When We Love Too Much

When We Love Too Much...

The training centre was silent around him as he stalked alone, the way he loved to so late at night, all its creatures either sleeping or completely devoid of wil will to fight-- they had seen Squall Leonhart's wrath. They knew better. Palm and fern branches swung silently in a sourceless breeze. Silence. Solitude. The opportunity to spend as much time as he liked brooding over absolutely nothing. Perfect.

A sudden chill gripped the back of his neck, his instincts kicking in. He had to get out of there. Now.

Voices, distant but growing louder, high-pitched. His legs began pumping in a panic as a giggle reached his ears. A giggle. Fuck, he was as good as dead now. Quick, light footsteps followed behind him. How had they gotten so close, so fast? Thank Hyne he had made it to the exit.

"There he is!"

Oh no, no, this couldn't be happening. A group of them waited for him, pointing and bouncing, cutting him off. Temporarily blinded by the combined glare of lip-gloss and braces polished to a mirror-shine, he spun, only to find himself face-to-face with what seemed hundreds more. Everywhere. In short schoolgirl skirts and matching gray sweaters, hair plastered perfectly to their heads, clutching back-issues of Teen Beat beneath finely-decorated fake fingernails (the better to claw your eyes out with), they approached from all sides.

Fangirls. Nicknamed 'The Kittens' by those who knew them best-- their Trepie counterparts. Yes, really fucking clever, he congratulated with a mental eyeroll. He scowled fearlessly-- one must never show fear when faced with horny preteens, common knowledge-- into their most deadly attack: The Scream. It rang through his ears, shrill enough to make him wonder if his head was about to explode. Somewhere, behind the stabbing pain in his brain, he knew they were approaching.

Hands fell upon him as soon as they were close enough. The alcoholic stench of hairspray had him instantly lightheaded (clever attackers, they were), stealing his last chance to fight them off as they tore his gunblade away. He fell, curling into a defensive ball when they managed to struggle his jacket from his shoulders and shred it to pieces within seconds, screaming all the while. "Nooo!" he hollered helplessly as they began to yank his belts in opposite directions, too stupid in their craze of crowd-mentality lust to realize they would have to undo them to get them off and thus nearly tearing the poor boy in two.

Stars glittered before Squall's dazed eyes. This was it, he accepted. He wasn't destined to fall heroically in battle after triumphantly slaughtering an entire army, nor to die by his own hand in a blood-reddened bathtub as his Quizilla results had predicted. No, he would go torn to pieces by annoying, horny women.

"Hold on!" Seifer's voice. He had found him, at the worst possible time.

"Get away while you still can!!" Squall screamed desperately, muffled by the pile of girls atop him. The scratch of wool met his face, cutting him off. He was drowing. Drowing in a pair of A-cups. This couldn't be happening. He heard a muffled scream from the man who had so ignorantly come to his rescue. No! Gods, they had gotten him too! It couldn't be! A new surge of desperate energy raged through him, allowing him to force away the wool that had loged in his mouth as he screamed out his hopes for one more chance. "I'll kiss him! Just let us go!!"

To his astonishment, the pressure surrounding him gradually lifted. Screams of insanity dissolved into inquisitive, interested murmers. He stood and shuddered beneath the lusty glares on all sides of him, tiptoed to look over their heads just as Seifer stood up, merely ten feet away, to indignantly brush himself off. Thank the gods, he was okay. They both were. For now. "I'll kiss him, I swear it. I promise to, if you'll just let us leave in peace." Dimplomacy had never been his strong suit, but it seemed to work anyway.

"Yes!"

They began to fall away. Slowly, but surely, they parted as neatly as the parts in their hair.

"Ooooh, baby!"

"I wanna see that!"

"Suck his penis--WHAT??" The owner of the last phrase flushed, the pink in her cheeks almost matching that of her hair as the entire group, including Seifer and Squall, stared at her with shock-crinkled brows. Her eyes danced around nervously before she fell back behind some of the others. "You know.... regular stuff."

Finally, the gap fully opened. Squall lunged forward, tearing past the few stray hands that still stretched out for him in feeble attempts at groping him further. "RUN!!!" Seifer only stared in a moment of confusion before Squall grabbed his arm and tugged him along. "You don't understand what they're capable of!"

It didn't take long for the crowd to realize what was happening, but it was still to late. The training centre's door closed behind the escapees, quicking drowing out the collective wail of hearbroken sobs just after it began-- and swiftly rescuing them from certain deafness.

The pair stopped and stared at one another for a moment. Strongly muffled yelps and hollers of sexual frustration made their way through the door's thick steel, accompanied by the cringe-worthy scrape and scratch of nails and the occasional thunking of saddle shoes against it.

They didn't risk waiting to see if the girls would manage to struggle their way past the barrier, just started running again, tearing down Balamb-G's hallways without looking back. They had escaped-- this time.