#(they live and thrive in absolute chaos and mayhem and destruction)

[misswynters]

「 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 」

a short drabble.

featuring. Mr. Scarletella x fem!reader

warnings. mentions of death and destruction

There was a disgusting smell, one that filled the air. It reeked of gasoline and charred wood, a heady cocktail of destruction that painted the night in shades of madness. Mr. Scarletella leaned against a crumbling brick wall, his crimson mask gleaming faintly in the flickering light of distant flames. His gaze was fixed on you. As he described you, “a whirlwind of chaos” wrapped in a bloodstained cocktail dress, twirling a crowbar like it was a parasol.

“Darling,” he began, voice smooth as silk yet tinged with weary amusement, “did you really have to blow up the entire building?”

You tilted your head, a wide, unhinged grin spreading across your face. “Oh, Please. I didn’t have to, but i did. It was absolutely fun.” Your laughter rang out sharply, slicing through the air. He chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. You truly were a force of nature, uncontainable. And he was utterly captivated by your chaos.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been left cleaning up your messes. Mr. Scarletella prided himself on being a maestro of controlled chaos, his plans executed with surgical precision. You, on the other hand, thrived on mayhem. Almost as if the world were a playground for your impulses. Tonight’s escapade was supposed to be a simple art gallery heist. It was quiet and elegant. Instead, it ended with the gallery engulfed in flames and cryptic messages scrawled across the walls in dripping, red spray paint.

“‘Art is dead, long live madness,’” he read aloud as he strolled past the smoldering ruins, tracing the words with his gloved hand. “Poetic, but perhaps a touch… obvious?”

“Subtlety is for cowards,” you shot back, leaning on your crowbar like a cane. “Besides, the world needs a wake-up call. Life’s too short for boring crimes.”

He turned to you, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “And yet you seem determined to shorten ours even further.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow. “We’re untouchable, darling. A symphony of chaos. The world can’t help but watch and applaud.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Especially when you looked at him with that glint in your eye. It had a feverish light, both thrilling and terrifying.

The sirens in the distance grew louder, the authorities finally catching wind of your masterpiece. Mr. Scarletella sighed, pulling you by the hand into the shadows of the alleyway. The two of you slipped through the maze of cobblestone streets, your laughter echoing faintly behind you. He let you lead, as he often did, following your frenetic energy like a moth drawn to a flame. You were chaos incarnate, a wildfire he could never hope to control, and yet he found himself captivated by the thrill of keeping pace.

“Where to next, my lunatic queen?” he asked as the two of you emerged onto a rooftop overlooking the sprawling city.

You spun on your heels, arms outstretched as if commanding the world below. “Next? The world is a canvas, and we’re the brushstrokes”

He stepped closer, steadying your dramatic pose with his hands brushing against yours. “Alive, yes. But alive together, please. Your recklessness might get you killed one day.”

“Then it’ll be a glorious end,” you whispered, the fire in your eyes softening for just a moment. “But if it’s my time, I want it to be with you.”

His grip tightened on your hands, a rare flicker of vulnerability flashing behind his face. You always managed to cut through his carefully constructed layers of control, leaving him exposed and raw. He pulled you into his arms, his voice dropping to a murmur.

“You’re maddening,” he said, his forehead resting against yours.

“You like it though,”you replied with a sly grin, your breath warm against his cheek.

The distant rumble of an explosion pulled your attention back to the city below. Another part of your handiwork, no doubt, coming to fruition. Flames licked at the skyline, painting the night in hues of orange and gold. “Beautiful,” you murmured, your voice filled with awe.

“Terrifying,” he countered, though his tone carried an undercurrent of admiration.

“Exactly why you love me,” you teased, leaning back against him.

He didn’t deny it. How could he? You were everything he didn’t know he needed, a storm that swept into his life and tore through his carefully curated existence. The world might see you as a monster, but to him, you were a masterpiece. A beautiful work of art. Too wild and unrestrained for mortal comprehension.

