Verbal sparring had never been Squall's strong suit but their messages to each other had often held edges of jest that he would have never been confident enough to engage in before this. Now, with the air crackling with all of the unspoken potential of their youth, the teasing barbs were effortless. This was effortless. In fact, the only restraint was in the way he slowed his explorations just long enough for Seifer to navigate the dusty halls of the cabin.

The darkness of the room is impossible not to drown in. It turns the body beneath his own into shadows that need to be remapped. His hands skate over broad shoulders, feeling out the ribbons of scars beneath his palms, just to reaffirm that it's Seifer. That they're someplace real and not in a loop of someone else's design.

He understands this is the next step. That letting go is the logical thing to do. But Squall's legs tighten their hold on waist they're wound around, clinging just as fiercely as the hands that angle Seifer's face back up to his own. "No. I'm never letting you go again." He says it against the twilight features that can be barely picked out in the blackness of the room. Too similar to the blackness that he's seen open up around Seifer's features. A void that has been known to eat away any trace of familiarity.

Squall chases the words with his mouth, reaffirming them with a fierce kiss. As if the joining of their lips means he'll never lose sight of Seifer again. "I hate that I can't see you," he gusts out hurriedly, the words edged once more in impatient desire.