I called him out here today with the intention of giving him a scar… what I didn't realize was that I'd be lugging his heavy ass back to Garden afterwards. This misted morning wilderness seemed like the perfect backdrop for finally marking my territory, but making my way down a cliff with Squall slung over my shoulder and blood dripping into my eye is uncomfortable, to say the least. Warm. I don't think I've ever touched Squall for so long. Only a shove, a blow, a graze of my fingertips on his wrist… they're small moments. It's annoying, but at the same time, these footsteps I count are adding up just a little too quickly.