of ten.” She fidgeted her fingers at the end of her shirt, both anxiety and memory of tightly held plastic lingering at her skin.

“The whistling scene?” Clive pantomimed a whistle, and in parts of her mind she dare not search too close, she wished he had truly done so. For her.

“‘If we should get separated, just whistle. I’ll come running, I promise.’” She too placed fingers to her mouth as she recited Tidus’s lines, drawing a wider smile still from Clive. “Just the way that he taught Yuna to whistle, that it was something that they shared…that he would always be there for her.” She raised her gaze briefly to the blinding fluorescence about the rafters. “And that when she whistled, he came back…” She shrugged. “To a silly young girl it was the height of romance.”

“Maybe it is a bit silly,” he brushed stray raven strands away from soft eyes, “but maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s okay to just feel that comfort…the way that you talk about it, it clearly means something. The warmth that it brings you is real. I can see it in your eyes.”

She merely stared straight into his eyes, that warmth becoming all the more apparent with every precious glimpse.

“I can see it…” He raised his hand, trembling just so. “Maybe…” It almost looked as if he wanted to touch her.

She held her breath, and no longer could she deny that she wanted it, too.

“...it’s okay to be happy.” His hand fell back to his side, but his compassionate gaze never faltered. And that was more than enough.

She swallowed, her mind a curious mix of desire and long neglected memory. In the past, a young silver haired girl tried and failed to whistle, one hand held tight to a controller, her dog looking on quizzically.

And in present, naught but sweetest daydream. Eyes of gentle azure, never failing to return to her. Whistling or otherwise.

“I…” Words failed as her attention was captured anew, this time by the meager yet excitable crowd surrounding a nearby table.

Clive too seemed taken by the raised voices, gesturing forwards, his gaze yet fixed upon her. Regardless what awaited, she doubted she could resist taking a closer look, or aught else for that matter. Not when he continued to behold her with such esteem.

The pair made their way over, discovering with genuine delight that the table was home to a dozen or so high end and handcrafted moogle dolls. From the signage, the crowd’s enthusiasm seemed to be related not only to their adorable nature, but also to the fact that they were actually a sanctioned promotion for FFXVI.

Unfeigned joy danced from finger to finger as she brushed carefully over the exceedingly smooth fur, flicking just so at the perfectly round pom. She had always loved moogles, and it had been many years since she last felt that affection in a tactile manner. Not since Torgal had seen fit to annihilate the much more affordable doll she had held close to as a child, anyway.

“These are nice.” Clive fiddled with a hanging tag. “...Nektar.”

“Cute name.” Jill smiled as she thought back to the trailer they had watched earlier, nearly forgotten in all the fuss and photos since. Truly, she hadn’t thought that such a dour looking game would include moogles at all, nor anything to call cute for that matter. At least aside from her all too brief glimpse of a certain dark haired main character.

“You look like you want one.” Clive grinned as she smiled wider still.

“So much.” She laughed. “But have you seen the price? A little beyond my budget…”

“Speaking of price, that one seems even more special than the lot.” He pointed to a doll which looked just a touch larger than the others. But other than that it was unclear as to what—

“Oh!” Jill picked it up from its raised pedestal to see that it also included what appeared to be a small wooden flute, with a tag describing it as an homage to the popular item:

Included with this special edition Nektar is the (in)famous Moogle Flute! Fully functional, this handcrafted instrument is most well known as the unique method of saving in Final Fantasy IX. Play it if you dare, but remember, don’t call me if you don’t need me, kupo!

She smirked as she flipped the tag over, seeing a little cartoon moogle, looking annoyed and holding a sharp knife.

“Check it out.” She held up the flute as if it were genuine treasure and not merely nostalgic marketing.

“Like FF Nine.” He nodded with a passing grimace, unable to suppress a meager smile. It seemed neither of them were immune to childhood sentiment.

Jill drew the flute closer to her lips, pantomiming blowing into the end of it. She refrained from further imitation as Clive snickered, color rising anew at her cheeks. “What?”

“That’s not how you play a flute.” He shook his head, though his gaze betrayed only the most playful negativity.

“Oh, really?” Her eyes narrowed as she labored to not seem overly annoyed, despite knowing he held no ill intent. “Well, since you're the expert, please share your expertise.”

