Summary: One-shot. SeiferxSquall. Seifer's POV. Post-Final Fantasy VIII. Squall and Seifer meet in the streets of Deling City, and Seifer comes to a conclusion about them and their relationship.
I wasn't expecting to meet up like that.
It was like we had never seen each other before in our lives, like we were complete strangers meeting up for the first time, separated by some invisible boundary and staring at each other with wide eyes and confused gazes. We had never seen each other before, no, we were completely oblivious to each other, and grey met green in that moment of awkward stares.
We stood like that for a long time. I'm not sure what made us stay there, standing in the middle of the sidewalk in the dusty streets of Deling City, blocking the traffic of shoppers bustling from one side of the city to the other. It was like we were frozen in the spot, and all of our emotions and questions were poured out through dark eyes, flickering with the movement of feelings, even if our faces wouldn't.
Why did you go?
I didn't want to be found; people don't accept me here any more, you know that.
There was a moment where I shifted my weight, a look of annoyance crossing his features in that way that only I could cause. I guess my affect on him hadn't worn off over these years of our separation.
I've missed you.
I know.
I could have given you somewhere to stay, you know. Somewhere with me.
I know that, too.
He seemed sad now, and I couldn't help but give in to that tug at my heart that seeing his lost, confused glances gave me. I'm not even sure if I know why the hell I feel like that when I see him. Hell, I don't even know if he realizes that he gives me those looks; just simple little gazes, a flicker of something dark and sad in the back of stormy, dead eyes, and I catch it, holding to it and wanting to nurture it like it's an open wound.
Why?
Why what?
You know what I mean.
I couldn't. I'm sorry.
I loved you.
Yeah. I knew that.
I loved you.
I love you.
He walked past me, still gazing over his shoulder, eyes locked with mine, and all I could do was watch him.
It wasn't in my nature to turn around and run to him like I should have. No, I'd never stoop as low as to come dashing back to him like some school girl to her lost boyfriend, to show him that thing that I had tried to show him all those years ago. I have too much pride for that.
He was gone into the crowd in a matter of seconds, and all I could catch as I turned around to find him was the movement of silvery-brown hair as he turned some corner into some street that I didn't know the name of, vanishing from my sight and my life like a phantom.
It'd never worked then, it probably wouldn't work now. He was just too cold for that, and I was just too stubborn.
We'd never work here.
I turned away from where he had vanished almost as if he had never been there, hands shoving into my pockets against the cold, fingers and body numbed to the world as I walked away from that place. I didn't need to stay here any more - what I came for was done, and he was gone, back into that world where heroes that don't want to be heroes go, and here I am, the villain that wanted to be the villain, left to walk these streets without a purpose. We're two strangers walking different paths to the same destination, and at the end, we'll meet up again, and we'll be lost lovers and best friends with a stain of blood colored rivalry between us, and things will be unpredictable and hard to comprehend, just like before. And the things will work themselves out in whatever means are necessary and life will be thrilling and on-the-edge once more, and we'll go back to fighting and loving and doing both at the same time, like we weren't quite lovers but were more than just friends.
But that's simply how I like us.
Complicated.
Another one-shot involving my loves. Just a little angsty, depending on how you look at it and if you really pay close attention to each of the lines and the wording I use. I wrote it to Death Cab for Cutie's song Brothers on a Hotel Bed, if that explains where the hidden angst came from. The style was influenced by Ray Brabury, if you had not noticed this yet. Erm, yes.
Review, please.