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Title: The Return of No Sensitivity
Day/Theme: Aug 26 / Souls are like armed battalions
Series: FFVIII
Character/Pairing: Squall, Quistis, faint hints at past tense Squall/Rinoa, onesided Quistis/Squall
Rating:PG-13 for language
Summary: A scene reminiscent of an earlier time, it left a bitter taste in his mouth to think of something lost, a promise broken. Gen, past tense Squall/Rinoa, Onesided Quistis/Squall.
A/N: Title from No Sensitivity by Jimmy Eat World. And this is an old unfinished fic which is getting cleaned off and posted here XD;
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He took another long draw on the cigarette. Inhaling the bitter smoke for a moment, then breathing out a cloud of wispy gray.
She’d betrayed him in the end.
Fuck it. Never should’ve trusted her in the first place.
Fuck....
He let his mind wrap around the word, saying it internally over and over, a exanimate chant which reverberated with each puff, he clung to the words, and the cigarette for dear life.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
He allowed his tongue to slip over it’s harshness, the sharp edges which scraped against his palate, burned on the tip of his tongue.
Again, he pressed the cigarette to his mouth, idly enjoying the aching sensation deep in his lungs.
In the ballroom, the band played “Waltz for the Moon” Just loud enough for him to miss the footsteps coming closer, closer.
“It’s bad for you, you know.” With that final tone, Quistis removed the offending cigarette and put it out on the nearby balcony.
He gave an annoyed glace towards her and scoffed. “What are you going to do? Discipline me?”
The comment was received with a thin humorless laugh. “I’m no longer a instructor, remember? I’ve not been one for years.”
He didn’t reply.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She finally asked, knowing the answer but offering none the less.
“No.” He continued on, softer, more a mumble to himself. “...I was a fool to trust. People just betray you in the end.”
“Some. But not all.” She leaned of the side of the balcony, looking out over the night lights glittering in the near distance.
“You’ll probably just say ‘I told you so’.”
“You know I won’t.” She responded, calm and untouched by his harshness.
The scene was reminiscent of an all too familiar yet painful memory, and flooded his senses with nostalgia. A bitter aftertaste, worse than the new habit, lifeline of the tobacco.
He wanted a cigarette. He wanted a new fucking life far away from here.
“So. Are you going to sit here and angst your life away?” She said, turning to face him again.
He ignored the question, merely grunting in her direction.
“Do you love her still?” She asked with raised eyebrow.
“...I don’t know.”
“So why don’t you do something about it? Get on with your life. You’re still alive, so live.” She said, her voice lilting ever so little.
“Whatever.” He said, pushing past her and returning to the now almost empty ballroom. The song had finished, the dance was over.
Silently, she watched him leave. For a moment her mouth twitched, as if to say something, but stopped.
For times like this, silence says far more than words ever could.
Day/Theme: Aug 26 / Souls are like armed battalions
Series: FFVIII
Character/Pairing: Squall, Quistis, faint hints at past tense Squall/Rinoa, onesided Quistis/Squall
Rating:PG-13 for language
Summary: A scene reminiscent of an earlier time, it left a bitter taste in his mouth to think of something lost, a promise broken. Gen, past tense Squall/Rinoa, Onesided Quistis/Squall.
A/N: Title from No Sensitivity by Jimmy Eat World. And this is an old unfinished fic which is getting cleaned off and posted here XD;
--
--
He took another long draw on the cigarette. Inhaling the bitter smoke for a moment, then breathing out a cloud of wispy gray.
She’d betrayed him in the end.
Fuck it. Never should’ve trusted her in the first place.
Fuck....
He let his mind wrap around the word, saying it internally over and over, a exanimate chant which reverberated with each puff, he clung to the words, and the cigarette for dear life.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
He allowed his tongue to slip over it’s harshness, the sharp edges which scraped against his palate, burned on the tip of his tongue.
Again, he pressed the cigarette to his mouth, idly enjoying the aching sensation deep in his lungs.
In the ballroom, the band played “Waltz for the Moon” Just loud enough for him to miss the footsteps coming closer, closer.
“It’s bad for you, you know.” With that final tone, Quistis removed the offending cigarette and put it out on the nearby balcony.
He gave an annoyed glace towards her and scoffed. “What are you going to do? Discipline me?”
The comment was received with a thin humorless laugh. “I’m no longer a instructor, remember? I’ve not been one for years.”
He didn’t reply.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She finally asked, knowing the answer but offering none the less.
“No.” He continued on, softer, more a mumble to himself. “...I was a fool to trust. People just betray you in the end.”
“Some. But not all.” She leaned of the side of the balcony, looking out over the night lights glittering in the near distance.
“You’ll probably just say ‘I told you so’.”
“You know I won’t.” She responded, calm and untouched by his harshness.
The scene was reminiscent of an all too familiar yet painful memory, and flooded his senses with nostalgia. A bitter aftertaste, worse than the new habit, lifeline of the tobacco.
He wanted a cigarette. He wanted a new fucking life far away from here.
“So. Are you going to sit here and angst your life away?” She said, turning to face him again.
He ignored the question, merely grunting in her direction.
“Do you love her still?” She asked with raised eyebrow.
“...I don’t know.”
“So why don’t you do something about it? Get on with your life. You’re still alive, so live.” She said, her voice lilting ever so little.
“Whatever.” He said, pushing past her and returning to the now almost empty ballroom. The song had finished, the dance was over.
Silently, she watched him leave. For a moment her mouth twitched, as if to say something, but stopped.
For times like this, silence says far more than words ever could.