Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Chapter Twenty-Four ( Chapter 24 )

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty-Four

 

Cheering from the stands was not an art form that Squall had perfected, but his avid attention was sufficient support, even if he was somewhat distracted. There was an awkwardness between him and his son now, and it hurt. He suspected it was because neither of them knew how to handle keeping secrets from one another. Regardless of the fact that he was the adult, he felt powerless to stop the rift forming and could not bring himself to openly confront the issue. Each time they spoke to each other, they were both holding back. He wanted to ask where his son had been on Saturday, but didn't. He knew Lore wanted to ask him about Seifer, but the boy skirted the topic at all costs. Mending the fence with his son was not the only problem on his mind however. He couldn't stop thinking about Seifer, and it was becoming worse, beyond unbearable when he lay awake at night and shivered in remembrance of the ex-knight's touch.

 

A quiet sigh escaped bowed lips as Squall forced his mind to concentrate on the game. It was a miserable day, grey clouds marring the sky and threatening to bring a downpour that might postpone the match. Wearing a pair of black leather pants and black t-shirt beneath his bomber jacket, he wasn't the tiniest bit aware of how much he stood out in the crowd of middle-aged parents and youthful students. He simply didn't fit in, but that was the story of his life. He didn't look thirty-four, but that was to be expected when his father didn't look a day over fifty.

 

As usual, there was a hole in the crowd around the former commander, which was on account of his lineage and history as SeeD. His tendency to scowl whenever someone tried to strike up conversation was also a likely cause, but he considered it a relief and hardly cared that everyone kept their distance as though he had leprosy. Accompanied by Cale, who had recently left campus in his slate grey slacks and crisp pale blue dress shirt, Squall was not left alone in his isolation, but the professor's presence made as much difference as an umbrella during a typhoon. Even if he was conscious of the man seated at his side, he offered no acknowledgment of the fact.

 

While stormy blue irises were glued to the grassy expanse ahead, following the dark haired striker wearing a red jersey with the number 7 written in yellow, crimson eyes seemed more interested in watching the silently concentrating brunet. Not exactly jealous of the devotion shown, Cale felt a small pang of neglect and couldn't help but remind the older man that he was there. Picking the right time, when the game was in time out and nothing would be missed, he questioned, “How long has Lore been playing soccer?”

 

“Hmm?” Squall intoned, at last tearing his gaze from the field. The focus of his eyes did not match the thoughts streaming through his head. Faking attentiveness was far easier than actually being attentive, which was something he'd only recently discovered. He was absorbing some of the game though, since he'd never forgive himself for thinking only about Seifer while his son was playing.

 

Studying the former commander's face, thrilled that the devastatingly attractive man was his boyfriend after months of unrequited feelings, Cale repeated, “How long has Lore been playing soccer?”

 

Bowed lips frowned ever so slightly while Squall considered the question. It wasn't something he could recall at the drop of a hat. Sixteen years had left him with an inordinate amount remember. “Middle school,” he replied evenly, figuring the years prior to middle school didn't count since it hadn't been on an official team. Kicking the ball back and forth in the park wasn't exactly what the sport was about.

 

“Has he mentioned playing in college?” Cale followed up. While his greatest interest was not in the sports Squall's son intended to play in college, he would become enthralled in whatever topic kept the brunet's attention.

 

Shrugging, Squall muttered, “I don't know.” Glancing back to the soccer field, he was reassured that the game hadn't started again.

 

“He's good,” Cale commented, hard pressed to say anything that would draw his reticent lover's focus.

 

Smiling subtly, Squall informed, “They wanted to move him up to varsity last year, but he was too young.”

 

Regarding the brunet reverently, Cale simply stared. “You're beautiful when you smile,” he murmured quietly.

 

Hearing the professor's words at a different pace than he processed the unexpected comment, Squall stared at the sidelines with forced composure. He could feel a slight heat in his cheeks. “I'm not a woman,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably, shrugging deeper into his jacket.

 

“Which is one of the reasons why I'm in love with you,” Cale reminded. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and as a gay man his attraction was in other men.

 

Head bowing slightly, lengthy strands of soft brown hair fell to shield Squall's eyes while he reminded himself that Cale's words were not veiled insults like a certain blond ex-knight. Being called beautiful might have been embarrassing, but it hadn't been meant to imply he looked like a woman. It was weird to consider the sincerity behind the professor's words, which of course only made it all the more embarrassing.

 

“Sorry,” Cale whispered with a small chuckle of understanding. “I've embarrassed you.”

 

“No,” Squall refuted, simply unable to come up with a suitable reply.

