My favorite one-shot so far (I use the term 'favorite' loosely since any recent one-shot of mine instantly becomes a favorite, anyway – for the time being, at least. :P), so please read and review. Vague and a little weird, this one. Oh well.
Disclaimer: Squaresoft owns everything Final Fantasy 8-related, except for the plots of tons of fanfiction that run rampant on this site. (right?) No infringement of trademark or copyright is intended and blah, bleh, blih, bloh, bluh…:)
See. Them. fall.
Angels
never come down.
There is no one here they would want to be with.
But if they knew you
If only they knew you at all...
Then
One
by
One
The angels
...would...
...fall...
...
...
She was falling, falling, falling – inexplicably drawn into a vortex of swirling colors –tangible neons, silken hues, twisted figures, gyrated shapes, everything – coiled… what was dEpTh? pErCePtIoN…?
She didn't know, didn't care. For it was all beyond her now – beyond time, space, beyond the heavens where she sprung. No longer could she see the light that pulsated with life; she was alone. And she was falling…
Down,
down,
down…
Whoosh. (A sigh against the wind.) Hush.
* * *
Moonlight peeked in from a solitary window, illuminating sparse furnishings: a desk, a few chairs, a single bed with a ragged teddy bear. It was a small space, dirty and unkempt, as if the occupant himself couldn't care less as to what it looked like to other people.
And yet, a solitary beacon called out for her attention, a single violet half-hidden from the eye - radiant but drooping, valiantly trying to stand proud against the little glass that was its vase. It defied her assumption, plainly insisting that some care was given to the place despite the harshness of its condition. Some care…
Walking stealthily to the window, she gazed out of the impenetrable blackness and heard, rather than saw, the turbulent waves that rocked the shore, pounding crescendos that magnified the errant beating of her heart. A storm was brewing patiently in the horizon, giving ample warning to its soon-to-be victims. She turned away from the scene she saw only in her mind, and took a moment to study the reflection in the glass.
The face that stared back at her was not a face that would set sail a thousand ships. Hardly that. Bulbous dark eyes set under bushy brows were almost swallowed up by a large, hawk-like nose, the most prominent feature of her countenance. Thin, parched lips that seemed to make a perpetual grimace were lost in the various wrinkles, deep creases, the textured sawdust of her skin. A hand reached up to touch her hair, and she felt it for what it was - matted charcoal yarn.
"Who are you, and what are you doing in my room?"
The words, spoken with such convincing bravado, made her turn around. The boy stared back at her mutinously, fists clenched, mouth in a thin line. Was he afraid of her? The idea was laughable, but very possible. Or maybe threatened was a better word.
"Hello," she called out in a lilting voice. "I am…" she stopped, pausing to consider. Who was she…? She had no idea, no inkling at all. The thought didn't alarm her, however; for some strange reason, it felt right to be here and not know who she was. All she was aware of was that she was meant to be here, and that was all that mattered. She smiled disarmingly. "No one. I am no one."
That got her an unpleasant frown. The boy was obviously disbelieving, and why shouldn't he be? He was only a boy, after all. He was not supposed to listen to strangers and be friendly with them at first sight. The way he was looking at her, in fact, was far from friendly. His eyes were too guarded, his jaw too set. It was an almost comical sight that he presented and so she couldn't help it, she laughed. A lovely sound, like bells tinkling in melody, against the stifling air of the little room.
"Get out," he ordered, in a voice ringing with authority.
Now that it immediately sobered her up. "I'm sorry," she said, trying her best to appease him. Stepping over in front of him, she dared to rumple his already too-tousled brown hair. "For one so young, you're not entitled to such a negative temperament."
If anything, her words only served to deepen his frown. "I don't have a 'negative temperament'!" he bit out, moving away from her. "Whatever that is," he added under his breath.
A smile tugged at her lips, but sensing that he wouldn't, in the least bit, appreciate it, she tried her best to quench that telltale sign, but failed miserably in the end. "Right. Not a negative temperament at all," she hastily amended. Oh, but he was frightening himself when his face turned all dark, as it was doing now!
