Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Absent Presence ❯ Absent Presence ( Chapter 2 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

By: DB2020

Part II

Lovesick

With an angry shake of his fist, Seifer Almasy tossed his fishing pole off the pier and into the gently swaying waves below. “Fucking fish!” he cursed. Settling down on the wooden planks, he let the warm sun assuage his annoyance.

“That's the way, ya know? Charm the fish like that and we'll have a feast.” Raijin commented sarcastically as he patiently sat with his line in the water.

“Shove it,” the former knight grunted with annoyance. Lying back, he tried to relax, though his legs hanging over the edge made him slightly uncomfortable. His tanned skin was from years of constantly being in the sun, soaking up the rays like a source of energy. Throwing an arm over his eyes, he shielded them from the blindingly bright orb high in the sky. With a long pair of green khaki shorts and white beater top, he felt the rays beat down on his arms and lower legs. Sadly, the sun was hardly the answer to his problems.

“RAGE,” Fujin bit out from further down, on Raijin's other side.

“Not quite,” Seifer muttered darkly, images of his affliction flashing before his eyes. It wasn't rage, though given enough time to simmer with his emotions bottled up it might just become that. For now, it was annoyance and confusion over his growing obsession and constant thoughts of a certain fighter with steely blue eyes and gently tousled hair.

“It's been eight months Seif, what's going on? Are you trippin' over the knight thing still? It's normal, ya know? At least I think, ya know?” the burly quarterstaff user assured. Giving up on catching a fish any time soon, he wedged his pole between a convenient gap in the planks.

“For the last time,” Seifer growled. “I am not hung up on that. Hyne, that woman was a bitch who couldn't even speak properly inside my head. It's not my fault I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” It was true enough that he suffered very little after the war, which did trouble him in some ways. His guilt was nearly non-existent, despite the innocent lives taken by his hands both directly and indirectly. For all his self proclaimed resolve for never regretting the choices he made, he hadn't thought that one day he'd back his words up.

“Well, at least she wasn't bad lookin' or nothin', ya know?” Raijin said with a half-hearted shrug, trying to make light of the situation when their posse' leader seemed so touchy about everything.

With a disrupting splash, Raijin was sent off the dock, an angry Fujin towering over the edge of the raven-haired man's place. “MORON,” she called as Raijin struggled to stay afloat.

“I just meant when compared to like Adel, ya know?” Raijin defended as he tread towards the dock and grappled to get a good enough grip to levy himself up.

“I'm calling it guys, I'll see you tomorrow,” Seifer announced as he clambered to his feet. “While you're in there Raij, mind getting my pole?”

Raijin, who was halfway on the dock, glanced up to stare at the retreating back of the ex-knight. Aside from failing to keep his closest friend happy for more than a few hours, he was now wet.

“SEARCH,” Fujin ordered with a swift stomp to the large man's hands, causing Raijin to fall back in. Her single red eye cast a sorrowful glance towards the retreating back of their blond leader. There just didn't seem to be much either she or Raijin could do for him anymore, and he was being more stubborn and tightlipped than Leonhart about whatever was ailing him.

Seifer managed to express a small bit of appreciation for his friend's antics, offering no more than a quick wave, not even turning to watch.

The blond fighter's feet carried him along the steady strip of worn planks, a loose board jostling under his sneaker's footfalls every so often. He wasn't even sure where he wanted to go, just that he felt like being alone.

When he reached what was considered the busiest part of town, which simply meant that that there were a few out-of-towners mulling around, he stopped and thought about where he was going. There was very little to do in Fisherman's Horizon, but he found that it was just the place for him to spend time in reflection. Besides, with the crackpot mayor preaching about peace and forgiveness, he had little to worry about as far as angry mobs went.

It was roughly between noon and one o'clock, judging from the sun, and too early for him to drink himself into oblivion. Grumbling at the inconvenience a time restriction on alcohol was, he stalked towards Frank's Diner, the only place that served decent food. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his mood darker over the injustice of alcohol prohibition. If the mayor could get high before five o'clock, then the bar should be open before then as well.

