FicWad

He still wears his wedding ring, and I still can't quite get over the trip in my heart that seeing gold glint against his fingers causes. I understand, in my head, why he does that. But it is difficult for my heart to listen; all it knows is that the ring on his finger-slightly tarnished now; it's been almost twenty years after all-means that he isn't mine.

When I mention it-and I don't do that often-he takes it off. But I have to tell him to put it back on; he's so forgetful some times and I know that if he doesn't keep it on, than he'll lose it. It's all he has left, except a grave and a son that refuses to acknowledge him.

So when he's wearing it, I respect my heart-and maybe some part of his as well-and I try not to insult the memory that is tied to that ring by flaunting that, while all others have passed on the wayside, I have remained. That while Raine is dead from giving Laguna a /child/, I am here, standing by his side and still loving him, even from a distance.

Not that it's a very far distance. He's distracting and manipulative like that.

But with Estharin higher-up's staring down their noses at us-/me/-and that ring on his finger, I stay far enough away. And most days he doesn't seem to notice or care or anything; after all, I've been like this since Ellone's kidnapping. Now shouldn't be any different.

But today is one of those few days that he notices. He's not doing his work-like he ever /does/-and I've had nothing better to do, so we walk one of the small gardens in the palace (I say small, but the thing's damn near the size of my home village. 'Small' is relative in Esthar), and out of nowhere, he asks, "Wha'd I do?"

"Do? You didn't do anything."

"You're upset," he presses, stopping and grabbing my hand and the light glints on his wedding ring. I pull my hand away and just sort of stand there. It's hard now.

He always knows, though, when he does ask. So he sighs, takes off the ring, and tucks it into his pocket as though he were preparing for a magic trick. But the motions bring no magic; today is not a day where not seeing the ring will make a difference. Today, as I know from /more than twenty years experience/, is Raine's birthday. And no amount of detachment from her is going to make my heart settle.

"Kiros." He speaks softly, and it's always strange when he does. Laguna is not inherently soft spoken. He's not inherently a lot of things, in fact, but soft spoken is one of the top ranking ones; and when he is, it is unnerving. His face takes on this forlorn, put-upon quality, and normally he whines or complains and apologizes for some stupidity that isn't his fault but which has proved to upset me.

But he does not do these things today. Today, he looks up through glass that is lightly colored, and doesn't say anything. He takes my hand, and we leave the garden and traverse through the palace, until we're back at his rooms, and he pulls me in without words.

(I wonder . . . how long is this now? We started this all when we were young, began to fall in love; and I wonder how it is that he has never fallen out of love with me. He has known me since I was nearly thirteen, says he has loved me since then. And I wonder, how many times is this, that he pulls me into his room and smiles and tells me he loves me.)

There is nothing particularly special about today, except that heaviness. He kisses me and somehow, like always, that ends up leading to us touching, and then to sex. It seems stupid that even after all these years we go through this routine.

Today will not be routine. He lies among the sheets, panting and flushed and his eyes half shut; and I sit up, looking around for my clothes quickly. For a while, he doesn't notice.

And then I am out of bed and he's sitting up and getting that confused and forlorn expression.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I have . . . stuff . . . to do, and I-."

"Kiros." He's putting his ring back on, and I have to look away. Inanely, I ask to use his shower. My hands fist in my clothing, and he doesn't say anything, so I assume that means I can; I scurry off, wanting to escape, wanting to stop feeling like someone has kicked me in the gut.

I'm an adult now. I'm forty-six. And yet somehow, Laguna always manages to make me act like some sort of scorned and jealous teenager.

And I suppose that has something to do with the continuity of our relationship. When nearly four years went by without anyone saying 'love', and then he fawns over some woman (in my heart, I apologize to Julia's memory), you tend to grow toward jealousy very easily. I am, apparently, no exception.

I do not shower, because I cannot seem to stand. I wonder what have I done? and call myself a fool and a hateful man. Because I am. On this, one of the few days Laguna allows himself to remember a woman he loved-/loves/-I let him or myself or something take over and mar her memory.

Though I don't know why I'm ashamed. It's not the first time.

And like almost every time before, he opens the door and stares at me like someone would stare at a stupid child (at least, that is how my sisters looked at me, before I left). I scowl, and don't say anything, like I always do.

But he does not leave like he does. Instead, he sits beside me, and he says in a quiet voice, "You know, I've had this for a while, and I keep meaning to give it to you but I never do, so I figured, Why not now and . . . just . . . . Here."

He puts at my feet this tiny little box, and then he stands up and goes away and I just stare at it for a second. My fingers are trembling, and I don't know why.