“First you make a little,” he blushed as he made an ‘O’ with his lips, “shape and then blow gently.” She watched as he continued to stand there looking like he was french kissing the air, half between laughter and rising blush herself. “And you blow here,” he pointed at the narrow opening on the side, “not the tip.”

“Like whistling…” She whispered as she moved the wood closer to her drying lips, heat at her cheeks, eyes still focused upon widened pools of blue—

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jill near jumped out of her rapidly warming skin as she turned to see an incensed and harried woman, hands on her hips. It seems she was running this table, and had been standing here the entire time Jill was oh so close to shoving exceedingly valuable merchandise into her mouth.

“S—sorry, I was—”

“Well, are you buying it, or what?” She continued to eye the flute with undeniable venom writ across her aged features.

“I, uh…” Jill shot a quick glance at the price tag, “...no…”

“So, what, you thought you could just—”

“Sorry, miss, but we really must be going!” Clive pulled the flute from Jill’s hand, a slight shudder as his own swept briefly across her skin. He then thrust the prohibitively expensive and singular work of art into the woman’s grasp with no ceremony, nodding and urging Jill to follow.

“Right, uh…sorry!” She quickly fell into step behind, thoughts lingering on how many times she had fell to panic in similar circumstance, accosted by her landlord or a rude customer. And how in even his most slight of encouraging gestures did she feel steadied. Or even strong.

They had traveled but a handful of meager paces however, where even that fleeting hope faded free. A shimmer of imagining, ephemeral as the heat risen from the outside pavement.

It seemed that the crowd gathered about the moogle table had been only a prelude to the main horde, swarming eagerly in every direction across the main floor. And what might create an atmosphere of excitement for some, coerced naught but angst from others.

For Jill, it had ever been the latter.

At first, breath came to her chest shorter and shorter, the mass of people at all sides seeming to enclose like a vice around her very lungs. She tried to ignore the ripple of heat across her skin, the sweat at her brow, the shake of tingling fingers…one foot in front of the other. Steps, steps…

Her gaze shifted rapid from her feet to Clive, every mere glimpse of his still kindly visage allaying the drum in her chest. He was seemingly pointing out different tables, but she could discern only the movement of his lips, words lost to the pulse ever louder in her ears. He would laugh, and she could not find the will to even pretend to mirror. He would gesture fervently, and she could only blink in reply, her very vision begun to blur about the bounds of frantic sight.

Eventually, she could only stop, eyes screwed shut, bereft of breath and spark.

And then, there was the softest touch at the small of her back.

Air flooded once more to tightened chest, and with every labored breath did her eyes flutter to flash of florescence. Still, she did not dare to raise her view, gaze locked back upon tentative steps. Sound came in intermittent bursts, whispers cut between gasps and her still unabated pulse. 

“You’re going to be okay.”

The hand pressed gently but firmly, guiding her for pace after pace, weaving amongst the crowd that seemed now veiled in shadow.

And at its touch did she no longer feel fear at the dark.

“Everything’s alright.”

She felt a tingle again at flexing fingers, but not of stress. She squeezed to a fist as they moved with greater purpose, still. Strength.

Breath calming, she allowed the hand to steer her to sit, and for a moment did she mourn its loss until there was a feathery graze at her arm.

“You’re alright.”

She blinked away what lingered of anxiety’s shroud, vision now only favored by a concerned yet calming visage. Soft and strong. Azure.

Clive.

He was crouched in front of her as she sat upon an outlying bench, his hand at her elbow, the crowd’s potency cast to utter insignificance.

“I…” She swallowed, mouth feeling as if she had breathed full the desert sands. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” He continued to touch full tender upon her forearm. “You’re safe.”

She nodded, knowing with deepest certainty that she was and would be, here. With him.

“It—it’s the crowd, I…” She blinked swiftly to abate the onset of moisture. “I know, it’s stupid—”

“It’s not stupid.” It had all happened so quickly, but here, in front of his soothing gaze, did time itself seem powerless.

“I—I’ve always had a problem with crowds…” She sniffled and wiped away a few meager tears. “I can’t help it, I just start to feel like…like I’m trapped, like I’m suffocating.” She swallowed as she folded and unfolded shaking hands in her lap. “It’s why I’ve never—”

Clive placed his hand softly upon her own, and there was naught but budding warmth. Calming embers seeped into her aught, amiable as dawn's light into bed on a cold morn. Languid, but kind. Certain.

