|Disclaimer: I forgot that I was supposed to make this fic look neater,
therefore making the disclaimers in between these thingees. So please
ignore it if I somehow revert back to the old ---Disclaimer: thing, because
looking 'neat' is a new thing for me. *dies* Anyway, disclaimer . . . go
buy one. I had an exhausting soccer practice, so I'm really not in the mood
for a disclaimer that nobody REALLY needs, as I'm doing this just for fun
and entertainment, right? No profit involved? Perfect. *wink*|
----~----
It was as if all of the forces in the galaxies had gone into some state of shock, stopping some unseen force that kept boundaries up between certain people, made rivalries what they were, and let romance turn into love - like the cosmos had all burned up and taken down fate with them, slamming right into a person's conscious and telling them to wake up from a coma they'd been in for a year, even if they were walking, talking, and aware of their surroundings. It was as if someone tore a shell off of Squall Leonhart, a protective outer coating that he had been hiding under for the year that he had been rooming with this eighteen-year-old, and finally pushed him out into the sunshine from a lifetime of being in the dark - and he was just now getting a suntan.
He blinked, azure eyes trying to focus on anything other than Yuffie. The frigid air had left her face pale, and, just as they were trying to hail a cab, the sky up and poured down on them, soaking them to the bone in the few minutes that it took for them to finally nab a taxi. So, in addition to her now paper-white skin that made her look like a Japanese geisha -- only a lot more attractive - she had stringy raven hair that clung to her high cheekbones, framing her face and highlighting the immense indigo eyes that were focused intently on the teapot.
"Squall! Are you okay?" The intern jerked his head up to face her, eyes sliding back into focus as he fought to find the thread of her words. She was looking at him concernedly, a box of teabags clutched in one water- covered hand.
"What?" He blinked before answering, trying to name what she was getting at. "Yeah, I'm fine. What were you saying?" Yuffie's brow furrowed and a look of worry came over her features.
"I was asking if you want any tea," she said slowly, unsure if he had amnesia or something like that. He hadn't drunk anything for the little while that she wasn't with him, had she? Or had he hit his head on the cab while bending down to clamber into the passenger seat?
He grimaced. "No," he said acidly, and her face relaxed. So he was alright. The thought snapped into his head that he had been rude - since when did he ever have that thought? - and he quickly scrambled to apologize. "Thanks. No thanks," he amended, although it sounded more than forced. Yuffie set the water to a boil and started to strip off her clinging overcoat that was partially fused to her arms. Her eyebrows quirked up to the point that they were nearly invisible under her sopping bangs, yellow bandana or no.
"You sure you're feeling alright?" she asked uncertainly, shoving the coat, rolled up in a ball, into a small closet that was barely big enough to house the three jackets, broom, and umbrella they kept inside it.
"I said I'm fine! What, my word's not good enough for you?" he snapped, standing up abruptly from his seat on the couch, which was old and worn soft and nearly too comfortable with use, which made getting up an unwanted chore. The few mismatched pillows that they had somehow acquired were heaped at one end, while a stack of magazines, old newspapers, and discarded tests that Yuffie had completed or Cloud had asked Squall to grade but never got around to was at the other.
"Yikes, I ask you one question and you blow up at me! Some compassionate man you are, Squall!" Yuffie quipped sarcastically, glaring fiercely at him. It seemed as if a repeat of the argument at 55 Bar was about to follow them here, just when he wasn't being half as vile to her as usual.
"Suck it up, Yuffie!" he shouted back before storming down the hall and slamming the door to his room behind him.
Yuffie sank down onto the couch where he had been moments before, slowly easing her hands up over her too-dry face, wet bangs dripping over her cheeks like tears. Tears? Why was she crying? She hurriedly scrubbed her arm across her eyes before curling onto her side in a fetal position, hugging a pillow tightly and biting her lower lip. For a half hour, for just a half hour, she thought that he was capable of affection - he talked with her, he found her, he shoved her into the apartment door first to escape the rain. Why did he act like that after blowing up at her before, which wasn't even directed at her, but Cloud? And then, just when she thought that he was capable of the kind of compassion that went with the angelic face, he warped into some unknown beast and charged down the hall like an angry bull.
