lionhearted

Working on reports has never been a favoured thing in Squall’s line of work. Taking on the role of B-Garden’s commander in the midst of war hadn’t been a willing choice but he followed his duty anyway… now it had become tedious and boring when he wasn’t allowed out on missions due to ‘health and safety’…

…What a load of bull.

Regardless, he soldiers on and pens his signature on another document granting permission for SeeD to be dispatched as a mediation between two warring ‘clans’ staking claims on the same plot of land… Well, he almost completes it before lifting the pen off the paper so he can gently rest his forehead down on the moderate stack of papers instead. A small break to hopefully ease the intricate throbbing starting behind his eyes.

Why am I still doing this…?

A question asked many times but one he still doesn’t hold an answer to. Idly placing the pen back on his desk, Squall raises his head when the light buzz of the intercom indicates someone’s entering. The weight of boredom on his shoulders lifts extraordinarily when one of his favourite people step inside. Nothing shows on his face yet, wondering what is it Strife wants when he recalls he did send for the blond earlier, wondering if he’d be interested in an infiltration mission… but when Strife says his name rather than some formality or title, it catches his attention.

This is a notice to say I’ma be here but updating everything so this guy is completely finished… If anyone would like to plot or receive a random thing, absolutely let me know!

Seifer: *flirtatiously* No, why?

a comprehensive list of scenarios

For the umpteenth time that evening, Squall’s gaze fixated upon the ceiling of Garden’s Training Center. Panting for breath he couldn’t quite catch and sprawled out like a starfish on the grassy floor by the tiny stream running through the area, he contemplated, once again, that the model of gunblade he’d chosen was too bulky for his leaner frame. A little annoying at times, but sneaking out to practice after curfew meant none saw his embarrassing exploits. Least of all the self-proclaimed rival that enjoyed mocking his literal everything.  

Scoffing lightly at the thought of Seifer watching him fail spurred on the determination set in his mind. Despite aching all over, he gritted his teeth as he pushed up for another round of potential flailing. Sitting up by then, he ignored the unpleasant feel of the sweat-slicked shirt sticking to his chest and shoulders. Studying the Revolver model of gunblade lodged in the tree what he’d ricocheted off, he determined then hell no he wasn’t swapping and hell no he wasn’t stopping. 

If Seifer could do it, so could he.  

Fueled by that fire burning in his belly, Squall persevered on his motion of ‘up’. Getting to his feet with shaking knees was a little tough but he managed. Shuffling over to the impudent tree proved just as awkwardly difficult, tired limbs crying out in aching protest. Blanking the natural need to rest, he retook a firm grasp on Revolver’s handle and tugged backwards hard. It budged… a little. Not enough to dislodge, but he continued. Yanking roughly with both hands secured and ending up with one foot placed on the tree trunk, developing muscles straining, it finally came free in one swift move.  

Unluckily, said hasty move caught him off guard and Squall found himself staring up at the ceiling for the umpteenth and first time that night. The worst part of this event was the weighty gunblade bearing down with him, heavy metal and the alike colliding with his chest. Thoroughly winded, he wasn’t so quick to get back up. Regulating his breathing with the painful constrictions was bad enough for now… but it was fine as he was alone— 

“Surprised your scrawny ass even got it embedded in there to start.”  

Squall froze, respiration pausing from shock this time. His lungs quickly throbbed and he returned to stabilizing the prior incident of breathlessness but couldn’t shake off (or hide) the angry mortification at recognizing that voice. An instant scowl covered his face, diminished by the bright flush on his cheeks from exertion. From his disadvantaged position, he craned his neck and tilted his head back, pulling the irritating culprit into view. Stood a dozen feet away and leaning casually against a fence panel was none other than the aforementioned self-proclaimed rival (asshole).  

“Or did someone else throw it and you’ve used up this much energy just getting it out? Hyne, you’re pathetic.” 

“What-fucking-ever,” Squall huffed under his breath, far too used to the pricky insults to rise to that one. Looking straight up again and relaxing his neck, he exhaled low and slow. Finally, he felt able to bend his abdomen therefore tentatively sat up. Wincing as fresh agony sprouted from him, his sternum in particular, he ignored the sharp eyes following his movements and willed himself to his feet on pure spite alone.  

