I recognise the smooth, clipped tone as soon as he said the first word. Not a stalling stammer or a flustered cough that so many of my intruders seem to think necessary, but a simple,
"I'll leave that up to you."
Raising one eyebrow, I stare at the receiver with a twinge in my stomach. It's been so long since I heard the melodious sound of his submission. I laugh, can't help it. Stabbing the button beside the phone, still chuckling to myself, I imagine his irritated frown. He never did understand my jokes.
"Come on up, then. If you dare." Snickering at my own ridiculousness, I listen to the dull hum subside as Squall enters the building, no doubt turning around and around in that perplexed way of his; the one he does when he's pretending not to be perplexed at all. I think he hopes people will assume it's investigation rather than straight-up confusion, but it never fooled me. Squall isn't a Sorceress, after all and it seems that only they have any kind of convincing hold over me. No, I know exactly why he's here. Wouldn't take a hero of the world to figure out that little brainteaser. With all the fuss I've been causing, I somehow doubt that this little visit is a courteous call. Briefly, I ponder putting arsenic in his tea and laugh a little more at the thought. He's probably immune, after all. Not that the thought isn't tempting. If I'm going to be persecuted by Balamb's little choirboy for loyalty to a deserving woman, Rinoa Heartilly no less, then I'm happy to call it self-defence. Running my eyes over the sparse apartment to check for obvious signs of my traitorous behaviour, I decide on a course of action. If he lies about his reason for coming to see me, his tea gets it. If not, it's his lucky day.
I laugh even more when I realise that I don't even have the poison to do it.
The sharp knock on the door startles me from my vicious reverie and I swagger over to let him into my ordinary world. The sound of my heavy steps against the floorboards might frighten a weaker man, but I don't hold a hope that they'll unnerve Squall. Still, the expression that greets me when I swing open the heavy, red wood of the door suggests that I might have dashed my fortunes all too soon. A pair of wide, grey eyes stares me full in the face with just the slightest edge of trepidation. I smirk, lapping it up; it takes me back. A time when I had Hyperion in my hand beckons me back, when I was poised to strike that pretty little face and those eyes were open and terrified. The scar matches mine still; a faint, grey line with the tingeing of angry pink. Humour rises in my stomach as I imagine that the flushed forehead means that he's been rubbing the mark.
"Home sweet home," I joke darkly, loosely flexing my hand on the door handle. "Not the Presidential Palace that I'm sure you're used to, but you're welcome to come in just for the experience of being in a home with only one bathroom."
He scowls momentarily, the old Squall rising to the surface for a second before he replaces the expression with something more neutral. His cold professionalism is now a practised art and I am amused to see how far he has come with his repression in the months we've been apart. Eyes alter slowly from grey to a more vivid blue and he steps forward, chin raised and says,
"It's surreal to see you again. Surreal, in a good way."
I can't know what he's really thinking, and it irks me to see that the mask he's put on is even more impenetrable than the old one. There are only the tiniest hints; the air of challenge in the upturned face and the animated look in his eyes, that suggest to me that the coolness of his tone is forced. Yet I cannot know for sure, and I fucking hate that feeling. My eyes darken with sudden anger and I stare back at him,
"'Fuck's sake. Just come in, already. Cut the civility crap."
He follows me into the hallway with some reluctance, and though I can't read his mind I know that his eyes are darting all around him. The entrance to my flat is very claustrophobic; it's narrow corridor being the centrepiece of the layout. Each of the four rooms is entered via it through doors on each side of the corridor, and at the end of the hallway stands a storage cupboard. That makes up my joyful abode, and I sense that Squall is struck down with disbelief.
"Nice, ain't it?" I drawl, for the sake of filling the silence more than anything else. My sarcasm hits the air like a sharp, icy breeze and I shrug my shoulders as if to free myself from it. Too many years of anger just dying to get out. When I was young, my aggression found its words in deft blows to little Zell and later, Squall. Violence was my voice. In the last year, I've drowned in the tides of trapped rage. Yet I've held strong, knowing that my Sorceress will rescue me. She'll take me back to that bed of velvet and silk pulled tight over wrought ironwork, draping curtains of silver and gold, luxury and splendour and her, goddamnit; my pale, pure princess. I want to know about her; my beauty, my Rinoa.
