She had picked up the letter without thinking too much about why she'd done it, offering to run it down the hall with a quick smile and a kiss pressed against Squall's mouth before he could object.
And now, here she was. In front of Seifer's door, just as plain and monochrome as everyone else's despite the occupant, and a little afraid to knock.
But she did anyway, one hand coming up to rap a beat against the door, followed with two quick presses of the doorbell just in case he didn't hear her. Or wasn't home.
If all else failed, she could just slide the letter under the door, and pretend she was never here, but honestly, Rinoa was tired of him pretending that she didn't exist, especially considering what they had been through before and during the war.
The door opened, and she jumped back, surprised despite her anticipation of just that very thing.
"Oh, hi. Hey. This was in Squall's mailbox by mistake so I wanted to just bring it to you directly instead of it getting lost again, and then I didn't think you were in, so--" And now she was babbling. Rinoa held out the envelope with its official looking postmark. "Here." -theowlsarestillaround
Sometimes he wondered if it wouldn’t be easier if they just locked him into D-District instead of keeping him caged in a cadet’s dormitory as if nothing had ever happened. Not that people treat him like nothing happened, mind you. But all of this seems like it is half-assed at best.
The other day he had woken up and found himself confused for a second, wondering if he had overslept and was about to miss a class. When realization hit him shortly after, he immediately craved a drink.
Nursing one presently, he is sitting on his bed, gaze empty on the window front without really seeing anything going on outside. Seifer had never been a person that was good at sitting still, waiting, or not having anything to do. In a way his brain needed constant stimulation or he felt like he might go insane, and nowadays that need is stronger than ever.
How long he has been sitting like that he cannot say, but at long last he blinks slowly, lifting the glass in his right hand to his lips to take a long sip of liquor, before he slowly rises to his feet.
Slightly shaky hands rummage through a drawer soon after, looking for the small plastic bag with pills he is sure he hid somewhere deep inside of here.
But before he can even make it through half the hiding place and find what he craves, there is a sudden knock on his door that almost has him flinch - both from surprise and bad conscience.
Who the fuck comes over to his dorm room without a schedule?
No one so far really had bothered to visit him aside from meetings that had to take place due to whatever political nonsense was going on behind the scenes, so emerald eyes cloud over skeptically for a moment as he looks at the door like it’s about to explode any second.
When nothing happens, he is almost sure that whoever came here had confused the dorm and moved on, but he decides to make sure regardless. Heavy footfalls approach the door and he punches the pad next to it to make it slide open.
Squall would be proud of how expressionless his face is when he sees who is standing there before him, small and delicate and pretty as ever. But that is only caused by how much the shock of her sudden presence hit him, forcing his breath to catch in his throat and his muscles to tense.
Her pet name falls from his lips before he can even hold it in and he clears his throat immediately, forcing nonchalance into the way he presents himself, his body shifting so he can lean in the doorframe by his shoulder, head tilted to the side as he lifts a brow.
She is quicker than him, explaining why she came before he can even finish his question, and his gaze falls to the letter she is holding out to him, making him frown. Why did anyone write to him and why the fuck did that end up on Squall’s…. - but of course, it was more than likely that all his correspondence was monitored. How stupid to assume otherwise.
He reaches out and takes the envelope, some formal stamp on it with the Galbadian crest embedded, which ironically only makes it more likely that Rinoa’s father had sent it. Probably something about his war crimes, a hearing or whatever.
Finding that he can only stare at the sender’s address for so long, he slowly lifts his gaze back to meet hers and he brings his glass to his lips again, the vague scent of Whiskey filling the air between them.
It sounds lame, and cold, but if he is being honest he has no idea what to do now. He can hardly ask her to come in, can he?
