Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Chapter Nine ( Chapter 9 )

Defining Love

Chapter Nine

 

Mind racing faster than his body cared to keep up, Squall reflected on the night before with uncertainty. Swimming for the sake of a distraction, he'd already lost count of how many laps he'd done after only just starting.

 

“Four hundred meters in six minutes,” called a familiar voice.

 

Slowing down as he neared the starting end of the ten-lane crater of concrete called a pool, Squall tread water while looking up at Cale. Deciding it was easy enough to put goggles on and off, while too annoying to look at someone with them on, he reached up and adjusted the tinted eye protectors to rest higher on his head.

 

Smiling in greeting, the tall man from the Island Closest to Hell approached the edge of the floating brunet's lane. “With a time like that, I don't even have to spend two hours getting you to admit something is wrong.” Not intent on joining Squall for any friendly races that day, he wore a long pair of black swimming trunks and red t-shirt, strictly on duty as a coach.

 

Shaking his head, Squall dismissed the notion that something was wrong. Swimming closer, he lingered just away from the small ledge, feeling more stable without anchoring himself in place.

 

“It can't be that Lore didn't like the tickets,” Cale commented, grasping for any indication of what might be troubling the former commander.

 

“He loved them,” Squall spoke up, his thanks for the help implied.

 

“Mr. Bernhein!” a young red headed woman called from nearby the locker rooms. “Can we start with the scrimmage?”

 

Straightening up with much reluctance to redirect his attention elsewhere, Cale ran a hand through short white hair. “You can start the scrimmage when you've put in a half hour of warming up,” he grumbled just loud enough to the young woman to hear.

 

Grey-blue eyes watched observantly as the number of young women increased, each member of Cale's swim team venturing from the women's locker room, ready to begin practice. It was Saturday and just like his son had soccer practice in the morning, Orion University's swim team was booked for two hours of practice. While Squall had known such a practice was scheduled, he'd ventured a short trip to the publicly used pool on Orion's campus regardless. Admittedly, there could be no other reason to have forgone using the pool in his own apartment complex than to see Cale.

 

Returning his focus to the lithe figure effortlessly floating within an arm's reach, Cale smiled apologetically. “I can't shirk my duties today, but if you'd indulge my concern for whatever is or isn't troubling you, then we can meet up later.”

 

“It's not a problem, I knew you had practice,” Squall mumbled, concentrating on keeping his cheeks from flushing with embarrassment. He'd just sought the man out without much forethought or consideration. Usually, he made certain not to disrupt the coach's practices, but he'd been a bit mindless that morning.

 

“We won't be using more than four lanes today, so you can keep going.” Speaking slightly louder, he added, “Maybe it'll motivate them, they've been slacking lately.”

 

“We can hear you!” one of the girls called out over her shoulder.

 

“I know!” Cale returned with an amused smile.

 

“I was finished,” Squall lied.

 

“You're off today right? Let me buy you lunch later. We can meet at Lexis café again to make up for what was interrupted yesterday.” Crimson eyes held a hopeful gleam.

 

Nodding his consent, Squall swam a bit closer, intent on getting out. When he accepted the offered hand, his mind recalled something he should have thought of earlier. He remembered the odd parting kiss Cale had given him, something he hadn't decided his feelings on.

 

Masking all emotion, Squall let the larger man help him out, the sloshing of water sounding his departure from the chlorinated vat of tempered water. Feeling the gaze of many eyes upon him, he was reluctant to walk by the gathered students. Some things had never been the same after Lore's birth, even if sixteen years had already gone by. Suddenly being self-conscious under visual scrutiny was one of those things, making him loath to be around more than a few people at a time.

 

Almost giving into the urge to fidget like Zell did when told to stay in place, Squall settled to raking a cool gaze at the idling group of young women, all heads quickly turning away.

 

“Don't mind them,” Cale said knowingly. “It's probably me they're concerned with, wondering how I know you. I've refused to answer them simply for the sake of making them suffer.”

 

With a sardonic look, Squall shook his head slightly, shooting down the taller man's assuring conclusion. Grateful for wearing his baggy swimming shorts and not the speed enhancing ones that clung tightly, he knelt down grab his folded towel. Absently pulling his goggles off his head, he ruffled his hair a bit to stop it from dripping.

 

Escorting the silent brunet towards the locker rooms, Cale debated the evils of speaking up about what had happened the day before. He wondered whether his parting gesture had even registered as odd with Squall. Still, right then was not the place to bring it up. In fact, it was probably not a good idea to mention anything until whatever was bothering the stoic man was resolved.

