Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Chapter Ten ( Chapter 10 )

Defining Love

Chapter Ten

 

Back from the confrontation with Seifer, Squall leaned back against the anchored island counter in the kitchen. Lore was taking a shower, ensuring his privacy while receiving a call from Cale.

 

Feeling as though he'd dodged a bullet somehow, Squall flipped his phone shut after talking briefly with the man his son disapproved of. They would not be hanging out that day. One of the girls on the swim team had had an accident on her way home, and for whatever reason, the coach had been summoned to take care of things at the hospital. It was quite likely that Cale would have gone even if he weren't needed. The white haired man was similar to Laguna in many ways, just not nearly as much of a klutz.

 

Squall's mind had been so busied with thoughts pertaining to Lore that he'd suppressed everything concerning Cale. Now that his fears were abated as far as losing ground with his son, he was obsessed with the strange feelings about the previous day. While the young woman's accident was unfortunate, he had more time to consider his unclear feelings and decide exactly what it all meant.

 

It was just a kiss on the cheek, something so simple that he was beginning to feel ridiculous for stressing over it. Yet, he knew there was more to it. Lore was a very perceptive young man, which meant he couldn't wholly disregard his son's assumptions that Cale liked him in that way.

 

He'd known the former presidential secretary for a solid year. During a time when he'd begun to assume it was okay to dedicate his life solely to Lore, it was Cale's kinship that reminded him he couldn't possibly live each day isolated from everyone in the world just because they weren't a stone's throw away. Irvine and Selphie had moved away and while he certainly enjoyed Laguna's company, he'd needed more than a friendly presence. He'd needed a friend, someone who didn't care if he was cold or silent, but wouldn't babble ceaselessly for hours at a time.

 

Selphie and Irvine were in Trabia. Zell and Quistis were in Balamb. Ellone and Rinoa were in Centra. And he was in Esthar. He liked Esthar, despite working in Balamb. Lore had school and friends there, and he felt it was a sin to even consider having a place to stay that wasn't under the same roof as his son. With an airship, the commute for the infrequent missions was hardly an inconvenience. However, when it came to visiting others, he was incapable of making the first move and not everyone had an airship at their disposal. Thusly, in no time at all, when Irvine and Selphie had departed for Trabia five years ago, close friends had become more like acquaintances, which was only lonely because during that short period after the war he'd known what a full house felt like.

 

Squall supposed that his brief run ins with Cale had escalated because his visits to Laguna's office had increased with his need to be around someone. It wasn't that he was a friendly person himself, but that just having someone in the same room for a few minutes did a lot to distract him from his often brooding thoughts. He usually just listened to his father prattle on, rather fond of the smile constantly on the older man's face.

 

Then one day, Laguna had run out for a few minutes, and he'd been left with no one nearby except the crimson-eyed secretary that he'd hardly spoken more than a greeting to. Cale had taken the initiative to talk, at first only assuring him that the president wouldn't be gone for long.

 

He couldn't recall how it had happened or the exact words they'd exchanged, but before he'd known it, he'd found himself sipping coffee while listening to the man talk about becoming a teacher. There was a certain eloquence and sincerity to Cale's words that was refreshing. And there was never any pressure to contribute more to their conversations, or any awkwardness when he didn't speak at all.

 

Squall wouldn't say that Cale understood him best in any particular regard, but rather accepted him and all his unsociable tendencies. It hadn't been until the tall man of unique heritage had left Laguna's payroll that they'd begun to see each other in more than a coincidental fashion. It went from being in the same place at the same time, to sharing certain interests and exploiting those interests for the sake of slowly building some relationship.

 

It was disgruntling to believe that there was any romance amidst whatever Cale felt for him, but at the same time it wasn't necessarily repelling. It had been far too long since Squall last dealt with such matters. Rinoa had been his only steady girlfriend, but even that hadn't been normal since he'd been pregnant throughout most of their relationship. A few dates over the years were more suited for being considered one night stands than anything else. He had always been unable to commit when he simply didn't care.

