Fuck Seifer. Fuck him fuck him fuckhimfuckSeiferfuckyou!

Zell couldn't hate him. All this exercise in hating Seifer, punching anything soft and pliable enough to make him think of Seifer's gut, Seifer's face, smacking the hell out of him like he so richly deserved, and he couldn't bring himself to hate the bastard who'd left him for his best friend and gave him the finger and made nasty gestures with his hand, his lips, and his tongue.

Yeah, like Zell really needed to be reminded that he'd blown Seifer too many times to count. What a dickhead.

He tried to console himself. When Quistis demanded it, when Selphie and Irvine ganged up on him to ask him if he was going to be okay (again? And again, "You sure, Zell?" from Irvine, with strangely bright eyes), he tried to speak his mind. It was tough, dredging up all that shit-streaked baggage, but he did it. Because they were his friends, dammit. They didn't deserve crappy treatment because he'd been dumped and he was crying at night, which he couldn't tell them. He didn't want to worry them. Zell cared too much what they thought, and what they'd say if they knew he was throwing everything that reminded him of Seifer across the room.

(Zell's wrong, wronger than just wrong. Irvine would full-on hug him sort of uncharacteristically and murmur, "You'll be okay," Selphie would kiss his cheek and ruffle his hair and try to shush him with those soft girly noises, and Quistis would put a hand on his shoulder and say, "Oh, Zell," but not condescendingly. But he definitely doesn't know that, and he can't imagine it properly. Instead, he sees pity, not empathy, and maybe derision.)

This was, after all, Seifer he was crying and pissing about. Seifer whom he wanted to get drunk over. And Squall, of all fucking people, fucking Seifer behind his back like he'd never even heard of Zell and like he never cared about their friendship and like he didn't smile a little bit when Zell tried to joke with him - something he'd never done for Rinoa, or for that matter, Seifer. Fuck Squall, too. Zell couldn't believe that his best friend would do that shit to him and ignore him in the halls when they happened to pass each other. For the last friggin' fortnight, that'd been Squall's motto: pretend Zell doesn't exist. Fine. Zell just thought, You can take Seifer and his nightmares about Ultimecia, you traitor-prick-asshole.

He wouldn't admit for a second that he missed Squall nearly (in a different sort of way) as much as he missed Seifer.

Still, he could just barely admit to his friends that he hoped Seifer misses him; he actually hoped Seifer thought of him while fucking Squall, thought of Zell's mouth on his dick while Seifer urged him on and Zell's hands bruising into his shoulder as Seifer plowed into him and groaned and said, "You're hot, chickie," like he was burning up and they were just on fire and it was killing him with pleasure. He hoped Seifer thought of Zell's nails on his back and hissed at the sting. But saying, "I hope he misses me, Quistis. I seriously hope that prick even almost cries about me. He's gonna regret it," summed it up in a more, uhh, clean-cut way.

Because they were his friends, and they didn't need to hear the raunchy details of Seifer fucking him doggie-style on the floor when they couldn't make it to the bed. Hyne, why would he wish that on them? He may've liked giving too much information to Squall and Irvine when they asked, bragging like he'd conquered Seifer, but no. Now that it was over, hell, no was he telling them he wished Seifer would kiss him again and make fun of his hair. Would smirk at him in the morning and say, "My mouth reeks like your tongue, chicken wuss," while Zell rolls his eyes and says, "Puh-lease, you like it."

And Seifer had, for long enough. For almost a year and a half until he discovered his old rivalry with Squall needed some tongue-sparring and a different kind of swordfighting.

Sometimes, drowning himself in the bathtub was a really pretty alternative to puffy eyes and dragging himself out of bed every morning like he weighed a ton and a half.

Then he remembered that Seifer (and Squall - damn Sorceress knight's fucktoy) - they're not worth it.

Before this, he was so happy with his life, he could almost skip gaily down the halls and chirp greetings to his friends and acquaintances and, well, explode with it. Zell had always counted on being together and being happy. It felt like a relationship that wanted to be a marriage. He loved Seifer that much. Putting up with his asshole-ish-ness and his jabs at Zell's masculinity was one tiny drop in a huge ocean-covered planet that was just love.

He didn't say it in so many frouffy words to Quistis and Irvine, even to Selphie with all her sentimentality (she used to squeal over him and Seifer, and now she nearly cried with him when he started to tear up, had to look away). How could he? That was pathetic, like Seifer liked to say.

Maybe that was why it was over; Seifer had no tolerance for wimps. Or wusses. He liked strength, he valued skill, and he used to make it clear as finest crystal and the thinnest of Trabian ice that he thought Zell had neither. He didn't know the half of it, stupid Sorceress's fucktoy he was. And now he had one of his own, in Squall. What the hell was that, anyway?! Why would he turn to pretty-boy, emotionally-bereft-and-damaged-when-he-did-have-emotions Squall? What was Seifer thinking?! Zell had triple the strength, and definitely physically, that Squall had. He was strong enough to refrain from beating Seifer to a pulp when Seifer used to insult him in a cruel, not playful and habitual, way.

Hyne, there was the anger again. He hoped it'd turn to hate. Seifer deserved his hate and derision and every degree of coldness Zell could summon, but whenever - rarely - they crossed paths in the hall or in the cafeteria, Seifer was the cold one. Zell was the dejected one, blushing hot with humiliation as a few people whispered. They hadn't exactly been the most inconspicuous couple after they were caught, by Rinoa and a few of her other Garden friends, no less, making out by Zell's classroom.

They all knew. He swore they did. They knew what Seifer had done and they were dumping their pity on them (again? Like they had when he was younger and they thought he was stupid as hell? Again?); he hated that the way he couldn't hate his former best friend and his ex-boyfriend-lover. You know, the ones he thought were loyal with platonic and true romantic love?

How could they do this to him, huh?!

It almost made Zell spit, but he chose to chuck the pillow he'd been wringing across the room, where it hit the TV and flopped down miserably.

The knock on his door jarred the wits out of him; he jumped. Then he made himself look put-together and somewhat normal, and he answered the knock. Irvine was there, by himself, no Selphie like his friend and groupie trailing just behind him or bounding ahead of him, an eager little golden puppy.

"Hey, Irvine," said Zell. Flatly. Trying to perk his voice he asked, too brightly, "What's up?"

"Not you, obviously," said Irvine.

"Yeah."

"You need company?"

The offer sounded nice. Having somebody warm who would hug him if he started to cry, like he was just about to do out of self-hate and rage and misery, whom he could fake it and pretend was Seifer again. In one of his rare soft moments. So Zell nodded.

"Thanks," he said.

Stepping aside to let Irvine in, he shrugged when Irvine looked at him as if to ask where he might sit. Zell said, finally, after an awkward minute, "Anywhere."

Irvine took up a post on Zell's couch and said, "Join me?" Like it was his couch to offer, the stupid cowboy.

