InsaneJournal

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

She was trailing one finger around the edge of her water glass, fingernail connecting here and there to make small clinking sounds against the slick surface. He looked down at his hands, clasped tight around his cup, and was suddenly thankful for his gloves. They covered the white knuckles and contained the sweaty palms. She was looking at him now, leaning slightly over the table. A slip of hair tumbled over her shoulder, and when she moved to tuck it back, more streamed forward. She let out an exasperated grunt, straightening her back once more, and brushed the dark strands away from her face. He was mesmerized.

“There’s no right or wrong answer to this, Squall. I just want to know your honest opinion.” The trance was broken, and the blood rushed out of his tightened knuckles once more. He wasn’t sure what to say. Somehow, he could battle the strongest monsters that eternity could spew forth, but these questions of hers were incapacitating. Why was she doing this, anyway? What’s the point? He didn’t fall in love at first sight with her, so why should such a question even matter?

She was leaning forward again, and the hair spilled over her shoulders once more, but she didn’t push it back. He couldn’t look into her eyes, not now, not ever. They seemed too deep, impossibly thick, like they would engulf him, enfold him, and he’d be consumed. The only way to keep her out was to not look. Her voice came to him softly now, softer than he’d ever heard her be.

“I don’t believe in love at first sight.” The words were thick in his ears, and he felt his heart sink slightly. He wanted her answer to be positive, even if he hadn’t felt that way. There was a smile on her face, though, and it brought a warmth to his cheeks. How odd to feel this way at once, cold in the chest, yet hot in the face. He ducked his head low and let the bangs fall fluidly over his eyes. She moved her head even lower than his and gazed up with a subtle smile. “I really don’t,” she continued, fingertips resting lightly on the edge of the table. “I think it’s possible for people to have an instant connection, and know that there could be something there. But you can’t love someone until you know them.”

Do you know me, then? he thought, but didn't say. How could you love me?

She shifted back into her seat, placing her hands one over the other, palms down, in her lap and stretching her arms out straight. With a sigh, she relaxed once more. He waited for them to come again, those eyes that he feared so much, but she turned her head away and let dark lashes meet over them. “I guess we’re out of time for today, aren't we? Tomorrow?”

He saw himself nodding more than he felt it, and he wondered for the thousandth time why she kept asking him to lunch. He wasn’t a conversationalist by any stretch, nor was he a tactile person. The only rational thought was that she saw him as a challenge, as something to overcome, not someone to love. After all, you can’t love someone until you know them, right?

Back in his room, something felt wrong. Legs uncrossed but together, gloved fingers interlaced, he sat on the edge of his bed, feeling ill-at-ease. Was it these lunches? The air smelled stale around his head, and he hated it for that. Those questions of hers, they wriggled into his brain, they made him uncomfortable, yes, that was it, that was what made his room feel so foreign, so unwelcoming, so… He allowed gravity to pull him down and fell sideways onto the blanketed mattress, hands still tangled, but legs splaying out with the shift. They’d started a few weeks back, not as dates, but as time spent between friends. Initially, all six of them had eaten together amicably, making small talk, and though they’d been there, he hadn’t noticed the questions then.

“I wonder why the sky’s so blue.” Dark eyes scanned the clouds longingly.

Slender shoulders shifted slightly, and the neck tilted. “Well, scientifically speaking…”

“Oh no no no.” Fingers spread wide, palms crossing quickly in the air. “I understand that. I just wonder, why blue? Out of all the colors that could be, why is that perfect blue the one up there?”

“What else would look so good with the sun?” A wide smile and shut eyes graced the simple statement.

