✱ 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲…

Aerith's eyes widened in genuine surprise. "Oh." The word escaped in little more than a breath as the weight of his jacket settled across her shoulders. Her fingers instinctively caught the lapels before it could slip, snuggling into the warmth it provided.

The leather was still warm from where he'd worn it, the lingering heat chasing away the chill that had settled on her shoulders before. She pulled it a little closer around herself, unable to stop the smile that bloomed across her face.

"It's warm." She laughed softly, the sound nearly swallowed by the steady rhythm of the rain as she glanced down at herself. "Does it look good on me?" She poked the question playfully, peering up at him with a glint in her eyes. It was almost funny, seeing herself wrapped in something that so unmistakably belonged to him."Thank you," she said sincerely, "I promise I'll give it back"

Aerith settled against the makeshift crate, tossing another small thanks as she tucked the goods away where they wouldn't get wet. "I think Yuffie will still find something to tease us about," she mused, the corners of her mouth lifting. "She'll probably say we should've thought to bring a whole cabin back instead." But Aerith did make a mental note, that trips that could end up like this deserved a little more forethought...and maybe some supplies on a just in case. After all, she couldn't always steal his jacket in the rain.

Her smile lingered before her gaze drifted toward the curtain of rain beyond the shelter. "...I think you're right." There was something almost mesmerizing about it. The steady patter against the wet earth, the surprise of being caught in a storm. "It feels..." She searched for the right word, watching droplets gather at the edge of the roof before tumbling into puddles below. "Peaceful....Yup, like...when its over the world starts fresh again..."

Leon settled next to her with a hum, close enough she can feel the warmth from his side. Without a thought she settled into the lean, content to share the small space with him. She tipped her head just enough to look up at him, green eyes dancing with amusement.

"Oh, definitely your humor," she said with exaggerated sincerity. "I don't know how I've survived all these years without your riveting commentary." Her smile softened, her head tilting just enough to let him catch the expression on her face.

She was teasing him, but mostly because it was always fun when moments like this happened. It seemed more often then not, they were finding themselves in situations like this together.

Unexpected, but surprisingly, a sight he wasn't against. The black of his leather jacket contrasted with the rosy spring hues Aerith draped herself in, making it both comical & fondness-inducing to see her practically melt & snuggle into the inken material of his jacket with a pleased hum. 

She looked so small in it, cuddled amongst the feathers of the collar like a happy bird of sorts. It draws an amused smile to his lips as he shakes his head, crossing his arms atop his chest. The air felt fresh, clean & open–a rarity, something hopeful as he savours the scent of petrichor & dampened stone & earth. The downpour had eased up a fair amount since they'd found their makeshift shelter, now a light shower where the clouds teased their partings with long lines of scattered sun.

He inhales softly, glancing back the bubbly florist's way, sights twinkling faintly before growing thin in faux scrutiny.

"Hmmm…." He teases with a larger, more cat-like curl of his lips, the faintest cant of his head following in accentuation as the gun-blader mulls the question over in playful, pensive silence. He allows it to hang heavy in the air, gaze pointedly flitting to how it swaddles her, & flicks back up to study the impish way her eyes glitter & gleam. They'd never had much time to be friendly or alone like this much back in Traverse Town. His attention had solely been focused on keeping the rising number of Heartless attacks down, in trying to find a way to stop the far too rapid way distant stars & worlds began to flicker & fall.

He chased after it then, digging through anything & everything he could find like an obsession. It was, to be fair… he didn't want anyone else to continually lose what they'd cherished the same as he had. He'd been too wrapped up in his personal mission, sticking to the once thought comforted safety his self-made isolation offered him at the risk of losing another group of potential friends.

He'd failed to see the light in the darkness then, & while he'd treasured his bonds made with the company kept over the long years… getting to know some of them more than just a passing friendly face was rare.

Things were changing… he wasn't afraid of it, feeling a light freeness in his chest that made him feel warm & alive with the newly garnered hope.

Aerith had always been a light in the communities she'd been in. She was kind, endlessly so, always making sure to show the same level of care to anyone who needed it, ladling between the gentle sweetness & bits of humour. He'd admired the spitfire light she carried with her, knowing intimately how it was never an easy feat to stand tall as someone unbreakable, in staying kind in a world that felt so entirely hopeless & dark.