Zell did anyway, putting his hands in his lap and staring at them for a minute before he admitted, "I've been throwing shit. Ever since he dumped me, I've been throwing anything I can."

"Yeah, that feels good," said Irvine, kind of too knowledgeably.

Zell looked up at him, confused.

"What, like I ain't been dumped?"

Shrugging again, Zell said, "It does feel good. It came after the punching shit and the taking showers every two hours."

"Like, tryin' to get him off you?"

"Exactly. You're creeping me out, dude. You know too much about this."

"Yeah, well, you try Quistis and Squall and that bartender from in town ditchin' you, then you keep yourself from sympathy when someone else is, like, all blue," said Irvine.

He sounded bitter. Zell was almost horrified with himself (but only almost, because it felt good to have someone else feel bad) enjoying that, but there it was. He didn't like being the only one. Alone. Dumped. Useless, and definitely fucking alone.

"I didn't know," Zell said.

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one."

"I like my secrets, too."

"Better out than in, though. I had to tell Selphie a few weeks after Squall left me. He was the worst hurt," Irvine added, "like dyin'."

"I dunno, the throwing and punching and kicking my stuff and the walls is easier to talk about than" - Zell paused (he's not going to blush, he isn't, and then it pounces on him) - "crying. Yeah, I've been crying. What're you gonna say about that, just laugh at me?"

Irvine looked shocked, his eyes wide, his lips barely parted like he was about to gasp. "No."

Zell felt stupid.

But Irvine said, "I don't laugh at people who're down, Zell."

"Crying is so damn weak, it's like I can hear him laughing at me. He used to, when I whined at him after I hurt myself in the Training Center."

"It is not either weak; everybody cries."

"Not Squall, and not Seifer."

Irvine said, "Oh, yes, they do. You know Squall cried when he left me?"

"He what?!" Zell nearly squawked.

"Sure did," said Irvine, "he started off icy and got warm enough to sniffle when he was like, 'It's over.' And there were tears on his cheeks, no shit." He nodded solemnly, as if confirming it for Zell. As if Zell didn't believe him, which he was surprised to admit to himself that he did. It was so implausible, but he knew it was true. Irvine went on, "I hope he cried more later, when he was alone."

"What a dumbass," said Zell (that was Seifer's word, a rub-off from so long together).

"For cryin'?"

"Nuh-uh, for dumping you."

"He didn't think so. He's almost gloatin' over it now he's got Almasy, never lettin' me alone about it," Irvine said, again bitter as pure poisoned cocoa.

"That shithead prick, what a dickweed - Hyne!"

Irvine nodded. For a minute or two, while they were quiet, Zell thought of putting his hand on Irvine's shoulder, but somehow that felt - invasive. So he didn't. He merely forced himself to keep his eyes locked to Irvine's till Irvine looked away.

"I hope Seifer cries," Zell said after another couple minutes. When Irvine looked back at him, he went on, "I hope he thinks of me when he fucks Squall. When he looks at him, too. I hope he thinks of me whenever he does anything we ever did."

"When he sees a hot dog, baby, he's sure gonna think of you," Irvine said.

"Hey, don't joke about that!"

"Sorry."

Zell wanted to pout, but that seemed stupid. He got a tiny smile out of his lips, used to being turned down or wailing into the blankets he pulled over his head when he woke up at night and felt lonely and abandoned like he'd been tossed out on the streets.

"He'll think of me," said Zell. He had to affirm it. "I know it. He'll regret it, I swear."

"I don't doubt you. What a dumbass."

"That's fucking true," said Zell. "How the hell could he just do that?! Hyne, he can have his stupid reasons, I don't care."

"You do, too, don't lie."

"Shut up, Kinneas."

Again, Irvine said, "Sorry."

(Zell couldn't know that Irvine was always sorry about one thing or another, worrying someone felt slighted. He worried so perpetually that his gut feelings were wrong and he was hurting people, or that he was in love with the wrong person, but Irvine couldn't know that he was the best thing that'd happened for Zell and cheering him up since the breakup.)

"'S okay. I'm glad you're here, actually. I need somebody to tell - I didn't wanna say I was crying, but it...works, getting it out."

"Always does, baby. You want me to stay a little longer?"

"Nahhh, you can go back to life. And give Squall a raspberry for me."

"Oh, that's, like, the most mature thing you can do right now."

Zell snorted like Seifer always did when he said stupid things and said, "I can't go beat him up. It works."

"Okay, but only for you this once, right?"

"Yeah."

When Irvine was gone, Zell banged his head against the doorframe, one hand pressed to the door and the other balled up at the hem of his shirt, holding it like he wanted to rip it when really, he wanted to cry. He wanted to do like Irvine said and let it out, though he knew that kicking the door like he did just then wasn't what Irvine meant. That was okay. He needed the physical violence, somehow. He'd always found it soothing; it was part of why he was a fighter, never good with a gunblade, a whip, or any other weapons. "I got style, chickie, and finesse. You got brute idiocy," as Seifer told him once right after they got together.

Fuck you. So hard.

The painful truth was, Zell did miss Seifer fucking him; he wanted Seifer to just ream his ass like he used to, plow into him and grab his hips and pull his hair and kiss him like he wanted Zell's mouth to crack and bleed with the pressure. It would've been cathartic, the fucking. He wished he wouldn't associate dumb emotions and love with it instead of being a hole for Seifer to fuck and having a cock to help him forget he was so useless. And dumbassed, couldn't forget dumbassed. For letting Seifer kiss his neck and stroke his back after they'd fucked, before he turned his back on Zell, who had to curl against him only to get a, "Hyne, you wanna cuddle now? What a girl," but he most always gave in.

He missed it so much it tingled in his fists and burned like unholy lava in his heart. It boiled till he felt sick.

The clock said it was half past five. On a normal day, Zell would be sprinting to the cafeteria to claim a plate of hot dogs and cover them with all the condiments he could and scarf them down so that everyone around him asked, "Who's been starving you, Dincht?" and laughed their asses off at his indignant expression. This wasn't a normal day.

On no normal day would Zell want to call Irvine back for a bone-crushing hug. He wouldn't feel like puking at the prospect of perfectly great hot dogs, and he wouldn't feel like finding a bottle of whiskey and letting it replace the burn in his heart with scorchmarks in his throat, on his tongue. It'd feel hot, like Seifer's cock in his mouth, and Zell hated that. He couldn't stand that he was thinking of sex with Seifer again, and submitting to that asshole and being so in love with him that he was willing to beg for it. For sex, for love, for mercy. He was so dumb, sometimes.

Those mental images had to go; Zell did what any normal girl would do and, entering his bathroom, he splashed cold water over his face so it dribbled down onto his neck and toward his ears. Satisfied that he'd at least temporarily gotten himself in control again, he dried himself with Seifer's old towel ("It matches my gorgeous eyes," said Seifer, "so don't use it.") and left the room. He was desperately seeking Irvine Kinneas. Stupidly, he went to the cafeteria and had to smell what felt like the stench of food; it made him reel, really, thinking of eating right now. Not seeing Irvine at his usual table sent him to Irvine's room, not far from his own.

