It felt oddly good to speak out about the experience, like getting a weight off his chest, or at least some of it. There were some aspects he didn’t care to share though, particularly how alone he’d felt in that place. Loneliness was a familiar feeling to him. It’d lived within him most days since childhood, burrowed deep, the roots entwining around every single inch of his insides in a vice grip. But during Time Compression, tiny speckles of light had gnawed at those dark vines, filling him with something new—hope. Hope that his comrades would come and save him from the bleak fate that awaited, eternity trapped in a vast nothingness. Of course, no one came, not right away, and he took it to mean that they’d abandoned him. His life’s purpose fulfilled, the world was tossing him aside, just another unimportant and unwanted orphan. It was an ugly moment, a whole new low to his otherwise tragic existence, and he couldn’t even shed a tear for himself, still numbed to his own emotions even at the end because when it came to it the belief that he meant nothing to anyone was nothing new. So, why bother crying about an undeniable truth?
Then, she came like an angel through the dreary gloom—and he knew he’d been wrong.
Since then, Squall tried to show in return that he cared for them, these people who’d somehow become attached to him despite his rebuffing them at every turn. But it was unknown territory, a battlefield he didn’t know how to navigate, and he prided himself on being a budding expert at that. Yet, when it came to Seifer Almasy, he knew how to navigate being around him. The tense awkwardness that’d surrounded them since his return made things somewhat complex, there were subjects they strictly avoided, and still, he felt more at ease here with a man who not so long ago tried to kill him relentlessly, than he did anyone else. Talking to him openly like this came without effort or fear of judgment. Why? Because of all those years we spent together as children? Because he has always been a constant in my life? Because of our rivalryship? The mutual respect for one another? Because he understands me? Because Artemisia tormented us both? There were many variants to account for. Maybe every variant mattered to a degree, though a potential final one never crossed his mind.
When Seifer’s fingers dug into his shoulder, he thought nothing of it, attributing the reaction to being forced to remember his time spent under the witch's spell. He could only imagine what that was like, not having control over yourself, especially for someone like Seifer who had always lived his life so freely compared to him. If a remnant of Artemisia was indeed haunting his brain as the Estharian quack hypothesised, at least it couldn’t control him, not to the same degree, fortunately. Squall was still Squall.
But then it happened, something he wouldn’t have predicted in his wildest dreams, and when Seifer drew him into an embrace he went as stiff as a statue, his carefully crafted mask crumbling away into dust to be replaced with bare-faced confusion. What is he…? What is this? Squall found himself transported back to a moment shared with Rinoa aboard Ragnarok where she told him boldly that he’d never been held. He’d wanted to refute that accusation, only to realise that he couldn’t. It was true. As far as he remembered, no one had held him before. But here was the equally bold Seifer tearing apart everything he thought he knew about their relationship, and doing what with it exactly? Rinoa he understood, she was just like that. With Seifer, it begged many questions, many analyses of the years they’d known one another—their whole lives. This side of the other man was completely unknown to him. Hell, this side of himself was unknown to him, and near everything inside of him said to push it away, to flee, to retreat back inside the now shadowy depths of his head, but even within there was no longer safe, not since Time Compression.
The longer the unprecedented moment persisted, something began to creep up on him, a feeling he usually tried to ignore at any given turn. Exhaustion. When was the last time he stopped for a second? Slept properly? Probably not since before the war. The urge to take a moment right here in his arms became overwhelming, and he started to unfurl, the tension in his muscles slowly melting away until he slid forward, forehead pressed into the broad shoulder. He’d never truly seen the appeal of being hugged till now, and only because he never had been, not like this. It’s nice. Warm.
Sorry…? Frowning into the shoulder, he listened silently before potentially letting himself get confused again, and as he continued, the frown deepened further. “There’s no point in regrets now, Seifer. It is what it is. You…don’t have to apologise.” A small pause briefly broke up his words. “Sorry your romantic dream or whatever got all fucked up.”
