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What Happened Tomorrow	By : RaceUlfson Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 708 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-What Happened Tomorrow
- 1
Many thanks to my beta, the wonderful Darksquall.

Boys do not belong to me, but to Squaresoft. I borrow them
without permission and purely for nonprofit enjoyment.

Sometimes, Squall thought he was losing his mind.

That sentence wasn�t entirely accurate; Squall thought about
his own sanity infrequently, those occasions when he did consider it, he was
quite sure he was completely insane.

Which is why he didn�t tell anyone about the man.

Squall couldn�t say for sure when he first noticed the man.
His memory was spotty at best, and no one ever accused him of being
particularly observant. He was, though. Squall noticed things and horded
details like seashells found on the beach. At night, alone � he was always
alone- he�d take them out and turn them over and wonder about them.

Until he forgot them, of course. Misplaced memories and
thoughts just like the damn seashells.

The idea, detail, thought of the night was the man. Squall
had caught a glimpse of him in the mirror as he left the locker room. There was
no one there, of course, Squall didn�t even need to look to confirm it. But the
reflection had been of the man, and that thought led to others and now Squall
was lying on his narrow bed in the little dorm room he shared with some other
kid who�s name he�d never bothered to learn.

Or maybe he had and had forgotten it already; no matter.

Lying on his little bed and wondering who the man was and
why he watched Squall.

Squall had spent some idle hours trying to figure out who
the man was. It came to him he didn�t know many men, not real, human, grown up
adult men. Only Cid, the Headmaster, and the old curmudgeon at the gates, and
Zell Dincht�s Pa, and of those Squall was only reasonably certain he could pick
Cid out of a crowd. And that was mostly due to the sweater vests.

Squall could not imagine why the man watched him. He studied
himself in the mirror and tried to see something worth watching. He was dull;
he bored himself.

Yet every once in a while, out of the corner of his eye,
Squall would catch a glimpse of the man, always standing still, watching him.

.
.
.
.
.
The nameless roommate was away. Squall celebrated by taking
an extra long shower and falling asleep sprawled on his bunk, still naked.

He slept hard and woke up hard, typical of boys his age.
Squall slid his hand down his flat belly, enjoying the feel of muscle under the
last soft vestiges of baby fat. He let his mind wander as he stroked himself;
his thoughts settled on the man, always watching him. Squall wondered if the
man watched him even now, doing this, and the idea sent erotic shivers through
him.

Squall came with a soundless gasp, head thrown back, back
arched. He kept his eyes closed, to further the illusion that the man was
there. �beautiful�, he heard in his mind, and the word was so foreign, applied
to him, that Squall�s eyes snapped open.

Then man, standing beside the bed, smiled at him.

.
.
.
.
.
Squall was quite sure he had lost his mind.

Whenever he was alone � never often enough, any more �
Squall slipped back to his little dorm and waited for the man. He knew he was
being odd, distant. He avoided even the minimum of social interaction in favor
of his mysterious lover. People began to notice. Even Seifer gave him the
gimlet glare as Squall daydreamed through another of Instructor Trepe�s endless
tutorials.

Squall didn�t care. He had a lover, amazing in and of
itself, and his lover was� what? Imaginary. A Ghost? It didn�t matter. He was
still the most exciting thing that had ever happened in Squall�s dull, orderly
life.

Seifer passed Squall a note in class: �what is up your ass
lately?�

Squall laughed.

.
.
.
.
.
Squall tended to forget things. It was a side effect of the
Guardian Forces, but he didn�t know that. The instructors assured him it was
commonplace, and that he wouldn�t forget anything important. Easy enough to
say, since once a thing was forgotten, who�s to know how important it was?

He didn�t want to forget his lover. Squall lay on his bed
and tried to memorize every detail of the man, his scent ( wind before rain,
sun on skin, old well oiled leather), his taste (salty and soapy and faintly
smokey), the feel of him (hard lean muscle , large calloused hands, soft
burning lips). He smoothed the man�s dark honey colored� hair out of his eyes, admiring the reddish
highlights and strands of blonde. Squall thought the man�s hair was liked the
autumn leaves, red and gold and darkening to light amber brown with age. He
wondered if it had been green when he was young.