The rooftop fell silent save for the crackling of distant flames. You leaned against the ledge, your dress swaying in the breeze, and he stood beside you, the faintest smile playing on his lips.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “sometimes I wonder if you’re trying to outdo me.”

“No way!,” you said, turning to him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “I’m not trying to outdo you. I’m trying to inspire you. Imagine what we could create together if you just let go a little.”

“Let go?” he asked, raising a brow beneath his mask.

“Let go of the rules. The plans. The need for control.” You stepped closer, your fingers trailing the outline of his jaw. “Don’t you want to see what happens when we let a lil’ madness take over?”

His hand covered yours, steadying it as he looked into your eyes. There was a part of him that wanted to resist, to keep you grounded in his world of calculated chaos. But another part, the part that adored you, knew that resistance was futile. You were the storm itself.

“Let the madness take over, huh?” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk. “All right, my darling queen. Let’s paint the world red.”

Your laughter rang out once more, wild and untamed, as you grabbed his hand and led him toward the next adventure. The city stretched out before you, a canvas waiting to be torn apart and reimagined in your image. Together, you were unstoppable. A perfect symphony of chaos. And for Mr. Scarletella, he would never trade his place in your life. There was no place he’d rather be than with you, his wife.

banner: @anitalenia

[scatterbrainedbot]

🥺 no property damage?? experiment failed 😔

brought to you by @scatterbrainedbot's tags

[onepartbrave]

an FYI ~

Without a doubt, I’ve been distracted from RP but I digress… I’ve also been dipping into fanficland, a Strifehart feels run being my first instalment yet to come.

A snippet below, I guess? I’m quite dubious when sharing as I sometimes feel I don’t get Squall just right, let alone other characters… ergo, this leap of faith? Eh. Enjoy what will come, I guess?

Brief synopsis; Cloud is a werewolf that lives in the world of FF8. Other characters will appear, but for now, Strifehart mains~

In the beginning, not all was well. Those born from extraordinary circumstances – “Mythics” – were scorned, exiled from belonging in any place of man due to their collective (misplaced) fear; of not knowing what they might do, despite not knowing what they might not do. 

Long, tedious battles took place, sometimes figuratively, mostly physically, until one fateful day, a breakthrough finally happened. One man, known among mankind as a hero of their time, used his influence over the world to fight for them, and he fought fiercely for their rights as living beings to survive and thrive with everyday people. 

Vampires, once feared through centuries of misrepresentation and slander, strolled about in broad daylight, dressed head-to-toe in protective gear, specialised to deflect the life-threatening UV rays. Werewolves, once thought of as nothing but mindless monstrosities carrying an uncontrollable, infectious disease, walked among the public without fears of being ruthlessly hunted. Fairies, demons, pixies, sirens – so many Mythics roaming freely for, potentially, the first time in their lives. 

** 

Squall Leonhart was, for lack of a better term, fed up. 

Why, one might inquire? Simply put, in the outskirts of Winhill, he’d purchased a luxuriously large plot of land and set up a homely ranch-slash-house for himself. The final decision to settle down in the middle of nowhere was partially due to the beautiful scenery, mostly from the unrivalled privacy and his overwhelming need to stay out of the limelight to enjoy his reluctant retirement. On the land roamed a few dozen chickens, some cows, a random goat or two, and a grumpy old chocobo that wandered in one day and stayed, allegedly liking what she saw (and whom he’d fondly named Chocorita – he wasn’t great at naming things, sue him). 

In the solitude of Winhill and the mountains, he’d expected peace. For the first time in his life, he wanted to take it slow, to relax and maybe take up a boring hobby that kept him off his feet (just as the doctor prescribed, ugh). Instead, anywhere he went, he got chaos. Destruction, mayhem, calamity, regardless of how minor or extreme. Natural, man-made and in-between, there was no way to escape his horrendous luck. 

