Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Chapter Eight ( Chapter 8 )

Defining Love

Chapter Eight

 

 

Seated around the kitchen table, the family of three shared a large Lemont's pizza straight from the box. The tradition was eight years old and running strong, though the preference of toppings often changed.

 

“Is that all you're eating?” Laguna questioned as he lifted the lid of the box to toss his crust in and retrieve one of two remaining pieces.

 

“Dad,” Lore prompted, stirring his father from a lost reverie.

 

“Hmm?” Squall intoned, glancing from one face to the next. “What?”

 

“I ate five. I don't think Grandpa was talking to me,” Lore explained.

 

“Sorry,” the pale man said to the president. “What'd you say?”

 

Flipping the lid so that it gently fell open against the table, Laguna reiterated, “You haven't even finished your one slice. Is that all you're having?”

 

“I'm not hungry,” Squall answered. “Anyone want the rest of this?”

 

Frowning, Lore tapped his grandfather's foot under the table, seeing the older man about ready to accept the offer. Assured his father would be left to not waste what was still left, he said, “At least finish that one. Or do you want something else?”

 

Smiling in appreciation for the concern, Squall assured, “No, it's really just my appetite.”

 

“You should eat more,” Laguna chastised. “I wouldn't be surprised if Lore could bench more than you now.”

 

Throwing the longhaired president a halfhearted glare, Squall redirected the conversation. “What time do you want to get your permit tomorrow?”

 

“Early,” Lore replied automatically. “What time does the DMV open?”

 

“For my grandson?” Laguna remarked arrogantly. “They'll open at midnight if I command it.”

 

“Dictator,” the young man scoffed.

 

“I still get to buy him a car, right?” Laguna questioned excitedly, gazing at Squall pleadingly.

 

“Seriously, that's a bit much,” Lore interjected. Though he'd love to be given a car for his birthday, he knew the price tag would be insane if his grandfather was involved.

 

Squall folded his hands with his elbows propped on the table, hiding his smirk. He knew that Lore would never openly admit to wanting a car, which made it convenient that Laguna was beyond giddy at the prospect of giving the sixteen year old his first vehicle. “You don't need my permission,” he mumbled.

 

Slapping the table, Laguna started immediately, “Okay, can we go after you get your permit?”

 

Grinning his pleasure, Lore nodded an affirmative, hardly about to argue. Leaning back in his seat, he stated, “I'm stuffed. I always eat too much.”

 

“Sorry there's no cake,” the older man stated for the hundredth time.

 

“Irvine's bringing something,” Squall informed, stormy blue eyes glancing at his right wrist to check the time. “He should be here soon.”

 

Starting from his seat abruptly, Lore cried, “What time is it!?”

 

“It's only five,” Squall reassured.

 

Sighing with relief, Lore plopped back down. “Thank Hyne, I almost forgot.” The first game of the soccer season and he had everything ready to record, but he'd still kick himself if he missed any of it while it was happening. He never missed a single game that the Toramas played in.

 

The sound of harsh knocking cut through the apartment, only growing louder and quicker in succession, the caller demanding to be let in quickly.

 

“Aunt Selphie came too?” the dark haired boy groaned with trepidation.

 

Shrugging, Squall admitted, “It was you or me.”

 

“You sacrificed your own son?” Lore said with disbelief. “Bloody mercenaries, you're all the same.”

 

“Want me to answer it?” Laguna offered, practically wagging his tail.

 

With a nod, Squall conceded that it would indeed be the best scenario for the kindhearted man to receive the initial onslaught of rib cracking hugs from the energetic woman. If the circumstances were different, he might be inclined to be a bit more welcoming toward Irvine and Selphie, them making a special trip to Esthar just for Lore's birthday. However, when the trip involved Selphie flying Ragnarok and cutting the usual two hours down to a mere twenty minutes while getting her kicks, it wasn't exactly a hassle.

 

Standing up, Squall proceeded to clear the table off, assuming Laguna was finished and currently too occupied to remember being hungry even if that weren't the case.

 

“I'll help,” the young man offered, taking his own plate and moving across the large kitchen to the sink.

 

“Lore,” Squall said as he too approached the sink. “Is there any particular reason why you haven't asked me anything about today?”

 

Broad shoulders tensed noticeably, relaxing moments later, but not before perceptive grey-blue eyes saw.

 

“I already asked you about Cale,” Lore commented, eyes not meeting his father's as he turned around. Their conversation about Cale and whom Squall should or shouldn't date had ended when he'd resorted to hugging the man to impress his seriousness. Beyond that, they'd simply made their way back in silence.

 

“But not about Seifer,” Squall pointed out evenly, his tone impassive by nature. Sensing some hidden distress in his son, he reached a hand out and nudged at the boy's chin until their eyes met. “I never meant to keep anything from you, and I knew there was a high probability of you finding things out from someone other than me, but I can't be sure if you know everything unless you talk to me.”

