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Whispered Screams	By : AngryAngel Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 6957 -:- 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
- 4
- 5
- 6
"Seif!
Yo, Seif! Heeey! Wait up!"
Seifer turned reluctantly
when his own name was trumpeted into his ear. He recognized the smooth tenor of
that voice calling out to him on a cold Wednesday morning in the school parking
lot, and inwardly, Seifer cursed himself. He had never tried to meet up with
Irvine and Zell at "Ward's Diner" the day before, too upset over his
ill encounter with Squall. Basically, he had spent his last two Tuesday classes
(Biology and English) sulking like the child that he could be, mentally beating
himself for his blatant stupidity. Everything after that was history - a trip
to the grocery store, a three hour retail therapy session at the mall to buy
pants and shirts that he didn't need, and some embarrassing banter over
whether or not he should stop by "Ward's" to see if Squall was at
work. In the end, however, his obstinacy had triumphed over his humility, and
he had decided to stay home.
He watched how Irvine
approached him languidly, amethyst eyes sparking with natural charm beneath a
wide brimmed cowboy hat. The auburn haired teen had his hands submerged in the
pockets of his tight Levi's, and the corners of his mouth were twitching in a
feral-like manner. Seifer thought that he could see a hint of reproach washing
across the other guy's face, but perhaps he was just making that up. In any
case, he thought it safer to switch on his most winning smirk and greet Irvine
with a casual lift of his hand.
"'Sup Irv?"
The dark haired teen
stopped shortly before him, his lips now steadily curving upwards and revealing
rows of perfect white teeth. The eye-blighting brightness of that smile caught
Seifer slightly off his guard, and as he began to wonder what the heck it was
that Irvine was grinning about, he could feel his own smirk fading.
"Soo..." Irvine
started, his voice pounding with curiosity. "What's her name?"
Seifer stared back at him,
dumbfounded by the question.
Her name? Who was "her"?
His face screwed
questioningly.
"Uhh..." he
scratched the back of his head, feeling a few hard tresses of hair that he had
gelled a little too lovingly. "What are you talkin' about?"
Irvine tilted his head
back, though the gesture was unnecessary in itself as he was insignificantly
shorter than Seifer. They both stood about an even six foot, and Irvine's hat
added another few inches. He flicked the brim of it up with his index finger,
clearing his sight.
"I'm talking about
the girl you ditched us for at lunch yesterday," he explained impatiently.
"What's her name?"
Finally, Seifer
understood, and he almost gave a low chuckle at the concept. Of course, Irvine
would assume that a cute girl had been the reason for Seifer's absence. Well,
granted the "cute" part of that assumption wasn't too far off, but
Squall's sex was at the other end of the spectrum, or so Seifer presumed,
anyway. Not that he had had a chance to reassure himself just yet.
Generally, Seifer believed
that he owed nobody an explanation for any of his actions, no matter what their
nature may have been. Nonetheless, he had already laid out a number of possible
justifications for standing the two guys up, and he flipped through them
rapidly in his mind.
"No girl," he
replied, winking smugly. "I did run into Edea Kramer though, and figured I'd
ask her some quick questions. She kinda held me up, if you know what I
mean."
"Heh," Irvine
snorted respectfully. "'Questions,' huh? About math, of course?"
"Of course."
They grinned broadly at
each other in mute, masculine understanding. After all, boys would always be
boys, with no particular regard to their sexuality. And thus, Irvine merely
nodded contently and pushed his Stetson back into his face; Seifer had
obviously been forgiven.
They walked towards the
school building side by side, and Seifer found himself longing for his warm
football jacket that was at home on his bedroom floor. He was wearing a long
sleeved, white t-shirt, red basketball nylon shorts and a stylish pair of
running shoes - an attire that suited him well, but was slightly unforgiving in
the morning cold. Of course, it didn't help his general well-being that he was
also dying to pay a visit to the boy's lavatory.
"Whatcha got
now?" Irvine inquired, while checking out groups of girls that were
rushing for the warmth of the school.
The sight of short skirts
and skimpy tops always made him feel tingly inside, and he smiled blissfully to
himself.
"Chemistry, I
think," Seifer mumbled in response.
"Humph... Quistis
Trepe?"
"Guess so."
"She's a student
teacher from college. Say, you partial to older chicks?"
"Uh... they ain't
bad, I guess..." the blonde replied vaguely, while screwing up his face
once more.
Tche. Like he really
wanted to be thinking about older girls right now.
"She's a babe,"
Irvine explained eagerly and rubbed his chin with his thumb as he seemed caught
in pubescent reveries. "She's got that 'S & M' feel to her, if you
know what I mean. She's probably got a supreme collection of whips at
home."
"Be still my beating
heart," Seifer chuckled, not able to suppress a note of sarcasm.
They entered the building,
slowly pacing down the main hallway with their backpacks slung over their
shoulders. Seifer yawned tiredly, and he brushed his hand over his eyes to rub
the sleep out of them. He had seen better mornings, that much was for sure, but
at least he could pride himself to say that he wasn't late on this one. He
actually would have enough time to go and use the bathroom, if he ever
remembered where to find one. Predictably, his pride forbid him to simply ask
Irvine for directions.
"Well, I got Health
class now," Irvine declared with rapture, his eyes a sea of happy
sparkles. "We'll be practicing CPR from what I heard! He-he-he..."
"... I think you'll
be practicing on rubber dummies, Irv," Seifer noted dryly.
Irvine stopped in his
stride and Seifer had to turn around to glance back at him. The cowboy looked
as if someone had just killed his pet rabbit, and his shoulders slumped to