A muffled ring sounded off vaguely from underneath her somewhere, and she faintly remembered burying the cordless under the couch cushions to keep any more angry parents away. Muttering something that sounded like 'everything would be a lot simpler without phones,' she dug it up and reluctantly hit the ON button.
"Yeah?" she said dismally into the phone, stretched out on her back, head against the mountain of pillows and feet propped up on the stack of old, yet-to-be-recycled papers.
"Yo, are you comin' tonight or what? You gotta let me know this stuff before you go ditchin' me, right?" Cid asked, and Yuffie didn't even have to be there with him to know that he was waving his arms around like a madman.
"Nah," she replied, ignoring the whistling of the kettle. "My and my roommate made up . . . sort of . . . so I'm staying here. But thanks anyway; I really appreciate it," she said, trying her best to sound uplifting and cheerful. Cid's stoic disposition didn't provide him with much of that.
"Yeah, well, juss call next time, right?" he asked, and Yuffie nodded into the phone.
"Yeah. Right, later," she said abruptly, slamming her fist over all of the buttons at once and chucking the cordless across the threadbare rug on the floor. Massaging her eyes to relieve them of any further emotion, she tried vaguely to remember what it was like before anxiety had ripped her life away from her - and then there was that pile of homework she had dumped in her room when changing to go to the club with Squall. (Now she wished she had done all of that stupid reading.) Groaning tiredly, she didn't know how she managed to drag herself off of the couch, completely forgo the kettle, and manage to crack open a Psych book before her eyes slid out of focus and the words blurred into long, black lines.
----~----
Squall swore loudly as his razor cut across his cheek, leaving a gouge that blood quickly rushed to fill. By the time he had grabbed and wet a washcloth, it was dripping in a steady stream down his neck, and he hurriedly leaned over the shallow sink in hopes to save one of his only clean shirts from becoming in some way stained, like all the rest. Wiping the cloth none too professionally across the whole right side of his face, he only cringed as the cloth met the new wound and did little to stem the bleeding. When he finally realized that he had to hold the cloth in place if he wanted something to happen, the kettle whistled loudly in the narrow kitchen and made him jump; the cloth slid from his hand and landed on the cold, beat-up linoleum of the only bathroom, located conveniently in his room.
Although only one side of his face was shaven clean, he decided to give it up for the night and abruptly threw the bloody razor into the sink, turning on the hot water tap, out of which poured ice-cold fluid that made his hand smart as he reached in to snatch up the now-clean blade. Hissing venomously, he hit the tap and stowed the razor in the cheap medicine cabinet above the sink, only resulting in a plastic shelf breaking and a load of toothbrushes and empty packs of dental floss raining down on him.
He fought the urge not to swear again, which was extremely hard, as he trashed the floss and attempted to fit the shelf into place. After his fourth try with no luck, he threw it into the still-draining sink, slammed the medicine cabinet shut, and stomped back into his bedroom, where a messy sight greeted him, as always. Half-heartedly kicking all of the laundry into one large pile in the corner of the room, he had only gotten one of four belts off when he realized that he really wasn't in the mood for the taking off of every thing he was wearing - quite a lot, he realized with a barely-suppressed groan of frustration - and merely flopped down onto the large, marshmallow-esque bed that one could just melt into, burying his face in a pillow.
Why, tonight, did Yuffie look so beautiful? Why, tonight, did he feel so strongly about taking her back in one piece to the apartment? Why, tonight, did he blow up, comfort, and then blow up again at an eighteen-year-old? He was twenty-five, for crying out loud; he was surprised there wasn't a law against the two of them living together. He hadn't drunk anything out of the ordinary; his customary three coffees a day hadn't changed - unless he was driven to extremes at the sheer amount of money that he spent on those lattes, although that seemed highly unreal - and nothing seemed out-of- kilter . . .
Except him.
He chased thoughts like these around in his mind till about two-sixteen, when he became aware that he had a load of hair in his mouth - precisely one of the reasons for the nightly ponytail. He had barely enough sense to get it up into the rubber band before remembering to fling his arm over the side of the bed, fish around until he found a box-shaped device, and then place it back on the nightstand next to him before slapping out the nearly worn-out bulb and just giving in to the exhaustion that came with nights like these.