Yet she remained vigilant & constant. A true strength if he'd ever seen it personified.

As the pair sits in a fragile, quiet moment, the pitter-patter of rain continuing to wash away the grime of the day on the cobblestone outside, her voice is light, soft, like a hushed whisper. She's contemplative, it seems, peering out ahead with an almost mesmerized stare, eyes crinkling at their edges as she sighs & then continues.

He answers with a hum, low & reverberating, as the florist cheekily settles against him, making herself right at home like she'd always belonged there. He can't find it in himself to even pretend to be bothered, shifting minutely to allow the brunette to better rest her head against his shoulder. Head tipping back, he studies her through the simple flit of his gaze over to latch & lock on hers, lips quirked the barest amount as he snorts.

"Always happy to entertain and enrich." Trails his low, drawled, sarcastic words, lilting at the end in amusement, but no real bite behind them or mocking tone. It's barely more than harmless teasing, all tender rumbling & peering fondness bubbling up from the cradle of his chest. The moment begins to settle when the conversation peters off, an unspoken ease allowing the peace of the moment to carefully blanket the pair. He allows it to rest & remain, surprise briefly lighting behind his gray eyes when Aerith's eyes boldly dip down in an almost pointed manner to his lips before they snap back up. It's a mirrored expression that's carefully & quickly veiled back up again as quick as it came.

He takes note of it, blinking past his own surprise & shock, feeling an old, long forgotten warmth take bloom beneath the skin of his cheeks as his tongue unconsciously darts out to wet his lower lip.

He realizes he can respond with two options. Two vastly different, both undoubtedly able to shade their dynamic a different tone entirely depending on what he'd chosen. & as he watches her closely, still pressed neatly to her side like a fit puzzle piece, finding her humour & own unspoken charm being a clever bundle that meshed with him well enough to find natural & soothing… he finds he's a lot more open than he'd initially thought about baring something more vulnerable & open to the cheeky woman. That is… if she notices and reciprocates his attempts going forward.

His mask slips back up again, a languid & needling, teasing thing, but he doesn't do much else to cover the kindling adoration that tinges his features with a much softer hue.

"Helpless isn't so bad. At least in this case… If it helps any, you've got some charm of your own, Aerith." It's potentially pathetic, the cowardly way he breaks the held stare to peek off & study a random distant pebble by their feet, but his smile widens, laughter warm & sunny in a rarely seen way as he rocks back against the leaning florist at his side. Gentle enough to make the pair sway where they sit.

"Keep it however long you want. The jacket, I mean." He comments, turning to look her over better, reaching up with a gloved hand to flick at a particular feather from the collar of the jacket. "Looks good on you. Probably more than it does on me."

SPARRING/TRAINING SESSIONS WITH A DASH OF TENSION. all these sentences and prompts are made about training sessions or sparring partners that can develop into tension, be it antagonistic or sexual. These quotes explore dynamics like rivalry, mentorship, flirtation, intensity, grudges, and emotional undertones. please change pronouns, locations and more as you see fit.

“You’re holding back. Are you afraid of hurting me—or of what happens if you don’t?”

“Every scar on my body started as a lesson. Let’s see what you’ll teach me today.”

“This isn’t dancing. Stop smiling and try to hit me.”

“You fight with your heart. That’s why you lose your breath first.”

“That sword’s too heavy for your pride to carry.”

“If you flinch again, I’ll hit you for real.”

“I’m not your enemy. Not today. But train like I might be tomorrow.”

“Careful. You’re starting to enjoy this a little too much.”

“You think you can beat me? Prove it.”

“You learn fast. But I hit faster.”

“No talking. Just blades.”

“Each strike tells me more about you than your words ever could.”

“Are we sparring or settling something?”

“I said train, not try to kill me.”

“Your stance is perfect. Shame about the hesitation.”

“You’re bleeding. Still want to keep going?”

“This isn’t over. We just paused it.”

“Getting close doesn’t mean winning.”

“The floor loves you today. How many times will you kiss it?”

“Pain is just honesty from your body.”

“Try that move again. Slower. I want to see why it failed.”