 

With an amicable touch to the brunet's shoulder, Cale caught Squall's attention. “I'll call you when I'm done here. I can pick you up if you're not at your place.”

 

Nodding absently, Squall impassively accepted the offer. Stalking away, he disappeared around the corner of the locker room's alcove. The distant voice of one of Cale's swimmers announced that the coach was needed to start practice.

 

**

 

Brooding in silence, Squall sat at the kitchen table in his apartment. Churning events from the previous night over in his head, he wondered what Lore was thinking about at that moment.

 

The boy had been right. Something had changed, and it was Hyne's blessing that it hadn't been something between them. Squall couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew Lore was greatly troubled to learn about Seifer.

 

Stormy blue eyes stared out the window, unable to catch any glimpse of Griever's fountain while sitting down. Sighing, Squall rest his head in his hand and shut his eyes. He tried to place himself in Lore's position, attempting to figure out what might be running through the dark haired youth's mind. In some ways he could relate to the situation. He'd been seventeen when learning the identity of his father. However, being related to the kindhearted president was miles better than being related to someone the world would paint as evil in history books.

 

The night before, Lore had reeled back in shock, staring at him as though requesting he announce that it had just been a joke. And he'd been a complete idiot about it, stupidly asking if it was really so bad and attempting to assure the boy that Seifer wasn't really the sort of person most people thought.

 

He'd been left with the silence of the darkened apartment when Lore had stalked away and gone to bed. He wasn't sure if blue-green eyes had been looking at him accusatorially or if it had only been the shock.

 

With nothing to do but wait around for Cale's phone call, Squall wondered how he'd keep his mind occupied. He was entirely caught up on his mission reports, which seemed to be a cruel rarity. Headmaster Kramer refused to put him on any assignments that weren't worth his time, which meant there was no point in flying to Balamb in order to seek work when there was none.

 

As if waiting for him to wonder what he might do to take his mind off things, Squall's cell phone began to vibrate on the table's counter. There were a very select few individuals that had his number and even fewer who ever used it. Lore called him on a daily basis, whether it was to know where he was or just randomly ask what he was up to. Cale often called, though only for necessity, such as to establish plans for hanging out.

 

Picking the device up and gazing at the screen, he saw that it was Lore. Hastily, he answered the call.

 

“Hey, is practice done already?” Squall questioned in greeting.

 

“Dad,” came the young man's voice, a detectible note of hesitation. “I didn't go to practice.”

 

“…” Not sure what to say to that, Squall didn't comment. Not attending practice was Lore's prerogative, though he'd have liked to known where his son had gone instead.

 

“I'm sorry,” Lore continued.

 

Blinking in confusion, Squall eventually spoke, “It's fine. You're old enough to do what you like, but I won't be pleading your case if Nielson benches you.” His tone wasn't reprimanding, but somehow comforting despite its stern nature. It would seem that Lore wasn't upset with him, which was a great relief.

 

“No,” Lore said in correction. “I'm sorry for not telling you something. I went to see Seifer Almasy. I'm in his hotel room right now.”

 

Stunned into silence, Squall found himself unable to fathom a proper reply. Lore was in Seifer's hotel room? He wasn't entirely confident he could comprehend such a thing.

 

“Give me the damn phone,” grumbled the ex-knight.

 

“That's mine!” Lore sounded in annoyed protest, voice distant as the phone was obviously taken away.

 

“Hyne Leonhart, put a leash on this puppy dog of yours,” Seifer complained. Giving a dramatic sigh, there was a pause before the arrogant man spoke further. “I've been courteous considering the circumstances, but I can't make any promises if you don't call him off.”

 

“Hyne,” Squall muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Taking a moment to let it all settle in, he quickly straightened up and stood to leave. “What hotel?” he questioned, stalking from the kitchen.

 

“Recess Manner,” the knight grumbled with impatience. “And hurry the hell up, he doesn't look potty trained.”

 

**

 

Glowering as he scoured the premise, Squall searched the lobby of Recess Manner for his son. He'd assumed that was where Lore would be waiting, but he began to have the sinking feeling that perhaps he'd have to directly go to Seifer's room. Mildly surprised that his former rival was staying at such a place, he didn't doubt that it was only temporary.