Intending to divert his thoughts into more pleasant ones, she tucked her hands behind her, and jauntily strolled over to the bed. The teddy bear, she noticed, might have looked really nice when it had been brand-new; now it was only a sad remnant of its former glorious "jolliness." Its color was now faded, an arm was uprooted, and only one eye remained. The decapitated teddy bear gazed out at her so woefully from its single, black eye that she instantly felt a little guilty for laughing at its master. "What's your teddy bear's name?" she asked him and saw, to her dismay, that the frown was still present. She could only gaze at him helplessly. "I really am sorry," she offered, and looked so much rather like a wounded beast that it moved to unbend the boy a bit.
Narrowing his eyes at her, he must have concluded that she wasn't leaving the room anytime soon, so he cautiously made his way to the bed and plopped down on it, albeit a little rigidly. She could barely keep herself from grinning once again. "Tell me where you come from." He sneered. "And don't tell me you come from nowhere."
He was definitely direct, this little boy. What could she tell him, then? She supposed she could lie, but something told her that he'd just see through everything, and then he certainly wouldn't trust her any more. Not that he trusted her now. She stifled a sigh, and opted for the truth. "I don't remember anything before I arrived here," she replied truthfully. And then came a sudden feeling of… what? She stared at the wall behind him, trying to grasp remnants of her life before she fell. She frowned. That was it! "Yes… wait, I do remember falling… for long moments, then I was here."
Long moments passed while he studied her, trying to assess if she was telling the truth. Finally, he reached his decision. "His name's Laguna," he announced proudly, chin jutting out.
Relief washed through her. "I see… Laguna. What a strange name." Sitting down next to him, propping a face oddly shining with interest with her hands, she prodded him on. "How did you think of it?"
He seemed to be taken aback by the question, and for a moment, his eyes lost a little of their glow as his face took on a faraway expression. The expressions that crossed his face - so fleetingly that it made her wonder if she was merely dreaming it all, told her that he was having an internal debate – most probably concerning whether he was going to answer her or not. The urge to talk must have won for the words soon tumbled from his mouth. "I – well, I don't know." He flashed her a small smile - uncertain, yes, but she exulted at her mini victory all the same. When he smiled like that, he looked more like the boy he was than the grown-up man he earlier appeared to be, and she liked it very much. He continued. "It's just a name – someone's name – I heard long ago, and I don't even know if he even existed. Or if he was even a 'he' in the first place." Bowing his head low as if unwilling to be seen, he absently played with the folds of his pillow. "Does that" – he cleared his throat, and mumbled, "Does that make me weird?"
At his softly spoken words, she felt her heart melt. "No," she whispered. "No, of course not. What it makes you - " she playfully chucked his chin up and her eyes met clear, gray ones, " - is special."
His face flushed with pleasure, and once again granted her one of his rare smiles.
"Let's see… would you mind if I gave Laguna a nickname?"
"It depends," he answered magnanimously.
Pretending to think of a name, although she already had one all picked out, she stood up and paced the room for a few moments, then paused as if an idea had just struck her. "I've got it - Pufflehuff!" She turned to him, dark eyes alight. "What do you think?"
There was a moment's silence where the boy fidgeted, looking uncomfortable. At last, he broke the silence and answered haltingly, "Well, if you like the name so much… " He saw her nod almost imperceptibly, and he swallowed down his obvious distaste for the ridiculously cute name, and decided instead to act the proper gentleman. "Pufflehuff… um, it's okay, I guess."
She beamed. "Thank you. I think Pufflehuff suits Sir Laguna here just fine." Grinning, she asked him, "And what is your name, little man?"
"Squall. It's Squall Leonhart." He then appeared to be thinking over something, his face clearing a moment later. "And you – you're No One, just like you said," he offered by way of a shy introduction, all the former frigid coldness now absent in his tone.
She could only nod at his quiet eagerness, pleased at his change of mood.
"You're an angel, aren't you?"
An angel? She frowned in puzzlement. Now where did that come from? Her – who looked more like a beast? Whose face was twisted so grotesquely that it defied even abnormal conditions? It was absurd, that was what it was! Unthinkable… and yet, did he have to look so earnest? Surely, he couldn't assume something as far-fetched as that… or could he? "You don't know what you are saying, Squall," she told him in what she hoped was a teasing manner. "Just because I came out of thin air – well, fell is more like it, and I have no idea who I am doesn't make me an angel, or anything of that sort. No, not me, Mr. Leonhart."
"But you are," he insisted stubbornly.
"And how would you know what I really am?"