“You hide behind form. Real fighters bleed.”

“I’m not impressed by technique. Only survival.”

“Your anger makes you predictable.”

“Don’t flirt with your opponent unless you can block while blushing.”

“Oh, you meant to fall like that?”

“We’re not done until someone can’t stand.”

“Training with you is like dancing on the edge of a blade.”

“Is that a sword or an extension of your ego?”

“You hesitate before every strike. Why?”

“Your hands shake. That fear’s still in you.”

“The closer you get, the less you see. Keep your distance.”

“You’ve improved. But I still see the boy behind the blade.”

“One day, you’ll beat me. Just not today.”

“You strike like you want to be seen. Real warriors strike like shadows.”

"You keep getting this close… is it my blade you’re after, or my breath?"

"You're flushed. Is it the fight, or the way I look at you between strikes?"

"Careful—if you keep pinning me like that, I might start to enjoy losing."

"Every time we touch steel, you shiver. Admit it—you crave this."

"Your grip faltered. Did my voice distract you again?"

"Harder. Or are you saving your strength for something else tonight?"

"I can hear your heartbeat. Fast. Wild. Not from fear, though… is it?"

"You breathe like we’ve already tangled in the dark—and not just with swords."

"Keep whispering in my ear during combat and I might forget which weapon I’m holding."

"If you want me on my knees, just say so. You don’t have to disarm me first."

PROMPTS.

Two rivals are forced to spar alone for the first time since a bitter argument.

One fighter begins to pull punches—until the other calls them a coward.

A training match gets interrupted when one draws real blood on accident... or was it?

The master and student swap roles mid-spar, revealing secrets.

A sarcastic remark mid-fight sparks a dangerous escalation.

They lock swords—too close, breathing fast, tension crackling between them.

One fighter is injured but refuses to stop. The other hesitates.

Training in the rain turns messy, slippery—and harder to resist each other.

During drills, one whispers something distracting, causing a mistake.

The match ends when someone is disarmed and ends up pinned.

After a harsh blow, the silence between them is louder than the impact.

A bet is placed: if one wins, the other must do something embarrassing.

One fighter keeps losing on purpose—for a reason they won’t say.

A bystander watches the match, clearly affecting one fighter's confidence.

The match was meant to be a formality—but neither pulls punches.

One grabs the other’s wrist mid-strike and doesn’t let go.

Training weapons get swapped mid-match—testing adaptability.

They practice close-combat, and the proximity flusters one of them.

A mistake leads to an awkward fall—someone lands on top of the other.

Someone uses an unexpected move that only a specific teacher would have taught.

They mimic each other’s movements, until one gets frustrated.

Sparring becomes a silent argument—no words, just strikes.

A third person comments from the sidelines, stirring jealousy.

A fighter wins with a trick, and the loser storms off—pride wounded.

One fighter keeps using a move the other dislikes—on purpose.

The match is over, but they keep going.

After sparring, neither speaks, but both keep glancing back.

A sudden shift—sparring turns into a real fight.

The tension finally snaps, and a kiss replaces the next blow.

They train late at night, when no one’s watching.

One accuses the other of holding back feelings during sparring.

Their blades clash repeatedly in rhythm—like a dance they’ve done before.

Sweat drips, bruises bloom—but neither yields.

One drops their weapon and dares the other to continue unarmed.

I WILL BE THE KNIFE THIS TIME.

They'd just gotten married. He's allowed.

And Squall is smiling, so that's a point in Seifer's favor.

"I know. You love me," he replies. "Besides, it was her or Kramer, and I figured at least this way, it's efficient."

And it'll piss Michele Xu off for the rest of her life, knowing that she's now responsible for formally cementing their relationship by virtue of rank and brief availability. Two points in his favor, really.

Worth the damned overpriced latte he'd bribed her with, even, cornering her in the caf first thing in the morning to ask her help.

"I even conned her into taking over your shit for the rest of the day. So we can celebrate, and all that." That, of course, had been extracted with the promise of a favor, worth a hell of a lot more than a coffee, a decision he'd regret if it were anything else.

"So we can get out of here for a while, if you want."