complete a picture of utter misery.
"Rubber
dummies...?" the cowboy cringed.
"That's how they did
it at my old school. Might be different here," Seifer shrugged. "Just
don't get your hopes up."
"Dammit," Irvine
mumbled grumpily. "Guess I flossed for nothing."
After a long second of
silence, Seifer bent over and begun chortling with laughter at Irvine's priceless
expression; the guy, freakshow or not, was definitely a riot. Luckily, Seifer's
reaction seemed to lighten up his auburn haired companions' gloominess.
Sticking out his tongue, Irvine caught up with the blonde and they continued
walking.
Eventually, the cowboy
stopped short at the foot of a flight of stairs.
"I gotta go up
here," he explained, jabbing his thumb towards the ceiling. "See ya,
man."
"Yep, see ya."
Seifer briefly screened
Irvine's ass in the tight jeans as the teen jogged up the stairs, whistling
appreciatively to himself as he did, before he turned around to commence his
search for a lavatory. He found a hallway that looked promising, and he rounded
the corner to it in hopes of finding what he was looking for. He wasn't disappointed
either. A few feet further down, he could make out the entrances to the
lavatories, and he approached them quickly. Just as he went to grab the handle
to the boys' restroom door however, someone jerked it open from the inside.
The blonde's arm halted in
mid-air. Standing in the center of the doorframe was Squall, his face so white
that it looked as if it had been dunked into chalk. The brunette blinked at him
out of dull grey eyes, one of his forearms crossed before his mouth. It looked
like he had been wiping his lips with the sleeve of his dark grey sweatshirt,
and Seifer stared at the image in an onset of blank confusion.
Semi-consciously, he noted the chafed inside of Squall's hand, from where pale
skin had made contact with the track turf during gym class. Before he knew it,
Seifer was frowning at the memory.
At the sight of the
blonde's concerned face, Squall dropped his arm to his side, even if that
didn't make him look any healthier, either. His skin was like wax, and his hand
that was holding the door ajar was shaking weakly.
"Squall?" Seifer
asked doubtfully, and he took a half-step closer. "Uh, hey. You
alright?"
Squall darted agitated
looks past him, apparently searching for a way to escape. Instinctively, Seifer
took another small step forward, now completely blocking the door. He towered
the brunette by about four or five inches, and he could feel Squall's breath on
his skin when he lowered his head - it was moist and cold like fog on his
cheek. Squall's chest was moving in an erratic rhythm, and a thin layer of
sweat slicked his forehead.
Seifer's eyes narrowed.
"Squall?" he
repeated, concern and urgency now dominating the way he ground out the name.
"What's the matter with you?"
"I'm okay," the
brunette pressed eventually, but his face slanted wryly as he did so.
"Leave me alone."
Squall trained his eyes on
a wall far away from Seifer and his hand was cramping at his side. Seifer
connected his shoulder with the door that Squall was still holding open and he
could feel it echoing the brunette's tremors. His face dark with worry, Seifer
curled his fingers around the edge of the door to steady it, and Squall
immediately let go.
"You don't look
okay," Seifer argued skeptically.
"What's it to
you?" Squall growled, but there was no bite to his voice.
He sounded miserable.
The shorter boy made an
attempt to push past Seifer, but the blonde quickly placed his hand flat-palmed
against the wall, trapping Squall in the doorway. He knew that something was
wrong and he didn't even need to see the starch white color of Squall's skin to
acknowledge that. The brunette looked like he was about to vomit or pass out,
if not something worse than that.
Then, Squall started
coughing - a wet, bubbling sound that came low from his chest. His long bangs
fell into his face as he cupped his mouth with his hand, and every fiber of his
body was shuddering. Seifer considered touching the brunette's shoulder to
stable him, but Squall straightened up again almost right away.
"... Get out of the
way," he commanded through clenched teeth.
He sounded almost
desperate, a vague shade of plea kindling with the grated tone of his voice.
Seifer studied him calmly, before wordlessly shaking his head.
"You look like you'll
drop on the spot if I do," he declared firmly.
"Fuck you! I didn't
ask for your opinion," the brunette hissed, the words tumbling with
aggravation. "This is none of your fucking business!"
"Calm down! I just
want to know what's wrong with you!" Seifer pried stubbornly.
"Nothing is
wrong! Now get the fuck out of my way!"
"Don't be a fucking
idiot," Seifer growled, and he brought his face closre to Squall's.
"You're sick as a dog!"
The comparison, though
figurative it might have been, seemed to anger Squall. A cold glint crept into
the smoky colored blandness of his eyes, returning life to them at last, and he
glared at Seifer for all he was worth. When that didn't elicit the desired
effect, he slapped the blonde's arm aside with astounding strength, teaching
Seifer to not underestimate a seemingly frail body.
Squall writhed out of the
blonde's confinement with the slickness of a cat, his backpack slamming into
Seifer's shoulder as he pushed past him without looking back.
"W-wait! Fuck!
WAIT!" Seifer shouted out, and he spun around to grab a hold of the
brunette.
But Squall had already
disappeared around the next corner, and the heels of his boots were squeaking a
staccato on the linoleum floor as he almost fell into a sprint.
Seifer sighed irritably
and shook his head. With his face looking grim, he gazed down the hallway that
had swallowed the sound of Squall's footsteps, concern written all over his
features. Regardless of what the brunette had said, Squall had clearly not
been alright. But what was Seifer to do? Squeal to the school nurse? Yeah
right. That would definitely earn him brownie points with the brunette.
Not.
For now, all he could do
was hope that Squall would hang in there, and that he'd run into him again
sometime later during the day.

