Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Chapter Fifteen ( Chapter 15 )

Defining Love

Chapter Fifteen

 

Monday morning in the Leonhart residence began at eight o'clock, exactly thirty minutes before Lore's first period class started. In a rush to shower and dress, the sophomore high school student stumbled about in a half sleeping daze to get ready.

 

“Dad, have you seen my keys?” the young man called from inside his bedroom.

 

In the kitchen, Squall dried his hands with a dish towel while contemplating the most likely place of his son's keys. “Check your pants from yesterday,” he suggested, not certain he'd spoken loud enough to be heard. Generally a very quiet speaker when he actually said something, his headache made sure he didn't go above a certain level.

 

There was a long moment of silence before Lore responded, “Thanks, I found them.”

 

Setting a small plate on the kitchen table, Squall's task of fixing Lore's breakfast was pretty much over only a few minutes after it had begun. A couple slices of toast were hardly a hardy meal, but it could be eaten on the go and didn't take long to prepare.

 

About to fix himself a cup of coffee, familiar knocking at the door drew Squall away. With his face already a mask of cool indifference, he stalked to out of the kitchen and across the main flat of the apartment. Wrenching the door open, his eyes rose to glare at the blond ex-knight.

 

Standing in a pair of casual black slacks and muscle contouring green sweater, Seifer barely managed to contain himself at the unwelcome greeting. There was something inexplicably amusing in everything Leonhart did, even opening the door with an icy glare in place. “Come now Leonhart, let's let bygones be bygones.”

 

Crossing his arms and shifting to lean to the side a bit, Squall gazed wryly. “You can buy me a new phone today,” he said flatly in greeting.

 

“Is this about breaking your phone? Or is it about what happened in the car?” Seifer asked innocently. “I dropped my phone on accident.”

 

“…” Grey-blue eyes simply stared, bowed lips neither smiling nor frowning.

 

“Are you gonna invite me in or not?” the blond questioned, having already taken his coat off, just in case his arrogant demeanor didn't relay the message that he would be entering invited or not.

 

Quirking a brow, Squall commented, “I doubt I have a choice.” Turning around, he walked away from the open door.

 

Grinning broadly, Seifer stepped into the apartment. “Are those the same clothes you wore yesterday?” he queried, his tone seeming to imply something lewd.

 

“Long night,” Squall muttered in excuse.

 

“Dad, what time is it?” Lore's voice called out.

 

“Learn to read a clock!” Seifer shouted back, happily anticipating the adverse reaction the kid would he showing any second.

 

Looking heavenward, Squall prayed for patience. “Seifer, this morning is the worst possible time to be pushing Lore around.” Glancing back, he shot the ex-knight a reproachful gaze. “Please,” he said, requesting civility instead of choosing to ignore the taunting.

 

Frowning, Seifer stopped in his tracks. “I'll be a good boy if I get a cookie,” he offered jokingly.

 

“…” Squall sighed.

 

Rushing out into the living room, shirttail hanging out of his black slacks and tie hanging undone around an unbuttoned collar, Lore gazed balefully at the ex-knight. “What are you doing here?” he hissed.

 

Eyes lighting up, Seifer prepared to answer, but hesitated right before his sharp tongue could form a reply. Sighing, shoulders slouching dramatically, the blond answered, “Cell phone shopping.”

 

Tucking his shirt in, the dark haired youth approached his father. “I think I should take the train,” he said, flawlessly ignoring the presence of the ex-knight.

 

“It's after eight, you'd have to transfer at the junction,” Squall pointed out, setting to work on fixing his son's collar.

 

Shirt tucked in neatly, Lore stood still while his dad did his tie, something he found impossible to do correctly. “All the parking spots are gone by now. It'll take twice as long to find a spot and walk from it than it would transferring trains.”

 

Shaking his head, Squall assured, “I'll drive you.”

 

“No, it's fine,” Lore returned. “Even if I'm late, it's only study hall.”

 

Eye twitching in annoyance, Seifer grew greatly annoyed over the apparent disregard for his entire existence. “If it's study hall, just skip it,” he suggested, demanding to be let in on the conversation.