 

When in doubt, Irvine was his best bet. The gunman was what Selphie liked to call his `wingman', but he preferred to consider best friend. He supposed it was all the same.

 

Eyeing the phone still clasped in his hand, Squall debated the evils of actually summoning Irvine out in person. With Hanna and Terri out of the house, he imagined it wasn't a huge inconvenience. Then again, he was assuming Irvine didn't already have plans.

 

“Dad,” Lore questioned as he entered the kitchen. “What are you doing?” Hair damp and sticking on end from gruffly drying it with a towel, the boy approached his father with the intention to convince the man to join him in getting his permit and buying a car.

 

Frowning as he continued to stare at his cell phone, Squall stood straight and stopped leaning against the counter. “Being indecisive,” he answered, silently berating himself for letting so many matters bother him. Seifer being back was an understandable thing to become hung up on, but he couldn't let one problem create some snowballing effect on him.

 

“About what?” Lore questioned with interest, sidling close and taking a glance at the cell phone in his father's hand, thinking it had been something else.

 

Shaking his head as if ridding himself of whatever was bothering him, Squall reached out and tousled Lore's hair. “Dry it properly or you'll catch a cold,” he chastised softly, earning himself a pouting glare for dodging the question.

 

Biting his lip in a learned habit, Lore cast a saddened glance downward. “Is it `cause I went to see him? It's not like I want him in my life or anything, it's just that I was curious.”

 

Sighing, Squall assured, “It would be okay if you wanted to get to know him.” While he truly felt that it would no longer be the end of the world if Lore actually wanted to weather some type of relationship with Seifer, he highly doubted that's what the boy wanted after departing from the hotel with a stream of curses directed at the ex-knight.

 

Lips pressed together in disapproval, Lore reached out and hugged the pale man. Currently in a transitional stage of life where he wasn't sure he wanted to be bigger than his father, missing the days when he crawled into the man's lap and felt nothing safe comfort, he found there was a particular warmth in being the one to draw his father into hugs instead. “I only want you,” he spoke reverently, hoping to sooth whatever doubts there might be that he loved his father any less.

 

Blushing slightly, Squall began to wonder if Lore turning sixteen was the beginning of some new phase. Perhaps he should be proud that the boy had matured enough to not always play the part of the child. Then again, perhaps it was him who was being immature, something in his demeanor forcing Lore to take up the role.

 

Nodding hesitantly, Squall pondered at the gentle warmth the youth's words created in him. He hadn't really thought he was still hung up on what had happened earlier that day, but perhaps he'd been wrong. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd left matters unresolved in light of dealing with something else.

 

“Grandpa will be here soon. Will you come with us?” Lore requested hopefully, releasing his hold.

 

Straightening up, Squall gave a subtle smile. “I'm going to see Irvine today.”

 

Wanting to question why his father was going to see his uncle, Lore's interrogation was brought to a halt before it began when the knocking at the door sounded his grandfather's arrival.

 

“Don't let your grandpa drive,” Squall said quietly, suddenly filled with an apprehension involving his son in a car that Laguna piloting.

 

Nodding his understanding, Lore assured, “We're just going to pick it out. Besides, I want you to be the first one to teach me anything.”

 

 

**

 

Scowling as a result of not knowing what else to do, Squall planted his feet apart and gripped the hilt of his revolver blade more tightly. “Stop it,” he ordered from his place, roughly five running strides from the smiling ex-knight.

 

“Stop what?” Seifer asked innocently, his smile only widening.

 

“That,” Squall said, protesting the smile on the other man's face. It was creeping him out. “Stop smiling.”

 

Laughing as he gave a testing swing of his gunblade, a worthy model that was only replacing the one he'd never get back, Seifer enjoyed the moment for all its worth. He couldn't help but smile, standing across form Squally-boy once again, the rush of battle stirring as the dawning moment approached. On top of it all, he'd managed to agitate the composed lion without even saying anything.