 

Beyond the clear glass doors that slid open and shut without so much as a hiss, the large lobby consisted of blindingly bright white flooring and walls. Center stage was the concierge's station, a lone attendant dressed in some red uniform idly waiting to serve on the deserving and to spurn the occasional vagrant that wandered in.

 

There were a total of five bodies in sight. Two quickly disappeared on the flat neon blue lift beyond the checkpoint of the hotel's registry counter. With another couple on the way out, Squall was quickly left to himself, no Lore in sight.

 

Approaching the front desk, he'd successfully captured the attention of the concierge after standing near the door and searching the near empty lobby.

 

“Can I help you sir?” the middle aged man questioned with a note of distain, glancing up and down the less than appropriate attire for someone staying at such a place.

 

Squall fought the urge to roll his eyes. Dressed in a pair of dark denim jeans, navy blue t-shirt, and his bomber jacket, he cared little for the clothes men his age wore. There was little a fighter care for in appearances. He'd never admired or respected a person because they could match their tie with their socks. He respected strength.

 

“Seifer Almasy,” Squall stated in even request, ignoring the repelling gaze he was being given.

 

Making a slow progression of scanning the computer's screen, the man smiled condescendingly before reaching for the phone nearby. “One moment,” he murmured in false politeness.

 

“His room number,” Squall said before the man began to dial any numbers. If he wanted to call Seifer, he'd have done it himself.

 

“I'm afraid it's the hotel's policy that no unregistered guests wander about unless accompanied by someone staying here.”

 

Face impassive, Squall simply nodded his understanding, patiently waiting for Seifer to be called. Now that Lore knew about Seifer, what did the boy really think? Why had Lore sought Seifer out?

 

Judging from his son's tone on the phone, the only thing that troubled the young man was facing possible trouble for acting unannounced. There was no fiery rage or seething anger detectable, which was possibly more worrisome to Squall than anything else.

 

Grey-blue eyes narrowed at the sound of Seifer's elevated voice shouting from the phone. Tearing his gaze away from the empty lobby, still no sign of his son, Squall glanced with hidden amusement as the concierge held the phone away for the sake of not going deaf. Unable to make out what the ex-knight was yelling, Squall simply waited for the message to be relayed. Every so often he caught a curse word and his own name spoken, no surprise that the two accompanied each other.

 

“Leonhart,” the older man mouthed, eyes widening to stare at the pale brunet on the other side of the counter. Flustered, he tersely hung the phone up. “Mr. Almasy extends an invitation to his room.”

 

Quirking a brow, Squall gave the man a sardonic look. That was hardly all the boisterous blond had said.

 

“My apologies Mr. Leonhart, I speak for myself and this hotel in saying that we're happy to bend the rules for you. You're free to see anyone you like, and if you're interested in staying the night we have many suites available.”

 

Nodding absently, Squall found little relevance in hearing any of what he was just told, only needing to know the room number. “What room number?” he reiterated, slightly irritated that he needed to repeat himself.

 

“Room 418,” the man whose nametag declared him to be Stanley answered right away.

 

Turning without any further regard for the man, Squall calmly walked away, hands finding placement in the pockets of his jacket. Like most of Esthar, there were lifts in place of stairs and elevators, though there were obvious exceptions such as his apartment complex. Automatic lifts weren't a good thing for young children, taking them up or down without the necessary consulting of the parent. Elevators weren't wholly without a danger, but the buttons were relatively high up and he'd been fortunate that Lore had been rather afraid of the archaic form of modern day lifts.

 

In a matter of seconds, Squall was whisked away and brought to the fourth floor of Recess Manner, the gentle tug in his gut the only indication of the direction he'd gone in.

 

**

 

“It's a simple question,” Lore said, eyes following the pacing knight.

 

“What is this, a fucking interrogation?” Seifer bit out, ceasing his pacing and turning to regard the kid with his arms crossed.

 

“It's not like I don't already know,” the young man declared, eyes never wavering. He stared with a small notion of interest in this man who was supposedly his second father, someone he'd never properly met. Frame not hidden by some coat like the day before, he understood why someone like this had been able to give his father trouble during the war. It was unsettling to consider for even a moment that his height was likely a result of sharing blood with this ex-knight.

 

Scoffing the blond quipped, “Then why'd you come here?” Running a frustrated hand through lengthy hair, Seifer began to pace impatiently once again. At the almost meek knocking on the door, he crossed the room and punched the side panel to kindly welcome the puppy's master. “What the hell took so damn long?” he growled out in greeting. “I'm up here dealing with some gung ho child of yours who thinks he's a fucking private detective.”

