disclaimer: FINAL FANTASY XIII characters © SQUARE ENIX
warning: language, dark themes, mature scenes

a/n: HOLY SHIII WHAT IS THIS?! A REWRITE? NO—

(I'm ACTUALLY going to update/finish this time and rated M now btw.)

starlight
– encounter –

She's become a full-fledged recluse. She hates talking. She hates people. If it weren't for work, she'd much rather stay home and never come out of her shell. If she weren't so picky with food, she would call for pizza delivery everyday.

But, no, she's a health-nut. If she doesn't eat healthy, she feels as though her arteries will dry up or clog up or evaporate or whatever.

She probably has OCD. She probably even has ADD. Who knows? Oh, look—she takes a batch of strawberries from the pile—20% off. Hmm. This would taste glorious with whipping cream—oh, no, wait. No. No to whipping cream because she still has that vanilla ice cream in the fridge to finish.

So, in the end, she leaves the store with a batch of organic strawberries, organic chicken (breast), organic salad, organic ranch, and she might as well be holding it all in a fucking organic plastic bag.

Anyway, she's going to go home, make herself a nice salad, and relax. She doesn't have work tomorrow, so maybe she can go workout some more. Even though she just swam nonstop for two hours. Whatever. Tomorrow can be leg-day.

As the sun sets over the deep purple sky, she figures that her internal clock probably doesn't work as well as she thinks it does. Like, she got off work at five. She stayed at the facility for two hours, so that would make it seven now, which…

Oh.

Seven. No wonder. No wonder the sun is setting. Okay, it's not her internal clock, she's just being a klutz. What the hell is wrong with her? It isn't like she did much at work today. Just normal patrol around the marketplace area, under the summer sun. Unless. Maybe she got a heatstroke? No, that doesn't make sense; she would've been seeing white when she was swimming. And she would've drowned. Hmm.

She shakes her head.

In any case (holy shit just stop thinking so much please I might really do have ADD), she picks up her pace, hoping to get back to her condo as soon as possible because Bodhum spring air really isn't as pleasant as tourists assume it to be. It's probably like ten degrees Celsius at best. Plus, living right by the beach makes it twice as bad with the ocean wind and all. God she hates the cold. Tucking the straps of her duffle bag higher up her shoulder, she pulls the hood of her sweater over her head and shoves her hands into her basketball shorts. The plastic bag holding her recent purchase tapping at her knee with each step, her mind screams for her to walk faster because she really wants to go home and relax.

The route she usually takes from the grocery store home is along the seawall, where the waves would wash up to the wall during high tide. It isn't high tide today, so the shorelines of the beach can be seen. If it weren't so cold, perhaps there would be people hanging out there. But it's cold. And Bodhum is known for being warm and tropical and all that crap to the people of Cocoon. Granted, right now isn't really peak season for a vacation anyway, so.

…

So why is there a girl down there, dipping her feet in that freezing water? Does she have a knack for hypothermia or something? Does she think she's poetic, staring into the sky and all? Maybe she wants to die. To drown in the water and everything. Y'know. The usual, clichéd, boring type of suicide.

The water's at her knees now.

Maybe the girl really does want to die.

Maybe.

… Maybe… maybe she should stop her.

Yes, you idiot. You're a soldier, aren't you? You signed up for this shit. Stop her. Go stop her—

"Hey!" So she calls out, the suddenness surprising even herself. The girl doesn't answer, and only walks deeper. The water's at her thighs, she needs to do something—"Hey, you!" she calls again, this time dropping her bags on the spot and sprinting forward. The seawall isn't particularly high, but she neglects the stairs and simply jumps down twenty feet because she's crazy like that, and runs towards the stranger. "Stop!"

The sand beneath her feet make it difficult for her to run faster, but she manages as she reaches the shore in no time, her runners absorbing the water like sponges and she feels just how ice-cold the water is. She grabs the girl by her sleeve-clad bicep (holy shit it's so bony) and yanks her with force, far, far away from the water.

"What are you doing?!" she scolds, even though she knows the answer. But. It's just obligatory.

The girl in question's head is lowered, and it slowly rises up and her eyes seem to be wandering off in their own world—staring at everything and nothing at once as they search for the source of the sound.