He doesn’t even give a single damn about proper protocol at this point. Rules never applied to Seifer, even at the best of times, a trait that had undoubtedly grown a particular fondness in Squall’s eyes when related to the blonde man. Knowing intimately how he ticked, what drove half his actions… okay, maybe not all the time, but enough he could trace the bond if uncertain & reassured… He usually had a good enough reason to throw them out the nearest window.

He hadn’t been expecting this of all things, but he can’t find it in himself to complain, not when there’s a tell-tale joy bubbling up beneath his chest, in the hearth of his ribs, leaving him feeling light, airy–most of all, he feels happiness. Unfettered, it’s nearly all-encompassing in the way it swallows him up in sunny warmth. His lips tingle where he’s kissed a little too eagerly in the main hall, a snort of laughter sneaking through their clashing lips as he chases the other gun-bladers with his own.

The weight against his ring finger is a welcome one; it makes him feel whole. A startling sensation, one that he only questions a moment before he’s swept back up in Seifer’s passionate frenzy of kisses & wild laughter.

Hyne…. Married. He’s actually married, someone’s husband–Seifer’s husband no less.

Trailing after the man as they eventually continue walking, the beaming blonde continues, all delightfully smarmy grins & toothy smiles.

“You’ve got me there. Cid would drag it out, make a big thing of it.” Neither of their styles, though they both shared a penchant for the dramatic, had a time & place for it. This was a surprise, though, dramatic & unexpected in the right kind of thrilling way. His heart feels like a bird fluttering in a cage, another soft peal of laughter following his response.

Squall makes an impressed sound, brows raising as he notes with something impressed that Seifer’d managed the impossible. Xu ran a tight enough ship; she stuck to her schedules with a terrifying precision, & her rage was well known for mishaps & distractions. As much as he wanted to note it being some lingering fondness for either of them, he knew it was likely also trailed by a hefty cost, something still yet to be paid…

“Well, whatever you did to con her, we’d better make the most of this time before she comes knocking for the payment.” Flashing a rare & easy grin that mirrors the other’s own, Squall gives his hand a squeeze.

“Off Garden. It’s been a while, yeah? I think the occasion calls for something private.”

Aerith laughed softly as warmth bloomed across her cheeks, her gaze dropping to the ground in a vain attempt to hide the blush threatening to betray her. She never expected the comment, or the sudden thought of how Leon would try to sweep her off her feet. It wouldn't be easy, but she had faith that if he wanted too, he would. She rarely saw a challenge he couldn't meet head on.

She cleared her throat, grateful when he gave her a gentle shove beneath the shelter of the overhang, the pounding rain fading to a distant roar beyond its edge. At his question, Aerith looked up with an easy smile. "Cold?" she echoed lightly. "Oh, I'm fi—"

A shiver stole the rest of the sentence from her lips. She laughed at herself, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle as if that alone might chase away the chill that had settled deep into her bones. She regretted immediately not even thinking of grabbing her jacket.

"...Alright," she admitted with a sheepish smile, peeking up at him through damp strands of hair. "You caught me." Her shoulders lifted in a small, defeated shrug. "...I'm very cold." A hard lesson learned, that she needed to pack at least for sun or rain. "Next time maybe we should plan better. Rain jackets, umbrellas. Fire starter"

Her quiet is sweet–rare a thing to find her so momentarily speechless, & twice as precious when it was a moment leaning on the positive side of things. He takes advantage to keep the mood light & afloat as best as he could, a gentle grin carving itself along his lips as he glances her way, taking note of the way the wetness of fresh fallen rain gathers along the ends of her hair on a few stray strands. A few beads fall, & he’s reminded of her shivering with a soft huff. He hardly waits for her response before he’s already tugging the side of his jacket off by the edge, slipping it over a shoulder & then moving to uncover his other side.

“Fine? Really…” He trails off, amusement bleeding from him faintly, his voice is kept quiet, not malicious or rude in the way he teases as he steps in to lay it over her shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it provided some warmth for the florist to gather herself from the rain.

It near swallows her up, not entirely dwarfing her but… it was a little comical to watch the way she stiffens when he covers her & takes a step back, before she tests the feel of the odd leather & feathered jacket mix over her frame.

