They meet at moonrise on the balcony. Squall folds his glasses and slips them into his jacket as Rinoa kicks off her heels and runs her fingers across her arches. She doesn’t need to drag him onto the floor this time, and as they clasp hands and he spins her through the gentle silver light that smooths out wrinkles and casts a web of shadow over greying hair they move together perfectly, for they have danced together many times.