Zell knocked and waited four times before he gave up and, noticing that Rinoa was passing with one of her friends, a girl he'd seen in the library several times, he flagged her down. "Have you seen Irvine?" he asked.

Rinoa said that no, she hadn't, but her friend smiled at him the way people smiled at someone they thought might break down and roll into fetal position, and told him, "He's in the library, or he was just going in a couple minutes ago."

"Was he alone?" Zell asked.

The girl thought for a minute and said, "I guess so."

"Thanks!" And Zell darted off to the library.

Once there, the library girl - he'd only learned about two months ago that she was named Evania - greeted him enthusiastically, saying, "Hey there, Zell, how're you doing?" with all the froth and bubble of those scarily sugary cappuccinos Selphie liked to guzzle down.

"Just great," he lied.

Convincingly enough for Evania to beam and say, "That's great! Me, too!" She turned to accept a book from another boy and to check it in, then added, "If you want any help, ask away!" and went back to her work.

"Thanks."

Zell went in search of Irvine, heading over to the table that the cowboy usually occupied. There was a trio of girls there, but at the next table, there was Irvine, his back to Zell; his cowboy hat was gone and his hair was trailing down his back and over the back of the chair. He had a heavy-looking book in front of him and he didn't notice when Zell first said, quietly so as not to tick people off, "Hey, Irvine." Without a response, he said, louder, "Irvine."

At that, Irvine did look up. He turned his head to give Zell his profile and, seeing him, said, "Oh, hey, Zell. What can I do you for?"

Thank Hyne he was acting like they hadn't had their conversation not long ago, as if he'd never heard Zell talk about bursting into tears at inconveniently frequent intervals and destroying his possessions by hurling them around like he wanted to break holes in his walls and door and TV screen. He pulled out the chair beside him and said, "D'you wanna join me?"

Zell nodded and took the seat.

In a near-whisper, Irvine said, "Forgot to mention something earlier?"

"Sort of."

"We can, like, get outta here, go somewhere more quiet, if you want."

"What's quieter than a library?" retorted Zell, but he followed Irvine as he shelved his book and left the library.

"Bye, guys!" Evania said after them.

Zell gave her as wholehearted a wave as he could and as real a smile as he'd given anyone other than his close friends in the last couple of weeks, but he wasn't concentrating on that. He needed his brain on Irvine, following him back to his room. Irvine keyed in his code and let Zell go in first. He flipped the light on after them and plopped down on his bed with his long legs spread wide and his hands dangling between them, elbows on his thighs. Zell couldn't help thinking of Seifer sitting like that and glancing surreptitiously at Irvine's crotch. Then he went tomato-colored and examined Irvine's couch as he plunked down on it. He pretended to pet the upholstery.

"All right," said Irvine, prompting him with a slight flick of his hand in Zell's direction.

"All right," repeated Zell. He turned tomato-lobster-scarlet-colored and, with a deep breath, said quickly, "I'dlikeahugifthassokay?"

"Translation?"

(Irvine should've been used to people talking at the speed of sound, being around Selphie so much of the time, but in this case, he wasn't; he was looking at Zell quizzically and frowning a little like he'd never heard someone blurt anything weird out in his entire life.)

"I'd like," said Zell, "a hug. If that's okay and not too queer for you."

"Zell," said Irvine. He chuckled. "It may've escaped your attention, but I'm half-queer already."

He got up from his bed and, sitting on the couch with his torso turned to Zell and his gangly legs still spread pretty wide, he pulled Zell tightly against him. They ended up with Zell's chin against Irvine's shoulder and his jaw against Irvine's neck, where he could feel his pulse and the heat radiating off his friend. After a minute of Irvine lightly rubbing the small of his back, Zell maneuvered his arms up between their bodies and draped them around Irvine's neck. "Hyne," he said.

He was starting to cry. His eyes smarted with the first hint of tears, and when he closed them, one fat tear plopped against Irvine's shirt and another ran down his cheek.

Irvine pulled him in tighter and took a fist of Zell's t-shirt with the hand that wasn't rubbing his back, more pressure there now. His hand was hot through the thin-ish cotton and it felt really good. Under normal circumstances, Zell knew he'd have a boner, but like today, this wasn't normal. He couldn't've summoned one if he wanted to get hard at a friendly hug from Irvine.

He hiccoughed, and Irvine said, "Shh. It's okay, baby."

"I'm not sure it is."

"It is. Or it's gonna be, if it ain't now."

"How can you know?" asked Zell, turning his head to wipe a tear off on the sleeve of his shirt.

"I been through this before. Remember?"

"Yeah," sniffed Zell. Like a baby. Like Irvine called him, except it was okay for Irvine to call him that; it wasn't okay to have to admit it to himself.

It wasn't okay to cry on Irvine's shoulder, literally, and put one of his palms flat against Irvine's shoulderblade, his fingers pressed tight underneath the bottom curve of the bone. That it felt good, warm, and safer than he'd felt since Seifer left him like a pile of dirty, stained, and raggedy laundry wasn't really okay, either, but he could accept it more easily. Anything to feel better. He hadn't been thinking of Seifer until just now. He'd been doing pretty well at that (forgetting things wasn't usually his speciality, so doing it was a fancy achievement for which Zell kind of wanted an award, or something); he'd been being strong as much as he knew how, in a situation like this. Whatever this situation was; crying pathetically? Being a baby? Being truly a chicken wuss? Acting totally stupid and embarrassing in front of the guy he guessed was his best friend now, since Squall was a fucking man-stealing traitor with a heart of ice where Zell felt like his own heart was thin, thin glass? And since Irvine was giving him a hug and letting him return it, when Zell didn't much like that touchy-feely stuff with his male friends, that had to be best-friend calibre.

About five minutes into it, Zell's tears hadn't run dry, but he started to draw back and Irvine took the cue, retreating, too. He smiled at Zell and pulled a hanky from his shirt pocket (bright purple, which Irvine always lied about and said, "It ain't my favorite color; I just got it from Selphie," and she never corrected him in the lie publicly) to hand it over. Zell took it gratefully and wiped his eyes. He looked at Irvine for a minute before he blew his nose, too, since it'd been starting to dribble like a broken tap.

"Thank you," Zell said.

"Here, I'll wash it," Irvine said, and accepted his hanky back. "You better?"

"Pretty much. I forgot him for a couple minutes, anyway."

"Then it's okay, right?"

"Yeah."

"So would you want any supper?"

Zell thought about it. He didn't feel sick; his stomach felt heavy, but not like he was about to yak down his front before he could make it to a bathroom when he so much as thought of food. How food was so evil, he had no effing idea, but it didn't seem evil anymore. It seemed like a kind of okay idea. (Just no jalapenos on the hot dogs, maybe. Probably. He'd puke if he tried, thinking of Seifer and the spicy Galbadian food he liked, sometimes.)

