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grieverled-moved · 1 year

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Bouquet

It wasn't often he up & had the urge to leave, too deeply rooted in his present routines, he found it hard to even justify taking a break most days. Even less likely that he went somewhere alone, always having some form of company close - but in this instance, it was a special case, one he heavily insisted on with his old glacial glare firm in place as he made preparations in silence.

A few days. At most, a week before he’d return to Balamb unless an Emergency called him back.

He was as open as he felt he could be with his friends, with those he did trust with his reasoning for needing to take time away this time of year. Any offers to accompany him, borne from curiosity, from concern or worry, all of them were brushed off about as gentle as he could manage without being too harsh or inconsiderate. He appreciated the offers, he really did, but some things he had to do for himself.

Now that he had nothing but time on his hands, the ability to enjoy & dig into his past at his own leisure, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious, if he wasn't trying to find something more to do with his life outside of just . . . stay commander of Balamb until he died or some new catastrophe arose. He'd lived through his own fair share of battle, had seen & done more things than any older soldier should have to go through in their single life-time alone. He's had his fill - he wants to know if there’s more for him then just this.

Teeth remain pressed against one another, the flowers held in his hold contradicting the tension that wires itself along his frame so tight as they're carried with a tenderness he doesn't allot himself. He isn't sure just what he'd expected to find going to Winhill, for contacting Laguna to press for more details in a rare show of civility & interest . . . but he's satisfied, as much as he can be with what he's garnered about Raine Loire. About who she was back when she was alive & living in the quaint pastoral village.

When he returns back to Balamb, the salted air of the coastline make him idly wonder what flowers would thrive in the seaside space, mind already lazily whirring with new ideas as he steps into the Carrier Vehicle. The transport is bumpy, but otherwise, it's easy to get lost back in his mind until they arrive. It's late at night, late enough he doesn't expect anyone to be around to corner him once he returns. With that in mind, he huffs, making his way towards his personal target with an ignorance paid to the jitters that threaten to quake in his hands.

Breaking & entering, while not something needed to do anymore now, was still done out of fond habit, the motions gone through with fluid familiarity as he silently creeps inside the other gun-blader's living quarters. Casting a glance down to the bouquet held gently between his fingers, he glances towards to darkened rooms ahead, before making his way towards the nearest table. He mulls over his options, to wake Seifer up, to try getting the plants in water, in a vase or cup of some sort until he could better pick up something more suitable, or just . . . now that he's actually here, eyes drifting back over to the colourful bundle of selected blossoms, there is the disheartening thought that the other might scoff or make a face at getting them.

( ' Not too late to throw them away . . . ' )

Comes the thought, trudged through the muck of his mind with a heaviness as his brows knit together in confliction. His brows twitch, but he comes to the conclusion he'd just leave them on the table for the other to find with a note. If he liked them, Seifer'd bring them up next they met. Squall would know if it's safe to bother bringing it up again in the future, in sharing that newfound interest with the other. If not, he'd know not to bother next time if they were mysteriously missing.

Finding a piece of paper, he goes about scrawling a short but fond message out to leave just beneath the flower bundles packaged edge. His fingers brush along the soft petals of a red carnation, gaze flicking to the other collection of pales & darks, before he huffs softly with a ghost-like laugh. Well, might not have been a cool new weapon or dangerous new artifact, but he couldn't say Squall didn't get him something during his trip.

He's quiet as he takes his leave, but he can’t help but wonder if the other’ll think twice about the flowers Squall picked or just brush it off as a sappy, romantic gesture done for the hell of it. Only way to get his answer was to wait.

Flowers for One Another [ ; ] Send in “Bouquet” for your muse to receive flowers from my muse. ➤ @burntchild

#╰┈➤ IN CHARACTER.#➤ 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒. ◆ POST FINAL FANTASY 8 VERSE #BURNTCHILD #❏ 〔 BURNTCHILD 〕 : Memories penned in blood & drawn with fire. Ash & bone turned to sand.

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grieverled-moved · 1 year

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"i want the k"

He wasn't normally an affectionate man. Key word being 'normally'. If he were to think back on the past, to how hard he tried to keep a distance from those around him, how often he'd brushed off touches of any sort to keep himself shelled off, protected from what bubbled away beneath his skin. A longing to give into that urge to hold & be held . . . he never would have expected himself to swim within it so easily in the present. There are still some hurdles to overcome, some bumps in the road, days where his skin crawls, feeling trapped when a hand claps around his own or any other part of him too tight for comfort - that urge to run & the panic that flares when something lingers in an overstayed welcome.