With the chime of the doorbells, Seifer entered the small diner. He gave an automatic wave to the grizzly looking man behind the counter. “Frank,” he greeted tersely, it was the warmest greeting he was in the mood for giving.

“Ahh, Seifer,” the old man cheered with a returned wave. “I had a feeling you'd show up today. What can I get you?”

“The usual, and I'll pick it up at the counter, no daughter today,” the blond answered before selecting his usual seat in the corner booth. Despite having far more room than someone of his broad frame required, he slouched and propped his arms around the curving back of the cushioned seat.

“Mandy's been looking forward to seeing you all day after I said you'd probably show up,” Frank countered before disappearing into the kitchen.

Jade green eyes scanned the diner, finding two other customers present. He wasn't sure they were even customers, rather two old men playing chess while extorting the air conditioning of the small restaurant.

It was the broken calm that reminded the former knight why he stopped eating out so often.

“Seifer!” came the slightly shrill cry, which would have been chipper if the girl would stop trying to make her voice sound two octaves higher than it was meant to go.

Head back and eyes closed, Seifer lifted his head a bit before smacking it back down and repeating. “Mandy,” he muttered, trying to hide at least a little of his distain.

Mandy was Frank's daughter, a young woman of twenty-four who was completely enamored with Seifer. Given that she refused to ever leave FH, her father seemed to encourage her infatuation since the handsome blond was prime meat in the small, middle of nowhere town.

“I've killed hundreds of people, women and children alike,” Seifer stated evenly as the petit woman slid in beside him. Every time he saw her, he tried to discourage her by informing her of his past discrepancies, which for anyone else would warrant an angry slap and maybe a few sharp stones chucked his way.

Thinking it was part of the game they played all the time, the auburn haired woman giggled fanatically as she leaned into the man's arms. Daring to place a quick kiss on his cheek, she replied, “I told Daddy to make your omelet extra special.”

Seifer wondered, as he always did, if ignoring her would do any good. However, when her hand began to stroke his chest, he sat up and pointedly retracted his arm from behind her form.

“So, do you like omelets because of the protein?” Mandy questioned, finding the constant ordering of the dish to be fascinating. Feeling the hardened muscles of the ex-knight's bicep she gave off a round of giggles. “All that protein is good for something,” she stated lewdly.

Suppressing the urge to bluntly inform the young woman that she was mentally twenty years too young for his tastes, he opted to remain silent. It was a sad fact that he hadn't been with a woman since his summer fling with Rinoa Heartilly. He was sorely missing the vibrant political activist at that point. Before he lost all interest in the female gender, he needed to find some sexy number visiting or passing through. Mandy wasn't going to make the cut even after eight months of celibacy and a dangerous amount of rum.

“Mandy,” the blond said with a gruff sigh, detaching his arm once more as fondling hands seemed unable to keep away. “I'm not interested in you, we've been through this already.”

Frowning at the blunt words, the short woman seemed to pick up on the heavy atmosphere surrounding the handsome man. “I can tell when you're in a foul mood. I let you get out of promising me a date, but just for today.”

Looking heavenward, Seifer replied, “That's all I ask.”

“Well, I'm off to shop for a new dress. Jean's having her birthday party tomorrow and I want to look nice. Maybe I'll come by your place in the morning and show it off,” she suggested with a grope of the ex-knight's muscular thigh. With another round of giggles, she dashed from her place and left with a clanging ring of the door after it was slammed shut a bit harshly.

Wondering where the nearest noose was, Seifer grit his teeth and tried to instill some sense of calm. Now he couldn't get drunk later, since he needed to be up and out of sight early tomorrow. If he had any sense of his former self, he'd unleash Hyperion on her. But, he found he didn't have the heart when she came off as so pathetic and desperate.