----~----
Wasn't as long as the last chapter, and its earlier than when I finished that one (around 1:22 A.M.; last one was done at around 2 A.M.), but I think its still pretty good, all things considered. Well, as always, review! I thank all those who have reviewed already; you encourage me so much ^^ *passes out 'I Lurve Squall' pins*
----~----
It was as if all of the forces in the galaxies had gone into some state of shock, stopping some unseen force that kept boundaries up between certain people, made rivalries what they were, and let romance turn into love - like the cosmos had all burned up and taken down fate with them, slamming right into a person's conscious and telling them to wake up from a coma they'd been in for a year, even if they were walking, talking, and aware of their surroundings. It was as if someone tore a shell off of Squall Leonhart, a protective outer coating that he had been hiding under for the year that he had been rooming with this eighteen-year-old, and finally pushed him out into the sunshine from a lifetime of being in the dark - and he was just now getting a suntan.
He blinked, azure eyes trying to focus on anything other than Yuffie. The frigid air had left her face pale, and, just as they were trying to hail a cab, the sky up and poured down on them, soaking them to the bone in the few minutes that it took for them to finally nab a taxi. So, in addition to her now paper-white skin that made her look like a Japanese geisha -- only a lot more attractive - she had stringy raven hair that clung to her high cheekbones, framing her face and highlighting the immense indigo eyes that were focused intently on the teapot.
"Squall! Are you okay?" The intern jerked his head up to face her, eyes sliding back into focus as he fought to find the thread of her words. She was looking at him concernedly, a box of teabags clutched in one water- covered hand.
"What?" He blinked before answering, trying to name what she was getting at. "Yeah, I'm fine. What were you saying?" Yuffie's brow furrowed and a look of worry came over her features.
"I was asking if you want any tea," she said slowly, unsure if he had amnesia or something like that. He hadn't drunk anything for the little while that she wasn't with him, had she? Or had he hit his head on the cab while bending down to clamber into the passenger seat?
He grimaced. "No," he said acidly, and her face relaxed. So he was alright. The thought snapped into his head that he had been rude - since when did he ever have that thought? - and he quickly scrambled to apologize. "Thanks. No thanks," he amended, although it sounded more than forced. Yuffie set the water to a boil and started to strip off her clinging overcoat that was partially fused to her arms. Her eyebrows quirked up to the point that they were nearly invisible under her sopping bangs, yellow bandana or no.
"You sure you're feeling alright?" she asked uncertainly, shoving the coat, rolled up in a ball, into a small closet that was barely big enough to house the three jackets, broom, and umbrella they kept inside it.
"I said I'm fine! What, my word's not good enough for you?" he snapped, standing up abruptly from his seat on the couch, which was old and worn soft and nearly too comfortable with use, which made getting up an unwanted chore. The few mismatched pillows that they had somehow acquired were heaped at one end, while a stack of magazines, old newspapers, and discarded tests that Yuffie had completed or Cloud had asked Squall to grade but never got around to was at the other.
"Yikes, I ask you one question and you blow up at me! Some compassionate man you are, Squall!" Yuffie quipped sarcastically, glaring fiercely at him. It seemed as if a repeat of the argument at 55 Bar was about to follow them here, just when he wasn't being half as vile to her as usual.
"Suck it up, Yuffie!" he shouted back before storming down the hall and slamming the door to his room behind him.
Yuffie sank down onto the couch where he had been moments before, slowly easing her hands up over her too-dry face, wet bangs dripping over her cheeks like tears. Tears? Why was she crying? She hurriedly scrubbed her arm across her eyes before curling onto her side in a fetal position, hugging a pillow tightly and biting her lower lip. For a half hour, for just a half hour, she thought that he was capable of affection - he talked with her, he found her, he shoved her into the apartment door first to escape the rain. Why did he act like that after blowing up at her before, which wasn't even directed at her, but Cloud? And then, just when she thought that he was capable of the kind of compassion that went with the angelic face, he warped into some unknown beast and charged down the hall like an angry bull.
A muffled ring sounded off vaguely from underneath her somewhere, and she faintly remembered burying the cordless under the couch cushions to keep any more angry parents away. Muttering something that sounded like 'everything would be a lot simpler without phones,' she dug it up and reluctantly hit the ON button.