But he was getting better. Easing up, softening. While on the surface it seems not much has changed, he's proud to say it's not the same behind closed doors, in rare moments of stolen quiet calm - where he's walled off, able to lower his own in privacy to unveil that gentler part of himself to someone he trusts.

He'd never have expected it to be Seifer of all people, but in a way, he's far from surprised it'd progressed to this point given how similar they were in some ways, that thread of understanding remaining intact despite all the years & obstacles faced. Despite everything, he still feels that connection in a way that makes the progression feel so much more natural.

Lazy fingers weave themselves between warmer ones, feeling the steady thrumming pulse that beat in reassurance beneath. He gives the hand in his a calling squeeze, curling against the blonde with a content sigh, soaking up the closeness in the early morning hours within the dimmed light of the room. Could never keep the lights fully off, for reasons he'd rather not explain to anyone else out loud - his mind is smoothed back down before it wanders any further, eased back as he draws his focus down to the other with sleep-tinged sights.

He really should go back to bed, possibly might still - but the urge to make sure the other is there, that he'll still be there when he wakes up next, it sticks enough for him to stay clinging to the other gun-blader until he feels the pull again.

He's not a clingy person, not normally so affectionate or tender by nature, not one to show his softness so openly unless there's a specific reason that draws him to, over-ridden with care or worry - but here, it's easy to forget it when he leans over, just enough to mumble an apology in case he woke the other up before kissing the edge of Seifer's jaw with a groggy sort of focus before he starts to doze again.

Send me 'I want the K' and I'll generate a number ➤ @burntchild [ ; ] 9: Jawline Kiss

#╰┈➤ IN CHARACTER.#➤ 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒. ◆ POST FINAL FANTASY 8 VERSE #BURNTCHILD #❏ 〔 BURNTCHILD 〕 : Memories penned in blood & drawn with fire. Ash & bone turned to sand.#( … ) // hi I guess I never knew I needed sleepy affectionate squall till now 🧍👏

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grieverled-moved · 1 year

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➤ @burntchild REPLY CONTINUED . . .

It spills out in a spur of the moment slip up - something he entirely blames on the coffee this morning not being nearly as strong as he needs it to be to function under all the incoming stress. Rise & shine, even though people like him rarely ever caught a break.

But every now & then, he could spot the silver linings when they'd peek. One such time is now, the other coming to turn in a mission report Xu'd been needling him to get from the blonde, passing it over with a twitching grin even as he tries to play it off as something that he'd dragged his feet to finish. Seifer never half-assed things. Especially when it came to his missions. Despite what most people thought, the other gun-blader was nothing if not competent, skilled in what he did.

When he goes to fix the pages in his hold, a mirroring quirk of his lips gifted right back, it barely softens the blow of what comes next. He's thankful there's not that many people roaming around this time of day, but it does little to ease the instant spark, flickering as it was of instant regret. Clearly he left his filter on the pillow.

"Good boy." He hums, diamond sights thinned in their languid amusement, a faint glitter barely caught at the last moment. He only pauses, regret tailed closely by embarrassment colouring the tips of his ears when his brain catches up with what he'd said, the awkward tick of a nearby clock heard as Seifer just stares at him with a falling expression. He can practically see the gears halting, the mental buffer as he processes things with furrow of blonde brows.

He expects anger, indignation. Something angry & so normally Seifer because even if they were on more than good terms, he knows the man has his pride clutched close at all times. His mouth twitches, a faint curl, like he's trying to find the words to throw his way at whatever overstepped boundary was crossed. Squall watches him carefully, a brow arching, lips pressing together tight in tense patience.

Consider him surprised when he finds himself grabbed instead, hands roughly digging into the meat of his biceps, steering him so quickly it's more of a harsh swing until his back collides with the wall nearest. Whatever breath he'd had in his lungs is promptly smacked clean out, teeth clattering at the sudden contact as gloved fingers crumple the pages still held captive in their hold. Barely enough time to reach when there's a sudden blur shoving it's way in close, lips quick to swallow up any air left in his lungs through the surprised gasp he lets out.