Almost two
hours later, Seifer had come to the conclusion that he hated Chemistry from the
very pits of his heart, and that he hated his respective Chemistry teacher even
more than that. Irvine hadn't been kidding - Quistis Trepe was definitely a
dominatrix if Seifer had ever seen one. Bestowed with eyes like an eagle and ears
like a fox, she had been on his case for the entire length of the lesson.
Considering his unsettling
encounter with Squall at the lavatory, Seifer's attention span had been short
where periodic tables, chemical ingredients and Bunsen burners were concerned.
He had almost managed to set his entire desk on fire, causing Trepe to come
dangerously close to a psychotic breakdown. In the end, she had loaded his back
with "make up work" and tons of extra reading material, while her
cobalt blue eyes had been fixing him with the kindness of laserbeams.
Seifer grunted abjectly -
as if Trepe was really interested in boosting his knowledge of Chemistry. Quite
contrary, she had seemed like some prude, lonely college chick on a private
mission to teach all the jocks of this world a lesson; she was a girl nobody
wanted anything to do with for reasons that Seifer could relate to only well
enough.
Caught somewhere between
loathing that Trepe woman and worrying about Squall, Seifer was pacing around
aimlessly in search for his art class. Finally, some wannabe Samaritan chick
pointed him into the direction of the "art wing" - not without
heaving a longing sigh at his rearview, of course. He passed the school's
auditorium, which was bigger than any the blonde had ever seen before, and
ultimately found himself in a hallway that was decorated with various pieces of
art. Oil and watercolor paintings lined the stark white walls, and little tags
at their base gave away the name of their respective artists.
His interest suddenly
piqued, Seifer found himself searching for one name in particular and it didn't
take long before he halted in front of a huge, marvelous oil painting of...
well, of what precisely was it? Seifer cocked his head aside and stared at it
in wonder, his hands buried in his pockets. It definitely was a very gloomy
piece - consisting mostly of blacks, deep reds and grays. At first, the blonde
couldn't see much of anything in that big, black smudge of nothingness, but
finally he noted thin crimson lines that traced the outline of a lion's face,
which was enveloped by shrouds of nocturnal shadows.
'A lion caught in the
shadows...?'
It was odd, but for some
reason, Seifer couldn't stop staring at it. The lion's eyes were fixed upon him
- large orbs of impenetrable darkness - and they sent a chill down his spine.
Shuddering, he glanced at the tag located below the picture.
"Griever" - Oil on canvas
- by Squall Leonhart, age 16, Junior Class
Seifer
frowned slightly. If Squall had been sixteen years old in his junior year, he'd
be barely seventeen now. Of course, he had kind of figured that the brunette
was younger than him, so this did make sense.
Seifer himself had taken
art class only a scarce number of times. He had opted for Senior Art only to
avoid having to participate in choir or band class, not because he actually enjoyed
painting. He figured that Squall probably attended some of the advanced courses
offered by the school, though he couldn't remember their exact anchors. When
preparing his schedule with his counselor, he hadn't exactly paid much
attention to the creative branches of Deling City High.
Finally, he managed to
tear himself away from the hypnotizing painting, though not without throwing it
another curt glance from over his shoulder.
'Weird... What is it with
him and lions, anyway?'
He found the door to his
art class wide open, and without any trace of inappropriate timidness, he
marched right in. The room was large and bright, with desks and chairs
scattered in messy circles around a still-life that was located in the center
of the rounds. Shelves with paper and painting supplies lined the walls, some
kid was rinsing his brushes in the sink, and in a far away corner, a radio was
crackling on the local rock station. If anything, Seifer liked art classes for their