 

The chirping blow of the referee's whistle cut through the air and the game was afoot once more. Squall spared himself the trouble of speaking further and turned his attention back to the game.

 

Mercy's opponent, Triton High School, took the lead by a single goal, and the crowd cheered. Frowning, Squall felt the urge to turn around and glare at a rather rambunctious group sitting nearby. It was an away game, which meant the majority of spectators were students at Triton and support for Mercy was lacking.

 

“They'll get it back,” Cale said confidently.

 

Nodding in agreement, Squall started in surprise at the vibrating of his cell phone. Regarding the small screen curiously, he answered the call from Laguna. “Hello,” he greeted evenly.

 

“Squall!” Laguna exclaimed on the other end. “I can't believe those bastards just scored!”

 

Frowning, Squall asked, “Where are you?”

 

“Turn around,” Laguna instructed.

 

Bracing himself for a moment, Squall lowered the phone and looked behind himself. At the top of the bleachers, which lead up and out of the pitted field, an enthusiastic man waved frantically. The wild display caused more heads turned to stare at the Estharian president, who was surrounded by a small group of bodyguards.

 

Flipping his phone shut, Squall looked away and pretended he hadn't seen a thing.

 

“I didn't know President Loire was coming,” Cale commented, raising an arm and flagging the man over when the older man kept waving.

 

“That makes two of us,” Squall murmured, hoping the small disturbance didn't distract any of the players.

 

Phone vibrating in hand, Squall cast the device a dubious look, as if under the belief that it was impossible to receive two calls in as many minutes.

 

“I think it's the president again,” Cale commented, still looking behind to the wildly gesturing man who held a phone to his ear.

 

“This isn't a walky-talky,” Squall groused upon answering the call.

 

There was silence on the other end.

 

Brows furrowing, Squall glanced behind to find the president was indeed on a cell phone, but apparently not with him. "Hello?" he spoke questioningly, only loud enough to be heard above the crowd. Figuring it had been a dropped call or Laguna had accidentally ended the call, he was about to hang up when he heard a distinctive click on the other end. There was an unsettling difference between the silent void when someone was listening and when no one was on the other end. No one was there now, but someone had been moments before. Squall looked to his father again, but found the man still on the phone.

 

“What's wrong?” Cale questioned, seeing a sharp perceptiveness in grey-blue eyes that was only present when that mind was going a mile a minute.

 

Thoughtful, Squall was neither alarmed nor entirely unconcerned. He wouldn't overreact, but he couldn't help recalling the previous Saturday when he'd had the distinct feeling that someone had been watching him. “Nothing,” he said at length, finding no reason to dwell on the matter. While it couldn't have been a case of a wrong call, for he had a secure line on both incoming and outgoing calls, he was confused when he checked for identification. It was listed as unknown. Aside from needing his cell number, there was a four-digit extension that was required, something not easily obtained when he so rarely gave his number out.

 

Phone going off once again, Squall waited to see whom it was this time. It was Laguna.

 

“Squall?” the president's voice sounded over the line.

 

“Yeah,” Squall mumbled in reply.

 

“What happened? I called, but couldn't get through.”

 

“Dropped call,” Squall lied. “Why aren't you sitting with us?” he followed quickly, leaving no room for further discussion of such a trivial matter as a prank call. If he changed his phone number because of harassing calls, it wouldn't be the first time, but for now he'd assume it was nothing.

 

“Oh, I thought I'd hit the wrong button,” Laguna confessed with a hearty chuckle. Then, “Anyway, I can't sit with you. Captain Florin feels it would be too insecure. I guess Triton has a reputation for sporting events and the crowd might get a little wild.”

 

Squall detected a note of despondence in his father's voice. Compelled to make some sort of compromise, even though the president had not been expected, he mumbled, “We'll come to you.”

 

A little too quickly and enthusiastically, Laguna cried, “Really!?”

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall sighed. Not bothering with a reply, he shut his phone and plucked Cale's sleeve. Indicating toward the president's general direction with a nod, he explained that they would be moving.

 

“We'd better hurry,” Cale commented, almost certain his cool tempered partner would sulk if any of the game were missed.

 

“Professor Bernhein!”

 

Squall straightened attentively, spotting the caller with a sharp directional sense. Confirming the owner of the somewhat high-pitched voice, he fought the urge to roll his eyes.

 

“What is it?” Cale asked, referring to Squall's lack of movement.

 

“Your student,” Squall informed, realizing he'd been the only to hear Lucas Minor.

 

“What?” Incredulous, Cale gazed overhead of the shorter man and felt an uneasy lurch in his stomach at the sight of Lucas weaving a path through the crowded bleachers.