It's messy, rough, bearing a bite to it that always seemed to accompany the headstrong idiot no matter what he did - but it's familiar. Seifer.

Once he manages to catch up with what's happening - it's frustrating - all before he can move to return the favour, the asshole pulls away. Just enough to murmur a response, green of his eyes standing out that bit more with a slight heat flushed high on his cheekbones. But his eyes are sharp, gleaming with something dagger-like, vaguely amused as they flit between his own. Leaning in, he kisses the scar etched right between his eyes, prompting a huffed laugh from Squall as he glares. Not the usual brand of heat there, but it's a quiet kind of answer when he moves to stand, fixing his outfit with a scoff when Seifer turns to leave.

He almost forgets about the reports in his hand, crumpled so tightly, one is almost torn along the edge. Turning to enter his office, he rolls his eyes as he tries his best to smooth them back out & salvage what he could, reasoning that if anyone complained he could just blame their poor state on the man in question.

#╰┈➤ IN CHARACTER.#BURNTCHILD #➤ 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒. ◆ POST FINAL FANTASY 8 VERSE #❏ 〔 BURNTCHILD 〕 : Memories penned in blood & drawn with fire. Ash & bone turned to sand.#( … ) // hehehehe

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grieverled-moved · 1 year

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“Violence it is.”

#( … ) // I have time before I sit down to draw so.#( … ) // enabled feral hours are now #╰┈➤ OOC RAMBLES. ( … ) SOL SCREECHES.#╰┈➤ IN THE BIN. / TO BE DELETED.#❏ 〔 BURNTCHILD 〕 : Memories penned in blood & drawn with fire. Ash & bone turned to sand.

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grieverled-moved · 1 year

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➤ @burntchild REPLY CONTINUED . . .

As if cursed, nothing ever seemed to go in their favor. They'd made it through countless obstacles, countless things that should've damn well killed either man, but somehow, in a cruel twist of fate, the news delivered was far from expected. Holding too high a risk, there was far too much to consider, too much that could go wrong, they'd been told to prepare for the worst case scenario. Just in case - his scowl is dark, eyes blade thinned & just as sharp as he keeps his gaze downcast the entire time.

His mind rushes, flooded a mile a minute with possibilities, both good & bad, all searching for a way to to fix things, to ensure they go off without a hitch, but the realist in him knows that it's pointless to wish & want. Naïve. Childish.

He was only setting himself up for more heartbreak, for more pain in expecting something that barely seemed like it was in the cards for them. But he was nothing if not stubborn. Maybe that's why once they're back in private, the tension so thick the gun-blader swears he can feel it smothering him with physical hands curled around his neck.

His glare hasn't eased, remaining downcast, all until Seifer finally explodes.

Like a bomb, the aftermath is messy once he actually breaks - hissed curses, loud shouts, the sound of fresh & painful destruction following him & further enunciating his rage. He throws his mug, shattering it to pieces, & though Squall knows he should move to stop him before he tears more things apart, causes more damage, in a way, he knows the other needs this. To get it all out, to vent his frustrations. End of the day, these things could be replaced. But Seifer couldn't . . .

He holds his tongue after the initial attempt to speak only makes the other more angry, more volatile in his sudden combustion - teeth clattering as Squall strains his jaw, brows pinching together more firmly. The silence he swallows, keeps in his chest within the emptied hollow, it chills at him, but still he stands his ground, refusing to leave even when the room is reduced to shambles & bits of broken furniture. By the time Seifer is finished, chest heaving, a bared snarl thrown like a dagger his way past curled lips, he yells for him to leave.

His mind is careful in its assessment, a slow glance over the leftover chaos being given, roaming over the other man entirely before it finally does shift back, the beat of his heart felt with a force much stronger than he knows it actually is - adrenaline spurred on in a way that prompts his brows to twitch. His eyes lock on Seifer's, a cold calm washing over him in a façade like manner as he continues to hold his position.

He stood by what he said earlier - no reason to really be afraid of the anger, the aggression. He'd grown up with the bastard, enough to know when he was truly pissed, ready to genuinely snap, or lashing out defensively. He can spot the familiar look in his eyes, wild, pleading, bearing with it a sad sort of desperation that refuses to be expressed in a way outside of the look he finds. But he catches it, is thankful he'd been looking or he thinks he might've missed it, that bit of confirmation that adds courage to his decision.