relaxed atmosphere.
As usual, he assessed the
overall situation quickly and let his eyes browse all the empty seats. Most of
the students were already present, only waiting for their teacher and the sound
of the bell to commence the lesson. Some of them were reading, chattering or
giving Seifer a curious look-over, but only one of them managed to claim all of
Seifer's attention in the matter of a single heartbeat.
Off in the distance, at
the opposite side of the room, grey eyes surging with waves of blue were fixing
him from behind long, choppy strands of chocolate brown hair. They didn't look
so dull anymore, nor did the beautiful face framing them seem quite so pale.
Squall was sitting alone at a desk that was meant for two, his art supplies
spread out neatly before him, and he was yet again listening to something
blaring from his MP-3 player as he heeded Seifer with a narrow glare.
Being the straight out guy
that he was, Seifer slapped on a bright smirk that was directed towards Squall
alone, and he pushed past groups of empty desks for that particular free spot
right next to the brunette. Squall immediately turned his face to the side,
probably hoping that Seifer would lose interest if he looked away just long
enough.
Squall's silent pleas,
however, vanished unheard. Seifer kept advancing towards his table, and
ultimately dropped into the chair that was right next to his own. Carelessly,
the blonde tossed his bag somewhere off to the side and immediately turned to
face Squall with his chin perched in his right hand and a smile playing at the
corners of his mouth.
"Yo."
If Squall had heard his
greeting, he sure did a hell of a job ignoring it. He was staring upon an empty
sketchpad and a set of worn down graphite pencils in front of him, carefully
ensuring to keep his arms and legs as far from Seifer's as he could. The cables
of his earphones were coiling on his sweater and his table, and he traced their
length back and forth with his gaze as if they were the most mesmerizing props
in the world.
Next to him, Seifer heaved
a mock sigh and started to tap his fingers on the surface of their desk.
"I know you can hear
me," he drawled suggestively.
He arched an eyebrow,
however, when Squall wordlessly pulled his MP-3 player out of his pocket and
demonstratively cranked up the volume slider. Seifer could feel the muscles in
his face twitching, but he remained calm.
"Funny fucker, aren't
ya?" he teased sourly.
Seifer looked at the
small, silver colored MP-3 player and back at Squall, who was still ruling him
out of his conscience. Did the brunette really think that he was just going to
give up like that? It took more than an obstinate little pretty boy to breach
Seifer's limits and make him admit defeat.
A lot more.
Humming innocently, Seifer
suddenly let his hand flash forward and he snatched one of Squall's earplugs
with the disconcerting quickness of a poisonous snake. The brunette spun around
with a stifled gasp, his face contorted as he glared at Seifer. The older boy
merely grinned.
"Whatcha listenin'
to?" Seifer lilted, swinging the cable provocatively in front of Squall's
face.
"... Give that
back." Squall growled, a thinly veiled threat grating over the words.
Seifer chuckled in
amusement.
"Make me."
He grinned and wriggled
the plug into his own ear. He could feel Squall giving the cable a sharp tug,
but he was holding on to it tightly. The brunette, in return, looked like he
was about to murder him with one of his pencils. His eyes were willing Seifer into
the deepest pits of hell, burning hard with contempt. It was an interesting
change from his icy behavior, and Seifer figured that as long as he didn't
overdo it, pissing Squall off wasn't so entirely bad. Anger was a reaction that
he found much easier to deal with than ignorance.
The eighteen year old
continued to smirk widely at his grumpy opposite, but once he heard the music
flaring up with the beat of a thunderstorm and a rain of fast guitars, he begun
to focus on the lyrics that were sung by a man whose voice wasn't unfamiliar to
him.
Just someone to hold