 

Gritting his teeth, Squall glared, none too happy with the obvious enjoyment Seifer seemed to be taking from it all. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy a good spar, but he'd never had to deal with a partner that seemed to be mooning over the activity.

 

“Kick his ass Dad!” Lore cheered, smirking victoriously at the faltering smile of the ex-knight.

 

Seated a fair distance away, Lore watched with growing excitement. He'd never actually watched his dad spar with anyone before. Training cadets hardly counted. This was like a real fight, where the former commander wouldn't hold back for the sake of not hurting an inexperienced partner.

 

For all the many activities and sports that went on in the world, there really wasn't any designated ground for gunbladists to practice. In any garden, there was a training center that sufficed, but there were no arenas or courts specifically designed to accommodate a spar between bladists. Using the grassy fields that were needed by others was out of the question considering the deep gouges and divots Squall and Seifer were likely to create. There was also no guarantee that they wouldn't do damage something as hard as a concrete ground.

 

In the end, Squall had requested the use of Laguna's estate. It would be private and any damage was automatically covered. There were some benefits to being the president's son that Squall would take advantage of, especially given the rare occasion.

 

The staging for their supposedly friendly spar was basically Laguna's backyard. The president was deeply depressed about not being able to be present, but there were the occasional days when Laguna just couldn't up and leave, which seemed to surprise the man even after roughly thirty-five years of dealing with the time consuming occupation of running an entire country.

 

The plush green grass that encompassed the large area was bordered by tall hedges, beyond which was a garden that Squall had already declared to be off limits. If they meandered that way, it was understood that they were to correct their path, no matter how engrossing the spar might become. Aside from keeping away from the professionally tended garden, the actual estate was also off limits. Other than that it was a free for all. Naturally, Lore had been given strict orders not to become involved in any way.

 

The day was partly cloudy, the air crisp and at a temperature oddly chill for the late spring. But winter seemed to have run long, the past week having been rather chilly altogether. Now, it was perfect for training outside, almost as though Seifer's random appearance in Esthar was predestined by some omniscient being.

 

In truth, Squall was fairly excited himself, though he was currently far more aggravated than anything else. It had been sixteen years since he'd last faced Seifer and there was no coincidence in it having been just as long since last having a good challenge.

 

Feeling somewhat nostalgic, Squall paid homage to the occasion by wearing what he did in the field. It wasn't his trademark, just the most functional for fighting. His black leather pants and plain white t-shirt, fitting much the same as always if only slightly more baggy. With his many belts in place, he felt the familiar weight at his hips, centering his balance when taking various stances. Lore had his jacket. He was far too attached to the garment to allow for any more patch jobs to be done.

 

Likewise, Seifer wore what felt most natural during battle. No longer having access to SeeD uniforms and the endless supply of training gear, he wore a simple pair of dark denim jeans. With a black t-shirt that fit his frame well, complimenting a build that took years of training and endless upkeep, he was happy to show what manual labor did.

 

“You junctioned?” Seifer questioned as he took his stance, pointing the tip of his sharp weapon at the former commander.

 

Rolling his eyes, Squall informed, “Guardian Forces are strictly for the use of Garden.”

 

Shrugging, Seifer commented, “That wouldn't have stopped me.”

 

Giving the ex-knight a sardonic glare, Squall silently reminded that there was huge difference between the two of them. Playing by the rules was his forte and doing the exact opposite had always been Seifer's.

 

“Point taken,” the blond grumbled, chuckling seconds later when stormy blue eyes widened slightly, surprised at his having read the brunet's thoughts.

 

“Whatever,” Squall muttered, narrowing his gaze when the taller man seemed to find his expression amusing.

 

“En garde,” Seifer warned with a wide grin, eyes practically shining and fingers tightening with the forced restraint of not launching a premature assault.