Finally, he said, "Oh, okay." As if it was hard to get supper.

Irvine smiled at him and off they went. The halls were empty; most people seemed to've already gone to the cafeteria. They were about halfway there, about to get in an elevator, when Squall walked past. He didn't look at Zell for a second, but he gave Irvine a cool look. Not quite icy, not even totally cold, but chilly. Frosty, a term Zell had usually associated with his milder glares before answering a personal question with, "Whatever," or, "That's not your business."

"Still screaming other people's names? Sleeping around like always?" said Squall so quietly that Zell barely heard it.

"Back off, Squall!" Zell couldn't help saying.

Squall ignored him.

Irvine, who looked a bit pink, said, "I'm not fucking anybody, Squall."

"Whatever," said Squall, with far more venom than he usually put into his words.

"Back off, I said!"

Squall still ignored him.

"Please, Squall," said Irvine.

"Please what? Look, sorry, but I'm not interested."

"You're not sorry! You boyfriend-stealing fuck!" shouted Zell. He was a little embarrassed when he realized it'd come out louder than he intended, loud enough that people in Dollet had probably heard him, and if they hadn't, then the whole cafeteria had just gone silent and Evania was pleased that her library, too, was tomb-quiet. (Until everyone started chattering the way he knew they would, if they'd really heard. Maybe he was exaggerating his own lung capacity and volume, but it didn't matter; he hoped Squall's eardrums hurt.)

Squall glanced at Zell, but he looked back at Irvine almost immediately. "I'm sorry, Irvine. I'm over you."

"I noticed."

"Go away, fucking Hyne!" Zell shouted, this time a little quieter. Not much, though.

His blood was somewhere past boiling, maybe close to evaporating completely; he was angry enough that he wasn't seeing red, and for a minute, he thought he was seeing blue, his ears were so burning hot. He wanted to hit Squall. There was rage sinking its claws into his brain and heart, he heard it rushing in his ears in his blood, and he wanted to smack Squall and demand he leave Irvine alone. (Look at me look at me lookatmeorgetthefuckOUT.)

Zell worried that he might start hating Squall any minute; he felt dangerous. Threatened by his furious thoughts, too.

For the first time in two weeks, Squall looked at him. Not the glance he'd given a minute ago, but a real look, kind of a stare. He didn't blink for what Zell figured was a painfully long time, enough to bring tears to his own eyes to keep them from shriveling up, and when he did blink, he did so slowly, like he wanted to block Zell out for as long as his eyelids could.

Squall said, still looking at Zell, "Irvine, is he your rebound?"

"Why does it matter? You're not interested."

Squall said again, "Is he? Did you get what you wanted?"

"No! What's wrong with you?"

Zell was starting to shake, listening to them and keeping his eyes trained on Squall, trying to sear through Squall's stare. He was afraid that the bubbling anger in him was about to become pure, white-hot hatred, branded into his innards like he'd been marked with a superheated iron.

As for Irvine, Zell saw in the corner of his eye that the cowboy had gone magenta.

"You're over me and it's over; or were you lyin'?" Irvine asked Squall dangerously quietly.

"It doesn't matter," said Squall, "I want to know who you're having sex with. I know your reputation. I know what you do."

"It doesn't matter," Irvine parroted. "Please, Squall, just leave us alone. You think you haven't done enough to either of us?"

"I haven't done anything but break up with you." Squall tore his stare from Zell's enraged one and looked at Irvine, the temperature of his gaze seeming to warm a few degrees.

"Yeah, and stalk me, wantin' to know who I'm sleepin' with. I'm not. I told you now. I told you last week. I told you every time, Squall, now. Back. The fuck. Off." An afterthought, he added, "Please."

"I'm not going to leave you alone till you tell me; are you having sex with Zell or aren't you?"

"I ain't fuckin' anybody, you fuckin' got that? There ain't nobody and there hasn't been since you, so I swear to Hyne, you leave me well enough alone or I'm gonna -"

"What?"

"I'm gonna hit you, Squall, I swear."

"What about Seifer?"

"What?!" Irvine half-snapped.

"Have you slept with my boyfriend?"

"Sure, darlin', I been fuckin' your man - you can take him and move into his room and do whatever you want with him, now you've stolen him off Zell."

It took Zell nearly thirty seconds to register that Irvine had shoved Squall's shoulder, forcing the commander to take two steps back and advance again to get in Irvine's face. He grabbed hold of Irvine's ponytail and jerked, not quite hard enough to do real damage, but enough to pull Irvine's head back, close to the wall behind him. "Ow!" said Irvine. "Lemme go!"

Squall jerked again, harder, and took such tight hold of Irvine's wrist with his other hand that Zell's slap against his forearm did nothing more than sting his palm with the feel of leather under his hand. He dragged at Irvine's wrist and, putting his face maybe an inch from Irvine's, he said, "Stop sleeping around. You're mine," and released Irvine's ponytail and wrist, storming away with an expression like angry thunder and lightning consuming him.

"Not anymore, you prick!" Irvine yelled after him.

Squall rounded a corner sharply enough to nearly hit his shoulder against the wall there and was gone. Quickly, Zell turned to Irvine and asked, "What's going on?"

"Nothing, 'less you count him askin' me - twice in two weeks - if I've screwed Seifer." Irvine's flush had faded and he took a deep breath, like all the oxygen had gone from his blood; it was practically a pant when he let it out. It ruffled the lock of hair closest to his mouth and with one side of his mouth, he blew it out of the way impatiently. "You gotta believe me, Zell, I'd never do that to you."

"I know that," said Zell. "I just wanted to know what the hell Squall has on you, talking to you like that." He turned and shouted, "Fuck you, Squall!" although he knew very well that Squall couldn't hear him anymore. A few girls crossing the intersection of hallways down the way looked scandalized and began whispering between themselves as they hurried on. Zell couldn't bring himself to care. He wanted to break Squall's pretty face and slender wrists (fuck him for looking so good all the time, whether he had two cows worth of leather hugging him or not) and beat the fuck out of him. He wanted to hurt him now more than he wanted to hurt Seifer, and that was definitely saying something.

"You don't hafta defend me," said Irvine, but it was soft and ineffectual, like he didn't mind.

"I know that, too." Zell clenched his fists, then cracked his knuckles loudly. "I'm not hungry anymore."

"Me, neither. I wanna drink, actually."

"Yeah."

As they made their way back to Irvine's room, where he mentioned he had a bottle of gin somewhere at the back of a cupboard, Zell said, "Only one good thing came outta that little...thingy." Irvine raised an eyebrow at him, so he explained, "You don't have to hope he's thinking about you constantly. He won't leave you alone."

"I hope he cried after that," said Irvine. "I hope he bawls."

"Squall -"

"He does cry; I told you."