 

Quirking a brow, Squall was mildly interested in what excuse covered meeting up half way across the large city. Certainly no book reports were quite so important that needed to be discussed without waiting for a more suitable, not to mention appropriate time. Disillusioned by a jealousy he didn't even feel, Squall decided it wasn't his problem. If Cale couldn't flat out reject the young man, then whatever lovesick toils followed were not to be put to rest by his hand.

 

“Squall,” Cale began as the brunet moved away, climbing the empty seats nearby.

 

Glancing back, Squall stared briefly into stark red eyes. “Mercy's about to score,” he excused. As if in support of his temporary departure, the referee's whistle trilled through the air and a collective booing hiss overcame the crowd.

 

“I'll only be a second,” Cale assured, disgruntled over the disturbance.

 

“Hey!” Lucas greeted as he came nearer. Brown eyes darting to the president's son, he couldn't hide a small smirk of victory. “My cousin plays for the Tritons,” he said cheerfully, as though it were the most pleasant chance meeting.

 

Doubting his student, Cale felt a prick of self-loathing for not having faith in the young man. Unable as he was to simply accept such an accidental meeting, he wanted to give his student the benefit of the doubt. While Squall's abrupt behavior could be taken as jealousy, he was hardly starved enough to take any pleasure from it.

 

--

 

 

It was Tuesday morning as Lore stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep. “Hyne, how can you be up so early?” he mumbled somewhat accusingly to his father, who sat typing away at the kitchen table, already showered and dressed casually in dark jeans and burgundy V neck sweater.

 

Squall gave a faint smile at the sight of his bleary eyed son, long flannel pants hanging low and navy blue t-shirt worn inside out. It wasn't quite six o'clock and he seemed to be the only one aware that there was no school that day. Hardly vindictive, least of all towards Lore, he guessed on how long it would take before the boy realized that it was a holiday, marking the thirty-second year of Esthar's freedom.

 

As Lore poured himself a cup of coffee he winced at the sight of the small digital clock on the front of the coffeemaker. It wasn't even six yet. Half asleep, he fumbled with the small carton of cream, eventually managing to open the spout.

 

Frowning, Squall felt that not all was well as he observed an obviously sleep deprived youth. “You don't have school,” he pointed out as if stating the obvious.

 

Stirring the dark liquid until the creamer changed it to a light brown, Lore returned, “I know. I couldn't sleep.”

 

Concern flooded Squall immediately. “Are you feeling sick?” was his first question. Rarely up before seven even when there was school, he should have thought something was amiss sooner.

 

“I have a lot on my mind,” Lore stated morosely.

 

With a quiet understanding that his son was going to elaborate on whatever troubled that sometimes over analytical mind, Squall remained perfectly still as Lore sat beside him at the table. Stirring briefly, he closed his laptop, effectively setting aside all other matters not pertaining to the boy.

 

Seeming to sort through his own thoughts, Lore took his time before speaking. “Ask me where I was Saturday.”

 

Hesitating only a moment, Squall complied. “Where were you Saturday?” he asked, a question he had intentionally not given voice to.

 

Gazing solemnly into his father's eyes, Lore informed, “I was with Seifer.” As if to complete some shocking picture, he added, “The whole time.”

 

Brows drawing together, Squall stared with a mixture of incredulity and hurt. Had he heard correctly? Spending time with Seifer seemed to be a pattern his son was making. At least, it was a far more frequently occurring event considering the boy had all but sworn his other father off. There were only so many confrontations to be had with the ex-knight before common sense dictated another cause, which his rather speculative mind assumed must have been some form of friendship or attachment. It wouldn't have mattered if he didn't fear Seifer was trying to use Lore. He didn't want his son used as a means to an end.

 

Almost petulantly, Squall refused to hide his obvious reaction. It was a horrible feeling knotting in the pit of his stomach. While entirely confident in his role as Lore's father, his less than amorous feelings toward Seifer were born of a new conflict. Honestly, he quite resented Seifer for inadvertently causing him to shut his son out, but his more reasonable sensibility was aware that the ex-knight was hardly at fault for it.

 

“Dad,” Lore began in a pleading manner, “I went to see him because I knew he was the reason you couldn't talk to me. I knew he'd done something that you couldn't stand to talk about and I pretty much guessed what it was.”

 

Grey-blue eyes narrowed slightly. A guarded veil fell to protectively cover any telltale emotions. Expression schooled with meticulous care, he berated his unfounded worries on the matter and remembered his son was smart and not foolish enough to be used by anyone.

 

“I was wrong,” Lore admitted, feeling the heavy truth in all its self-deprecating glory. “Even if I want to protect you, it's not my place.” He refused to say it wasn't his business, because he was already burdened enough by the overbearing ex-knight.

