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The Split	By : madkool Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 585 -:- 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
- 2
Disclaimer: All characters, places, etc. are owned by Square-Enix, and not by me. This story is written merely for my own pleasure, and the potential enjoyment of anyone else that likes what I have to say- I'm not getting any money or material things out of it.

This is my first fanfic ever, and any feedback is greatly appreciated. I will add more chapters when time allows- I am not leaving a half-finished story laying around. Enjoy!

#1 - Crying Shame

The hall had undergone a tremendous transformation, one that had probably cost an exponential amount of money and time. Irvine didn't really care how they did it, just that he was there shooting the shit out of everything possible. Finally Balamb had put in a shooting range and they could train marksmen of their own instead of borrowing them from other gardens...

He laughed to himself, and even to him, it sounded a little bitter. He had been completely caught off guard that day, when he was reunited with his brothers and sisters from the orphanage. He remembered it vividly...but, of course, that set of memories was bitter sweet. He had been ordered to assassinate the woman that raised him, cared for him, more than any other person had. He had to fight against her, trying to kill her, and even if he hadn't succeeded, he still felt guilty.

He sometimes wondered if his life would be easier now if he had never been reunited. He still had tons of friends in Galbadia, shallow easygoing friends that could never hurt him as much as they could. No, he would never regret finding his true friends, but friendships with them, real friendships, were a whole new can of worms.

The hall was empty, as it should be late at night. But Irvine knew it was void of any other life because technically it wasn�t open yet. But Selphie had always had a way with breaking and entering. Irvine grinned at the thought, in spite of his otherwise dreary feelings. His little Selph...

Irvine reached into one of the pockets on his long duster jacket and retrieved a single round of fire ammo. There was only one target left standing, a single Red Bat. And he'd be damned if he was going to...

He wasn't going to. Miss, that is. He never did. Yeah, he might be a cocky son of a bitch, but when it came down to it, Kinneas was every bit of the expert marksmen he said he was.

He cracked open the break-action Exeter, sliding the single round of fire ammo into one of the chambers. He closed the shotgun, swung it up, took quick aim, and fired, all in one single fluid motion. And he hit the target squarely in its smug face. It proceeded to burst into flame upon contact; Irvine stood and watched until it was no more than a pile of ashes on the floor.

It was time for bed.

Irvine sauntered out of the hall, slapping the panel, which slid open the door. He walked out into the Quad and heard the door automatically swish shut and lock behind him. The air was damp with the dew produced from the automatic sprinklers, and the mist hovered throughout the room, refracting the moonlight that shone through the glass ceiling panels, twinkling like millions of little stars. Why was it that one always witnessed the most beautiful moments in life alone?

He inhaled the mist, and closed his eyes. The smell of the water, beading on the lush growth of the vegetation in the Quad, smelled ripe with life. He always loved the rain, maybe because deep down, he was still terrified of it a little. He still remembered all of those stormy nights the Orphanage had when he was little. It seemed like it rained almost every night.

Thinking about the Orphanage made him think of the beach. And thinking of the beach made him think about...

...walking on the beach underneath a clouded sky...rain coming in sudden downfalls and drizzles...holding hands with him, watching as beads of water dripped from his lips...stripping each other of wet clothing, trying to yank the wet leather pants from his legs, but they clung to his skin, refusing access to all the places of him my body was lusting for...

Irvine's chest felt achingly heavy as he walked through the hushed halls to the dormitories in the north end of Balamb Garden.

He walked to the men�s quarters, and walked to the end of the main hall, typing the access code into the security panel. The elevator swished open, and he stepped inside.

The stupid piece of shit elevator, probably dating back to the time of Hyne, took the longest to get from point A to point B out of any other Irvine had encountered. Right now, all that he wanted to do was get back to his quarters, and distract himself.

Without some way to keep himself busy, which Irvine had been trying desperately to do for the past week, his mind started to wander, and that was the last thing he fucking needed. It was like he had no control of his own brain sometimes, and it liked to torment him with its sadistic sense of humor.