 “You can’t even hold it with one hand as intended? Laaame, Leonhart.” 

Like you’re so perfect, Squall scorned inwardly, wishing that vindictive thoughts alone could cause affliction. Alas, it only darkened his own mood, and he didn’t need to become emotional—he needed to focus. Ignore the blond moron like he commonly did. On his feet and surprisingly sturdy, he gripped Revolver in both hands (fuck you, Seifer), preparing to engage in the nearest monster minding its own business for some training. 

“Seriously? Two-handed? What—did you choose that model instead of something smaller ‘cause you’re trying to compensate for something?” 

Ignore him. Those two words repeated over and over in his mind like a mantra. His eyes didn’t once wander from the gathering of Gnats he intended on decimating.  

“Ooor do you believe that one’ll get you attention from someone? Is that it? Something new and shiny to get attention ‘cause Puberty Boy finally removed the stick from his ass—?” 

Seifer’s words cut off as Revolver’s dangerous tip swiped the air where his head had just been. Another vicious swing from Revolver was met with an awful twang as Hyperion collided with it, stopping the motion dead. Narrowed green eyes leered down into his furious glare, finally snapping under the persistent taunts. His patience had already been running thin today… 

“If you’re so damned good then you can teach me,” Squall hissed out, mere inches separating him from the face he craved to deck. “So prove it or go the hell away.” 

With that said, Squall pushed back vehemently on Revolver. It resulted in him staggering back a few steps, both hands still holding tight to his gunblade’s handle. Form rigid with tension, he prepared for some counterattack or cheating tactic. It wasn’t above Seifer’s sensibilities to be an absolute jackass in fighting dirty. He’d learned that the hard way.  

A (surprisingly) silent glaring contest followed. Unable to deduce emotions of other people on the best of days, Squall hadn’t a clue on what was happening in bright green eyes. Frequently mischief and mockery lit them up with the occasional excitement at catching someone doing wrong. Now didn’t count as Seifer too was out of bed, out of hours. He wasn’t immune to the rules he allegedly upheld.  

“…Well—?” Squall started to ask when impatience settled in, giving Seifer the most ‘you’re wasting so much of my time’ look he could muster.  

“Your stance is too narrow if you’re sticking with two handed,” Seifer boldly interrupted, Hyperion swinging up in an elegant curve to lay at rest over the blond’s shoulder. “A stupid move but whatever, it’s your choice.” A smidgen of mockery slipped through at him stating Squall’s apparent catchphrase. “And if you’d better pay me. My time and patience doesn’t come cheap, Squally Boy.” 

“Your annoying personality comes free it seems,” Squall muttered, rolling his eyes as his sore form relaxed. Regardless of their ‘rivalry’ and Seifer’s idiocy, he couldn’t dismiss the fact Seifer knew his stuff when it came to what grasped his interest.  

It was for that reason alone, many years later, Squall was still willing to listen to how things worked. While the memory of back when wasn’t relevant now, them being older, wiser and… nicer? …was. Comradeship wasn’t easy to acquire between two people so opposite yet sitting at the becoming familiar bar in a tiny seaside town in the middle of nowhere, he couldn’t deny he wouldn’t let it happen. Not now.  

Curious eyes followed Seifer as the blond tended to patrons and engrossed in temporary conversations while still making perfect drinks. Even special requests. Intrigued at how well… well, he managed people, Squall wondered if he could pick up some pointers by merely watching. Although, ‘merely watching’ wasn’t something he did. He acted, participated, engaged, instigated at times. Now was no different.

