Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Defining Love ( Chapter 40 )

Defining Love

Chapter Forty

 

 

Car keys in hand, Squall was set to leave for Seifer's apartment. Despite his many attempts to smother the warm feelings that crept up inside him, a giddy sense of excitement stirred to life. A full twenty-four hours hadn't even passed since his tentative first date with Seifer. He had spent his night replaying their time together over in his head, dwelling on the more pleasurable moments.

 

Lore came into the living room, shrugging into a plaid blue dress shirt and leaving it open over a white t-shirt. His eyes locked onto his father. As he approached, he studied the vacant expression on the man's face. The unusually inattentive fighter stood before the balcony door, staring off in deep reverie.

 

It was evident by the distant stare of stormy blue eyes that Squall's mind was far away. Growing sullen, Lore's lips formed a petulant frown. He knew the subject of his father's thoughts. The perverse ex-knight had carved a place in his father's life, and presently consumed the man's thoughts. He didn't like it, and he didn't hesitate to admit to himself that he wanted each thought given to the ex-knight for himself, or at least spent on a worthier cause. Cognizant that his feelings and actions came across as childish, he remained helpless against the selfish possessiveness he felt.

 

Squall stirred, sensing his son nearby. Glancing over, he smiled softly. “Ready?” he questioned.

 

Lore gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders.

 

Not needing psychic abilities to read his son's dark mood, Squall asked, “What's wrong?”

 

Shifting on foot, Lore appeared reluctant to say anything. He was past complaining, at least out loud. He didn't doubt that Seifer made his father happy, in some twisted sense. Regardless of what he had witnessed and suspected, he had numerous qualms with the relationship. His chief concern was Seifer true intention. He had not seen anything to suggest that Seifer would take care of his father.

 

When Lore considered the circumstances under which Seifer and his father had hooked up, his doubts multiplied. Seifer could scarcely keep mauling hands off his father. This was a troubling thought, and it led him to inspect his father's appearance under a more critical eye.

 

“Are you wearing that?” Lore asked.

 

Squall looked down at his clothes. He wore black pants that fit much the same as his leather pants, but without the flashiness. The material was a popular Estharian blend that gave durability to lightweight fabrics. On top, he wore a plain white t-shirt. It seemed appropriate. He was comfortable and wouldn't be too hot when the temperature heated up later in the day.

 

Lore was gone in a blur, stalking across the room. Squall watched in surprise as the teen retreated down the hallway. Before he could question what was wrong, his son returned with a crimson sweatshirt.

 

“How about this,” Lore suggested, handing the item off.

 

Brows furrowed, Squall accepted the offered garment and held it up for inspection. “This is your team sweatshirt,” he observed. Stitched on the back was a large soccer ball, done in gold thread. In bold white letters, the name of Lore's high school arched over the top of the red and gold image of the ball. Beneath the ball was the name of the team. On the front, the left breast sported a small, gil-sized version of a gold soccer ball. `Lore Leonhart' was stitched in white thread above this smaller emblem. For obvious reasons, he wasn't keen on wearing the sweatshirt, the least of which included the fact that it was too big for him.

 

Seeing that he would have to win his father over to the idea, Lore said, “I figured if you had this on, I wouldn't have to carry it around until the game tonight.” It was a sorry excuse. The truth was, the former commander's athletic build drew too much attention. The last thing he wanted was to watch from the sidelines while Seifer ogled his father.

 

“We can stop home before the game,” Squall pointed out. The Toramas were playing in Esthar that night. Lore was eager to see them, which was now a possibility with the season tickets he had given the boy for his birthday. Anyone in the crowd who belonged to a soccer team received free drinks, but a jersey or some form of proof was required. Drinks didn't cost much to begin with, but it was a matter of pride. He knew this, and had watched on several occasions as Lore and hosts of other players, ranging from kindergarten to college, frequented the concession stands.

 

“I thought we were going to grandpa's,” Lore countered. It was Saturday, the day when his grandfather weaseled out of important meetings to visit them. His grandfather did this without fail, no matter how crucial the meeting or how often they had already seen each other throughout the week. Kiros had called his father earlier that morning, no doubt lecturing on the immense workload that his grandfather needed to finish, so they had made plans to visit the presidential palace, which would minimize the time Esthar's leader spent evading work.

 

Sighing, Squall put his son's sweatshirt on. What did he care if he wore something that paraded the name of a high school? The opinions of others didn't matter to him, and his son was asking for a small favor. From the tone Lore had initially taken towards what he wore, he suspected that the boy found something wrong with his clothes, but it was of little consequence.

 

Lore was contented at the sight of his father's frame buried beneath the thick folds of his sweatshirt. He considered it an opportunity to gauge Seifer's true intentions. Would the ex-knight express any interest in his father that wasn't physical?

