[ The back of Squall's neck goes hot with embarrassment but that's nothing new with Seifer in a public setting. For someone who constantly wanting to be swallowed up by the ground, anything that casts dubious attention his way usually incites this kind of reaction. There's a war within him to relieve the employee of the dog; a moral dilemma he waffles briefly with.
This whole idea was stupid. Why did he think joining Seifer in the theater was going to be anything less than disasterous? The gentle whine makes him feel worse but ultimately Squall firms up his resolve to leave. It's better this way. He's not good with animals. He's not even good with people. What made him think he could do anything to help?
Whatever.
His head is down as he ducks out of the theater, hands shoved in the pockets of the uniform's cropped jacket to make himself small. What was he thinking? The coastal air feels abrasive in his lungs when he sucks in his first breath of it, sighing it out with his eyes on the ground. If they make the journey back to Garden together it'll just be stilted and awkward. He shouldn't have said anything. He should have kept his mouth closed.
The words I'm nothing like you haunt him when he sees the edges of Seifer's coat in his periphery. He knows what their arrangement is. They push each other because they're the only ones at Garden who can rise to the challenge. That's it. That's it. He's never tried to disrupt that tenuous balance of rivalry into friendship and now he's reminded why as the words rattle in his head, repeating themselves like ticker tape across his thoughts to the score of that stupid dog's whine.
There isn't much more to be said, is there? Not when he shouldn't have said anything in the first place. Squall looks up for a final glance at Seifer, brows furrowed in their usual pinch, but who is he kidding? What else are they going to say now? It's Garden's loss. That's what he should say. That's what he should say. But of course nothing comes out. ]
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ninetydegrees
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on 2024-10-28 03:26 am (UTC)This whole idea was stupid. Why did he think joining Seifer in the theater was going to be anything less than disasterous? The gentle whine makes him feel worse but ultimately Squall firms up his resolve to leave. It's better this way. He's not good with animals. He's not even good with people. What made him think he could do anything to help?
Whatever.
His head is down as he ducks out of the theater, hands shoved in the pockets of the uniform's cropped jacket to make himself small. What was he thinking? The coastal air feels abrasive in his lungs when he sucks in his first breath of it, sighing it out with his eyes on the ground. If they make the journey back to Garden together it'll just be stilted and awkward. He shouldn't have said anything. He should have kept his mouth closed.
The words I'm nothing like you haunt him when he sees the edges of Seifer's coat in his periphery. He knows what their arrangement is. They push each other because they're the only ones at Garden who can rise to the challenge. That's it. That's it. He's never tried to disrupt that tenuous balance of rivalry into friendship and now he's reminded why as the words rattle in his head, repeating themselves like ticker tape across his thoughts to the score of that stupid dog's whine.
There isn't much more to be said, is there? Not when he shouldn't have said anything in the first place. Squall looks up for a final glance at Seifer, brows furrowed in their usual pinch, but who is he kidding? What else are they going to say now? It's Garden's loss. That's what he should say. That's what he should say. But of course nothing comes out. ]