"I bet he's whining to Seifer, actually. His beloved boyfriend," Zell spat. The thought of Seifer comforting Squall with bitching about how slutty Irvine was and what a queer little piece of shit Zell was made him want to hawk an acidic loogie right in Seifer's handsome face and ask him if he liked the taste of Zell's spit now that he didn't get to taste it straight from Zell's tongue anymore. He knew Seifer would say no, would say he could eat again now that he didn't have that crappy taste in his mouth, but he knew, too, that Seifer would be lying his pants off. When it wasn't morning, when they were making out, Seifer had told him several times, pretty vocally, that he tasted "so damn good, Dincht."

"I bet he isn't. I bet he's askin' Seifer if he's ever screwed me."

"I bet Seifer's getting him in the sack and fucking his brains out, and I hope Seifer's thinking about me while he does it. I bet he is."

The thought cheered Zell enough, but getting to the promised gin ten minutes later did him wonders. It tasted awful, the way he hoped Squall tasted to Seifer in comparison to him; he downed another anyway. He'd always been a heavyweight, more than Seifer - somehow - when it came to boozing, but tonight, he felt weak. Irvine went through three shots and was still fine, while he was feeling woozy and maybe a little too close to sick for comfort. After his own third shot, though, he didn't feel sick. He just felt hot and flushed, his limbs loose and his fingers slack against Irvine's suede couch. He felt drunk after even that little, but... "I feel better," he said.

"Me, too," said Irvine, taking down his fourth shot. He didn't reach for more. "I won't in the mornin', though," he said, putting a hand to his temple as if he was already feeling hung over.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Zell asked, then giggled madly when he realized how naughty that sounded. He was already starting to slump over on the arm of the couch, conveniently leaned over the wastebasket there. He hoped he'd wake up and not need to use it. "I mean, can I sleep -" he giggled again, so he never finished the sentence.

Irvine understood. He sounded like he was grinning goofily, just like Zell, as he stood up from the couch and started for the bathroom, though he didn't close the door before he started stripping out of his clothes and pulling his hair from its elastic, which he dropped on top of his jeans, crumpled on the linoleum. "You don't hafta have the couch; I gotta big bed," he called to Zell, like he thought the bathroom door was closed. He was just in his unbuttoned shirt and his underwear as he crossed the room, pulling off a sock as he did so and chucking it at the bathroom door.

"Thassokay," said Zell. "I really, really like your couch."

He didn't remember what happened after that, other than Irvine chuckling (what was so funny about having a wonderfully soft couch?), when he woke up the next morning way past his usual seven. He only knew that because of the light blistering his eyes so he had to squint them and grunt with annoyance and pain after he looked up at the window. Still in bed, Irvine was sprawled out peacefully, like he wouldn't wake up and feel horrible at all, but Zell needed the porcelain god, and now.

It was close, but he made it. He was heaving his guts up, mostly bile and stomach acid since he hadn't eaten since breakfast yesterday, when Irvine finally stirred and the mattress creaked. He heard Irvine say, "Daaaamn," in two syllables like he always did, and he still felt drunk enough to giggle when he'd wiped his mouth off, though he was sure the alcohol was mostly out of his system. Maybe. He wasn't sure how long that much crap took to get through his poor liver, and right now, did it really matter? (No. As long as he could puke it up, that was good enough to get it out.)

Irvine practically shoved him out of his way to get to the toilet, and Zell, his stomach mostly empty for the time being - until the heaves would hit him - moved enough that Irvine could get to the bowl, just not far enough away that he couldn't pull Irvine's hair out of his face, away from the putrid-smelling water in the toilet. He couldn't get the shorter hair framing Irvine's face out of the way, and Irvine wound up pulling at it and saying, "Oh, gross," as he pulled his slimy fingertips away.

"Sorry," said Zell with a burp that tasted like (what else?) vomit.

"That's gross, too." Irvine's voice was weak as he rose from the toilet and went to gargle at the sink. "I feel like shit. My head is in four pieces, man."

"And mine's not?"

"Let's never do this again," said Irvine as he leaned over the sink to spit and had to hold back another puke attack.

Zell flushed the toilet, though under its noise, he heard an insistent knock on the door. He got up to answer it, leaving Irvine to puke again and slam the bathroom door behind himself to keep whoever it was from seeing him, and when he did, there was Squall. Surprisingly, Selphie and Quistis were flanking him, each holding onto one upper arm and Selphie looking especially furious, like she was about to wrench his left arm out of its socket and beat him over the head with it. Quistis looked a little calmer, but Zell recognized - with a touch of fear - the cold-enough-to-burn-black-as-frostbite look in her blue eyes, which currently looked full-on glacial.

Selphie shook harder than necessary at Squall's arm and demanded, "Well?"

Squall didn't look at Zell, but he mumbled, "Where's Irvine?"

"He's wasted," Selphie stage-whispered to Zell. But he could tell from the slumped way Squall was standing, from the way his arm was limp when Selphie shook it and from his bloodshot eyes, still fixed on the floor or the shoes on which there seemed to be a splash of puke not unlike what Irvine was doing right now, that Squall was pissed to hell.

"Irvine's puking," said Zell.

"Ah."

Quistis released Squall, giving Selphie a significant look ("Hold onto him.") as she moved past Zell and knocked softly on the bathroom door, more considerate of Irvine and Zell's headaches than she had been in rapping at the front door. Softer than her knock, she said, "Irvine?"

"What?"

Irvine opened the door, turned back to flush the toilet, and Quistis moved out of the way to let him get to the sink and pull out his toothbrush and a huge bottle of painkillers, which he downed before he slathered a double-high blob of toothpaste on the brush and started scrubbing furiously at his teeth and tongue, foam spilling out between his lips.

"Somebody needs to speak with you," she said.

A few minutes passed before Zell heard Squall say (sounding like a used-up piece of machinery giving its last grating whines before breaking down, and oh, did he ever deserve it, You prick.), "Irvine, please talk to me."

Irvine spat a huge glob of toothpaste and spit into the sink and slammed his toothbrush down. He spat again, a smaller ball, and said, "I'm not sure I got anythin' to say to you."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left you; I don't know if I want you back but I'm sorry, I'm sorry," said Squall.

He would never in a trillion years say these things sober, but they were spilling from his mouth like a waterfall of remorse as Selphie led him a few short steps inside the door and shut it behind her to keep things private from the cadets passing the room. As much of an ass as Squall was, even Zell had to admit that humiliating him in front of those who idolized him wasn't the best way to get him to keep showing true remorse after what he'd done yesterday. Zell went to fish out some painkillers for himself, trying to give Irvine and Squall as much privacy as they could have with three other people in the room.

Behind him, he heard Irvine say, "That's not good enough."

"What do you want from me?" Squall said, all but pleading.

"I don't want you back, don't get me wrong," said Irvine, "but you gotta mean it - you gotta not be wasted - when you say those things to me. I don't believe a word of it without you sober."

"I'm sorry, Irvine," said Squall.