 

The red hoodie settled down to the mid of Squall's thighs. He had to push the sleeves back to free his thumbs. He looked at Lore and studied the boy's frame. He knew his son was taller than him, but he hadn't realized how much broader in frame the boy had become as well. Lore had grown up so much from the tiny bundle of limbs that needed help crawling into his lap.

 

“You've gotten smaller,” Lore teased.

 

Squall quirked a quizzical brow. “I don't think that's how it works. How tall are you now?”

 

Beaming with pride, Lore stated matter-of-factly, “Five-ten, and a quarter.”

 

Only a month ago, Lore had matched his grandfather in height. Now he was the tallest of their trio. Soon, he would be even taller than Uncle Irvine.

 

In a tentative voice, Squall said, “You get that from Seifer.” When he had first noticed his son growing taller than himself, he had attributed it to Seifer. Until right then, he had never dared to actually say so. Now it seemed appropriate. He was dating Seifer. He couldn't pretend that the ex-knight had nothing to do with Lore.

 

For Lore, the sobering reality of his father's words turned his pride into resentment. He would not recognize any part of himself that came from Seifer. Jaw clenching, he muttered, “It's not a good thing. I'd be a better forward if I could run faster like you. If I weren't so tall, I might be faster.” His reasoning was an obvious spite towards Seifer. His long legs, which were very much like the ex-knight's, gave him an important advantage on the field. His father's speed wasn't in running, but agility, which was completely different. He didn't care if it made sense, only that it didn't relate to Seifer.

 

Squall's heart sank. Lore wasn't ready to acknowledge Seifer on any level. He wouldn't push the boy, but he had hoped the request to join him at Seifer's house was an expression of interest in the man. He may have misjudged Lore's intentions. He tried to gauge the teen's feelings, but found blue-green eyes too guarded to read. Lore had shut him out, and he regretted mentioning Seifer in the first place.

 

“We should go,” Lore said. Turning away, he walked off.

 

Squall followed without another word.

 

 

 

--

 

At the sound of the doorbell, Seifer's unmanaged steps brought him to the doorway in record time. His arm was extended to press the release button on the door, but he checked himself at the last second. Eagerness didn't suit him. He was not a desperate man.

 

Standing straight and squaring his shoulders, he groomed his image. His blond hair was swept back, combed neatly into place, except for a few stray strands that framed his forehead. Accounting for the need to go into work, he had forgone a casual look in favor of something appropriate for being the owner and manager of Esthar's largest training center. He wore slate grey slacks and a deep blue dress shirt. The shirt, tucked in and wrinkle-free, remained open at his collar. He knew Leonhart's penchant for necks, which he planned to exploit at every given opportunity.

 

Finally keying the release on the door's side panel, Seifer regarded his visitors with keen interest. One dark haired guest was welcome into his apartment, bed, and pants. The other, he would rather leave standing in the hallway.

 

Jade green eyes roved Leonhart's face. There was a delicate effeminacy to the fighter's sharp features. The former commander didn't look a day over twenty, except in the swirling depths of thoughtful grey-blue eyes, where the knowledge of thirty-five years shone. There was no end to what lay behind Leonhart's eyes, and he couldn't bring himself to stop staring.

 

Seifer's hands twitched, yearning to touch the object of his desires. He hated having to restrain himself. Balling his passions, he caged them and stepped back to let his guests pass.

 

Lore was first to step over the threshold. He cast a wary glance at Seifer. The blond didn't appear to notice his presence. There was a dumbstruck expression on the businessman's face, and bright eyes were solidly fixed a point behind him, where his father was.

 

Squall came in behind his son. Meeting the steady gaze of jade-green eyes, his pulse quickened. A flush of warmth spread through his body. He felt the heat rise to his face. The mere sight of Seifer triggered a flood of emotions and responses, none of which he could control. He was still unaccustomed to such involuntary physical reactions, but he accepted it more readily than he used to. In the back of his mind, he concluded that despite the chaotic lack of control, the feelings that consumed her were not unpleasant.

 

With longing in his eyes, Squall gnawed on his lower lip, wishing the teeth that sunk into the soft flesh belonged to Seifer. It was no small wonder that his desire flared when the swarthy skin of the robust fighter's collar was on display. He forced himself not to lick his lips.

 

Raijin and Fujin waited near the center of the living room, watching attentively as though expecting a monstrous accident to occur.

 

“You find it okay?” Seifer asked, lingering in place until Leonhart drew even with him. He scarcely acknowledged the teen that hovered at his rival's other side.

 

“I'm here,” Squall pointed out. When the ex-knight grinned in response, obviously curbing a witty retort, he gave a faint smile to assure the man of his good humor. He hadn't meant to be sarcastic. In fact, he found it difficult to filter his words when his mind was too busy processing the many thoughts and feelings the blond invoked.

