Words That We Couldn't Say
He sat, cigarette teetering on his bottom lip like a question, to light or not to light. Outside his window lay the dusk skies of Esthar, all its manufactured glory expanding well beyond his view. Somewhere west beyond the city, far, far in the distance was Balamb, a place to which he wasn't sure he could ever return.
Because people still resided there. People who cared about him very much. People who pried, pried, pried into his head like gophers. He had nothing to say, nothing that wasn't already common knowledge.
She was dead. He was sad. End of story.
---
He blamed only himself for her circumstance. Kidnapped in Timber–why didn't he go with her, he could have prevented everything, what kind of knight in shining armour was he–she was helpless to defend herself as an anti-sorceress faction did their part to cleanse the world of what they deemed evil.
He found her blindfolded and tied down in a sealed chamber with her beautiful mind splattered against the wall behind her. It was 18:05 on a Sunday night, and Squall Leonhart was crying silently beside his dead lover, cursing himself for not making it there sooner.
No chance for goodbyes. No last kiss. No hero.
---
The funeral was pathetic. A number of ranked officials from the Galbadian army attended only to impress her father, along with several others whom he thought didn't deserve to be there. At a pedestal, some priest spoke of Hyne and destiny and greater places beyond their plane of existence. Squall didn't believe in Hyne, and neither did Rinoa, but the priest kept babbling on about Hyne's greatness and how His decisions couldn't possibly be understood by man. He didn't say a damned thing about HER, and Squall wanted to scream.
Rinoa didn't even want to be buried. She wanted to be cremated and spread across the Great Plains of Galbadia, like her mother was. He wanted to make that wish come true for her, but he couldn't even do that. He was powerless to do anything but watch as this charade continued on, monotonous and irrelevant.
It was all so wrong. He looked around him. To his left, a silently weeping Quistis; Selphie, leaning into Irvine as she tried not to cry. To his right, Zell, wearing a look of distress Squall had never seen on him before. Zell looked like an adult for the first time ever, and it was eerie.
In the back sat Laguna Loire, sombre and quiet as he thought of Julia, and how both she and her daughter had been taken away much too early in their lives. Squall knew his father was there, but out of some sort of adolescent tenacity, refused to acknowledge him. He didn't need some man pushing his ideas onto him just because of their blood ties. He could take care of himself just fine now. It was too late for parenting.
The same went for Caraway. The façade of a father and nothing more, too self-absorbed to even try. Rinoa had always resented him for it, his lack of sense to do the right thing when it needed to be done. He looked cold, almost disinterested, having attended several funerals in the past. Squall wondered if losing a wife and a child was the same as losing a soldier to the General. Probably.
It was when they were finally burying her that something within Squall just broke. It didn't show physically; it was something deep inside him, that infinite feeling that he had felt with her, dissolving into nothing. Nothing at all.
---
Squall, Squall, Squall, tell us what you're feeling. Squall, Squall, Squall, are you gonna be okay? Squall, Squall, Squall… They demanded so much, asking questions he had no answer to. He knew that they had good intentions, but he just couldn't handle it. All the prodding and poking, like small children did to their parents.
Quistis sat across from him, the cafeteria quiet at the late hour of the night. Only a few students remained scattered scarcely about. Squall stared at her hands as she mindlessly tapped the edge of her teacup, making a light chiming noise every time. He couldn't look at her eyes; they were too insistent, asking for all the things he didn't want to discuss. She had said she wanted to go over Garden matters. He knew her better than that, though. She was trying to be the big sister again, a comfort in dark times, but she was only making things worse. He couldn't "just talk about it" like she wanted him to. Couldn't even think about Rinoa, not in that state, all the blood, her pretty face disfigured from the bullet, blue lips, cold skin…
But still she tried. Pushed his head into places it didn't want to go. Made him see things he didn't want to see, but it was gonna be okay because people loved him. Even those people couldn't eliminate the void that infinity left behind, though. He wasn't sure anything ever could.
"Do you miss her?" Quistis asked, as if she didn't know.
"Of course I do."
"Do you blame yourself?"
"Do we have to talk about this?"
Quistis looked at him with frustrated eyes, trying to understand someone that didn't want to be understood. "You can't just push things down, Squall. Eventually, you're going to need to talk to somebody about this. If you don't, you're going to fall apart."
"Probably."
And just like that, the SeeD, the commander, the hero he wasn't crumpled away. It was a Wednesday, just like any other Wednesday, when they found his notice of resignation on his desk. He knew that any high-rank SeeD could do his job. The transition could be done in an hour's time with little issue, and Squall Leonhart wouldn't matter at the end of the day.
---
Laguna Loire was shocked to find his estranged twenty-year-old son in his waiting room, quiet and defeated, two suitcases at his side, and a dog lying at his feet. Laguna needed no explanation, just silently picked up the luggage and carried it to the quarters he had reserved for him.
