[[I apologize for my absence. I've had some pretty relevant troubles for the past few weeks. I hope we can get back on track!]]

Squall sat still, choking on the abrupt exit Aerith made-- she left, her pasta still wound around her fork; the straw from her drink hanging halfway out of the glass; her "date" pale and speechless.

It was obviously too late for her to hear him, but Squall threw in a helpless-sounding "Aerith?" at the girl as she scurried off. He wanted to give her space (because that's usually what the whole running off thing indicated), but he was worried about her. He hadn't known her for very long (as far as talking to each other went), but he was almost positive that she didn't run away from the table just on a whim. Like he thought a gentleman should, Squall waited about five minutes for her return--- a long, boring, awkward five minutes. A five minutes of dirty looks and cocked heads. Slowly, Squall lifted himself from his chair, asking the waiter to give him a moment to return. A sigh fell from his lips as he traced Aerith's steps, his hands in his pockets, his head down. He didn't know what to say or to ask when he found her; he wasn't very good with words... at all.

He found her standing on a veranda in the most gorgeous, mystifying way. He gulped down his nerves (and a bit of a bread stick he'd chomped off before trudging after her), peeking around the wall at her. Not knowing what to say... whatsoever... Squall felt betrayed by himself. He should know how to talk to Aerith; he shouldn't have made her want to run away. He knew it was his fault: there was no one else to blame it on, yeah?
"Aerith?" he said in his strong, Squall Leonhart voice with a low grumble. His voice was surprisingly coaxing, though, and caring. "Aerith, are you alright?"
He stepped out of the doorway and onto the marble. His hand still fixed on the arch's molding, he took another step forward. Slowly releasing his anchor of sorts, Squall quietly, tensely, made his way across the balcony to introduce his eyes to her once more. Once they met and greeted each other, the uneasiness in his abdomen left him.

"Was it something I said?" he asked, placing a hand on her exposed shoulder. He, then, remembered the last question she asked him before running from his view. "Or... was it something I didn't say?"