Such was what had him out of bed at an ungodly hour one morning, standing in nothing but fraying-at-the-edges pyjama pants and worn out boots in long need of replacing, staring in utter disdain and absolute exasperation at his hen house… that was currently being ravaged by a gigantic, rugged as heck, wolf. Flashlight pointing directly at the offending creature, which halted on the spot like a deer caught in headlights the moment the beam landed on its furry hide, unblinking eyes on Squall as he glared back his unrelenting disgust. 

Why. Just why. 

“…I use these for eggs!” he howled, agitation and exhaustion (with everything) winning over any common sense warning him to back away from the potentially dangerous beast, waving his only viable weapon of a flickering flashlight at the frozen mongrel. Who, to his complete surprise, dropped the feathery carcass like the soft exterior burned and fucking scampered away in (what he could only describe as) unbridled terror, wispy tail tucked firmly between long legs. Silence crept in around Squall, apart from the occasional chirping cricket, as he stared in the direction the wolf fled, trying to process what just happened. 

After a moment of further consideration, he shook his head roughly, forever in his way hair falling over his face as he clapped a palm to it, running it down while groaning in defeated frustration. Miles and miles of forest teeming with wildlife just as easy to catch, plus neighbouring placements just a few clicks out, and… it was still him that was ransacked. Hand lowering, noticing the flashlight beam gradually dimming, he deemed it time to call it a night. One wearily curious glance after the thieving mutt was all he spared before turning on his heel and wobbling his way back inside to the persistent light and welcoming aircon. 

He’d deal with the chickens come sunrise. 

** 

Come morning, a more reasonable morning, someone had the nerve to knock loudly on Squall’s front door. With his establishment being all ground floor, noises travelled quickly and efficiently. Thus, obnoxious banging woke him from a restless sleep despite his bedroom being in the furthest corner away from the main hall. Blissful silence occurred briefly, his pounding head welcoming the peace, before it was rudely interrupted with, yet again, more incessant knocking. It seemed his unwanted visitor wasn’t giving in. 

Groaning lowly to himself, Squall’s right arm raised and flew to cover his eyes, knowing full well if he were to open them immediately, he’d be temporarily blinded by radiant sunshine. Despite having blinds that supposedly repelled sunlight, he still woke most mornings by an impish beam to the face. One of the wonderful things about living in Winhill was the endless sunshine, but it was also one of the worst. Contemplating his next move while gingerly stretching out tender limbs, he barely refrained from growling aloud in annoyance when more knocking came. 

He was going to deck whoever it was VIP status (Laguna) or not (Seifer). 

Grudgingly, he removed his arm and squinted his eyes as they slowly peeled open, pre-emptively braced. Lightly shaking off the familiar numbness filtering in from his left leg, Squall sluggishly pushed himself up and to the edge of his bed to sit. Running a hand through his hair while the other provided a sturdy support as he leant back, he didn’t care to stifle the bothersome yawn momentarily clouding his mind. Scratching an itch to the rear of his skull, he blinked his eyes a few more times before he was ready to combat nature’s wakeup call. 

Or fates, if the knock, knock, knocking was any implication. 

“Yeah, yeah… on my way,” he mumbled to none as he forced himself up. Wavering slightly to start, he used the headboard to help stabilise his equilibrium. Taking a moment to ensure his balance was up to par, he surged on with murderous intent. Well… more like waddled on like an angry duckling – he doubted anyone would take him seriously with an unfortunate case of bedhead (fluffy, sticking up everywhere, untameable; he’d tried, trust him) and wearing only pyjama pants with a hole in the left knee. Muttering darkly to himself as he marched onward, soft carpet beneath his feet turned into solid wood, one click sounding for every two steps he took. Obviously, he’d forgotten socks in his eagerness to return to bed last night. 

Finally, he reached the front door, solid wood slash metal with a singular, one-way peephole embedded and grabbed the slick metal handle, twisted the key to unlock and all but yanked the thing open like it caused him great offence. Not the door at least, but the one standing on the opposite side had. “What’s your goddamn problem…?!” Squall fired out instantly, although some of the ferocity died down by his fourth word at seeing who was there. 

