Shades

Written by Doggiegal

The two-people dorms were, as one would expect, twice as big as the regular one-person dorms. Squall wasn't sure if he would need all this space, although he had the feeling that Rinoa would probably use all his extra storage. Girls always seemed to take up a lot of space, he had learned from Irvine (who had much more experience in the area), what with their clothes and shoes and all their useless stuff. Squall, on the other hand, only brought the small amount of stuff he considered to be necessities. He actually hadn't really wanted to move in with her, but it was either this or have her leave, and he'd much rather be a bit uncomfortable at this new level of a relationship than lose her.

Squall couldn't lose her, now that he'd fallen so hard for her. He would miss her smile, her touch, her kiss. He was selfish and greedy, the way he wanted her for himself always. He never so much as looked at another woman, and he was certain she wouldn't be unfaithful, either. They respected each other and loved each other too much to do something like that.

He may have loved her so, but Squall had never lived with anyone, not since Sis had left the orphanage, so he was noticeably nervous. Rinoa was calmer than he, unafraid of being so close to him, but was not completely at ease either. She was more worried of angering him in some way. His anger was truly fearful, although she had never before seen it directed at herself.

They were still getting used to living with one another the day Squall walked in to the room to see multiple stripes of various shades of blue on the wall. Rinoa was nearby, also covered in a mixture of blue paints. He arched an eyebrow, not really sure what she was doing—or trying to do, he couldn't tell which. Well, okay, it looked like she was painting the walls, but why would she? He'd never found anything wrong with just plain white walls, like he'd had in his old apartment. She sighed, painting a light blue strip on the wall.

"I'm trying to find the right shade of blue for our walls," Rinoa told him cheerfully. He shook his head in response, thinking it was rather foolish. Couldn't she just pick one color and use that?

She was staring at him now, and to be honest, it unnerved him. Squall couldn't help but wonder if he had something on his face. Their eyes met, and he instantly looked away in embarrassment. "Is something wrong?" he asked, unsure what to make of all this. She shook her head, getting up to hug him. He was shocked at first, not to mention worried that the paint would get all over his clothes, but eventually hugged her back. He had no idea what had brought this on, but he really didn't care at this point.

"Thanks, Squall," Rinoa whispered.


When Squall returned the next day after work, Rinoa had finished painting the walls with the Perfect Shade she had insisted on. She had informed him that the shade of blue she had chosen after numerous hours of deliberation was the color of the ocean, in all its beauty. He figured she must've seen a different ocean until he caught a glimpse of his face in the wall mirror she had hung up for decoration.

'To Hell with that ocean thing,' he realized. 'She chose this color to match my eyes.' It was such a Rinoa thing that it shocked him, even though he should have expected something like this from her. He looked over to their bed (the room had come with one bed, and he couldn't find a cheap second one. He had tried to convince Rinoa that the cost would be worth it, but she was adamant about having one bed, as it was part of their next step as a couple. He had argued, albeit half-heartedly, against it, but she had won as she so often did when arguing with him), where she lay sleeping among her self-tye-dyed sheets. They were a similar shade of blue in comparison to the walls, and, well…he had to admit that they made her look angelic—or, in her case, even more angelic than normal.

Squall quietly walked over to Rinoa's sleeping form and pressed a loving kiss to her cheek before slipping beneath the covers to join her. He stayed on the far side of the bed, still slightly shy, but one of his hands was stretched toward the middle. He'd never admit it, but he longed for skin contact, as he had missed her during his long day at work. When she stretched, her hand rested itself on top of his, and almost naturally they threaded their fingers together.

Their hands stayed like that until morning.