But, she wasn’t shivering as much anymore. Small wins where they could find them. Though in his opinion, getting a little drenched from the rain was the least of their concerns. More a blessing if he were honest. Though nostalgia pings around his chest at the location they’re in. A mish-mash of feelings & memories barraging about his head from the inside, merging atop one another in a way that gives him the startings of a headache which he does well to mask with his usual well-kept expression in place.

Winhill, Matron’s Orphanage & Radiant Garden all blur at the edges, tall stone & ivory buildings standing among the decay & destruction of a time long passed with a downpour overhead… familiar, & he can’t help but wonder how he seems to find himself in these kinds of repeating situations. He allows the memories to pass, noting how they were from a life he didn’t live anymore.

As he moves about to gather some dry crates (‘Unfortunately emptied and raised before they’d found them…’), Leon moves them over to the driest part of the alcove, scouring for the bits of wood he can find lingering about in the form of stray shrapnel & splintered broken wood. He guides Aerith to settle against one of the makeshift chairs, nudging their bags with the materials scavenged over for her to keep safe as he works.

“Definitely firestarters & jackets. I think they’ll let us off easy since we found quite a bit of things.” He snorts. “But, hey, I think this is the first rain we’ve seen here, yeah? I didn’t even know it could still be… normal like this.”

Years of being situated in Traverse Town, where not much seemed to change, & the time of day stayed in an almost eternal night. It was more than a little jarring. But he was happy all the same to note how the sky changed colours, knowing they had fully restored things to the point they’d been before–enough to experience actual weather again! A miracle, one he was happy to indulge in even if it came at the price of some brief suffering on their end from time to time.

At Aerith’s gentle spoken comment, the way she looks up at him following his gestures… it makes him pause, a physical stutter as he swallows with a light, curious cant of his head. 

But it’s quickly smoothed down, something blossoming & unfurling in his chest like a new bloom. Giving a light shrug, his own gaze is soft as he takes a seat next to her, humming playfully before he leans against her side.

His voice dips, pointed cheekiness attempting to colour his tone & failing. 

“& why is that? Is it my infectious humour?” Definitely not. He’s been told his jokes had a tendency to be almost painfully dry & flat. One could dream though.

He'd picked up dirty jobs, the ones not worth a real SeeD's time, the ones that they could claim no knowledge of if he hadn't come back. Kadowaki was allowed to scan his brain, draw his blood, poke and prod and generally use him like a lab rat.

And then... after that incident in the infirmary saving Squall's life...

They want to know what makes him tick now. What Ultimecia's knighting had done to him. How his magic reacts to certain conditions.

And that's why he's here now, in the belly of Garden, in a cramped, abandoned room away from the sterile, Odine-metal-laden lab, caught between man and beast. This isn't the familiar explosion of his succession coming to bear, ash-gray wings and whorls of gold streaking across his face. This is different. This is inhumane.

Squall's right to treat him like a wounded, abused animal, because at this point, it's the most apt description.

There are dead men back there, and Seifer's got their blood on his nightmarish hands.

But it doesn't stop Squall from coming closer, from reaching out, palm against his cheek-- he's afraid, he's furious, he's terrified and traumatized and boiling with rage all at once, because who did this, who authorized this. Seifer can feel it all through the bond between them, a low, shuddering exhale escaping at the contact.

We're going to have you junction, just to see what happens. Like he's nothing more than an experiment, like they don't have records of what happened the first and last time he had let a GF into his brain, a thirteen year old kid screaming himself crazy in the training center, while Aki had had to forcibly draw from him just to break the connection.

What's the worst that can happen, right?

The GF node is buried in the meat of his back, unreachable-- his claws aren't delicate enough to find it, to rip it free, to try to reverse it.

His mind is a frenzied storm, one that remains firmly anchored in place despite the displacement & the distress he can feel from both ends of their connection. He wants to know who did this to him, what the hell they’d even done to make Seifer appear so monstrous. It’s inhumane, violent–outright cruel. None of which the blonde deserved, given the amount of shit he’d put up with since returning to Garden & Squall’s life. He swallows thickly, eyes roaming over transformed features, pained & trembling beneath his gloved fingertips, & his distress only seems to grow at the low whirring groans the other releases.

