Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction / Other Fan Fiction ❯ Protecting the Lion ❯ Sweet and Sour Moods ( Chapter 15 )

Chapter Fifteen

Sweet and Sour Moods

 

The Harold sounded like some newspaper rather than a bar. Seifer had lead the way to a back alley that was vacant of people but well populated in stray cats and howling dogs. It seemed a dog was barking in the distance every few seconds. Apparently the upkeep of this part of the city was not a priority, as potholes marred the road and litter filled the gutters.

 

Standing on the sidewalk, Squall looked up at the old building. Situated right on the corner, the front entrance was cattycornered at the top of a small stoop. The Harold was composed of crumbling stone blocks, and he placed it to be at least a hundred years old. Squall was no historian, but he had a fair sense of all the places he'd traveled to. Seifer had taken him to the old industrial area of Dollet. These buildings, which were former factories, were now apartments and abandoned lots. The Harold didn't look any better for its age, and Squall couldn't help but give the tall blond a puzzled look.

 

“It doesn't look like much, but trust me, this is the best place to eat in this city.” Seifer clapped the brunet on the back while stepping swiftly up the stairs.

 

Squall waited a moment, looking down either side of the street. Though he didn't feel as though anyone were watching, he couldn't shake the feeling he'd had earlier. Considering his previous disposition that he wasn't in any danger, he was feeling uneasy now. Still, for anyone to try anything with him and Seifer would be suicide. Sighing, he followed the eager man as he swept through the door.

 

Closing the thick wooden door with a thud, Squall was met with a warm rush of air. It was either colder outside than he'd thought or extremely warm inside the bar. The door had led into a small alcove, and Seifer blocked most of Squall's view of the rest of the place.

 

Attempting to peer over a broad shoulder, Squall sidled up beside the tall man. It was no use. This was perhaps one of many times that he cursed his rival for being bigger than he was.

 

Striding confidently, Seifer moved away from the small entryway, secretly amused at his ability to block the commander's view. Calling out in a loud baritone voice, he greeted, “Mike, you old bastard!”

 

Wanting to clap a hand his forehead at the cocky man's disturbing display, Squall settled for falling back in hopes that he wouldn't be associated with such an idiot.

 

From behind the bar, an older man set down a pint glass with a hard chink. Lowering the drying towel he'd been using, he frowned in their direction. The man had graying hair that had once been black. It was short and combed back, holding its place naturally. With a bit more than a five o'clock shadow gracing a firm square jaw, the man grinned. “Almasy, you little shit!” he called out just as loudly as Seifer had.

 

The barman, who Squall assumed to be Mike, walked around the long counter and made his way over to them. Not much taller than himself, the man was rather burly. Wearing a dark red long sleeve shirt and black slacks, he swung the rag over a shoulder as he approached.

 

Seifer and Mike clapped hands and pulled each other in for a one armed hug, while Squall observed in a state of slight confusion over the amicable greeting. The barman was laughing and still had a grin on his face, as though seeing Seifer were truly a pleasure.

 

“I haven't seen your ugly face around here in a while,” the older man said.

 

“You have that effect on people,” Seifer shot back.

 

“So, what brings you here?” There was a slightly more serious tone to the man's voice at this.

 

Winking, the blond assured, “Purely a social visit.” Standing aside slightly, he moved to let Mike see the smaller brunet.

 

Dark blue eyes widened briefly, studying the knight's new friend. “Got yourself a little princess there, have you?” he joked.

 

Holding in a laugh at this, Seifer couldn't have appreciated Mike's bluntness more. There was nothing Squall would do to Mike for his words, so it was like a free jab show at the commander.

 

Scowling, Squall glared at Seifer.

 

With a gulp, Seifer realized that whatever Squall wouldn't do to Mike would be done to him instead. “Hey now Mike, that's Commander Leonhart you're talking about.”

 

The barman's eyes widened again. “I thought you looked a mite familiar.” Extending a hand, he said, “Michael Garrant. I own this joint and have been known to do some business with vagrants like this one.” He nodded towards Seifer.

