30_angsts, theme 6: Curiosity ( 02; ffvii; tseng/rufus )
6. Curiosity
Five years and some days later.
Rufus leans against the railing of the Highwind’s starboard deck, the wind ruffling his hair as the airship glides through open blue skies. The scent of salt air fades the further from Junon they go; far ahead, he can already see the smog that hovers around Midgar. Home sweet home, he thinks wryly, able to spot the very tops of the reactors on the upper plate from this distance, and his erstwhile home, the ShinRa Building in the center of it all.
Aside from holidays, he’s felt isolated from the city for these years. The idea of going back to resume his position at his father’s distant right hand seems alien to Rufus; he tries to ignore the faint fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. He did not go through years of military academy only to have such training fail him now.
Footsteps sound on the deck plating behind and Rufus straightens, tugging wrinkles from the jacket of the high-collared grey uniform he still wears. He turns to find a tall, lean silhouette backlit by an orange setting sun. Scudding clouds fall behind as the ship cuts through the air and clarify the picture into Tseng, cool and efficient in his neat black tie and navy blue suit.
He bends at the waist in a slight bow. His hair does not slide over his shoulders the way Rufus had remembered, tied as it is at the nape of his neck. “Sir,” he acknowledges.
Rufus pauses for a moment and tries to reconcile this man with the picture of the Turk he has held in his mind since their last meeting more than five years ago. Tseng’s advice and tentative friendship had once meant something to him, but now Rufus finds his presence foreign.
“Tseng,” he replies at last, with an awkward and suddenly sixteen-again feeling. “It’s been a long time.”
Tseng steps closer, putting the railing at his side. “Yes,” he replies, unperturbed by the wind that picks up his long ponytail. “It seems that your time abroad has suited you well.”
He is still nearly a head taller and Rufus turns back to his view of the sky rather than look up at the Turk. “Well enough, I suppose. Every day was the same, and the idea of a summer vacation was unheard of by the headmaster of the academy.”
“You were still allowed holidays in Midgar, I presume?” asks Tseng.
“Yes.” Rufus hesitates and finally states what lingers at the edge of his mind. “I find it curious that somehow our paths never crossed.”
“Our association,” the other man responds after a beat, “was not prudent.”
The young vice president turns the words over in his head. “And I suppose this conversation isn’t prudent, either.”
“Sir.”
Rufus’s hands tighten around the railing for a second and then he pushes away, turning around. “What’s our ETA to Midgar?”
There is a rustle of cloth over the wind; Rufus closes his eyes and he can picture Tseng pushing up his sleeve to check his watch before the words come: “Another twenty minutes, sir.”
“I’m going to go change clothes. I’ll-see you on the ground in Midgar.”
The hatch door slams shut behind Rufus and Tseng turns to the railing and the view of the rapidly passing landscape below.