This first one shot is fairly short, but I've loved it since it first burst from my head space. I originally wrote it as a small drabble on my Squall RP account on tumblr, which has been inactive for quite some time now. You can view the original entry and all its format on .com

I've fiddled with it a bit to fix some errors and make it fit here, but I thought it would be a good start point for the rest of my upcoming one-shots for The Successor Challenge. Kind of a teaser as to what I wish to look into, the not so happy moments but important parts of their story none-the-less.

Bonded

Sweat drips from him. It is sweltering in this room, the tropical climate kept for the monsters that inhabit it. Ones like the particular monster he faces, a giant and dangerous breed; T-rexaur. His sweat is well justified as he clenches teeth tight and adjusts his grip on his gunblade. He is ignoring the drips coming off his nose, trailing between his eyes and lingering along his skin.

Drip

Drip

Drip

When the monster roars he can feel it in his bones and rushes forward, lunging under sharp teeth just in time. He slashes quickly at the beasts right leg, pulling the trigger just before he pulls away to cause more damage. Before it can retaliate he's already moving, running behind the beast and rolling to dodge a swing from it's massive tail.

{Shock,

regret,

swimming colors of blue and red;

murmurs in the dark,

a soft brush against his thoughts.}

He blinks, rising as quickly as he can and breaths deeply. Focus is key. He is not a cadet and he knows that a mistake, even against a creature in the training center, could end in his death. He changes tactics and grips his blade in his right hand, freeing up his left as he rushes the beast once more.

This time, when the beast lashes out, it is with its tail. Squall uses his freed hand to leverage himself up and over the tail, twisting as he does so to dig blade into red, scaled flesh. It tears and leaves blood welling in its wake as he continues his path to slice once more at its legs, this time the left.

This time, rather than a quick slash, both hands grip the blade as he drags it behind him to dig into flesh while he takes several steps on and up the monsters leg, just before somersaulting back and landing in a roll to carry him away from the oncoming snout.

{Fear,

anger;

a sharp silver amongst swirling blues.

memories,

fragile hopes,

whispers of apology.}

He's turning as he rises, blade there to block teeth that could tear him two. It is barely a save, too close for comfort and yet just what he needs. The pain brings him into focus, away from his thoughts and blocks them out. It's what he wanted and his adrenaline burns through his veins, demanding relief.

He will never admit to another soul. Never will anyone know how he craves the pain a battle brings; the sweet bliss of thoughtless action and reaction. His fears, his worries and all manners of mundane things are left behind, forgotten for a moment as survival becomes the only thing that matters.

Control. He gains it in battle where he has lost it in other ways. Even his mistakes are in his control; a lesson for a later battle, something to learn. Something has pushed him and he regrets what he feels, hates that loss of control this has brought and yet cannot deny a part of him wants to revel in it.

Because now someone can hear him.

Even when he doesn't want to be.

{….I'm sorry.}

Tears,

water falling in stream,

heart ache

and chocolate brown eyes turned charcoal in despair.

She is to blame.

But he cannot find it in him to despise her.

His footing slips as the thought slips through, the images distracting as the filter over his own thoughts. His heart clenches and his throat is tight with unsaid words. The monster does not care for his distraction and uses it wisely, his bloodied tail catching the SeeD across his middle and effectively throwing him a good dozen feet away.

When his body lands amongst some the brush in the center he lays there, eyes open and listening as the monster retreats, unwilling or too hurt already to pursue him further. His weapon is still in his grasp, more from training and instinct than anything. His breathing comes in gasps for a few moments before he pulls himself up and uses his own weapon as leverage to do so. He can already feel the blossoming bruises under his skin, knows that there are cuts and blood and wounds plenty but he pays them no mind as he makes his way to the exit.

When he finally reaches his dorm and finds her there, her dark hair spilled across the small bed and her form curled in on itself, he leans against the door to stare for a few moments. She amazes and frustrates him more than anyone he has ever known. This new development between them, this flow of thoughts and feelings, is just as foreign to her as it is to him.

He'll struggle to remember that as the days wear on until the undercurrent of it becomes familiar and he no longer sees it as an invasion.

He lowers himself to the floor at the bedside, weapon discarded at the door, and reaches for her hand. So small, yet even with his own gloved and his touch light, he can feel her warmth. His head rests on the bed as he clasps that one hand in his own, eyes closed and turbulent thoughts quieting for just a moment.

She says nothing, awake when he had first touched her hand. She watches him quietly and lets her free hand reach to run fingers lightly through his hair. No words are spoken but he voices his intentions in other ways; he has never been one for words anyway.

He knows that this is not her fault and wishes he could take back what has traveled through his mind; to retract the pain he has caused. One thought whispers freely along their line to reach to her. His first voluntary response since this issue began.

{….Don't go.}

I'm sorry.

Because if she left, he would be lost.