 

The atmosphere in the room became unbearably awkward. There was a whole circus of elephants in the corner, and no one saw fit to look at them. Seifer wanted to pin Leonhart against the nearest wall and ravish the man, and Squall wanted Seifer to do exactly this. Lore wanted to confront Seifer about the exact nature of his intentions. Raijin didn't know what to make of his best friend drooling over the former commander. Fujin feared she might go into early labor if she had to suppress her laughter at the sight of Leonhart and her husband baking brownies.

 

“Thanks for helping me out,” Raijin said, his eyes invariably drawn to the dark haired youth stationed at Leonhart's side.

 

Squall gave a bare nod of acknowledgment. For a moment, he had forgotten his reason for coming. The ex-knight's presence was overpowering. Helping Raijin bake was a thinly veiled cover for the real reason he was there. His gaze kept straying to the handsome blond, making it blatantly apparent where his interest truly rested.

 

Seifer wouldn't deny that his true motive that day was to spend time with Leonhart. He didn't care how well Raijin could bake, or even if the man could boil water without starting a fire. He just wanted Leonhart in his kitchen, where he could enjoy the man's company. He might not be able to touch the fighter without stirring up trouble, but it was better than going the whole day with nothing but thoughts to tide him over until their next date.

 

Seifer targeted the dark haired teen with a piercing gaze. He found the boy's strangely familiar blue-green eyes staring back at him. Quirking a brow, he inclined his head in a taunting gesture. He couldn't pretend that the he didn't resent the relationship the kid had with Leonhart, or that the youth's presence there that day prevented him from making the most of his time with his new lover.

 

Raijin observed the confrontational manner in which Seifer gazed at the teenage boy. A frown of disapproval immediately set his features into a hard expression. “Seifer, is that who I think it is?” There was a peculiar familiarity about the boy. He saw the same green in the boy's eyes that he saw in Seifer's.

 

“This is Lore,” Squall informed the burly fighter.

 

Raijin blinked. The boy was a living, breathing culmination of Seifer and Leonhart. The kid was already a taller than the former commander, with a broader frame that promised several more inches. He didn't know where the hair came from; it was darker than Leonhart's but couldn't possibly have come from someone as blond as Seifer. The kid had a face that was both strong and delicate, very refined except for a certain boyish immaturity to it. The burning fire in mixed blue-green eyes proved that this was Seifer's son.

 

“Hey,” Raijin managed in a terse, monosyllabic greeting. His throat went dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He felt sixteen years weigh down on his shoulders. His best friend's son was nearly a man and he hadn't seen the boy until this day. Shame washed over him.

 

Fujin stepped closer to her husband, her single eye roving Lore's face in earnest. A nagging maternal instinct told her that Seifer's latest dalliance might have a happy ending. For many years, she had watched Seifer ignore the fact that he had a son. Only now that she had a son of her own on the way could she fathom the importance of having a child in the world. It was a discovery Seifer hadn't made yet, but there was no telling what the near future would hold.

 

Lore felt the combined gazes of everyone in the room. He fidgeted, forgetting that he was supposed to be watching the ex-knight like a hawk and figuring out what the man intended with his father. “What?” he mumbled self-consciously.

 

Eyes dropping sheepishly, Raijin regained his senses. “It's, like, nice to meet you,” he said. After a moment, he met the boy's eyes again and added, “I'm Raijin and this is Fujin.” He gestured to his wife.

 

Lore returned a stilted, “Hey.” He felt strangled by the awkward atmosphere. Surrounded by adults, he felt the separation of age distinctly. It dawned on him that he had accompanied his father into the lion's den.

 

“What are you wearing?” Seifer muttered in a clear note of disapproval. Finally quitting his incessant staring at Leonhart's face, his eyes fell below a pale neckline for the first time. He saw the name branded above the fighter's breast. He sent the kid a scathing look, but held his tongue. The boy could have just as well urinated on Leonhart and achieved the same effect.

 

Bristling indignantly, Squall felt as though he couldn't so much as breathe without offending someone. First his son, and now Seifer. What did anyone else care what he wore?

 

“What's wrong with it?” Lore defended. As though all his fears had been confirmed, he took Seifer's protest to heart. The man just wanted to use his father. It was a game, some twisted extension of the childhood rivalry the two shared. His father was too inexperienced when it came to relationships to see beneath the flashy blond's charming exterior. He refused to stand idly by while some self-centered swordsman toyed with his father's affections.

 

“Unless that sweatshirt is flame retardant, it's not safe,” Seifer pointed out. The nature of his disapproval had nothing to do with safety. His true qualm rested in his inability to see the former commander's lithe frame, not to mention the fact that it wasn't his name on the shirt.

 

Fujin plucked her husband's shirtsleeve and made a nodding gesture towards the kitchen.

 

Raijin cleared his throat. “Not to get pushy on you, but Fu and I were hoping to be home by dinner. I'd like to get as much stuff made as we can.”

