Archive of Our Own

It’s snowing outside. 

This isn’t unheard of in Balamb, and it’s not even the first time this winter, but she had been hoping against hope that for once, they’d have a snowy solstice. It never seemed right for it to be sunny and warm, which was the case more often than not the last few years. 

Quistis is delighted by this turn of events-- it’s enough of a reason to put down her tablet, saving the rest of the mission briefing she’s going over for later, to take her coffee and a throw blanket over to the window, and curl up on the sofa to watch the snowflakes spiral down. 

In the blue glow of Garden’s paramagic ring, with the sun setting, the snow seems a little more ethereal, more like a miracle than the product of temperature and weather patterns. She’d never try to explain this to anyone, of course; this is the kind of private musing she’d rather keep to herself, a secret between her and the coffee and the sky. 

There are few things that could improve her evening. A real fireplace, maybe. Something better than the tiny fake tree that she sets up on its little plastic stand every year, set next to the television. 

A home , even. One of her own, one away from a dormitory full of shared walls and mission briefs. But homes are for people who aren’t full-time mercenaries, and she’s lived here for so long, it’s home, regardless. 

But sometimes, she'd like it to be a little more like a holiday movie special, full of family, full of the people she loves. Or at least, one person in particular.

Her phone is nearby-- she reaches for it, snapping a photo of the sky, and sends it to Seifer. 

>>You’re missing all the good weather <3

His response takes a few minutes, but eventually buzzes through: a single thumbs up emote, followed a second later by the vaguely demented looking snowman icon that had come with the latest software update. 

Anyone else might be annoyed by it, the lack of actual dialogue, but Seifer’s been in deep-western Galbadia for the last several weeks, on a job that he’s described as anything from boring as hell to a variety of choice swears regarding whatever he’d gotten recently involved in, and narrowly out of, depending on the day. 

Be careful out there , she writes. 

She gets a heart icon in response, and nothing afterward. He’s also not all that big on texting-- it’s a miracle when Seifer remembers to have his phone on him at all, when he even remembers he has one. It’s a double-miracle when he manages to make it through an entire year without shattering the screen, or running it over with an armored vehicle. 

(Her present to him this year is an everything-proof, military-tested case, far better than the ones that Balamb Garden gives out with their devices. She’s not holding her breath that his phone will be intact by the time he gets back; the receipt is tucked safely away, just in case.)

Maybe his keyboard is broken. He’s been particularly quiet the last couple of days. 

The snow comes down in earnest. 

It really would have been nice for this job to not have been scheduled over the holidays. But Garden doesn’t stop for anything, much less seasonal celebrations. And she can’t waste her entire evening staring out at the way the ground goes from grassy green to a light dusting of white, to a steady, even layer by the time she finishes her drink. Proof, at least, that it’ll stick this time. 

Quistis sighs. Studies the inside of her empty mug, trying to decide if it’s worth getting a refill or if the caffeine will just keep her up well past when she’s done going over the brief. Comes to the conclusion that even if it does , it’ll just mean she can get some more work done before her first class tomorrow, and rises from the warm nest of her blanket. 

There’s just enough left in the carafe for a second cup-- perfect. Like she had planned it.

Except she hadn’t; she’d just gotten so used to brewing enough for two people at a time that she’d acted on autopilot. With a sigh, Quistis adds a dash of cream, puts the carton back into the mini-fridge under the counter, and stirs it gently with the same spoon she had used earlier. 

It’s good coffee. It’s a nice evening: it’s snowing, pretty out, and she’d like nothing more than to be curled up on the couch to watch the world turn white, not alone. 

But there’s nothing she can do about it right now, so she takes her coffee and her tablet back to the couch, and tries to not let herself get hopelessly distracted. 

Luckily, or not, for her, the mission she’s scheduled to take next week is just complex enough that it does require most of her attention, reading through the report, adding notes and comments in the file for her later reference. The snow comes down outside, going from a gentle, easy dusting to something with determination, a genuine storm of it-- when she breaks to check her phone, there’s an alert that most of the trains have been stopped for the night because of it. 

That’ll be a mess, she thinks. She’s just glad she doesn’t have anywhere to be, and that her commute to work is up a couple of flights of stairs. 

She texts Seifer again, just to check in: Is the weather bad where you are?

>> kinda. what r u doing? 

>>Mission prep. Very exciting. 

>>i bet

Scintillating conversation, as far as it goes. Thrilling. Engrossing. 

She misses him. 

Quistis wouldn’t go so far as to say that she missed him like a limb, or anything that dramatic, but over the last five years, Seifer had become a strange constant in her life, going from someone she almost couldn’t stand and definitely couldn’t understand, to a dependable ally, to a friend, to more. 

And when they’d realized that, and then when he’d basically moved in a couple months ago, showing up to her much larger dorm with a box of personal effects and a duffel full of his clothes, they’d been a constant in each other’s lives. 

She doesn’t miss him like a limb. She misses Seifer . She misses his little sarcastic quips. The way he sings along with the radio unselfconsciously, the way he sprawls across furniture like he’s doing it a favor. 

Quistis sips her coffee, swipes to the next page of the brief, and then realizes she’d registered essentially nothing on the previous screen at all. 

A tap back, and at the same time, there’s a subtle click at the door as the lock disengages, someone entering the right access code from outside. 

It startles her out of her thoughts, and she’s glad her coffee is half-empty, because the liquid sloshes up to the rim, but not over; the white of her t-shirt is saved. 

Seifer steps in, drops his blue duffel bag on the floor and Hyperion’s case alongside it, and shrugs off his winter coat, snow drifting onto the bland gray of the carpet. 

“Gorgeous night, isn’t it?” 

She blinks at him, trying to understand what’s happening. 

“You’re not supposed to be back yet,” Quistis says, and it sounds accusatory to her own ears. “What are you--?”

“We finished early. Caught a train back this morning-- good thing, I guess, since it was the last one that was making it through Balamb tonight. Had a hell of a time getting a rental car to come up here, though.” He crouches, untying his boots and kicking them off. “Thought I was gonna have to walk back.”

He’s here . 

He’s not in western Galbadia, getting shot at or stabbed or blown up.

Quistis sets down her mug, her tablet, and her blanket, but he beats her to getting up, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss her. 

Which she is more than happy to partake in, but Seifer seems more amused by her shock than anything.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming home? I was worried about you.”

He beams; clearly, his plan has worked out about how he was expecting it to. 

“Because it’s more fun to surprise you. I like seeing you speechless. You gonna finish that?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, reaching to swipe the mug and empty the rest of its contents. 

She swats his arm lightly. “I was drinking that.”

“ Was being the operative word in that sentence. Here. As a consolation prize.” His hand disappears into the pocket of his jeans, and Seifer retrieves a small box wrapped with a silver ribbon, placing it in her lap.

She blinks. 

“Solstice isn’t until tomorrow, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Indulge me, will you? Open it.” 

Seifer may have the patience of a gnat, but curiosity gets the better of her, too, and Quistis reaches, pulling at a ribbon tail to undo the small bow, running a fingernail beneath one taped edge to open the paper without completely shredding it. 

There’s a small velvet jewelry box, and in it, a pair of ruby earrings, subtle red gems inlaid in delicate swirls of gold. The kind of jewelry she’d actually wear . Not too flashy. 

It makes her everything-proof tactical phone case gift seem like a stocking stuffer in exchange. 

After a moment of silence, Seifer clears his throat. “You like ‘em?” 

Does she like them? 

“I love them.”

The snow comes down outside, and Quistis could care less about what the weather is doing, reaching to grab the front of his shirt, pulling him back down to kiss him again.