Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Chapter Twelve ( Chapter 12 )

Defining Love

Chapter Twelve

 

It was Saturday morning and Squall stood in the kitchen making breakfast. Wearing two shirts, a short sleeve of red over a long sleeve of white, and a worn pair of baggy blue jeans, the events of his day were still undecided. Lore had practice at ten o'clock, and like always, needed to eat before going. His attempt to make a mental list of things he could pick up at the store proved futile when he seemed incapable of concentrating on anything else but what had happened the night before.

 

The previous night had been one of many recent disasters, but he was hopeful that the morning would bring a change.

 

Squall never understood just how harsh silence could be. He'd never related to the sort of annoyance his friends had expressed about his own less than talkative tendencies. Now he knew quite well why it was more than an annoyance. It actually hurt.

 

He and Lore had eaten dinner in silence. The boy hadn't said more than a quick `thank you' when finished. Feeling horrible about it, wanting to say something but not knowing what, Squall had been left to watch his son go to bed early. He never recalled wishing to know the ending scores of any soccer game so badly, or feeling as though shouting in anger would be a preferable scenario. He would have even preferred another awkwardly embarrassing lecture about not putting himself in situations to be raped.

 

Squall was drawn back to the task at hand when the toast finished, sounding with a popping spring. Moving about from one area to the next, he tried to keep at least part of his mind on what he was doing.

 

“Dad,” Lore spoke quietly from the kitchen's entrance.

 

Inwardly startled, Squall calmly finished placing an omelet onto a plate before turning around. Immediately noticing darkened circles beneath blue-green eyes, he wondered whether it was okay for Lore to go to practice. “Are you feeling okay?” he questioned. It was unusual for the young man to not be dressed by eight o'clock, and it was approaching nine.

 

Brows drawing together in a pained expression, Lore hurried closer. After giving his father the silent treatment over something that probably wasn't even the man's fault, he woke up to find his breakfast all prepared as though he hadn't behaved like a complete jerk.

 

“I'm sorry,” Lore said as he collided against his father's chest.

 

Uncertain for a moment, Squall eventually replied, “It's okay.” Sighing, he returned the apologetic embrace. “You look tired.”

 

Tightening his hold, Lore explained, “I couldn't sleep.” After a comforting moment, when relief finally began to set in, he commented, “You always say not to go to bed angry. Now I know why.” He'd spent the first four hours of tossing and turning with the expectation that his father would quietly knock on his bedroom door and make things right again. Then he'd realized he was sixteen years old and that if he stormed off to bed early, there was no more stealing into his father's bed for comfort later on or having the man come to him. It was a harsher lesson in practice, to learn that certain comforts were taken away as he aged.

 

“Are you okay to go to practice?” Squall questioned, ruffling short strands of dark hair as the boy pulled back.

 

“Dad,” the young man asserted firmly, ignoring his father's question. “What were you doing at Cale's apartment? You said you weren't dating.”

 

Taking a moment to figure a proper answer, Squall realized there really wasn't one. Shaking his head, he informed, “I don't know.” Had he gone to confirm that Cale saw him as more than a friend, or had he gone with the unconscious intent to expose himself to the chance of beginning something more than friendship?

 

Eyes widening in shock, Lore stared with mounting dread. “It really happened. You just woke up there.” His worst fears had come true. Drugged and left without any memory, his father had woken up in Cale's apartment. There was no telling what had happened, but he could take a few guesses.

 

Frowning, Squall shook his head again. “I went to see him to straighten something out.” Recalling the gentle nature of the professor, he tried to convey the harmlessness he detected from the man. “I've met my share of bad people. Cale isn't a bad person.”

 

Stunned once more, Lore was at least soothed to know nothing perverse had been done to his father. Nonetheless, to be pleading Cale's case and to have been at the man's apartment meant that there was something going on. “Why?” he pressed. “When you know it makes me worry, why are you around him alone? If something ever happened, I'd never forgive myself.”

