Someone should teach that bastard Leon some fucking manners. Honestly. Leon/Seifer. Co-written with the loverly Anaesta.
prompt: 01. look over here
Seifer is pretty sure that he's going to get a sore throat from screaming Leon's name.
It figures: run away from a dead-end town for a life of grand adventure, wind up living in a stark bachelor pad with the rudest bump-on-a-log from here to Atlantica. He's had better conversations with brick walls --at least brick walls/ faced/ you when you spoke to them. That saying about walls having eyes? Or ears (whatever)? Yeah, they'd probably look at you when spoken to, too.
Leon, on the other hand - no fucking manners, no fucking class, what-so-fucking-ever. Seifer, who knows that he's important, feels a grand injustice in the world, an imbalance in the universe -specifically, his universe - at being ignored.
"And if there's anything I hate," he says to Aeris, "It's fucking IGNORANCE."
Aeris only smiles at him, laughs, just a little - not unkindly, mind you. If you sliced her open you wouldn't find an unkind bone or muscle or anything in her body. But what does she have to worry about? Leon acts human with her - or at least, something that's close to it. He doesn't avoid her glowing green eyes
Like she's some goddamned miracle.
-- and he manages to look Cloud straight in his.
Because he's a big-time hero, right? Whoop-de-fucking-doo.
Leon only turns away from him; /Seifer the brat, Seifer the burden, Seifer the annoying little kid/. Not Leon's friend, not hero nor miracle. Not /important/. Leon's stone-faced, stern and quiet and sometimes Seifer wonders if Leon has a pulse. Does he breathe, does he sleep, is he even alive? One doesn't have to live to exist; Seifer knew this even before what's-his-name with his spiky brown hair and weird clothes came and someone disappeared from his life. (Not that he can remember who, anyway.)
"You're just like a freakin' zombie or somethin'," Seifer says as Leon mechanically polishes his gunblade. "It's creepy. You're creepy, you know that?"
Leon doesn't look up.
Well, who cares about stupid Leon with his stupid dirty water eyes in that stupid face anyway? Seifer takes that as his cue to go ruin something. He entertains himself (/someone has to do it/) with games like 'how much will it cost to replace this?', and just becoming a general nuisance, touching everything that he has been explicitly told not to. He leaves his room a mess, clothes all over the floor, bed unmade, and for a personal touch - underwear on top of a lamp.
Leon frowns at the socks on the floor, gives the crumpled covers a glare that would intimidate lesser men - or lesser duvets, as the case may be. Seifer feels good. But then Leon never looks at him, Leon never says anything about it - at least, never to him - and Seifer feels not so good, all twittery and messy on the inside. That's when he just wants to go punch the wall... or maybe re-test the theory of gravity with something nice.
("...The lamp, Aeris? Seifer broke it." Aeris looks at Leon, Leon looks away; Seifer scurries as quietly as he can back to his bedroom.)
But one can only take so much of conversations held with the back of Leon's head, which is marginally worse than trying to hold conversations with the front of it.
"Hey, stupidface. Hey, where are you going?" Leon turns away, heavy black boots thudding down the hall, "Dammit, look at me when I'm talking to you!"
I'm right here!
"Fine!" he calls after Leon's back. "I know when I'm not wanted!"
I'll give you ten seconds and if you don't turn around, I'll...I'll...
"I'm running away forever, you know!" Seifer says, and he means it, he does, since he's only ever said it on the days that end with Y.
The thing is that Seifer likes to talk but he isn't just that. So one day he grabs a bag and fills it with things - clothes, a keepsake here and there - mostly his, but some of Leon's, too (his gunblade polish, a comb, his hair gel -/ha!/), slings it over his shoulder along with the weapon that he's growing into. (Hyperion.) He considers writing letters of goodbye for everyone to find -/that'll teach 'em/ - Aeris, Tifa, Yuffie, Cid, even Cloud. Leon, of course, won't get a letter. It'll serve that bastard right, see how he feels to be ignored for once, but when he sits down with the paper the pen starts going and it writes out L, followed by an E, and then an O and N consecutively.
