Hello, friends! Yes, it has been a long time! I began writing this on December 21st, 2023. Here's something deeply personal and incredibly silly- that date has significance to me when it comes to these two characters. I always think of them on this date, and I've been neglecting this story far too much.
I never realized just how often I make the "wow, it's been xyz since I updated, life is crazy" excuse for my fics. Hm. Something's gotta change.
He'd hated to admit it, even to himself, but it was true; Laguna's pancakes were incredible. The best he'd ever had, really. The man hadn't said anything out loud, but when Squall went back for a third helping there was definitely a proud smirk on his face.
Squall almost considered asking him for the recipe. But not only would that be feeding the man's already inflated ego, he'd probably also say something like "No way! If you want more, you'll just have to come visit again!"
And besides, Ellone was doing enough praising him for the both of them, anyway.
"Gosh, I really missed these! I would think about them all the time when I had to eat those disgusting breakfasts on that SeeD ship. Remember the first time you made them, Uncle Laguna?"
He laughed, "Yes! I kept forgetting how many cups of flour I had already added, and then the batter would get like dough, so I tried adding more water but then it was too much…"
"And we had so many pancakes we ate them for a week!"
"Hoo boy, even I was sick of them by then!"
"But definitely not as sick as you were that time you tried to make spaghetti with pork," she teased.
"Hey, hey, I am a creative visionary! My only mistake was some minor miscalibrations with the temperature. And cooking time. And seasonings," Laguna said defensively.
And just like that, Squall discovered a new emotion regarding his family- feeling left out.
There was something that stung about watching the two of them, laughing so carelessly, bonding over precious memories that had nothing to do with him. It was like they were in their own little world. A world that had no room for him. He shouldn't have been upset about it, hell, he shouldn't have cared at all, but he did. And it didn't make any damn sense. It was completely illogical to be hurt when he hadn't even been born then. It's not like they excluded him. It wasn't either of their faults that he wasn't raised by Laguna, he knew that. But something about it twisted in his chest and made his stomach ache to see them giggling away like they were oh so special and everything was so wonderfully perfect.
It made him… angry. He was angry. Why was he angry? They were happy and smiling, shouldn't he be happy for them? And yet, and a part of him… hated that.
Was he jealous?
"Oh, Squall, that's right!" Ellone's voice was suddenly there, too loud, and her face too close. "I haven't shown you my room yet! Come see, come see!"
And before he could protest, she'd grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hallway. Well, he had to admit, it was nice to hold hands with her again. He had missed that. He missed it a lot…
Dammit, now he was sad.
He'd been having mood swings ever since he showed up at this place and it was getting exhausting.
Ellone's room was an explosion of color. Each wall was decorated with various murals, multiple shelves, and a menagerie of decorations. She seemed to like bright, vivid scenes with lots of flowers. The ceiling was painted as though it were a cloudy, blue sky. Soft pink curtains framed the large windows overlooking the city. And her love for books was apparent, as there was an enormous bookcase that took up almost an entire wall, already almost full of books. But the centerpiece of the room was undoubtedly her bed. Four posters surrounded it, with an opulent pink canopy draped on top. Fluffy white pillows were proudly displayed, some beaded and embroidered with designs. The duvet was also thick, and decorated with understated but lovely floral details. He was honestly impressed. Even he felt the urge to fall face-first into it.
"Growing up, after being taken away from Winhill, my world was so… sterile. I had my own room on the ship, but it never really felt like home. So when I came here, well, I decided I'd just go all out! It's pretty girly, huh?"
He shrugged, "It's… pretty."
She smiled, then dashed over to jump onto the bed.
"Remember when we were little," she said, breathless with each bounce, "and we used to have pillow fights with the other kids when Matron wasn't around?"
Had something like that happened? It almost seemed familiar, but then again, he'd never had any thoughts about it before. He couldn't imagine it.
"I don't. Sorry…"
Ellone slowed for a moment, but then brushed it off.
"Well then, get up here!" she said, "We'll make new memories!"