And someone to hate

And something to blame for all the pain

I could ignore her

I could complain

I never wanted anything
Seifer
blinked at Squall, who was still trying to reduce him to cinders with his
vicious gaze. The blonde prodded him into the side, cackling amicably.
"Sheesh, lighten
up."
Squall sat stiff like a
board with his arms crossed tightly before his chest, while Seifer re-adjusted
his focus back to the song they were listening to. He recognized it, though he
had never paid it much mind. He really didn't care too much for punk and metal;
he was the type of guy who generally preferred rock or club music and going
wild to it. The fact that Squall seemed to be partial to this kind of music put
everything into a whole new light, of course.
The blonde chuckled to
himself. He was starting to feel like a fan girl.
"'Dope'?" he
finally asked quietly, turning his focus outward and back to the brunette.
Squall regarded him with a
glare that could have been aimed to kill, and he snorted audibly. The younger
boy could feel hot anger bubbling up inside him, and he wanted nothing more
than to wipe the stupid grin off Seifer's face. Who had asked him to be his
bench neighbor in the first place? There were enough empty seats around, and
the fact that Seifer had "stolen" his earphone made Squall want to
thrust a pencil up the blonde's nose.
"Dope,"
he bit in response to Seifer's question, his face curling.
Seifer noticed the implied
insult to Squall's tone, but he ignored it. There was just something about this
song that had snared his interest, and he was eager to hear more.
Just something to fill the nothing inside

And something to make her never cry

Just something to thrill me

And something to hide

And something to help her say good-bye

Just something to kill me

Something to die

Just something to blow her head off

Why?
Scratching
his head, Seifer twirled around to face Squall once more. The brunette was
crunching a pen in his right hand and his jaw was violently tight. Obviously,
Squall regarded this as a nasty invasion into his privacy and he hated nothing
more than that. He wanted to stand up and leave, or at least jerk his earphone
from the ornery blonde, but he couldn't force himself to do either. Why, he
didn't know, but it probably had a lot to do with those rich, jade green eyes
being zeroed in on his face like he was some form of target practice for
hypnosis.
"Cheerful
lyrics," Seifer noted neutrally.
"Who asked you?"
Squall spat back, and he swept a few stray wisps of hair from his face with a
sharp flick of his hand.
He hated the fact that
Seifer forced him to share something as intimate as his personal choice of
music. Of course, he could have just turned off his MP-3 player altogether, but
that would have been a cheap win and a foolproof way of displaying that he was
honestly upset. Not a big incentive in his eyes, really.
"I don't know,"
Seifer said thoughtfully, and he paused. "Not you."
Squall's eyes fogged up
and mirrored confusion at that statement. "Not you"? What was
that supposed to mean now? Why was that stupid fuck suddenly so mellow? It
seemed uncharacteristic, somehow.
Seifer, however, refused
to give an explanation and merely continued listening to the song.
Jenny is cryin'

And I don't know why

And her life's so insane

So now Jenny is hating me

Do you really wanna die?

Do you really wanna die?

Do you really wanna die?

