© 2002 Copyright Original Storyline by Gold (E-mail: [email protected])

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VIII belongs to Squaresoft.

Well, I was bored, so I came up with this. If it works (I already have seven parts completed), then there'll be more dishes coming along. For now, enjoy the Angsty Seiftis.

The Dish: One Angsty Seiftis

Ingredient One: One Brooding Seifer

The room was dark, the only light coming from the silvery rays of the graceful crescent that sailed high and proud in the dark sky. The rays stole in through the open window, framed by curtains that looked a haunting white in the dim light. The tiny red glow at the end of his cigarette stood out amidst the grey smoke he puffed without much pleasure. His eyes, a jewelled ocean green in the moonlight, were narrowed in protection against the cool early morning breeze that blew into his face and ruffled the hair standing every-which-way on his head. He was bare-bodied and the coolness in the air sent pleasant goose bumps rising softly on his skin.

He rarely smoked, but sometimes, when the world sat heavily on his shoulders, particularly in the wee hours of the morning, he would light a cigarette and inhale the smoke for a false, illusionary sense of peace, the cloud of smoke obscuring the painful memories that sped through his mind. At four o'clock in the morning, everything you most wanted to be cast away and obliterated by sands of time emerged fresh in your memory with a vengeance, as if telling you that the stains of your past would always be there, no matter what you did to try to ease the pain and no matter how much you regretted and repented your actions. 

A small movement in the corner caught his eye, and he turned. She was sitting up in his bed, her cool blue eyes still scrunched up with sleep, long lashes dusting satin skin, and golden hair spilling across her slender shoulders and curling in soft waves that framed her face. In the soft darkness of the room, with the moonlight drifting in lazy trails across the shadows, she was startlingly lovely, a golden goddess with a vulnerability and purity untouched by the prosaic surroundings.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, blue eyes now fully open and resting quietly on him.

Without a word, she slipped from the bed and stumbled to the door, exhaustion in every line of her figure. Her clothes were rumpled from sleeping in them, and gave her a simple, natural look that was very appealing. At the door, she stopped, and spoke again, her voice still in a whisper, for whispers carry in the dead of the night when nothing else will.

"The…report?"

His voice was quiet and monotonous, his face turned away from her. Unlike her, he did not whisper although his voice was low enough. " You needn't worry. I've filed it."

He did not see her face—could not, in any case, for the shadows hid it from view. There was a long pause.

"Thank you."

One last whisper, and then she slipped out, silent as a ghost, and the door shut softly behind her. Still he did not turn, but although his face was open to the moonlight, his thoughts shifted briefly to rest on the girl who had just left him.