A man, possibly around his age, with hair worse than his own sticking up all over the place (platinum blond, didn’t look dyed – cute), skin pale enough to suggest he’d never seen sunlight, let alone been outside in it and the brightest blue eyes Squall had ever seen staring at him widely, looking oddly innocent despite being stuck to a grown adult… and oddly familiar. If only to add to Squall’s ludicrous attraction to the man, a rosy tint overtook definitely illegal cheekbones and the man, who’d been staring relentlessly, dropped his adorable gaze bashfully and rambled under his breath. 

Squall struggled to hear, features automatically down turning into something reminiscent of a scowl. His unfortunate visitor caught the look and perceived it to be for him, rather than Squall’s lacklustre hearing. “I—I’m sorry for the early morning call but I couldn’t wait any longer. My name’s—uh, Cloud Strife, and I, I’m your new neighbour,” he, allegedly Cloud, said, rather rapidly and in a tone that suggested questionable embarrassment and… guilt? “I happened to be passing by when I figured it—it’d be neighbourly to give you a welcoming present—” Wait, wasn’t that supposed to be the other way around? Squall was becoming more puzzled by the second, yet he continued to watch the blond ramble. “—so, I, I have something. For you. If you want them?” 

When Cloud concluded his introduction, Squall simply stared. Blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes with the palm of a hand to ensure that yes, he was awake, and yes, there was potentially the cutest blond idiot babbling on his doorstep just after sunrise. Said blond peek at him coyly through his bangs and Squall’s heart skipped a beat. 

Well, at least he knew his eyesight was still functioning well. 

“I… sure?” he replied, more of a question than a response, but it seemed to suit Cloud’s expectations perfectly. 

His neighbour hopped to attention and beckoned Squall over with enthusiastic waves of his whole arm, looking him up and down when he suddenly stopped. In an instant, Squall’s guard rose as he watched where that sky-blue gaze fell, hackles instinctively prepared. A heartbeat past and… Cloud simply shook his head and said, “Sorry, shoes—I’ll let you put on some shoes.” 

And that expelled any suspicion Squall held over that inquisitive gaze. If he hadn’t caught himself, he would’ve expressed a small smile at the blond’s antics. He blamed his messed-up sense of defence and common sense on his lack of sleep. Making to abide by Cloud’s reasonable suggestion, he slid his sockless feet into his trusty boots, left one stiffer than the right, and grabbed a jacket from the hooks by the door. Pulling on the coat to make himself at least semi-decent, he stepped outside into the already harsh warmth of the summer sun and joined Cloud’s side. Who had waited for him in the exact position he’d stopped in and not another glance was thrown downwards to Squall’s feet. 

He didn’t know whether to be impressed by someone’s apparent self-control or see if he couldn’t torment the man for looking in the first place. The sassier, snappier side of him wanted anyone that stared to suffer first-hand mortification, but somehow, Cloud slipped by and made his way to the��‘simply impressed’ side. 

Following his energetic neighbour to wherever he deemed necessary, Squall took the opportunity from lingering somewhat behind to check him out. A faded-check shirt was atop a sleeveless black tank-top, black combat pants with thick-soled biker boots, and twin (again, you guessed it) black fingerless gloves shielding strong-looking hands. Screw his hands, when they stopped by a monstrous, fucking fantastic motorcycle parked just off the driveway, Cloud’s shirt sleeves pulled up when the blond lifted something that had been secured to the rear of the bike and Squall saw jaw-dropping muscle definition on his arms alone. 

Silently, the gremlin part of his brain prayed for gale-force winds to suddenly whip up and rip the clothes from his neighbour’s body so Squall could check out the rest of him. Decisively, he ignored it. 

What was impossible to ignore was the crate Cloud was carrying, filled with… chickens? Improbable as it seemed considering the already perplexing introduction, Squall found himself feeling off-balance on how to respond or what to respond with. Why on earth was Cloud presenting hens to him? It seemed absurdly coincidental that he lost such birds the night before to the foul mutt… Stormy eyes squinted at still-radiating-innocence blue and popped his right hand on his corresponding hip. “…Do you have a dog?” 