Don't cry
Out of the
corner of his eyes, Seifer noticed how Squall started to twist and rub his
leather wristbands, which had been concealed beneath the sleeves of his
sweatshirt. The blonde found something odd about that gesture, though he
couldn't really say what it was. He could tell that Squall was attached to this
song, for what reason ever. It was dark, melancholic and bitter - adjectives
that could have just as easily been found in a computation of Squall's
character.
Suddenly, commotion around
them caused Seifer to raise his head towards the door, and he saw a short,
slender woman entering the classroom. Squall followed his gaze, and he
immediately gave his earphone cable a fierce tug. This time, Seifer was smart
enough to comply with the brunette's request and he released the plug he had
been holding captive. Squall quickly dropped his MP-3 player into his bag and
fixed his steel blue gaze upon the woman.
Her hair was shoulder
length, and it was silver; Seifer found that very unusual, because the woman
seemed to be in her early twenties. The fine strands were glistening like a
veil of extravagant silk, obscuring one of her eyes from view. The second one
was of a strange, reddish brown color; it looked almost crimson. Her face was
pretty, though very grim and tight. She wore a simple white button down shirt
and loose fitting jeans that were specked with oil paint.
"Morning."
Her voice sounded
mechanic, as if she wasn't used to talking, and only a few kids responded to
her one-worded greeting. Briskly, she walked up to the center of the room,
where she had arranged a still life of old tin containers, milky glass vases
and wilted flowers. She tugged at some of them lovingly and gave them a final
look-over. Seifer scratched his head as he watched her with mild interest.
Whoever this teacher was,
she seriously seemed to be missing a nut or two.
"Draw."
She had pointed at the
objects, and then looked at her students with a commanding eye. Seifer glanced
from her to Squall, unsure of whether she was serious or even their teacher in
the first place. Squall, however, pulled his sketchpad close and grasped a
pencil, and without a word he began to draw.
Sighing and feeling
ignored once more, Seifer retrieved his own art supplies and laid them out
before himself. Squall was denying his existence with astounding perseverance,
and the brunette seemed content just sketching a wretched, rusty tin pot.
Irritable, Seifer took turns staring at Squall, Squall's drawing and their
teacher's strange arrangement. Around them, the other students had resumed
chattering, so the blonde assumed that it was okay to talk.
"Who is she?" he
asked, elbowing Squall in the side when the brunette paused in his pencil
strokes for just a second.
The dark haired boy didn't
look up from his work, but he tensed visibly at Seifer's touch. The blonde
almost expected another "don't-touch-me"-episode to uncoil, but
Squall remained silent.
Well, verbally silent,
anyway.
'... Why can't you just
drop dead, dumbass?'
Seifer leaned over to him,
hating to be treated like thin air. He was getting sick of it so quickly.
"Hello? Earth to
Leonhart!" he barked, annoyance roughing the words.
Squall sighed. His
shoulders slumped wearily and he rested his forehead in his hand, before
starting to tap his pen upon the coarse surface of his sketchpad.
"Fujin."
"... Fujin?"
Seifer repeated blankly.
"Fujin
Takahara," Squall replied, and he drenched his voice with cynicism. "Our
teacher."
Inwardly, Seifer couldn't
help but grin. This guy was a fucking wisecrack alright, but he found that attitude
much easier to deal with than the brunette's personification of a deaf mute.
Content with the younger boy's reply, Seifer studied Squall's sketch for a
moment instead of starting on his own. He watched the brunette's smooth strokes
dancing across the paper, and after a few seconds, he whistled softly.
"Fuck, you're
good," he murmured.
Squall shifted slightly in
his chair; it was obvious that he wasn't much used to praise. His frown became
a little less harsh, though the change was fleeting and only noticeable to the
keen eye.
Seifer smiled in
satisfaction.
"Why are you even in
this class?" he asked, determined to keep the brunette talking.
"Shouldn't you be in 'Art for the Prodigy' or something like that?"
"There's no such
thing," Squall answered blandly.
The blonde gave a curt
snort of laughter. Squall wouldn't seem to know humor even it smacked him up
the head. It was actually kind of adorable.
"You know what I
meant," he said, while attempting to produce a straight line for his vase
sketch. "Mr. Smarty Pants."
Squall continued
exercising carefully controlled strokes upon his canvas, gracing it with
different shades of grey, before he answered in a flat, subdued voice.
"I take three
different art classes."
"Oh? Like what?"
"Senior Art,
Sculpting, and Advanced Art."
"Damn," Seifer
breathed with another acknowledging whistle. "An aspiring Da Vinci,
huh?"
Squall's eyes darkened
instantly, but he didn't answer. This seemed to be a touchy subject. Then
again, what wasn't? Seifer studied the brunette's rigid profile quietly,
finding it so much more enticing than Fujins' dumpster still-life.
Suddenly, he remembered
his and Squall's earlier encounter at the bathrooms, and he leaned a bit closer
when he spoke.
"You feelin' any