 

Waiting for a reluctant moment, Squall took the stout man's offered hand. “Squall Leonhart,” he replied. A surprised grunt was forced out of him as the zealous man pulled him in and gave him a similar hugged greeting as he had to Seifer. The arm that wrapped around him momentarily patted his back a bit too harshly and stung for a few moments afterwards. Scowling again, Squall sent yet another glare Seifer's way once he was released from the rough hold.

 

While Mike made his way back behind the bar, Seifer took his coat off and draped it over his arm. Casting a look down at the sullen brunet, he spoke, “Don't get pissy, it's just his way.”

 

Not answering, Squall was still a little sore about being called a princess by a stranger. Seifer had called him worse before, but he was used to the blond's taunts.

 

“Take your coat off, or you'll over heat. This place is always like a sauna.” Seifer's lips formed a small grin as he watched the younger man comply. “Mike doesn't care much for worldly affairs, so he's not likely to recognize anybody from the news. You might like that about him.” He raised his eyebrows in emphasis when the brunet continued to sulk.

 

In truth, Squall was lucky if he could find a single person who didn't know his blood type let alone that he was the commander of an entire garden. Even if he generally chose to shun all people regardless of whom they were, Seifer had a point.

 

Seeing blue-grey eyes shift towards the bar in mild curiosity, Seifer grinned more widely. “His best and worst quality is that he says exactly what he's thinking. You might hate him, but you'll come to love him.” He chuckled when the brunet looked right at him and seemed to roll his eyes without actually doing so.

 

Looking around Squall found the place to be more of a small restaurant, even with the many bottles of various alcoholic drinks lining the wall behind the bar. Round tables filled the spacious room with a few occupants eating meals or drinking. Most of those people hadn't stirred the slightest at the raucous interruption.

 

Following Seifer to a table farthest away from the other patrons, Squall set his jacket on the back of a bare wooden chair before sitting down. Everything from the bar to the floor to all the chairs and tables was wood, old and worn. It was unusually old fashioned, but he was hardly complaining. Such a setting suited his tastes far better than the lavish Onyx Hotel.

 

The lighting was slightly dim, leaving many shadows along the walls. Mike had vanished into the backroom, which Squall glimpsed to be a kitchen before the swinging door settled shut. There was the faint aroma of seafood in the air. It wasn't a fishy scent, more along the lines of sautéing scallops or shrimp. It was pleasant and even managed to arouse Squall's appetite. It had been a long time since he had actually thought of eating a meal for more than its nutritional purposes.

 

Leaning back, Seifer stretched his long limbs out and settled in comfortably. The Harold was one of his favorite places to relax. It had been a chance-find. Just when he had felt at his wits end, always finding someone who recognized him, he had wandered in and met Mike. The older man had been clueless as to who he was, even when he had donned his trademark blue vested shirt and long grey trench coat. Even when the man had eventually learned who he was, it hadn't changed anything. In fact, the only comment the barman had made was that he was an idiot to complain about being recognized while wearing his telltale trench coat.

 

When the scent of food wafted their way, Seifer smirked. “I think he's making coconut shrimp. Lucky bastard, it's for you.”

 

Quirking a brow, Squall leaned back more comfortably with his arms crossed. He had no idea what the blond was talking about.

 

Feeling indulgent, Seifer explained, “You can't order food here. Mike makes what he chooses for each person and brings it to you. It's like one of those psychic ability things, I swear. I've been after him to let me try his coconut shrimp but he refuses. It's apparently too sweet for my tastes.” He scoffed at the notion of anyone telling him he couldn't have something, all the while resigned to not getting it.

 

The concept was rather intriguing. Squall tilted his head to the side in thought. He wondered if the barman would have made Zell hotdogs. It might be worth another trip just to test the man. “What is this place exactly?” he asked, still not sure how to classify it.

 

Looking around for a moment, Seifer nodded, “My guess is as good as yours. It's a bar, a café, and a restaurant all in one. I'm still surprised that hardly anyone comes here.” It was rather small considering the services offered.

 

“Nnh,” Squall sounded in agreeing observation. He rather liked that it was quiet with no mulling crowds.