 

“Lore,” Squall chastised. “If something ever happened, it wouldn't be your fault.”

 

“It would be!” Lore affirmed heatedly. “I can protect you now. I'm sixteen.” His father of all people should know of the capabilities of someone his age. If the former commander had only been seventeen when saving the world, then he could at least protect one person at sixteen.

 

“That's not how it works,” Squall stated. “I'm your dad. I protect you. No matter how much you grow up, that will always be my job.”

 

With an angry glare at the countertop behind his father, Lore protested, “That's not fair.”

 

Sighing, Squall gave a faint smile of understanding. “You can help protect what's most precious to me in this world,” he offered in compromise.

 

After a moment of staring into his father's somewhat hypnotizing eyes, Lore blushed. “Me?” he questioned meekly.

 

Nodding, Squall gave a final ruffle to dark hair before turning away and attending to the boy's breakfast. He was surprised at the hand that grasped the back of his shirt.

 

“That's not fair either,” Lore muttered. “I can't be angry at all when you say that.”

 

With a soft clatter of setting the silverware on the plate, Squall bowed his head. “Would you hate me for dating Cale?” he questioned solemnly. Perhaps he hadn't taken his son's feelings as seriously as he should have. If Lore were one hundred percent sincere about disliking Cale, then he didn't have to worry about sorting out his feelings, because there was no choice but to break his friendship altogether.

 

Fisting the back of his father's shirt, Lore stared at the back of lengthy brown hair incredulously. “What exactly did you go there to straighten out?” he inquired hesitantly.

 

“…” Squall wasn't exactly game for any discussion on the matter.

 

“Dad,” Lore pressed, tugging at the shirt in his grasp, urging the truth from his father's mouth.

 

The sound of someone knocking impatiently on the apartment door was unexpected. As both heads whipped around to stare at the kitchen's entrance, the knocking continued.

 

Angry for the interruption, Lore stalked away. “I'll get it,” he muttered darkly.

 

Sighing heavily, Squall leaned back against the counter and took a moment to think of what he could tell his son when he didn't even know what to tell himself.

 

“Greetings!” Seifer's voice called out boisterously.

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall groaned. He didn't know whether to curse the interruption or give thanks. While he had an extension to think, he now had Seifer to deal with.

 

Striding into the kitchen, Seifer grinned broadly from ear to ear. Genuinely happy, he was elated at the prospect of another spar. “Ready to fight?” His hair shortened for the single purpose of not getting in his eyes, he was dressed down in jeans and black long sleeve shirt. In his arms he held a black leather jacket, apparently intent on staying long enough to keep from overheating.

 

Gaze narrowing as he eyed the ex-knight, taking in the nostalgic sight of short golden blond hair, Squall replied, “Not quite.”

 

“It's custom to be invited in first. Otherwise it's breaking and entering,” Lore said as he stormed around the ex-knight's blocking frame to stand between the taller man and his father. “This is not your home to barge into.”

 

With a mischievous gleam to his eyes, Seifer's smile turned into a smirk. “I came here for your dad, not to play house. I promise to return him in one piece, even if I have my way with him first.” He hadn't met such a mama's boy since Dincht.

 

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” Lore bit out with a low warning in his tone.

 

“Use your imagination,” Seifer returned, humored at getting a rise out of the boy so quickly. It made him want to do more, perhaps blatantly pinch Leonhart's butt and see what mayhem followed.

 

Stepping forward, Squall gave a firm squeeze to his son's shoulder. “He's playing with you,” he soothed, calmly proceeding to walk past the antagonizing blond and place Lore's breakfast on the table at the other end of the kitchen.

 

“And you would know all about my playing,” the ex-knight quipped.

 

“…” Squall didn't reply, knowing better than anyone what Seifer's games were and how to bring an end to them.

 

“I didn't know you were sparring so early today,” Lore commented as he none too subtly stepped around the blond man, once again placing himself before his father.

