a/n: How this was created.
Squalmasy: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh(poit!) ...INSPIRATION!
Note: I'm ignoring theidea of the Laguna-dreams being dreams,since those weren't real dreams. Also, all the italics are quotes from the game. Pretty neat, huh?
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em!
De Facto
Squall had never had a dream in his life. Fluffy SeiferSquall
Squall had always been a practical thinker.
He could appreciate worldly things, but only in their worldly sense. He watched the white moon through the window, but he didn't hear her soundless humming where she sat, perched like a singing bird in the sky. He saw the raindrops coming at and sliding down the chilled glass, but couldn't perceive this as the mournful dancing at being thrown from their homes in the clouds. He felt there was something special in this room, but he was never able to recognize the shrilling and shrieking of hopes, opportunities, and dreams.
Squall didn't appreciate what his mind couldn't comprehend. He had never awoken from a fitful sleep with something he couldn't understand fresh in his mind. He hadn't ever woken to disappointment after a long night of pleasant images drifting through his head.
Squall had never had a dream in his life.
Sitting up against the short headboard and atop the pillow which he would regret disfiguring in the morning, Squall thought about dreams. He imagined he'd feel very dreamy at that moment, with the moon-shine irradiating the window in the dark room, and the small, shot raindrops crying out for their homes, if he were only a dreamy person - but he wasn't. Instead, he thought (with some amusement) about how he'd never before liked the fact that he could not dream.
He closed his eyes and listened to the pretty-but-meaningless sound of raindrops, and he tried to remember. A yellow dress. A sunny smile.
"What a relief! Everything's cool with me! Hee! I had such a nice dream!"
His small lips played a soft, sad melody. He heard very well the shifting in the spot beside him on the bed, but thought nothing more of it than what it was: shifting. Instead, Squall focused in on a memory that wasn't his. A bar in Deling. A beautiful woman in red.
"You have beautiful eyes...I just want to talk, gazing into those eyes. Would you like a drink? Wine, perhaps?"
"I must be dreamin'..."
He sighed and folded his legs, resting his elbow on the windowsill and his face in his hand. Sore from a strenuous fight, Squall believed the euphoria of matching his gunblade to his partner's was the closest thing to a day-dream he had ever felt. Hazy. He still hadn't lifted his eyelids, content to feeling the cold on his face. But that's all it was: cold. A dark-haired princess. A ring cut to resemble a lion...
"Feeling better?"
"Yeah...Can I tell you a story? I had a dream. It was a scary dream. We make a promise..."
Shifting in the bed again. He looked down to his side, smiling (on the inside.) A soft, almost inaudible grunt came from the large form splayed on much of the bed space. Squall relaxed the swaying urge to reach out and touch the man so peacefully dreaming beside him. Idly, he wondered what the man dreamt about all the time.
"So, you've become the sorceress' lap dog?"
"I prefer to be called her knight. This has always been my dream."
Squall carefully leant back again and decided he'd rather leave his legs outstretched, setting wrinkles into the sheets. He mournfully covered his face with his hands. Dreams...he would have liked to have dreams...fantastic dreams, exotic dreams...
"One of these days, I'm gonna tell ya 'bout my ROMANTIC dream!"
...romantic dreams...
Yes, he thought to himself, watching the singing bird-moon and the lamenting raindrops; he would have liked to have dreams...he would have done anything to have one. At this point, though, he felt an odd contentment from the fact that he'd never dreamt; another something that gave him in to the want of running his fingers through short, kempt blonde hair.
Green eyes snapped open as Squall's fingers reached him, and the man eyed him sleepily.
"Squall...?" Pausing, he yawned. "...Can't sleep?"
The brunet's only reply was a solemn stare and a subtle shake of his head. The blonde man propped himself up on his elbows and studied Squall carefully.
"...Bad dream?"
The serious manner in which those two words were spoken piqued Squall's curiosity enough for him to look back to the larger man. Silently, he recognized the burn of remembrance and regret in otherwise-smartening green eyes, and he shook his head again, gingerly, to dimiss the thin line of bitterness he felt forming between them. Bitterness, arrogance; they reminded him of this same person he would have loved to hate but never could; the blonde-haired man had always been just too perplexing for so simple an emotion as hatred. There were only parts of him one could hate. That long grey trenchcoat. A miscreant's smirk.
"I love battles. I fear nothing. The way I look at it, as long as you make it out of a battle alive, you're one step closer to fulfilling your dream."
"What? Your dream?"
"You have one too, don't you?"
"...Sorry, but I'm gonna pass on that subject."
In the silence, they stared at one another until Squall blinked, apologetic. A blonde brow was lifted in a lazy gesture of inquiry, and a reluctant sigh pushed past the brunet's lips, urging the elder to speak.
"Squall?"
Squall shook his head, willing the man to stop asking questions to which he obviously had no reply. He had never had a dream in his life, good nor bad. He used to hate that.
"No..." He did eventually answer, though hardly above a whisper. "I've never had a bad dream."
A quick silence passed them.
"...I have," the older man hesitantly spoke.
Sensing the mournfulness of his tone, Squall set a warm hand on his shoulder, earning him the blonde's indulgent smile.
"Seifer..."
"Hey, it's cool. Let's get some sleep."
"Mm."
He liked real things, Squall decided; he liked things he could touch, and hug; kiss, and smile at (on occasion.) Turning on his side so that his back was almost touching the other's, Squall was overcome by a dull-but-unmistakable feeling of peace, of content, and of...happiness. With care, he sighed and tuned out the dreamy moon-song and the dance of the raindrops in favor of the mild sound of Seifer's even breaths, allowing the calm and warming intake to carry him through another evening of restful, dreamless sleep.
Squall had never had a dream in his life and was certain he never would. That was the only reason he could believe that this happiness, something he'd always thought only existed in dreams, was real.
a/n: Inspire!