 

Squall nodded yet again. He didn't expect Raijin to gain anything from him other than confidence. Most people could cook and bake simply by using common sense. Seifer had mentioned over the phone that Raijin had a lack of confidence rather than lack of skill. He empathized with the father-to-be. He had fretted through his share of ineptitudes and frantically worked to improve himself for the sake of his child.

 

“The kitchen's through here,” Raijin added, pointing to the open doorway that led off the living room.

 

Raijin followed Fujin into the other room. Squall cast Seifer a questioning glance. It was ten o'clock, and jumping right in seemed the best way to go about things.

 

“Go ahead,” Seifer encouraged, pointedly hanging back. “Raijin knows where everything is. Use whatever you need. Just don't let him use the electric mixer.”

 

Nodding in response, Squall lingered for a moment. He looked to his son, but found the boy staring intently at the ground. Shifting his focus back to Seifer, he silently beseeched the man not to antagonize Lore.

 

Sullen with his inability to pick a fight, Seifer settled on ruffling the kid's feathers a bit. Reaching out, he cupped the back of Leonhart's neck and drew the man a step closer. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to a warm temple. The kiss was chaste, yet intimate. “I'll play nice,” he whispered.

 

Squall grasped the wrist of the hand at the back of his neck. He held on, lingering longer than he should have. At length, he moved away.

 

As the brunet left, Seifer felt the ghosting touch of fingertips run over the back of his hand, and then suddenly they weren't touching anymore. When Leonhart vanished around the doorway, he wanted to rush into the kitchen to make sure the man was still there.

 

Lore watched the exchange with a perplexed expression. He had missed something. An entire conversation had gone on between the two and he hadn't heard a word of it. There was a strong connection between the two childhood rivals, and he didn't like it one bit. The caustic ex-knight might exploit that link, if he hadn't already.

 

“What exactly are your intentions for my dad?” Lore asked.

 

Seifer tore his gaze away from the vacant doorway. “You're a little young for that conversation,” he jibed. His intentions were too numerous to count. Most of them involved different positions to have sex, some were hopeless intentions of bondage play, and others were tamer intentions of watching Leonhart sleep in his arms. None of these were what the teen wanted to hear.

 

Crossing his arms, Lore challenged, “Do you know what will happen if you hurt him?”

 

“Is that a threat?” Seifer scoffed. The boy was as ballsy as ever, which he would have admired under different circumstances.

 

Brows furrowed angrily, Lore tried to impress the fact that there were serious consequences involved. “I'm not the only one who will come after you when you hurt him.” He was aware that he didn't have much of a platform to stand on. In a fight, he could never beat someone as experienced as Seifer, but he would find some way of reaping vengeance if it became necessary.

 

“When I hurt him?” Seifer questioned, appearing surprised. “I don't plan on hurting him. It seems you've already made up your mind about that.”

 

Faltering for a moment, Lore amended his thinking. Part of him wanted to assume the worst, and did, but he knew it was wrong to jump to conclusions. “Are you playing a game? Do you get off on toying with him?” he asked, his line of questions only slightly less accusatory.

 

Seifer scoffed. “Define toying,” he quipped. He certainly `got off' with Leonhart, but only in the best of ways.

 

Huffing in exasperation, Lore clipped, “Are you ever serious?”

 

With a grin that suggested otherwise, Seifer answered, “I'm always serious.”

 

“Really?” Lore intoned dubiously.

 

Eager to watch Leonhart bake, Seifer leveled with the kid. “I can't tell you what I want from your dad. Even I don't know that yet.”

 

“But are you messing with him?” Lore pressed.

 

“It's not a game to me,” Seifer declared. He stared intently into the boy's eyes, willing the teen to understand how difficult it was to define anything at such an early stage. He hardly knew more about what he felt than an outsider could guess at.

 

Lore felt the heat rise to his face. He believed that Seifer was being honest. The man's eyes were too clear to have secrets. With stubborn resistance, he questioned, “How can I trust you?”

 

Seifer gave a succinct answer. “You can't.”

 

Lore straightened, eyeing the ex-knight closely. Lips pressed in a tight line, he had nothing more to say. He would end up talking in circles. They had already had the same argument several times before. He had the creeping suspicion that only time could give him answers.

 

“We've been on one date,” Seifer reminded. “Your dad's heart isn't any more invested in this relationship than mine.”

 

“You don't know that,” Lore refuted.

 

Seifer ran a frustrated hand through his hair, disarranging several silky strands. The kid had touched on a sore spot. “Your dad is even more cautious than you,” he explained grudgingly. “He doesn't trust me like you think.” At the sight of bewilderment in blue-green eyes, he grumbled a discontented note. “Does that settle things for you?” The taste of his own biting remarks was bitter as he swallowed them. This kid was his ticket to Leonhart, which meant he couldn't deal with him in the same manner he had dealt with Kinneas. His reply to the gunman's interrogation had involved several bone shattering punches.

