FFVIII: He Loves Me Not
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: He doesn't love her.
She'd never really liked the big field of flowers beside the Orphanage. The flowers there were pretty, wild flowers, but she didn't like them. Nor did she like Matron's small, neat patch of flowers. The flowers she liked best were daisies and buttercups.
She liked sitting on the grass, when the others were busy playing, to make daisy chains. Sometimes they would all crowd around her, clamouring for daisy rings and daisy bracelets until her hands were quite sore from making the slits in the stems to slot them together. Sometimes even Seifer would join in, picking all the daisies he could find and taking them to her, pouring them over her head from his cupped hands.
Sometimes she sat there and picked petals off the daisies. It would take her a long time because she was so determined to pick just one petal at a time. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not.
She never could get the daises to tell her that he loved her.
She liked buttercups, too, with their pretty, cheerful appearance. She liked the games they played with them, too. She would pick the buttercups and tell Selphie to tip her head back. She'd hold the buttercup there and the shiny petals would reflect a little patch of butter coloured light onto her skin. 'You're in love,' Quistis would say, and laugh. And Irvine would grin. He was always in love too.
Then Selphie would take the flower and test everyone else. Squall wasn't in love, of course, and he scowled every time someone told him so and he'd go and sit with Sis, holding her hand as if sisterly love was better than stupid buttercups. Ellone was always in love, and so was Matron. Sometimes Zell was, too, and then Seifer would push him over and sit on him, asking over and over again who he loved.
Seifer was never in love.
Quistis was a lot older now. She let Squall and Rinoa have the field of flowers to themselves, but she found a bit of grass to sit down on, making sure it wasn't too wet, while they were all waiting. She picked a daisy and sat there, picking off the petals, one by one.
He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not...
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: He doesn't love her.
She'd never really liked the big field of flowers beside the Orphanage. The flowers there were pretty, wild flowers, but she didn't like them. Nor did she like Matron's small, neat patch of flowers. The flowers she liked best were daisies and buttercups.
She liked sitting on the grass, when the others were busy playing, to make daisy chains. Sometimes they would all crowd around her, clamouring for daisy rings and daisy bracelets until her hands were quite sore from making the slits in the stems to slot them together. Sometimes even Seifer would join in, picking all the daisies he could find and taking them to her, pouring them over her head from his cupped hands.
Sometimes she sat there and picked petals off the daisies. It would take her a long time because she was so determined to pick just one petal at a time. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not.
She never could get the daises to tell her that he loved her.
She liked buttercups, too, with their pretty, cheerful appearance. She liked the games they played with them, too. She would pick the buttercups and tell Selphie to tip her head back. She'd hold the buttercup there and the shiny petals would reflect a little patch of butter coloured light onto her skin. 'You're in love,' Quistis would say, and laugh. And Irvine would grin. He was always in love too.
Then Selphie would take the flower and test everyone else. Squall wasn't in love, of course, and he scowled every time someone told him so and he'd go and sit with Sis, holding her hand as if sisterly love was better than stupid buttercups. Ellone was always in love, and so was Matron. Sometimes Zell was, too, and then Seifer would push him over and sit on him, asking over and over again who he loved.
Seifer was never in love.
Quistis was a lot older now. She let Squall and Rinoa have the field of flowers to themselves, but she found a bit of grass to sit down on, making sure it wasn't too wet, while they were all waiting. She picked a daisy and sat there, picking off the petals, one by one.
He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not...