 

Lore cast a heated glare over his shoulder, incidentally messing his father up. “No one asked you,” he muttered darkly.

 

Glaring right back, Seifer quipped, “Does being a kiss ass in school go hand in hand with being a mama's boy?”

 

Turning straight at the tugging demand of his father, Lore shot back, “Does failing to beat my dad in every respect go hand in hand with stalking him like you have nothing better to do?”

 

“Ouch kid, I'm real hurt,” Seifer commented. “I'll be sure to have your mom console me while you're at school.” He could have pointed out that he hadn't shown up randomly at the boy's hotel under the pretense of hashing out the whole familial connection between them. He might have shown up to see Leonhart that morning, but he hadn't initiated the reunion.

 

Gritting his teeth, Lore refrained from lashing out. He calmed a bit when glancing into cool blue eyes. Though remembering to keep a level head, he was unable to let the comment go completely. “You can drool all you want, but that just makes you like every other perverted old man out there.”

 

Green eyes narrowed. “Just because you graduated from diapers recently, doesn't make me old.” Seifer said defensively, wondering where the kid learned to attack a person's sore spot. It certainly hadn't been something Squally-boy ever did. It was his specialty, and he wasn't about to share.

 

Scoffing, Lore muttered, “Could have fooled me.”

 

Squall wasn't sure if his amusement was appropriate at the moment, but he almost laughed at how ridiculous the two sounded. It was a bit disconcerting to see a whole other side of his son come out when Seifer was around, both seeming to share the same stubborn quality of needing to have the last word.

 

Bringing the knot up to the youth's collar, Squall said quietly, “Technically, Seifer's only twenty-seven.”

 

There was silent confusion in the air before both Seifer and Lore intoned, “Huh?”

 

Finished with Lore's tie, Squall stepped back. Obviously surprised at the synced response, he clarified, “Mentally.”

 

Lore took a moment to process the meaning behind his father's seemingly random words. When it finally struck him, he laughed.

 

Seifer glared. “I gotta take lip from both of you?” he complained.

 

Brows drawing together, Squall gave the ex-knight a look of innocent confusion. “What lip?” he questioned. It was just a fact. Seifer had lost seven years, even if his body had aged. It had seemed like a relevant fact when he'd said it.

 

Still laughing, Lore patted his father's shoulder. “You didn't even have to think about that one,” he said.

 

Frowning, Squall wondered if Lore was complimenting him or patronizing him. Fearing he was becoming more like Laguna, he let the matter go and decided there were times when even he shouldn't venture speaking. “Fifteen minutes,” he warned.

 

“Crap!” Lore cried, whipping around and running across the main flat.

 

“What do you want on your toast?” Squall asked before the boy left sight.

 

“Cinnamon sugar!” the youth returned, disappearing down the hallway.

 

Sighing, Squall gave the blond man a sardonic look before turning and moving into the kitchen.

 

“What, no apron?” Seifer mocked, following the lithe figure closely.

 

“It's being dry cleaned,” Squall shot back sarcastically, rearing back when the tall ex-knight shadowed him too closely. Shooting the man an icy glare, he stalked away at a faster pace.

 

“Touchy,” Seifer jibed, claiming a seat with his coat before sitting and nursing a slightly bruised ego. He wasn't old.

 

Returning to his abandoned mug beside the coffeemaker, Squall ordered in warning, “Don't eat the toast.”

 

Mouth open for his first bite, Seifer shot the brunet's back an incredulous look. Silently replacing the piece he'd taken, he began to ponder the meaning behind having eyes in the back of one's head. “I've done some bad things, but I'd never steal another person's toast,” he assured.

 

Rolling his eyes, Squall grabbed another mug from the cupboard. “So why are you really here?” he questioned evenly, finally pouring himself a cup of coffee.

 

Staring whimsically at the plain, generally unappealing slices of toast, Seifer pined over the loss. “I wanted to see you,” he stated airily, his words seeming to have no greater meaning or underlying motive.