"Seifer, you used the world to feed a horrific plan dreamt up by a lunatic from the future. Don't expect a life of luxury. Would you rather be dead?" He points out coldly, turning to me with a pained look. His temper is being restrained through effort alone and it seems he is not so skilled at keeping a handle on it as he used to be.
"You don't want the answer to that question, Squall, trust me." I answer, taking his coat from him and dismissing it onto the frame of a nearby, white wicker chair. I can feel his eyes boring into my back as I lay the dark fabric to rest and I shrug my shoulder blades, feeling the tension easing out from between the bones.
"Don't flatter yourself thinking that I'd be cut up if you killed yourself," He quips darkly, his voice weary and fading into the airy hallway. "I've spent years expecting it to happen."
Walking through the nearest door on my left, I nod towards one of the chairs in my living room and he sits down dully, as if he no longer had any feeling in his body. My gaze rests on him for a moment before I sit opposite him; I study his tired figure, energized only by his anger but otherwise ghostly. Still, his was a statement that couldn't be left without a response.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Leonhart?" No point in beating around the bush. Nonetheless, I know what he's implying; that I'm weak, unreliable and unable to cope with existence. That I'd rather play the actor and come to a ridiculously tragic end than aspire to bravery, and like him, die in the heat of battling for the good of the universe. He's making jibes at my vulnerability, suggesting that I'm selfish, needy and melodramatic. I see through his words all too well and my face fixes into a hot frown, teeth almost bared.
"I couldn't have coped with all that you went through; I don't see how anybody could. All those years of being treated like shit, like you didn't matter; with everyone underestimating what you could do because you couldn't keep that mouth of yours under control. Never being recognised for the strong fighter that you are, always seen as the callous thickshit. I don't know how you kept taking failure on the chin, and then..."
"She made it all worthwhile." I finish for him, tone hard and unyielding. "And unlike some people, I never needed other people to support my view of myself. You think I'm worth something because I got through all of the baiting, the taunting? Squall, when you don't give a fuck what everyone else says, it becomes a game to ruffle other people's feathers. I wasn't crying in my room every night, I was laughing. Laughing so hard my lungs hurt."
"You're an idiot, Seifer." He says under his breath, shaking his head ever so slightly. Dark strands of hair fall into his eyes and he pulls them back, studying me with that intense gaze of his. "I don't want to fight about this, it doesn't matter anymore. The years are gone now."
"What happened, then? You loved our physical battles but you never enjoyed a good verbal spar. Language scared you, didn't it? I see you've at least made an effort to speak in sentences, but it's as if every word you say burns you. What's going on with you?"
"She made it all worthwhile, did she?" He responds quietly, eyes falling once more to the fading white carpet upon the floor. "What, when she made you kill innocent people, or when she tossed you out to the dogs when she'd fed from you enough?"
My eyes flare and I have to force myself not to leap from my seat opposite his and grasp his frail neck with my large, firm hands. What is the meaning behind this victimization? Haven't I suffered enough? Why do people treat me as though I'm nothing? Not for much longer. Rinoa and I will soon have the world spread between us, beneath us and all around us. Then, they'll be sorry; all these scrawny play soldiers from Balamb Garden will have to make me their King. I think I'll keep Squall as a foot servant.
"You know nothing about my Sorceress, Squall. Don't talk about her, because you haven't a fucking clue what it was like. You just stayed on the white side, throwing your merry band of men their cures and their auras and trying to stay alive. You never sat on the top of the world alongside the only woman you ever loved, feeling that bond singing through your skin and the magnetic pulse of magic. For fuck's sake, don't talk as if you know how that feels." I stretched myself out in the chair, trying to assume a position of nonchalance, but his eyes weren't on me anyway. He spoke in a whisper, or thereabouts.
"I don't know. I'm the only other person you know that's also a Knight. I do know what it's like to feel that bond, that invisible line that pulls you to your Sorceress and makes you do the craziest things. I felt in when I was in space, watching her dying inside that seal. I didn't need to be sleeping with her to love her, Seifer."