And if anyone else had asked him, even Rinoa, he would've said no. He was always so inexplicably embarrassed by things like spontaneity, or giving in to childish impulses, like someone was going to pop up and then point and laugh. But being with Ellone was effortless. He felt seen, but not in a way that felt like someone was dissecting him. It was more like… like being with himself, almost. Or a part of himself. There were no memories coming back to him, but it was like a feeling he remembered. Like something deep inside him waking up. He didn't know what it was called, but he felt it unfurl as he took her hand and she pulled him up onto the duvet.
And he smiled without even thinking.
By the time Laguna had finished the dishes, the room looked like a bomb made of pillows had exploded inside it. One of the pillows had even split open, showering them with tiny feathers, which amused Ellone to no end.
There was something oddly therapeutic about whacking each other senseless with cushions.
"Well I was gonna ask if anyone needed more coffee, but you guys look pretty hyped up already! Geez, I miss bein' young…" Laguna said wistfully.
Squall was too winded to reply, but settled for glaring up at the man from where he lay on the floor.
They spent the rest of the day in surprisingly good spirits; Ellone's presence did wonders for diffusing a lot of the awkwardness that clung to the air when it was just him and Laguna. He found his anxiety melting the more Ellone spoke. Words didn't stick in his throat like they usually did, and his thoughts became less jumbled.
He almost felt, dare he say it? Relaxed.
Laguna seemed to unwind, too. It didn't take a genius to see that the man was trying hard to impress Squall. His naturally cheery and accommodating nature had been cranked up to 10, and the man was so terrified of imposing anything on him that he'd become downright indecisive. But as the day passed, he began to shed the insecurities. It helped that there had been much of the city he was excited to show them. And with Esthar so bursting with life, it was easy for Laguna to go unnoticed with a simple baseball cap and some casual wear. Squall had been wary of venturing outside, having had plenty of experience lately with paparazzi and curious civilians. But Laguna just strode forward like he belonged there and blended effortlessly into the crowds.
Since it was her birthday week, Ellone chose the shots. So onward they went; an art museum, a live stage theater, a sprawling shopping mall. And Laguna kept buying him every damn thing he'd laid his eyes on for more than 5 seconds. Well, he did the same for Ellone, but she seemed to welcome it. Squall, however, felt wildly put out. He came home with more gifts than he'd ever gotten in all his past birthdays combined. How was he going to fit all this stuff in his tiny little dorm…?
They cooked dinner together. Now that was a completely new occurrence in life for him. Most of his life he'd just eaten whatever was in the cafeteria, or rations from SeeD. Come to think of it, this was probably the first home-made meal he'd eaten since living with Matron.
Part of him liked it. Or wanted to like it. But it was just so… strange. It was almost like an out of body experience. Like any minute someone was going to walk in and say, "Oh dear, it seems there's been a mistake. You're an orphan! Orphans don't cook with their families, that is stupid."
And even thinking that felt stupid. But it was stuck there in his brain and he wasn't sure how to get it out.
But the food was good, and before he knew it the three of them were squished together on the couch, Laguna turning on a movie with an enormous bowl of popcorn. Ellone was, unsurprisingly, in the middle. And thank goodness because he absolutely wasn't going to set next to Laguna and would not have been afraid to break the poor man's heart about it.
And the weird little voice that told him what he was or wasn't "supposed" to do slowly got quieter, and although he really wanted to see how the movie would end, he felt himself drifting off to sleep.
There was a brief moment where he hovered near consciousness once more at a loud, raucous sound. Ellone's laughter. Seems the movie had ended and the two had just begun to chat. Part of him admired their ability to just endlessly engage with each other like that; the way neither of them ever seemed to run out of things to say. His mind continued to float there between sleeping and waking, like being underwater but just below the surface. The sound of their voices was surprisingly comforting, though he couldn't quite make out what they were saying. He was pretty sure he heard his name mentioned once or twice.
The next time he felt himself slip out of oblivion was at a softer sound. Maybe the sudden change in volume triggered something in his brain; on the battlefield, you had to be keenly aware of even the rustles of the leaves in the trees. He almost decided to open his eyes and head to bed, but an odd sense of shyness made him stop.
"Should we wake him?" Ellone said in a hushed tone.