 

“Not really,” Lore mumbled uncertainly. He knew his father was a smart person, but not when it came to dating. He had thought the former commander was blindly falling head over heals. He didn't know how to take Seifer's claim to the contrary.

 

--

 

Lore sat on the edge of his seat, gazing from one face to the next as everyone laughed. Even his father's frame shook with restrained laughter.

 

Tears in his eyes, Raijin tried to continue telling the story. “And then, your dad shows up,” he said to Lore. “He just looked at us like everything was perfectly normal. And then he says…” Doubling over, he held up a hand to signal that he would finish once he stopped laughing.

 

Seifer jumped in. “He said, `The smoke detector didn't go off.'” Hand slapping the table, rich laughter poured from him.

 

Though Lore was less amused by the story than everyone else, he found it fascinating. “How old were you?” he asked.

 

Squall set the timer on the oven and turned around. Leaning against the counter, he regarded his son across the room. “Fifteen,” he said. As a smile crept to his face, he raised a hand to hide it. He didn't condone delinquent behavior, and didn't want his son hearing too much about his past. He had never been as mischievous as Seifer, but he had done his fair share of troublemaking around the orphanage and at Balamb Garden.

 

“No, you were younger,” Seifer refuted. “I was fifteen. You had to have been fourteen.”

 

Squall shrugged.

 

“You're older than Dad?” Lore asked, turning his attention to the man seated across from him.

 

Seifer nodded. “There's eight months between us.” He wasn't exactly sure how much time there was between them now. He had lost seven years, but not in physical terms. He was a man in his thirties who hadn't been around to experience his twenties.

 

“That was your first week at Balamb Garden, wasn't it?” Raijin asked Leonhart.

 

Squall lowered his hand, his smile effectively hidden. The sleeves of the sweatshirt he wore were cuffed up to his elbow. His movement dislodged one of the folds, and one cuffed sleeve rode lower than the other. “Yes,” he answered evenly. Feigning disinterest in the conversation, he adjusted the longer sleeve to ride higher.

 

“We hightailed it out of there, but Leonhart just couldn't leave the scene of a crime.”

 

“What'd they give you for it?” Seifer queried, casting the enticing brunet a smarmy grin. He suddenly longed to be a teenager again, and head of the disciplinary committee. He imagined giving Leonhart detention, bending the stripling fighter's lithe body over a desk and having his way with his rival. He was soon drawn from his perverted musings by the sound of Leonhart's matured voice. He preferred the older version to the young one, but a healthy imagination never hurt anyone.

 

Reading off a grocery list of punishments, Squall kept a somewhat accusatory glare trained on Seifer. “A week of detention for the wasted food. Two weeks of washing dishes for the stained walls and ceiling. And three weeks of cleaning the bathrooms for the broken oven and the windows.” Arms folded across his chest, he appeared reluctant to speak further on the topic of his punishments.

 

Seifer grimaced. He supposed the story of the exploding birthday cake wasn't as fond a memory for Leonhart as it was for him. “Damn, Cid was strict back then,” he commented.

 

Squall scowled. “He was hard on me because he knew I wasn't the one who had done anything wrong.”

 

Raijin piped in, “Other than show up at the worst possible moment.”

 

Seifer commended his former rival. “But you didn't give us up, Squally-boy. That's all that matters.”

 

Squall responded with an icy glare.

 

“You were a good sport,” Fujin interjected, breaking the silence she had kept since the former commander's arrival.

 

Squall's expression softened when he gazed at Fujin. “I was tolerant,” he said. If nothing else, Seifer had taught him to have an abundance of tolerance.

 

“You were like the most tolerant person in the world,” Raijin said. “Only one person ever got to you, ya know?”

 

“I'm gifted that way,” Seifer said, chest puffed with pride.

 

“Gifted at pissing people off?” Raijin inquired.

 

“It's a talent of sorts,” Seifer defended.

 

Raijin sniffed the air near the stovetop. “Hey man,” he began with an excited look at Leonhart, “that's smellin' pretty good, ya know?”

 

Squall gave the broad framed man a wry look, as if to say it couldn't turn out bad under his watch.

 

“It could still taste like shit,” Seifer assured.

 

Raijin straightened. He met his blond buddy with a challenging look. “I don't see you making anything.”

 

“I know how to cook,” Seifer declared matter-of-factly. “Real men aren't afraid of touching raw meat.”

 

Raijin's face twisted to an expression of disgust. “It's so nasty, all slimy and stuff. It's like, I can't eat something that was alive when I see it like that.”

 

Fujin shook her head in exasperation.

 

“Wait until you change your first diaper,” Seifer said. “I bet raw meat will look pretty good after that.”

 

The look of sheer dread in Raijin's eyes was too much, even for Squall who turned around while shaking with suppressed laughter.

