FFVIII - The Hill pt. iii
Quistis only puts her hair down for very special occasions. And now, the sea breeze combs her long blond hair with its fingers as they walk down the wooden dock of the pier, it itself like a ribbon of moonlight. All is quiet and dark except for the gentle lapping of waves and the shimmering reflection of the moon upon it. It pools into Quistis’ eyes, and turns her already bright blues into beacons of gray in the impenetrable evening as she stares out into the ocean.
Zell strolls beside her in quiet companionship, his dinner jacket lost, sleeves rolled up, tie already unknotted and thrown across his shoulder. In his hand he clutches the long neck of a bottle of fine Timber wine, half empty; they had laughed and played keep away with it a few yards back, intent on getting drunk. And now they are so, but found they could not keep the hysterical edge of their intoxication.
“You know,” Quistis elbows him clumsily, “I am so glad you showed up, no matter how late you were. Really, Squall aside, just for the sake of myself; thank you.” She nimbly snatches the bottle from him, and raises it to him before taking a healthy swig. “To my own personal hero of Balamb!”
Zell waves off her praise but after much needling on Quistis’ part, takes a deep, flourished bow that makes the both of them double up in laughter. They go off on another high; singing and dancing and laughing, before she collapses on his arm again and mumbles breathily, “Really, thank you. I couldn’t have taken it if you weren’t there.”
“Of course.” He sighs deeply, and runs his hand through his hair. Zell turns to the moon for a moment and it shines on his hardened face. Like the trials of life has stretched out is naive and enthusiastic smile. “I mean, it’s Squall. He’s - He was ours, you know.” his voice breaks with disbelief, “I’m going to miss him.”
Quistis’ eyes shine in the moonlight, and she clutches onto his arm tighter.
They continue on their promenade, except for a brief stop in which Quistis slips off her heels and carries them by their thin straps. The power of the ocean rumbles beneath her naked feet and she recalls out of her drunken haze.
“She came. She was there.”
Slowly, Zell nods. “Selphie told me.” He looks at her. “Did she come up to you guys? Say anything?”
“No.” Quistis sees her shape in the shadow of the pier. Still beautiful, still young - but aged. The explosive exuberance of the beautiful Rinoa Heartilly quelled into a spark of steady pride. The expression on her face as she walked down the hill - the last look. ‘Will it?’ she thinks, ‘Is that the last of you, or will you haunt us again?’ “She didn’t say a thing.”
Zell’s voice is as calm and pacified as ever, but his back has gone rigid. “So no explanation. No reason as to why she left him - left all of us so suddenly all those years ago.”
Quistis looks upon her former student, studies his face. Behind the practiced expression of neutrality and placidity is tight with anger. Dangerous resentment.
“You blame her.” She states quietly, “For everything. For Selphie, Irvine, you, me...” A moment of waves. “Squall.”
He doesn’t reply, but Zell’s head slowly bows like a child caught in the act of a petty crime.
But she doesn’t let it - instead Quistis seizes it, and kisses him fiercely on his cheek, like a proud mother. “It’s alright,” she whispers into his ear, gripping his arm tightly like she’ll never let him go, and “everything is going to be okay.”
A particularly vicious wave crashes onto the pier; salt water washes their ankles and Zell’s face.
A long while ago, this same man stood at the pier, and watched his friend slowly disintegrate and fall into the ocean.
"'She once said, 'If it had been anyone else,'" The crash of the waves carry the words to him, "if it had been anyone else but us...'"