...pushing him hard against the door of the lift, shoving my mouth hard against his...hands wandering, caressing, squeezing...him moaning softly, "Irvine"...nibbling his earlobe, his body responding in a semi-violent spasm, an involuntary reaction due to our month apart...him rocking his hips against mine, as I grinned, teasing him and pulling away...not yet, I was going to make it last as long as I could...

DING! The elevator door slid open jerking Irvine swiftly from memory to reality. He readjusted his pants, and walked briskly down the long hall, his duster billowing slightly behind him. The hall varied from the Garden's usual professional appearance, painted a deep red with gold trim. Living on a SeeD hall was far from living as a cadet.

He walked inside his flat, hitting the lights, which flickered momentarily before bombarding him with their iridescence. Compared to the old single dorm he had lived in before becoming a SeeD, this place was like a suite in Esthar. Well, it was nowhere near as see-through, or flashy...but it was nice all the same.

Irvine strode to the fridge, stopping to lean back and stretch his spine, which cracked in angry response for being used all day. He opened the door, scratched his ass, and decided he didn�t want what it had to offer. Unless ketchup had recently been upgraded from condiment to main course, then he was just going to have to wait until the morning. Instead, he pulled open the freezer door, and removed a bottle of ice-cold Galbadian vodka. He poured himself a serving into a shot glass he had kept from The Minotaur, after a memorable night in Deling City. He tipped the liquor expertly into his throat, shaking his head vigorously to counteract the burn.

He brought the bottle with him to living room, along with the frosted glass that had a logo of a bull head sporting a "bull ring" in its nose. He poured himself another shot, setting the bottle on the mahogany coffee table before falling back into his small modern love seat. Kicking his feet onto the table, he tilted his head back, and drained the glass of its fiery contents.

Guns and women...the two things that Irvine had become famous for. They said that he went through new women faster than he did new guns, which was true, for the most part...of course, there were the men too. And he had had Exeter forever... But did that always have to be true? Irvine didn't want it to be anymore. But...

...so irritated with him, tears welling in my eyes...why did he act so damn stand offish?... why was I the one that was always being hurt?...tired of being pushed away, rejected again and again...I had layed out my feelings, my love for him, and he hadn't said a damn thing...no matter how hard I tried, no matter how I knew he felt for me, he was never going to say anything, never going to let me become a part of his life...his fear of rejection pretty much made that impossible...

It had always pissed Irvine off, the way that one minute Squall was warm and honest, melting under the heat of passion and softened by Irvine's love; the next, Squall was pushing him away, ignoring him, pretending as if there were no feelings, like the time and energy invested in this...relationship didn't mean anything. They had been together for at least a year, on and off, and for the past three months it had been more. But, of course, there had never been titles, or any clear ties, because Squall would've abandoned everything Irvine had worked so hard for.

But, after that...after the rejection, and after everything that Irvine had done, for Squall to act like that...it had felt like his heart had been torn out of his chest and mutilated into a bloody fucking chunk of nothing. So, inadvertently, he returned to what he knew best, to the reputation he had built over the years...

...grabbing the stranger by the hand, whispering the things I wanted to do to her in her ear...leading her to my room, unable to keep my hands off of her...

Irvine pulled himself upright, snatching the vodka bottle, pouring and swallowing one, two, three shots quickly in succession, as if he were trying to drown out the memory that was haunting him. Almost like if he drank hard enough, quickly enough, the memories would stop, would leave, would get the fuck out of his head. He had never planned to...never meant...

...the clothes taken off long ago, in a pile on the floor...she was laying spread eagle on the bed sheets, and I was fucking her like she had never been fucked before...taking out my anger, my frustration, pounding in and out, in and out...she was very vocal, loud; moaning and screaming, demanding and begging, until I brought her, her tight wetness clenching around me, screaming "Irvine! Oh...oh..!"...but she suddenly fell silent in mid-scream...

Irvine had reached the bottom of the bottle, and while the room was tilted a little to the left and spinning slightly, the vodka had not worked as he had wanted it to. No matter what he did, or didn't do, the thought of his infidelity was burned into his brain, and there was no way of preventing it from...

