Sometimes Squall wonders if Seifer would take it back, that morning of their SeeD exam when they'd carved into each other's faces. He's always wondered why Seifer kept the mark. Why he hadn't just healed the both of them after Squall had passed out or why he hadn't at least healed himself.
The marks have made them the most recognizable men on the planet. It's why Squall travels with his covered up, borrowing from the espionage lessons he never quite got to put into effect. He uses them now, mostly to move through Timber unbothered, ball cap pulled low over his brows and leathers traded out for the kind of denim local lumber workers were commonly dressed in.
He doesn't look like a SeeD until he's deep in the wilderness, checking for traps and signs of disturbance in the bramble. He can't exactly be sure what kind of reception he'll get from Seifer or if the place might be surrounded by precautions, so Squall takes his time advancing on the cabin, timing movements to the metronome of Seifer's axe splitting wood.
His pack chooses an inopportune moment to snag on a branch, momentarily derailing Squall's progress that when started up again, catches along a trip wire that gives away his approach. Fuck. Silence stretches out for several long moments and his ears strain for any signs of movement. The last thing he needs is to spook Seifer into running. Especially now when he's so close.
The easy surrender isn't something he'd expected however. Or the exhaustion in that voice. Hyne, that's Seifer's voice. Something in Squall wrenches with the sound of it and he feels the agonizing ache of hope for the first time since the war's end.
"Why Garden?" he pitches his voice but knows better than to think he can fool Seifer. They both took the same lessons in subterfuge, after all. He removes his cap, swipes the back of his hand across his forehead, and begins his advance, ready to chase Seifer if he has to but something tells him his rival is tired of running.
no subject
The marks have made them the most recognizable men on the planet. It's why Squall travels with his covered up, borrowing from the espionage lessons he never quite got to put into effect. He uses them now, mostly to move through Timber unbothered, ball cap pulled low over his brows and leathers traded out for the kind of denim local lumber workers were commonly dressed in.
He doesn't look like a SeeD until he's deep in the wilderness, checking for traps and signs of disturbance in the bramble. He can't exactly be sure what kind of reception he'll get from Seifer or if the place might be surrounded by precautions, so Squall takes his time advancing on the cabin, timing movements to the metronome of Seifer's axe splitting wood.
His pack chooses an inopportune moment to snag on a branch, momentarily derailing Squall's progress that when started up again, catches along a trip wire that gives away his approach. Fuck. Silence stretches out for several long moments and his ears strain for any signs of movement. The last thing he needs is to spook Seifer into running. Especially now when he's so close.
The easy surrender isn't something he'd expected however. Or the exhaustion in that voice. Hyne, that's Seifer's voice. Something in Squall wrenches with the sound of it and he feels the agonizing ache of hope for the first time since the war's end.
"Why Garden?" he pitches his voice but knows better than to think he can fool Seifer. They both took the same lessons in subterfuge, after all. He removes his cap, swipes the back of his hand across his forehead, and begins his advance, ready to chase Seifer if he has to but something tells him his rival is tired of running.