Just his talk of Rinoa gets under my skin. She couldn't possibly have had a more unappreciative Knight than Squall. I knew he was lukewarm at best, but this lack of interest in her needs makes me feel nauseous. How can he call himself one of us? I feel a surge of sympathy for her, my lady, knowing that she must be suffering under this indifference. A Sorceress needs passion and desires undivided attention from her powerful soul mate, and Squall's clearly wanting of these qualities. How she must be hurting, how she must be needing me...I will come to her soon, so very soon. I will tolerate him for now.
"How is Rinoa these days?" I change tack swiftly, ignoring the look of confusion that comes into his stormy eyes. I know, of course, how she is. I would not be her Knight if I didn't sense every inch of her alternating feelings. It will be interesting for me, though, to hear the story from an objective point of view. Squall has not the lust for her to see into her soul, so he stands removed enough to give me a new impression of my lady. Perhaps I can gain some knowledge into her public appearance these days, see how she's covering up the loss of her incompetent Knight. Still, I'm impressed to see some sort of emotion flicker across his face at my question; perhaps jealousy or protectiveness.
"Why?" He spits out, face tense and concentrated. A sudden shock courses through me as I realise the extent to his neglect of his Sorceress. As a Knight, he should of course be all too aware of his lady's actions. Especially, of course, if she's using her time to summon herself another Knight. If Squall isn't aware of what Rinoa is doing, and it does seem that way, then she's more alone that I thought. It's difficult to imagine that Squall could be that stupid, that utterly ignorant, but his answer was too innocent for me to believe that he suspects anything. So he's here because he knows I'm recruiting, even that I've been summoned, but he doesn't know that we're about to be sharing a Sorceress. Heh, this is going to be very amusing indeed. So...typical of Squall. This must be the first mistake he's ever made in his entire life, and what a hugely catastrophic one it's going to be, at that.
"Why not?" I respond defiantly, enjoying the brief flash of irritance that passes across his face at my childish retort. Some things, it would seem, do not change and it is as easy as it ever was to get Squall all riled up. I love a good argument, especially with the strong, silent type. Strange to think it, but it's people like Squall who go off like dynamite when they're annoyed. Heh, and Quistis thought I was hot-tempered. She never saw Squall in a snit.
He frowns. "Why are you interested? I thought you two were just a fling, a summer thing."
"She told you that?" I question with a soft laugh; best to keep things on a simple level. It's easy for Squall to believe that I'm asking of Rinoa out of a continuing lust for the raven beauty, rather than let slip to him that I'm about to help her conquer the globe. "Well, if that's what she calls it."
"Hn, I don't want to go into this. She's getting on fine, far as I can tell. If you want gossip about her, go and call Selphie."
If I were looking for signs of jealousy on his part, that would be a clear-cut example. His eyes glint with a gritted determination not to let my words get to him and his mouth is taut with the effort of holding back angry, hot words. I smirk, sensing the inferno forming in the pit of his stomach.
"Gossip? Squall, you should know better than that. What on earth would interest me about a few morsels of information about your sex life when you're here; ready and waiting to have it prodded out of you? Why ask Selphie nicely when I can force it out of you?" Cheekily, I wink at him, leaning over and resting my arms over my thighs and grinning at him with a wicked expression that I know he hates.
His frown changes from one of annoyance to something resembling genuine confusion and he blinks a few times before eloquently saying, "What?"
"Don't play the fucking dumbass; you know I'm better at it. You and Rinoa? Sorceress and Knight, bed sheets and sweat and the scent of sex? Come on, Squall. I'm a Knight; I know how the game works. You battle, she tosses you an aura and you win. You bed, she tosses you off and you win again."
To my complete surprise, he almost winces. Either he's a great actor, or there's more to this than I assumed. Could something, - shock, horror - have gone wrong between The Hero of The World and his beautiful Princess?
"And I thought Irvine was crude." He grimaces, looking up at me with clear eyes. His hands fidget together, elbows resting on his knees and I find my gaze continually distracted by the working of his fingers over each other.