"You think that now, but what about tomorrow? Huh? How 'bout next Saturday when you go out with Almasy?"

"I'm not sure, not -" Squall started. "Seifer said he's not sure if it's working out, he said...he thinks I'm screwing you..." The words came out more garbled, more muttered, but Zell understood what he was saying just the same as if he'd gone to shout it from a mountaintop with an amped-up megaphone.

"What is with you people?"

Zell couldn't take any more of it. This was getting beyond ridiculous, quickly headed for the "fucked up" category, more than ever. It was convoluted (so wrong, so crazy, how could they believe Squall, he'd already betrayed them both? And oh, Zell is so wrong in who to doubt). It was horrible, too, that Squall seemed to think he could pluck at Irvine's heartstrings till they snapped and cut twin slices in Irvine's cheeks.

"There's nothin' wrong with me," said Irvine, as Quistis said, "Which people?"

They were all staring at him now. Great, just great.

"Squall, you're a liar and a cheat," said Zell. He only kept his voice down because his head was throbbing and aching something awful, and Irvine's had to be, too; he'd had more to drink than Zell had. He'd had enough that it was shocking he wasn't poisoned half to death and in the infirmary, come to think of it. But as Seifer said, thinking wasn't Zell's department of expertise. He'd just said it in ruder words. Fuck you, asshole. Fuck you, Almasy!

"Whatever," said Squall, sounding more like his normal self. "I'm sorry and I mean it, Irvine."

"But you're not sorry to me?! You took Seifer! You poached him from under my nose, you twisted fuckwad!"

He couldn't help being loud, although he regretted it when Irvine flinched and rubbed his temples. Still, Irvine spoke up again. "When you're sober, you come back." (Zell wanted to tell him please not to listen to Irvine if he knows what's good for him, but he knew that this meant everything to Irvine after all the accusations, the demands, the uncharacteristic abuse from Squall.)

(And to Irvine, this did mean everything; the longer he looked into Squall's eyes, strangely wet, like his cheeks were strangely damp - and he was sure Squall's breath smelled of vomit and liquor - the more he worried he might be wrong. He worries he's making a major mistake and about to get himself fucked over. He didn't care, not really. He wanted this. Not them together again - he didn't deserve that bull, he knew - but he wanted an apology. He owed it to himself, didn't he?)

Selphie, who had all but released Squall's arm, took hold of his shoulder now and steered him away. "I'll take him back to Seifer," she said, her eyes still radiating anger, though not as hotly as before.

Quistis patted Zell's shoulder and mouthed, "I'm sorry," then did the same for Irvine, giving them each a nod before she left the room behind Selphie and a sort of stumbly Squall, her heels clicking sharply on the floor until they retreated completely out of earshot. That was definitely one huge relief.

Irvine sank to his bed and began to cry. "H-Hyne," he said.

It was stupid to rush to his side, or to try it - Zell's head throbbed and he felt like he was about to fall flat on his face and maybe yak while he was at it - but he did it anyway. (Irvine was his friend, after all. What was a little pain and nausea?) He sat down next to Irvine; their thighs were almost touching, but Zell, who'd normally blush at the thought, couldn't care. He was caught up in pulling Irvine's hands away from his face and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He wasn't sure that he could make Irvine feel any better. He had to try. He always got up and tried again (didn't he? Well, Dincht, don't you?), even when he was broken like a bull really had been ripping through a china shop, seeing red in all the teacups and knickknacks (stupid things, really. Not as stupid as Seifer dumbassed Almasy, but stupid).

"Irvine," he said, and though his voice broke when he said it, he didn't mind. Nothing embarrassed him right now. "Irvine," he said again, "aw, dude, please don't cry."

"He doesn't deserve me," Irvine said, clearly trying to convince himself.

"No," said Zell, "and you deserve better."

He felt painfully queer doing it, but he leaned his cheek lightly against Irvine's shoulder and hoped his headache would go enough away for this to feel as good as it had when Irvine hugged him yesterday.

"Thanks," said Irvine. He leaned his head over to rest it atop Zell's, and amazingly, it didn't make his headache worse; Zell just felt comfortable and warm, not hot and loose like drunkenness, but cozy, problem-free for a moment in time, Seifer-free. He wasn't the only one hurt here. (He still had that selfish streak that said his pain was worse, being more recent, but he laid the smackdown on that part of his mind.) "My head hurts like shit."

"I know; me, too." Zell let out a breath that was supposed to be a laugh, broken up and touched with a little hum at the very back of his throat. "Do you think he'll come back?"

"Yeah, I do. Squall's honest, even when he's wrong."

"Honest enough to screw Seifer in my place, sure, I know what you mean," Zell said, the words foul on his tongue.

"I wanna believe he's seen the light," Irvine said.

"I do, too, but belief doesn't make it true. I mean, I still believe that Seifer's crying over me, that he still wants to fuck me and has to use Squall as some - some screwing receptable -"

"Receptacle," said Irvine.

"Okay, receptacle. I hope he wants me back, or at least the sex. But I wouldn't fuck him again even if he did say sorry. He would be lying."

"So you think Squall's lyin', too?"

"I'm not sure. He was so pissed, it's hard to say."

"Mm."

They were quiet. The blanket of silence was soft and gentle in a way Zell wasn't sure Seifer had ever meant when he said, "I love you," the words strange to Zell's ears. Strange, wonderful music, but all the same, the first three or four times, he was sure Seifer was saying it to get in his pants. Then he had to believe it. Seifer said it enough that he'd known it was for real, and then, at the end, when Seifer said he couldn't stand the sight of Zell anymore and wanted out, it felt like lies all over again. (A slap to the face that stung to this very second. Only now, Irvine's shoulder made the sting go away.)

He thought of Seifer's hands tracing down his biceps while they kissed, how he wanted Seifer to resent Squall for having less defined arms than Zell; wielding his gunblade had not, weirdly enough, made Squall's uper body as bulky-looking as Seifer's did, or as Zell's did from fighting and lifting weights like crazy. He wondered if somebody else's hands would ever feel as good wrapped around his cock or on his hips, slipping around to his ass and pressing fingers inside while he moaned. Zell kind of doubted it. It felt wrong, thinking of someone else that way. He was angry-sick about that, knowing he was stuck on Seifer. He thought he deserved better, the way Irvine knew he did, but at this point, he couldn't be sure. And he wasn't sure that he wanted to be sure, not really.

"What're you thinkin'?" asked Irvine.

"About sex. With someone other than Seifer." Zell's laugh came out a bitter bark, knowing how that must sound to Irvine. "Sad that I'm still obsessed with him. I keep thinking I'll never be able to do it with anybody else."

"You will. I know," said Irvine. "You're hot, Zell, and I ain't still drunk."

"Gee, thanks," said Zell, but he was flattered. "I dunno, though, if I want sex with someone. Anymore. It feels bad."

"Tainted, maybe?"

