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Entry tags:
FFVIII: Cost
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: Seifer/Squall
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: Squall never gives up. Timeline here.
"You're getting predictable, Leonhart," Seifer says, when Squall comes out to sit next to him. There's a faint breeze today, and Seifer notices Squall's tiny shiver even if he doesn't feel the cold anymore himself. "You're going to catch cold out here like this. Want my jacket?"
"I don't need your chivalry," Squall mumbles, rolling his eyes. He leans back, running his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from where it's forever tumbling down into his eyes. "And if I'm predictable, what're you? You've been here every day for a week, rain or shine. What're you waiting for?"
Seifer shrugs. He's waiting for something, he knows that. Some sign, within or without, that it's time to move on, to go inside Garden or go away forever. He hasn't tired of waiting for one, yet -- he tires of being at fate's hands all the time, but for now he'll wait. When he's tried to snatch his fate too soon before, it's always backfired. Or maybe that's an excuse to stall.
"There's no reason for you to hang around outside, you know," Squall says after a few minutes of silence. The statement startles him out of his reverie and he laughs, bitterly, quietly enough that he still hears Squall speak as he puts a hand on his shoulder. "They don't hate you. They know what happened to you. You're... you're welcome to come back."
Seifer knows Squall. Knows what this -- showing compassion, trying to coax him -- costs him in pride. Knows Squall's reluctance and the fear of being hurt that both of them always had. And yet he can't yield, not now, not yet. "You might as well give up."
"Fuck that," Squall says, his expression cool. Seifer realises that Squall's hand still rests on his shoulder and he shrugs it away, grateful in some part of him for the simple reminder that there are other people in the world, that he's not alone. There's something about touch -- the touch of another human being -- that is more real anything: more real than the chill wind, and the hard bench, and the glares he gets from the occassional passers-by.
There's something about the look in Squall's eyes, though, that rekindles an old spark.
"Why?" he asks, suddenly, knowing that if anyone knows what he's asking, it's Squall. Knowing that no-one else matters.
Squall shrugs. "Why not?"
Pairing: Seifer/Squall
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: Squall never gives up. Timeline here.
"You're getting predictable, Leonhart," Seifer says, when Squall comes out to sit next to him. There's a faint breeze today, and Seifer notices Squall's tiny shiver even if he doesn't feel the cold anymore himself. "You're going to catch cold out here like this. Want my jacket?"
"I don't need your chivalry," Squall mumbles, rolling his eyes. He leans back, running his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from where it's forever tumbling down into his eyes. "And if I'm predictable, what're you? You've been here every day for a week, rain or shine. What're you waiting for?"
Seifer shrugs. He's waiting for something, he knows that. Some sign, within or without, that it's time to move on, to go inside Garden or go away forever. He hasn't tired of waiting for one, yet -- he tires of being at fate's hands all the time, but for now he'll wait. When he's tried to snatch his fate too soon before, it's always backfired. Or maybe that's an excuse to stall.
"There's no reason for you to hang around outside, you know," Squall says after a few minutes of silence. The statement startles him out of his reverie and he laughs, bitterly, quietly enough that he still hears Squall speak as he puts a hand on his shoulder. "They don't hate you. They know what happened to you. You're... you're welcome to come back."
Seifer knows Squall. Knows what this -- showing compassion, trying to coax him -- costs him in pride. Knows Squall's reluctance and the fear of being hurt that both of them always had. And yet he can't yield, not now, not yet. "You might as well give up."
"Fuck that," Squall says, his expression cool. Seifer realises that Squall's hand still rests on his shoulder and he shrugs it away, grateful in some part of him for the simple reminder that there are other people in the world, that he's not alone. There's something about touch -- the touch of another human being -- that is more real anything: more real than the chill wind, and the hard bench, and the glares he gets from the occassional passers-by.
There's something about the look in Squall's eyes, though, that rekindles an old spark.
"Why?" he asks, suddenly, knowing that if anyone knows what he's asking, it's Squall. Knowing that no-one else matters.
Squall shrugs. "Why not?"
no subject
I like how most of this story is left unsaid even in internal monologue, and how they both kind of skate around outright saying a lot of things. It's very yay. ♥
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I'm glad you like. ♥