 

Glaring, Squall expressed his irritation at the ex-knight's usual manner of insulting everything that breathed. “Perhaps it had something to do with your antagonizing him yesterday,” the brunet bit out icily, swiftly stepping around the taller man.

 

“Dad,” Lore called out, coming into view and stalking closer. With a heated glare in his eyes, a certain fiery anger that was nothing like his father's icy gaze, he hooked an arm with the concerned brunet and kept on walking.

 

Squall wasn't entirely certain what Lore was up to until the boy began to forcefully tug him toward the door, obviously intent on leaving. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Lore was the one who'd come to retrieve him.

 

Seifer stood composed near the still open door, arms crossed as his jade-green eyes stared with amusement. “What, leaving already?” the ex-knight mocked sarcastically, standing aside when the dark haired youth stormed on by. One second he couldn't get the kid to leave, and the next the brat was running away.

 

“Prick,” Lore hissed out as he passed. “There's no way my dad would have been involved with you. It's some mistake!”

 

Blanching, Squall eased his arm out of Lore's hold. “Lore,” he spoke quietly, calling the boy's angry departure to a halt. Just outside the blond man's hotel room, intense green eyes still watching them, the former commander pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Such a misunderstanding was inexcusable on his part. There was definitely something to be had about long conversations that filled in all the details. He should have explained more last night.

 

Lips pressed firmly together, the young man turned to meet the laughing gaze of the former knight. The man seemed to be mocking him just by breathing, leaning against the open doorway so leisurely like that. “Look,” he bit out grudgingly, assuming his father was prompting him to make an apology. “I'm sorry for showing up like this. It was my mistake.”

 

Seifer's expression grew rather solemn all of a sudden. There was silence between the three of them for a long span of tense seconds that just kept adding up. At length, unusually serious features softened. With a sigh, the blond spoke, “There's no mistake, kid.”

 

“Lore,” Squall spoke again. “There's something you're misunderstanding.”

 

“Of course it's a mistake,” the dark haired youth refuted vehemently, taking a step closer to the blond man, not hearing his father's quietly spoken words. “A man like you wouldn't even make it into his squadron, let alone bed.”

 

Cursing silently, Squall felt his cheeks heat. “Lore,” he said more firmly, voice rising to successfully capture the boy's attention.

 

Smirking vindictively, Seifer happily interjected, “Maybe I raped him.”

 

Grey-blue eyes narrowed at the ex-knight's words. Reaching out quickly, Squall managed to grab hold of his son before the boy launched some blinded assault on a man that wouldn't hesitate to fight back. “He's goading you,” the lithe fighter stated calmly, tightening his grip as he felt Lore try to shrug it off.

 

“I'll fucking kill you!” Lore declared for all the world to hear, eyes shooting daggers at the smirking blond while trying to escape restraint of his father's arms.

 

“Lore!” Squall shouted in turn. “Settle down.”

 

“Kill me?” Seifer lilted with mirth. “Don't throw such words around so easily. Your hands are softer than a baby's ass, just how much training do you actually have?”

 

Glaring at the antagonizing knight, Squall berated himself for letting such a situation come about. “Seifer, take care who you pick these fights with.”

 

“I think you should be preaching to that kid of yours,” the ex-knight returned, grinning wider as the ice prince let go of the rampaging brat.

 

Squall wondered how easily the bullying knight managed to cut all ties with Lore. Perhaps it was a relation based solely on blood, but even to orphans like them that meant something. Eyes widening, Squall realized for the first time that Seifer seemed to be acting more than reacting. “Careful,” the brunet said in warning, not entirely certain what spurred him to plead the other man's case.

 

Green eyes gazed in curiosity, grin faltering as he awaited whatever the pale man had to say next. “Careful of what?” he grumbled impatiently when the brunet didn't speak quickly enough.

 

“Don't push something away if you haven't even made up your mind yet,” Squall stated evenly, regarding the tanned knight with a fierce look.

 

Jaw clenching, Lore's gaze softened as he turned to look at his father. Silently questioning what the older man was talking about, he became annoyed at the way the asshole of a knight seemed to share some understanding.

 

“Perceptive little fuck, aren't you?” Seifer mumbled, not daring to blink while he held the former commander's attention completely. When it seemed like the puppy would start barking again, he smirked. “Does that frighten you?” he questioned.