 

Studying the dour expression that hardly diminished his son's handsome features, Squall questioned, “What brought this on?” Though he loved his son more than life itself, he had never dared to coddle the boy and would not start then. Despite the obvious distress Lore was experiencing, he wouldn't refute any eye opening realizations, especially ones that were entirely true. It was not Lore's place to protect him, which he had stated previously. He was curious as to what had caused such a revelation in his stubborn cub, since his own admonishing words had not done the trick.

 

Loath to admit where his new voice of reason came from, Lore mumbled, “It's just something I finally realized.”

 

As if hearing every word the raven-haired boy had chosen not to say, Squall easily determined that it had been a result of something Seifer had said or done. Just what were Lore's views of the ex-knight? The grander scheme seemed to expand vastly, no longer just a matter of his former rival trying to appease some insane lust. It would seem that his attempt to shut Lore out of the matter had backfired completely.

 

Not sure what else to say, Lore couldn't grasp any suitable words to express the myriad of emotions churning inside him. He was both saddened by the thought of bowing out and succumbing to his father keeping secrets and personal affairs he wasn't allowed to know of. He was extremely annoyed that his confrontation on Saturday had ended in a stalemate, only later to reveal itself as a defeat. He hadn't known right away, but brooding over what the ex-knight had said, he'd come to the perplexing realization that he'd been wrong. He was also upset that Cale had earned enough of his father's favor to claim an entire night, and as a result of his jealousy he was embarrassed and ashamed that he was acting exactly as Seifer had accused.

 

Seeing how terribly downtrodden his son appeared, Squall smiled warmly in the hopes of soothing the boy's mood. “I'm glad to have your trust,” he murmured, reaching a hand over and ruffling wayward strands of raven hair.

 

Aghast, Lore reared back. “You've always had my trust!” he cried, alarmed that his father had thought otherwise or that he'd perhaps lead on differently.

 

Shaking his head, Squall calmly clarified, “In taking care of myself.” Certainly he had nothing left to prove in life.

 

Lore stared earnestly. “I never thought you couldn't,” he impressed severely, needing his father to understand him on that singular point.

 

“…” Squall gave a faint nod. He didn't want to disagree with his son. It was apparent that the boy's lack of trust had not been in himself but in other people, specifically sadistic and perverted men who supposedly lurked on every street corner. Regardless of this distinction, there was no denying that Lore's fear relied on his inability to defend himself. Though he had never claimed to be invincible, he was a good judge of character and capable of fending off the most forceful of advances. Barring Seifer, who was in a different class, Squall couldn't imagine anyone getting close enough to even attack him.

 

Glancing away ruefully, Lore held his tongue. He wanted to ask what Seifer had done, but he had already resolved not to. “That's all I wanted to say,” he said tightly, the words bitter in his mouth. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he was determined to show a little more self-controlled where his father was concerned.

 

Seeing the inner turmoil his son faced, Squall studied the boy's profile for another moment. He couldn't be certain what was running through the other's mind, but he felt a stab a hurt over having to coax it out. Lore had always confided in him without hesitation, never failing to seek his advice or simply to keep him well informed. Keeping secrets was apparently a double-edged sword.

 

Sighing, Squall decided he should at least try to find out all of what was bothering his son, even if it meant discussing the fact that Seifer was interested in him. “I was going to make breakfast,” he informed as though he'd been in the midst of scrambling eggs when Lore had first entered the kitchen. It wasn't exactly a lie, since he had been up for some time already and planned on making something when the rest of the household ventured from their bedrooms. Laguna was still asleep, but he imagined that wouldn't last much longer. The president had a sixth sense when it came to detecting who was awake.

 

“I don't have much of an appetite,” Lore announced somberly.

 

Shrugging casually, Squall pushed his chair back and stood. “Your grandfather will be up soon,” he stated, not letting on that he was somewhat disheartened by his son's words. He'd hoped to study Lore and tactfully loosen the young man up until everything was finally resolved. Realizing he might simply have to wait until everything played itself out in due time, he suggested, “Maybe you should try to go back to sleep.”

 

Shaking his head, Lore muttered, “I wouldn't be able to sleep any better than before.”

 

Though he didn't comment, Squall's suspicions that there was more troubling his son were confirmed. “Keep me company,” he said, more a suggestion than a request.

 

Pleased that he didn't need to acquire some half-baked excuse to remain in the presence of his father, Lore was content to sip his coffee and watch. If the former commander had read his thoughts, there was nothing in the man's effeminate features that suggested as much. Then again, there was very little his father's expressions ever did suggest. He felt pity for anyone unfortunate enough to sit at the same poker table as Squall Leonhart. A pleased smile flitted across his face as he thought of how he was the one exception to his father's taciturn tendencies. His smile faltered abruptly and his eyes fell to the clean white tile of the floor. He'd been an exception up until a few days ago.