...she fell silent, and stopped moving...I was intent on my own impending release, so close...looking up, seeing, finally comprehending him...Squall, standing in the door way, face twisted in raw emotion...what the fuck am I doing?...the heartbreak suddenly vanishing from his countenance, the typical barren expression he held sweeping across...his eyes changing last, from just this side of a breakdown, to a vicious glare...

"Why won't it fucking stop?!" Irvine seethed in a whisper. His feelings were still unclear, jumbled, and even more twisted with the taint of alcohol. When would it...

...he had stalked off, and I was shattered...the girl, unaware of the Pandora's Box she had stumbled into, gathering her clothes, apologizing...finally alone...falling to the floor, crying...screaming wordlessly, raw emotion and anguish pouring from my mouth like steam bursting from a tea kettle...

Suddenly overcome with frustration and pain, Irvine grabbed the empty vodka bottle, and slammed it with all the strength he could muster onto the tabletop, sending large shards through the air and about the room in an explosion of glass daggers. A scythe-like chunk from the throat of the bottle shot off the coffee table and ricocheted back into Irvine's face, sliding across his skin on his cheekbone, from his right brow to his hairline. In his numbed condition, the pain, if there were any, was far off. The blood pouring in rivulets down his cheek and plopping like crimson raindrops onto the expensive couch, however, was very, very real.

"Oh fuck me," Irvine muttered. He was usually so calm, so cool, even facing off against Ultimecia, he had been the one helping the others gather their wits. But when it came to stupid gunbladers in hot tight leather...or stupid gunbladers that could never break out of the 19 year old walls they had built around them...Irvine felt like the hatred he felt was more than justified.

He flicked the bathroom light on, and like the others, it took a few seconds before bursting into life. Damn Balamb electricity. He stopped suddenly, in mid-thought, realizing a certain amount of irony had gone into this wound. He had been brooding over a certain brooding lover, only to obtain a wound similar to said lover's on his face. Now, if it scarred...that would be irony, and that was the last thing Irvine fucking needed.

Having been ignoring it to tend to his ego, the bleeding had continued on, running trails down his face, propelled by gravity to fall in the sink. Not wanting to ruin his cowboy hat by splattering blood all over it, he took it off and threw it out of the bathroom and on to a nearby chair in the living room. Irvine grabbed a dirty towel off the top of the full laundry hamper and pressed it to the wound. He knew that everybody would be asking him the next day where he got the gash on his face. Of course, Zell would be the first, him and his big mouth.

Selphie in all her...Selphiness would bounce about, demanding to know what had happened between him and Squall, how she was going to kill that bastard...the only answer he would be able to produce was that, in a drunken stupor, he had smashed a bottle and gotten cut by a glass shard...how fucking embarrassing.

Once the bleeding stopped, he began to rummage through the medicine cabinet, trying to find that stuff that made cuts mend faster. Razor, toothpaste, lube...hmmm...band-aids...no stuff. Dammit.

He wasn't junctioned...but thank Hyne it was SeeD regulation to always be prepared with at least one guardian handy. It was too bad he only had Brothers with him...they were always so damn noisy. But he wasn't going to walk around with a huge bleeding slice on his face.

*Brothers, will you help me?*

*Yes, I'll help, you don't need Sacred - no real power there!*

*I'll be Hyne's bitch before I let that Bite Bug help alone! I'll do it-*

*Oh no! I don't think so Sacred! If you were still -*

*Oh for fucks sake you two, just shut up and junction!* Irvine mentally yelled at the two. There were like infants, and it was the only thing that got through to them half the time. Or the only thing they understood.

*All right Irvy, we'll help,* the Brothers said in unison. Once you got them to stop bickering, they actually did get along quite well.

He wished Selph was there, or that he wouldn't feel like an ass to call her...after all, getting her close to death just so she could perform her full cure limit for his benefit did seem a little petty. Ok, a lot petty. It was the Galbadian in him.