He keeps pawing for his back, but he’s slow, struggling to move more than a molasses slowed pace as if it caused excruciating agony to move. With the looks of things, he probably did hurt to move.

Squall smooths a hand over the bend of Seifer’s face, before he keeps his touch light & present, to move around the man. His words are grit out, snarled in a low growl but it's about as much as he seems able to share in this new form with a foreign tongue. It’s enough. The revelation ensures his blood boils all the more, a near all encompassing rage seeping through his veins as he makes a face, a dagger sharp scowl with a pointed look away.

Ifrit makes sense. He hadn’t asked specifics before, but he knew Seifer held a strict resistance towards junctioning. While Squall and the others could with ease, it was never the same case with Seifer. It was ironically an unknown thing that he’d admired about him before. Viewing his repulsion to the act as something stubborn, headstrong, but determined in the way someone strong knew they could be all on their own.

It painted the man in a heroic, idealized light in his younger eyes. In the present time, he had a feeling it had more to do with his reluctance to show his proclivity towards magic, from his torn knight bonding with the witch Ultimecia & certain after effects that made his relationship with magic of any sort all the more complex.

“I’ll handle this when we get you back, yeah?”

(‘This is never happening again. Over my dead body…’) At this rate, he’s going to just keep the other glued to his side to ensure nothing more happens without his knowledge. In hindsight, he should have known better than to expect things to pass normally after Seifer's sorcerer reveal. He should have fucking known that Seifer would be experimented on in some fashion or sent on more dangerous missions following his impromptu revival with an audience. There’s a certain level of powerlessness that engulfs him, one he hadn’t felt in years this strongly. The fear of losing someone else to circumstances that continued to be far out of his control. It’s frustrating–no matter what he did, still something found a way to cause harm.

He tamps it down before the feelings can spread or grow any bigger. He’s unsure right now if his feelings will be transferred entirely through the shared bond & he doesn’t want to risk an entire misunderstanding when the other man felt painfully fragile in this state, instead turning his attention upwards, scanning for abnormalities, an implantation mark, anything odd & out of place and different that could have likely triggered the transformation between man & GF.

“You’re trying to get back here a bunch–is that thing there by your shoulder blades what’s causing this? I can get it off, if you’ll let me. Yeah big guy?”

Squall keeps his tone measured, soft & familiar, lulling. Enough he can watch the way Seifer focuses on it like a lifeline, & he does his best to maintain that image of controlled reassurance. His fingers trace the roughened & almost inflamed area surrounding what he can recognize as a connection node. It looks painful. He waits for the other man’s answer before he moves further.

The last thing they need is an Ifrit level panic attack.

➤   Rise from the ashes [ ; ] Grow with my power & open with my heart. ❝ I promised myself I wouldn’t let you complete me . . .❞ @/reveromantique

❝ Damages define our border, all that matter forged in flame. Knowing little of your wounding, share our mending all the same. Weight of words & wars we carried. I'm like you — just like you. Eyes of secrets, storm & story. Show & tell, we'll make it through. ❞

“You saved my life,” he says. “I owe you everything.” “You don’t.” I say. “You don’t owe me squat. Let’s just get going, let’s just get gone.” But he’s relentless, keeps saying — “Your shoes are filling with your own damn blood, you must want something. Tell me & it’s yours.”

— Richard Siken, "Wishbone"

➤ From Fire - Shireen   ➤ Drumming Song - Florence + The Machine   ➤ Hardest of Hearts - Florence + The Machine   ➤ The Darker The Weather // The Better The Man - MISSIO   ➤ Glory & Gore - Lorde   ➤ Smells Like Teen Spirit - Saint Mesa   ➤ Heavy In Your Arms - Florence + The Machine   ➤ Very Good Bad Thing - Mother Mother   ➤  Losing My Mind - MISSIO   ➤ The Way Down - Wax//Wane  ➤ Sing To Me - MISSIO ➤ Intro ( Creatures of Habit ) - Greta Isaac  ➤ Bullet With Butterfly Wings - Tribe Society   ➤ Everybody Wants To Rule the World - Lorde.   ➤ Feathers - A Perfect Circle   ➤ Change Me - 8 Graves   ➤ Foreign Tongues - CryWolf