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Recovery	By : RabidPhilosopher Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Seifer/Squall Views: 1000 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII or any of the characters within. These are property of squaresoft and I make no money from this work

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First thing is first. I do not own Final Fantasy VIII nor any of the characters within it. They are owned by Squaresoft and their affiliates. I make no money from the work. My only payment is the pleasure I receive from writing it.
Thanks everyone for reading. I hope you’re enjoying it. Sorry this chapter is brief and a bit late, I had strep throat plus school, work, and a poetry reading. It’s been very busy and I haven’t had much time for this story. I promise I’ll make it up to you guys soon! Please let me know what you think, or even what you might like to see happen. This story is for your enjoyment after all. ^_^ Thanks!
Sadly for Squall, drunk was not an attainable state of being. He watched as Zell continued to make a fool of himself while the others watched in amused, half coherent states. He sat at the other end of the couch from a brooding Seifer, feeling awkward and angry for that awkwardness. The liquor threatened to crawl back up his throat as his empty stomach coiled and clenched within his abdomen.
Seifer tried to keep his eyes from Squall; sensing the tension in the man beside him, Seifer lost himself to dark thoughts. Angry by how he had fooled himself into thinking things were okay between them. Angry by how he had imagined a relatively normal existence, or as normal as it gets for a man practically born into a mercenary life. Angry at his hope for things to be as they once had been, a friendly rivalry with a man he secretly respected.
So deep in though, Seifer didn’t register the movement before the touch. Looking down he found Squall’s fingers resting gently on his arm. The ghost of a touch ceased as sky met sea. A slight jerk of his head toward the door and Squall was up, heading in the direction her mentioned. Without so much as looking back Squall pulled on his shoes and left, Seifer just a few feet behind, hands busy buckling Hyperon around his waist.
No words were exchanged as the two men left, the door sliding closed with a soundless whiff of air. Another few feet brought them to Squall’s door. He keyed in the code, leaving the door for Seifer to follow or wait as he wished. Squall moved quickly, taking up Lion Heart, buckling it in place. The blond watched from the entry way as the lion stalked about the room, fitting things into place. The belt somehow looked strange draped over jeans; it threw him off, as much as he didn’t want to admit it.
Without a word the brunette advanced on his guest, obviously finished with whatever they had come here for. Still no sounds uttered as they fell into step beside one another, a familiar yet distance pace that had once been so unique to the two. No one else had the audacity to walk beside the Commander as an equal; it just came naturally to the Knight. Even Squall’s friends walked just a half pace behind, giving deference to the man they knew to be their leader.
Squall was pleasantly surprised by how natural and relaxing the simple situation felt. His strings had been wound tight since the blonde’s return and he couldn’t figure any way to make it right. He had been dying for a spar since he had laid eyes on the man, broken and left for dead, spit out by time compression, too tough to digest. The thought made Squall seethe with anger. Remembering Seifer at his most vulnerable there had been heart breaking. There was nothing vulnerable about the man beside him before that day. Seeing him like that made Squall realize, the God of a man was just that, a man. He had realized the same about himself long before, and he lost something precious to him in realizing it about Seifer too.
Seifer noticed the change in the brunette’s mood. He raised an eyebrow at his companion in question, waiting for the man to answer in his own time. Years had taught him that’s how things worked best with Squall. He came off as an impatient man, though the appearance was far from the reality, in many ways.
Squall merely shrugged and schooled himself to calm. Having Seifer back also meant there was someone who would always be able to read every one of his emotions as if he were a book. The thought irritated and excited him. Suddenly an urge to take the blonde’s hand came over him. Squall had to clench his fist to fight the silly, embarrassing feeling.
Meanwhile Seifer internalized his motives. Sure the blonde had been itching to get Squall in a practice room since before his recovery, but the man had remained distant and disinterested. Sparring with Squall was not an option. It was a need; an obsession to preserve his sanity, and Seifer had begun to wonder if it would ever happen again. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, just mock it mercilessly Seifer broke the silence first.
With a cocky grin he turned to Squall, “You know,” he began suggestively, “If you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask.”
A slight twitch of lips developed into a small smile on the Commander’s face. Momentarily shocking Seifer with the ease in which it rested there. The smile slowly faded into the familiar mask the brunette wore as they entered the training area. Seifer’s smile faded into contemplation as he watched Squall stretch. He began to do the same, realizing this match would probably result in his loss due to the lingering effects of prolonged time spent in time compression.
After stretching they both took a quick lap around the training area, neither breathing heavily nor sweating yet. Squall pulled the sweater over his head, the cool air a welcoming touch to his warming skin. The tight white tee displayed the definition of lean muscles to man across the way. Seifer discarded the button down, the same black tank clinging just as tightly to a much broader form.