 

“Where's my nephew!?” Selphie's voice cried, the small woman coming into view seconds later as she rushed Lore and nearly tackled him clear off his feet. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Hair down to the middle of her back, the cheerful woman was as exuberant as ever with a pale yellow sundress making her an icon of brightness. Her small frame and big green eyes hid her age from the world, and her sometimes childish tendencies did nothing to dispute her appearance.

 

Biting his lip, Squall berated himself for not realizing it earlier. He should have known something was up when Lore seemed wholly uninterested in asking any questions that had previously been deemed forbidden. Perhaps he was wrong to have waited so long, but he was only human and hardly father of the year.

 

“Hey darlin',” Irvine drawled in greeting, striding into the kitchen at a leisurely pace, closely followed by Laguna. Irvine was still tall and lanky with fluid motion to his stride and occasional glints of sharpness to violet-blue eyes. Currently ranked as the world's top gunman, six years running since the worldwide competition first began, he was proudly able to say he was the fastest shooter with the sharpest aim.

 

Squall accepted the gunman's hug, years of conditioning forcing him to accept a whole lot more from the odd couple. He'd become somewhat desensitized to the Galbadian's slightly over friendly ways and perverted humor. However, when Irvine pressed lips to his cheek in perfectly innocent kiss, he reeled back in shock. It wasn't so much the act itself as it was the sudden flooding of Cale's face in his mind and remembrance of that afternoon.

 

Staring in mild concern, Irvine wondered what thoughts were brewing behind bright stormy eyes. When pale cheeks heated, he couldn't help but laugh.

 

“Irvine, stop teasing Squall,” Selphie chastised, pulling her husband away from an obviously embarrassed brunet.

 

“I can't help it,” the gunman defended, running a hand through long tresses of auburn hair. “When he wears jeans like that, they hug his butt just right.”

 

The playful punch Selphie gave to Irvine's upper arm packed enough strength to express her dislike of anyone having a nicer looking ass than herself. “My butt's just as nice. Next time, grope me.”

 

Chuckling, Irvine moved on to greet the birthday boy, now detached from his wife. “The girls send their love,” he drawled as he gave Lore an affectionate hug. “Hanna wanted me to give you one of her bras with her cell number written on it, but I told her you weren't interested.”

 

Laughing awkwardly at the joke, hoping that it was a joke, Lore returned the hug. “Tell her I'm in love with Terri's pretty face.” There were countless running jokes between them all. Hanna and Terri had been his closest friends growing up. They'd moved away before it became awkward for a teenage boy to be best friends with a set of blonde twins six years his senior.

 

“I would if I knew she wouldn't give me the silent treatment for a year,” Irvine returned, glancing around to make sure Squall wasn't suffocating under the iron grip of his wife's arms. Returning his focus to the young man, he stepped back and ran his eyes up and down in intense study. “You've gotten bigger than your old man,” he drawled with amusement.

 

“That's `cause Squall's a snuggle bunny and won't grow anymore,” Selphie declared, still firmly attached to her former commander, one of few man that didn't make her feel too short.

 

“Where the hell does snuggle bunny come from?” Irvine chastised, tugging at his little lady's arm to pry her loose. “If he were still your commanding officer, you'd never say that.”

 

“You guys missed dinner, but if you're hungry there's plenty to eat,” Lore spoke up, glancing at the now clear kitchen table with uncertainty.

 

Tightening her hold on the lithe brunet, refusing the be drawn away before she was satisfied, Selphie exclaimed, “Oh Squall! How d'you do it? Lore has such good manners. I can't even get Tyler to make me toast and he hasn't even started to hate me yet.”

 

“Hanna and Terri don't hate you, darlin',” the gunman said reassuringly. “It's just a little independence.”

 

“Independence?” the copper-haired woman questioned incredulously. “They never call anymore or ever visit.”

 

Chuckling, Irvine explained to a confused looking Squall, “The girls are living on their own while going to school and it's been two days since they last called.”

 

“Two days of a mother's worry,” Selphie exclaimed with a dramatic sigh. “Oh Squall, only you can understand. Irvy doesn't care at all, he doesn't know what we go through.”

 

Blushing, Squall gently pushed the small woman away. He resolved to speak with Lore later, suddenly needing complete focus not to betray his emotions around the wild couple.

 

“They brought cake,” Laguna announced, arms holding a square box of thin cardboard.

 

“Well, I figured since we couldn't stay long, we should make it worthwhile,” Irvine drawled with a smirk towards the president, knowing the older man repeatedly botched the job up every year.

 

“Are you going to stay for the game?” Lore inquired with a hopeful undertone, always eager to increase the number of people who watched with him.

 

Violet-blue eyes seemed to dance for a moment. “No, we gotta head out,” he replied with a smile directed at his former commander.