He looked down at his feet and tried to act nonchalant, although his jaw was clenched and he couldn't quite keep the disappointment from his voice. "I don't know. I don't even know what an angel looks like. Matron tells me only that they're good, that they help children – people, through bad times." He looked up at her searchingly, the guard dropping beneath his eyes, revealing everything for her to see. And his eyes, if not his words, spoke volumes to her heart.
What she saw in those eyes made her weak. It was all there – too much feeling, dwindling life, overwhelming loneliness. Longing. Oh Hyne, dare she give him hope? But if she did, wouldn't he be crushed even harder to someday find out that his hopes had been founded on mere fancies, and nothing more? Looking at him, he was all fire and spirit – carefully hidden beneath reserve, but he was only just a boy. She couldn't do it, wouldn't do it. But she did. Somehow those haunting eyes gave her the strength to attempt to give him the hope he needed before he drowned in all his fears.
She took a deep, steadying breath. "Then I am an angel, Squall."
Gratitude shone from his face at her words, and he eagerly latched on to what she said. "I knew it! Can you – please – will you - do something for me?"
"If I can."
"Will you find Sis for me? Will you bring her back?"
She knew she shouldn't have taken the plunge. Sighing inwardly, she flashed him a bright smile. "And who is this Sis?"
Squall looked at her oddly, as if he were already expecting her to know who Sis was. She was an angel, after all. Patiently, he explained. "Her name's Ellone. Some people took her away from us, and Matron wouldn't tell me who they were." His voice turned solemn. "I want Sis back."
All she could do was smile at him sadly, mentally banging her head against the bedpost for deceiving him. How was she supposed to give her back to him? She didn't even know who she was! "Squall… why do you want her back?" she asked instead.
His eyes shone intense against the near-darkness. "She's the only one I have. Without her… I have no one," he admitted.
"Then I am yours," she told him quietly. "If – if you'd have me."
Silence. The air crackled expectantly with the tension. Suddenly, like a thief in the night, a bolt of lightning lit the room into crystal-clear brightness, if but for a second, left, then resumed it into darkness once again. Too late, she realized that Squall had seen her fully for the first time, and she wasn't ready for the stricken look that came to his face at the sight that met his eyes. A boom of thunder. The thief, it seemed, left the audience with a bang.
Turning her back to him, she swiftly crossed the room and faced the open window. The wailing wind whipped at her hair, tore at her clothes, froze the lump that had strangely lodged at her throat. She listened, half-expecting the sound of Squall's footsteps as he walked out the door.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The warm touch of his hand on her cold skin burned her, if only for a moment. She stiffened in surprise, but didn't dare look at him, afraid of what she'd see in his eyes. "Now do you still think I'm an angel?"
He smiled in the darkness. "Yes." The hand caressed the dark yarn, touched the taut skin of her hand, and lingered. "I know you're an angel, and you can't tell me you're not."
She couldn't help it; she stole a glance at him, then remained transfixed at the Squall Leonhart before her. A full smile, so freely given; the hint of tears - of liquid silver, glinted at the corners of his eyes; the silent offering of friendship that touched her heart so deeply. "You're not – you're not afraid of me?"
He shook his head so adamantly that she almost jumped for joy. What he did next surprised her the most that she didn't know how to react. He hugged her: arms around her, his head barely reaching her waist. A gesture produced from childish dreams and hopeful ambitions.
"Matron told me angels are spirits," he told her, voice muffled. "You don't have to give me Sis back; I'll find her on my own, someday. Thank you… for coming."
All at once, amidst the overwhelming flood of emotions that raged through her, she felt the distinct pressure of being pulled up, of being taken roughly from the ground, of ascending into a higher place. She was… slipping away. Yes, it was stronger now, it was like a hand was taking her, guiding her outside, into the darkness, and towards the light that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
Squall, bewildered, held on to her, not wanting to let go, even though the rain was already pouring down in torrents, the storm in full force. Slowly, she could no longer feel him, the pulling force was stronger than his hold, and soon enough, she was steadily ascending to the light. Peace. Warmth. Depth. Perception. A vortex…
"Where are you going!?" Squall's yell. Barely heard.
Home. She smiled. "I'm going home," she whispered to Squall, sure that he would hear her no matter what. "I'll always be with you, Squall. You'll have me forever." I promise.