“Teach me how?” came the unseen question, causing his taller companion to pause and glimpse his way. Not deterred in the slightest at the quirked brow of vague confusion sent his way, Squall nodded gently to the booze Seifer was currently pouring for the guy sat a few seats down. He’d chosen a bar stool at the bar this time—no toes to step on. “If you can,” he added as an afterthought, impassive as could be.

a comprehensive list of scenarios for @burntchild

Often to remain inconspicuous to the outside world and its reaction to his newfound ‘popularity’, Squall travelled using whatever public transport options were available to his destination. Frequently if using a Garden owned vehicle or the alike, he was noticed quickly (annoying) and hounded by outside influences that he held no authority over in telling to get lost (even more so annoying). With the growing expanse of alternates available of buses, trains or boats, it was simple. Simpler was blending into the background when wearing plain, boring civilian clothes instead of his usual ‘darker than black’ attire, jacket missing and all. To his dismay naturally, but it was the lesser evil of equalling privacy. To complete the ‘Everyday Joe’ outfit, some form of hat on his head concealed the tell-tale scar of his forehead from view. 

Again… the appearance was necessary and for his benefit (but it didn’t mean he liked it).

His choice today was using the train. Private compartments were available but stepping out from those drew unwanted attention, so he was in the backrow of the last civilian ‘economy class’ module instead. Along the narrow walkways, two seats occupied each side. He, being the wonderfully social person he was, occupied the very end row by the emergency exit and the seat closest to the window so he had something to idly stare out of. A single bag he packed took up half the space on the overhead rack and he personally was a million miles away. Gazing out at the briskly passing scenery, his chin rested upon an upturned palm, elbow on the arm rest and only the muffled rumble of the train skirting along the tracks was heard from his location. All other people present were at the front of the cart since it was closest to getting off at the next station. 

Unfortunately for him, his station was a little further away than most. Fortunately… everyone ignored him sitting back there, ergo, a peaceful trip ensued. …Well, until the next station that was. 

Eyes closing as the train pulled to a slow halt, Squall passed the brief switchover by contemplating a short nap. Gradually, his head sunk closer to now be resting lightly on the window while supported still by his arm and the idea felt more enticing as a heaviness overtook his unusually quiet mind. Background noises indicated people leaving the carriage and, after a fleeting spell of silence, a final whoosh of the compartment entry door issued. Absently he pondered the concept of being alone and able to accept the catnap, but booted footsteps informed him he was not alone.

Of course. Tch. 

Like before, he ignored the other occupant, not bothering to steal a glance at the who or what. Seemingly bored was the pace of the unknown person, seeking out the best seat likely. After an almost stumble (or what sounded like it), they paused abruptly. More silence, although a little less peaceful. He was almost tempted to glance at what the stranger was doing but really… he couldn’t care that much. Not enough to open tired eyes. To follow that thought as though to contradict his not-worried mind, the footsteps started up again, this time with purpose. Quickly deducing that they were not stopping before his row or slowing, Squall hadn’t the chance to sneak a peek before someone plonked their rear boldly into the empty seat directly next to him. 

…Are you kidding me. Of all the available seats, they chose the only one Squall privately dissuaded people from taking. …Should’ve left my bag there. 

Irritation blossoming rapidly, Squall noted sourly he had to interact with the unfamiliar cretin that rained heavily on his solitude parade. One quick, withering glare of the coldest manner commonly fixed what was ailing him when it came to people, so that was his weapon of choice. Grudgingly opening his eyes and lifting his head away from the now gently vibrating window—the locomotive was on the move—he tilted his head enough for a sidelong glare of chilling doom to settle on the impudent one beside him from beneath the shield of his hat.

Normally, the irksome grin he spotted on an entitled ass’s face would result in a nonchalantly brutal insult to source from him… but the sheer surprise at witnessing who the grin belonged to was astounding. Momentarily stunned from such levels, Squall’s acrimony melted away for shocked bewilderment and the contempt died on his tongue.

Of all people and places, he hadn’t expected to meet Seifer here. 

Confusion was soon replaced with suspicion. The sheer level of coincidence they both boarded the same train going the same direction in the same carriage was… unlikely, he guessed. Not impossible as they derived from the same origin despite treading different paths prior, but unlikely all the same. Just as it was unlikely Seifer was staking him out and engaging in some form of premeditated attack… he wasn’t that paranoid and was armed despite being without his gunblade. Old habits and all that. 

No. What pissed him off the most was… “…All those empty seats and you sat there?” The volume of vexed exasperation in his tone was high. Squall’s eyes narrowed as the arm he wasn’t leaning on lifted to wave idly to the rest of the vacant cart. “Like, really?”