 

Squall considered the question seriously, despite knowing it was mostly proposed to rile him. There had certainly been a time when he'd feared Seifer's presence in Lore's life, afraid that his role would be threatened by it. However, it had been many years since he'd last faced such a situation. Lore was sixteen and there was little threat of losing his son's affections. “I have nothing to fear,” he replied. “But it seems you do.”

 

Smirk falling, Seifer huffed indignantly. “What a bother,” he muttered.

 

Reaching out, Squall placed a hand on his son's shoulder. Seeing the dejected expression the boy had, he smiled reassuringly.

 

Reluctant to follow with such an unresolved issue still standing, Lore was powerless against the requesting eyes of his father. Settling for asking questions along the way, he followed the coolly composed SeeD down the hall.

 

“Let's have a match Leonhart!” Seifer called to his old rival's retreating back.

 

“…” Stopping, Squall turned and simply stared at the former knight. His eyes gave the obvious answer.

 

“How long will it take you to run home and grab your gear?” the blond questioned, already feeling a surge of excitement at the mere prospect of a spar.

 

Shaking his head, Squall replied, “I have a previous engagement this afternoon.”

 

“Drinks with the boyfriend?” the ex-knight mocked.

 

Squall shrugged impassively, affirming that it was indeed something along those lines. “Tomorrow,” he said.

 

Irked that some date with another man was more important than staging a fight with him after so many years, Seifer glared in return. “Tomorrow then,” he agreed tersely, hardly about to pass up the opportunity all together. “I trust you know of a good place.”

 

Nodding, Squall turned away once again, more concerned with leaving and explaining things properly to Lore than making plans for a fight.

 

Nothing seemed to be going right that day. Lore found himself shooting angry looks over his shoulder until they were out of sight of Ultimecia's knight. If he didn't know any better, he'd say half of what was said had been done without words. It was disturbing to think that a man such as Seifer Almasy could understand the things his father tried to convey. Worse yet, Cale had another date with his dad. When the hell did that happen? He shouldn't have gone out at all that morning, for practice or to seek out his absentee father.

 

Stepping onto the lift, Squall grudgingly said, “Seifer and I weren't involved like that. Whatever Ultimecia did was without both our knowledge.” Explaining that much was perhaps more morbidly embarrassing than the conversation he'd had with the boy yesterday.

 

“Then why'd he say something like that? Who jokes about raping a person?”

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall muttered darkly, “Seifer does. He's known for being able to anger anyone.”

 

Frowning, wondering if he'd indeed played into the blond man's hands, Lore stepped closer and hugged his father. “I'm sorry about this.” Just last night he'd requested not to know the identity of his other father, and then like some flippant boy without any resolve, he'd gone out the very next day to meet the man face to face.

 

Tousling short dark strands of hair, Squall felt his anxiety lift. Cautiously choosing the right words, first debating the evils of giving Lore any ideas, he admitted, “I think Seifer expected you to come to him.”

 

“What?” Lore remarked incredulously, pulling back while holding his father's narrow shoulders at arms length.

 

With a small shrug, Squall expressed his uncertainty in the matter. “It's been ten years since he was last in Esthar. I don't think he was very surprised back there.”

 

Hesitating to ask his question, Lore let his gaze fall. “Then, he's here because of me?”

 

“I don't think so,” Squall replied. “But I doubt it's been very easy to forget about you. You have to remember that he lost seven years after the war. When he came back, he had a lot to deal with, on top of learning he had a son.”

 

“He's still an asshole,” Lore affirmed, stepping off the lift as they arrived in the lobby.

 

Nodding in agreement, Squall was hardly about to refute the obvious.

 

“I kept asking him what he knew and if he were really, well you know. He wouldn't answer at all, and that's when he made me call you.”

 

“He didn't hurt you, did he?” Squall questioned, not above returning to the knight's room with his gun.

 

Grinning proudly, Lore threw an arm around his father's shoulders as they walked towards the exit. “Who could possibly hurt Commander Leonhart's son?” he questioned as though daring anyone to give a name.

 

Shaking his head, Squall was happy to leave the matter as it was. No longer in the dark about how Lore felt, he could rest easy. His so-called date with Cale left an array of other issues for him to deal with.

 

“Are you really going to fight him?” Lore questioned.

 

“A spar,” Squall corrected.

 

Silently considering this, Lore recalled hearing about how his father's sparring partner had always been Seifer Almasy. “I can come, right?”

 

Nodding, Squall was only slightly uneasy about bringing Lore along, but it had been some time since they'd last trained.

 

TBC…