Cura should do the trick...the Brothers had set his junctions to benefit his strength, but he needed magic, so he took a second to shift the balance...there. *Cura,* he intoned mentally, and he felt the soothing magic wash over him, tingling as it permeated throughout his body. Again looking in the mirror, the wound appeared to be better, for the most part. It was a little puffy, but it probably wouldn't scar. Irvine let out a long sigh of relief. Wouldn't want to be Sir Broods-a-lot junior...

Even after all the excitement the fun memories, he still had to do the thing he had been dreading ever since he had fucked up...it had been a week anyway, enough time to build bravery. The vodka helped with that, anyway.

He took a deep breath, sighed as he looked at his face in the mirror one last time, and set off to Squall's flat, grabbing his hat along the way.

His stumbling steps seemed to swerve and weave back and forth across the hall more than they took him forward. Irvine stopped, took a deep breath, and tried to walk a little more like a sober person, with a slight improvement. At least he wasn't bracing himself against the wall anymore.

Six apartments down the hall and five minutes later, Irvine came to Squall's door. He leaned his head against the door, taking deep breaths, trying to sober up just a little. He didn't was Squall to think that he was that pathetic, having to drink heavily to sate the pit in his heart. The truth was that he did. He would have used an Esuna any other day, but he needed the alcohol right now.

He brought his head back from the door, standing as straight as he could in his current state, and tapped gently on the door. "Squally? You home?" Irvine inquired gently.

Feet padded slowly toward the door, pausing as they came before the entrance. The door slid open, revealing Squall, dressed in pale blue boxers and his Griever and ring pendants. He always looked so sexy in blue, it almost compared to him in leather. Almost. He had bought Squall those boxers, after his month long trip to Esthar...the one where they had...on the elevator...wow. Irvine could never convince him to wear them often enough, but when he did...those nights were memorable.

�It�s you,� Squall said abruptly. His eyes narrowed, and he grabbed his jacket off the nearby coat rack, pulling it on, suddenly aware of his naked and enticing body, and of Irvine's eyes wandering across it involuntarily. Squall had also managed to produce a blanket from someplace, and was wrapping it around his waist. The time loss was lost on Irvine, he was too far gone to notice that he was starting to blank out a little.

�Yeah, it�s me,� Irvine countered, overcoming his suddenly ridiculous intoxication. �I came to get my stuff, if you didn�t throw it away.� Wouldn't be surprised if you did.

�Whatever.� Squall turned, and walked inside, not waiting to see if Irvine followed or not. Obviously, Squall had never snapped out of his mood, not since the fight...not since he found them...

Irvine, filled with the magical heat of Galbadian Pure, didn�t waver under the glare of Squall�s eyes from their place in the kitchen. He had taken up a stance in a shaded corner, leaning his butt against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. So this was how it was going to happen.

The apartment was nice. A little too open, a little too roomy for Irvine's taste. But then again, they were the quarters of the Commander, so of course they were a little extravagant. Squall had managed to tone down the palatial vibe a little with his simplistic decoration and adornments to the place. But still...too big.

He began his search for far-from-home items in the living room. Again, it was simple. There were places to sit, but not too many. There were places to sit things, but, well...not too many. The one thing that Irvine had always found odd was that Squall kept no photographs of anybody. When Irvine had asked him why once, all that he had said was, "Why keep pictures of people you see everyday?" Because, you idiot, one day they might be gone...and you'll want to remember. You of all people should know that it's so easy to forget.

Under a few "Weapons Monthly" magazines was Irvine's photo album that he had given to Squall for his last birthday. It had pictures that Edea had taken when they lived in the orphanage, pictures from the party after they had defeated Ultimecia...pictures from when he and Irvine had been together. Every shot of Squall was a candid. As far back as Irvine could remember, Squall had never liked being under the eye of the camera. It probably went with the whole loner thing.

Irvine suddenly felt very possessive of the album. If Squall hated pictures, memories, himself so much, then he didn't deserve it. Irvine had spent far too much time, contacting everybody he knew to gather pictures, putting them in just the right order. He flipped to the last page, empty save one lone picture.

Irvine could remember taking it as if it were yesterday...