Well, why waste a good sheet of paper? To hell with it.
Leon/, he writes. /Won't miss ya. Not one bit, ya lamer. Not even an itty-bitty flea-sized bit. But writing that means the idea of missing Leon actually crossed his mind, so he crosses out the words and starts over again.
This is an important message, after all.
/Leon/, it reads,
You really suck balls. Big,feathery chocobo balls. Learn some fucking manners, ya fuckin' douchebag.
Smell ya later,
Satisifed, he leaves it on the table, crumples up some papers, and spills the ink on the floor.
He sets out on foot with only one direction in mind: away from Hollow Bastion. He doesn't get very far before he runs into trouble, shadowy creatures with glowing eyes, long razors for fingers.
"Aw, hell yeah," Seifer says, his gunblade gleaming in the moonlight, "Let's rock and roll!"
He holds his own, scores some kills, does quite well, until
He regains consciousness sometime later, surrounded by warmth and strength.
"Nnngh," he manages, eloquent as always. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut.
"/You fucking moron/."
Is that Leon? Couldn't be. Could be a dream, or some fevered hallucination. He smells leather and ointment and someone has gathered him up and it sounds just like the bastard.
"What the hell is wrong with you? You could have died!" Is that emotion in that cold-hearted bastard's voice? He's either dreaming or crazy. Or he has a head-wound and his brains are leaking out all over the place.
Yeah, a dream, maybe.
"'S just a flesh wound," he scoffs. Then the pain shoots through him sharp, "Ooohh. Shit."
Okay, not a dream. Fuck.
That only leaves two options. Hopefully Leon's good at repairing leaky brains.
He's laid down on something soft, but firm, and his fingers curl around the fabric. There's a snip snip snipping sound, and his leg feels cold. His pants are ruined now, gee, thanks a lot, Leon, and he's too tired to say anything about it. "Fucking moron," Leon says again. "How the hell did you get yourself wounded.../here/...?"
Expert, gentle fingers skim the length of the inside of his thigh. Seifer hisses and then sucks in a breath; the air is cold through his teeth.
He'd shrug if he could, if his stomach weren't throbbing like such a bitch. It's tight and stiff and there's probably something binding it. He forces himself to open his eyes and look at Leon now, at the shaggy brown head bowed over him. Leon's shirt is missing - he wears only his leather jacket. His necklace shines against his bare skin, there's blood against the paleness of it and it's probably not Leon's. His chest is sculpted, the silver chain slithering over cords of muscle and the leather jacket is gaping open and one nipple is exposed to the night air, getting stiff and brown and crinkly. Seifer feels funny and his mouth goes dry; it must be the blood loss. Of course this would be when Leon finally looks up at him, bastard, Seifer feels himself get hot and that could be either a blush or fever. Leon's eyes look silver in the moonlight and Seifer is surprised - they're angry and tired and upset and everything, so Seifer squeezes his eyes shut again. And maybe if he thinks about it he can sort-of remember blood seeping softly from where his skin split, Leon pressing against the wound with his ripped shirt while it ran red and stark.
Wait, no, he can't possibly remember that. His face hurts - for a moment, imagines the scar on it - something that he had gotten when he was too young to remember - wet and dripping red. He wants to laugh but it hurts too much. Being delirious is kinda cool.
And it's probably in his wounded delirium that he dreamt the frantic press of lips (warm, soft, dry) on his forehead, on his closed eyes, near his mouth-- weird, definitely weird, but he doesn't blame himself for the crazy tripped-out things his mind came up with. Blood loss, leaky brains, all that crap.
"Just rest," says Leon, and for once, Seifer listens. He closes his eyes and when he goes to sleep he dreams that Leon watches him, and while he dreams, Leon watches him sleep.
If Leon's mind wanders, Seifer does not know it. If Leon's heart beats faster or the blood pumps through his veins, hot and steady, Seifer can't hear it. And if fingers roam over soft skin and a breath catches, Seifer whimpers only softly, and sleeps on, unknowing.
Seifer stirs slightly in his sleep. Leon does not stir from his side. Their dreams run together in the night.