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Entry tags:
FFVIII: Metaphor
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: Seifer/Squall
Warnings: Sap
Rating: G
Summary: Seifer thought he was done with omens and metaphors and all their ilk. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fated_children.
The sun was obnoxiously bright in Balamb that day. Seifer would've taken it as a good omen, if he'd believed in any of that shit any more. The sky was blue, too, and he'd caught a fish before Raijin and Fujin had even crawled out of their respective beds to join him.
Squall had arrived about ten minutes after that. He'd just stood there, while Seifer tried as hard as he could to ignore him. He was vaguely surprised Squall wasn't smouldering faintly under all that level in the bright warm sun.
He wondered for a moment if the sun was maybe trying to make up for never seeing much of him during the war.
Another of those stupid beliefs. Relegated to the scrap pile with omens and knights and glorious wars.
Squall cleared his throat. "Fishing?"
"It passes the time."
"You would've hated that, once upon a time."
Once upon a time got dragged from the scrap pile for a moment, dusted off, stared at, and then tossed back on. Seifer looked up at Squall, trying to be as unpleasant as possible. "Are you going to go away?"
"No," Squall said, softly.
He was there the next day, too. And the next. Waiting for him to give in, Seifer supposed.
It kept being sunny, too. Seifer tried not to apply metaphors and similes to the whole situation -- they'd been relegated to the scrap heap long ago. If there was one thing about Ultimecia, it was that she was incredibly literal. If she thought you had too much backbone, well -- suddenly, you didn't any more, literally. Or you felt like you didn't, which came to the same thing.
On the day Squall finally got the balls to touch him -- to lean down and kiss him: an honest to god kiss, not a peck -- Seifer reluctantly rescued one metaphor from the heap. One to do with love, and falling.
Pairing: Seifer/Squall
Warnings: Sap
Rating: G
Summary: Seifer thought he was done with omens and metaphors and all their ilk. For
fated_children.The sun was obnoxiously bright in Balamb that day. Seifer would've taken it as a good omen, if he'd believed in any of that shit any more. The sky was blue, too, and he'd caught a fish before Raijin and Fujin had even crawled out of their respective beds to join him.
Squall had arrived about ten minutes after that. He'd just stood there, while Seifer tried as hard as he could to ignore him. He was vaguely surprised Squall wasn't smouldering faintly under all that level in the bright warm sun.
He wondered for a moment if the sun was maybe trying to make up for never seeing much of him during the war.
Another of those stupid beliefs. Relegated to the scrap pile with omens and knights and glorious wars.
Squall cleared his throat. "Fishing?"
"It passes the time."
"You would've hated that, once upon a time."
Once upon a time got dragged from the scrap pile for a moment, dusted off, stared at, and then tossed back on. Seifer looked up at Squall, trying to be as unpleasant as possible. "Are you going to go away?"
"No," Squall said, softly.
He was there the next day, too. And the next. Waiting for him to give in, Seifer supposed.
It kept being sunny, too. Seifer tried not to apply metaphors and similes to the whole situation -- they'd been relegated to the scrap heap long ago. If there was one thing about Ultimecia, it was that she was incredibly literal. If she thought you had too much backbone, well -- suddenly, you didn't any more, literally. Or you felt like you didn't, which came to the same thing.
On the day Squall finally got the balls to touch him -- to lean down and kiss him: an honest to god kiss, not a peck -- Seifer reluctantly rescued one metaphor from the heap. One to do with love, and falling.