 

Shocked, Squall turned and gave the ex-knight a scrutinizing look. Coffee pot in hand, he stood frozen for several moments. Realizing the man was only taunting him, he turned back and poured a second cup. Dishing out unidentified contents into each mug, there was a bout of silence broken only by the chinking of a stirring spoon. Every so often, a dull thud could be heard distantly, which was no doubt Lore running about and getting ready.

 

At length, Squall spoke, “I thought you were meeting the contractors today.” He crossed the room, walking closer to table with both mugs.

 

“Thanks,” Seifer said, taking the offered cup with a disarming grin. Subtly studying pale features, he found that the dark circles beneath stormy eyes suggested little sleep had been gotten after the short nap on the cold ground the night before.

 

Scowling, Squall set his own cup down and took the plate of toast, intending to fix it to his son's specifications.

 

Watching the steam rise off the light brown liquid for a moment, Seifer found greater attraction in watching Leonhart move about with smooth grace. There wasn't a moment's hesitation in anything the brunet did. It was so different from the formidable lion he faced during fights, yet it was the same person. The grace of movement was similar, but between the two extremes of gentle and brutal, the gap was too large. Was such a thing possible? So different were the auras, that he'd swear it wasn't his rival before him if he couldn't plainly see the scar he'd given years ago.

 

It wasn't until after his first sip, consciously relishing the taste, when Seifer paused to realize what had just transpired under the radar. “How'd you know?” he questioned, raising his plain white mug to gesture his point of reference.

 

Shrugging, Squall continued to shake a mixture of cinnamon sugar onto buttered toast. “You used to punish cadets by making them bring you breakfast,” he said, frowning in memory. “Zell stills hates you for that.”

 

Barking with laughter, Seifer slapped his knee with his hand. “That's rich,” he declared, taking another sip.

 

“Only you would think so,” Squall mumbled to himself.

 

Seifer continued to stare at Leonhart, feeling a sense of déjà vu. He supposed it was simply from when he'd been sitting at the same table ten years ago, watching the brunet make the snot nosed brat hot chocolate. He'd been given something to drink then as well, though he'd had to ask for it more than once to get it. Bristling in discomfort, realizing he was staring a bit too much, he said, “I am meeting the contractors, but not until later.”

 

Dusting his hands off over the sink, Squall glanced at his watch once more. “Can I use your phone?” he requested, crossing the room with expectancy. Knowing Lore wouldn't have time to sit down and eat, he set the boy's breakfast before an empty seat nonetheless. Not wanting his first taste of coffee to be lukewarm, he stole a quick sip before retrieving the blond's phone.

 

Grumbling over his obligation to compensate the former commander, Seifer fished his cell phone out of his pants pocket. “You're welcome,” he grunted when it was snatched from his hand.

 

Not replying, Squall paused to remember the number he wanted before dialing with the soft click of each button.

 

“Who're you calling?” Seifer asked. Tempting death, he snagged a now appetizing piece of toast. There was little subtly in taking the first bite, the crunch of it immediately drawing Leonhart's attention.

 

“Seifer,” Squall growled, slapping the blond upside the head. Balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder, he pulled the dangling slice from the man's mouth and took the plate from out of arm's reach.

 

“I haven't eaten yet,” Seifer complained, licking sugar from his lips.

 

“Yes,” Squall spoke in a less agitated voice to the person on the other end of the phone. “I'm calling in regards to my son. He's won't be making it on time to his first class.”

 

Frowning, Seifer mouthed the words Leonhart had spoken with mocking facial expressions.

 

“Lore Leonhart,” Squall specified. Setting the plate down on the island counter with a clatter, he muttered, “Excuse me?” Leaning to the side, hip jutting as though the person on the other could witness his disgruntled stance, he scowled at the missing bite taken by the ex-knight. “That's fine.” With indignation, Squall ended the call.

 

“What's fine?” Lore questioned, entering the kitchen in a fast stride while buttoning his blazer.

 

“I have to write you a note,” Squall muttered with distain.

 

Laughing, Lore consoled his father, “There's a new hire in the main office. I'm sure she asks every parent to write a note.”

 

“I think I'm missing something,” the blond piped in.

 

“It was Mr. Dresden,” Squall supplied coolly.

