For my fated(underscore)children Seifer/Squall claim on LiveJournal. Themes "letters" and "office work".
A letter from the new disciplinary committee. Still trying to prove themselves as good as the old version. Failing miserably. Squall discards it, dropping it into the bin without even reading it. Letter from a group of students, complaining about the lack of healthy food in the cafeteria. Sorry, kids, the stuff he gets isn't much better. He drops that in the bin too, ready for incineration. He won't answer – he never does. Just goes and tells whoever to do whatever to try and deal with the problem.
He's almost gained a sixth sense in knowing what the letters say without opening them. He's like a weatherman; he can tell when a storm is coming in the Garden just from the letters. He's gotten skilled in knowing what to say. What to do to get a situation dealt with.
He isn't used to dealing with plain, unmarked envelopes. He holds it in a gloved hand for a moment, eyes narrowed.
He has to waste a little time and read this one.
He opens it, smoothing it out into a small neat square on his desk before leaning back and resting his back as he tries to read it. It's oddly elegant handwriting, something that stirs a faint memory somewhere in his mind's eye as the part of him that will always be a SeeD analyses it. It's not thin, cheap, Garden issue paper. Someone making an effort...?
He reads it, his eyes scanning it quickly, a look of comprehension and warmth growing in those eyes. He gets up, putting the letter down carefully on his desk before heading out. He does this every day, once he's done reading his letters, but today there's a little more of a spring to his step and there are still some letters he hasn't read.
And this is all it says.
Squall Leonhart -
I love you.
-Seifer Almasy
