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“You see what I see?” She breathes out, smoke and relief all at once.
“Yes.” Saria says, and Kirsten wonders how it is possible that someone could say it with such conviction.
“The sky is not the limit.”
Kirsten mulls, looking out of the car. She dangles a hand out and tries to feel something; the cold rush of air is freeing, for just that one second before she comes back grounded, a Perro in a metal cage.
“I’ll help you with it.”
The car doesn’t stop, it never does on long night rides like this. Saria’s hand is in front of her, and on her palm lies her favourite lighter.
They drive, they move.
She doesn’t ask for more.
She likes it when Saria is like that: brows furrowed just so slightly, eyes blazing, as that perfect face contorts with focus. Kirsten holds her ground, despite wanting so badly to just lie on the cold floor.
They move.
There is a pattern to the steps, the sound of feet on the gym floor spurs her on. Saria has been the only one to keep up with her routine, and the only one who sticks to it.
Another punch comes, and Kirsten engraves the scene in her mind. Of bandaged fists, sweaty forehead and that light smile that twists her insides.
She catches Saria’s fist with her hand, a “thump” so loud that Kirsten is surprised that she doesn’t stumble. Kirsten pulls, laughing when Saria falls, making a noise that she didn’t quite expect.
It is not everyday that she gets a reaction out of her roommate.
They hit the floor, a bundle of nerves and mess.
“You’ve gotten a little rusty.” She whispers. The floor is as cold as she thought, air conditioning working at full force. Saria shifts on top of her at that, hands by the side of her head. She could feel the heat radiating off their bodies, an all too familiar feeling by now.
“That was not fair.” Saria says, with the little frown she has come to adore.
Kirsten chuckles, heart full and fingers tangled in Saria’s hair. Her breaths are on her neck, and Saria is too close, too close.
“What wasn’t?” Kirsten asks, a thumb on Saria’s lips.
“You.” Saria says, a whisper.
She loves putting herself into Saria’s safe hands; it is something she indulges herself with, for it has been painful for far too long. And Saria doesn’t hurt.
Saria doesn’t hurt even when Kirsten’s fingers claw their marks on her back, so hard it bleeds. Saria doesn’t hurt when her fingers are deep in her, always a tad too gentle for her liking.
Kirsten likes her best when Saria is like this: a fine line between letting go and self control, when Saria bites on her lips trying not to make a sound. It is something that Kirsten craves and wants — the moment when Saria sighs and caves.
It is always her eyes that pulls Kirsten under, the way Saria looks at her wordlessly, accepting all that she has to give.
And Kirsten Wright gives it her all.
It is the way Saria smiles that does it for her. It always does.
She holds out the letter that she has gotten that morning, the most important piece of document she could ever hope to have. She is skipping so much that she thinks green is going to burst from the pavements.
“Guess what, Saria?” Kirsten smiles, collapsing into Saria’s waiting arms. “Or should I say, co-founder?”
It is their child, their hopes and their dreams. Rhine Lab is theirs, and she can never be happier.
“We’re going to make this happen.”
“Yes.” Saria says, and Kirsten wonders how it is possible that she could believe someone wholeheartedly. There is some weird sort of science behind this.
“Director Saria,” Kirsten laughs, testing the title on her tongue. It has a nice ring to it, she really really likes it.
“What is it, Director Kirsten?”
They laugh like fools, and her heart has never been lighter.
“You ought to have breaks.”
A cup of coffee shifts into her line of vision, very nearly missing her stacks of documents. She would’ve punted the intruder to the other side of the office if it did, but it is Saria and Kirsten sighs.
“Not now.”
Kirsten Wright never takes breaks, this was a known fact in the entire Rhine Lab. And she was barely ever there too, the Control is omnipresent, but also never present.
They sit in silence as Kirsten continues her scribbles on the parchment, not unlike their school days. She is beginning to get used to this, Kirsten thinks. Just a little longer.
And when the cup of coffee is no longer hot but awfully cold, Kirsten Wright looks out of the window and wishes she could see the other sky she so very desperately wants.
She likes her best when Saria is with her and her alone, when Saria tastes like too many cups of coffee and smells like her.
But there is another hand that Saria holds right now, a small one, and there’s someone that makes Saria worry harder.
“I need you to promise that this would be safe.”
It is always about the same thing.
Kirsten Wright is beginning to feel very tired.
She gives her nods for the umpteenth time, too weak for verbal fights at this juncture.
All they need was a little time.
But she wonders if she has spent too much time chasing the near impossible.
She used to like it when Saria is like that: brows furrowed just so slightly, eyes blazing, as that perfect face contorts with focus. Kirsten holds her ground, despite wanting so badly to just lie on the cold floor.
They move.
There is something different about Saria, and Kirsten is having some difficulty pinpointing it. Another punch comes, and Kirsten feels her heart lurch. She wonders if she remembers.
“How could you be so blind?” She hears Saria howl, “What about Ifrit?”
“It was necessary.” Kirsten says as she dodges, “An accident.” Kirsten replies, with as much energy as she could muster.
She is a pioneer, and she has always treated Saria as one too.
Surely, Kirsten thinks, surely you would understand.
Her desk splits into two behind her, and she has never quite seen the defense Director this angry ever. Saria is biting her lips so hard they see red; her aura is making the air too dense and heavy to breathe.
She keeps quiet as she holds her gaze with Saria, and then all the light from Saria’s eyes gives out at once.
“We’re over.” Saria says, blood dripping from where her fingers dug into her palm.
“What is the meaning of this?”
She holds out the letter that she has gotten that morning, feeling her insides twist and die. They are by the pavement that they walk on everyday, and this strangely feels like goodbye.
It is the way Saria smiles that does it for her. It always does.
There is barely a hint of it, but it looks the slightest bit forlorn. At least Kirsten thinks that is what she is seeing.
But they were so close, so close.
The sky is so near that it almost feels within reach.
“Saria.” She spits out, “We’re almost there.”
It is always her eyes that pulls Kirsten under, the way Saria looks at her wordlessly, full of things that she couldn’t quite understand.
“I quit.”
“Do you see what I see?” She breathes out, speaking to no one in particular.
“Yes.” Saria says, and for a second Kirsten’s heart skips a beat. Strange, because she thought it stopped beating a long time ago. “I still do.”
There are words at the tip of her tongue, but Kirsten lets them die like the cigarette she crushed in her hand. She doesn’t really smoke anymore, no.
“But, not like this Kirsten.”
Kirsten mulls, looking out of the car. She dangles a hand out and tries to feel something; the cold rush of air is freeing, for just that one second before she comes back grounded, a Perro in a metal cage.
The car doesn’t stop, it never does on long night rides like this.
They drive, they move.
She doesn’t ask for more.
Kirsten Wring looks up at the sky, a brillant indigo and laments the loss of time.