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Entry tags:
FFVIII: Before and Again
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: Seifer/Squall
Warnings: Angst, sap
Rating: G
Summary: Seifer will make him as he once was.
People look at Squall with such adoration. Their perfect hero. The perfect hero, as if made to triumph over me, poetic irony and all. As if he is not what I know him to be - ever so fragile on the inside, because icy strong as he is, ice isn't always strong. Look how easily it chips and melts. And I've always been skilled at chipping and carving and melting. Squall could be my ice sculpture if I chose. But I don't choose.
The only thing I will use my skills for is to make Squall mine again, make him free again. Because before he was theirs he was mine, before he was a hero he was a boy in the fields by the orphanage and I loved him with all the love one little kid can hold. Before he froze up he was like sunshine - yes, and even I adored him then, even if sometimes I taunted and fought with him, it was all in play. But this that they adore isn't sunshine, this is steel, something they've bent and shaped in all the wrong ways. I could reshape him, melt the ice that shouldn't be there.
It's their faults. Keeping us apart. When we fought, I could almost bring him back - there was, at least, fire in the heart of the ice. The scar across my face is mark and proof of it. But, my Squall, such levels he has risen to and I have fallen to in the time between now and then. I fought for him, I fought because no one else would, and it drove me in all the wrong directions.
It's almost too late.
He's trapped now, and I know it. If he were less proud - but pride is a failing we share - he might be calling me for help. If he asked, I'd save him.
I could make him free. I remember him as he was, as he will be again.
Pairing: Seifer/Squall
Warnings: Angst, sap
Rating: G
Summary: Seifer will make him as he once was.
People look at Squall with such adoration. Their perfect hero. The perfect hero, as if made to triumph over me, poetic irony and all. As if he is not what I know him to be - ever so fragile on the inside, because icy strong as he is, ice isn't always strong. Look how easily it chips and melts. And I've always been skilled at chipping and carving and melting. Squall could be my ice sculpture if I chose. But I don't choose.
The only thing I will use my skills for is to make Squall mine again, make him free again. Because before he was theirs he was mine, before he was a hero he was a boy in the fields by the orphanage and I loved him with all the love one little kid can hold. Before he froze up he was like sunshine - yes, and even I adored him then, even if sometimes I taunted and fought with him, it was all in play. But this that they adore isn't sunshine, this is steel, something they've bent and shaped in all the wrong ways. I could reshape him, melt the ice that shouldn't be there.
It's their faults. Keeping us apart. When we fought, I could almost bring him back - there was, at least, fire in the heart of the ice. The scar across my face is mark and proof of it. But, my Squall, such levels he has risen to and I have fallen to in the time between now and then. I fought for him, I fought because no one else would, and it drove me in all the wrong directions.
It's almost too late.
He's trapped now, and I know it. If he were less proud - but pride is a failing we share - he might be calling me for help. If he asked, I'd save him.
I could make him free. I remember him as he was, as he will be again.