better, by the way?" he asked softly, his eyes caressing the fine lines of
Squall's face.
The question elicited a
brief flinch from the brunette, but Squall quickly resumed drawing. Where he
was willing to open his mouth to talk about art, he most definitely wasn't
inclined to discuss his obvious sickness after a lavatory visit. Of course, he
was far too intelligent to believe that Seifer would quit asking, or quit
wondering for that matter.
Thus, he forced himself to
perform a simple nod.
"Good," Seifer
cooed.
He wanted to ask Squall
what exactly had been going on. As a matter of fact, he wanted to ask a lot of
things. He had found himself wondering more than just once if Squall had really
been given a ride the day before, and if so, by whom. Also, he couldn't quite
believe that the brunette's ankle would be all better this quickly, even if
Squall displayed no sign of soreness. There were so many questions waiting for
answers. On the other hand, he knew perfectly well that curiosity did kill the
cat, even if he usually chose to ignore or "forget" said words of
wisdom.
Seifer glanced down at the
outline of Squall's legs in loose, dark blue denim jeans, and his gaze traced
their subtly muscled form. Why was he supposed to draw a bunch of junk when he
had this sitting next to him?
'Talk about a waste of
fuckin' resources.'
Sighing, he decided to
leave Squall be and returned to the struggle at hand. Soon enough, his desk was
covered in rumpled paper balls and the debris of his eraser, and his drawing
looked nothing like the still-life in front of him. His vases were crooked
sausages more than anything else, and his tin boxes showed a strange
resemblance to porta-johns. He hadn't even tried to capture the wilted
leaves and petals of the flowers yet, and just looking at Squall's perfect
replica in soft graphite caused his frustration to flare.
If Seifer had one
sensitive spot, it was his pride.
"Fuck me," he
grunted irritably, holding his picture away from himself to glare at it in
disgust. "I suck."
He slapped his sketchpad
onto the desk, whirling up the tiny speckles of rubber that were once his
eraser. Next to him, Squall had looked up and was studying Seifer's work with a
neutral expression. Seifer crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned
back in his chair, balancing it on its hind legs. He grunted, again, and his
eyebrows scrunched together.
"This is hard,"
he griped, and he tilted his chair forward with a soft creak of metal on
linoleum. "It fuckin' looks easy, but it sure as hell ain't."
He was ready to grab his
sketchpad and discard this failed project along with the other ones, but
suddenly, he found a pale hand reaching for the paper quietly, pulling it
slightly off to the side. The blonde froze. Squall had leaned towards him
without saying a word, and Seifer stared down at his tousle-haired dark head in
confusion. The brunette was suddenly close enough to where Seifer could hear
the sound of his breathing and take in his lush scent, and inevitably his pulse
went soaring.
Squall had taken one of
his pencils and begun to draw very faint circles and squares on Seifer's
sketch, thickening a few lines here and there and removing a couple of others
with the blonde's eraser, or what was left of it. Seifer could do nothing but
gape. Squall had laid down his own work to help him? His viridian eyes widened
fondly, and his lips phased into a silly smile.
This was too good to be
true.
"Here," Squall
murmured, and he pushed the sketch towards Seifer. "Try this."
Before Seifer had the
chance to say or do anything, Squall had already retreated to his own side of
the desk and continued to touch up his own drawing, acting like nothing had
happened. He obviously had no idea whatsoever that his actions had just
catapulted Seifer onto Cloud Nine.
"Holy fuck," the
blonde muttered in disbelief, looking at his picture that suddenly made so much
more sense, and back at the other teen. "Damn. Thanks, Squall."
"... Whatever."
Despite the brunette's
cool reply and the supple shrug of his shoulders, Seifer was sure that he had
seen the corners of Squall's mouth twitching in the semblance of a smile.
Apparently, the frosty ice princess wasn't as entirely cold and careless as he
had initially seemed to be.
During the progress of the
lesson, Seifer found himself turning to Squall again and again, asking him for
advice or assistance, and strangely enough there wasn't a single time that the
brunette turned him down. Squall displayed extraordinary patience as a
"teacher", while Seifer was in permanent awe over the younger teen's
graceful movements, the perfection of his skin, the softness of his hair and
the mysterious color of his eyes.
By the end of their class,
Seifer was still unable to produce a decent looking vase, but he would have
been able to paint a picture of Squall's face blindfolded.
He knew that this was bad.
He had to acknowledge that he had a crush on this kid, and even though the
brunette didn't seem quite as withdrawn as he had, Seifer was still light-years
from figuring out which direction Squall "swung". The blonde had
never encountered similar problems before; usually, girls and guys alike would
come flocking to him, and the most he ever had to do was take his pick.
Consequently, this was entirely new territory, but Seifer was all too willing
to explore it.
As they both stood up from
