balamb garden was alive with its usual rhythms, the steady bustle softened here in the courtyard by the rustle of leaves and the steady hum of the fountain at its center. sunlight spilled across the stone paths and neat patches of grass, warming the benches in a golden glow. it wasn’t the most private place to linger, the air alive with faint chatter and passing footsteps, but for some reason squall always gravitated here when he wanted distance from the rest of the world.

he sat in his usual spot, arms crossed, posture perfectly straight like he was bracing himself against something unseen. the faint shimmer of water reflected against the silver edge of his gunblade, leaned carefully within reach. his expression was the same as always—blank eyes, impassive mouth, a face that warned most people not to disturb him.

but you weren’t most people.

it had taken effort to even get close, your persistence met with the familiar silence and half-hearted attempts to brush you off. yet today, he hadn’t resisted quite as hard. maybe it was the calm of the courtyard, maybe he was too tired to argue, or maybe—just maybe—he trusted you enough to let his guard down in his own quiet way.

resting your head against his lap earned you a heavy sigh, the kind that carried a weight of silent disapproval. his thighs were tense, not the most comfortable surface, and his entire body was stiff like he had no idea what to do with himself. but he didn’t push you away. he didn’t even shift to make you move.

for squall, that was a victory in itself.

his gloved fingers tapped once against his arm before settling back into stillness. his gaze fixed on the fountain, watching the sunlight ripple across the water’s surface as though it might distract him from the fact that you were right there, tucked against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“…are you done yet?” his voice broke the quiet at last, low and flat, though not as sharp as it could have been. almost resigned, almost curious.

and though his expression hadn’t softened, the simple truth was clear: if he really wanted you gone, he would have made it happen. instead, he sat there, tolerating the closeness, letting you take whatever comfort you needed. he’d never admit it aloud, not with words—but the fact he hadn’t moved a muscle to stop you said more than enough.

still, if zell came wandering past now and saw this, you’d never hear the end of it.