While any normal father would beat their daughter's suitor away with a stick, Frank found the odd exchanges between Mandy and Seifer didn't arouse alarm. Even at such an age as Mandy was, she'd been isolated her whole life and had yet to understand that a simple crush didn't mean her feelings would be requited or that she'd marry the guy.

“I find it hard to believe you're the lad who caused all that ruckus,” the older man said as he walked close and set the single plate and tall glass of ice water down before the blond boy.

“Ruckus?” Seifer questioned with a scoff. “It was more than a ruckus old timer, and I think you should be concerned about that daughter of yours. Next time she grabs my groin, I'm grabbing her breast.”

Laughing heartily at the former knight's words, Frank reached around and untied his greasy white apron. Balling the garment, he sat down and kept it in his lap. “You're a good kid,” he said as his laughter trailed off to light chuckling.

Seifer shook his head, wondering if remaining in the town too long would make his thought process work backwards too. “If you locals don't stop breeding amongst yourselves, you're going to become stark raving mad.”

“Your sense of humor is amusing,” Frank assured. “You are quite the paradox Seifer Almasy. I was scared stiff the first day you walked in here, but now I can hardly imagine you hurting a fly.”

“That's cause I bury the bodies well, you'd never know just how many townies I've knocked off,” the blond retorted before sampling his omelet. With mushrooms and some weird homemade salsa spread inside, it was the best damn thing he'd ever eaten.

“She'll get over you, just give her time.”

“And what do you propose I do in the meantime? Should I just turn over in bed when she shows up in the middle of the night and tries to rape me?”

Chuckling some more, Frank clapped a hand to a broad shoulder. “Always with the sarcasm. You city folks have quick tongues.”

“I'm not from the city,” Seifer commented, not bothering to correct the man since he didn't care to divulge the details of his past.

“Anyone who isn't from around these parts is from the city,” Frank assured. With a population of less than fifty, FH wasn't even a town.

Seifer grunted in response, his mouth too full to respond.

“So, what ails you today? You've got a dark aura.”

Taking a swig of his water, he ended it with a resounding crunch of ice. Staying hydrated was always important, especially in FH. The town was in the middle of a vast ocean channel. There was more sun shining down all day than any place else in the world. Dawn and dusk seemed ages apart and lasted just as long.

Finding that Frank was oddly compelling, Seifer laid out his troubles. Better to tell a stranger than someone who'd hark at his door incessantly with concern. “I've been doing a lot of thinking, too much perhaps,” he stated vaguely.

“Then, perhaps your time of repentance is over,” the fifty-five year old cook replied solemnly.

“I haven't been repenting,” Seifer growled. “If I were sorry for what I did, I'd be visiting every town looking for lost orphans like Matron.”

“Who?”

Shaking his head at the slip, Seifer corrected, “Edea Kramer, the beacon of goodwill with the orphanage in Centra.”

Nodding in understanding, Frank hummed his knowledge of distant matters. News didn't travel fast in these parts. With the average age being fifty, not many of the retired folk were interested in the fast paced world outside.

“So you've spent half a year helping out with repairs around here, doing everything from changing the diapers of Yuna's baby girl to giving Johnny fishing lessons, and for what?” Frank questioned.

“Because I'm bored,” Seifer answered lamely. He made a mental note to stop doing good deeds, since it was obviously killing his reputation. He wondered if a demonstration of the fact that he couldn't fish for shit would discredit his attempts at teaching Johnny. Truthfully, he'd only done it for his own safety, the little brat swinging the damn pole and loose line every which way, such that no one was off the hook for a mile radius.

Laughing once more, Frank clapped the ex-knight's shoulder again. “You're still as lost as the day you first came here. You're not meant to hang around a tired old place like this. Your eyes are restless and getting more desperate looking each day.”

Lips forming a thin line, Seifer stared at his partly eaten omelet. While he certainly felt restless, it was more for the fact that he couldn't shake his thoughts of Squall. Why the hell should Squally-boy be on his mind?

