FFVIII: Better Late
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst
Rating: G
Summary: Empty honours. For ff_100.
"I never thought I'd finally be able to say you passed, young Almasy."
Seifer straightened up a little. He should've been proud -- could, still, have found something in this to be proud of, if he wanted to. But he wasn't. He'd always wanted to do the undoable, to go where, to quote a cliché, no man had gone before. He'd wanted to be the hero in the fairytales children told in the future. The prince. The warrior. Squall has done all of that, and he never even wanted it. That's what rankles the most.
"Thank you, sir."
"They do say it's better late than never, don't they?" Cid said, smiling. He imagined himself to be kind, Seifer was sure. Handing out empty honours, empty recognition for an empty victory. Of course he passed. With so many gone before, how could he linger now? He passed. Alongside his own posse, with a team he knew, who loved him, who would follow him into the depths of hell.
Of course he passed.
"I'd rather sooner than later, headmaster," he said, the closest to an admittance he would ever get. Cid looked at him, then. Like he did understand. He let the smile drop away from his face, and he reached up and put a hand on Seifer's shoulder.
"Would you prefer it if I told you that slow and steady wins the race?"
"That's why Squall did it, sir. I was the hare in that story."
Cid nodded slightly. "At least you understand now."
Empty honours, empty victory. Empty words. Seifer turned and walked out of that office, and kept on walking until he was out of Garden, because it was too late, too empty, and everything had already been done.
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst
Rating: G
Summary: Empty honours. For ff_100.
"I never thought I'd finally be able to say you passed, young Almasy."
Seifer straightened up a little. He should've been proud -- could, still, have found something in this to be proud of, if he wanted to. But he wasn't. He'd always wanted to do the undoable, to go where, to quote a cliché, no man had gone before. He'd wanted to be the hero in the fairytales children told in the future. The prince. The warrior. Squall has done all of that, and he never even wanted it. That's what rankles the most.
"Thank you, sir."
"They do say it's better late than never, don't they?" Cid said, smiling. He imagined himself to be kind, Seifer was sure. Handing out empty honours, empty recognition for an empty victory. Of course he passed. With so many gone before, how could he linger now? He passed. Alongside his own posse, with a team he knew, who loved him, who would follow him into the depths of hell.
Of course he passed.
"I'd rather sooner than later, headmaster," he said, the closest to an admittance he would ever get. Cid looked at him, then. Like he did understand. He let the smile drop away from his face, and he reached up and put a hand on Seifer's shoulder.
"Would you prefer it if I told you that slow and steady wins the race?"
"That's why Squall did it, sir. I was the hare in that story."
Cid nodded slightly. "At least you understand now."
Empty honours, empty victory. Empty words. Seifer turned and walked out of that office, and kept on walking until he was out of Garden, because it was too late, too empty, and everything had already been done.