For the man was not a young man, not by Squall�s uncertain
standards. He carried with him a feeling of great age and weariness. He had the
skeletal frame to be a big man, but had withered to tough, rangy strength with no
frills of fat or softness. The man had lines by his startling sea colored eyes,
from squinting in the sun. He was tan all over, and scarred: newer ones wetly
pink and older ones faint white lines against golden brown skin.

Squall kissed the scar that ran down the man�s face. It was
barely visible, but still he wondered what he�d looked like without it.

.
.
.
.
.
�I don�t understand,� Squall said one time, when they were
both wedged into Squall�s tiny bed, and outside rain threw itself against the
windows as if determined to break in and wet them all. The man raised a
questioning eyebrow, and Squall continued. �Why? Why me, I mean. I�m nothing
special.�

�You�re beautiful.�

Squall shook his head. He wasn�t fishing for compliments, he
was genuinely curious. �Tell me the truth.�

The man closed his eyes. �You� you are special, you know.
You have� such potential inside of you. You can do anything. I � admire that.�

�Potential?� Squall scoffed. �I�m not even very good in
school.�

�There�s more to life than just school.� The man must have
seen a dangerous idea flicker in Squall�s eyes, because he added quickly,
�School is important, don�t get me wrong. It�s just� intelligence only gets you
so far.� He laughed a little sadly, if that were possible. �Hell, even balls
can only take you so far. What you have, inside you, here,� the man rested his
palm against Squall�s chest, �is heart. The lion�s heart. That will take you
all the way.�

�What if I don�t want to go?� Squall whispered, later, into
the man�s autumn colored hair.
.
.
.
.
.
Seifer was being Seifer. After desultory training, he�d
followed Squall into the locker room, and there caught a glimpse of the hickeys
Squall tried to keep hidden. Then Seifer became a true asshole. He hounded
Squall into the shower, bitching at him. Seifer ranted about teachers and spat
some names and asked questions he ignored. Seifer got loud, then hissingly
quiet, angry. Squall washed himself and wished Seifer would shut up and go
away, so he could think about the man.

Finally, Seifer pushed Squall back against the tiles and
kissed him, hard and clumsy. Squall blinked at him, and the only thought that
came to him was �his eyes are blue green, too.�

.
.
.
.
.
Squall returned to his dorm, unsettled and fatigued. Change
was in the air and he didn�t like it. Historically, things never changed for
the better for him. Still there was no way to avoid the future.

It was a holiday of sorts, the night before the SeeD trials.
Deafening Dincht was throwing a huge party down on the beach, most everyone was
attending. Squall could hear the rumble of bass even in the corridors of the
Garden. His roommate was gone, and Squall was delighted to shed his worries
along with his clothes and fall into his lover�s arms.

It was different this time. The man went slowly, too slowly
for Squall�s seventeen year old body, which ached and needed until Squall was
forced to take initiative himself and cover the man with kisses and bites and
fevered touches. Still, the man held him off, spinning out the pleasure until
it became sweet pain and then pleasure again and Squall gasped and clutched and
knew, in his soul, that this would be the last time. The man made it worth it,
the shuddering, soul shattering end, and after, when Squall lay limply in his
arms, the man kissed Squall on his face, mirroring the kisses Squall always
gave him along his scar.

�I�m sorry,� the man murmured.

Squall wasn�t, even if this was the end, and he didn�t like
the idea that the man had regrets. �For what?� he asked sharply.

The man kissed him again. �For what happened tomorrow.�

Squall fell asleep in the man�s arms, pondering verb tenses,
and awakened alone, to someone pounding on his door.

�Get yer ass up, Leonhart,� Seifer said. �We got a duel in
20 minutes.�
- 1
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What Happened Tomorrow