 

Lore's amusement subsided, giving way to astonishment. He watched his father across the room, practically unable to keep from laughing aloud. Such an occurrence was beyond rare. His father didn't laugh often, especially in the company of others.

 

“How much do you know about your dad?” Seifer questioned, studying the boy's look of surprise.

 

“Everything,” Lore stated. There was a hint of challenge in the ex-knight's words. The arrogant blond might have experienced his father's past, but he had the former commander's last sixteen years, the present and entire future.

 

“About when he was your age,” Seifer said, probing the teen for a reaction.

 

Lore faltered. Glancing across the kitchen, he found his father staring at Seifer warily. “Why?” he returned in a cautious tone.

 

Seifer took a sip of his coffee and then leaned back in his seat, appearing relaxed despite the tensing atmosphere. He caught Leonhart's eye for a moment, but ignored the silent plea. “I've got stories,” he said. “Things he probably wouldn't have told you.”

 

“Seifer,” Squall warned.

 

“Stories like what?” Lore inquired. He was interested, but didn't know what to make of his father's apparent aversion.

 

“Some like the one you just heard. Others involving more danger.”

 

“Danger?” Lore looked at his father with worry.

 

Scowling, Squall chastised, “Seifer, stop it.” There was a lot Lore didn't know or fully understand about his past. Seifer knew everything, all the dangers he had faced both in and out of class.

 

Lore quickly realized that his father didn't want Seifer telling him anything. Determined to know more, he turned to Seifer and prompted, “What danger?”

 

The kitchen went silent. Seifer didn't answer the raven-haired youth until he concluded that Leonhart would forgive him sooner or later. “Your dad was a real daredevil back in the day,” he said. Eyes trained on the daredevil he spoke of, he found icy daggers sailing his way. The fatherly brunet did not like the subject he had brought up, but the son gazed at him with avid interest. He couldn't deny such an eager audience.

 

“What did he do?” Lore needed to know everything Seifer knew. Even if he managed to goad his father into telling him, he was sure to receive the watered down version involving only minor scrapes and bruises.

 

“Hey man,” Raijin cut in, “to be fair, most of the things that happened were Seifer's ideas.” He gave the ex-knight an exasperated look and commented, “You could never leave Leonhart out of anything, could you?”

 

“And keep all the fun to myself?” Seifer remarked. With a mischievous grin, he turned to the teen and whispered, “Your dad was a troublemaker.”

 

“He was not,” Lore protested.

 

Across the room, Squall bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't believe how childish Seifer was acting. Though, he didn't fail to notice how engaged his son had become.

 

Seifer lectured, “You think he's a war hero, but no one is born a hero.”

 

“Stop playing the devil's advocate,” Squall muttered. He didn't want Seifer filling his son's head with nonsense.

 

Seifer's grin broadened. Ignoring Leonhart's warning, he commented, “It would seem your dad doesn't want you to know the truth.”

 

“Is he lying?” Lore asked his father.

 

After a moment's hesitation, Squall answered, “Yes.” He had never hidden his past from his son, but the details of his forays with death had always remained vague.

 

“Now who's lying?” Seifer returned.

 

Raijin clarified the situation. “The truth is that Leonhart got in a lot of trouble, but he never went looking for it. Seifer liked to bring it to him.”

 

“You got my dad in trouble?” Lore asked, prepared to turn on the ex-knight at a moment's notice.

 

“And out of it, most of the time,” Seifer defended.

 

Lore gnawed on his lower lip, a habit he inherited from his father. Interest piqued, he was eager to hear everything Seifer could tell him about the person his father was before being a commander. “Give me an example,” he requested. He tried to appear indifferent. His willingness to listen was not an expression of acceptance, merely curiosity.

 

Seifer eyed the boy with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Smirking, he gazed at Leonhart for several long moments. “I'll tell you about why Balamb Garden stopped keeping cars stocked with full tanks.”

 

--

 

Squall was surprised to find Raijin waiting for him outside Seifer's bathroom.

 

“Hey,” Raijin mumbled. Since Leonhart's arrival, his determination had wavered back and forth. He needed to have a word with the reticent fighter before leaving town. There had been little opportunity for a private chat, and he jumped at the chance now that he had Leonhart alone.

 

Surprise turned to confusion for Squall when Raijin cast a cautious glance across the empty living room. Everyone else was still in the kitchen.

 

“This thing between you and Seifer,” Raijin said, growing more sheepish each passing moment. He didn't know how to phrase his concerns. He wasn't good with words, and found less to say the harder he tried.

 

Although Squall detected Raijin's plight, he was not inclined to help the man out. He couldn't gauge Raijin's feelings on the matter, and had no clue what was about to come next.

 

“This is kinda awkward, ya know?”

 

Squall nodded. It was indeed awkward. If Raijin hadn't mentioned his relationship with Seifer, he would have assumed the man didn't know about it at all. Now, he knew that Seifer had informed both Raijin and Fujin. It wasn't exactly a secret, but he didn't like his personal life made public. The less people that knew, the better.