Inside-and I'm not surprised so to speak, but I am a little dumbfounded-there is a small ring and it is not gold. It's silver, like the one Laguna sometimes forgets he's wearing on one of his pinkies. And my fingers are still trembling when I take it out and fit it onto my own pinkie.

It's so /stupid/, and so /Laguna/, and when I come out of the bathroom and look at his hands, he's wearing both rings-Raine's, and that stupid little silver ring, which I guess is /mine/-and he smiles like the dopey fool he is, that lopsided sort of grin that he gets around people sometimes, when he really likes them.

"Laguna-." But he doesn't let me finish, because he grabs my hand and smiles a little.

"It fits. I wasn't sure if it would, because I had to get it sized on guess when I got it and everything. Can't really ask somebody 'Hey, what size ring do you wear?' and not have them wonder, you know?" He laughs, still holding my hand and just staring at the ring like it's this crazy thing and he's not quite sure what to do about it. "I mean, when I asked Raine, she totally looked at me like I was some sorta luna . . . tic-Kiros?"

I don't know what's wrong with me.

I slap him. I take off the ring. I'm sobbing/, and saying something about how he's so /stupid sometimes, and how can he, on a day like this, when Raine's ghost is watching and all he can think about is himself some days, and a million other things that run through my head because I'm /scared/.

I've known him for thirty-three years, and he has never made me scared. And with one ring, one stupid ring, it feels like the world is falling apart.

I'm sitting on the floor and I have the ring in my hand and I'm sobbing like an idiot, and he's kneeling in front of me, obviously not knowing what's going on. Not that I know, either. I don't know anymore. And even in thirty-three years, I've never been this confused and angry and /heartbroken/, for whatever reason.

"Kiros, /tell me what's wrong/."

"You're so stupid." But it doesn't bite like it should. I just sound like I'm whining and I'm something pathetic. He smiles, though, and sits on the floor (he says his knees are going, and it's probably true).

"Yeah. You told me that."

"I hate you sometimes."

"Pish. You don't hate me." He looks to be thinking about that for a second, then laughs and says, "You just strongly dislike me at times!"

I shake my head and tell him, "You never know when to /stop/." And he's staring when I look up at him. I hold out the hand with the ring, and I open my fingers and stare at that perfectly innocuous piece of decoration like it's about to jump up and eat my brains for lunch.

"I, uh . . ."

It isn't often you get to see Laguna Loire speechless. I relish it for all of a second, before I shake my head and sulk behind my knees again.

"I'm being stupid, aren't I?"

"If you'd just tell me what the hell was-."

"I'm second-rate, right? Next to Raine."

"/What/?"

I grab his hand, and force him to take the ring. I get dressed with him sitting on the floor, and I'm halfway to the door when he grabs my arm and is scowling at me, saying, "You don't just /give it back/. I've had this ring for twenty-two years, and I keep trying and trying to give it to you, and now you just shove it back at me?" And there are a thousand things he's not saying but that I know are there because I've /been here/, even when he wasn't paying attention or looking.

"Laguna-."

He kisses me, and then says, almost like a swear, "I love you."

"/Laguna/-."

"And I don't know where you got this hare-brained idea that just because of this"-and he flashes that damn bit of gold on his fingers-"I don't love you. Like I can't love two people at once or something, or that I'm too stupid to realize that when I'm wearing this ring you think you're second class!"

I want to tell him he's wrong, that it's nothing like that. But I'm a terrible liar. So I don't say anything.

"Kiros." There is this edge of laughter, which is so stupid and out of place and so him that I have to look at him or miss the sparkle in his eyes. "We've know each other since we were kids. You mean more to me than anybody/-more than Squall. More than Ellone. More than /Raine/." I cringe, just a little, and he grabs my shoulders. "I love you. And no matter /what/, that's not going to change. No matter where I am, or whoever else I happen to love at the time." And he brushes the hair out of my face then, and smiles, and says with a certain finality, "So you're gonna take this ring and wear it, or I'm going to have it permanently /attached to your goddamn finger."

I can't help the breathy bit of laughter that brings out. He grabs my hand, and he puts the ring onto my pinkie, and just stares at the silver against my skin for a second. Then he lets me go.

We don't talk about it for a couple of days (I'm avoiding him, I know I am, but I can't help it, it's just what I do sometimes), and then when we do, it's over a private dinner and I'm sprawled against him with my back to his shoulder and my feet off the end of his couch.

"It's just kinda a promise, ya know," is all he says when I ask what gave him the idea.

And I guess that's answer enough.