Distant, aloof, introverted, standoffish—Squall is all of these things, but despite himself, he is highly aware of those around him. Disconnected, unfeeling, indifferent—and yet he is concerned with how others perceive him. As much as he tries to be otherwise, he is a conscious being, apprehensively but undoubtedly acquainted with the world, like it or not.

A thinker through and through, Squall carries on many a monologue throughout the game. Although his self-exclusive conversations cater to a variety of subjects, many revolve around other people, and much of these topics place value on what others think of him.

Despite his voiced commentary to the contrary, Squall is concerned by the opinions of others and seeks to control those opinions. Although a measure brought about by a painful and sudden end to a deeply important relationship, Squall's self-imposed social restrictions serve as a control mechanism. In building a certain presence, he has effectively shaped the opinions of those around him. He can control how he is viewed by others through controlling his behaviours, reacts, words or lack thereof. He does this consciously and without denial.

Squall is unreasonably angry at the thought of being misunderstood post-mortem. Perhaps he sees it as a failing of his constructed persona, a failure he could only blame himself for, having been the architect of his outward self. Perhaps he believes in that being aloof he has avoided any place in the minds and hearts of others: he has become a being who exists outside of society, and therefore outside of concern of those within it. Perhaps he believes that despite his secretive and solitary nature, despite his almost impenetrable defenses of mind and heart, others should know who he truly is inside. In any case, Squall reacts with a violent and unexpected anger, leaving his bewildered comrades in sudden retreat.

Here, perhaps, is where a new idea begins to take root: that he has made a mistake in succumbing to solitude.

Squall is fretting about how the others will react when they realise he's up and done the impossible in running off with a comatose Rinoa. His actions, he knows, have revealed something deeply personal of himself: his heart. But his concerned inner ramblings show less his worry than his excitement. You can almost feel the relief and joy, as strange as it may be, in his frenzied questions. The thought of his friends having such a revelation about him are appetising to his mind; likewise, he relishes in wondering what they're thinking. It's not an open sharing of thoughts and feelings, but it's a great leap forward, nonetheless.