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Radiant Garden is gone, and all this asshole can do is stare at Leon like he’s something sticky on the bottom of his shoe. “I could’ve sworn your name was Squall,” the asshole drawls.
“It’s Leon now,” says Leon firmly. “I need to separate myself from the past.” He needs to separate himself from the whole thing with Seifer, with Sephiroth…
One side of the asshole’s mouth quirks up in a sneer. “Changing your name won’t change your past. Just accept it and move on.”
“Do you even care that the Garden is gone?” Leon snaps, his temper already frayed from battles with the Heartless and the fact that he hasn’t slept properly in weeks. “I can’t just let that go. Not after what happened.”
One of the asshole’s eyebrows rises. “What happened?”
Leon narrows his eyes at the man. His gaze is met by an unnatural blue that seems almost glowing. Finally, judging that it’s better for the asshole to hear it from the source instead of from Aerith, who tends to sugarcoat, he says, “My darkness was responsible for tearing the world apart. And I couldn’t kill him.”
“I assume from the scar you’re talking about Seifer. If you didn’t kill him, though, what did you do?” The asshole sounds honestly curious.
“I sent him to Twilight Town.”
“That’s not supposed to be possible.”
Leon shrugs. “It is when you’ve got his two best friends on your side, willing to take him there.”
The asshole studies him for a moment. Leon is infuriated to realize he can’t read the expression on the younger man’s face. He’s spent the last few years trying to improve his ability to understand how others are feeling, sort of. “So,” says the asshole at last, “I take it you think you’re the only one who had to deal with a darker side. You think you’re the only one at fault.”
“Well, unless some scrawny fucker like you managed to produce Sephiroth—”
Leon doesn’t actually get to finish that sentence before he finds himself in the air. The asshole has lifted him effortlessly with one hand and hoisted him above blond spiky hair. Leon has barely a moment to take in the unique feeling of being supported purely by his sternum before he is flying through the air. He slams, hard, into the side of a building, and hears someone inside swear colorfully.
“Maybe the scrawny fucker is stronger than you think,” says the asshole. His voice and face are completely void of emotion. Unnerved, Leon stares as the other man turns on his heel and walks away as though nothing has happened.
He totally did produce Sephiroth. Will wonders never cease.