 

Failing to hide his amusement, Lore grinned. “I've got a pen and paper in my bag,” he said before excusing himself for a moment.

 

“I'm still missing something here,” the ex-knight reiterated.

 

Frowning, Squall approached the attention craving blond. “I told you not to touch the toast,” he said with an icy glare.

 

“Well you set it right in front of me,” Seifer returned. He had long arms, which meant anything set on the table was right in front of him. Leonhart should have known he'd do it anyway.

 

“Here,” Lore said, holding out a notebook and pen as he came back into the kitchen.

 

“Thanks,” Squall said. Taking the items from his son, he flipped the notebook open from the back and set it down on the nearby counter top. In a quickly flowing scrawl, he proceeded to right down what he'd relayed over the phone, only now with his signature.

 

“I'm sure it happens to every parent. I bet it's the new policy this year,” the dark haired youth continued to reassure.

 

Tearing the page out, Squall handed it off. He knew for a fact that most parents could just call in and it was enough. “It's fine.” He was used to it already, but had hoped there would be a point in time when they'd recognize his voice. Apparently, he didn't sound like a parent, which was in actuality only a result of not sounding old enough. Still, he couldn't help but feel as though certain people sounded like parents because they were meant to be parents, whereas he'd never sound like one. It was entirely ridiculous, but there were some things even he wasn't very confident about in life.

 

“What's fine?” Seifer questioned irritably.

 

Shaking his head, lengthy strands of dark brown hair shifting, Squall dismissed the matter. “Are you ready?”

 

“Yeah, but you don't have to drive me,” Lore returned. “If they know I'm coming late, I might as well come really late.”

 

Scoffing, Seifer stated, “Really late is going for your last class of the day, not ten minutes into the first one.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Lore began to realize how truly agitated the ex-knight became when ignored. “I can take my time parking,” he said to his father.

 

“Are you sure?” Squall questioned, leaving the offer open. “I don't have to be anywhere today.”

 

“Spend the day with Cale,” Lore said grudgingly. “In a public place,” he added.

 

“Lore,” Squall began. “We've already-”

 

“I know,” Lore cut in, “but this is the only way you can be certain. Get coffee, see a movie, or whatever you guys normally do together. If it's not there, it's not there. If it is, then you've got my blessing.”

 

Seifer listened in confusion, growing suspicious with every word. “If what's there?” he spoke up, standing and striding closer.

 

“I should go,” Lore said. Moving in, he hugged his father, throwing the ex-knight a glare over a narrow shoulder. With an impromptu peck to a pale cheek, he stepped back. “I've got early practice, so I'll be home around six.”

 

Nodding, Squall said, “Your grandpa might be here for dinner.”

 

“Same as every night,” Lore commented, folding the note his father had written and pocketing it.

 

“Wear a hat,” Squall requested as he tousled slightly damp hair.

 

Making a face, Lore complained, “It'll dry weird.”

 

Squall frowned, but didn't press the matter.

 

Smirking, Lore compromised, “My jacket has a hood.” Without further delay, he hastened from the kitchen.

 

“I repeat,” Seifer began, circling around the former commander and taking the kid's place before the man. “If what's there?”

 

Blinking in momentary confusion, Squall blushed at the prospect of discussing such matters with his former rival. Even under the circumstances of having a son together, they were hardly more than the rival's they'd always been.

 

Straightening his posture, using his height in fruitless domination, Seifer gazed down. “That look you have only makes me more curious,” he informed, willing to commit as much time as it took to wheedle information out of the tightlipped conundrum of a man.

 

Unappreciative of being pressured, Squall promptly brushed past the ex-knight. “You can finish your coffee, then let yourself out.”

 

Acting automatically, Seifer latched onto an upper arm before the lithe man moved very far. “Hey,” he said for lack of something better to say.

 

“What?” Squall bit out, yanking his arm from the blond's hold.

 

“I was just asking a question,” Seifer soothed.

 

Eyeing the tall man suspiciously, Squall eventually muttered, “It's personal.”

 

Scoffing, Seifer quipped, “You've had my child, yet something spoken in casual conversation is too personal?”

