DISCLAIMER: I never write disclaimers. Simply because it should be obvious these characters aren't mine. It is -fanfiction- after all. But anyway, I remembered this time so - These characters do NOT belong to me. They are the property of Squaresoft and I claim no rights to them. The plot does belong to me.

Author's Note: This piece is supposed to help me get creative again so I can finish my other stories. *sigh* I don't think it worked. Wasn't sure if I posted this here yet or not, but thought I would anyway. >.< Sorry if it's a repost.

I Hate the Way You Look At Me

By Sniffles

I hate it when he looks at me. I don't care when he touches me. He probably knows my body better than I do, now. But it's just my body, so he can do what he wants with it. I don't care. I don't mind when he kisses me. Lips, neck, shoulders, chest. He kisses wherever he wants and I never push him away. It's just his lips, and I wash away his kisses in the shower. I don't listen when he says he loves me. Those are just words, they don't mean anything. It's only when he looks at me that I feel uncomfortable.

His eyes are always so full of passion when they look at me. You can lie with your mouth, with your actions, but never with your eyes.

I see love in his eyes. Love. Kindness. Worry. I hate them, especially when I see them in his eyes.

"Squall, please," he whispers in my ear, "I want to see you."

His hands tug at me, trying to roll me over. "No." I say softly, but firmly. "This way or not at all."

He can't accept the not at all, so he does this on my terms. He tries so hard to get me to respond. His hands desperately tugging and stroking, but I can't respond. Not to him. Not -ever- to him. He kisses my back. I feel him ease inside me. It never hurts, and it never fills the ache I feel inside. I let him do it, over and over, but it doesn't help. I don't think it ever will.

So why do I continue to let him do this?

I lay beneath him, relaxing my body to make things easier. He sobs my name, repeatedly. A plaintive cry. He's begging me for more, but I have no more to give. He can take my body however he wants. My body is nothing but a shell, so I don't care.

When he is done he collapses on me, panting for air. His weight is oppresive. I don't push him off. "Did I hurt you?" He whispers, rolling off and laying on his side. He stares at me.

I turn my face away. I don't like it when he looks at me. Especially when he looks at me like that. With questions and worry in his eyes. "Does it matter?" I respond.

I can feel his anger. Not only in the hand that grabs and shakes my shoulder, but also in the air. His anger has always been something I can sense, whether he is near me or not. "Damn you." He hisses, shoving me onto my back. His fingers dig painfully into my arms. The pain is detached from me, so I continue to stare calmly at him. "Don't you feel anything?!"

An odd question. An ignorant question. "No."

He stares at me, tremoring so hard I can feel it in his fingers. The fingers that still grip my arms. "I don't believe you."

"Whatever." I don't care if he believes me or not. It doesn't matter.

"Why? Why, Squall? Why do you let me do this?" The anger fades, to be replaced by confusion and pain.

Pain? I reluctantly meet his questing gaze. "You don't like it. So why do you let me do it?"

Why? I don't know.

"Why, Squall!? WHY?"

So desperate. There is a pleading note to his voice. I don't know how to answer. I don't understand.

"How.. how could I fall in love with someone like you? Someone who doesn't feel? Who doesn't care..? How..?" I watch with shock as a tear slides down his cheek.

He feels things so passionately. It's part of the reason I first found myself watching him. As I watch him cry, shoulders heaving, I have his answer.

He feels emotion with an intensity I can't. I let him take me however he wants in the hope that someday his passion will rub off on me, and I'll begin to feel. Somewhere along the way I realized that I will never be able to borrow his warmth. I have to find some other way to thaw my heart. I still feel that somehow, by being near him, I'll be able to find that way.

The first step.

I have to take the first step.

He stiffens when I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him close. I stroke his back, using my left hand to press his face into my chest. I hold him like I imagine a mother would hold her child when she is comforting it. I hold him in the way I so desperately wanted to be held as a child. His sobbing continues, now in earnest. He hugs me in return, his tears dampening my chest.

I don't push him away when he touches me, kisses me and takes my body. I don't turn him away because I don't want to. I hate it when he looks at me, because I see an unconditional love in his eyes I don't think I'll ever be able to return.

I love it when I hold him, and when he cries on me. Just for a moment, when I do so, I feel his warmth seeping into me, and I forget that I can't learn how to feel no matter how tightly I let him wrap himself around me.



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