“You don’t have to explain. J—” He closed his eyes for a moment, curiously seeming to search for breath as well as memory. “Someone I…used to know didn’t like crowds, either. I’ve seen it before.”

His other hand drifted briefly towards his scarred cheek before it too found itself upon their now tangled fingers.

“You’re safe now.” He squeezed gently.

“Thank you.” It was all she could manage, though she meant it all the same. She squeezed back.

“Now, how about some food?” He rose to his feet, one hand still holding just to her own.

“That’s okay, I’m fine, really—”

“Well, I’m starving. Maybe you could join me, as a favor? I’ll owe you.”

“I—” She could feel a smile begun to form, despite the obviousness of his gambit. “Okay.”

“You,” he released her hand as he looked around the hall, “you strike me as a bread person. Am I right?”

She bit her lip as her smile widened. “Yes.”

“Alright.” He winked rather awkwardly, looking as if he had never done so before. “Be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I…” Jill trailed off as he left swiftly, heat no longer of anxiety shading her cheeks. I don’t want to go anywhere without you. She bit her lip as her gaze fell to hands still tingling in memory of his mild touch, knowing these thoughts to be real despite their absurdity.

Worry in full retreat, she merely sat in pleasant repose, bearing and breath steady. She watched from her ever comfortable distance as the delighted and diffusive masses paced about the hall, exchanging money and merch, banter and bluster. She was somewhat surprised to see just how diverse the fanbase truly was, particularly that half or more of those in attendance seemed to be women. She wondered what other assumptions she may have mistakenly taken to in a life spent mostly behind the safety of her phone.

But with little else to do to pass the time, she returned to that solace of screen, making a quick pass of her messages. She felt a brief pang of guilt upon seeing several from Tarja, though prompt to fade as she read that she was actually the one being apologized to.

Tarja: so sorry to run off like that, but something came up!!! you better be out there having fun!!! ill see you tonight 😘

Jill snickered to herself as her thumb lingered upon that something, all but certain it looked like a particular dark haired dragoon.

She flipped over to Discord, thinking about sending at least a short message to Stellar_Ifrit to tell him about the con, to ask if he had managed to attend, to make sure he was alright… She typed and retyped and deleted and then typed again, everything she could come up with sounding too pithy, too much like bragging, too bothersome—

She lingered there, for a moment, thumb brushing across his cute little avatar. She thought back on just how often seeing that Ifrit had brought her joy, comfort, peace... It was odd, but in the whirlwind of the day, she almost felt like he was here, too.

She took a deep breath as she decided she would message later, stowing her phone and looking about in search of Clive. He was still nowhere to be seen, though a fair amount of the crowd had begun to disperse, whether for panels or merely due to the sunset she could spy from just outside the entrance windows.  

Her gaze settled anew upon the table of moogles across the hall, mostly bereft of onlookers, yet barely lacking in high priced dolls. She grinned at seeing the most costly of the lot still sat upon its pedestal, none the worse for wear despite her unseemly attempt to play the bard.

Much more embarrassing was how much she truly wanted it.

The well polished flute shimmered just so in luminous fluorescence, and her thoughts too were alight. Alight with soft glances and tender touch. With a feeling she could scarce deny wishing to again be at her side and in her heart.

If we should get separated, just whistle. I’ll come running, I promise.

She raised two fingers to her lips, slowly sliding them inside, blowing gently—

“Took a bit longer than I’d hoped, but surely you don’t need to eat your own hands?” Clive chuckled at her periphery, bearing food and bathed in orange glow.

“I…” She lowered her hand, smile rather than blush brimming about her features. Warmth.

Embarrassments and anxieties were meager foes against his very presence, arriving as like the sun itself, reliable and radiant.

“What did you get?”

“The finest pitas in all of Ran’dellah.” He sat down aside her, fiddling with the plastic bag. “Well, the finest in all the convention centers filled with hungry foreign tourists.”

He handed her a pita wrapped in brown paper before unwrapping and biting into his own with little ceremony.

She laughed lightly. “Sounds perfect.”

Though as she bit into the shawarma, the chicken and veggies full juicy upon her tongue, she found that this was actually the case.

“From the way your eyes lit up, I take it these meet your standards, my lady?” He smiled as he passably impersonated Cid with the archaic moniker, though there was the undercurrent of sincerity, still.