Weirdly, Cloud fumbled with the crate at Squall’s legitimate question, the wooden box and livestock inside nearly falling directly onto booted feet. Immaculate reflexes avoided disaster, though the same couldn’t be said for the man himself. “Dog?” was Cloud’s inquiring reply as he straightened up, voice going oddly high-pitched as though he felt targeted by Squall’s suspicion… which he was, he supposed, and the given reaction wasn’t helping Cloud’s case. “No—no, I have no animals. Why?” 

He studied Cloud in brief silence, offering a meek shrug soon after, hand falling from its perch back to his side. “No reason.” And now back to the topic at hand: “Why have you brought me chickens?” And why would you think I need any, his mind finished for him. Patiently, he waited. 

Cloud toyed with his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes flicking everywhere but Squall. Almost like he struggled to think of a valid reason. Shady… In the moment of muteness, Squall’s focus shifted to the sleek machine stationed just behind them. The coat was midnight-black and shimmered in the sunlight majestically. Thicker than most two-wheelers he’d seen in his lifetime, potentially heavier from the additional compartments his keen eyesight made out, and two front wheels instead of the usual one… Simply put, it was a work of art and Squall was yet to find any piece of machinery he couldn’t wholly admire. Wonder what it’s like to ride… 

“I—I noticed you have a ranch and figured you could never have too many chickens.” If that wasn’t the lamest excuse Squall had heard in a long while… and he was friends with both Rinoa and Selphie. “So—take them?” 

Earnest blue eyes practically begged him, and the box was shoved his way suggestively, Squall’s answer was simple. He hadn’t the heart to tell the allegedly generous man ‘no’. “…Fine,” he sighed, growing instantly pensive when Cloud beamed – like he was doing the blond a favour by taking the hens. Were they infected or something? “Bring them this way,” he continued quietly, jerking his head in the direction of the main coop. Since he was already holding it, why not make use of Cloud a little longer? “I didn’t see you move in,” he commented as they began to walk, the blond keeping pace with his slightly stunted one. 

If Squall was to describe the stream of expressions that flitted over Cloud’s face in the next moment, he’d be there all day. The blond chose to settle on sheepishness with a matching smile. “It was a quick overnight thing… didn’t have much to unpack,” Cloud murmured, keeping his eyes facing forward to avoid further contact with Squall’s. 

Everything about him set off warning bells inside Squall’s mind but he couldn’t make heads or tails of what or why. Was it due to his own reclusive nature and the fact he’d evaded human interactions as much as realistically possible over the last few months, that simple conversation with new people was putting him on-guard? Too mindful over what everyone thought about him now? Shiva, he needed to get a hobby other than overthinking. Fat lot of help it was in the past. 

Thankfully, Cloud neither glanced his way to assume Squall’s souring mood was his fault or commented on the silence dragging between them as they strode on. It was only when the wooden hutch was in sight that Squall recalled last night’s problem – deceased chickens all over the place. Great, now Cloud would assume he was a disturbed maniac that feasted upon the flesh of the poor birds that had been ripped apart – 

Stopping suddenly in his tracks, Squall stared openly at the area surrounding his hen house. Cloud also paused, eyes sweeping up in an inquisitive manner, but voiced nothing. Again, he was grateful for the blond’s apparent love of silence because he wouldn’t know what to say as the entire ground was clean. No residue blood, no scattered feathers, no messy carcasses – hell, it looked like someone had swept the floor, too. Picking apart his brain for plausible solutions to the glaring problem encountered, he came up empty and his only reward was undiluted bewilderment. 

Eventually though, Cloud broke the silent treaty and asked, quite reasonably, “Is, uh, everything okay?” 