"Exactly. Tainted, sick, and wrong. Makes me want to retire my dick forever, and that's dumb, but I can't see anyone that way, no matter how hot they are or how much they make me feel like Seifer's dead to me. I wish I found someone like that. Wish I had a rebound."

"You do not want a rebound, you moron, that'd mean sex," Irvine said, and it was strange, but Zell knew he was smiling. He was pretty sure it wasn't just the tone of Irvine's voice; with their heads together as they were, he thought he felt Irvine's facial muscles working into a smile. "And you don't need that kind of hurt, trust me. Albireo - the bartender - was my rebound from Quistis. It was worse when he left me than when she did, I can tell you. All we had was sex and hurt."

Zell thought about this for about ten minutes, processing Irvine's word, turning them over carefully inside his brain. He'd been thinking a lot these days; yeah, mostly of Seifer and all the resentments and the hair shirt Seifer had left on his back, its fibers leaving scars in his skin he thought would never go away, ever, but he had been giving his brain other exercise, too. If he hadn't been smart and if he hadn't thought much before, he wasn't now. Still impulsive, though. That made it hard to stop thinking about the little smile that felt like it had returned to Irvine's mouth. He knew he shouldn't. This was incredibly stupidassed - Irvine was his best friend, or he was now, technically - but he somehow thought they could work something out, he somehow wanted to try, he didn't mind being dumb and blurting out what was rattling through his mind, and he was about to do it when Irvine spoke.

"If I had somebody like you - a friend, y'know - I wouldn't mind a rebound."

"What does that imply?"

"I'm not too sure," said Irvine.

"I was about to say -" Zell stopped himself. Was this worth making the mistake of his life, two weeks after his first and favorite mistake left him with all his tears and emptied out Zell's room of almost everything he'd ever filtered in gradually? And Irvine's reputation - it was bad. ("You sharpshooter slut of Galbadia, you whore," said yesterday's version of Squall in his mind.) Track records meant something to Zell. And yet Seifer's, other than being Ultimecia's ragdoll knight, had been pristine. He'd dated Rinoa. He'd had crushes when he was going through puberty. But he was a virgin, like Zell, when they got together. Look how that turned out, Zell had to point out to himself. Look what happened to you, you wreck of a wimpy little loser.

"Yeah?"

Well, now he had to say it. "Um, Irvine?"

"Yeah?" said Irvine again, a bit more drawn-out this time. It became like, "Yeeeeahhh?" and more of a question, somehow. Expectant.

I want to work something out. I want to be with you? No, that's not right, I want to kiss you and see if you hate me and see how you feel about that because I do think I want to be with you - but that's not right, I mean, I like you. You're my friend so maybe that means Iloveyou, in some weird way.

(Zell wouldn't mind being stupid with Irvine, he really wouldn't. But he can't say that, even in his head, though it's right there, not exactly in the back of his mind but not in the front, either.)

"I like you."

"I like you, too, baby," said Irvine.

He didn't get it. I really, really like you.

"You're my best friend," said Zell.

"You're mine, too," Irvine said. "What's goin' on? You okay?" He lifted his head from leaning against Zell's and they locked eyes. (Irvine's looked almost green in this light, and though he did think of Seifer, Zell liked Irvine's better so that didn't matter. Not at all. It didn't hurt like it had. But that didn't mean he was over the fuckwad.)

"I'm definitely okay," said Zell. "You keep me from thinking about Seifer."

Irvine frowned slightly. "That's great, but - oh, Hyne, Zell."

"What?!" Zell just about shouted. "What, what?"

"You remember what Squall said yesterday, about me - and screamin' other people's names, when we -?"

Looking back and leafing through the transcript of that pretty little hate interlude in his mind, Zell nodded, confused as to where the heck this was supposed to be going. He hoped it was somewhere good, maybe even somewhere absolutely great. Beyond all reason would be nice, too.

(He had no idea that part of the reason it was over between Irvine and Squall was in any way related to him. If he'd known, Zell might've run away. He was that fragile, sometimes. In some way, he might've also felt guilty and bad for Squall, but he would shut that down faster than he could whip out a one-two punch.)

Irvine looked away and turned so that Zell quickly snatched his arm off Irvine's shoulders and sat back, their torsos farther away from one another than they'd been a minute before, by about half a foot. It didn't make for comfortable sitting, the way their legs were still close, but it made for Zell studying Irvine's face easily and not having to stare idiotically. He saw Irvine close his eyes and his long, girly eyelashes curling against his cheeks. He wondered why Irvine was closing his eyes, blocking him out like that, until Irvine said,

(With much difficulty and feeling guilty himself, he said,)

"It was your name."

The world could fall down, time compression could throw all he colors and substance of the world that Zell knew out of whack forever, and he couldn't have moved. He bet he wouldn't notice, either. He would sit right here and gawp at Irvine and feel his heart swell and contract and start to splutter in his chest like a dying engine on a cold morning, and yet it didn't feel bad. It felt normal, but his throat ached like someone was strangling him, and he couldn't help making a noise to express that feeling. It came out, "Ummghh," and it came as softly as a breeze between the trees. He'd heard that somewhere, but did that matter? (Does anything matter when his best friend just said that?! Get a grip on yourself, he said mentally, but that meant nothing to him when his best friend just said that.)

"I'm sorry," said Irvine.

For the first time, Zell noticed that Irvine was forever feeling like he had to apologize for something when he had done nothing wrong here, except for sort of cheating on Squall in his mind, only he was willing to forgive that as long as they worked this particular kink out of the hose and managed to talk to each other without sounding crazy and deluded. He wasn't positive that he was delighted with Irvine's strange and shocking and scary announcement; he did know for sure, though, that he wasn't upset. Not about Irvine being - having feelings for him, of love or lust, how could he ever know without asking, which he didn't want to do? No, not about Irvine's feelings or Irvine's mind-betrayal of Squall, but he was a little upset that this hadn't come up sooner. And that a rebound was a dumb idea. And especially that this could wind up in a broken heart dashed on the floor like hopes whose faces had met with a metal mallet.

Knowing that Irvine was feeling guilty, though, could not help Zell make up his mind.

"It bothers you, doesn't it?"

Irvine had just wrenched him out of his thoughts, though it wasn't entirely unwelcome, not really. Zell needed it. He might've gotten lost there, in a maze of what was supposed to be right and what he was sure was wrong.

"No," he said. At least he didn't have to deliberate that anymore, having said it. Or really, it burst from his lips before he knew he had said it, and he had to go back and recall that this was truly what he thought.

He hoped he was right in this.

"Please tell me," Irvine said.

"It doesn't bother me, Irvine," said Zell earnestly.

"Then -?"

I like you so much. You're...you're valuable, you know. I hope you know. I bet you don't, you're so panicked right now. Fuck them for fucking us both up so bad.