They had been cleaning out a small remaining Galbadian faction in Timber, just Squall and him. It was really more of a romantic getaway than a mission, at least in Irvine's opinion. Of course, Squall would have never admitted it, but Irvine knew he had planned it as such.

After a short day, they had wandered around to the last forests that stood in the once-densely populated area of Timber. The trees just kept getting used up...but the few that remained were more beautiful than any in the world.

Finally they had made their way to the beach, as Irvine always did for whatever reason...maybe it was the soothing sounds, the waves. Or maybe it was because it had a similar effect on Squall. The ocean always brought him out a little more, and it was on the beach that Irvine held most of his best memories of him.
Squall had suddenly broken contact from Irvine's hand, and walked up the beach to a small hill, where he sat. It was so purposeful, Irvine hadn't known quite what to make of it. Squall could never really say what it was either. But in any case, he sat on the dune, his face upturned slightly, looking off to the horizon. The ocean was bathed in moonlight, as was his face, and Irvine couldn't help but snap a photo or two.

It had seemed so breathtaking in person, but the photo had turned out to be something of an almost artistic caliber. It looked eerie and surreal on paper, and because of that, it reflected every aspect of Squall that Irvine knew, like the picture was a piece of Squall's soul.

It might have seemed petty, but Irvine couldn't let Squall keep the photo album. Not after seeing that picture and remembering that night. Yeah, it was petty. But it was the Galbadian in him.

Suddenly painfully aware that he was still in Squall's apartment, and that Squall's eyes were still bearing upon him, Irvine didn't really feel like he needed everything that he had left behind. But, he did want his clothes. He loved his clothes, and he didn't want to see Squall trouncing around in them. But Squall never did trounce...and he always wore the same thing anyway...no, I'm still getting my clothes.

�I�m getting my clothes,� Irvine vocalized, spitting the words over his shoulder before he walked into the master bedroom. The room held nothing more than any other in the flat, and it actually held less. Squall had always been practical, until it came to beds. The room barely contained a huge bed, one that stretched from wall to wall on one side of the room. The only reason that Irvine could think of as to why a person would have a bed that size was if they had lots and lots of orgies. And not once had Squall had one when they were together...so maybe it was just a way to get out of having to put anything else in the room. Whatever the reason, that bed was extremely comfortable...the mattress came especially from Esthar, a gift from Laguna.

The other focus of the room was the huge closet that was the wall opposite the bed. The thing stretched, like the bed, from wall to wall. The doors to the closet were all mirrored, Irvine assumed, so that the orgy people could watch themselves go at it. Irvine felt sort of disappointed that they had never hosted an orgy, what with the bed and the mirrors...it seemed like such a waste now.

Irvine walked to the section of the closet furthest away from the door, which was the place Squall had endowed upon him to keep some of his possessions, so that he had extra clothes when he had stayed over. Irvine hadn't used the additional wardrobe all that much, thinking back. Squall had always been sure to keep their lives pretty much separate. Together, yes, for a few dates, or for fucking...but they had never lived together. Irvine thought that Squall had been warming up to the idea, until...

He grabbed the hat, the boots, and the torn faded jeans off the top of the dresser, and the few shirts, socks, and pairs of underwear from the other drawers, found a box, and shoved it all inside, desperately longing for his own bed to cry in. He took the photo album last, and slid it between a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in the middle of the box.

He brushed a tear from his eye, took a deep breath and one last glance around the room, and graced Squall with his presence in the warehouse-like main area of his apartment. He wasn't surprised that Squall was still sitting in the same place, doing the same thing. What he was surprised about, however, was that Squall hadn't said anything cruel to him yet. He was usually so good at it when he wasn't trying, so Irvine was prepared for Squall to crush his spirits even farther.

He walked to the door, stopping just before it to turn and gaze upon Squall one last time. Maybe he'll forgive me...maybe he'll forget...maybe...

But Squall was still, his arms crossed, and there was enough shadow that you couldn't see his face. Irvine was sure that if he could, it would be holding the same locked-down expression that it had taken on when he had walked in on Irvine and that girl fucking. Not hurt, not angry, just...alone.