 

Espying each turn of emotion on his son's face, Squall closed the cupboard door and set a large bowl on the counter. Sighing, he announced, “I'm not like your uncle. I don't handle relationships well.” Turning, he found mixed blue-green eyes staring at him ardently with more emotions than he had ever felt in his lifetime. There was question and hope and a perplexing fascination for him to continue speaking. Taking a moment, Squall concluded that while there was no proof that temperaments were hereditary, there was a great deal of Seifer in the boy. Recent weeks had allowed him to see the pair interact, which hadn't simply pointed out what qualities they shared, but shown him a certain hot headed temper that only came out around the ex-knight.

 

“Dad?” Lore questioned, not wanting to push, but wanting to hear all of what the man was about to say.

 

Shaking his head to dismiss his ridiculous insecurity that he seemed unable to simply set aside and leave alone, Squall refocused on what he'd been about to say. “I've known Seifer all my life,” he said quietly, lost for a moment as he recalled the first time he'd met the older boy at the orphanage. “Even if we aren't friends, it's not easy to throw away whatever we have.”

 

Understanding the principles of what his father was saying, Lore didn't bother even trying to understand the feelings that went with it. To him, the concept of knowing someone for years went hand in hand with being close friends. It seemed preposterous to have known someone a lifetime and not be anything more than well acquainted sparring partners.

 

“Seifer has made it very clear that he wants something more and I'm just confused. Last Friday, I still needed time to think.” He didn't add on that he was still confused, because despite his unmistakable rejection, he couldn't stop thinking about the arrogant asshole.

 

“Well aren't you Esthar's most sought after bachelor,” Laguna jibed, stifling a yawn as he trudged into the kitchen. “It's an ungodly hour,” he complained. Stretching a stiff back, he made a beeline for the coffee.

 

Squall scowled at his father. “Hardly,” he muttered.

 

Lore was still thinking about what his father had said. He considered what it might be like if one of his friends suddenly asked him out. Was it possible to reject someone and not compromise the friendship, or in his father's case rivalry? He hadn't thought about that aspect of it, only that someone who could pose a threat in battle had taken a liking to his dad. “Is your current relationship with him really something worth keeping?” he blurted out before thinking twice. He could understand it if Seifer were a friend, but an old time sparring partner just seemed so dispensable.

 

Stormy blue eyes widened and Squall very nearly set his shirtsleeve on fire as he turned on the gas burner. He had only spoken to alleviate whatever doubts his son might have, not to sit around the table and have a consult. He considered the question carefully, since he'd need to give a suitable response. Stilling abruptly, he was suddenly aware that he hadn't considered the question himself. Was his relationship with Seifer worth keeping? Even though he had said he never wanted to see the blond again, his words had been said in the heat of the moment. If there was any shred of good in his deceivingly shallow relationship with the ex-knight, it was their spars. Hyne knew he'd missed having a decent opponent and he doubted he would ever forget the feeling. “It is,” he said at length, turning and regarding the attentive youth across the room.

 

Laguna remained unobtrusively observant, busying himself with stirring his coffee. He would never interlope in Squall's affairs, but that hardly meant he was unaware and without his opinions. His didn't object to the pairing of Squall and Cale, but he didn't believe it was a well-suited match. He was a hopeless romantic and knew what falling in love was like, as he'd fallen in love more than once in his life. Squall did not have stars in those bright eyes and there was no length of time that could change it.

 

While the skillet heated, Squall split his attention and went about preparing breakfast. Eyes glancing over the contents of a somewhat disorganized refrigerator, years of experience took over and he didn't even consciously think about what he should make before his hands worked of their own accord.

 

Laguna took his seat across from his grandson. He hadn't the first clue what was going on, only that Seifer Almasy was somehow involved and that Lore was unusually glum. Whimsically, he was distracted from figuring out the details as he watched his son retrieve the buttermilk, knowing that flapjacks or grid wall patties were on the horizon.

 

Straightening up, visibly perking, Lore questioned, “That's what you didn't want to talk about?” He had been almost certain Seifer had tried to force his father into bed, but an odd respect for the ex-knight kept him from believing the man to be a rapist. Given to exaggerated feelings when it came to his father, perhaps his mind had blown things out of proportion and there was little more to it than Seifer finding his father attractive.

