The trouble is that nothing is different at all. No matter how many years stretch between them, no matter how different their timelines can ever prove to be, he is still Rufus. Defiant, brilliant, sharp-eyed, and beautiful. He'll never in any incarnation be anything different to Tseng.

The last thing he wants to do is look. It makes his head swim, seeing that thin, shallow cut he left on Rufus's cheek. He can feel the pain from Rufus's wrist radiating through him.

When he does lift his head, his hand goes to Rufus's face, aglow with spelllight. His fingers trace the cut and seal it. Rufus can see the conflict in his eyes, he is sure, so he says nothing.