You know the drill. If you want me to keep writing, please, let me know.
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In the far recesses of his mind, he wondered if one of the scariest feelings in the world is waking up, opening your eyes - and seeing the same as if they were closed. However, seeing as the rational mind doesn't particularly care to intervene with reality - he screamed.

Flailing, shuddering, he began to sob in the darkness before it gradually leaked away, the night's hold on him relenting as his fear took its place. Where am I?, he cried frantically, screaming into the recesses of his consciousness, begging silently for reassurance, for the calm oblivion of Shiva's realm.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" a bland, dry voice replied to his agony. Turning, Squall cautiously peered across the room - still slightly fuzzy, but getting better with each moment. S...Seifer? Here? But... "I can't see," he whispered quietly.

"You got one hell of a concussion," Seifer replied, flopping down on the foot of Squall's bed restlessly. "What the hell were you doing to yourself? Are you fucking insane?"

Cold. So cold. He felt freezing inside, suddenly ashamed of his actions, tears streaming in his heart where they were safe - where the scorn of his peers would not touch them. He missed the odd expression on Seifer's face as he traced his fingers down his arm, almost moaning in relief at the sharp jolts of pain. So beautiful... so free, he murmured silently to himself, eyes half-closing in dazed relaxation. Ironically, this was the only time, the only place where the agony, the nightmares, didn't follow him, echoing his every move.

"Squall?" What the fuck is wrong with him? It seemed almost as if Seifer's world was turning slightly, twisting the edges and boundaries, a strange mixture of what he knew and what he could never think of. Squall, the Ice Prince - cold, emotionless, sterile. The epitome of human distance. And yet...

And yet, agony was etched into his flesh, a painful reminder of what must lay inside behind walls, trapped for what must seem like eternity to its victim. How many nights have seen Squall bleed his tears? How many days have seen an overexuberant Selphie latch herself onto a scarred and possibly bloody arm, bouncing and ranting at him, possibly simply reminding him of his own inner pain? No one mutilated themselves this badly for no reason. No one rended flesh from bone so very deeply if there wasn't something seriously, dreadfully wrong.

And through it all, suspecting there was more, knowing something wasn't right -

Seifer never said a word.