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Entry tags:
FFVIII: Elergy
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: Seifer/Squall, Laguna/Squall
Warnings: Incest, angst
Rating: G
Summary: Storms have always been markers. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fated_children.
Squall watched from the window. He was watching the storm in all its fury, listening to the crack of thunder, watching the flashes of lightning as they stabbed down to earth. Seifer, at his side, was a comforting presence.
He wasn't watching for anything in particular, but he saw something he didn't really remember 'til later. A man hurried from a car up to the Orphanage, in the rain. He had long hair and -- from what Squall could see -- a kind face.
He was Squall's father, and they wouldn't meet for years to come, but he saw him, that night.
---
Another night, another storm: Elle was gone. Squall was crying -- had been crying out in the rain, earlier, but had been dragged in by a combination of Seifer's bullying and Matron's kindly words, along with just a little brute force.
He'd refused Seifer's company, so his bed was chilly, that night, and as such no enticement away from the window.
Squall watched, just in case Elle would come hurrying back through the rain, missing him as he missed her. He watched in vain, and knew it, but never stopped watching and waiting.
Not even when he forgot what he was waiting for.
---
Storms were a marker. He'd learned that by now, and now he was in the thick of one, lightning flash and thunderbolt burning through his blood -- the sheer unadulterated joy of fighting, of loving and hating until the two emotions counted for one.
Seifer was his, then, and he Seifer's, but that couldn't last.
The sorceress' cold claws were closing in.
She took Seifer, and Squall no longer waited, no longer hoped and hesitated to let go of that hope. He just went with it, let it pass by him, let it go.
So another one of his great loves was gone forever.
---
Laguna had died in the night.
Squall thought it appropriate that there was a storm. He sat in the presidential suite, where Laguna had lived, the rooms he had sometimes shared with him, the bed where they'd lain together.
The storm was a marker, not a cause. An elergy for broken dreams. Laguna had died of a heart attack: Squall hoped he was happy in whatever afterlife their was.
Squall's heart had, finally, died. What was left of it.
Now he didn't wait, or hope, or think about times when he had done either. He just remembered all the storms he'd watched and hated.
Pairing: Seifer/Squall, Laguna/Squall
Warnings: Incest, angst
Rating: G
Summary: Storms have always been markers. For
fated_children.Squall watched from the window. He was watching the storm in all its fury, listening to the crack of thunder, watching the flashes of lightning as they stabbed down to earth. Seifer, at his side, was a comforting presence.
He wasn't watching for anything in particular, but he saw something he didn't really remember 'til later. A man hurried from a car up to the Orphanage, in the rain. He had long hair and -- from what Squall could see -- a kind face.
He was Squall's father, and they wouldn't meet for years to come, but he saw him, that night.
Another night, another storm: Elle was gone. Squall was crying -- had been crying out in the rain, earlier, but had been dragged in by a combination of Seifer's bullying and Matron's kindly words, along with just a little brute force.
He'd refused Seifer's company, so his bed was chilly, that night, and as such no enticement away from the window.
Squall watched, just in case Elle would come hurrying back through the rain, missing him as he missed her. He watched in vain, and knew it, but never stopped watching and waiting.
Not even when he forgot what he was waiting for.
Storms were a marker. He'd learned that by now, and now he was in the thick of one, lightning flash and thunderbolt burning through his blood -- the sheer unadulterated joy of fighting, of loving and hating until the two emotions counted for one.
Seifer was his, then, and he Seifer's, but that couldn't last.
The sorceress' cold claws were closing in.
She took Seifer, and Squall no longer waited, no longer hoped and hesitated to let go of that hope. He just went with it, let it pass by him, let it go.
So another one of his great loves was gone forever.
Laguna had died in the night.
Squall thought it appropriate that there was a storm. He sat in the presidential suite, where Laguna had lived, the rooms he had sometimes shared with him, the bed where they'd lain together.
The storm was a marker, not a cause. An elergy for broken dreams. Laguna had died of a heart attack: Squall hoped he was happy in whatever afterlife their was.
Squall's heart had, finally, died. What was left of it.
Now he didn't wait, or hope, or think about times when he had done either. He just remembered all the storms he'd watched and hated.
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