Surprisingly speechless, Squall turned his head to bring the virtuous blond into view, who was genuinely asking from misguided concern about his wellbeing. But… what could he honestly say? ‘Oh, yesterday there was numerous bodies littering the floor and now they’ve miraculously gone!’ Pfft, not likely. Flicking out his tongue to swipe along his bottom lip (noting idly how blue eyes seemed to follow the motion), he finally nodded and resolved to not telling the truth. “Phantom pains,” he said shortly, hoping the tone of voice dissuaded further questions. Luckily, Cloud complied but dropped his gaze out of apparent embarrassment again and Squall felt his chest squeeze. He hated feeling guilty. “Happens all the time, don’t worry about it.” 

Hopeful eyes raised to greet his and Squall determined that shade of blue to be illegal now. Everything about Cloud was illegal. “I—I understand,” Cloud said, nodding in sincere comprehension, hefting the crate a little higher. “Should I just set this down and free them, or…?” 

Right, the chickens. Squall nodded once. “Yeah, free roaming and all that.” 

“’N all that,” Cloud echoed with a faint smile, placing the box gently on the (clean!) floor. Nimble fingers worked over the latches holding the front plate on and a second later, three golden birds scooted out, interested in their newfound freedom and unfamiliar surroundings. He watched Cloud watch them closely, like he was wishing for the hens to accept their new home without complications. Seemingly, it was granted as all three clucked and shot off towards the coop, fluttered up the ramp and out of sight through the swinging door. He smiled, looking up at Squall from where he crouched. “They seem to like it here.” 

Squall’s brain was apparently malfunctioning and his brain-to-mouth filter broke, as the next moment after nodding in agreement to Cloud’s statement, he spewed out, “I think you would too if you wanna join me for coffee?” 

An awkward pause ensued. While Squall wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole (like it apparently did to his poor chickens), Cloud, rightfully so, stared as him like another head just popped out of his shoulder. Dazed blue eyes blinked a few times while the blond visibly contemplated his next move, or words. He, being the gentleman he was, figured it was only fair to give Cloud a way out and opened his mouth to withdraw the offer with as much nonchalance as he could mister, but Cloud beat him to it. 

A slight raise of a shoulder and an uncertain but curious smile sketched onto his face, murmuring, “We could go to the town—I do need a guide and I’m sure there’s a café somewhere.” 

Squall paused. Cloud was not only accepting his pre-morning-coffee suggestion but was entertaining further interaction with his lunatic of a neighbour. It was impossible that he’d made a good impression so early, so the simplest deduction was Cloud being masochistic and liking the pain that came alongside social interactions with hermits like himself. Raising a hand to ruffle the hair waving in his face, he ignored the background clucks of his regular hens coming over to inspect the ground for food (since he was out and provider of said nutrients), eyed Cloud with a weariness that came naturally to him and, beyond all reason, nodded his agreement. “Alright. I’ll be ready in five.” 

Promptly, he made his way back to the front of the house. Once there, he glanced back slightly over his shoulder and queried, “My truck or your bike?” 

Cloud, who tailed him closely like a lost puppy, lit up the yard with the smirk he sent Squall. “Bike—unless you can’t handle it.” 

Squall’s eyes narrowed in playful challenge. Not that anyone outside his inner circle knew what it looked like. “Five minutes, Strife.” 

“A second past that and I’m assuming you’ve backed out—uh,” Cloud paused midway into his retaliation and Squall realised he was yet to introduce himself. With a slither of awkwardness, the blond found an interesting patch on the floor to stare at, apparently incapable of asking a simple question. 

Squall decided to put Cloud out of his misery. Almost. “Leon.” 

It was daft how adorable it was when Cloud perked up at the revelation. He nodded, quirking him a half-smile. “Leon—tick tock.” 

Squall huffed in earnest astonishment from his neighbour’s audacity (and the depth of shock he was feeling at how well they hit it off) and hobbled his way back inside at a quicker pace than his norm. Efficiency was a skill he possessed, as was haste without magic being involved. Kicking off his yard boots and shrugging off the outdoor jacket on the way to his room, he wondered on whether Cloud carried a spare helmet with him for such happenstance that strange neighbours agreed to tagging along with his wild journeys. Entering his bedroom, he yanked open the closest door and pulled out the thickest pair of jeans he owned and SeeD-issued combat boots. Nudging the door shut with a hip, he dumped them on his bed before beelining for his drawers. Retrieving underwear from the top drawer, he dug out a plain old shirt from the middle one – those were dumped on the bed too. 