 

Frowning, Squall abstained from informing the blond that they weren't fencing. Instead, he took a deep breath, focusing himself. The stances came naturally. There was little need to consciously keep his form in check, so he directed his efforts as needed. Calculating the setting, the mood and mindset of his opponent, strengths and weaknesses he needed to be conscientious of throughout the entire exchange. It was easier said than done, but he felt confident he still knew his rival well enough to rely on past information.

 

Patiently, Squall waited. It was as he closed his eyes and listened intently to his surroundings that the tacit announcement of not making the first move was made. Feet firmly planted, while crouching enough to not remain rooted if a quick attack came, he held his blade aloft with both hands.

 

Standing near his grandfather's house, which was basically one big stone mansion, Lore anxiously gripped the hem of his baggy navy blue hoodie. He stared avidly, trying to absorb it all. His wanted to move closer, but remained obediently in place. Unable to blink even for a second, he wondered why his father closed his eyes, almost afraid of what not being able to see would do.

 

All at once it began. The distance between the two fighters seemed to close instantly as Seifer rushed forward. The first violent clash of blades actually startled Lore. The sound echoed through the air. It was as unexpected as it was expected, and inexplicable at the same time.

 

Enthralled with a nervous sense of forbidding, blue-green eyes stared as though hypnotized. His father's blade slid along the ex-knight's, smoothly disconnecting and sweeping past the first assault.

 

Seifer gave Leonhart no time find any purchase, blindly swinging his blade as he turned to face his opponent. Their spots exchanged, his blade ghosted the air above the dodging brunet's head. Open for an attack and knowing it, Seifer followed the momentum of his heavy weapon and used it to take him more swiftly from vulnerable position. Seeming to leap away just in time, he smirked at the sight of grass blades cut down the barest of a centimeter.

 

Mouth agape, Lore was lost. He couldn't even follow all the movements. He could see it well enough, but the pair would strike and dodge all at once it seemed. When he finally registered what happened, about five other moves had already been made.

 

Gulping, Lore felt his throat become rather dry. “This is insane,” he mumbled to himself.

 

It was a nerve-wracking realization for Lore that his father might not win. There stood more than a slim chance that this ex-knight might wind up breaking his father's blade with those brutally harsh attacks.

 

Swallowing thickly again, Lore was amazed at his father's ability to counter so many fierce strikes. It seemed physically impossible for a man of relatively small stature to deftly defend and strike against an opponent of frightening strength.

 

With an excited grin, Lore remembered just how awesome his father really was. The man was the former commander of the most well reputed Garden in existence, savior of the free world, and the person he cared for the most.

 

Perspiration began to show on Squall's brow as he continued to exert himself in blocking all of Seifer's attacks. His moment was coming soon though, and both of them knew it.

 

Seifer readied himself for the quick-footed fighter's next level. When he swiped his weapon downward in a dangerous arc that would have severed the brunet's arm clean off, the sudden absence of his target was the signal. Now the little lion really started to dance, and he needed to keep his wits about him lest the guile man draw him into a trap.

 

All at once the fight changed. Seifer couldn't land a hit when Squall didn't stay in place for more than a fraction of a second. Likewise, Squall couldn't land a hit when he was moving around so much. At some point, when the former commander could manage to move more than two steps ahead, then he'd attack. It was just a matter of waiting for the blond knight to lose stamina and slow a bit more.

 

Seifer knew the tactic well, but was powerless against it. If he tried to break loose, it would give the brunet an opening. If he tried to go faster, he'd come up short and tire himself out all the quicker.

 

Narrowed green eyes cast a furtive glance to take in his exact positioning. Smirking on the inside, Seifer dove to the side and came up before the seven-foot hedges blocking whatever precious flowers lay beyond from view. He could just imagine the angry glint to stormy blue eyes, and he felt all the more pleasure in swiftly hacking at the thick foliage.

 

With a new escape made, Seifer didn't hesitate to move out of bounds, knowing the little lion was sure to follow.