"Yeah?" she said dismally into the phone, stretched out on her back, head against the mountain of pillows and feet propped up on the stack of old, yet-to-be-recycled papers.
"Yo, are you comin' tonight or what? You gotta let me know this stuff before you go ditchin' me, right?" Cid asked, and Yuffie didn't even have to be there with him to know that he was waving his arms around like a madman.
"Nah," she replied, ignoring the whistling of the kettle. "My and my roommate made up . . . sort of . . . so I'm staying here. But thanks anyway; I really appreciate it," she said, trying her best to sound uplifting and cheerful. Cid's stoic disposition didn't provide him with much of that.
"Yeah, well, juss call next time, right?" he asked, and Yuffie nodded into the phone.
"Yeah. Right, later," she said abruptly, slamming her fist over all of the buttons at once and chucking the cordless across the threadbare rug on the floor. Massaging her eyes to relieve them of any further emotion, she tried vaguely to remember what it was like before anxiety had ripped her life away from her - and then there was that pile of homework she had dumped in her room when changing to go to the club with Squall. (Now she wished she had done all of that stupid reading.) Groaning tiredly, she didn't know how she managed to drag herself off of the couch, completely forgo the kettle, and manage to crack open a Psych book before her eyes slid out of focus and the words blurred into long, black lines.
----~----
Squall swore loudly as his razor cut across his cheek, leaving a gouge that blood quickly rushed to fill. By the time he had grabbed and wet a washcloth, it was dripping in a steady stream down his neck, and he hurriedly leaned over the shallow sink in hopes to save one of his only clean shirts from becoming in some way stained, like all the rest. Wiping the cloth none too professionally across the whole right side of his face, he only cringed as the cloth met the new wound and did little to stem the bleeding. When he finally realized that he had to hold the cloth in place if he wanted something to happen, the kettle whistled loudly in the narrow kitchen and made him jump; the cloth slid from his hand and landed on the cold, beat-up linoleum of the only bathroom, located conveniently in his room.
Although only one side of his face was shaven clean, he decided to give it up for the night and abruptly threw the bloody razor into the sink, turning on the hot water tap, out of which poured ice-cold fluid that made his hand smart as he reached in to snatch up the now-clean blade. Hissing venomously, he hit the tap and stowed the razor in the cheap medicine cabinet above the sink, only resulting in a plastic shelf breaking and a load of toothbrushes and empty packs of dental floss raining down on him.
He fought the urge not to swear again, which was extremely hard, as he trashed the floss and attempted to fit the shelf into place. After his fourth try with no luck, he threw it into the still-draining sink, slammed the medicine cabinet shut, and stomped back into his bedroom, where a messy sight greeted him, as always. Half-heartedly kicking all of the laundry into one large pile in the corner of the room, he had only gotten one of four belts off when he realized that he really wasn't in the mood for the taking off of every thing he was wearing - quite a lot, he realized with a barely-suppressed groan of frustration - and merely flopped down onto the large, marshmallow-esque bed that one could just melt into, burying his face in a pillow.
Why, tonight, did Yuffie look so beautiful? Why, tonight, did he feel so strongly about taking her back in one piece to the apartment? Why, tonight, did he blow up, comfort, and then blow up again at an eighteen-year-old? He was twenty-five, for crying out loud; he was surprised there wasn't a law against the two of them living together. He hadn't drunk anything out of the ordinary; his customary three coffees a day hadn't changed - unless he was driven to extremes at the sheer amount of money that he spent on those lattes, although that seemed highly unreal - and nothing seemed out-of- kilter . . .
Except him.
He chased thoughts like these around in his mind till about two-sixteen, when he became aware that he had a load of hair in his mouth - precisely one of the reasons for the nightly ponytail. He had barely enough sense to get it up into the rubber band before remembering to fling his arm over the side of the bed, fish around until he found a box-shaped device, and then place it back on the nightstand next to him before slapping out the nearly worn-out bulb and just giving in to the exhaustion that came with nights like these.
----~----
Wasn't as long as the last chapter, and its earlier than when I finished that one (around 1:22 A.M.; last one was done at around 2 A.M.), but I think its still pretty good, all things considered. Well, as always, review! I thank all those who have reviewed already; you encourage me so much ^^ *passes out 'I Lurve Squall' pins*