Slightly concerned but more or less freaked out, the soldier tries not to be distracted by all of the above and her undeniably good looks to question on, "Are you listening to me? Hello?"

And the girl's soul has returned. Her eyelids flutter and her dark, thick lashes bat delightfully as those full, emerald eyes sparkle under the starlight. "Oh!" she yelps, backing away. "I-I'm so sorry! Was I… d-did I…" pausing, she looks down at her feet, wet sand sticking up to the skin of her ankles. Then, she looks on at the horizon of the ocean. And sighs. "I wasn't doing what you thought I was doing," she faces the taller woman again. "I'm not crazy."

She is smiling. Ooh, that smile. That smile can kill.

"Thank you for worrying for me, though."

It suddenly comes to her that a woman cannot really pull off pigtails when she reaches adolescence—like there is no way to look not stupid with them when you're old. But this girl, this—god damn it—attractive, pretty girl, who has (quite apparently) experienced puberty is successfully pulling it off. Like, she looks good. More than good. God damn. So good, she can't stop staring. If this were a nightclub, if the soldier were slightly tipsy, she might just coax this girl into coming home with her. But. That hasn't happened for a while now, and she has to remind herself—she really, really hates the world.

So she releases her bony arm, telling her, "Stay out of the water," before walking away.

The girl giggles. And—oh god oh god—it sounds magical. "You are still concerned, aren't you?" she picks up her flip flops. "Don't worry. I do this all the time—mostly when I need to think." She says, walking after the taller woman.

"You attempt suicide when you need to think?"

"No," the girl bursts into another fit of giggles. "Just, y'know?" she shrugs as she struggles to find the words. "It helps. I can't really explain, but it helps."

"Hmn." She climbs up the flight of stairs, back to the road, not really bothered by the fact that the stranger is following so closely behind. But then she sees the spot where she's ditched her items, and instantly frowns.

Ugh, shit.

The box of the strawberries must have opened on its own when she dropped the plastic bag. Now they're all over the concrete floor. She can probably still eat them if she washes thoroughly, but ugh.

"I'm so sorry," the girl speaks timidly. "This is because of me, isn't it?"

Shaking her head, "It's fine," she picks up the scattered strawberries and places them back into their container before standing up again. "It's not like they're eggs or anything. I can just wash them."

"Still…"

"It's fine, really." She removes her hood, because talking is taking its toll on her, and she's starting to heat up. But some asshole voice in her mind tells her that it probably isn't because of all the talking. It's probably because this girl is gorgeous and freaking adorable and it's really been such a long time—

"May I treat you to something?"

She blinks. For several, long, dragged out seconds.

The girl smiles.

Sigh. She really needs to stop doing that.

"To apologize."

"…"

"I'm leaving this town soon," the girl says, and that smile falters just the slightest.

No. Actually, don't stop.

"… I didn't manage to meet anyone new, but maybe you can change that?"

She stares and remains quiet.

The girl grins in response. "So… I'll take that as a 'yes'?"

Another several, long, dragged out seconds go by, and the taller woman still stays as quiet as a mouse. She's just staring. It's unsettling, in a way, but given how odd the circumstances they have met, nothing can weird them out at this point, really.

"I…" she clears her throat, finally speaking up, "… live right there," she points to the building down two street lamps. "And I bought dinner."

Wait, what?

"Oh," the girl says. "Okay." And that smile just disappears.

No no no no what the fuck are you doing?!

"Well…" her voice has gotten smaller, "have a good night, then. Thanks again." But the girl forces herself to smile again. It's so obvious.

"Good night."

NO, YOU IDIOT.

The girl turns and walks the other way, and she just stares. Poor thing is wearing such a thin cardigan and small shorts and it's freezing. But, who is she to care? She's just an odd, overly-concerned stranger. She's nobody important. The girl is better off making friends with someone who has the right to care.

She's nobody important.

.
.

She's nobody important, but god damn this is irritating. She's dropped off her bag of groceries by the sink. Yet she can't bring the will to wash those strawberries. She's on the sofa, looking at the black screen of her TV and she can't find the will to turn that thing on. She can't find the will to cook herself that dinner; she can't find the will to take a shower, or to even sleep.