 

Growling his frustration, Squall leapt over the remnants of the hedge, briefly wondering if the stub could be turned into some sort of pathway. As luck would have it they were not trampling on the president's garden, though given the unpredictability of the match, such an end was quite possible.

 

Squall's fleeting distraction proved dangerous as he narrowly managed to dodge the ex-knight's blade upon landing. Focusing once more, he fought to regain the upper hand. If he kept blocking Seifer's blade, his arms would start going numb. It was a fierce strength to contend with, something he'd learned early on in their days training together.

 

“Had enough?” Seifer jibed jovially, crashing his weapon downward and meeting the smaller man's. Pushing forward he watched as the lithe figure shook with exertion, threatening to buckle.

 

Glaring with an icy cold frost rimming steely irises, Squall felt a wave of stubborn resolve keep him from backing down. Standing his ground as best he could, he refused to be brought to his knees.

 

Seifer watched a bead of sweat roll down the pale man's jaw line. Full bowed lips were parted while panting under the strain. Granted he was winded himself, but it seemed so much more significant in the former commander.

 

Grunting as he put forth the effort, Squall twisted around and crouched low. Now within the blond's strike zone, he let the man finish the swing with its lost momentum and promptly elbowed the ex-knight in the stomach.

 

Doubling over at the unexpected move, Seifer at least managed to make use of the brunet's proximity. It had been a risky hit, and he'd show the consequences of striking at such a close range.

 

Dropping his gunblade, Seifer latched on to the fleeing commander just in time. Still waging a battle to gain his breath back, he kept his hold tight.

 

Stubborn to a fault, Squall refused to drop his weapon even with his arms pinned to his sides. It wasn't until the pain of being repeating punched in the forearm came that he eventually lost his grip.

 

Gunblades forgotten, it became a less staged fight of grappling limbs. Squall struggled to break free while Seifer struggled to keep his hold.

 

“Admit defeat!” Seifer shouted, wincing as he was met with the back of the brunet's head.

 

Keeping his mouth closed for the sake of not biting his tongue, Seifer silently shouted a stream of curses as he barely managed to keep his hold. Uplifting the flailing body, he wondered if shaking the man about like a rag doll would settle the thrashing lion down.

 

The spar was brought to an abrupt end however. All at once, Seifer met with the edge of an unnoticed fountain, tripping and taking Squall with him. With a splash, the fighting pair found themselves suddenly stunned into calm behavior. The gushing had seemed to be in the background, but the heat of battle had blinded them both to their surroundings.

 

Now the water that sprayed forth from some sort of chubby cherub seemed quite loud, as if mocking their blunder. To further add to disgrace, the water was freezing.

 

With a groan, Seifer clambered to his feet. Cursing, he glanced at the spent brunet, idly sitting in what was a good two feet of water as if sulking. Loath to end the rare spar in such a manner, the ex-knight tackled his unprepared rival.

 

“Seifer!” Squall shouted, feeling that they should at least leave the fountain. Pushed beneath the water's surface, he tried to find leverage to push the larger man off with his legs.

 

Naturally, it was hardly Seifer's intention to drown Leonhart. Still, he kept himself in place as if to threaten as much. Letting the brunet back up for air, he straddled the lithe body while pinning uncooperative arms above the man's head. He was confused when grey-blue eyes stared up at him in cold fury but all struggling ceased.

 

Squall was a patient person. He knew without a doubt what was coming and it would be any second now. Calmly, he stayed in place and simply tried to catch his breath.

 

Eyes narrowing, Seifer glared. “Admitting defeat?” he questioned, not understanding why the brunet had stopped struggling.

 

Returning the glare with an offended edge, never one to be defeated so easily, Squall almost smirked. “Watch out,” he muttered with underlying mirth, his warning far too late.

 

“Bastard!” Lore cried, throwing himself headlong at the ex-knight and tackling the man off of his father.