 

“It's nice though. Like I said earlier, a quiet place,” Seifer commented.

 

“…”

 

Eyeing the brunet across from him, Seifer saw the telltale signs of retreat. The commander was going to close himself off and brood silently over the recent break up. Clenching his jaw, Seifer decided that it wasn't a good idea. From what he could tell, Squall was more than dysfunctional in the relationship department. If the moody fighter started brooding, all the wrong conclusions would be made.

 

Not wanting to be obvious, Seifer broached another subject, hoping to instigate some interest and hold the attention of the ice prince. “Do you think we'll make the front cover of every newspaper and magazine by morning?”

 

It took a moment for Squall to process Seifer's words, his mind had been wandering elsewhere. “I don't see why.”

 

“Come on Squally-boy, we aren't exactly a likely pair to be walking down the busy streets of Dollet in full view of the public's eyes.” His frame straightened slightly and shifted forward to the table a little, showing that he was open for conversation.

 

“I don't see how that matters.” Squall's reply was automatic, but he regretted it as Seifer's green eyes narrowed in disapproval.

 

“You should. I'm hardly a warmly spoken household name.” Huffing Seifer felt resigned to reeducating the brunet in the social etiquette. It was one of the hero's faults. Unable to relate to other's, the commander was oblivious to the world outside of fighting.

 

Squall simply shrugged. He didn't see why the opinion of other's should matter. His only concern was doing his job. The only opinions or feelings that mattered were his own and those of his close friends, and perhaps even the rival he was currently seated across from.

 

Grunting in disapproval, Seifer chastised, “You forgive and forget too easily. Does nothing I've done matter to you?” It almost seemed like he was intentionally trying to anger the commander.

 

Frowning, Squall unfolded his arms and sat forward slightly. Pushing aside his annoyance, he held his tongue for a moment as he tried to figure out what the blond was really feeling. Was it guilt? It almost seemed like Seifer wanted some sort of punishment for his past deeds and was angry that he didn't seem to hold a grudge. Scowling, he felt as though the arrogant man were trying to entwine hidden feelings into some half assed lecture about being concerned with what the public thought. Narrowing his blue-grey eyes, he hissed out, “I would have thought the last sixth months was enough wallowing in the past for you.”

 

Stricken by the sudden statement, Seifer's eyes widened slightly and his jaw unclenched.

 

“Amen to that, princess,” spoke a gruff voice from beside their table. Mike set two plates down before either person. “I've been telling him to get over it for months now. We all have a past, but only the weak can't move on.”

 

Seifer's mood darkened. He sat back and slouched in annoyance.

 

Mike smiled brightly at the pretty boy commander. “Sweet and salty pasta with coconut shrimp for the princess, and pizza with red peppers for the wallowing knight.”

 

Cringing at the nickname, Squall ignored the twitch his hand gave in desire pull Lionheart out. “You made this just now?” he asked with an even tone.

 

“I had a feeling an odd pair would show up. I had it going before you stepped in here,” the barman answered, clapping Squall on the back. “I like you kid, you're easy on the eyes.”

 

Unable to suppress a groan, which actually came out as more a growl, Squall had to ball his fist and pocket to resist using his gunblade. Worse than the wildly inappropriate comments was the involuntary blush he felt heat his cheeks. Whether from anger or embarrassment, he wasn't sure.

 

“Feisty, eh?” the older man jibed as he walked away to a gesturing patron across the room.

 

While the small pizza before him was calling his name, Seifer refused to budge. Inwardly he had been snickering at Mike's nickname for Squall. Not even he could have predicted such a good one. He was still angry at the brunet's accusation and the old man's agreement though. He wasn't stuck in the past. It just irked him how Squall acted as though none of it happened.

 

Through his angry haze, Seifer watched with interest as Squall reached forward and sampled a piece of shrimp. He really had been after Mike to let him try some. It seemed like he made it for everybody else except him. As if the process worked vicariously, Seifer followed each movement of the stubborn pretty boy across from him. He didn't think it was possible, but as he had noticed at dinner the other night, Squall even managed to eat with unnatural grace.