 

Gaze narrowing, Squall reminded, “Ten years ago, you denied that Lore was your son. You showing up out of the blue and settling down in Esthar is your business. I'm not an open book.”

 

“Fair enough,” Seifer muttered. “But I want more of your time this morning than it takes to drink a single cup of coffee.”

 

“Whatever,” Squall bit out, striding from the room.

 

“Where are you going?” the blond questioned, following closely.

 

“I'm taking a shower.” Spinning around, nearly causing the larger man to crash into him, Squall asked testily, “Is that okay with you?”

 

“Don't get snide Leonhart, I didn't come here for that.”

 

Squall just glared before resuming his fast stride towards his bedroom. “I'm not sparring today,” he called over his shoulder, hoping to disappoint Seifer in whatever expectations the man had for doing that morning.

 

“That's fine, my blade's at the smith with yours,” Seifer explained.

 

Confused, Squall slowed. Stopping just outside his bedroom, he glanced back at the arrogant ex-knight. “Why'd you come here?”

 

Smirking, Seifer reached out and tapped the brunet's nose, laughing at the cross-eyed look given before the ice prince jerked away. “I already told you,” he stated. “I just wanted to see you.”

 

Blushing slightly, Squall wasn't sure what to make of the blond's words. Lips pressed tightly together, he scowled at the man before tearing from his place and stalking into his bedroom.

 

“I'll just make myself at home then, shall I?” Seifer muttered as the door was slammed in his face. Grinning, he said to himself, “Now I have to know.”

 

Content to wait, Seifer decided to have the kid's food, which was sitting forgotten on the kitchen counter.

 

Not even caring that the toast was cold, Seifer munched on it while drinking his coffee. The silence was somewhat annoying, but it gave him time to collect himself. From the moment he'd been greeted with Leonhart's delicately scowling face, he'd been hard pressed to ignore what he'd done the night before.

 

The fact that it hadn't even been a real kiss was perhaps the most irritating part about it. For the amount of brooding he'd done, he might as well have kissed bowed lips in a manner he couldn't write off as chaste. There hadn't been a single sensual aspect to it, which was why he'd been confident he could forget about it.

 

The minutes added up, and Seifer found himself on his third cup of coffee. Out on the small balcony off the open flat of the apartment, he wondered if he needed to go in and fish Leonhart out the bathtub.

 

After half an hour for what should have taken five or ten minutes, the ex-knight decided he'd been plenty patient. Uncrossing his legs, he turned the television off and stood from the couch. Though not entirely certain why he still lingered when he wasn't going to be getting another spar out of it, he felt compelled to stay.

 

Testing the handle of the brunet's bedroom door, Seifer let himself in. With an insulting remark on the tip of his tongue, the words fell flat when he found the almighty ice prince curled up on the bed.

 

Wearing naught but a pair of loose fitting denim jeans, it was apparent that the former commander had not meant to settle in for a nap.

 

“What are you, narcoleptic?” the blond muttered, quietly approaching the bed in the middle of the room. If memory served him well, then the room hadn't changed much since he'd last seen it.

 

Seifer gave Leonhart's pale back a scrutinizing gaze. From the nape of a slender neck, green eyes followed the visible contours of a lithely muscled back. All in all, he'd swear he was looking at a woman. Not the most feminine woman, but a warm and supple fleshed woman all the same.

 

Frowning, he crept closer and observed wet locks that had dampened the pillow. Towering over the brunet's unguarded form, the ex-knight glanced at the navy blue t-shirt clutched by delicate fingers. In the middle of getting dressed, it would seem Leonhart had been more tired than appearances let on.

 

Taking pity on the exposed fighter, knowing that small frame didn't have enough fat to keep warm, he tugged at the top quilt.

 

Stirring a bit, Squall mumbled something incoherently before shifting around. Eyes scrunching shut, heavy lids eventually opened and grey-blue eyes glanced up to see the disapproving frown of a former rival.

 

Sitting up, Squall took a moment to assess his blunder. Rubbing his eyes, they watered as he yawned. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

 

“I've been waiting for four hours now,” Seifer complained.