 

With another splash, Seifer found himself in a similar position to the one he'd put Squall in. The difference being that once the painful sting of a single punch was made to the side of his jaw, the weight atop him was removed.

 

Lore scrambled off the blond knight, hurrying to his father. Dropping down to kneel at the drenched brunet's side, he immediately reached out to help the man stand. “Are you okay?” he questioned.

 

“I'm fine,” Squall answered. Though easily able to stand on his own, he didn't shrug his son's arms away.

 

Cold and wet, Squall was disappointed with the end of the spar. Expectantly, he glanced over at an equally soaked ex-knight. Gazing for a moment into striking green eyes, he knew the feeling was mutual. They both wanted to go again, not having experienced anything close to it in years.

 

Grinning, Seifer questioned, “Ready for round two?”

 

A ghost of a smile passed over Squall's lips. With a nod, he moved towards the edge of the fountain.

 

“What?” Lore questioned, following his father at close range. “You're soaked. Do you know how easily you'll end up catching a cold like this?” he chastised.

 

“He's fine,” Seifer reiterated before his rival could.

 

“Dad, do want to at least get changed?” Lore suggested, feeling up for a set of dry clothes himself. There was bound to be more than enough stuff in his grandfather's estate.

 

With understanding in his eyes, Squall turned his focus to Lore. Slightly surprised at the discouragement to continue sparring, he was torn between appeasing the dark haired youth and fighting Seifer.

 

Seeing he had the upper hand of holding the man's affections in the palm of his hand, Lore made a compromise. While he was fairly soaked himself, it was mainly his pants and the front of his sweatshirt. Peeling his hoodie off, he offered it to his father.

 

Chuckling darkly, Seifer complained, “Don't take away the eye candy brat, I can see right through his shirt.”

 

Glaring cold fire, Lore looked ready to pick his father's blade up and challenge the tall blond himself, despite not being skilled enough. Stepping closer, he blocked his father from view and practically forced the hoodie down over the former commander's head.

 

“Lore,” Squall mumbled from beneath folds of navy blue material. “What are you going to wear?” he pointed out, grappling with the baggy garment to find the right hole his head was supposed to go through.

 

“I'm fine,” Lore returned with amusement. “I'll wear your jacket,” he elaborated when grey-blue eyes seemed unamused.

 

**

 

The day had dwindled, one hour bleeding into the next. Seifer and Squall couldn't recall how many times they'd gone at it, only that the desire for more still coursed through their bodies.

 

Sweaty and tired, the two decided to call it quits when the light of the sun was gone and neither felt certain they could stand properly. Sated for the moment, it was almost a certainty that such a day could not only come around every sixteen years.

 

Without cause or prompting, Seifer began laughing. Sprawled out on the ground, muscles sore and bruised all over, he simply laughed. It was truly a pleasure, an addicting one at that. “Same time tomorrow?” he questioned, knowing he wasn't the only one who wanted more.

 

Filled with disappointment suddenly, Squall cursed at not having the free time. “I can't. There's a mission.”

 

Groaning as he sat up, Seifer took in their surroundings, wondering if anyone would be able to fix what they'd done.

 

“Next Saturday,” Squall suggested in a quiet voice.

 

“It's a date,” Seifer said loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. With amusement, he watched as the angry guard dog stalked closer, the scowl being one of a kind that could only be inherited.

 

Scowling in turn, Squall expressed his dislike for the blond picking on his son. “Could you maybe not be a complete ass around him?” the brunet bit out tersely, emphasizing the `him' to remind Seifer that Lore was very much the man's own son.

 

“It doesn't matter,” Lore said defiantly, making a show of tendering his father while ignoring the other man. “If he doesn't care, then neither do I.”

 

“Lore,” Squall mumbled, searching his son's eyes for some flicker of refuting truth. Did the boy really feel that way? Was it just him who felt that it would be impossible to ignore the sharing of blood with someone? Considering people called him an ice prince, it was surprising that everyone else seemed to not care.

 

TBC…