“Mmmbread.” She managed as she chewed, snickering as she covered her lips.

“That’s not very ladylike.” He mirrored her smile as she playfully slapped at his shoulder. “They actually are good, though.”

“So,” she swallowed this time before continuing, “you’re a barista?”

He shot her a somewhat diffident glance before taking another bite.

She opened her mouth to apologize before also electing to take a bite, watching him carefully. Isn’t this what people do? Talk about their lives? Panic threatened again at the bounds of thinking, heat returning to her every pore—

“That’s right.” There was a meager serenity now, apparent in tone and gaze.

And it only seemed to blossom as she matched that gaze as best as she was able, smile warm and wide.

“I…” He turned, eyes darting about the hall, a touch of yearning in blue.

“Clive?”

“I always wanted to be an artist.” He took a bite as he continued to cast his gaze from table to table.

She swallowed down remaining veggies, wishing only that he would return to her peering. “Why couldn’t you?”

“I got in." He toyed at the brown wrapping, looking low to the floor. "Was all ready to go and everything.”

“Art school?”

He nodded. “Scholarships weren’t enough, and mother, she…”

She placed a hand softly upon his forearm, drawing a slight tremor before he stilled to calm.

“And then there was the accident—” He looked away and cleared his throat. “I strung together some CC classes. Night school, mostly. With what I could save up.”

“So, you are an artist then.” She risked the softest squeeze.

“Well, let’s just say it’s not easy to get internships coming from Rosalith Community College while working a fulltime job.” He shook his head. “So now it’s pretty much just a hobby.”

“It still means something. You make art. You're an artist.”

“You’ve never even seen—” He returned to her gaze, and it seemed he too could not resist a slight smile. “I guess.”

“I’m the same way,” she bit her lip, “with writing. I love it, but it’s just something I do when I have the time.”

“Really? What do you write?” There was a genuine interest in his voice, and her chest felt just a bit lighter.

“Fanfiction, mostly.” She muttered sheepishly.

His eyes went wide for a passing moment, revelation agleam in his gaze. “That’s cool, I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t read too much of it, but I’ve seen some as good as any novel.”

“Believe me,” she swallowed down a final bite, brushing crumbs from her shirt, “mine is not.” She laughed quietly, words fading to whisper in the shadow of honeyed light. “I would know, I work at a bookstore.”

“Oh, really?” He turned full towards her as he too finished his shawarma, honest concern ever apparent upon his visage.

“I went to school for environmental science, actually.” She pursed her lips as she nodded. “But, I’ve never been able to find much work using my degree.”

He swallowed. “Your…your parents supported you?”

“Yes. Well, my foster mother.”

“Marleigh? You mentioned her, earlier?”

Jill hummed. “She adopted me, after…” She moved to withdraw her hand, but to her surprise, he now took hold.

“It’s okay.” He squeezed gently before releasing her. “You don’t need to explain.”

They merely sat there for a moment, gazes locked, radiant in streaks of saffron from outside the window. It was difficult to express even to herself how odd this day had become. Her failures to find lucrative work, her nearly forgotten and useless degree, her adoption of all things— These were topics she almost never spoke of, and then only to Torgal or Tarja. The fact that she was here, speaking of them so casually with a man she had just met, and that she felt completely at ease by it—

“Sorry.” She at last rediscovered speech. “I know this isn’t the most stimulating conversation. Sharing failures and what not.”

“Jill, I don’t…sharing with you, I—” He sputtered before running a hand through his unkempt hair in seeming frustration.

In full view of his unveiled features, she felt only longing, alarming in its potency. But as the sunset reached its utmost gleam, doubt remained still, cloaked and unyielding.

“I’m sure that there is some other place you’d rather be—”

“No!” Color danced across his features, vibrant at the unintended force of his voice. “No…there isn’t…”

Jill looked away, unable to take in the raw want in his bearing, in his gaze, in his voice. And quite unable to reconcile her undeniable own.

Unsure of what to do, or how long she should maintain this attempt at nonchalance, she cast glances about the now mostly emptied merch tables, looking for something, anything, to occupy her thoughts. She wasn’t quite certain as to why, but she found at last passable distraction with a nearby stack of plushies in the canine shape of Red XIII.

“Jill?”

She took a deep breath, willing with her aught to yet avoid azure glimpse. Even in his mere murmur did she know that he cast only the most plaintive peering.

