Author's note: a random idea for Flufftober on Tumblr. Prompt 14. "I hate it." – "No, you don't.".
I'm not really sure if this qualifies as fluff, but yeah, here it is.
NORMALCY
It's the normalcy he dreads.
During the war, it was easy to distance himself. It was easy because battles were almost endless, and there was no time to eat, no time to properly sleep, and almost no time to think. Even the impromptu concert in Fisherman's Horizon felt just like a minute – an appreciated pause between the clamor of Galbadia's attempted invasion and the intrusive thoughts about what now, what now that I'm the Commander, what if I'm not good enough.
What nows and what ifs were his constant companions, when war managed to be silent long enough for him to doubt himself.
But now the war is won, and life has gone back to a semblance of normalcy, and people are too busy building back what war has destroyed, and this is what he dreads because combat and training are all he knows, and all he was raised to do, and now the what ifs and what nows have a new meaning he can't fully comprehend.
A soft knock on his door makes him sigh again, and he croaks out a "Come on in". And there she is, sunny and radiant and so beautiful his heart squeezes almost painfully.
"I knew you would still be scooped up in here," she says cheerfully, shaking her head even though she's smiling. She plops down on the chair in front of him, leans her elbows on his desk, and then rests her chin on her hands, looking at him.
He tries to move his eyes away, but she notices anyway. "What's wrong?"
"Just tired," he counters quickly, but she shakes her head again.
"You've already used that excuse. Didn't work then, doesn't work now."
"What?" he asks, genuinely confused.
"At the concert. You tried to weasel your way out of it by saying you were tired."
He blinks, trying to remember.
"You can't use the Guardian Forces making you forget excuse either."
There's a moment of silence, and she keeps looking at him while he absentmindedly plays with a pencil on his desk planner. He wants to tell her what's really wrong, but would it be worth it? He doesn't want to disappoint her, and still, he feels so ill at ease.
"Is this about tonight?" she asks eventually, and something in his expression must have betrayed him because she presses on, "It is, right?"
"Yeah," he whispers.
"Wanna talk about it?"
He snorts, and she gives a sheepish laugh. "Yeah, go figure," she comments, waving her hand. "I just meant, if you want to tell me about it, I'll gladly listen."
He stops playing with the pencil, and he pushes his hair out of his face, without noticing the almost enraptured look on her face. "I don't know how to say it."
Rinoa briefly wonders why there's so much self-deprecation about him, before trying to be gentler in coaxing him. "Nobody expects anything from you. I promise."
He laughs, in the same bitter way he laughed at her compassion back in Timber, when he told her, with piercing coldness, that Seifer was probably already dead.
He says nothing, though, and she takes a moment to really look at him and understand what's so wrong about a simple movie night. "There's nothing one could expect from a movie night, actually," she tries, slightly narrowing her eyes to catch the nuances of emotions on his face. "We'll pick a movie, probably make some popcorn, and eat them while we watch it. Considering there's Irvine too there will probably be some beer. It will be a silly movie so there won't be a long and deep discussion about it. We'll say goodnight and go to bed. End of movie night."
He simply nods, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers. She still watches, and when he stands up and turns to watch out of his office's immense window she just waits until she sees his shoulders drop. She sighs, then, and stands up too, approaching him without a word and circling his waist with her arms, leaning her head between his shoulder blades.
She feels him relax slightly in her arms, and she dares to move one of her hands, in a hopefully relaxing massage. "I know everyone here expects a lot from you," she starts, choosing her words with particular care when she feels how his breath catches in his chest. "And I want you to know that you always exceed everyone's expectations, and we are all so proud of you for that. I am so proud of you every day."
He says nothing, and she shrugs against him before adding, "I don't expect anything from you. I'd just like for you to have a nice, quiet evening with your friends. I'd just like to take your mind off work and help you relax. You always do so much, for every single one of us. I want to pay you back." She moves to stand between him and the window, raising her hand to cup his cheek with all the gentleness she can muster. "I promise it's as simple as that. You don't have to eat popcorn or drink beer if you don't like it. Just squeeze my hand if you're bored and we'll leave, no questions asked. Well, apart from Irvine's ones," she concludes with a slight smirk.
He smirks too, squeezing her a little into his arms, until she is comfortably pressed against him. "I can deal with Irvine's questions," he whispers, leaning down to press his forehead against hers.
"But there's something you feel you can't deal with," she counters. "And I'm still willing to listen."
He sighs, closing his eyes and holding her closer. It's much easier to unload his mind when he's not looking at her, and he gently guides her head against his chest, leaning his cheek against her hair.
She's about to tell him that hugging as an excuse to avoid talking doesn't work, when he whispers against her hair, "I just don't know how to have friends. I never cared about that and now four people want to spend their time with me and a girl is even willing to be my girlfriend. I don't understand."
"What's there to understand?" she asks, genuinely trying to follow his logic.
He is silent for a few minutes, but before she can repeat her question, he continues, "Because I'm worried about what people may think about me. I'm too worried about that. It's much easier when they simply think I'm cold and introverted and leave me alone. I know exactly what they're thinking then: that I'm cold and introverted and I'm not worth too much effort."
"But you are," she counters, moving her head from his chest to look into his eyes. "You're worth so much effort. You are this… this generous human being who is willing to jump in front of a train to save a scared child, and who is willing to fight for the life of a man who just belittled everything you are and you're taught to be, and – and – and who's willing to jump into space to save my life." Her voice breaks, and she laughs, a little self-conscious about her outburst. He's watching her with slightly widened eyes, as if he can't believe how much admiration and adoration she just poured out, all for him. "What I meant to say is that you're an amazing person and I don't want you to think you're unworthy of attention and love," she concludes, wiping away a tear from her cheek.
"Thank you," he says, as she sheepishly giggles again. "It's just… I've been like that for so long. I don't think I know how to be different."
"Not different," she counters, tilting her head. "Your true self."
"My true self?" he breathes, looking away. "The self who is so worried about people's opinions that prefers to be alone so it doesn't have to deal with it? I hate it."
"No, you don't. You're just not used to being loved for it." He opens his mouth to reply, but she places her fingers on his lips and adds, "And yes, there's much to love in that vulnerable side of you."
This is so strange, so unfathomable. "How did we go from talking about movie night to this?" He chuckles, mostly to hide his self-consciousness.
She makes a sound, leaning her forehead against his chin. This is as far as they've gone into love-declaration zone, and she kind of hoped it could be slightly more romantic, but she also thinks it couldn't be more becoming than telling him she loves him for the things he thinks are flaws.
She guesses she needs to get used to contradictions, with Squall.
"So, first we choose a movie, right?" he says.
"Yeah. We'll go to Balamb store and rent something."
"I've never seen a movie."
She looks at him and realizes what he's trying to do. He needs a plan. A routine he can follow. All risks laid out. She smiles, and gives him what he needs. "It's a good night to start, then. We'll guide you."
"I may need that beer," he says with a lopsided smirk, and she giggles, hiding her mouth with her hand.
"Then you can have it, if you let me sit next to you."
"How would I squeeze your hand when I'm bored otherwise?"
She laughs openly and dares to throw her arms around his neck and press a peck on his lips.
"Seems like you're getting the hang of it. Stop worrying now, you'll be fine."
She takes his hand, and this time, when she starts to pull him out of the room, he follows her with a firm step.
Author's note: I always thought Squall has social anxiety, so yeah. This was just something I wanted to experiment with. I hope it wasn't too bad. Thanks for reading and as usual, since this was betaread with Grammarly and English is my second language, if you notice mistakes feel free to point them out.