 

“What?” Lore questioned, glancing from his father to his uncle. “What don't I know?” he pressed when he caught a glimpse of a small smile on his father face.

 

Squall turned away, unable to continue looking at Lore and not smile. “I'll get a knife for the cake,” he murmured in excuse before moving away from the group to busy himself near the cabinets.

 

Selphie led Irvine to the table, pinching his side in reprimand for possibly ruining her nephew's birthday surprise. Together they sat with Laguna, which was her cue to begin requesting details on everything that had been going on in Esthar. Having lived in Esthar for eleven years, she'd be remiss if she didn't keep up on current events.

 

“Dad,” Lore called as he followed the older man to the other side of the kitchen.

 

Squall turned around slowly, defeat admitted as he gave a soft sigh. Leaning back against the counter top, he worried his lip while debating the best way to give the boy his birthday present. “I wasn't sure what to get you,” he admitted quietly, recalling the weeks of torment that lead up to his son's birthday and every holiday that required gifts.

 

“I love my new cleats,” Lore assured, still surprised that he'd received what he'd been eyeing in the window display for only a week. Truthfully, his old cleats weren't quite ready for retirement, which was why he hadn't said anything about buying the new pair that carried a wince worthy price. His father didn't verbally stress getting as much use as possible out of everything, but the scuffed practice gear and worn leather jacket that would be tissue thin in a few more years expressed that rule clearly. He knew their family was rich, which was obvious when his grandfather was the president of Esthar. But it was always slightly awkward when his grandfather complained about having too much money and his father continually refused to accept any of it. He was afraid of disappointing his father if he regarded money with a spendthrift attitude.

 

Shaking his head, Squall began to wonder if he'd gone overboard this year. It was always a difficult line to walk between giving Lore certain privileges without spoiling the sixteen year old. Thus far, he couldn't have been happier with the man his son was turning out to be, but he felt embarrassed to be considered the doting sort of parent.

 

Shrugging indifferently, unable to take back his gift at this point, Squall mumbled, “Check your left pocket.”

 

Blinking in confusion for a moment, Lore eventually complied. Frowning, he muttered, “How do you do that?”

 

“Your guard was down,” Squall answered.

 

Sending his father a wry look, he observed the contents of his pocket. Stunned for a long moment, blue-green eyes stared at the palm sized packet of tickets, unable to comprehend what his eyes saw. “These aren't… did you seriously get me…” Lore was also unable to speak properly at the moment.

 

Eyes looking anywhere but at his son's unreadable expression, Squall began to doubt himself further. “I thought you might like them. I suppose it's too much trouble to go to every game.”

 

“These are season tickets,” Lore declared, eyes still intently fixed on the packet as if it were the greatest treasure in the world.

 

For Squall who had never been interested in sports very much, he wasn't sure if watching something on TV meant also wanting to see it first hand. He'd bought the tickets at Laguna's urging, the man assuring him it was a profoundly insightful idea that he'd put out there as a last resort.

 

“These are impossible to get, how long ago did you buy them?” the dark haired youth questioned as he looked up for the first time.

 

Frowning, still unable to tell if Lore were pleased or not, Squall explained, “Cale knows someone on the team.”

 

Ignoring for the moment that Cale had been involved, Lore pressed earnestly, “Who? Which player?”

 

Thinking back, Squall took a moment to remember. “His jersey number was four. The name was Diamond.”

 

Jaw dropping, Lore stared in awe. “Star striker Yohan Diamond hooked my dad up with season tickets,” he murmured in disbelief.

 

Squall felt relief as a broad grin came over Lore's face, eerily similar to the goofy one that Laguna often had. He gave a faint smile of his own before saying, “Happy Birthday.”

 

Lore raised a slightly trembling hand to his face, eyes downcast as he took a moment to settle down. He was on the verge of bursting out, unable to contain his excitement. He could die right then and be the happiest person alive.

 

Over at the table, Selphie and Irvine huddled together while watching the duo at the other end of the room.

 

“Five,” Irvine whispered, “Four, three,”

 

“You'll be early,” Selphie interjected.

 

“Two,” the gunman continued.

 

“He's still shocked,” the small woman commented.

 

“One,” Irvine said, waiting for the outburst.

 

There was a long pause of silence. “Told you,” Selphie stated. “And, it should be right about… now.”

 

All at once, Lore launched himself at his father, latching onto to the man in a hug as tight as his aunt's. He had season tickets. “I can't believe you got these!” he exclaimed, able to stop himself short of spinning his father around.

 

**

Excitement having died down, Squall felt it was time to speak with Lore. Leaving the kitchen and his laptop behind, the lithe brunet walked into the flat of the large apartment. Approaching the couch, he gave a faint smile at the sight of his son watching the soccer game on TV. They'd seen it first hand already, only a couple hours ago.