“Yes…?”

“You don’t want Nektar anymore?”

“What?” She at last turned, seeing that in truth he bore but a slight smirk. As for what he found amusing, she hadn’t a clue.

“You seem rather taken with those Reds.” He pointed to where she had been obviously and likely bizarrely, staring.

“Oh, I, um…” She smiled, realization coming to her just as she was made to explain. “I was just thinking about my dog. I miss him.”

“I’m sorry, is he…?”

“What?” Her smile widened at his genuine concern. “No, he’s safe and sound in my apartment. I know it’s silly, but I just don’t like being away from him for even a few days. He gets so lonely when I’m not around and he doesn’t like being cooped up. I get worried and—”

“It sounds like you really care about him.” Again he assaulted her senses with those absurdly soft eyes. “He’s special to you.”

“I’ve had him since I was little.” She glanced briefly again at the crimson furred plushies, her own eyes coming to prickle just so. “He…he was my only real friend, back then.”

Clive furrowed his brow. “He’s lived a long time.”

“Did you just call me old?” She did her best to project sincere annoyance, feeling a slight twinge of satisfaction as he squirmed.

“N—no, I only meant—”

Laughter flowed free from parted lips as she was unable to maintain the farce.

“Jill.” He shook his head, selfsame sputters of laughter resonant. “I was only—”

“I know. Believe me, I’ve thought about it. Tarja thinks he’s part wolf but I don’t know if that really explains it.” She bit her lip, yet more she would oft never dare to reveal only too easy beneath his kindly gaze. “I’ve always thought that…he was magical. Not just his age, but…”

“But what?” There wasn’t a trace of skepticism upon his face.

“I swear he understands every word I say.” These words came near silently, truths fit for only the two.

Clive smiled, though he seemed still to take to heart her every word. “He’s a great conversation partner, then?”

“Well, he listens.” Jill breathed deep, unexpected sentiment arising from farcical shadow. “He’s always there. He…doesn’t pretend I don’t exist. He doesn’t laugh when I say something stupid—”

“You don’t say stupid things.”

Clive gazed low, a hint of color upon unveiled cheeks, kissed by streak of sun. But as he swiftly returned to her peering, there was something like revelation yet again flickering in his eyes.

“You said he’s part wolf?”

“I think so…?”

He swallowed, eyes a touch wider, still. “…what’s his name?”

“Torgal.” 

Lips just parted in silent acknowledgment, his gaze was full alight. And by more it seemed than saffron gleam.

“Clive?”

He bit his lip. “I—I…” Words appeared the greatest burden, their weight apparent in tensing neck, rigid shoulders, lips near bruised—

“Are you alright—”

And then his hand was upon her own, and aught else was of meager worry.

“Jill,” his eyes shimmered with sweetest yearning, “can I see you tomorrow?”

“Yes!” Her own words came as if in purest instinct, mind working to regain control. “Yes.” Her volume at least was lesser, if not her quickened heart. “I would like that.”

In speechless squeeze lingered no trace of judgment. In his smile, there was but a hidden wish, no longer left to Lunar lit dream.

Jill squeezed back, at last unafraid to be. To live.

To see what tomorrow might bring.

Clive paced from wall to wall, forward, back, and forward again. Steps muffled upon the fraying carpet of what Gav had enthusiastically declared to be a bargain hotel room, anxiety fastened, still. Footprints tracked in tightening circles, each shadowed trace as if trying and failing to find freedom from his mind's coiling knot. And as in aught did he find himself back where he started. A path well trod, a loop restless yet unraveling. Inescapable. The void.

He had spent the better part of the last hour in this ritual march, and with every stride did he threaten to give in to that sweetest plunge. Familiar chaos too played at his gaze, bouncing from blackened glass to blackened glass.

First, the window. Focus came full ephemeral, cloudless night and his own reflection in tenebrous dance. He would look long but not longing at the city, aglow with neon and nightlife, the notion of leaving his room but swiftly fleeting. Rare had he been at ease even at the spotlight's sharp edge.

He would then find himself settling upon screens unlit. The television held naught but his ghostly silhouette, unable to provide even meager distraction from the nigh unbelievable theater of today's events, swirling about his mind's eye in watercolor fantasy.