"No."

With a sigh, Squall balls his fists together, the tips of his fingers digging into the meat of his palms as the leather of his gloves squeak in protest. He wasn't going to approach Seifer, not wanting to startle him like a skittish animal, make him feel more backed into one than he already looked.

"I'm not leaving." He puts his foot down, peering right into the other's eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#╰┈➤ IN CHARACTER.#BURNTCHILD #➤ 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒. ◆ POST FINAL FANTASY 8 VERSE #❏ 〔 BURNTCHILD 〕 : Memories penned in blood & drawn with fire. Ash & bone turned to sand.

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grieverled-moved · 1 year

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➤ @burntchild REPLY CONTINUED . . .

The privacy of the moment is . . . admittedly relaxing. The draping shade of twilight skies offers a form of easy, comforting shelter, one that makes him feel more at ease within the dark's chilled embrace. It's late - midnight, less people even awake, even less active this far out where they've decided to stay & take refuge. Or more accurately . . . where Seifer'd chosen to stay, with Squall stubbornly trailing at his heels with his usual brand of concerned curiosity.

The mission had come, gone & passed without much more fanfare than usual in the other SeeD's eyes, though the moment they'd been dispatched, that knot of something anxious refused to leave. It wasn't until they'd really gotten caught in the thick of battle that he'd let go, taken his eyes reluctantly off the blonde, gave distance enough to trust that in the moment, he'd be alright, that he'd recovered enough, was in control & stable enough to pull through without Squall looming over his shoulder every step of the way.

Sure enough? They'd made it. Functioned well enough to tackle everything in their path head on with little struggle. It'd gone smoothly, too smooth, suspiciously, but with a grace he's willing to accept at face value for once, he doesn't question it.

It's . . . nice to see Seifer smiling again, the wide beaming peer of his ivory grin without the strain lacing it's edges, nothing short of brimming pride. For the first time in months - he looks like himself again.

Humming, the sound is a quiet one from where he stands, idly peering out into the harbour ahead, gaze tracing the way the waters shift & sway, a calm motion that continues in its lazy waves even when they swing their legs over the lip of the dock’s edge. In that moment, Squall lowers his walls, his guard, content to allow it with just the two of them here with nothing but the moon hanging overhead as their witness. It's here in this rare moment of celebratory peace that he feels things finally shifting enough for him to open up. His pendant hangs heavy against his collarbone, the cold metal of it making him more than aware as he reaches up to cradle it between his fingers, eyes skimming lovingly along the grooves of sculpted metal.

His precious symbol, the goal he'd carefully held in mind all these years as his personal pinnacle of strength - something that incited courage. It’s what he'd wanted to emulate more than anything when he was at his lowest point in life. As he goes to brush his thumb along the roaring maw of the lion's head, Squall finds himself speaking into the lake-calm air.

"I'm not used to letting people close. I don't like being vulnerable . . ." It's an admittence that he knows is well known. One that holds more truth than people realize, though they don't normally bother to dig much further than that. He doesn't blame them . . . knows he doesn't need to explain jack shit to Seifer either, knowing he understood. But that urge to spill his guts has crept through those lowered walls, & that comfort lingers just enough to sooth away any fears he might've had. With a soft laugh, he continues, still peering down at the metallic lion as the silence continues to span between the odd pair.

" . . . But I want to. With you? I want to let you in."

& that was a first for him. To want someone to see him at his most vulnerable, to give freely & allow it in exchange, to see all the good & the ugly without that ever present fear of being abandoned because the other wouldn't like what they seen. None of that is present here in the other's company. Something he feels the need to share now once the worst of their culminated events have finally eased in their crescendo.

He only finds himself releasing the pendant, allowing it to reclaim it's old space along his chest that Seifer shifts in closer, a light bump being given against his shoulder, though he takes care to stay close. His frame emanates a warmth that the gun-blader finds himself leaning into like a cat seeking sunlight. When it's his turn to interrupt the silence, Squall can only duck his head with a laugh, a tired but amused one no less genuine even in the reserved way it's expressed.

"I know." Comes his simple answer. The more firm way he presses against the blonde's side more than relays his answer. He trusts him, knows he wouldn't push more than he had to with him - a mutual understanding that'd been tempered into something he felt safe falling back on. Safe. He understands. "I just trust you. I wanted you to know that."

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