Probably because she's an idiot.

Yep. There's no other explanation.

Rolling her eyes, she grabs her wallet and stuffs it into her pocket. If she doesn't resolve this, she will never fall asleep again. In her life. And so, she runs out of the front door.

It takes her approximately thirty seconds to get down to the lobby, mostly because the elevator is conveniently on her floor. But she had been moping around for no particular reason for about thirty minutes, so it really isn't surprising if she can't find the girl around anymore. Oh, another idiotic move, by the way. She didn't ask for her name. Great. Even her drunken state is more courteous—like, for example, she would ask for their names before dragging them into a taxi. Or she wouldn't downright reject them.

Wow. Sober-her is really rude.

She voluntarily chatters her teeth at the realization and sulks a little. Maybe that's why kicking those people out of the house the next morning is always so easy. Her soberness is the main reason she's such a bitch.

…

Come on. That, really, is just an excuse.

She's just coming up with excuses. They weren't in a nightclub; they were in the middle of the street. She wasn't rude because she was sober; she was rude because she is.

She backtracks down the two streetlamps, back to the spot where she dropped her strawberries. No, the girl isn't here. She looks down at the beach, at the exact spot where the girl was dipping her feet. No, she isn't there either. She walks further down the wall, balancing along the ledge like a grade-school child with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her zipped up sweater.

…

And, maybe it's just luck.

No, it has to be luck. It can only be luck.

"… Hi." Says the girl. She is sitting on the ledge, her long legs dangling along the high wall and she is fiddling with her fingers placed on her lap.

"You're still here." She responds. Kind of rude, but it kind of works as a conversation starter.

They proceed to just stare at each other. Unmoving.

But then the girl smiles, eventually. "Don't really have anywhere else to go." She pauses and lowers her head. "You finished that dinner of yours?"

For a moment, she doesn't know how to answer. That dinner excuse was stupid. Actually, the entire conversation (on her part) was stupid. She wasn't—isn't—even hungry, to be honest, but—"I forgot to buy something at the store."

"Oh."

She gnaws at her lower lip. "So,"

The girl turns to her.

"I was thinking. Maybe I can accept that apology of yours."

… fuck. She meant to say 'maybe I can accept that offer of yours'.

She expects a gasp, an offended look, a mental breakdown, a something. But no. The girl simply softens her eyes, and that smile just gets wider. "Sure, of course." She stands and brushes the tiny pieces of gravel off her small, orange shorts, approaching the taller woman with her hands held at her back. "I don't know my way around here. Maybe you can take me to a nice restaurant?"

Scoffing a little, she arches a corner of her lips. "Are you a minor?"

The girl blinks. "That's what you want to know?" she giggles. "Do you… really want to go drinking or something?"

"Well," not only, "it's a Friday night."

"Hmm," the girl nods. "Okay. I'm nineteen."

She takes a moment to glance at her. The girl looks about sixteen, but whatever. "Okay," she repeats, "let's go."

"I'm Vanille, by the way."

She stands still. A part of her contemplating for no reason at all whether it is okay to talk and another part of her pushing her to just—"Lightning."

"Hmm?"

She sighs. "My name. It's Lightning."

And the girl's smile just gets wider and sweeter.

.
.

The soldier surprisingly doesn't take her to a nightclub. Both being underdressed and all, she figures that an ordinary bar and grill restaurants would do. She doesn't want to put a strain on the poor girl's wallet anyway. Not like, she's going to let the girl pay. Yes, she admits that she is quite rude when it comes to speaking, but, come on. This is basic conduct.

And it's not even time for nightclubs to open, either.

They seat themselves at a booth in the corner of the restaurant, away from the rest of the crowd. There's a blitzball game tonight, so most of the tables that have good angles of the screens have been taken.

"Good evening, ladies," a waitress arrives at their table with two menus in her hands. "How are we doing?"

"Oh, it's a little cold," the girl speaks up. "But other than that, it's been a great night so far."

Ah. The talkative type. Lightning personally never makes conversation with her servers, but okay.