 

Casting a an unappreciative glare over his shoulder at Seifer, Squall replied, “Neither did I.”

 

Eyes sparkling, Seifer stared right back. Saturday hadn't come soon enough and he'd at least had the discretion to not come knocking on Leonhart's door at midnight. “Can you blame me?” he question, his voice deeper with a serious edge.

 

Feeling leveled by the excitement he saw in Seifer's eyes, Squall stared for a long moment, unable to look away. He understood exactly how Seifer felt, though he'd had various distractions to occupy his time. There seemed so much more than excitement in the man's eyes though, something he wasn't sure he was recognizing correctly.

 

“Dad,” Lore called, eyes darting back and forth between the two older men. Bringing the staring contest to an end, he simply stepped in front of his father's line of vision.

 

Snapping back, still drawn by the odd sense of need he thought he detected in Seifer's eyes, Squall managed to say, “You should eat.”

 

Frowning, Lore stood his straightest, just in case his height wasn't enough to block the ex-knight from view. “What about him?” he questioned, not understanding how his father could take the intrusion in stride so easily.

 

“I'm not hungry, but thanks all the same,” Seifer spoke as he sidled closer. He loved the entertainment value he was given when around the doting duo. The son was sensitive to comments about Squally-boy, and if he angered the son enough, then he in turn pissed off Squally-boy. It was almost too easy.

 

“Ignore him,” Squall suggested evenly.

 

“If you're sparring, I'm going with you,” Lore stated firmly.

 

Having been distracted enough to forget about the casual agreement for another spar, Squall hadn't woken up with the intention of meeting Seifer that day. However, Seifer's rude disruption actually presented him with one of the best ways to sort his mind out. Entirely game for a spar, Squall didn't care where or when, just that it happened sometime before he met with Cale again.

 

Seeing resolute determination in blue-green eyes, the former commander conceded, “That's fine, but after practice.”

 

“You'll wait?” Lore questioned with an eager tone.

 

Squall nodded. His concern over the haggard state of his son was hardly abated though. “Are you feeling okay?” he questioned.

 

“He's fine,” Seifer answered with underlying frustration, all but waving his hands in front of Leonhart's face to draw more attention. “And why wait? Let's go now, just you and me.”

 

“I'm going too,” Lore affirmed, turning around to regard the taller man. It was a sad day for anyone who presumed to sway his father's choice when he was involved.

 

“Why?” Seifer said in complaint. “It'll be he exact same thing you saw before. You'll get bored.”

 

Crossing his arms, Lore shot back, “If it's so boring, then why are you so eager to do it?”

 

“`Cause it feels so damn good,” Seifer lilted lewdly, his eyes once again locking onto Leonhart's to express something he couldn't put into words.

 

With a temper that seemed to become short fused around the ex-knight, Lore's fists clenched and he feared that if he uncrossed his arms he'd wind up throwing a punch. “Stop looking at him like that,” he ordered.

 

“Like what?” Seifer questioned, intense gaze still boring into stormy blue depths. There was almost something palpable between them, something unidentifiable but that he felt he'd understand better if he could just kept looking. He was excited to fight again, to feel the thrill of battle that had been missing for so long, but there was definitely something else.

 

“Like you want to jump him,” Lore pointed out bluntly. “What are you, gay?”

 

Eyes narrowing, Seifer's focus was effectively broken. Giving the dark haired youth an ill-humored glare, he jibed, “Straight as I am, I might make an exception to bang your dad.”

 

“If you lay a finger on him-” Lore began in warning, but was cut off.

 

“Seifer, you're thirty-five years old. Try acting your age,” Squall reprimanded, feeling as though he understood Irvine's complaints about siblings that couldn't get along. When the former knight opened his mouth to protest, he held up a hand and added, “Being born an asshole is no excuse.”

 

“Ouch puberty boy, that hurts coming from you,” Seifer retorted.