He couldn't just leave, and not say his peace. He had held it in so well for the last week. He hadn't said a thing about it to anybody, not even Selphie. He had been saving this moment, his last hurrah, for Squall. Deep breath in...deep breath out...

"Squally..." he began slowly and softly, letting Squall hear the sorrow and guilt in his voice. "..I am so, so sorry." Wow, that sounds lame. "I am. Squall...I love you. And when I knew it, and I told you, and I was so happy...and you just weren't...Squall. It tore me up. Real bad." Squall still wasn't moving from his place, and Irvine couldn't tell what Squall's reaction was to the words. Maybe it was all for the best, just him saying it, and Squall listening.

"I was so dumb. It was like you broke me, and all that I had left was the old me...the one from Galbadia, all guns and women, and casual sex. And I guess I just did what I knew how to do." Silence still. "I'm not saying that it's justified, and I'm not saying that it was ok. What I am saying is that I would never have done that to you. Not consciously. You have to believe me babe..." He was crying. Stupid fucking Irvine, why am I crying? When did it start? He felt the hot tears rolling along his nose, and around his lips to drip from his chin.

He tilted his head forward, shielding his face from Squall the best he could while keeping turned in his direction. "Squall...Squally...I just wish I knew if you loved me back." He turned his back to Squall, the tears coming so fast and hard now that he couldn't keep it from his voice. He had to leave. "Sorry," he whispered in a strangled voice. Talking caused him to sob loudly, and he despairingly slapped his hand at the open button, finally connecting, and he stepped outside, the door swishing shut behind him, bringing his break with Squall to a sudden painful reality.

He pushed his back to the door, and slid to the floor all at once, unable to stand. And he allowed himself to fall apart, the sobs racking his body, convulsing him in shudder after shudder. He held the box in his lap as if it were the last solid thing on the planet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unbeknownst to Irvine, a scene strikingly similar, yet heart wrenching in its own right, was taking place on the other side of the door. Squall had taken refuge in the shadows of the kitchen, knowing that it was the one place that Irvine would be unable to see him. And with good reason.

When the doorbell had rang, Squall had just rolled over in bed and found a lilac ribbon lying across the pillow beside him. Even if he was pissed as Sorceress Adel on a bad day with Irvine, the ribbon made him feel like shit. It made him feel like forgiving him. Like it hadn't mattered what Irvine had done, he could have blown up Garden for all he cared, he just wanted him back. He wanted to feel him curled against his back in the middle of the night, his arms holding him, making him let his guard down and feel safe. He wanted Irvine poking fun, teasing him at all the right times, teaching him not to take himself so seriously. He just wanted him.

And all at once, he felt an immense ocean of sorrow and guilt and below it all, anger, and the tears were just reaching his eyes...

And then the doorbell had rang.

For the most part he had managed to keep himself calm while Irvine roamed about collecting his belongings. Seeing him in person, drunk and obviously disheveled, had made Squall's anger a little more justifiable. And with that slight justification, Squall maintained a position of anger until Irvine reached the door.

But once he started talking...and saying all of those things, all of those horrible truths...Squall knew deep down it wasn't all Irvine's fault. It was his fault, his stupid fault for being so cold, for lying to not only Irvine, but to himself. He loved Irvine just as much as Irvine loved him, he just couldn't bear to say it. Rinoa...all of that had just shut him down even more. It was so impossible to show his emotions, to love another person. They would just hurt you...

And because of it, because of him, it had happened. Not just because people will hurt you, but because he hadn't had the courage to say, "I love you." Because of that, Irvine hurt him. It was all his fault.

When the door closed, Squall was crying, silently, but with the same force of Irvine's sobs. He shook and shuddered, his head cradled in his hands, and tears poured from his eyes, dripping and pattering on the cold floor.

~

Here's where it all begins...what compelled me to start out a Squall/Irvine fanfic with them breaking up is beyond me...hope it doesn't put too many people off from reading the rest of the story. It's not all depressing, I swear! Chapter title from the song, "Crying Shame," by Jack Johnson.
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The Split