 

“Four hours?” Squall intoned incredulously, eyes widening as he realized more time had passed than he thought.

 

Chuckling, Seifer said, “I'm just messing with you. It only felt that long.”

 

Looking down at his right wrist, Squall found no watch. For that matter, he found himself without a shirt. “What time is it?” he asked, eyes finding the shirt he'd intended to wear before.

 

“It's a little before nine,” Seifer answered, eyes involuntarily drawn to an unfamiliar scar. Faded, it was a slightly pinkish color, a bit lighter than the beauty he'd given to Leonhart's face. The straight lined precision of it screamed that it had been surgical. Straightening up abruptly, he covered his sudden meandering of thoughts and chastised, “Use the blanket if you don't want to get sick. You fell asleep on the ground last night, idiot.”

 

Scowling, Squall muttered, “I was tired.” Shrugging into his shirt, he tried to remember how he'd wound up on the bed.

 

“Then get some sleep,” Seifer countered, common sense on his side.

 

Yawning in response, Squall covered his mouth while his cheeks heated. Having given himself away, he glared at the amused expression that overcame the ex-knight's features.

 

“Sometimes it's too easy,” the blond jibed victoriously.

 

Coughing, Squall cursed the unraveled display he presented when he couldn't stop right away.

 

Sobering, Seifer's hand was at Leonhart's forehead before he could think twice. “As always, I'm right,” he declared, his most victorious moment lacking his usual gloating tone. “You've got a fever, and I can only imagine why,” he added.

 

Knocking the blond's hand away, Squall shook his head. “I'm fine,” he stated.

 

“You're always fine,” Seifer pointed out. “You're also too stubborn to admit to being anything else, so it's a little hard to trust your word on this.”

 

“What do you care?” Squall hissed, angry at the hands that pushed his shoulders to make him lie down.

 

“I don't,” Seifer declared defensively, giving a final shove to narrow shoulders and forcing Leonhart back down.

 

Stilling for a moment, Squall stared dubiously. “Why are you still here?”

 

Jaw clenching, Seifer found he didn't have a good excuse. “Because I've got time to kill and your little tantrums amuse the hell out of me.”

 

“Is that why you came here this morning?” the brunet questioned.

 

“Maybe,” Seifer said uncertainly. “I did just move to a foreign country, and you are the only person I know around here.”

 

Seeming to find plausibility in the blond's words, Squall backed down. It had taken him years to become accustomed to Esthar. He still hated the crowds. Even when Irvine had been at his side, the unfamiliar had been a struggle to coincide with. Cale was the first friend he'd made in all the sixteen years he'd been there, and even that had been triggered by no longer having Irvine or Selphie nearby.

 

“I can leave, if you're so adverse to the idea of my being here,” Seifer offered, smirking inside at the sudden gentle edge that overcame stormy blue eyes. He knew Leonhart wouldn't turn him away.

 

“No,” Squall replied. “You can stay.”

 

Nodding his thanks, Seifer redirected, “I'm not playing doctor though, so where the hell do you keep the B-12 shots?”

 

Glaring halfheartedly, Squall slid beneath the covers and turned his back on the imposing ex-knight. “You can stay, but I'm not playing host,” he muttered, indirectly stating that he was going to go back to sleep, if only to spite Seifer.

 

With a huff, Seifer announced his departure with a jostling shake of the bed. Nearly out the door, he stopped. “That scar,” he said, not quite managing to ask the question he wanted to. It somehow seemed wrong of him to ask anything concerning the pregnancy, not when he'd spent the past ten years pretending like it had nothing to do with him.

 

Squall knew which scar Seifer meant, having caught the brief gaze of green eyes at his abdomen. “Yeah,” he confirmed, knowing the question inside the ex-knight's head.

 

“Did it hurt?” Seifer followed up hesitantly, not knowing what else to ask, but wanting to know more about it.

 

Rolling over, Squall gazed across the room, hugging the blanket close. “Not really,” he answered.

 

Swallowing thickly, Seifer found himself staring into stormy blue eyes for a long moment. Nodding numbly, he turned away and left the room.

 

 

TBC…