“What you're looking for isn't here,” Frank carried on soundly, his age bringing more than gray hairs. “I remember the last war. I've seen the lost soldiers coming round here thinking that they needed to settle down and find some quiet to sooth their souls. They're all gone, `cause after a while it only makes things worse.”

“My soul doesn't need soothing, it needs alcohol,” Seifer commented as he forced himself to finish his food.

“What it needs, is what was left behind,” Frank said cryptically.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Seifer grumbled out around his mouthful, hardly caring how uncouth he seemed.

Commenting to himself, Frank said, “There's something about the heart that makes it mysterious to the owner, but so obvious to everyone else.”

Frowning, Seifer took another deep sip of water. “What the hell does my heart have to do with anything? Are you putting me on old man? If you need your damn roof fixed, just say so, `cause I'd be happy to send Raijin up there.”

Scratching his stubbly chin, Frank explained, “I mean, you're lovesick. I've seen it countless times, the soldiers who come here for peace but soon realize they left a special someone behind.”

Setting his fork down, Seifer stared angrily at his empty plate. “That ship has sailed. She's with someone else.” Honestly, Seifer couldn't imagine any connection between his thoughts of Squall and him being lovesick over Rinoa.

“Well, it can't hurt to try.”

Slapping some coins on the tabletop, Seifer made to stand, his heart to heart effectively over. “Get your head examined Frank,” he said with mock concern. “You're growing senile far too fast, maybe it's a tumor.”

It had been a week since the dreams started. Seifer was going out of his mind as each childhood memory progressed further along, instilling some deep sense of just how long he'd known Squall, not to mention the confusing layers of their relationship. It wasn't that he'd forgotten any his past, never liking Guardian Forces and therefore never suffering the effects of junctioning. Rather, he'd never stopped to analyze any of it, living only in the present.

When his feelings for Squall had become that of strictly a rival, he had acted upon that feeling and not considered the fact that in reality the brunet was possibly the closest person to him and was better fit to serve as a friend. Each time those cold blue eyes stared at him without flickering with emotion or recognition of their past together, he became irate, and acted solely on those immediate feelings.

He lay in bed, sheet twisted about after tossing restlessly. It was humid, no air-conditioning in his little apartment. As the first rays of light cast a faint glow on the water-stained ceiling, he cursed the early hour in which he'd woken. Every night it was same damn experience and the same rude awaking that brought no reprieve with force of thought. He couldn't control what he dreamed about any more than he could what he pined about all day long.

Everyday he felt his chest constricting a little more, like a snake that wrapped around his torso tightly, refusing to let up. It was oppressing and seemed to affect the beat of his heart foremost. A clean bill of health from the doc two doors over informed him that it wasn't physical, which meant he'd begun to avoid Frank's Diner, lest he believe Frank was right.

Lovesickness was a fucking joke.

Angrily untangling his long legs from the sheet, feeling the muggy air and slight feel of perspiration at his brow, he stood and made for the bathroom. First it'd be a cold shower to wake himself up, knowing he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep and not wanting to go through the day walking into walls.

Absently running a hand over his face, feeling the regal curve of his jaw and the slight stubble, he wound up stroking his scar. Staring into the mirror, his thoughts drifted to the scar he'd given Squall, a regrettable act.

His intent had never been to mar the younger boy's effeminate and decidedly attractive face, but rather to scare the brunet. However, the ice prince lived up to his title and never flinched, which caused a dangerous anger to flare inside him. He couldn't say that he was guilty about it, having a returned scar of his own, but he was inexplicably anguished over the way the scar seemed to represent two eras of his life. There was the time before the scars and then the horribly fucked up time after the scars.

There was such irony in the life he led in comparison to Squall. They'd both come from the same background and mirrored each other in so many ways. Yet, they'd wound up on opposing ends, not just standing across from each other as reflective counterparts, but as enemies.

With an angry growl, he tore from the mirror and stepped into the shower. He forced himself to stand beneath the cold spray, as if to prove that he had some level of control over his body, even if his mind was rampant.