 

Gulping, Seifer couldn't help but find the entire display completely sensual. Pout lips parted to smoothly place the battered food within. Delicate fingers held the tail end and pulled away after taking a bite. Seifer could feel his mouth water and swore he tasted something sweet, but feared it wasn't the taste of the food he was imagining. Had he not been so fascinated with the commander's mouth, he would have missed the subtle smile that played across soft lips. Apparently, the food was to his rival's liking.

 

“Are you going to eat?” Squall asked, feeling the all too intense gaze of those jade-green eyes.

 

Snapping from his momentary trance, Seifer remembered that he was supposed to be angry. The only trouble was, he couldn't seem to muster any anger when all he felt was arousal. Reaching out he picked up a slice of the pizza. Before he took a bite he asked, “How can it not matter?”

 

Twisting a fork within the thankfully small portion of noodles, Squall didn't bother looking up at Seifer when answering. “Matron spent her whole life in preparation against the powers of a sorceress. Even though she probably had the strongest will against it, she fell under Ultimecia's control easily.” He paused in spinning the slippery pasta, this time he did look up at the blond. “I know you said you were fully aware. I don't doubt that. But when someone whispers sweet nothings in your ear and seems to hold the key to all you've ever wanted, it's a little hard to not go along willingly.”

 

Staring at the serious expression on the brunet's face, Seifer couldn't help but believe the words were true and fitting. However, after six months of his own reflections, he found it difficult to believe that all could be so easily forgiven. One event weighed more heavily on his mind than the rest. “I tortured you”

 

Setting his fork down, Squall kept his face impassive and hid all reaction to the sudden statement. “It was war,” he stated flatly. He well remembered the damn electric shock treatment and didn't care to dwell on it.

 

“And what is it now?” Seifer asked, unable to comprehend how the serious man could keep such an even face. He felt like cringing just thinking about it, and he hadn't been the one to experience it.

 

“Now it's a time of peace, where business is dry for gardens, but the rest of the world smiles and carries on.” Slight annoyance crept into his tone, and he fingered the handle of his forgotten fork.

 

Seifer watched as his rival sampled the pasta, leaving him in the dark in regards to what it tasted like. He had been so easily forgiven. Sighing, he conceded to Squall's will. With a small shake of his head, he refuted all conclusions that the commander was an ice prince. An amused smirk played across his face as he saw a small glimmer of the sauce on enticing lips. In a bold move, he reached across the table and thumbed the sauce.

 

Tensing, Squall stared at Seifer in shock. The blond's fingers brushed under his jaw while a thumb gently swiped at his bottom lip. A familiar feeling began to rise, more recognizable for the desire that it was.

 

“We were rivals and enemies before.” Seifer let his hand linger for a moment, just long enough to bring a flush to pale cheeks. Slowly retracting his hand, he licked his thumb and tasted the sauce. “What are we now?” he asked. His voice was slightly deeper than normal.

 

At a loss for words, Squall was grateful for the first time to have the older barman speak to him.

 

“Come on now princess, you gotta eat more than that. You'll waste away to nothing,” Mike called as he strode up to the pair. Ignoring the intimate atmosphere, he dragged a chair up and joined them. It wasn't everyday he had such accomplished patrons to entertain him. With the customers dwindling and the few remaining taken care of, he felt in the mood for a good story.

 

For the most part, Mike and Seifer talked back and forth, swapping stories and trying to outdo each other. Squall suddenly found himself unable to concentrate on anything but what the blond had hinted at before. Luckily, it wasn't odd for him to remain silent, since he didn't think he could string two words together with his mind forming terribly outrageous conclusions.

 

It was slightly bothersome to watch the tanned knight carry on as though none of it happened. One moment those green eyes were dark with the same gleam they had taken on when the blond had jumped him in the apartment, and the next they were dancing with laughter as the barman told a funny joke. And here he was, unable to think about anything else but the embarrassing desire to be kissing his childhood rival again. Where exactly did this sudden attraction come from?

