Pleasant

Step out the front door like a ghost
Into the fog where no one notices
The contrast of white on white
In between the moon and you
Angels get a better view
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right
I walk in the air between the rain
Through myself and back again
Where? I don't know

Counting Crows
August And Everything After

The characters on the page swirled together in his mind. Formerly drab illustrations of political figures and military propaganda pooled together into brilliant rivers of color, pouring liquid rainbows over his vision. He watched tiredly as ribbons of blue and yellow danced across the pages; a beautiful opera of illusion.

He sighed and closed the book abrubtly, allowing the hallow thud of the cover to break him from his daydreams. He stared blankly ahead for a few moments, too tired to move from the quiet corner of the library that he currently occupied. The hair that continually fell over his face bothered him suddenly, and he reached up in quick irritation to brush it away.

Of course, it fell right back where it had been before. He felt better, nonetheless.

He yawned slightly and rubbed his eyes to clear his vision from the fading afterimages of his reading. He caught himself from drawing his fingers together at the bridge of his nose. Somewhere in the subconscious realms of his mind, running his hands along the thin, diagonal line of raised flesh that lay there was like caressing an enemy. He glimsped his murky reflection in the polished table in front of him and frowned. The dark scar would take some getting used to, and the black memories of a tarnished duel that it brought to his mind were better off buried.

He shook his head of his thoughts and sat back in his seat. Taking a moment to look around, he made note of the three or four others who sat huddled over their own books. He idly wondered what each was reading, curious what wonderful tales of intrigue or thoughtful journals of science could entice them from their homes at this late hour. He chided himself inwardly for his strange bout of inquisitiveness; the reading habits of those around him were none of his business, after all.

Pushing his chair backwards as quietly as he could, he stepped away from the polished wooden table and stood up, raising his shoulders higher than necessary to help stretch his tired limbs. He quickly reached down and swept his small pile of books into the crook of his arm. Allowing one last look at the dark expanse of shelves and book displays around him, he turned and began making his way back downstairs.

*+*+*+*+*+*

The Timber branch of the Galbadian Public Library wasn't exactly a popular hangout, especially at this time of night, so Squall Leonhart was relatively surprised when he found a familiar face sitting on the ornate concrete steps outside. The dim lighting provided by the electric street lamps that lined all the major streets in Deling City made it hard to make out certain features, but there was no mistaking the familiar hunched-over, stomach-cradling posture of one Zone Merwick.

Squall paused at the top of the steps, cradling several books against his hip. He found himself debating the idea of making his presence known; he wasn't really in the mood to be asked a bunch of questions about why he was at the library so late at night, but he knew that an indescribable something would gnaw at him for the rest of the evening if he didn't at least ask if the young man in front of him was alright. He shifted his weight to his other leg in quiet defeat.

"Are you alright?"

Zone looked up quickly, slightly embarassed that he had been caught in this state. It was a strange feeling of weakness, but he supposed he should be used to it by now. He was taken aback for a moment when he glanced up at the owner of the voice. The SeeD he had met in the train earlier didn't seem like a 'stop and say hello' kind of fellow. He nodded weakly, but said nothing.

Squall, for his part, looked skeptical. After a moment, he turned his vision away and crossed his arms over his chest. "Then why are you curled up on the ground?"

Merwick frowned, his cheeks coloring slightly. "Would you believe I dropped something?"

"Would you?" he replied, his voice level and baritone, but devoid of inflection.

"No, I suppose not." Zone pressed his hands into small, tight fists and fought back a lingering wave of nausea. After it passed, he brushed his his pant legs off and stood up, albeit a little shakily. He managed a small smile. "I have a condition. It's a type of--"

"Ulcer," Squall interrupted.

Zone looked slightly shocked, but hid it well. "Yes, an ulcer. How did you know?"

"I didn't."

"Then why did you--"

"I guessed."

Merwick shook his head mirthfully. "Alright." He paused to look around, and drew his brows together in surprise. "What were you doing at the library?"

Squall shrugged, but levelled his gaze on the shorter man. "Why? Are you afraid I was slaughtering schoolchildren?"

Zone looked mortified and checked himself from stumbling backwards. "N-no!" he sputtered in response. "I was just.. I mean you..."

Squall looked at him calmly but his eyes revealed the briefest flicker of a smile.

Zone caught the tiny change in his expression and let out a slow breath, almost chucking. "I guess that was a stupid question." Squall didn't say anything more, so he continued. "You just don't seem like the type to curl up with a good book."

Squall merely shrugged again and shifted his stack of books to his other hand. This drew Zone's attention and he pointed at them curiously. "What did you get?"

"Political reference."

Zone grinned. "Wow, how very interesting."

Squall ignored his sarcasm. "I have no personal feelings towards Timber. To me it's just another invisible city filled with people grumbling about their government." He paused and ran his fingers over the thick, leather cover of one of the books. "I'd like to know what I'm fighting for."

Zone's grin faded and he looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking again. "I never really thought about that. I've lived here so long that the oppression just seems to bleed from the woodwork. I suppose that people come here and see the pretty streets and peaceful facade and think everything is rosy..."

"Sometimes it's pleasant to be lied to."

"It isn't real..."

"It doesn't have to be real."

Merwick paused, chewing his lower lip in contemplation. "You think we're playing games, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter what I think."

"It isn't a game."

He didn't answer for a moment, training his eyes skyward. "No. No, it isn't."

Zone closed his eyes and frowned, breathing audibly through thin lips. "She believes in you," he remarked suddenly. "She believes that when you leave, it'll be with a free Timber in your wake."

Squall pretended silently to inspect the sleeve of his jacket, smoothing out imaginary creases in the leather. "I don't like to lie," he stated in a decidedly less neutral voice than his usual. It sounded foreign to his own ears.

Merwick nodded as if this was the answer he was expecting. "Even when it's pleasant?"

This was met with nothing but silence and pensive moonlight, but sometimes... things are very clear in the dark.

*+*+*+*+*+*

Author's Note: Okay, someone has to finish this for me. See, I had imagined Squall and Rinoa having some conversation in the twilight hours after this, but unfortunately, I would have made it suck and would have regretted it later. So someone else should write it. Anyone up for it? I'd pay you.

Well, no.

But I'd think very hard about paying you before I didn't do it. Which is nearly the same! Really.

Alright. Anyways, this is one of those stories that doesn't make any sense. Even to me, which is especially pathetic. Sorry. Sometimes it's 1:49 in the morning and you just get an idea in your head. You know how it is. I'm also working on something longer, which is why this one is about as long as a classified ad.

So...

The end.

Defiance is beautiful. The defiance of power, especially great or overwhelming power, exalts and glorifies the rebel.