It really was like night and day. The moon colliding with the sun as both men charged, blades meeting with a crash. The wolfish grin on Seifer’s face sent chills through Squall, inches apart each could feel the other’s breath. Squall broke away, his speed his strength as he rushed in for another blow, meeting the jarring force of Seifer’s block. Darting back to circle and gauge his opponent Squall allowed himself a brief moment to appreciate the way Seifer’s muscles flexed as he held the weapon with one hand, pointed straight at him in challenge. Squall rushed in, knowing the dangers of staying too close for too long when your opponent was Seifer Almasy.
Soon the former Knight’s strength began to wear on the smaller man. Each blow he executed was a jarring force into his own form. He needed to force Seifer on the offensive. Getting the larger man to wear himself out swinging the heavier weapon would ensure his victory with little effort on his part. Seifer stood in the same place he had ended after the initial charge, braced in the center of the ring, eyes following his partner’s ever move.
Squall was at a loss for how to make the man attack. This wasn’t like Seifer, this passivity was verging on frightening. Taking a moment to think about the possibilities weighed on him. He stopped, took a guard position, raised his chin, voice dangerous as he issued the challenge.
“Attack me.”
Seifer stood, holding his position. Squall realized he had not taken one swing since the beginning. He had been too preoccupied with the elation of the match to notice. Now he realized it had been off from the beginning.
“Attack me.” The pitch of his voice dropped dangerously.
When Seifer still did not move Squall started to get angry. He approached the man, gun blade discarded along the way. Cyan eyes looked away as he tried to make contact. The blonde looked almost ashamed. Squall gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, forcing anguished eyes to meet his. Squall was unprepared for what he found there. A sea of regret, hatred, self-loathing, and despair. The sight made his heart constrict painfully.
“I can’t Leonhart, don’t make me. Please, don’t make me.” The desperation in Seifer’s voice only further agitated him. His chest hurt, his heart felt clenched between those strong fists. The white knuckled grip on the gunblade resting by his side only further told the story. Something was wrong.
Seifer panicked as soon as he charged. His mind screamed for him to run, to hide, to not let that presence back inside. As blades came together he saw Squall impaled on the end of his own, the blood dripping sluggishly as his own laughter echoed in his head. His cold laughter filled his being, he wanted to stop the laughter. Needed to stop the images of a tortured and dying Squall tied to the wall of a prison from filling his mind. He blocked mechanically and barely. His hands twitched, trying to beat back his panic Seifer couldn’t bring himself to attack, he couldn’t hurt the brunette. All it would take was one swing and the hate would fill him up. Her oppressive breath hanging in his ear begged horrid things. She begged he run the Commander through, begged he fulfill his duty, his destiny. She told him he was destined to slay Leonhart, bathing in the blood of his fallen partner would bring him everything he had ever desired.
Squall watched as a fight waged behind sleep deprived eyes. “Seifer…” he whispered, desperate to reach out and touch, to kiss to comfort, to love, to protect. “Why haven’t you been sleeping?”
The question caught him off guard, quieting the woman’s voice. Silence reigned for long moments. He became acutely aware that Squall was still very close. The press of another body against his was comforting, almost safe as he fought with just what to say. He decided to shake his head, offering no answer, just looking away.
“Not god enough Almasy. You talk to me or you talk to Kadowaki, your choice.” He feigned nonchalance, letting Seifer’s shirt go and taking a step back. The formal tone wasn’t lost on the blonde. He cringed at the use of his last name, as if he were a teen in trouble. Weighing his options he knew this wouldn’t be something Squall would let go. Figuring Squall would get answers either way he resigned himself to skipping the middle man.
“I’m going to be a difficult bastard and every ounce of information you manage to coerce from me will be like pulling teeth.” He promised with a more self-assured smile than he truly felt.
“Fine. Private 1^st Class Almasy, be in my rooms at 20:00 hours tomorrow. This is not a request or a suggestion.” With the statement he turned, retrieving his blade and securing it in its holster. Replacing his sweater he turned back to Seifer, saluting properly before exiting the room.
Seifer sank to the floor in relief and fear. He didn’t know how he was going to get out of talking with Squall. He had to come up with a bribe or distraction, quickly.
Squall didn’t go back to his rooms, instead he wandered for a bit, eventually making it to his office. He absentmindedly rubbed the scar between his eyes. Worry for Seifer was beginning to make him sick. He didn’t know how he was going to be able to handle tomorrow, the anticipation or the meeting.
Sighing he fell into his desk chair, sorting through the work he would have to complete ahead of time if he were going to be taking the night off.
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Recovery