Synopsis: Like a clingy ex-girlfriend, Cecil wants to know why Kain never calls.
Warnings: Either Fluff or Fucked Up. Let's find out together, shall we? :D
The stalemate had gone on long enough. When Kain had agreed to a ceasefire of sorts, Cecil had assumed it would be accompanied by open conversation and shared ideas, perhaps at least to share the secret of what had occurred between Kain and the others from their world that had resulted in such hostility. Barring the still-very-possible option that Kain was simply the victim of some greater coercive evil taking advantage of a poor man's amnesia, there was still the possibility that Kain was acting under his own power and had his reasons to be so cold, possibly related to something he remembered that Cecil couldn't yet imagine. Cecil assumed it all came down to a matter of memory, and found it to be quite selfish that Kain would hog all their shared memories to himself. If he was going to be stabbed at and brushed off every time he tried to reach out to Kain, it was the polite thing at least to share the reason.
At the very least, these were the things that needed to be spoken aloud and discussed before the island and all its provinciality succeeded in transforming Cecil's brain into unjarred, unpreserved jelly. It was with this in mind that he asked around the moogles and made his way to Kain's personal hut, knocking politely. The direct approach was always best, after all.