 

With a sardonic gaze, Squall conveyed the message that he had no patience for games, least of all the kind that upset his son. “This isn't my dorm room, you can't just sneak in every time you feel like it.” He recalled the last time Seifer had snuck into his apartment and the less than pleasant events that had ensued.

 

Scoffing, Seifer reminded, “I told you the security was lax.”

 

“Dorm room?” Lore remarked incredulously. “He used to sneak into your dorm room?”

 

“Only on cold and lonely nights,” the blond announced proudly.

 

“Don't start,” Squall said impassively, walking towards the kitchen entrance. He'd already warned Lore about Seifer, and wasn't going to repeat himself about how half of what the man said was a lie and all of it intended to incite anger.

 

Moving to follow, Lore questioned, “Where are you going?”

 

“My phone's ringing,” the former commander replied, steps never faltering as he left the pair alone on the hopes that they wouldn't kill each other. He hadn't seen Seifer act so antagonistic towards anyone since Zell, and it was slightly disturbing for him to witness while knowing that Lore was the man's son.

 

With oddly matching frowns, it took the other two a silent moment to actually hear the phone ringing distantly. Suddenly left to themselves, the atmosphere grew terribly tense and awkward, much the same as it had been on their meeting on the street outside the café.

 

“Now we're even,” Seifer said, strolling closer to the table and taking a seat. “You barged into my hotel room, so I came here for a visit.” Far from the truth, it served to break the silence. As he'd originally declared, his intentions were to retrieve his sparring partner. He was not a man of patience and couldn't wait another hour before clashing blades with Leonhart. Ever since the previous Saturday, there had been desire and need building within him at an exponential rate. He suspected it had been there all along, but that single day of sparring had stirred it all up and opened a tap that couldn't be closed.

 

Glaring at the back of the ex-knight head, Lore stalked closer and grabbed his plate from in front of the man. Taking a seat, he made a point of claiming that the food was his. “My dad doesn't have the time to appease your whims, even if you're an old friend.”

 

Barking with laughter, Seifer refuted, “We've never been friends kid. We've been rivals since the day his sorry ass first showed up in Arc.”

 

“And spending time with someone you don't like is the best way to relive your youth?” Lore quipped, berating himself for nearly leaving his argument for the sake of asking what `arc' was.

 

“Hardly,” the blond said. “There's no reliving what you're already living pipsqueak. When you're old enough to not get thrown out of a bar, then you can presume to say I'm not youthful.”

 

Lore scoffed. “You look twice my dad's age.”

 

Sore about his age, having lost seven years and only feeling twenty-something, Seifer defended, “Manual labor under the sun, you half-wit. I was a fisherman.” The constant squinting had left him with prominent crows feet that stuck out like a sore thumb in contrast to the rich tan of the rest of his skin.

 

“I'm sorry, was I supposed to know anything about you?” the young man questioned.

 

Seifer gave a half smirk. While they hadn't properly hashed out the issue of him being the kid's dad, he knew that no one was shedding any tears over it. “It's a little late to start feeling abandoned when you obviously love having Leonhart all to yourself.”

 

Pretending he didn't hear the man's words, Lore continued, “Most men these days don't mind using some sort of wrinkle cream.”

 

Having had his fill of remarks about his age, Seifer sat forward and leaned close over the table. “Maybe you're right. Think of the versatility. It could get rid of wrinkles and lube your dad's ass up nice and good for when I fuck his brains out.”

 

Stunned into silence, Lore stared wide-eyed. He debated how easily he could plead self-defense, his hands edging to pick his plate up with the intention of smashing it over the man's head.

 

Squall entered the kitchen again, the look on Lore's face all he needed to understand how the unfamiliar pair had gotten along. Coming up behind Seifer, he promptly smacked the man's head. “Stop it,” he ordered.

 

“Well what about him then?” Seifer immediately protested, rubbing sorely where he'd been hit.