 

“You're sleeping together,” Raijin said, choking on the last syllable.

 

“Is that a question?” Squall asked. He began to wonder how much Raijin knew? Had Seifer related intimate details? He felt a tinge of mortification in his cheeks, which he suppressed by reasoning that Seifer wasn't the type of person to kiss and tell.

 

“No,” Raijin said. Meeting the former commander's steady gaze, he became tongue-tied. He was thoroughly mortified, but his concern for Seifer kept him going. “I know you're dating,” he stated, sounding more confident. “I'm worried about him, ya know?”

 

Confused, Squall simply quirked a brow.

 

“It's like this,” Raijin started, “Seifer doesn't chase after girls. He always lets them come to him.”

 

A dark emotion stirred inside Squall's chest. His expression grew stern. He reflected on the opening ceremony, when Seifer had showcased an ex-girlfriend to rile him up. He had been jealous that night. Despite his aversion to such a petty feeling, he could not quiet the jealousy he felt once again.

 

Raijin's mouth fell open for a moment. He shrunk back from the agitated look in Leonhart's eyes. He had never been able to read the former commander well, but he swore he saw a flicker of jealousy at the mention of Seifer's previous relationships.

 

Squall's jealousy quickly turned to anxious discomfort. According to Raijin, Seifer had a set pattern for dating. Was he just another sequence in that pattern?

 

“With you, he's different,” Raijin went on to explain. “He's chasing you. It's not like him, ya know?”

 

Eyes widening, Squall stared with evident surprise. When he realized his own anxieties, he blushed. In the span of a minute, he had gone from being level headed to being consumed with jealousy and insecurity. The strong hold he always kept on his emotions had loosened since he had been in Seifer's company.

 

“What I'm trying to get at is…” Raijin paused to take a deep breath. “He's obviously getting serious this time. It makes no sense to me why you two would hook up.”

 

Squall sighed softly. He wondered if his feelings for Seifer would ever be normal. Would their relationship always remain peculiar and ill matched? “I'm aware that it is a strange turn of events.”

 

“`Strange' is putting it lightly,” Raijin said. “It's not any of my business, but what kind of posse would we be if we didn't look out for each other? I don't have anything against you or nothing, but I don't want you hurting Seifer, ya know?”

 

“Hurt Seifer?” Squall repeated. The words were numb on his tongue. Raijin's implication hadn't sunk in completely.

 

“Yeah,” Raijin affirmed. “He was never gay before, ya know? So it seems like something ain't right. And then there's the fact that he's going to all sorts of trouble for you. He's getting serious real quick, ya know?”

 

“…” Squall was at a complete loss for words, which was far less common than most people thought.

 

Raijin scratched the back of his spiky raven hair. Even when he dropped his eyes to the floor, Leonhart's shorter frame was in his line of sight. “You won't hurt him or nothing, will ya?”

 

When Squall had finished processing Raijin's question, he faltered in giving an answer. He was blindsided by the man's expressed concern. The notion that he was a threat to Seifer hadn't occurred to him. He had been too wrapped up in his own little world to consider the possibility that Seifer might be just as invested and lost as himself.

 

Realizing that Seifer was in the same boat as him, Squall quickly came to a conclusion. “No,” he said. By nature, he avoided making guarantees on the future, yet he sensed an undiscovered resolve inside himself. He would not hurt Seifer, not intentionally.

 

“Right,” Raijin muttered. Leonhart had given a clear answer. His concerns lingered, but it wasn't Leonhart's job to set his mind at ease. He had more questions and some accusations in his head, but knew he wouldn't be able to voice them. The bizarre relationship between Seifer and Leonhart was different from what he had imagined. Seeing them together in the kitchen made him lose some of his anger and disapproval.

 

Raijin also found that he couldn't speak very well around the former commander. He had planned on approaching Leonhart in a more confrontational manner, but his legs buckled whenever icy blue eyes pinned him in place. Stepping back, he retreated. “Well, that's all I wanted to hear. I wanted to ask in person, ya know?”

 

With a bare nod, Squall stood rooted while Raijin hastened back to the kitchen.

 

 

--

 

Leaving Seifer's apartment, Squall forced himself not to glance over his shoulder. With Lore at his side, they were out the door at one o'clock. There was no kiss goodbye, not even a quick peck on the lips. He could feel jade-green eyes following him, heating his backside as he progressed farther down the hall towards the lift.

 

If he turned around, he would find the ex-knight's longing gaze. He would be unable to keep from rushing back to embrace Seifer.

 

By the time he was on the first floor, making his way to the main entrance, he breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“What's wrong?” Lore questioned.

 

Squall just shook his head. How could he possibly explain his unreasonable desire to be near Seifer? He couldn't even explain it to himself.