A simple trip to buy a carton of milk turned into the ex-knight's worst nightmare, and ultimately the final push he needed.

He was at the checkout counter, nearly finished with his simple errand. He accepted his change and the plastic bag that his single item had been placed in. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

Frozen with the fear at finally snapping and succumbing to the sad level of hallucinating, he stared at the back of choppy dark brown hair. Perhaps it was a bit darker than he remembered, but no less mussed or naturally styled. The smaller frame seemed thinner, but word on the street was that Wonder Boy's health was waning. The slight flare of hips and overall lean form seemed to confirm every aspect he tried to scrounge up for comparison. The only way he'd know for certain was by the face, the familiar scar and unforgettable eyes.

With trepidation, he bit the bullet and stalked towards the shorter boy. “Leonhart,” he bit out in a choked manner, a gamut of emotions swelling in his chest.

Turning around, a momentarily confused young woman stared with hazel green eyes. Blinking at the tall blond, recognition setting in, she murmured, “I'm sorry?”

“I…” Seifer was at a loss, sudden sadness filling him. He was hardly embarrassed at the mistake, simply disappointed. “I thought you were someone I knew,” he excused with little cognitive function.

With a hand shooting to her hair, the young woman grinned sheepishly. “I guess I should ask my hair stylist to not do such a good job. You're the fifth person who's mistaken me for Squall Leonhart since I got it done. I mean, I wanted his hair, but come on.” She laughed nervously. Eyeing the tanned man before her, she smiled more broadly. “I wanted my boyfriend to change his hair, but we broke up a month ago.”

Seifer almost forgot the woman was still speaking until he noticed the offered hand.

“I'm Clarice Morgan,” she introduced. When the heartthrob before her simply shook her hand, she prompted, “You're Seifer Almasy, right?”

“Yeah,” the blond replied, his body feeling numb at the moment.

“I recognized you almost right away.” Blushing slightly at the brash words she was bout to speak, she tried to smile disarmingly, not wanting to come off as some groupie. “Between you and Commander Leonhart, me and my girlfriends practically fainted when you were all over the news. I never knew mercenaries were so attractive.”

Managing a wry smile, Seifer tried to contain the various retorts that came to mind. “Most of them aren't,” he answered, as if he were no longer a mercenary.

“Listen, if you're not doing anything tonight, let me buy you dinner,” Clarice offered, jumping at the opportunity to have a date with this man.

“I can't,” Seifer replied immediately, green eyes narrowing in sudden decision. “I'm heading out to Balamb Garden tonight.”

“Hey man, where ya goin'?” Raijin questioned as Seifer hastily shoved the contents of his dresser drawer into a single large duffel bag.

“I'll let you know when I get there,” the blond answered evasively, a bit too preoccupied to explain his reasoning behind the sudden urge to return to Garden.

Head bowed, Raijin scratched the back of his neck. “It's me, ya know? I'd go with you no matter what. Fu too, ya know?”

“AFFIRMATIVE,” the white haired young woman announced, standing beside the burly fighter, her stature dwarfed when compared to Raijin's.

“Sorry guys, I'm gonna have to bail on our poker night.” Passing by his bedroom window he cursed. “Shit, that looks like a nasty storm.” He could only hope it didn't delay the train.

In a rush to the station, preferring not to be caught in the downpour, a latent guilt formed. Seifer felt bad for leaving Raijin and Fujin so abruptly, his two most loyal friends. He'd been leaving them in the dark for weeks, regardless of their obvious efforts to help.

However, when he arrived at Balamb and managed to figure out what the hell was the matter with him, everything would go back to normal.

A humid updraft blew, the denseness of it not making it feel any cooler than the surrounding air. The wind swept low. Seifer could hear it sweeping across the stone courtyard, blowing a lonesome plastic bag like some faux tumbleweed.