"Nah," Laguna replied with equal softness, "Let him stay here. He didn't sleep at all last night, and he's probably tuckered out. We had a big day."
"I'm surprised he put up with it," Ellone wondered, "I kinda expected him to put up a fuss at some point. He was never good with crowds and noise, you know."
Laguna hummed thoughtfully. Something seemed to shift in the air, and Ellone's tone became, to his horror, sad.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Laguna," she whispered.
"Elle… come on honey, we talked about this. It's not your fault. You—"
"But if I had tried harder, or said or did something different. If I had just—"
"You know you can't think like that. How would you like it if I started talking like that?"
She went silent, and Laguna continued.
"And how do you think he'd feel, if we started beating ourselves up like that? Do you think that'd do anything for him? I may not know him that well, but I doubt he'd find mutual wound-licking very appealing."
"No, it's just… I want to help, but I don't know how," she sighed.
"That's one of the hard parts about life, Elle. Sometimes, things just hurt. And you can't change the fact that it hurts. But you don't let it control your life, and that includes not chaining yourself to it. It's not your job to fix this family."
There was a pause, and she chuckled, "Uncle Laguna, you're actually pretty grown-up."
"I've always been mature! Geez, nobody around here listens to me," he huffed.
He felt the couch cushions shift around him as the two stood up.
"Why don't you head to bed?" Laguna suggested as he stretched. "I'll get him all set up."
"Okay… Good night."
"Night, Elle," Laguna said, and though Squall couldn't see, he could hear the smile in his voice.
The rawness of their emotions seemed to grip him like a vice, and Squall once again found his eyes firmly and stubbornly sealed shut. If Laguna knew he was awake, the man would undoubtedly want to talk about what had just happened, and there was no way in hell he was doing that.
He had begun to wonder what the man meant by "get him all set up," when unexpectedly he felt Laguna sliding his shoes off of his feet. Was the man tucking him in? Gods help him. There was no way he could open his eyes now, because if he did he was absolutely going to die on the spot. He felt the man's hands on his shoulders and for a brief moment panic surged through him, recalling Laguna's earlier threat of carrying him to bed, when his body slowly began easing to the side. Laguna seemed to think sitting up against the back of the sofa was no way to sleep, and decided to move him to lie on his back. It was… oddly touching. Laguna handled him with such tenderness, it was as though the man were afraid he would break. Warm hands gripped his now bare ankles, one by one, and lifted them up to settle on the sofa with the rest of his body. He heard Laguna walk a few paces away, and return. The man had brought a blanket. He worked meticulously, making sure he was well-covered, and finally Squall felt the top of the blanket settle around his shoulders.
He wondered what kind of expression his father must've been making.
Then the air moved around him once more, and a feather-light touch brushed the crown of his head. Laguna was stroking his hair. Something warm bubbled up in his chest and spilled out, all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. It was blissful, and it terrified him. He couldn't decide if he wanted to reach out and smack the man's hand away or lean into the touch. The decision was made for him when Laguna pulled his hand away, and Squall begrudgingly was forced to acknowledge that he did, in fact, enjoy it. But as the man's hand slipped from his hair, it trailed gently across his face, a thumb stroking his cheek.
And for some reason, it took everything he had not to cry.
I really wanted to capitalize on Squall's tumultuous emotions in this chapter. A long time ago, a reviewer expressed some confusion- they basically asked, "Squall warmed up to him at the end of the one-shot, but now he's cold to Laguna again. What gives?" And that's actually an awesome question!
It's important to remember a few things. One; Squall is a traumatized child with actual, literal gaps in his memory. Childhood is the most formative time of a person's life, and Squall can barely recall any of it. Given that he's technically still a kid makes that even more disturbing. So he's this teenager, chock full of hormones, heavily traumatized, has all these conflicting emotions… and for a large part, doesn't even know why he feels the way he does. He also never had a stable parental figure to attach to. So he's got this mental war going on where this sorta subconscious part of his brain just plain ol' can't decide if it wants to attach or not. He's confused and frustrated and damaged, with no frame of reference whatsoever to guide him in life. And lastly, progress is not always linear. Sometimes we improve, and then regress, and on and on. In fact, that's quite often the case.