"Now, now. Don't tell me that this wasn't how it worked. You've just come out of time compression thanks to your sweet darling and you're standing on the romantic balcony with all the stars flying above you, the gentle wind whipping up her hair. She's doing that smile, the one that made your knees weak at the celebration ball, the one that made you want to forget SeeD and run away with her into the forests and live like nymphs-"
"Seifer, for fuck's sake-"
"Shut up, you never wanted to speak this much before now. Let me finish. So, anyway. Tell me that you didn't just grab her by the waist and lean her over the balcony, that you didn't pull that darn hot little blue covering of hers open, hitch up her skirt and take her, right then and there?" My green eyes blaze at the thought of it; Sorceresses, believe it or not, are not porcelain dolls. Edea had a sexual appetite that even Irvine would be jealous of, and the rougher and dirtier she got her sex, the happier she was. Sometimes when I think of Rinoa, I can see her the same way. Dress undone, tits exposed, slits to her dress, smudged eyes and bright, scarlet lipstick. Of course, then there are my images of Squall in that sort of tousled, naked state, but that's quite another story.
He stares at me, a mixture of deadpan and horrified. "We're not together, Seifer. Never were, not really. Even if we were, I wouldn't have, you know well enough."
"No," I concede. "Wouldn't be very ladylike, would it?"
"You'd have to ask her boyfriend." He comments wryly. "Like I said, we're not involved. I'm sure she's probably not as innocent as most people think, but I'd rather not think of her that way. She's like my sister."
I can't resist sticking the knife in, my glee at the open opportunity to piss Squall off distracting me from the potentially disastrous revelation he has just made. "So you'd rather not visualise her, lying on a bed; satin sheets all around her, wearing...ooh, a corset. Definitely a corset. All black and tight, pushing her tits up, laced down the back, strands of ribbon falling over red satin. Breathing heavily, all that thick, black hair in her eyes...that wouldn't interest you, just a little?" I was fully prepared to snort if he denied it; the sheer idea was getting me hot enough. Not to mention to idea of Squall approaching her; in bare skin and tight, black leather, wet lips and blazing eyes.
He continued to stare at me, face relaxing almost into lazy amusement. I had the distinct feeling that he had a card up his sleeve; an announcement that could shock me far more than my descriptions of a hot-and-heavy Rinoa had affected him. Surely enough, I had predicted correctly and I couldn't help but raise both eyebrows as he responded,
"Not in the least, seeing as I'm gay."
"Interesting," I respond, after a pause. It makes sense, in a way. I did think, or perhaps it was my dirty little mind, that he might be bisexual. You know how it is; those glances in the shower room after training linger just a little while longer and there's a constant state of distraction as they meander through a minefield of choice. At least, that's how it is for me. I never could decide whether I fancied Squall or Rinoa more and I remember vaguely Squall being slightly too interested, though subtly, in us boys in the showers back then. I did think he liked girls, as well. Not because I ever saw him with one, but...well, I guess most teenage boys assume their peers to be as rabid as they are. At that age, it's impossible to believe that a normal guy wouldn't be interested in perky breasts and long, slender legs. Sometimes I think that most of what I know about Squall is based on adolescent assumptions and I don't like it.
"When did you know?"
"I didn't, Rinoa enlightened me. I just thought I was a freak." He says gruffly, a small, self-deprecating smile twitching the corner of his lips.
"Oh, you are." I respond lightly, smirking as he raises his eyes to my face. I expect a glare, perhaps a classic huff, but he does neither. Intriguingly, he just snorts softly and adds, with a shake of his head,
"Even more of one, then. She was right, though and I've accepted it. It's just sex. Anyway." He's stammering, probably feeling a bit embarrassed. It's strange, how far he's come; he's so fucking talkative. Well, relatively speaking. It's difficult to believe that he just said the word 'sex' out loud and I snicker with sardonic amusement. A new Squall, then. I realise that I'm looking forward to getting to know him whilst he is here trying to untie the knots in the great plan between Rinoa and I. Then, I realise with a start the implications of the comment he made before, and request of him with a sudden harsh tone,
"Rinoa has a boyfriend?"
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