 

“Something like this is a bit difficult for me,” Squall reminded. “I'm sorry I made you worry,” he added. Had he just lied to his son? He'd certainly colored the matter a different shade than it actually was. The crux of his problem was that he had enjoyed Seifer's forceful touch. He had lead himself to believe that there wouldn't be any confusion if the situation simply involved a jealous rival vying for some time in bed, but that wasn't the case.

 

Lore bristled. “What are you making?” he queried blithely, appetite returning as his mood lightened.

 

Smiling softly, Squall sighed in relief. “I thought I'd make grid walls,” he replied, well aware that it had been some time since he'd last made them and that it was one of Lore's favorite breakfast foods. In Balamb they were called waffles, but he could no longer recall a time when he'd ever heard that word spoken.

 

Grinning, Laguna was suddenly impatient for breakfast. He was addicted to his son's cooking, and had only become more particular in his old age. Small delights went a long way for him, especially on weekdays when his workload was heavy. Breakfast with his son and grandson was the best way to start the day.

 

“Perhaps you should get some work done this morning,” Squall commented, doing his part in keeping the president on track. Kiros always requested that he try to nudge his father to accomplish some amount of work while vacationing in their home on weekends.

 

“I don't like mixing work with family,” Laguna protested. Kiros and Squall both had the amazing ability to suggest he work without sounding like a pair of nags. He could hardly deny Squall anything in the world, but he was inclined to sulking if it called for reading and writing.

 

Squall knew that the Estharian president was one of the most competent and hardworking men alive. What the man lacked in physical grace was made up for in grace of character. While the presidency was hardly a nine to five job, Laguna usually took the weekend off to spend with them. Unfortunately, the president had spent the weekend in an empty apartment and was trying to make up for lost time during the weekday. Consequently, whatever was put off until later would wind up forcing the president to take on late hours. It was Squall's job to make sure his father didn't over extend himself trying to run an entire country.

 

Subtle in his manner, Squall quietly said, “This is going to take a while, you can probably get some work done before we eat.”

 

Shoulders sagging, Laguna huffed. “I have a few files on hand,” he compromised. Was that even a compromise? Realizing it wasn't, he trudged out of the kitchen glumly to retrieve the briefcase Kiros had forced into his hands before leaving for his son's apartment.

 

Twenty minutes later, Squall plated breakfast. Setting a plate before a paperwork engrossed president, he was amused at how quickly the man switched modes. He waited a moment for Lore to set his laptop aside before unburdening his hands completely.

 

“Thanks,” Lore said before hastily digging in, ravenous after biding his time playing games on his father's laptop with the scent of food in the air.

 

Squall sat down, silently observing his two companions while thinking to himself.

 

“Aren't you eating?” Laguna questioned. It had been his mission for the past sixteen years to put more meat on his son's bones, but the former commander was beyond stubborn when it came to eating more than absolutely necessary.

 

Shrugging noncommittally, Squall didn't give any definitive reason for why he was not partaking in the meal. Not hungry, he wasn't about to force himself to eat when he didn't want to. Ignoring the president's disapproving frown, he glanced at Lore and felt his relief swell. Though he didn't want to cast any premature judgment, he was content in his feeling that things were back to normal. He was curious about something though. “Lore,” he began, unable to keep the question to himself any longer, “What were you doing with Seifer until one in the morning?”

 

Blushing faintly, Lore hastily explained, “Arguing. I refused to leave until he told me what he'd done and intended to do, and he refused to tell me anything.”

 

Surprised, Squall murmured, “So you were with him, trying to,” he paused in order to find the right words.

 

“Wear him down,” Lore interjected with a sheepish smile.

 

Nodding, Squall couldn't help but picture the exchange. His son was stubborn indeed to spend the whole day confronting a brick wall. In a weird way, he was rather proud.

 

Sharp knocking cut through the warm atmosphere in the kitchen. Sitting straight, Squall ascertained that it was only six-thirty and hardly a decent hour for callers.

 

“I got it,” Squall stated, already out of his seat. “Keep eating.” As he moved behind his son, he ruffled dark hair affectionately. Even if he had not been completely honest, he was glad he'd said what he had.

 

Crossing the flat of the apartment, there was a sense of stillness, as though everyone were still asleep. The knocking hadn't been demanding or loud, which seemed to suggest the caller knew someone would be up and about. It was unusual that he wasn't able to place a face to the sound of the knock, but he wasn't about to wait around until he could figure it out, so he thumbed the door's release on the inconspicuous panel.

 

Squall felt his composure shatter as he met Seifer's intense green eyes. Mouth agape, he stared at the tall and broad framed man leaning indolently against the doorframe. Eyes wandering with treachery, he gazed over the man's starched red dress shirt tucked neatly into black suit pants. He couldn't help but notice the richly tanned skin exposed where the shirt's buttons were undone, displaying the strong hollow of Seifer's collar. Absently, he wondered what had happened to the blond's choker necklace. Sobering, he quickly pressed parted lips together and stared coolly into jade green eyes.