He said, slowly, so he could think about his words very carefully before they went wild on him, "I know it doesn't bother me and I think I'm happy. I feel lighter. But I can't help - it's Seifer. He broke me. It sounds lame, but he did, and I don't want sex with anybody else till I'm over him."

"I don't want just sex with you." Irvine looked back at him, his mouth set in a worried, thin line. "I've been...how should I say it so you don't think I'm, like, totally crazy?"

"Say what you want. 'Better out than in,' you said."

"This is sudden for you," said Irvine.

"I don't care."

"I'm sort of in love with you, and I confess, I used Squall, in the beginning, before I fell in love with him, too."

(Irvine hurt to say this. Being honest and talking about crying over Squall, wanting to stay in bed forever or at least hide somewhere safe and warm as Squall's embrace had been when he needed it, was different from this. This was his heart racing and trying to kill itself with worry that Zell would hit him. Or hate him. Something terrible, he worried with fear creeping in and eating his thrumming heart, could happen here. Now he had to go on. He said,)

"Not just sort of. In love with you."

"I -" Zell said. "I, well. Um. How should I say it so I don't hurt you?"

"What you want, Zell."

"I want to be stupid with you." He hadn't wanted to say it, had pushed it away, repressed it, beaten it down like a Bite Bug he wanted crushed into the ground, but there it was in the open and begging not to be shot down, though he knew that Irvine wouldn't do that to him. Irvine wasn't the kind of sharpshooter who went for the heart, not that way, anyway. "You're valuable. I care about you. I really, really like you. I don't want you to be a rebound and I don't want me to be revenge on Squall, since you're in love with him -"

"Was."

"- too," Zell finished. Then he realized what Irvine had said, and he blinked. "Was?"

"I love you." (So confidently.)

"Not Squall."

"No."

"Doesn't it hurt you that I can't promise you I love you yet?"

Irvine said, a tiny and (deceptively) calm smile on his face, "I don't demand that of you."

"Nah, you wouldn't, would you? Don't answer that. I know."

This felt better, talking about it, not biting it back till his tongue wanted to flood his mouth with the metallic and awful tang of blood. He felt his heartbeat slowing down. (Irvine couldn't say the same.) He wanted to say more, ask Irvine if it was really, truly, honestly, all the way all right that saying, "I love you, too," was gonna be a lie, this soon in the game they could, or might not, play.

"If it doesn't hurt you, then is it okay if we try not to make a mistake?" Zell asked. "Hyne, that sounds dumb. Er...is it okay that you're my best friend and I wanna try to be more-ish? Okay, not ish. More."

"Yeah," said Irvine. "Tryin' is better'n' nothin' at all, right?"

"Okay."

"Yeah."

"We'll try."

Irvine nodded. His smile was gone; Zell knew that it wasn't a bad sign, just proof that he was serious about this, not toying, not joking, not playing. Totally solemn and it was flattering, having that attention on him without fear of mocking words following his own totally solemn and honest statement.

"If you see, down the line, that you still want him - if you think of him and you want him back - you can go," said Irvine.

"I'll never want him back and I'll never call his name; I can't promise I'll love you right away, or maybe even ever, and I can't say I'll want sex anytime soon. I care a lot about you, but that's...weird."

"Good to know you aren't gonna make my mistake," said Irvine.

"Did you think I would, or something?"

"'Course not."

That renewed Zell's confidence in this weird, but more right than anything he'd felt since Seifer left, situation. He couldn't say he'd gotten himself in over his head. He might drown, if he dove in too fast and too deep, but he was sure Irvine had life preservers somewhere, and if he didn't, he had other friends who could help him extract himself - not that he'd call on them. He had some kind of pride left in him, even if he could say now, "To hell with that shit," and throw his pride in being strong and giving up any kind of relationship far out the window and into the ocean.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Sure." It didn't take a second's thought. A good sign, he thought. "I'll taste like puke."

"I don't care," said Irvine, smiling softly at him. (Adoringly, but Zell didn't have to know that; it sounded pukey-sappy to admit it or to let Zell see it for what it was. He'd rather Zell be wrong.) He leaned over - Zell was suddenly aware of their thighs pressed together now as their shoulders moved together, too - and pressed his lips lightly against Zell's. A questioning, hesitant sort of kiss, and Irvine's lips were soft where his felt dry and so did his mouth.

Despite all that, Zell kissed back. He was a little surprised when Irvine was the one to open his mouth and let Zell slide their tongues together, just as hesitant as Irvine - Zell knew he tasted bad, okay? Not like Irvine's still-minty mouth - and then relieved that Irvine put his hand against Zell's upper back and their chests were halfway together. Zell had to turn kind of awkwardly to get more of their bodies to touch. It didn't hurt; it felt strange, as did his fluttery heart. That was more than okay. It was good, like this, kissing Irvine.

Irvine eventually kissed Zell, close-mouthed, and pulled away, though his hand stayed against Zell's back for another few moments. Once it, too, had fallen away, Zell said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saving me. I think you really are pulling me out of a drain-spiral thing."

Irvine chuckled, really quietly, almost inaudible. But their chests were still together; Zell could feel him laughing. "You goof," he said.

"What?"

"I'm not doin' anything you didn't need, and you'll never need salvation."

"Yes, I will."

"Then I'll save you," said Irvine.

I care too much to stop him from saving me; it may be embarrassing but I don't care. I like him - you - and I think it'll be love someday, and I'll feel a whole lot better knowing that you'll always dive in, too. Idiotic life preservers and all.

And, "Thank you, Irvine," Zell said.

(He'd think of Seifer, but it would get better. It would. He swore it to himself, though he was too afraid still to swear it aloud to Irvine. In his mind, though. In his mind he would. Zell's strong enough to know when he can throw his stupid pride away one hundred percent and say it when Irvine needs to know it. And he doesn't know it, neither of them do, but he will be right when he says it, at the right time, no matter what happens with Squall, or Seifer.)

"I'll always save you. Don't thank me. You don't even know it'll work yet."

"I do, too!" protested Zell. When Irvine laughed, it wasn't derisive, it wasn't wrong, it'd never hurt - he could definitely say that now - and it made him grin back and say, "Now, I'm gonna brush my teeth so we can -"

"- try some more?"

"Exactly. Kinda creepy, how you do that."

Irvine laughed again. "You think I don't know you that well? Go on, brush your teeth, but I don't mind tryin' more without it. Really."

"You're sick and I have a headache."

"Lovesick," said Irvine, and this time, although Zell laughed, they shared a - sort of goofy, sort of embarrassing - smile that spread all the way through Zell. He would be over Seifer and on with his life someday sooner than he'd thought if this was the way love - eventually, eventually, he reminded himself - could be.

"Just sick," he said, but he went and brushed his teeth. (Of course he did. Irvine was his friend, dammit, officially his best friend now more than ever, and he wanted kissing with him to be perfect.) He called from the bathroom, to the sound of Irvine's quiet sniggering, "But I like it. I like thinking of you instead, even if you are a sicko creepy weirdo."