"Has it?" the waitress grins, directing her attention to the other woman. "I've been working nonstop since this morning, and I can't really tell the difference between hot and cold anymore. I don't think I can even feel my feet." The waitress' attempt to make humour is laughable, but the girl giggles in response anyway. Must be playing nice. "Anyway, I'll leave these menus here. I'll come back in a bit to take your orders, alright?" she finishes with a wink and walks off.

Loud cheers blend in with the loud music blasting in the background. She looks to the closest screen and sees that the Besaid Aurochs has scored. She's not into the sport at all, but sometimes, when it's playing in the background on TV, she would listen to the commentating.

"You know,"

She turns back to the girl.

"I've never done this before."

Raising a brow, she keeps the rest of her face straight. "Done what?"

"Eat with someone I barely know." She giggles.

Well, she can change that when she takes her home and—"You don't go out much?"

"No, I'm usually really busy." Vanille shakes her head. "I don't go on vacation much. At all, really. So I think I'm quite lucky," she grins, "to be able to meet someone as beautiful as yourself."

Lightning diverts her attention down at the menu.

Seeing this, Vanille chuckles. "So, what's good here?"

She clears her throat. "Don't really know about the food. I just heard that their cocktails are alright."

Vanille peeks out from behind the menu, staring at her with those round, emerald orbs in a suspicious, suspicious manner. "You're really just here to drink, aren't you?"

"Maybe." An honest answer.

Vanille chuckles again, the sound bubbling in her chest. "Okay then. I'll have whatever you order."

At this, Lightning gestures for their server, and before the latter can whip out her notepad, Lightning says to her, "Two margaritas. On the rocks."

The waitress, thoroughly confused by how straight and to-the-point the pink-haired lady is, turns to the other, red-haired girl, as if asking for her confirmation.

Vanille sees the confusion. It's practically written all over the server's face. So she helps by adding, "That'll be all, thank you."

"Not eating much tonight, are you, ladies?" she attempts awkwardly as she picks up the menus. But all she gets in response is that sweet smile from the kinder lady. "Your order will be right up." She finishes.

The two are alone again, and Vanille, of course, strikes up another conversation. "You really like getting to the point quickly, don't you?" she laughs.

"I hate small talk."

"Hm, is that so? I was just about to ask you a bunch of things, seeing how we don't even know anything about each other.

Pursing her lips into a thin line, Lightning breathed in. "I'll make it an exception for you just this once."

Vanille covers her mouth with a loose fist, hiding her giggle. "You're kind of cute."

She does not in any way feel offended, but reflex has her giving the girl an annoyed look. Weirdly, that elicits a more joyous giggle from her. It sounds delightful; it's bright and sparkly and it lights up their entire booth. And Lightning believes that she can listen to that sound for a long, long time. She wants to listen to it for a long, long time.

"So, what do you do?"

Lightning sits back, makes herself comfortable, and crosses her arms. "I'm with the Guardian Corps."

"You are?" Vanille's eyes and voice become even livelier than she thinks is possible. Vanille scoots closer to the table, even though her chest is already pushing against it. "Then, it must be stressful with all the training and stuff."

Lightning draws her attention back to the girl's face. "Not in particular."

"Oh." The light immediately leaves Vanille's orbs.

Rolling her eyes, Lightning urges herself to freaking try harder. If she can do it drunk then there is no way she can't do it sober. And by do it she means flirt, of course. "And yourself?"

Vanille widens her eyes a little. It's almost like she is surprised that Lightning is human enough to ask. Or to attempt to make conversation. Or to show reaction. "I, well, I do odd jobs, here and there," she says with a small voice, fiddling with her fingers. "It's hard to find a steady career nowadays, y'know?"

Yeah, she knows, of course. "So you're travelling by yourself?"

"…"

Shit, shit. Second question, and she's already making this sound like a standard Guardian Corps interrogation. No wonder the girl looks like she's freaking out. Ugh.

"Yeah, I… needed some time off." Vanille droops her shoulders. It's almost like her body has shrunk a bit when she rubs at her biceps. "Away from where I came from."

Lightning takes the cue to ask on. It's okay to ask on this time because the girl initiated, she notes mentally. "Where did you come from?"