 

Witty greeting falling flat, Seifer found himself unable to do much more than hungrily gaze over the surprised little ice prince. The brunet was beyond appealing with messy strands of rich brown hair and pout lips begging to be kissed. He found himself mesmerized by a slender neck, skin so pale it was calling out for him to mark it. Hyne, had it only been a week since he'd last seen the former commander, since he'd last felt that lithe body rock against him and shudder in orgasm? Fearing he was drooling, he licked his lips and valiantly suppressed the urge to tackle and ravish the smaller man.

 

Regaining his wits, Squall crossed his arms and glared. His stature did all the talking, asking why the blond was there. Inside, he felt unhinged and restless. Images of their last meeting played before his eyes, as if taunting him with what his body so obviously wanted.

 

Seifer smirked. “Do you know what I'd like to do to you right now?” he questioned huskily, making no effort to hide his lust. How had he never felt this way before? How had he grown up with Leonhart without ever attempting to pin the strangely alluring man to the nearest wall and enjoy that well sculpted body for all the sordid pleasure it was sure to give? More pertinent than how, was why. Why hadn't he made a move sooner, years ago, when some islander prick wasn't posing such a scrupulous problem?

 

Squall felt his entire body warm, flushing with what could only be considered arousal. His cheeks were a near scarlet, not from desire however, but from feeling abashed. He could read Seifer's thoughts. The sexual tension was tangible and he still had no clue why it was there when in thirty years he'd felt nothing more than rivalry and annoyance.

 

Nearly groaning at Leonhart's reaction, Seifer tamed his willful libido at the sudden appearance of the kid. Frowning, he was clearly displeased. “Hey,” he greeted shortly, his hopes of having his rival alone dashed.

 

Managing to find his voice, praying it was steady, Squall asked, “What are you doing here?” He was all too aware of young blue-green eyes watching the exchange. He was mortified at what he might accidentally reveal. It was apparent that the ex-knight would behave appropriately in front of Lore, for which was grateful.

 

Shocked at the unexpected visitor, Lore remarked, “It's not even seven o'clock.”

 

Grinning, Seifer commented, “I know your lovely father has a penchant for rising early.”

 

Squall blanched, staring wide eyed. He was aghast at how shameless the blond was, openly seeking him as though there was no need for discretion or pretense. The first chance he had, he'd wipe that cocky smirk off the man's face. His fury was subdued however, his body too busy reacting to the impertinent blond.

 

Lore stirred indignantly, hardly about to allow the ex-knight's words to go without argument. It wasn't that he had called his father lovely, but the obvious undertone that seemed to suggest the man had first hand experience in what times the former commander got out of bed. His father beat him to it though.

 

“Seifer,” Squall bit out, his annoyance only heightened by his body's approval of the blond's presence. “Make your case,” he ordered, rudely demanding the man give a plausible excuse for being anywhere near him. He was not mentally or physically prepared to see Seifer again, not after what had happened last Wednesday.

 

Blond eyebrows, a shade darker than the fine gold hair on his head, shot up in false surprise. “Darling, are we still fighting?” he remarked.

 

Glaring harshly, Squall reached to close the door.

 

“Wait,” Seifer quickly said, daring to reach out and grasp a slim wrist.

 

Squall recoiled as heat spread from where the Seifer had touched him.

 

“Dad,” Lore started in worry, thinking his father had been hurt. He was stopped by an odd look he received from the dark haired man, assuring him everything was fine but also appearing quite disturbed.

 

Seifer stared intently, knowing exactly why the brunet had broken away. He had felt it too, his hand still quite warm. If he didn't fuck Leonhart soon, he was going to go insane. Having concocted a decent excuse for being there, he stepped farther in and waved a thick folder he'd been holding out of sight. “I was hoping you could spare some time and help with an inventory.”

 

Almost short of breath, Squall inhaled sharply, becoming aware of a faint woodsy scent coming from the ex-knight. Stubbornly, he refused to reveal what he was thinking or feeling. With a calm regard, he questioned, “Was it necessary that you come here?”

 

“I didn't want to inconvenience you,” Seifer supplied smoothly, having thought of an excuse for every question the former commander might think to ask.

 

Squall knew a trap when he saw one. The moment he had opened the door, he had lost. The blond had made certain to knock gently, throwing him off guard. From there, it was a losing battle on a field he had no idea how to navigate. He was not guile and never played games. Glaring at the insidious man, he grit his teeth. Though he doubted that anyone would begrudge him for forcibly making Seifer leave, it was truly uncalled for and would be considered poor behavior even if his son weren't watching. His responsibility as a trained fighter was to use his abilities carefully. Considering he wasn't being pinned against a wall or tackled to the floor, he really had no reason to throw punches.

 

“We can always meet up later,” Seifer offered, sincerely making his proposal. If they met later, they could be alone, and perhaps he could cool the heated blood in his veins by bending Leonhart over and having his way with the man. Demeanor darkening, he forced himself to think of something less arousing, lest he compromise all integrity. While his pants felt tighter, it wasn't obvious that he was excited and he needed to keep it that way.

 

Standing firmly in place, Squall blocked the ex-knight's path into the apartment, and he had little intention of moving any time soon. His mind tried to find a beneficial resolution, but he couldn't think straight. If he met with Seifer right then, he might unintentionally reveal how readily his body responded to the man's touch and intense gaze. If he agreed to meet elsewhere, he feared what would happen if they were left alone. He could set a later time and simply not show up, but that was hardly a permanent solution. Under no circumstances could he be alone with Seifer, yet at the same time he couldn't be in the same room with the man when there were witnesses. He didn't trust himself, which was a very unsettling feeling.

 

“Are you feeling okay?” Lore questioned in his father's ear, sidling close. The shorter man looked extremely pale. If he didn't know how fearless his father was, he'd dare to say that the man were frightened.

 

Squall nodded numbly. Coming to a decision, he stepped back and gave the ex-knight tacit permission to enter. He worked well under pressure and hoped the threat of Lore or Laguna seeing his wildly inappropriate desire would effectively uphold his indifferent mask. He was certain he couldn't be alone with the blond, knowing he'd do something unforgivable the second the man touched him. After Seifer left, he resolved to visit Cale and find someway to make up for the unfaithful thoughts he was having.

 

“What inventory?” Lore asked with forced disinterest, knowing it had to do with weapons. He was far from ever liking the ex-knight, but if his father wanted to remain sparring partners, then he figured he'd have to get used to the man. He was surprised the nerve grating bully hadn't insulted him several times already, but he wasn't complaining.

 

Grinning, Seifer informed, “Gunblade models mainly. I need to have them ordered now, since half of them need to be custom made.” Turning his focus back to Leonhart, he stared into guarded grey-blue eyes and said, “I'd like your input.”

 

“Can I look at it too?” Lore requested, a hint of excitement betraying his attempt to seem utterly disinterested. He was still angry over Saturday, but could hardly go on sulking if he hoped to prove he wasn't some brat with a father complex.

 

“Your breakfast is getting cold,” Laguna's voice called out from the kitchen.

 

Torn, Lore glanced to his father.

 

Mustering his steely resolve, Squall gave a terse nod. “Go ahead, we'll wait,” he assured.

 

As Lore whirled around and rushed back to the kitchen, Squall could tell it was done very purposefully. It would seem his son was determined to prove the truth behind believing him capable of dealing with Seifer alone. Sadly, he was now the one to doubt his capabilities.

 

Seifer moved forward, making to brush past the rigidly standing brunet. He immediately realized he had made a mistake when his control waned. He stopped, towering above the lithe fighter, their arms barely touching. Gazing sidelong, he balled his fist and gripped the folder in his other hand with white knuckles.

 

Squall broke away first, the threat of exposure motivating him to get as far away as possible. Catching a fast movement out of the corner of his eyes, his heart skipped a beat when Seifer grabbed his upper arm and kept him from moving away. Breathing laboriously, he gasped in thrilling pain when the man squeezed his arm too tightly. Thankfully, his anger managed to boil over, spurring him to tear his arm away and stalk into the apartment.

 

Staring after the brunet, Seifer took a deep breath to calm himself. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd eventually have his way with the former commander, but he wasn't entirely confident it would be soon enough.

 

Casting a baleful glare over his shoulder, Squall warned, “Don't touch me.”

 

Seifer could tell there was a subliminal threat of castration should he dare instigate anything. As he watched the brunet walk away, his eyes fixated on that sinfully tantalizing ass, he considered that losing his manhood might be worth screwing the unapproachable ice prince. Shaking his head, he again forced his mind to stop undressing that lithe body.

 

“Anything for you darling,” Seifer mocked, following his former rival into the familiar apartment.

 

 

 

TBC…

 

Author's Notes: Yay, less than three weeks… but more than two… oh bother. Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Thank you all for the awesome, awesome, awesome, and uber supportive reviews. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the feedback. I hoped you enjoyed the lovely tension between Seifer and Squall, it was my favorite part.