 

Perhaps the most flustering part was the suddenly flippant trait he'd developed. Whether or not Squall had been truly in love with Rinoa was something he still couldn't determine. Regardless, he'd been involved with one person, supposedly harboring desires and feelings for them, and the next he was changing it all to another person. Though his feelings for Rinoa were nothing like what he beginning to feel for Seifer, he still didn't like it.

 

Through his silent battle Squall had managed to eat his meal and sit still while quietly sulking. It was beyond maddening to not understand what he was trying so hard to analyze. It was then he noticed the sudden silence. Gazing up he found the two men looking at him. Groaning inwardly, he ventured a guess that they'd asked him something. “Sorry, what was that?”

 

“Seifer was telling me about how he saved you from drowning one time. Says, he pulled you from under the water and gave you CPR.” Mike laughed. “You went in on a dare even though you couldn't swim.”

 

Glaring at Seifer, Squall corrected, “As I recall, I didn't need saving. I've always been able to swim, but this jackass was the one to dare me in the first place and couldn't stand to lose, so he ran in before I could make all the way to the marker and dragged me back out.”

 

Mike doubled over with rich laughter. He was rather certain the brunet's account of the story was more accurate. “I can just picture it,” he slapped his knee and continued to laugh at Seifer's expense.

 

Squall stared in question. He didn't see what was so funny about it. When it happened, he had been royally pissed.

 

“Yeah, well you looked like you were drowning,” Seifer commented in his own defense.

 

Rolling his eyes, Squall scoffed. “And I suppose my yelling for you to stop didn't clue you in.”

 

“You didn't yell,” Seifer countered, leaning forward slightly.

 

“Matron punished me for all the curses I threw at you.” Squall leaned forward in a reflected action of the blond across from himself. All previous thoughts and confusions were gone from his head as he argued with the stubborn knight.

 

Resting a forearm down on the tabletop, Seifer leaned closer. “You were choking on water.”

 

Again, mimicking the blond's moves, Squall leaned in. “Only because I was so busy telling you I was fine while you dragged through the waves.”

 

Mike had stopped laughing as soon as the arguing started. Now he just looked from one face to the other. Both boys were just staring at each other.

 

“Well, you needed help after that.” Seifer waved a hand as if he won by admitting that while he caused the problem in the first place, he had still managed to save the day.

 

“A pat on the back would have sufficed. Instead you made it worse and tried to suffocate me on top of the water in my lungs.” With the slight headshake he gave, choppy bangs fell to shroud his eyes.

 

“That was CPR,” the blond defended again, refusing to admit that he was wrong.

 

“That was you trying to suffocate me with your mouth,” the brunet shot right back incredulously.

 

Suddenly Seifer sat back and grinned widely. “Actually, that was me kissing you on a dare from the cowboy.”

 

Having been ready to shoot down whatever excuse Seifer gave, Squall had his mouth open before he even knew what words he was going to say. Not having the countering side to go against, he was lost for a moment. He was saved again, from having to find the proper words to express himself.

 

Mike very nearly toppled the table when he slammed his fist down and roared with laughter. Between breaths he managed to choke out, “You two are great! A fucking riot!”

 

While Seifer grinned as though he had won by some default of secret information kept over the years, Squall crossed his arms and sat back in a sulk.

 

Wiping tears from his eyes, the older man stood up and clapped the two on their shoulders. The force made them both jolt slightly forward before correcting themselves. “Damn I needed that.” Reaching out, he picked their plates up. “The spare room is all yours good sir knight, though a mite cramped for two. Princess here doesn't look like he'll take up much room.” With that he walked off with a few more chuckles.

 

Scratching his head, Seifer faced the consequences of his admittance. “It was ten years ago,” he reminded.

 

Bowing his head, Squall didn't look at Seifer. “We're staying here?” he asked.

 

“It was a childish dare. Come on,” Seifer jokingly pleaded.

 

Looking up, Squall met the knight with narrowed grey-blue eyes. “You're sleeping on the floor.”

 

“Come on, princess, share a little,” the blond complained. The use of Squall's new nickname earned him a harsh kick to his shins, his mock whining cut short.

 

 

TBC… Please review… remember, impotent Seifer means the next chapter has no fun…