Raising her head, Vanille all but smiles. "Eden."

"Hmn," genuinely surprised, Lightning raises a thin brow. "Why do you people come to Bodhum of all places? The capital has much more to offer."

"Well, it's just nice to have a change in environment once in a while."

Lightning opens her mouth, ready to add on to her opinion, but then the server shows up again with their drinks. "Here you ladies are… two margaritas on the rocks," and this time, she doesn't stay to talk, "enjoy your drinks!"

"Thank you," Vanille says.

Lightning pays no attention to the server, of course, and just slides her drink towards herself. She takes the wedge of lime off the glass and squeezes the juice into the beverage before dropping the entire wedge into it as well. Swirling the glass on the table a little, she sees from across that Vanille has done the same. Except, she hasn't put the lime into the drink yet. She's, erm, sucking on it. Or licking. Or just nibbling. Lightning looks away, down at her margarita glass and tries to focus on just that. Her azure eyes follow the tiny beads of condensation, they follow one particular droplet that streams down the glass like sweat and she scoffs silently before darting her eyes back up, and—oh god—accidentally catches a glimpse of Vanille's tongue and yep she's licking. Lightning crosses her legs to ease the throbbing at her centre.

What is she doing? She's not even drunk yet and she's already like this. It's almost like she's a dog in heat. It's just humiliating. Vanille's not even doing anything sexual. There's barely any tongue. Like, it's just the tip. And they're not even making eye contact—

Oh shit

—Vanille's round, doe eyes dart up and they meet her own. Lightning almost pulls away and squeaks by reflex but she bites hard at her gums to force herself to stay still. Any sudden movements would make the situation weirder than it already is. But then they just stare at each other and Vanille just keeps on licking that fucking lime.

"I-I'm sorry, I…"

Lightning releases her gums and she tastes blood in her mouth.

Vanille giggles and it's already established, but it sounds like music and chimes and summer breezes. "… I really like sour things."

She clenches her jaw. "What?"

"Yeah!" Vanille sucks on the wedge one more time before placing it on a napkin. "I can finish an entire lemon on my own."

Wait. "What?" So she wasn't…

Vanille laughs. "I know, it's weird. Everyone tells me that. But I can't help it that I like sour things! It's like how people have sweet tooth. I have the same condition, just that my preference is something sour."

Lightning tries to listen, she really tries. But she is fighting that urge to slap herself across the restaurant at the same time, and she is losing. Badly. Seriously, how could she mistaken such an innocent action as something sexual? There is no deny, she really is like a dog in heat. Lightning knows and is thoroughly ashamed of herself, but fuck.

"Lightning?" Vanille calls. "Are you okay?"

She looks up. Thank god the lighting is dim in this restaurant, because she knows that she is flushed to the core right now. Lightning sits straight. She takes Vanille's drink with one hand and her own with the other, switching their places. Vanille blinks at her in question, but Lightning speaks up before she can ask, "Mine probably has more sourness to it, seeing how you didn't toss the wedge in," this is a miracle. Lightning mentally applauds herself for not stuttering.

"But… what's tequila without lime? Let me just order another—"

"It's fine." Lightning cuts in. She looks at everything but the girl's eyes. "I'm fine."

A bit confused, but nonetheless grateful, Vanille beams. "Oh, thank you so much, Lightning!" she lifts her glass, "We should have a toast. Cheers to… being able to make a new friend on such a cold night?"

Lightning looks up. Honestly, she has no intention on making a new friend or whatever. She just wants to fuck.

There, she said it. Or thought it. Or something.

But she raises her glass anyway.

.
.

a/n: why the rewrite? Well, I was rereading the old starless and it came to me how horribly cheesy it was, and I then immediately thought, "Ugh. Come on, Light and Vanille deserve to be written better than this," and so, here we are! The plot will stay about the same, but knowing me, I will probably make it even darker than it is. Hence, rated M now. How do you like that sexual tension in the first chapter?

If you read the original, tell me what you think about dork!Lightning and flirt!Vanille (or is she?!). If you're a first time reader then please review if FF13 still exists somewhere in your heart! D: