Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Defining Love ( Chapter 27 )

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

Seifer stood outside his rival's apartment, delaying his return unnecessarily. He hated his hesitancy, but needed to collect his thoughts before acting. Pacing away, he tried to formulate a plan. An apology seemed in order.

 

Turning and pacing back, he frowned. He could count the number of times he had apologized throughout his life on a single hand. He didn't like the concept of expressing remorse or guilt. Knowing he had done something wrong was troubling enough without having to dwell on it. He could take responsibility for his actions, so wasn't that enough? What would Leonhart care for words anyway? How much blame did he actually deserve? Though he had been a bit rough, the lascivious lion had loved it up until his premature penetration.

 

“He could have said something,” Seifer groused to himself, annoyed that the former commander hadn't protested. Pausing as he came before the door, he realized such an assumption was just a copout. Pacing away again, he cast aside his comforting delusion. He wouldn't have stopped even if Leonhart had begged. He had been so consumed with lust that he had lost all ability to tame his actions.

 

Eyes glancing to the potions in hand, he stared at the viscous liquid and recalled the spots of blood mingled with his deposited semen. He hadn't even worn a condom. For all he knew, he had just knocked the ice prince up again.

 

Sighing, Seifer decided he definitely needed to apologize. He would swallow his pride and get down on his knees if necessary. Mind set, he returned to the door and raised a hand to the side panel. Images of the skittish swordsman suddenly surfaced in his head. His hand hovered while he recalled the shocking expression of fear in stormy blue eyes. Chest tightening, he found it difficult to breathe while remembering Leonhart's shying reactions. After a lifetime of dangerous sword fights and wartime torture, he had never seen such an expression. He had never seen the fighter so shaken. The reticent man's impenetrable mask had been shattered and had revealed such vulnerability that he scarcely thought it had been his rival sitting on the bed.

 

Withdrawing his hand, Seifer wondered what he might find upon entering the apartment. Having faith that his worthy opponent would recover quickly, he concluded the doughty fighter's rattled state was only temporary. He could expect to find the sullen man waiting with a scowl set in place. He could expect steely blue irises to sharpen and glare reproachfully as he approached. He anticipated a few punches being thrown and would feel relieved after letting a few swings hit him in compensation.

 

Finally opening the door, a task that should not have been so difficult, Seifer hastened inside. “Leonhart,” he called out to let the bedridden brunet know he had returned. His long strides faltered. Immediately sensing that something was out of place, it took him a few searching moments to realize what was missing. Green eyes landed on his tie and discarded folder, which lay undisturbed on the floor a few steps away. The shirt he had removed from his rival's slim frame was no longer there.

 

A man of lesser intelligence would have been puzzled, but Seifer was well rounded in his godliness and likened himself to a genius. Starting forward, he moved swiftly, crossing the flat of the apartment and length of the hallway. Standing on the threshold of the spare bedroom, he stared angrily at the vacant bed. The sheets were strewn and dirtied from recent activity, and it seemed to him that Leonhart's presence lingered. He wondered if the bed were still warm.

 

Shaking his head, he noted the rest of the brunet's clothing was gone. With a curse, he stormed from the doorway and backtracked to the ice prince's nighttime abode. Throwing the door open, he carried out a search despite feeling certain he was the only person present in the apartment.

 

Needing conclusive results, he checked every room before finally concluding Leonhart was not there. Ending his search, he drifted involuntarily back to the absent fighter's bedroom. He had not considered a scenario involving an empty apartment.

 

Aggravated with his new predicament, he was at loss. His continued diffidence was annoying, but he knew he needed to tread carefully and couldn't rush off brashly. His attraction to the former commander was nothing but trouble. Try as he might, he still couldn't ignore it.

 

Seifer stared distantly at the neatly made bed in the center of the room. Understanding that the damaged orphan had wanted to keep him at a distance, he knew why the spare bedroom had been used. He wondered if the white haired islander had been admitted into Leonhart's room?

 

Starting forward, Seifer was sitting on the queen-sized bed before he could think twice of his actions. Hand running over the navy blue comforter, he remembered the last time he had been allowed inside such personal quarters. Leonhart had been sick, having fallen asleep half naked atop the covers. It was beyond vexing to envision the prickly brunet offering an invitation to another man.

 

Reminding himself that the abnormally tall schoolteacher was no longer his rival, he tried to set aside his persisting jealousy. It was impossible when he realized Leonhart might have run to the man for comfort. Glaring, he contended with his jealous notions. He knew his rival was too proud to run to anyone for comfort, but his vivid imagination would not relent.

 

Drawing from his thoughts briefly, Seifer realized how unbearably quiet it was. With a frustrated sigh, he ran his fingers through unkempt golden blond hair. “What's wrong with me?” he questioned, speaking aloud to spite the mocking silence. Rarely having cause to regret his actions, he was not foolish enough to pine over how things might have turned out better. Instead, he focused his efforts on figuring out what came next.

 

Knowing Leonhart's trail had gone cold, he was perceptive enough to take the hint. Lying back on the undisturbed bed, he mused silently. It was truly impossible to figure out what was running through the straight-laced SeeD's mind. He supposed he should give the man some space and time to calm down.

 

How long would it take for the attractive fighter to settle down? When could he see his rival again and be assured that those bright eyes would be back to normal? He didn't want to see the skittish man he had left in bed because such a sight struck a chord inside him that he would rather leave untouched.

 

Coming to the abrupt realization that he still wanted the laconic brunet, he was confused. His desires were not gone, just simmering after finding an outlet. He wanted to take the stubborn fighter to bed again, hopefully maintaining some level of control when it happened. Confusion increasing, he couldn't figure out what he wanted from the alluring man. He should have been satisfied already, but he wasn't.

 

Grumbling discontentedly, he wondered where Leonhart had scampered off to. He had the strangest urge to chase after the brunet. He would need to procure a bulletproof vest in case Kinneas was regaled with the story of how the lion had been tamed. The cowboy was an overprotective best friend with world-renowned sniping abilities and a personal vendetta against him.

 

“This is lame,” he muttered in annoyance, remaining listless upon the missing swordsman's bed. Knowing it was a little after three, he tested his luck and ignored the possibility that someone might enter the apartment and find him as an intruder. The lion's trail wasn't going to grow colder, so it didn't exactly matter when he started following. There stood a good chance he would run into Leonhart sooner by staying exactly where he was.

 

Not ready to leave, he settled in comfortably. Feeling the urge to flaunt his intrusion, he toyed with the idea of taking a short nap. Chuckling quietly, he decided it would ease his jealousy to sleep where he had not been invited. Doubting he could actually fall asleep, he was fine with dozing indolently.

 

Arms cradling his head, he kept his legs hanging over the edge. As he inhaled deeply images of his androgynous rival assaulted him. The scent of the man surrounded him. The entire room had a very distinct smell to it, but it was subtle. The leather and gunpowder were easiest to identify, but that was only part of it. Taking a deeper breath, he groaned softly as he let it out.

 

Strangely fascinated, he continued to concentrate on identifying the decidedly pleasant scent with his sharp olfactory sense. It was fresh and very clean. He reached out and snagged a nearby pillow. The pillow smelled just like Leonhart. Breathing deeply, his eyes closed automatically.

 

Suddenly realizing what he was doing, Seifer stiffened. Tossing the pillow aside, he bolted upright and scowled. He was acting like some bloodhound. He didn't care what the swordsman smelled like. Annoyed, he stood from the bed and decided he wasn't in any mood for a nap. He could return to the unfinished training center. There was always work to be done.

 

Moving to the doorway, he paused. He felt scrupulous about simply carrying on with work after what had happened. Even he had limits to acting like a bastard. He couldn't lie to himself about not caring, even if his concern was only born of guilt. He wanted to find out where Leonhart had gone.

 

“Fuck it,” he muttered, patting his pockets for his cell phone.

 

Assuming the evasive man would not accept his call, he took measures to block any trace on his phone. There was a good chance his rival wouldn't fall for the same trick twice, but he could at least try. As he waited for the other end to pick up, he recalled the odd greeting he had been given when he had called earlier. It would seem he wasn't the only person Leonhart was trying to avoid.

 

Grumbling impatiently, he stepped out into the hall. About to hang up, his ears caught a distant sound. Lowering his phone, he listened intently. His expression darkened as he realized what he was hearing.

 

Following the sound, he wound up standing in the kitchen. He flipped his phone shut and ended the call that would never reach the intended person. Green eyes stared fixedly at the small black device on the island countertop.

 

More exasperated than angry, he snatched his rival's phone. His entire day had taken a hundred and eighty degree turn. Whatever satisfaction he had received from fucking Leonhart's tight ass had been ruined. The cold aftermath that had followed completely outweighed his brief pleasure.

 

While he strove for spontaneity in order to avoid the mundane, his brashness had been nothing short of flagitious. He had not seen beyond his carnal desire, where the consequences had lain waiting. He had failed on more than one account that day.

 

Spurred to prove his true abilities, Seifer decided that he would seduce Esthar's second best swordsman again. Even if it were only to sooth his ego, he would make Leonhart scream with pleasure. He might have to rent gay pornos to figure out how to do it, but he was relentless when his resolve hardened. Having already seduced the former commander once was proof that he was capable of anything.

 

--

 

Pulling over before he caused an accident, Squall cut the engine of his outdated Forbidden sedan. Driving without any clue where he intended to go was not a smart idea. His ability to drive was questionable enough in the state his shaken nerves were. Taking a deep breath, he tried to settle down. The acrimony between him and Seifer was poisonous, but it had never been so potent as what he had experienced that day.

 

In an attempt to focus his mind, he made a list of the immediate actions he should take. He needed to take a shower and calm down foremost. He quickly vetoed the idea of seeking Irvine out and couldn't even consider facing his son or father. He needed to see Cale first. If he were lucky, then the professor wouldn't even be home. Seeing his boyfriend so soon after sleeping with another man was hardly what he would consider honorable, but not coming clean and breaking up was worse.

 

Repeatedly looking at his wristwatch, he tried to remember the college professor's schedule. He was fairly certain the busy man had a class until five, but he vaguely recalled the same class being at an alternating time every week.

 

Staring evenly at the key card on the dashboard, Squall contended with conflicting emotions. He was lost in a sort of disingenuous limbo.

 

Sighing, he snatched the key card that Cale had given him as a token of intimacy. He had never used it and was reluctant to do so on the very day he intended to return it.

 

--

 

Cale didn't know what to make of the phone call he received from Seifer Almasy. On his way home with a cumbersome load of paperwork, he performed a rather daring juggling act upon hearing the distinctive ring tone assigned to Squall's calls. Disappointed and suspicious, he almost forgot to respond to the question he had been asked. “Squall isn't with me,” he said honestly.

 

“If you're sleeping him, then you'll lie for him,” Seifer returned sharply, jealousy ruling his tone. “I just want a quick word, nothing more.”

 

Frowning, Cale's red eyes studied the black pavement of the staff parking lot he was in. While confrontation was not his mode of operations, he was not without a backbone. “You realize that Squall is my boyfriend and that you're not exactly in line to becoming the best man at any wedding.”

 

Scoffing, Seifer informed, “Well, if you still think he's your boyfriend then he obviously isn't with you right now.”

 

Struck with an uneasy feeling, Cale tried to figure out what the ex-knight meant. “What does that mean?” he questioned stiffly, his words blatantly forced.

 

“You're the professor, figure it out,” Seifer muttered with agitation, promptly hanging up after having the last word.

 

Brows knitting in confusion, Cale stared despondently at his phone. Not wanting to infer anything incorrectly, his current insecure standing in his relationship left him dreading some approaching breakup.

 

Progressing to his car, tried not to question why Seifer Almasy had called from Squall's phone. Loosing his dark grey tie he tossed it into the passenger side seat along with his files. Taking a few moments to remember why faith was necessary in any relationship, he tried to find his.

 

Adjusting and readjusting the cuffs of his black dress shirt, he had to consciously stop himself before the buttons popped off. “Dammit,” he cursed, his anger towards the antagonistic sorceress' knight building. Why was Seifer interfering?

 

Staring down at his lap, he laughed mirthlessly as he realized he appeared dressed for a funeral in his black slacks and top. Perhaps that was what awaited him upon returning home.

 

Frowning, he forced his pessimistic thoughts away. He wouldn't assume anything until he talked with Squall.

 

--

 

Squall hadn't meant to fall asleep. After showering and dressing in the same clothes he had worn before and after sleeping with Seifer, he had been left with nothing but his thoughts to occupy his time. Shaken awake, he jolted upright on the couch and met crimson eyes warily.

 

“Are you okay?” Cale asked, sensing that something was not quite right with the flow of events that day. He had rushed home, having suspected he might have a guest.

 

Nodding numbly, Squall glanced around as though expecting to find a crowded room. Checking his watch, he was displeased to realize it was already six o'clock. “I let myself in,” he said in confession, his tone apologetic.

 

Smiling wryly, Cale knelt down before the pale brunet and gazed into sleep-dazed eyes. “I gave you a key for a reason. I know we can't live together right now, but I hope you feel free to come and go in my home as though it's your own.”

 

Hit with poignant guilt, Squall barely managed to contain his grimace. “Cale,” he began in a quiet voice, staring morosely into the worried man's soft eyes, “I came here to breakup.”

 

Brows drawing together, Cale could not hide the sharp pain he felt. Unable to speak, he stared for several long moments. Swallowing thickly, he eventually managed to say, “I thought we were doing good.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Squall said, running a hand through his hair.

 

“Is it…” Cale wasn't exactly sure if his surprise was genuine. He had harbored doubts from the start, the deepest recesses of his insecure mind wondering when he might hear such words formed by pretty bowed lips. “Is it because of me or does it have to do with something else?” he asked, standing swiftly and turning away before he lost his composure entirely.

 

Realizing how clichéd his words would sound, Squall thought twice before speaking. “I can't have a relationship right now,” he explained. “The changes in my life have affected Lore badly.” While most parents were capable of balancing familial and romantic relationships at the same time, he had failed miserably. He had started off on the wrong foot, forgetting to remember that the relationship between him and his son was unusually close. Seifer's interference had only thrown a wrench into an equation that wouldn't have worked anyway.

 

“You want to erase everything that happened after the night I confessed to you,” Cale commented dejectedly.

 

“You deserve better,” Squall added, grasping at straws for an explanation that had sounded solid in his head.

 

Stiffening abruptly, Cale remembered the call from Seifer Almasy. Turning, he gazed down at the seated brunet. “Something happened with him again,” he surmised disdainfully. His current distress suddenly opened the floodgates for contempt and jealousy, which were not feelings he generally hosted.

 

“… …”

 

Cale waved his hand dismissively. He didn't need or want confirmation. He knew something else had happened. He had been an idiot for hoping Squall would grow to love him. “I can't say that I'm surprised. Does that make me pathetic?” he mumbled, wondering just how foolish he must have seemed all along.

 

“No,” Squall asserted firmly. Battling his conflicting judgments on what he should say, he finally informed in an eerily calm voice, “I slept with Seifer.”

 

Frozen in place, Cale didn't even breathe. At length, when it became apparent that it was his turn to speak, he murmured, “I see.”

 

Standing smoothly, Squall consciously refrained from moving closer. He knew enough not to try and console the islander. He understood that Cale loved him, but he could only conclude that his actions were beneficial to the man. He still didn't understand what had happened with Seifer. He couldn't even determine whether the belligerent ex-knight was satisfied, which he would need to find out if his life were to regain its equilibrium.

 

“I'm a little confused,” Cale said, feeling betrayed. He had never gone all the way with the former commander because the sappy romantic inside of him had needed requital. Entirely aware of how prudish his approach had been, he had assumed the man he loved was of a similar mindset regarding sexual intimacy. Concluding that Squall couldn't have slept with anyone without feeling something for the person, he was left to further conclude that the breakup had nothing to do with Lore. “If you're leaving me for him, you would tell me wouldn't you?”

 

“I'm not,” Squall answered evenly. Crossing his bare arms, he hugged himself and informed, “What happened with Seifer was physical. I won't be seeing him again.” Cale had no reason to believe him, especially when he couldn't even trust himself anymore.

 

Surprised by the shaky undertone he detected, Cale whirled around to face the brunet. The reclusive man's body language seemed terribly defensive. “Did something happen?” he asked in alarmed concern. He reached out tentatively, not quite daring to touch the fighter until he read some tacit signal that it was okay.

 

Eyes widening, Squall was disbelieving. He had just broken up with the man, yet that didn't seem to matter. Backing away, he gave a dry reflexive laugh. He distanced himself with a contrite expression marring delicate features.

 

Staring ardently into stormy blue eyes, Cale set aside his jealousy. He was smart enough to have seen it all coming, so there was little sense in doubting the reticent fighter's reasons. “You don't have to apologize,” he said. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, he reminded, “I asked a lot of you from the beginning. I knew my feelings would be a burden, which is why I tried so hard to hide them.”

 

Shaking his head, Squall commented, “You are just like Laguna.” He had always considered his father to be an anomaly in a self-serving and self-centered world. Granted that Cale was not a klutz or horrible cook, but the man had a bleeding heart.

 

“I'm like the President?” Cale murmured. As a political science fanatic, he held President Loire up on a pedestal and could not imagine being compared.

 

Biting his lip, Squall nodded solemnly. “You both care so much. I just don't understand.”

 

A gentle smile came to Cale's face and a moment of extrinsic reality passed between them, as though he hadn't just been dumped. Remembering the circumstances, his smile fell. “I'm not a saint,” he assured. Seeing apparent strain shown in grey-blue eyes, he was compelled to try and ease the man's suffering. “I've done my share of misleading in relationships.”

 

“Cale,” Squall interjected. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

 

Appearing sheepish, Cale replied, “A bit.”

 

“Please don't,” Squall requested. Mind spinning, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He was beyond feckless when it came to relationships, the breakup being no exception.

 

“This is going to sound desperate,” Cale began, stepping closer to the shrinking brunet, “but that's exactly what I am right now.” Hope sprung eternal within his foolishly determined heart, like a weed that either didn't know when to die or didn't know how.

 

“…” Squall remained rooted in place, ignoring his unsettled urge to step away. His body's autonomic response to any contact was to reject it. He was still shaken up inside after Seifer's painful penetration.

 

“If you're doing this for your son, then when Lore graduates, will the timing be right?”

 

Searching pleading crimson eyes, Squall masked his shock. “He's a sophomore,” he said quietly, almost afraid of what the professor had in mind.

 

“I know,” Cale asserted. Hand daring to cup the former commander's devastatingly beautiful face, he requested, “In two years, can we try again?”

 

Mask slipping, Squall appeared distressed. “Two years is a long time.”

 

“A very long time,” Cale agreed soundly, knowing that two years would feel like an eternity for him. “I'm afraid that if I don't express just how much I care, that you won't take me serious.” Closing the distance between them, he pulled the brunet to him and held the smaller man securely against his chest. “My heart is breaking, Squall,” he whispered hoarsely. “If your feelings this entire time haven't changed even a little, if it's completely hopeless and you think me insane, then tell me honestly. But if there is even the slightest chance that in two years you may come to love me back, tell me now.”

 

Suffocating beneath the heavy choice he needed to make, Squall fought to remain calm. Military training finally kicking in, his thoughts began to sort and prioritize properly. He had no right to put the islander on a leash for two years while he selfishly kept his distance to preserve the relationship with his son. Conversely, it was the professor trying to become tethered and he was not adverse to the idea of dating Cale when the timing was right. If Lore wasn't a factor and if Seifer never found out, then pursuing their relationship was an attractive prospect.

 

“I'm sorry,” Cale whispered, arms tightening. “I shouldn't ask you to do this for me, but Hyne knows that I'd never forgive myself if I just let you go without doing everything I could to hold on. I'm afraid I'll never feel this way again.”

 

“You deserve better,” Squall refuted, on the brink of accepting the virtual two-year storage agreement. No one deserved to be put on a waiting list, but the professor made it sound like his refusal would be a far crueler fate.

 

“My heart tells me that you are the best there is,” Cale stated.

 

Eyes closing tightly, Squall continued to sort through his entangled feelings. He cared too much about the islander to hurt the man anymore than he already had. The pressure to give a decisive answer was mounting, sending him back to his days as a commander. “You'll be miserable,” he commented in an attempt to procrastinate.

 

“No,” Cale refuted. “Just being with you is enough to keep me happy for two years. It'll be uncomplicated, just like it was before. When your life can take a little complication, we'll start over.”

 

Knowing it was within his power to end it all right then, Squall was bound by the sudden realization that beneath his motivations to breakup were his feelings of genuine affection for Cale. Though it was far from love, he had begun to develop feelings for the professor beyond the convenient comfort of having a release for his body's natural desires. Jumping the gun, his shocking epiphany tipped the scales before he could finish sorting through all the factors. “Okay,” he agreed. “When Lore doesn't need me anymore, we'll start over.”

 

Barely managing to process the brunet's answer in his state of despondence, Cale laughed tersely. “Hyne you've just made me so happy,” he announced. Not quite ready to relinquish his hold, he held the pale man as though it were the last time he would have the chance to. His emotions were on a roller coaster, peeking and crashing in extreme intervals.

 

“Fool,” Squall mumbled. He could not even begin to understand why Cale would still want to be with him. He had just admitted to sleeping with another man and the professor's first response was to secure a point in the distant future when they could try having a relationship again. If Hyne were merciful, then two years would be enough time for the professor to fall out of love and find someone better, but he wouldn't speak of such possibilities.

 

Laughing, Cale admitted, “I wish you could see a cooler side of me. Ever since I told you how I felt, it's changed me.”

 

“…” Squall understood exactly how the professor felt, but preferred not to relate his situation of strong lust for Seifer.

 

Finally releasing the crushed brunet, Cale stepped back and smiled at the slender man. “We were good as friends,” he commented lightly.

 

Astounded at the islander's recovery, Squall offered a half smile. “Compatible,” he returned.

 

Nodding, Cale agreed. “It is strange considering our backgrounds. I'd say it was fate, but I've already become enough of a sap in front of you, so I'll just say it's all coincidence.”

 

Responding with a slightly bigger smile, Squall searched crimson eyes for some betrayal of hidden feelings. Finding no disappointment or hurt in the man's uniquely colored eyes, he relaxed.

 

“Was there somewhere you needed to be tonight?” Cale questioned. Dinner between friends wasn't uncommon. It seemed to him that something else was troubling the tightlipped man.

 

Biting his lip, Squall nodded. He needed to see Lore.

 

“Well, I hope Lore doesn't hate me now,” Cale commented, figuring the doting father needed to return home to spend time with an overprotective teenage son.

 

Shifting his weight, Squall fidgeted uncomfortably. “Lore doesn't hate you. Right now he's--”

 

Cut off by the demanding knock at the professor's apartment door, Squall shot an alarmed glance towards the entryway. When the knocking sounded again, he realized it wasn't Seifer. The raps were harsh, but not as forceful as the ex-knight's beckoning calls.

 

“Cale!” a young man called distantly. “It's me!”

 

Frowning, Cale stared sternly. “It's Luca,” he informed, doubting his companion could recognize the boy's voice. Sighing in vexation, he cast a look of reluctance to the former commander. “I've told him not to come here, but he's young.”

 

Squall appeared impassive. Youth was no excuse for repeatedly crossing the lines of a student-teacher relationship.

 

“Shall I send him away?” Cale asked.

 

Shaking his head, Squall mumbled, “Do what you have to do.” He wasn't going to request that the professor turn someone away on his account. The man was obviously too caring.

 

Realizing that compromised time as lovers was no longer an issue, Cale strode to the door with a pang of sadness. He was not exactly ecstatic about breaking up, only relieved that he still had a chance. While relief was a powerful feeling, it could not sooth a fractured heart. In an attempt to steel his professional resolve, he stood for an extra moment before answering his caller. When the persistent student knocked again, he opened the door.

 

“Cale!” the young man said with underlying excitement. Luca stood beaming, dressed casually in baggy cargo pants and bright orange t-shirt. Choppy strands of recently stylized hair framed his round face, the intentional wayward manner reminiscent of a certain famous commander. Stepping forward, he made to enter the apartment.

 

Cale held a hand up, stopping his student from entering. “Luca,” he addressed briskly. “I've already told you that visiting me at home is out of the question.”

 

Lips pursing slightly, Luca gave a petulant look of indignation. His welcome was far less warm than expected. “You said it was inappropriate because I was your student.”

 

“Exactly,” Cale agreed.

 

Smile returning, Luca blithely informed, “I withdrew today. Now it doesn't matter.”

 

Crimson eyes widening, Cale stared in shock. “There are two weeks left in this semester and you're one of my top students. Why would you do that?” It had to be a joke.

 

“Because I can't wait two weeks to be with you.”

 

“No,” Cale rejected firmly. “Luca, I will not date any students. I take my role as en educator very seriously.”

 

Laughing, Luca informed, “I know. That's why I didn't just withdraw from your class. I withdrew from the university.”

 

Squall eavesdropped from out of sight. It wasn't really his business. All things considered, Cale was free to date anyone, but the willful undergraduate seemed so desperate that Cale's hopeful two-year bargain paled in comparison. The young man's voice seemed to hold a hollow undertone, as though there were no actual emotions behind such a romantic pursuit. It was poor acting at its worst.

 

“Is that a joke?” Cale questioned incredulously. As a nervous habit, he ran his fingers through short strands of white hair, tugging gently as though it would conduce better solutions from his brain.

 

“No,” the former student stated. “I was failing all my other classes anyway.”

 

As the situation altered rapidly, Cale reacted in tandem. “You can come in,” he said, stepping aside and allowing his overzealous pupil to enter.

 

“I actually came to discuss other matters,” Luca began, a bright smile on his face as he took his former professor's invitation. Spotting an unexpected guest nearby, he froze.

 

“Other matters can wait,” Cale chastised. “I'm going to call Dean Mathers and see if we can't reinstate your enrolment somehow.”

 

“Why!?” Luca cried, glaring balefully toward the pretty brunet standing with mocking casualness.

 

“Because you obviously made an irrational decision,” Cale answered. Moving swiftly, he crossed the apartment and rounded his cluttered desk.

 

Pointing querulously, Luca spoke in an accusing tone, “Why is he here?”

 

Fine eyebrows rising at the unexpected confrontation, Squall remained silent. His dealings with Cale's students were non-existent, with an exception for the rash young man pointing animatedly at him. Staring keenly into brown eyes, he felt a slight unease creep up on him. He knew his dislike had nothing to do with jealousy. Nonetheless, he still didn't like Luca Miner and couldn't pinpoint why. It was apparent that the love-struck student suffered from some delusional fantasy where Cale was unfortunate enough to fit some necessary role.

 

“Squall is welcome in my home,” Cale reprimanded sternly. Setting aside niceties, he said, “I tried to make myself clear before. Your being a student was a gentler way of saying that I'm simply not interested.”

 

“You're not interested because you're being deceived,” Luca exclaimed, eyes still focused on the president's deceptively perfect son.

 

Pausing in his search through piled papers, Cale gave the impertinent young man his full attention. “Luca!” he clipped, his voice rising in rare occasion. “I'm calling the dean. I will help you fix this mistake, but I will not discuss my private life.”

 

Rebuked, Luca's face flushed. Oppressive silence falling, he waited a minute before responding. “Okay professor,” he mumbled, backing up to the door again. Gaze downcast, his eyes flickered across the floor in rapid thought.

 

Something stirred within Squall, a silent alarm that he knew better than to ignore. Standing completely still, he made no sudden movements.

 

Luca swallowed thickly. Glancing up, he looked from one face to the next. “I have all my registry information in my car,” he excused. “I'll be right back.”

 

About to correct his student, Cale wasn't quick enough. The young man made a hasty exit. Having doubts about whether Luca were truly retrieving paperwork, he decided he should be looking for the dean's number anyway. He was only going to call Dean Mathers. It was past six o'clock and nothing official could be done in the registrar's office until the next day, but the dean owed him a favor and he would sleep easier if he at least knew the matter could be resolved.

 

Frowning deeply, Squall hesitated while staring at the door. He had a bad feeling. “Maybe you should leave him,” he suggested. Walking around the couch, he moved to stand in front of the paper-strewn desk.

 

Shaking his head, Cale continued to sift through the desk drawers. “I can't,” he replied. “He might seem a little loose in the head, but most brilliant thinkers are.”

 

“…” Squall crossed his arms, not certain it was his place to interfere.

 

Finding what he had been after, Cale unfolded a rather wrinkled piece of paper that had been wedged in the back of a bottom drawer. “I'm responsible for not being clearer with him. It would be a shame to lose him from my class and the university.”

 

“He's failing,” Squall pointed out, using information he had gleaned.

 

“That's because he's not applying himself,” Cale excused.

 

Biting his lip, Squall debated the evils of pressing the matter. Unable to ignore his feelings, he said in a level voice, “Helping like this will only feed his delusion.”

 

Expression darkening, Cale stared intently at no particular point of interest on his desktop. “He's not delusional,” he refuted, flipping his cell phone open to make a call to the dean.

 

Squall studied the professor's face. Reaching out, he clasped the man's hand that held the phone. “You're not comparing yourself to him, are you?” he asked frankly.

 

Staring reverently into stormy blue eyes, Cale realized he felt very sympathetic. “There are a few similarities, wouldn't you agree?”

 

Squall shook his head. Caring enough to elaborate, he soundly explained, “Your feelings have always been genuine. Any first year psyche major will tell you that boy has some need to fill a role in his life. I don't know if he's lost someone, but infatuation has nothing to do with why he wants to be with you.”

 

Cale laughed softly, a warm respect for the knowledgeable fighter simmering beneath his distress over Luca. “I'm impressed. I'd forgotten about your profiling,” he said. “He had an older brother up until a few months ago. He talks about him a lot.”

 

“…” Squall had only made a few conjectures based on very little observation, but he had experience with such emotionally dependent people. He had spent the first half of his life surrounded by orphans, all of whom had looked to Garden to fill a void in life. The last time he had encountered such aggressive behavior in someone seeking a personal bond for the sake of stability, a war had resulted. Seifer had readily gone with Matron for reasons that no doubt paralleled the young student pursuing the boundlessly kind professor.

 

“I'm still responsible for him,” Cale explained, gently detaching his hand.

 

Gnawing on his lower lip, Squall tried to ascertain how he might evince Cale to reconsider. “If he really is unstable, being a fulltime student is a bad idea.”

 

Pedagoguish compulsion lifting, Cale realized the perceptive brunet was being strangely persistent. “Do you think something is wrong with Luca?” he inquired. Compromising his hasty actions, he lowered the phone to the desk.

 

Shrugging noncommittally, Squall wasn't able to articulate the trust he placed in his instincts. As incapable as he was with matters of the heart, his weakness was compensated by his aptitude and skill in battle. If it involved tactics and outthinking an enemy, he could place himself inside anyone's head. The current situation had nothing to do with enemy movements, but he had seen countless cadets like Luca, many of whom never became ranked SeeDs because they did not have a sound enough mentality for it. “I've seen his kind,” he informed in a near whisper.

 

“What kind?” Cale questioned further.

 

Sighing, Squall adjusted his arms to fit closer in their crossed position. “He might need help,” he offered reluctantly. He didn't like casting judgment, especially when psyche profiling was not his particular area of expertise.

 

Diffident, Cale regarded the levelheaded brunet solemnly. “Do you really think so?”

 

Mulling his answer over, Squall knew the professor would end up following his conclusions. Carefully processing his instinctive feelings and what he had thusly witnessed, he realized the sum of his concern exceeded the red flagging summands. “There's something else,” he murmured to himself. He was missing something.

 

Stepping around the desk and sidling closer to the pensive brunet, Cale asked, “What? What is it?” The former commander was rather attractive with such a distant expression of calculating thought, but he quieted his impassioned blood quickly.

 

Eyebrows furrowing as he continued to concentrate on what he was missing, Squall took a deep breath and tried to jog whatever was hiding in his memory. Going rigid, he suddenly made the connection.

 

Cale became alarmed as the composed swordsman's eyes widened and complexion blanched. “What's wrong?” he pressed more firmly. Reaching out, he clasped narrow shoulders and turned the smaller man to face him.

 

Not speaking, Squall ignored the islander's questions. Was it possible that the eyes he had felt following on and off since Saturday belonged to Luca? Assuming the person watching him was also the person repeatedly calling him, it made sense how his number had been discovered. At length, he said, “I have no proof, but he may have been following me and calling my phone.” Indifferent mask falling back into place, he hid his uneasy apprehension.

 

Eyes narrowing, Cale seemed at a loss for a response. “When…” he began, too disturbed by the mere concept of a stalker to finish. Clearing his throat, he tried to mimic the sturdy fighter's calm demeanor. “Since when?” he finally forced out.

 

Realizing he had frightened the professor, Squall tried to rectify his ominous statement. “Watching someone is harmless.”

 

“At first maybe,” Cale exclaimed. Rubbing his forehead, he paced away. “He's been calling you?”

 

“I don't know for sure,” Squall reminded. The timing was convenient for Luca to be a suspect, but considering his level of notoriety, it could have been any number of persons.

 

“Why didn't you tell me?”

 

Squall gave a shrug. “I wasn't concerned.”

 

“But he was watching you,” Cale pointed out.

 

“It's not aggressive to watch. I never felt threatened.” Squall was lying. There had been a distinctive unnerving sensation when targeted by his unknown observer.

 

Both Squall and Cale turned when the apartment door slid open. Luca entered after supposedly retrieving papers pertaining to his recent withdrawal.

 

Upset, Cale stalked forward. His approaching steps faltered as he noticed his student eyes were red from crying. He forced his guilt away. “Luca, have you been harassing Squall?” he asked, his tone demanding.

 

Eyes going wide, Luca stared at the accusing man. “He's lying!” he cried defensively. “He's a lying slut!”

 

Cale barely managed to catch himself before slapping his student. Unsettled by his own actions, he clenched his jaw and backed away.

 

Confused, Squall stood in place near the desk and waited for some greater clarification. It would seem he had inadvertently spurned the young man simply by dating Cale.

 

Taking a deep breath, Cale glanced over at the surprisingly unaffected swordsman. When he felt calm enough to address Luca without yelling, he faced the boy and warned, “I cannot tolerate your actions against Squall.”

 

“And I can't tolerate him,” Luca shot back heatedly. “He's sleeping with other men behind your back.” Glaring at the president's son, he accused, “I saw you with Irvine Kinneas and Seifer Almasy. You can't just fuck every guy in sight. You don't deserve Cale!”

 

Betraying no emotion, Squall stared impassively. When could Luca have seen him with Seifer or Irvine? The boy was drawing biased conclusions, but he expected no less. Refusing to argue, even to defend himself, he didn't respond.

 

Having heard quite enough, Cale decided he would need to straighten everything out after having time to absorb it all and calm down. “I think you should leave,” he said, disappointment and anger in his voice.

 

“I have to show you what he truly is,” Luca protested.

 

“You need to leave now,” Cale reaffirmed. “You've repeatedly crossed the line, and what you're doing here is completely unacceptable.”

 

Squall frowned, discomfit with the strange energy in the room. “Cale,” he murmured. When the professor turned his way, he shook his head subtly. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. The professor's continued rejection seemed to be backing Luca into a corner. Despite the blatant reality of the situation, the persistent undergraduate behaved as though failure was not an option. He felt certain the young man would not go peacefully, not without convincing Cale of his deplorability. Ironically, he rather agreed that Cale deserved better, but saying so would hardly disillusion the boy.

 

Unable to read the former commander's signal, Cale gave a questioning look.

 

“Don't try to manipulate him,” Luca hissed. “You think just because you're a little special that you can do whatever you want. Cale might be too nice to realize what you are, but I'm not blind.”

 

“That's enough!” Cale snapped. “I don't care what he's done, I still love him. My feelings for Squall have nothing to do with you!”

 

“That's not true!” Luca refuted. “If it weren't for him, we could be like we used to.”

 

Frowning, Cale became a bit uncertain as to what his student was implying. “We'll sort out your enrolment, but right now you need to leave.”

 

“No! We can't be the same with him around. You don't care about me anymore. Everything is for that whore. Why won't you believe me?”

 

Angry and perplexed, Cale bit out, “Luca, what the hell are you talking about? Are you even talking about me anymore?” The last time he had checked, the closest their relationship had become was discussing possible theses for the final paper.

 

“No,” Luca replied succinctly. Eyes widening for a doubtful moment, he quickly corrected, “Yes.”

 

Studying the high-strung student closely, Squall finally spoke, “He's not your brother.” He was hoping to take advantage of the boy's brief lapse in conflicting realities. He prayed that he wasn't wildly off base with his conclusions.

 

Fright overcame wide brown eyes as Luca shot the older brunet a horrified look. Though his mouth fell open to refute the man, no words came out. Remembering himself, he glared maliciously. “Shut up!” he ordered. “Don't you dare mention my brother, you fucking whore. You think you can come into our lives and mess everything up, but I won't let you. I won't-”

 

A loud slap resounded through the scarcely furnished apartment. Breathing unevenly, Cale lowered his hand and didn't meet his student's stunned eyes. “That's enough,” he whispered harshly, his voice level seeming out of place after so much shouting. “Get out.”

 

--

 

Seifer had called every number stored in the asocial mercenary's cell phone. After a handful of very awkward interrogations and arguing rather heatedly with an annoyingly protective cowboy, he still hadn't found the location of the epicene swordsman. Angry with the brunet for leaving and evading his detection, he had ceased his search and returned to work to spite the rebellious man.

 

Sadly, he had only spent a couple hours on site before realizing his distant location did nothing to remove unwanted thoughts of Leonhart from his head. Though he had been reluctant to admit just how bothered he was, he had resumed his search with greater fervor.

 

After calling the schoolteacher a second time and receiving no answer, he assumed Squall had shown up and instructed the man to screen his calls. Confident the ice prince was indeed with Bernhein, he had procured Bernhein's address and driven all the way to the first district. He figured that he could kill two birds with one stone by making certain the cozy couple was actually broken up.

 

Refusing to accept any help from his car's directional system, he preferred to look upon his somewhat indirect route as an educational experience in an unfamiliar city. Managing to find the right street, he began to formulate a game plan for when he came face to face with Squall. Not knowing what words he would use as an apology, he was struck with sudden genius.

 

Chuckling to himself, Seifer realized the solution to all his troubles had been so obvious. He would challenge Squally-boy to a fight. Fighting solved everything. The pissy prince could diffuse some anger and seek revenge. After they sparred, he would make his next move.

 

Flashing red lights caught his attention up ahead. He slowed down, wondering if he would need to pull over shortly. It soon became apparent that the center of the incident was stationary and that he would the one passing by.

 

Paying little heed to the clustered cop cars, he drove past and began to search for the right apartment complex. It was approaching seven o'clock and the sun had already set behind the tall skyline to the west, making the lighting an issue as he tried to read the distant numbers beside each building's entrance.

 

Eventually, Seifer realized he must have driven too far. Turning around, he accepted a minor helping hand from the GPS, simply to confirm that he was at least on the correct street.

 

Approaching the parked police vehicles again, a sneaking suspicion formed. Suddenly apprehensive, he pulled over. He watched as an ambulance joined the scene, no siren blaring. No sirens either meant that no one had been hurt or it was too late to do anything.

 

Cutting the engine, Seifer leaned forward and rested his forearms against the steering wheel. Scouring the area, he let out a long sigh upon finding Bernhein's apartment. His assured mind didn't even consider the possibility that the resilient commander was in trouble.

 

Seifer bide his time staring through the front windshield. He wanted to gauge the situation before approaching. His timing seemed rather auspicious considering the crowd of neighbors began flocking only after his arrival. After five minutes, a low ranking officer assigned crowd control duty blocked the surrounding area off. With an apparent need for discretion, the flashing lights were turned off.

 

Green eyes sharpened as figures emerged from the clear glass doors at the top of a short stoop. The first response medics exited trolling a gurney. Swallowing thickly, he was slow to comprehend that he wasn't seeing a battered islander, but a body bag.

 

Numb to the revelation that he had reason to be concerned for his rival's well being, Seifer stared blankly. A disbelieving knot of dread formed in the pit of his stomach as the pair of medics stowed one lifeless body away. Prompted into action upon the arrival of a second ambulance, he got out of his car and walked toward the gawking crowd of onlookers.

 

Mouth dry, Seifer stood taller than anyone else nearby while staring uncertainly through the front doors of the four-story apartment building. His heart beat faster than it should have been and his whole body tensed up as he waited. Clenching his jaw tightly, he watched as the second paramedic team eventually exited towing a second body bag with solemn expressions that told him nothing about what was going on inside.

 

Senses slowly returning, the sound of the crowd began to drown out his jumbled thoughts.

 

“I'm positive it was five shots,” a nearby voice preached.

 

Catching the words of an older man, Seifer listened more closely. He didn't know what was going on and couldn't assume Leonhart was involved. In fact, the brunet might not have shown up at Bernhein's apartment in the first place. His anxiety was probably unfounded.

 

“Oh Harold, what does it matter?” a woman's voice replied, a sob sounding shortly after.

 

Glancing over, Seifer saw an older couple standing huddled together. The grey haired woman held a handkerchief to her face while leaning heavily against the potbellied man's side.

 

“It matters,” the balding man stated gravely. “What we told the police will help. Our accuracy is the only thing we can do to help now.” Appearing quite upset as well, he stared towards the ambulances while holding his wife close.

 

The older woman in her seventies continued to cry. Choking on her words, she managed to stop her sobs long enough to say, “There's nothing we can do to help. That sweet man is gone and there's nothing anybody can do.”

 

“Excuse me,” Seifer interrupted, stepping closer. “What happened?” A distant part of his mind began berating his foolish procrastination in finding his rival. Why the hell had he returned to work?

 

Though the wife seemed too bereaved to respond, the husband glanced towards the tall blond. Jowls moving as he spoke with contempt, the old man stated, “A bloody awful tragedy, that's what. The cops are calling it one of those murder-suicide cases.” Glancing back to the apartment building, he spat, “It makes me sick just thinking about how such bad things happen to good people.”

 

Sobs becoming louder, the old woman began to draw attention from the surrounding crowd. “That poor man,” she cried hysterically, turning against her husband's shoulder.

 

Patting his wife on the back, Harold glanced sidelong. “It's a rotten world,” he muttered disdainfully. “The professor hasn't done anybody a lick of harm. I've lived next door to him since he was student himself.” He looked up at the newcomer. “If you had asked him anything, he would have known the answer. He was smart as a whip.”

 

Seifer was slammed with the gut wrenching realization that the location of the incident was no coincidence. On the verge of a cold sweat, his stomach tightened. He was a veteran fighter, but no one was immune to the gravity of death. “Who else?” he asked, voice almost cracking in its dryness.

 

Shaking his head solemnly, Harold admitted, “Our whole floor knew he had a new lover. Cale never stopped smiling.”

 

Seifer took a deep breath as the ground beneath his feet began to feel unsteady. He didn't know if he wanted to hear more. Without any detailed information, he could pretend Leonhart was safely beside Kinneas as they talked about the best ways of exacting revenge.

 

Silent for a heavy moment, the old man spoke again at length, “We saw the boy go in. Hyne, if I'd known what he was going to do…” Sighing wearily, he rubbed his hand over his mouth. “We were out later than usual. Maybe if we hadn't been so rushed to get back, we would have noticed something.”

 

Sitting on his next question, Seifer couldn't bring himself to ask it. There were two bodies, one was Bernhein and the other was apparently Bernhein's lover. Rubbing his forehead as he tried to come to terms with such news, he futilely tried to reason that because of the pending breakup, Squall was disqualified as a candidate for the dead lover. He simply couldn't comprehend such circumstances that placed his childhood rival in one of the black bags the paramedics had brought out. “What did he look like?” he finally asked, his voice void of all emotion.

 

Whispering a few consoling words to his wife, Harold took his time before responding. Sniffing reflexively, he said, “He was young, kind of skinny. I only saw the back of his head. He had real messy hair.”

 

Slowly, Seifer questioned, “He was a brunet?”

 

“Yeah,” Harold muttered, clearing his throat as his wife's sobbing state threatened to bring him to tears as well. Staring forward, his face twitched under the strain of remaining composed. “Now they're both dead,” he said gruffly, lips pressed together tight.

 

Bereft of all rational thought, Seifer started forward automatically. Unable to cross the invisible barrier, he flagged an officer over.

 

A patrolman in blue uniform approached. “Sir, this is a crime scene-”

 

“Save it,” Seifer interrupted. “I'm family,” he lied, knowing family members were the only people given sanctioned details. “I want to know what happened.”

 

Appearing perturbed, the officer crossed his arms and gazed up at the tall man. “Family to whom?”

 

Clearing his throat, fearing it might crack under the strain of forcing his words out, Seifer replied, “Squall Leonhart.” Expecting to be asked for some identification, he doubted his ability to lie in his current state of distress. He couldn't quite believe that his rival was dead. It didn't seem possible.

 

“Can you get him to talk?” the officer questioned eagerly, attitude suddenly changing.

 

“What?” Seifer questioned, his focus having drifted for a moment.

 

“Mr. Leonhart isn't being very forthcoming right now, probably from shock. If I let you through, can you get him to talk?”

 

Eyes narrowing, Seifer pinned the patrolman with a dangerously sharp gaze. “He's alive?” he questioned tersely, his chest tightening to such a painful degree that he almost grimaced.

 

Brows rising in wary uncertainty, the young officer nodded.

 

“Let me through,” Seifer ordered, his tone deathly persuasive.

 

 

TBC…

 

Author's Note: >_< I'm sorry, sorry, sorry! It's been so long since I updated. I don't know if I'm just being too anal about my writing or if there just isn't that natural flow that used to let me type out two chapters a week. Sadly, summer does not bring any free time for me to focus on writing. I'm going full time for the summer semester, and half my classes run right up until the fall semester. I didn't want to leave it at too much of a cliffhanger, but I didn't want to put off posting just so I could write the next scene. For the record, this was indeed the way I had things planned out from the beginning, even if it's really clichéd. I am concerned about plausibility, since it all sort of came out of nowhere. One cliché I will avoid is using this situation to make Seifer suddenly realize he's in love. Well, I hope it was at least worth the wait. Thank you guys for all the supportive reviews. I'll try really hard to post the next chapter a.s.a.p.