As he practically jogged down the long ramp, silently cursing that the mayor didn't just put in a set of stairs, he turned to gaze at approaching clouds. Heavy and dark, he saw distant lightening flash within them. However, with the lack of thunder, he was inclined to compare it to heat lightening.

His heavy boots clunk along the wooden ramp until a more solid ground absorbed the sound. The jeans he wore were the first pair of pants he'd donned since arriving in Fisherman's Horizon. Balamb was cooler at that time of year, but for the moment he suffered despite the light t-shirt.

He was about a half hour early, but he didn't own an umbrella and would rather stand around habitually checking his watch than answer to the relentless questions from his two best buds.

The light grey stone of the open courtyard was practically white after being exposed to such constant salty air. The blond often wondered if he could take filed scrapings and just use it to garnish his food. However, he wasn't actually so desperately bored to find out.

With his gunblade in its rectangular black case, he trucked it in one arm while he carried his standard SeeD duffle bag in the other. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he stalked up the short slope of stairs that made the entrance to the station.

Newly renovated, the matching stone décor was several shades darker, though the slight enclosure did minimize the effect of weathering winds.

Purchasing his ticket, Seifer was quite pleased to find his early arrival gave him one of only a few spots left on the last train leaving. Apparently the storm was going to be brutal, and once the train made it to Balamb Harbor, it was staying there until further notice.

Waiting for the train, Seifer attempted to sit still on one of the benches, however his tap dancing feet wouldn't stop moving. Standing up, he paced. After several repeated lengths of the platform, finding the pointless expense of energy to be just another level he'd sunk to, he sat down once more.

Knowing that he was going to see Squally-boy had him more worked up than ever. He couldn't decipher between the knotting emotions in his stomach. Between a pathetic nervousness and anxiousness, he also felt growing excitement. It had been eight months since the war ended, and six months since he'd settled in the quiet town in the middle of nowhere. In all that time, he hadn't once seen anyone he'd known at Garden besides Raijin and Fujin.

Receiving retribution for his crimes was hardly a fear or concern after the first couple months. While he wasn't too sure how his arrogance would stand up in court, he felt safe in assuming he was past being put on trial. Garden didn't really word that way, and considering it was SeeD who had played the largest part in stopping Ultimecia, it was basically their call.

He wouldn't be punished and had thus far endured very little grief from the civilians he'd hurt.

Still, going back had never seemed like a good idea. There were always other sorts of reactions he'd be welcomed with that would send him running. He could almost imagine instructor Trepe giving him a hug and explaining why they all forgave him.

Forgiveness and sympathy were two of the many things he could live without.

He'd make it quick, in and out. Just to see Leonhart, nothing else. Maybe he should see Rinoa too, in case some old flame sparked. It would be a huge relief if he saw her and felt his heart beat rapidly, a relief that meant his growing obsessions somehow related to a pretty woman and not a pretty man.

Distant rumbling sounded, the lightening not detectable in the daylight unless he was looking right at the storm clouds.

A smirk pulled his pale lips upwards. Every time it thundered, he was reminded of Squally-boy's weakness. Consequently, given his constant dreams lately, he was also reminded of his first kiss.

Frowning suddenly, Seifer's memory became more distinct the more he concentrated. With a bowed head he gently smacked his fist against his forehead. He'd been such a little horn dog at that age, with thanks to Kinneas. To think he'd snuck into Squall's room and practically raped the poor kid. Though, it hadn't been entirely one sided.

As the downpour came, he checked his watch. With ten minutes to go he felt a sudden flush of heat wash over him. As if finally running its course, his knotted stomach loosened. The first feeling of calm since the beginning of the war settled in.

Ruling out the possibility of being drugged, he sat back and waited. He didn't know what it was, but something felt terribly right for once. Perhaps it was some chemical imbalance. After so much bad shit coursing through his veins, now he was releasing endorphins or something.

The sound of the rain was pleasant, even in its harsh pattering against the ground. Before he knew it, he could hear the train coming in as well, the minutes having escaped his attention.

TBC… please review if you liked it>