Warnings: Okay, listen up everyone!!! This is a bitter, caustic piece of fiction told through the view of one who just might have been bitter and caustic in the duration of the game. Thus, beware of harsh language and implied yaoi. Did you hear that? YAOI. YAOI. YAOI. Okay, just making sure. If you don’t like yaoi, get out of here. Flames will be laughed at, as always.

But for those of you that haven’t been frightened off yet, enjoy!! ^_^

Breaking Point

By Flamika

Seifer had never been one to hide in the shadows.

The spotlight had always been the place for him, in front of everyone where he could see and be seen. He had no shame. He wasn’t afraid of anything on the face of the earth. He really didn’t give a damn whether people loved him or hated him. It was all the same. After all, they noticed him, deferred to the marvel of his figure, whether it incited rage inside them or admiration. All that mattered what that he had caught their eye…and held it.

Now he knew how some of those people felt.

For once, he was the Watcher. The one hidden in the shadows, away from the light and laughter of the ballroom’s dance floor. Out in the cold. Estranged and alienated from the world of swirling silk and shimmering jewels. The women with their elegantly cut dresses and perfumed skin. The men with their strapping SeeD uniforms and charming smiles.

But no other individuals drew his eye as they did.

The couple in the middle of the dance floor. The confident young woman teaching the insecure young man the art of the waltz, the art of life. His steps were faltering and unsure, hers smooth and fluid. They were charmed by each other, Seifer could tell. She was fascinated with the young man’s silence and his peculiar naiveté. He was intrigued by the young woman’s smile and her carefree grace. And what a lovely pair they did make.

Yeah, lovely.

The cheerful sound of the waltz mocked the exquisite pain blooming in his heart.

Leonhart and Heartilly. Lovers in the waltz.

Damn it.

To hell with them.

To hell with everything. Everything.

Sure, Seifer would meet her later. That’s why he was here, wasn’t he? To help her and her damn resistance group. That’s why he had snuck out of the disciplinary room and come here to this godforsaken party to watch dozens of SeeD uniform clad clones enjoy the glory that might have been his, if Fate had ordained such a thing to be in his destiny. He had come here for her, to help her. In a few minutes, she would see him, hidden in the shadows, ice blue eyes watching intensely as she waltzed with his rival. But she wouldn’t see the bitterness laced through his azure orbs because Rinoa never saw those kinds of things. Goddamn do-gooder always seeing the gilded casing of people’s hearts and never once beholding the dark, foul, putrid core festering with hatred of all things golden and good.

She never saw those things. How lucky for her.

Bitch.

And when she saw him, she would smile and stride over, eyes shining and dark, silken hair floating around her narrow shoulders. He would force a smile for her and greet her with his usual, “Hey, baby” and she would tease him playfully, smiling prettily and tossing her hair over her shoulder. She would flirt with him and he would flirt back. Stupid slut. Don’t touch me with those hands that have touched him. How dare you? How dare you touch him and then touch me? How dare you touch him, period? He’s mine.

Goddamn it, if he didn’t love them both.

But things would never be the same.

Rinoa dancing with Squall. His Squall.

Squall dancing with Rinoa. His Rinoa.

Goddamn it. Fuck her. Fuck him. Fuck them both. Hell, let them fuck each other. He had already sampled the goods from both parties, after all. They wouldn’t be doing anything with each other that he hadn’t already done with both of them.

He wondered if they even cared to remember.

Of course, Squall would always remember. Seifer never showed it, but he took great pride in being called Squall Leonhart’s rival. No one else merited such attention from the boy known as “Lone Wolf.” It was Seifer, and only Seifer, who could make that expressionless face twist in a scowl. It was Seifer, and only Seifer, who could bring a sweeping fire of rage across the frozen wasteland in those ice blue eyes. Squall was his. Seifer had left his mark on him, right on his face, as if to say, “Mine. All mine.” Of course, it had pained him to mar the eternally beautiful face of his archrival.

And Squall was a beautiful thing. Pale and lean, with silken hair and frosty eyes, frosty like the icicles that were expelled from Shiva’s fingers that afternoon. And his body. Seifer knew that body inside and out, the knowledge that came with night after night of loving each other with wild abandon, neither knowing why the other was there. He remembered the moist warmth of the other’s mouth underneath his, sweet to plunder and even sweeter when it returned his kisses. And of course, he remembered those hot, sweat-slick limbs tangled with his own, stroking him, loving him. But god, if Seifer hadn’t loved those hot nights spent in the arms of the man he was supposed to hate.

And Seifer did hate Squall. Hated him with his entire heart. Hated him because somehow, in his quest to control and dominate Squall Leonhart, the little punk had gotten Seifer to fall in love with him.

Seifer? Love? Never. Never…again.

With Rinoa it was a slightly different story. Not much moaning and groaning in the sheets with her. She was too pure, too kind-hearted. A temple that could never be defiled. Seifer liked her smile, her laughter, her giggling, but only if he wanted relief from Squall’s seemingly endless silence. But the fact that she had seemed to like him as well had scared the shit out of him. Squall never said the kinds of things that she did. Squall never smiled at him so tenderly. Squall never looked so happy when Seifer would walk up to meet him. Rinoa’s eyes were too bright, too passionate. The light of those eyes blinded him so badly at times that he thought he would never see again.

But that light was his light. That ache was his ache. No one else could feel it because it was his alone.

Seifer’s Rinoa and Seifer’s Squall. No touching. Hands off.

Oh, how he had reveled in owning them both. In loving them both.

But now they were gone into the light together, leaving him behind in the cold to deal with his own abysmal loneliness and the murderous rage rapidly consuming his senses. Leave him behind now, would they? Forget all that had passed? He almost laughed at the irony of the two great loves of his life, running off together and forsaking the bitter man-child that had indirectly united them in this tainted waltz for the moon.

Well, he wouldn’t have it.

So cold here, in the shadows, all alone.

Seifer had reached his breaking point, and the world was going to pay for his pain.

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