Briefly, he wondered about the state of his hair but shrugged it off – it’d be underneath a helmet, who cared? Wriggling off the pyjama pants (whoops at going commando to greet his neighbour for the first time), he dressed himself while keeping a flickering gaze on the bedside clock to watch the time. Three minutes and twenty-two seconds later, he was adequately dressed and ready to go. Theoretically. For a moment, he questioned where his mind had gone and what replaced it to make him so whimsical. Uncaring in the end, he shrugged off such thoughts at hearing the starting rumble of the alluring thing awaiting him (the bike was pretty neat too). 

Finally, Squall moseyed on to the front door again, picking up his trusty leather jacket along the way. Too often he’d been teased (or ridiculed) about the fur adorning the lining, but fuck those guys, he liked being warm, thank you very much. Pulling said jacket on as he exited his condo, grabbing keys, wallet and his cell phone along the way, bitter warmth greeted him already but he paid it no heed at the sight he was blessed with – Cloud straddling the beast, a pair of goggles sitting atop of blond spikes, arms crossed and peering at him with… clear admiration and perhaps a hint of amusement. 

Locking the front door with a snort, Squall then pointed the sharp enough key (to get his point across) at the blond, and said, “Not one word about the jacket, Strife.” A raised brow was his response. His own eyes narrowed. “I mean it.” 

Cloud raised his hands in a show of mock surrender and then lowered the goggles to shield his eyes. “No words said.” 

Squall nodded in approval while making his way over, studying the sleek machine. Obviously, his choice seat was behind Cloud, although it seemed it would be a tight fit for two grown adults. So what. Steeling his determination, he gritted his teeth and, after bracing himself on Cloud’s shoulder, swung his right leg over the bike to attain his seat. Unfortunately, it applied unnecessary pressure to his bad leg and a bolt of pain lanced through him. He went rigid and a concerned look shot over the shoulder he just leaned on. 

“I’m fine,” Squall growled out, a low warning poorly concealed within the words. Giving himself a minute to settle and for his head to stop pounding, he breathed in and out steadily, and then sighed. Only when he impulsively ran a hand through his own hair did he realise something critical: “Where’s your helmet?” 

A gleam came into blue eyes and Squall felt slight trepidation in his choice. “No helmet. Hold on tight.” 

The engine roared to life as Cloud twisted his right hand and Squall instinctively grabbed onto what was closest: Cloud’s jacket – procured from where, Squall didn’t know, but could certainly appreciate. Not a second later, they were tearing up Squall’s driveway, dust clouds and debris kicking up behind them as wheels scrambled for purchase. Before long rubber kissed tarmac and Cloud released the clutch, twisted the throttle, leaned forward and really started to move. The bike shot off like a rocket and Squall could only hold on for dear life, vice-grip on Cloud’s sides being switch for the more secure looping around his waist, face buried into the back of Cloud’s jacket, heart racing as fast as the vehicle he’d willingly jumped on, idly wondering if he’d make it out alive. 

Exhilarating was too tame a word to use in description for the feel of wind whipping his hair about. The sheer amount of fresh air hitting his throat when finally releasing the breath he’d been holding nearly made him choke (and he lived in the mountains already). Eyes watering immediately when he attempted to open them to view the rapidly passing countryside, he chose to keep them jammed shut, listening to the roar of the engine whenever Cloud accelerated and the pounding of his own heart that felt was about to leap out of his chest. 

Now to say Squall had lived a lively, fast-paced life so far would be a gross understatement, but there was something so utterly terrifying, yet breathlessly freeing, about riding so recklessly with a gorgeous stranger he’d just met. 

Liberating.