The room was large, with a massive window occupying an entire wall. Squall was amazed that he could see the entire city of Esthar from his room, so accustomed to his 10' by 12' dormitory… He wished she was there to share the view with him. It reminded him of a painting she used to admire–"Composition VII" he believed it was called–with its wildly bending colour and shape.
Angelo didn't care so much about the view, just the king-sized bed. She hopped on and made herself at home, not caring if she had Squall's permission or not. Angelo was very obviously Rinoa's dog. Laguna had to laugh at its antics in spite of the situation.
And then it was back to silence. Laguna watched his son, who was still looking out the window. He was a slender boy, starkly resembling his mother. Raine was in his movements, his eyes, his solemn expression. And yet, Squall was very different from both Raine and himself. He was so quiet and reserved, which made his arrival even more surprising.
"Thank you," Squall murmured at some point between his own thoughts. Laguna offered him a small smile in return. Really, it was all Squall wanted. Someone who just knew to be there, a presence and not a babbling mess of questions. It was the exact opposite of what he had expected from Laguna Loire.
Then he realized that Laguna had lost someone, too… Squall had always been abstractedly aware that Laguna was bereaved of Raine, but now he felt it, felt the expanse of real loss, and suddenly Laguna didn't seem so naïve anymore.
---
Days went by for Squall without any questions asked. Sometimes he would stay in his room all day, thinking about Rinoa, longing, drinking his way in and out of a hazy truth. Wondering if what he was experiencing was really happening, wishing it wasn't. Other times, he'd sit with his sister, or his father, and numbly make small talk, if for no other reason than to not think about her for awhile.
Sometimes, he'd sit at the kitchen table or on his bed or on the living room sofa and do nothing but think about her. Eyes staring absently into the distance, not seeing anything at all, he'd replay moments in his head when he was with her and happy. And then he'd think about how he had just lost everything that ever mattered, and how he had failed her. And then he'd think about how he was going to ever move on, pick up the pieces and continue with his life, whatever that was supposed to be now.
He wasn't too sure.
---
He played Triple Triad with Laguna, smoking his Galbadian cigarettes, the same brand she liked. He never used to smoke until he met her. "Simple pleasures," she had said. "Either way, you're going to die, so you may as well do things you enjoy." She was right, and so he indulged a little. Except now, it felt not like an indulgence, but a necessity.
If Laguna didn't approve, he didn't say anything, just set out a makeshift ashtray for Squall to use. Squall was sure that his father didn't like it, but continued on, staring at the hand before him. They had decided to use the random rule, and Rinoa's card had come up, one which he'd never use under any other circumstance. He cautiously put his first card in place and waited for Laguna to make his move.
At the end of the round, with all the cards in place, Laguna laid down his final card. Plus. Combo. Four of the cards flipped over in his favour, and Squall was stunned. Laguna was a horrible Triple Triad player, but somehow, he had won the game. Squall lost…lost his Rinoa again, loathed himself for it. Laguna scanned over Squall's hand, deciding which card to take– though the best one of the hand was obvious–and looked at Squall with a small smirk. He picked up the Evorlet card and examined it.
"I don't believe I have this one yet," he said and added it to his collection. Squall looked at him strangely, breathed a sigh of relief. Laguna pushed the Rinoa card towards Squall. "Keep this one somewhere safe, not in your deck."
He did.
---
Ellone saw Squall sitting on a couch, watching the TV–or was he? She wasn't sure. She sat down beside him and waited for a reaction. Nothing. It was then that she noticed the streaks running down his face. She gave him a gentle poke. "Squall…"
He quickly wiped his eyes and looked at her, offered a wan smile. "Sorry," he said. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. Always sorry.
She hugged him, a big hug that older sisters reserved for their siblings. Squall felt a little less empty and a lot less alone at that moment. He returned the gesture, a silent thank-you where words didn't feel appropriate.
---
He was so used to people trying to figure him out that when he was just left to be, he felt odd. A weird sense of ease washed over him that he hadn't felt since he was a small child. He was very grateful to Laguna and Ellone, grateful that they didn't need him to explain himself. He was overwhelmed as is; questions only made it more overwhelming. They just knew. Mourning was an arduous thing, a beast that sat heavy in your stomach, made your throat raw and your eyes wet.
Squall heaved a sigh, still upset, his cigarette still unlit on his lips. He wondered how much longer hurting would last. "No one can predict the future," he muttered to himself, finally deciding to put his cigarette back into its pack. He stared out at the Esthar skyline, the view still as breathtaking as the first time he saw it.
He absently scratched the back of Angelo's head and she wagged her stub of a tail. She missed Rinoa, too, in her own way, but knew that the human beside her would take care of her for the rest of her days. Rinoa loved him, so he had to be good, right?
A shooting star streaked across the expanse of black above the city, appearing and disappearing in a heartbeat.
For a second, he dropped his cynicism and skeptic nature. For a second, he had to believe in something, even if he knew in the back of his mind that it may never come true. He needed to make it true for himself. He told himself, "Things are gonna get better soon."
And he believed it.