“Maybe that’s why blue looks so good on you ladies.” She laughed prettily, and eyes that were not his own looked at her with love apparent. Again, there’s love…

Even Zell had responded to the question in a way and shrugged, his mouth in a knot. Squall was the only one sitting there silent, motionless, unable to respond. It was awkward even with the others there, and once work and classes started up again, everyone went their separate ways for lunch. Except for them, of course, and even that was only because she kept asking him and he kept accepting. He heard knocking now, and sat up quickly, head thrumming with the rush. Stumbling over, he opened the door too quickly, unprepared for those bottomless eyes to be looking at him. He was struck silent.

“Um, I just wanted to say… Squall, I really love our lunches, but…” Rinoa’s hands were clasped tight behind her back, and she dug at the hallway carpet with the scuffed toe of one boot. He felt the door pull back a bit more, and it took him as much by surprise as it did her. Blinking, he noticed his own hand on the barrier, pressing it away from them. She was smiling, she really was, those lips curving gracefully and parting slightly in the center. A glimpse of pearly teeth behind, and he had done that. This was just for him. Suddenly, he felt the need to sit down again. She was in the room then, moving past him with small, quick steps, and he thought his heartbeat matched her footfalls perfectly. Maybe, if she wasn’t there, if her footsteps left his room, his heart would cease too, and he’d die. His rationality objected to this, but something deeper told him it just might happen. He gestured to the bed with one hand. “Sorry, it’s cluttered. You can sit, though.”

Her mouth dropped into the slightest little “o”, and he thought he saw redness push into her cheeks for just a moment, but then she sat, and she was an oil painting, still and pale. She chewed her lip, as if all her words were stored there beneath the thin, flushed skin, and she needed to cut through to them before she could use them. “You don’t have to do this.”

He was startled, though whether more at the words or at the horrible hurt tone in her voice he couldn’t tell.

“I know I must… bother you. It happens. I’m persistent, I know, and probably much louder than anyone you’ve ever really been friends with. So… I won’t be annoyed if you want to eat lunch alone. I mean, I’m not going to give up on you entirely, but if this is too much—”

“Why do flowers bloom at different times?”

She looked at him and her face was slack. “What?”

“Flowers. They bloom at different times from one another. Why is that?”

“I guess it’s my turn to be asked, huh?” The faintest of chuckles slipped past her lips. “Well, when a flower blooms, it shows its color to all the world. I guess some flowers just don’t think they’re ready to bloom for a very long time. They don’t realize that they’re beautiful.”

Thick lashes closed over wet, shining eyes once, twice, and he found he couldn’t look away from them anymore. She smiled, and he could’ve sworn he felt his pupils tighten, straining to bring her more into focus, to capture that look forever. Her fingers slipped over one another, and she said, “But they are, you know.”

She reached out one hand to him, and he pushed off the wall just slightly to edge towards her. “All flowers are beautiful,” she said in a wistful sigh.

It was wrong to do, he knew, but he laughed at that, low and heavy in his throat. “I’m a flower, am I?”

Then the eyes were off of him, staring down at her hands, and the redness definitely rose in her face this time. She wasn’t snapping back at him like he’d expected her too, and he immediately felt a pang of nervousness. The bed sank under his weight as he settled in beside her, and she didn’t move. “You know what I meant, Squall.”

He tried to say, “Yes, I know,” but his mouth was dry, tongue too heavy to even conceive of lifting. Instead, he nodded mutely, dumbly, and watched with increasing wonder as she lifted her gaze to him once more. He needed to say it, needed to get these words out, so that maybe he could ease the pressure on his heart and other words would be able to fit out of his mouth. Should he touch her…? With a lightness so great she barely felt it, he closed his hand over hers. She looked down at it, frowning slightly, then raised his arm by the wrist and slowly began tugging at the tip of each black-clad finger, removing his glove. It was halfway off his palm, and he could see the sweat glistening in branching lines across his skin, when he gave in.

“I go to lunch with you because I love you.”

There were lips against his now, soft and gentle, and he smiled into the kiss. When they parted, he heard a quick admission in return, and he pressed his mouth against her forehead. This was it, then. The bloom. Funny how it wasn’t scary anymore.