 

Just as the air outside began to clear Squall's dazed mind, he felt the whirring vibration of a phone in the front pocket of his son's sweatshirt. Stopping mid-stride, he cast a dubious look at the pocket.

 

Lore frowned, saying, “You never bring your cell.”

 

“I didn't,” Squall assured. He was notorious for forgetting his cell phone, and had given up trying to remember. He usually stored it in his car.

 

As the phone continued to vibrate, Squall had the creeping suspicion that Seifer had played little a joke. Reaching inside his pocket, he extracted a small silver phone. The model was foreign to him, confirming that it was not his phone. Studying the device for a moment, he slid the top screen up. A small beep informed him that he had just answered the call. Raising the phone to his ear, he waited.

 

A familiar voice sounded over the line. “When can I see you again?” The question carried a demanding undertone.

 

“Tomorrow,” Squall replied without a second thought. Not giving his caller time to respond, he hung up and stored the phone back in his pocket. He couldn't keep from smiling. He fought the urge to turn and gaze up at the apartment building. He could feel the intense gaze of an onlooker from above. Seifer could see him. Feigning indifference to the matter, he walked to his car parked on the side of the street.

 

“Who was that?” Lore asked, hastening to catch up.

 

Smile faltering, Squall said, “It was Seifer.”

 

“Then the phone is…”

 

With a nod, Squall confirmed that it was Seifer's cell phone, or at least one of the man's phones.

 

“How did it get in your pocket?” was Lore's obvious question.

 

With a scowl, Squall slipped inside the car, seated behind the wheel. His defenses had been penetrated. “Slight of hand,” he answered, casting a quick glance to the side as Lore settled into the passenger seat. Though a part of him was chagrinned to not have noticed the pick pocketing, his predominant emotion was amusement. Only Seifer would have pulled such a stunt, and for no other reason than to appear cute while flaunting his skill.

 

As he turned the ignition on, Squall smiled again. He would see Seifer again tomorrow.

 

Lore waited several minutes before asking, “What's tomorrow?”

 

Glancing askance, Squall briefly studied his son's expression. The boy appeared anxious. He could judge by Lore's tone of voice that the teen was trying to keep a respectful distance from his private affairs, while simultaneously battling a lifelong habit of knowing everything that went on in his life. “Seifer wants to get together tomorrow,” he said.

 

“Tomorrow?” Lore intoned skeptically. “That's three days in a row.”

 

“I see you everyday,” Squall pointed out. “Spending time together is the point.”

 

Lore wanted to protest, but fresh memories of his time with Seifer that day silenced him. Seifer hadn't acted like a complete bastard. In fact, he had enjoyed hearing the ex-knight's stories about his father. The time had gone by fast, and he wished they had stayed longer. When Raijin and Fujin ended the baking session in order to catch a train home, he had regretted not being able to hear more from everyone.

 

“Was it all true?” Lore asked, forgetting that there was another matter at hand.

 

It was a moment before Squall knew what his son meant. Eyes on the road, he drove while reflecting on the various tales Seifer had related. “Seifer embellished a lot.”

 

Lore laughed. “Seriously?” he remarked. “I can't believe you got into so much trouble. I wish I had known when I was younger. You were a million times worse than I was.”

 

A ghost of a smile flitted across Squall's face. “That doesn't condone bad behavior,” he said.

 

Lore rolled his eyes. “You didn't want him to tell me, did you?”

 

“I would have preferred him not to put ideas into your head.”

 

For several minutes the two sat in comfortable silence, both accustom to the quiet.

 

When Lore could no longer bear to keep his thoughts to himself, he turned to his father and said, “He's kind of okay.” His mind was filled with what Seifer had told him. He added, “That doesn't mean I like him though.”

 

Squall felt overwhelming relief. His son was stubborn beyond all reason at times, which was something that ran in the family on both sides. Despite Seifer's charm, he had doubted the ex-knight's ability to sway his teenage son. It appeared that Lore's stubbornness was no match for Seifer's seductive personality. The businessman was generally caustic and annoying, but there was a charm in such behavior that drew people in.

 

“He's okay,” Squall echoed.

 

Lore made a sound of agreement before turning his attention back out his window.

 

 

TBC…

 

Author's Note:

 

This chapter was twice as long, but I split it into two. I'm hoping to update with the next chapter soon, since it's mostly written already. I can't stress enough how awesome the reviews have been. Thank you all for the support.

 

Please, don't worry about never having another update. I will not abandon this story. Even though my updating abilities are beyond slow, there will be eventual updates. I'm overloaded on credits this semester, and the chapter I had compiled over the summer was put on the backburner. I'm sorry it took me so long.

 

It was such a long wait for this chapter, and I'm sure many of you were looking forward to a little more intimacy. The naughty parts were in the second half that I lopped off in order to update faster. They will be in the next update. I can only promise that chapter 41 will be posted sometime before Christmas.