DISCLAIMER: I do not own Squall or Seifer. I had a pair of muses but they kind of wandered off…. ^-^’
Author's Notes: The others characters and ALL song lyrics found within this fic are MINE. Please do not steal without permission.
This story takes place a few years after the game takes place. I don’t really elaborate on what happened to the other characters. It doesn’t really have anything to do with the story itself. I don’t really spend a lot of time on the other characters because they aren’t completely relative to the story.
All but one section is written in Seifer’s POV. The POV change is listed so don’t worry about being confuzzeled. :D
This was written for a contest on a SxS mailing list. Please read and review :D Feel Free to e-mail me comments at Sodoshiin @ hotmail.com
Thanks to Elise Maxwell and WolfPilot06 for being meh betas!
I was watching him again.
I’d done it before, almost since the day he’d come back.
I never really understood why he’d come back. He puzzled me really…
That day he strode in, chocolate hair falling over his eyes, pale skin and sunglasses, not quite reminding me of a vampire but more of a half-Ozzy- half-Rufus-Wainwright-wanna-be. It could have been the way the gray Picasso monogrammed t-shirt clung to his lean frame, or the guitar case that was strapped to his back.
Whatever it was, I was stuck to him all over again, before he’d even spoken a word.
We pretended for a while we didn’t recognize one another, sort of a shared, unspoken agreement. I was surprised he’d left his little niche of comfort and prestige to venture into the dark corner of the world that I’d placed myself in, the one place where no one bothered to ask where you had come from, and didn’t care. I don’t know how he’d found me, and I guess it didn’t really matter.
But I was surprised he could sing.
There was something in it; the soft rumble of his voice when he sang. The way his eyes closed, the way his fingers met the strings on the black chrome twelve-string he cradled on his lap.
No one else present in that room would dare deny him the day he walked in.
And none of us were sorry.
I guess everyone thought it was some kind of a luck sign that we had matching scars.
Neither of us elaborated.
Now that I look at him…..amid the red and blue lights….
I slowly make my way around the perimeter of the flashing lights, the screaming crowd, the officers.
This was just another performance, another stage.
He’s so pale.
I stop only a few feet of him and consider the dark ruby necklace he wears.
His chocolate hair is draped across his cheekbone, his head tilted.
His eyes gaze at the officers pushing back the crowd of screaming fans.
Just like on stage…
Why won’t he look at me?
I look at his hand, resting on his abdomen, he’s not wearing his rings.
His fingers look cold.
He looks so beautiful in the blue light.
When he wakes up I might tell him….
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