Finally there was the last of these dark panels, sitting at his bedside. In even passing glimpse, he could feel a twinge, a spark of light across the void. A dare to let sentiment touch upon the heart undeserved. To feel.

No matter how black or blank, in every light, in every reflection, in every shimmer—there was only silver in his eyes.

She loves Shiva. She writes fanfic. She has a dog named Torgal.

In every pace did he fail to shield his gaze from blinding dreams.

It must be a common name. It has to be.

In truth, he didn’t know of any other dogs named Torgal, but then again, he didn’t know many dogs. Or people for that matter.

I know her. I’ve always known her.

Unable to resist for a moment longer, he finally took hold of that last darkened mirror, sloped reflection doing little to assuage rising nerves. He immediately opened Discord, reasoning that regardless how ridiculous his mind’s spiral, he owed it to Lunarshiva to at least check in. It had been near a week since they last spoke, and she had as ever given him the space he needed. Everything he needed.

He endeavored to not think too hard on the events that led to that episode, his mother’s sneer threatening at the void’s still slick edge. Scrolling briefly up to reread the too sweet messages she had left, it was as if each blanketed about his every breath, calm inexorable. In simple words she had said to reply only when he felt ready.

He closed his eyes, and there was naught but silver.

Stellar_Ifrit: hey! sorry i didnt message but its been crazy lately. i really did appreciate what you said and im feeling better

Seeing that she was online, he decided to wait to see if she would respond. His heart was a near drum, rising and rising—

Lunarshiva: its ok!!! seriously u dont have to respond i dont mind! i just want u to know that u are loved ♥️ and i hope u had a good day today

He instantly felt just a bit lighter. It was always so easy to talk to her.

Stellar_Ifrit: actually i did! i ended up going to the con and its been amazing! i hope u had a good day too

Her reply was near immediate.

Lunarshiva: omg are u serious

Stellar_Ifrit: what

Lunarshiva: i went too!!!

The lightness swept to his head as he tried to not let his thoughts get away from him. He had to type and retype his reply several times, hands just a touch unsteady.

Stellar_Ifrit: wow weve gotta meet up omg

Lunarshiva: yesss

Stellar_Ifrit: i cant wait to

He paused, swallowing. Thumbs trembling, uncertain how or what he could say.

Stellar_Ifrit: i cant wait to hang out and also i want you to meet

Lunarshiva: what?

Stellar_Ifrit: meet who i met today

Lunarshiva: u met somebody or like u ‘met’ somebody 😏

He nearly dropped his phone.

Stellar_Ifrit: i actually dont know

Lunarshiva: lol boy or girl

Stellar_Ifrit: girl and i dont expect anything to happen but shes

He took a deep breath. She’s so beautiful, so patient and kind, so smart, so perfect—

Stellar_Ifrit: girl and i dont expect anything to happen but shes really something

Lunarshiva: oooh whats this mystery cuties name?

He swallowed again, thicker. This is it. Truth or void.

Stellar_Ifrit: jill

Lunarshiva: Lunarshiva is typing…

Breathing no longer seemed possible.

Lunarshiva: Lunarshiva is typing…

With every pause and vanished message he felt his very life too seem to blink away and then return.

Lunarshiva: Lunarshiva is typing…

Stellar_Ifrit: sorry if im being weird idk what to do

He could feel sweat at his brow as he pressed enter, thumb already lingering over Delete Message, finding himself holding the screen still closer and closer to his face—

She was no longer typing. He waited, and then he waited some more. Nothing. Panic was in full force now, his shaking fingers manically closing and then opening the app. Still nothing. He made note of the clock, scrolling rapidly to check the timestamp of her last message, desperate to know if this had truly been the eternity it felt or merely the latest in a life of lonely moments—

And then, in blue at the top of the screen: 1 new message.

His phone nearly flew from his grasp as he swiped to the bottom, a jolt of something he could almost believe to be hope in every beat of heaving chest…

There, at the end, was the woman whose messages had helped him endure his hardest days, brought to him truest smiles when he thought that nothing could, simply given him the will to get out of bed—

And for the first time, she was there in more than simply text.

Alongside a winking Cid, she was there. She was smiling at him and he was smiling back.

Thumb upon silver, his gaze now lingered over a man he scarce recognized. A man free of anxiety and doubt. A man unafraid to be. A man alive.

He tapped gently upon tiny scar, and he could feel it, too.