Up…
Up,
Up,
~ ~ ~
He looked at her now, lying on a sea of violets, eyes to the sky. She was beautiful, in ways he couldn't even begin to comprehend. She was darkness, like the silky ebony of that flowing hair. She was light, like the first glimmering traces of hope she'd first brought out in him.
He smiled as he joined her on the field, lying down next to her, nearly touching but not quite; content. And she was his.
She didn't even move as his hand came down to caress hers, then lingered. "Thanks for waiting."
"I didn't mind," she told him, cheerfully. "As long as you're here, and you weren't nearly as late as you were last time," she teased. "Remember, Squall? That time you made me wait for four hours?"
"I was trying to find you the perfect birthday gift, and admit it, you liked what I gave you!" he protested, although there was a certain smugness apparent in his tone.
At that, Rinoa almost choked, but still managed to reply. "As much as I can like a vacuum cleaner!"
"But you told me you needed something to help keep things organized in your room," he insisted, confused. "So that you wouldn't have to spend so much time looking for missing things, like that necklace you'd lost."
"Now, how could that possibly be?" She let out a rather inelegant snort. "And here I thought I was hinting for a new necklace!" At the horrified look on Squall's face, she giggled then quickly repented. "But I do love the vacuum cleaner, Squall. That was really very… thoughtful of you." She grinned.
He cleared his throat, ears oddly turning pink. "I'll give you that necklace now. Let's go, Rin," and he tugged at her hand, as he was trying to sit up.
"Squall, no, let's stay," Rinoa urged, gently tugging him back. "I was only teasing you." He hesitated, then lay down again. His face still had that sorry look, though, so she quickly changed the topic. "Hey, Squall, look at that cloud there," she ordered playfully, pointing to an particularly fluffy one, "what can you make out of it?"
Squall looked at the cloud, still feeling a little guilty, and, to his surprise, immediately saw a… teddy bear.
"What d'you see?" Rinoa prompted.
It was at the tip of his tongue to say "lion", or maybe even "a tiger," but wanting to atone for his stupid gift, he confessed to the shameful truth. "I see a teddy bear. A… really cute teddy bear." And his ears turned even pinker, if that was possible.
Her eyes lit up, and she exclaimed, "Hey, no fair! I saw a Pufflehuff out of that cloud first!"
His brows shot up. Now why had that sounded so familiar…? "Pufflehuff?"
"It's what I named our teddy bear. Suits him fine, don't you think?"
Squall could only nod, his mind suddenly reeling from an uncanny mixture of nostalgia and déjà vu. A vague memory… trying to surface… there was a storm, the wind blowing fiercely… a flash of light… the face of an… angel…?
"Squall?" A hand was waving in front of his face, and concerned dark eyes were looking deep into his own. He blinked, jolted out of his reverie, then smiled at the face peering at him. "Hey."
Rinoa looked at him curiously. "Where'd you go?"
"To the past," he answered without thinking.
"You don't mean – is Ellone - ?"
He shook his head, attempting to clear the lingering cobwebs from his mind. "It's not about Ellone," he assured her. "I was just recalling something, is all."
"Oh." Then, shyly, as if she were unsure of what his reaction was going to be, Rinoa placed her arms around him and hugged him. Squall, both surprised and touched, hugged her back, and closed his eyes, savoring the moment.
"Squall?" she said softly.
"Yes, Rin?"
She blushed against his shirt, glad he couldn't see her at that moment. "Thank you for coming."
He smiled.
~ ~ ~
fin
References:
"A single violet half-hidden from the eye" – She Dwelt Among The Untrodden Ways by William Wordsworth, a favorite poem :)
The little prologue up there is from a text message ^^. Yep, I'm a quote freak. I spare nothing, be it from a cellphone, an advertisement, or from that glaring graffiti just across the street. Mwahahaha!!! :)
Pufflehuff – ah, now here's where the Harry Potter obsession sets in. Long live Rowena Pufflehuff! No? Ahem. Salazar Pufflehuff, then. *sigh* Fine, Helga Pufflehuff. Er, Hufflepuff.
~ ~ ~
So. I hope this wasn't that bad. :) But if it was, do tell me, okay? Constructive criticism is what I'm after, and flames will merely add to the mounting reasons that the world we live in is truly under a sad, sorry, state of affairs. (Ah, alliteration. Quaint.) Then again, we already know that, don't we? :p