their chairs at the very end of the lesson, packing up their stuff and getting
ready to hand in their work, Seifer stemmed his hand upon the table and leaned
sideways to study Squall with barely concealed interest. Eventually, the
brunette turned his head to reciprocate the gaze, irritation reflecting from
the depths of his ocean blue eyes.
"What?" he
inquired sharply.
"You work at
"Ward's", right?" Seifer asked, his face attentive.
Squall seemed taken aback
by the fact that Seifer knew this particular detail about him, and his brows
immediately produced a dark frown. Seifer rolled his eyes and sighed under his
breath.
He hated it when people
switched moods faster than he could blink.
"Don't get all worked
up," he teased. "I'm not stalking ya or nothin'."
That, of course, wasn't quite
the truth, but Seifer figured that it was exactly what the brunette needed to
hear. And indeed - Squall relaxed visibly, and he tore his drawing off his
sketchpad before he nodded.
"Yeah. I do."
Squall grabbed his leather
jacket and helmet that had been sitting in the corner of the windowsill,
languidly shrugging into the coat. He was fully aware of Seifer's eyes on him,
but he tried to ignore the looks. This guy surely was strange; he was one of the
very few people that stuck around even after realizing that their attention
elicited nothing but Squall's boredom. And Squall didn't care whether they were
girls or guys, either - he simply wasn't interested. He wanted to be left
alone. He had enough to deal with already.
And yet, for some reason,
Seifer's presence had begun to bother him less.
"See, I'm looking for
a decent place to eat," Seifer explained, and Squall found himself
listening. "All I've had so far is microwave chow and fucking McDonald's."
Squall didn't respond. He
knew exactly what the blonde wanted to hear, but he was not going to succumb.
He wasn't going to invite this guy to stop by his work place; he would
have rather danced barefoot on razor blades. Seifer was distracting him more than
he liked to admit, and if he actually chose to eat at "Ward's",
Squall wanted nothing to do with it. He didn't want to be involved in anybody's
business.
Of course, that was never
how it worked out.
Next to him, Seifer heaved
a sigh. Talking to Squall was like prying the words from his very tongue. The
only subject that didn't seem to fall into dangerous or silent territory was
art, and Seifer could tell that said topic was exhausted for the time being.
His next art lesson wasn't until next week, either, and he didn't want for
Squall to ignore him until then.
He followed the brunette
to the teacher's desk, the subject of "Ward's" obviously discarded.
He was clutching his sheet of paper in one hand as they pushed through rows of
desks, trying to train his eyes away from Squall's ass but not entirely
succeeding. The guy's stride was just screaming for attention, though there
wasn't even anything unusual about it. Seifer even checked for any signs of
limping, but Squall's pace was even.
They both stopped before
Fujins' desk and quietly handed her their sketches. She didn't even look them
over, but gazed at Seifer out of her one, crimson eye instead. Her face was
stern, and despite himself and his over-inflated ego, the blonde begun to feel
slightly uncomfortable.
"Seifer Almasy,"
she finally said, her voice stringent and matter-of-factly.
He exchanged a hesitant
glance with Squall, who stood supply with his weight on one leg and his face
fashionably blank, before clearing his throat.
"Uh, yeah, that's
me."
She actually looked at his
drawing this time, then back at him.
"Good. Leave."
Seifer's eyebrows slowly
arched towards his hairline, and he threw another disturbed look at the
brunette. Granted, it was the end of the lesson and he wasn't sensitive
or anything like that, but couldn't she have put it a bit less... blunt?
"Squall," she
continued resolutely. "Stay. School festival."
Jade green blinked at
those words and focused on Squall with interest. There was a painful edge to
the brunette's movements as he nodded and folded his arms before his chest
defensively. His pale ruby lips seemed to thin to a line, and his brows
inevitably kinked downwards.
Apparently, this topic
wasn't to Squall's liking, either.
"School
festival?" Seifer repeated the words with curiosity. "We're having a
school festival?"
Squall's hands tightened
around his upper arms, and he nodded yet again.
"When?" Seifer
asked.
"... Next
week..." the brunette replied reluctantly.
"Humph. I had no
idea."
The blonde noticed Fujin's
eye on himself, and she looked about ready to chase him out of her classroom or
hurl one of her tin containers at him. Grunting, he turned to Squall and paid
the brunette a lopsided smirk. Squall's face, however, was wiped clean of
expression.
"Well, guess I'll see
ya, Squall. Later."
Squall gave only the
faintest of nods, before turning his back to the blonde and hitching his
backpack higher on his shoulder with a tension that was almost unnatural.
Seifer wondered at the tightness of the motion for a moment, and his mood soured
at the prospect of possibly spending the rest of the day without Squall, but
then he proceeded to file out of the room with a group of other students.
He couldn't know that for
once, Squall was dying to follow him.
- 4
- 5
- 6
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Whispered Screams