 

Silently, Squall rounded the black leather couch and took a seat beside the boy. Seeming to catch on quickly, Lore casually turned the television off, darkening the room slightly.

 

Unsure how to begin or where to begin, Squall settled to something simple. “It's okay to talk about it,” he stated quietly.

 

Facing forward, not looking at his father yet, Lore took a moment before saying anything in return. Tossing the remote to the cushion beside himself, he shifted to redirect his attention. One leg bent, he turned to the side and stared for a long moment into his father's eyes, trying to find some flicker of uncertainty while also drawing comfort from the unwavering gaze.

 

“Is it really okay, or are you just doing this because you think I need to know?” Lore questioned solemnly.

 

“Need or want,” Squall offered. “It's not difficult to explain anything.”

“I think it might not be a good thing to know, that something big would suddenly change. I don't want to look at you differently,” Lore admitted with a note of hesitant fear.

 

Grey-blue eyes widened for a shocked moment. Squall hadn't expected Lore to feel that way. “Then tell me what you do know,” he murmured.

 

Running his fingers through wayward tufts of sable hair, Lore lowered his head and stared intently at the fabric of his jeans. Knowing his father could sit there all night and wait for him, he spoke up sooner despite not wanting to voice his knowledge. It wasn't that he wasn't supposed to know or that it was wrong, but that they never really talked about it and he was afraid to know how his father might really feel about it all. “I know that I don't have a mother. I know you gave birth to me. I know that I don't care about whoever else I share blood with, because I don't need or want anyone else to be my dad.”

 

Somewhat endeared by his son's admission, Squall took a moment to debate if it was really okay to let Lore not know that Seifer was the other father. “Okay,” he commented at length. He felt certain that there would come a time when the sixteen year old would feel differently, curiosity driving the boy to ask the question.

 

“Okay?” Lore returned, raising his head to give the pale man a look of uncertainty.

 

Nodding subtly and managing a small smile of reassurance, Squall stood up in one smooth motion. Reaching out, he tousled the boy's dark hair. “Some things are better left alone,” he assured when blue-green eyes seemed unconvinced that it was truly alright. Intending to retire for the night, he turned to leave.

 

“Wait,” Lore called out, grasping his father's bony wrist. “I…” He wasn't sure he should ask what he had in mind, feeling childish for such a concern.

 

“…” Squall waited patiently.

 

“Was it a mistake? Were you forced to have me?” Lore blurted out, eyes staring at the relaxed hand of his father's. He studied the long, thin fingers, wondering how they managed to hold a gunblade so firmly.

 

“Ultimecia never had me sign a permission slip if that's what you mean,” Squall returned evenly.

 

“Then you didn't want me?” the youth questioned in a hurt tone.

 

“Not at first, no,” Squall admitted bluntly. Shifting his wrist, he turned it in the loose hold and grasped his son's hand. “But that changed rather quickly.”

 

“Is any of this what you wanted?” Lore mumbled dejectedly.

 

Brows drawing together in concern, Squall moved closer. “Hey,” he whispered, shaking the hand in his hold in reprimand. “Why would you ask that?”

 

Shoulders shrugging in answer, Lore tentatively reached out and grasped the hem of his father's t-shirt. Lifting it, he exposed the horizontal scar, just visible above the waist of loose fitting jeans. “Battle wound, huh?” he muttered. He'd known the truth for some time, but never actually studied the faded scar under the pretense of that truth.

 

“I'm sorry I lied,” Squall said, almost shying away as his son's fingers ghosted along his abdomen.

 

Letting the loose material of the white t-shirt fall back down, Lore bowed his head against the older man. “You wouldn't have needed to lie about anything, if something like this never happened.”

 

Alarmed that such a notion would ever be given credence by his son, Squall gripped slouching shoulders and pushed the boy back. “There's nothing in my life that I'd regret more than not having you in it.”

 

Brows drawn as though about to cry, Lore simply gazed imploringly at his father. Wanting to ask if that were truly the case, he couldn't form such childish words. Instead, he settled for the time-honored expression, “I love you.”

 

“Foolish boy,” Squall whispered before sliding back to the couch and drawing the young man into a loose embrace.

 

Lore let himself be babied for the moment, forgetting his age and feeling once more like he were still smaller than his father and able to fit in the man's lap. He would of course draw the line at requesting to sleep in his father's bed, since that would just be embarrassing.

 

“I wouldn't have kept you sixteen years if I didn't want you,” Squall stated, affectionately scratching at the head of dark hair on his shoulder.

 

Biting his lip, Lore debated the consequences of being whimsical and asking who his other father was. Arms encircling the lithe frame of the war hero he knew as `Dad', he mumbled, “I want to know after all.”

 

Preferring that Lore did know, Squall was content to oblige the boy with an answer. “Seifer Almasy,” he said quietly.

 

TBC…