 

“Lore,” Squall said, the stern tone in his voice effectively wiping the victorious smirk off the boy's face. “I've already told you that he does it to make you angry. Don't play into his hands so easily.”

 

Head downcast, Lore sulked and obediently set to work on his omelet, hash browns and toast. Taking the time to calm himself, believing that his father was right and that the man was simply using empty words, he tried to refocus his thoughts. Cale was a more pertinent problem.

 

Squall took the opportunity of not being monitored to bend down and put an end to the particular subject of taunting the ex-knight was using. Lips ghosting over the man's ear to make certain he wasn't over heard, he whispered, “The day you try to fuck my brains out is the day I castrate you, so consider it carefully.”

 

Ready with a retort about loving a challenge, Seifer held his tongue. He was overcome by a variety of confounding sensations. An oddly pleasant shudder ran through him. Warmth spread from his ear and down his neck as his mind kept recalling the brief feel of lips brushing against him. Quickly, his brain caught up and screamed that it had been a seriously warped reaction.

 

“Who called?” Lore questioned quietly, looking up with a sort of dejected uncertainty. He wondered if it were Cale.

 

Fingers running through short strands of raven hair that were ever so slightly flattened on one side, Squall tried to impress that becoming angry was not a sin. “Your grandfather,” he answered as he walked across the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of coffee.

 

“Was it about my game Monday?” Lore questioned casually, his hand on autopilot as his stomach became more interested in food than conversation.

 

“There's some conference,” Squall supplied in excuse, the two of them already knowing that Laguna was likely on the verge of tears trying to reschedule in order to make Lore's soccer game. When rescheduling failed, it resulted in frustration and endless apologies.

 

Shrugging, Lore expressed that it once again didn't matter. “You'll be there, right?”

 

“Of course,” Squall returned, placing the pot of coffee back in place. Over the past ten years, he'd missed a grand total of four games. Work was second to his son.

 

Out of place, Seifer was occupied in a world of his own, where he was obsessed with figuring out what had just happened with the whole lips to his ear and body going haywire.

 

Squall gave the blond man a once over. “I'm not sparring until later,” he said suggestively, hinting that perhaps Seifer should go about his day's business and meet up with him later.

 

Seifer didn't reply. He had a slue of comments in mind, but couldn't use them.

 

Mistaking the ex-knight sudden sobered demeanor for disappointment, Squall extended a hospitable hand and poured the man a cup of coffee. “How do you like it?” he questioned, his voice level not compensating for the added distance between them but capable of being heard all the same.

 

Jade-green eyes widened. How did he like it? He liked it rough and hard, and not involving another man in any way. Swallowing thickly, Seifer took a long moment before answering. “Sugar,” he finally replied.

 

“Dad, what's `arc'?” Lore questioned, his nagging curiosity forcing him to find out.

 

Wondering for a moment where the boy had heard about that, he strode over to the table and offered the ex-knight the drink. “It was a nickname for Matron's orphanage,” he muttered, giving the blond a half-hearted glare for mentioning it.

 

“What's it mean?” the young man pressed, loath to witness some secret understanding between the blond man and his father whilst he remained on the outside.

 

Sipping his coffee, Seifer gained some level of calm, regaining his ability to think straight. Feigning normalcy, he grinned with an air of being omniscient, flaunting that he knew while the boy didn't. “Arc is short for A.R.C. It stands for Abandoned Rock Central,” he informed.

 

Hardly satisfied with receiving an answer, Lore was reassured by the lack of sadness in his father's eyes.

 

“You see,” Seifer persisted. “Centra is the rockiest place there is and we were like littering rocks all over the place. It fit.”

 

“Enough,” Squall said, not looking to paint his childhood in any dark colors.

 

“What?” Seifer remarked defensively. “Afraid I'll tell him about how much of a crybaby you were?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Squall muttered, “Hardly.”

 

 

TBC…