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Of All the Unlikely Things to Happen	By : lunael55 Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Seifer/Zell Views: 1030 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: don't own Final Fantasy 8 or make profit out of it.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
A.N.: Authoress’s comments are at the end of the chapter. The usual warnings apply: not my characters, not my native language, unbetaed, yada yada. Oh, and this is rated M, by the way. If you’re a young and impressionable lad or narrow-minded adult, don’t read this. Unless you want to be traumatized – then proceed.
Of All the Unlikely Things to Happen
Chapter 1
Sometimes, Zell Dincht regretted telling his friends he was gay.
Suddenly, it became all oh-so-convenient to have Zell around. It was like he had become everyone’s favorite, all-purpose service gay guy. Need someone to help Selphie with Christmas decorations? Ask Zell. He’s gay, so he’s good with that stuff. Have love issues? It doesn’t matter if you’re mooning over a guy or a gal, speak to Zell – gay people always give good love advice, right? A request coming in for a high-raking Seed to bodyguard some politician’s wife on a shopping frenzy in Deling? Ask Zell – he’s gay, so he’s gotta love shopping.
Gotta send undercover Seeds to a high-class male host club in Esthar? Take Zell along. He’s gay, so he’ll obviously be thrilled to spend the night in a room full of women mooning over cute men in expensive designer clothes.
Only he was not.
Zell felt like choking the very moment he got a glance of the snobbish white velvet couches and fancy crystal furniture of the Madarake Club. And from there on, it only got worse. The club itself was filled to the brim with wealthy, affected women, the very air stuffy with their heavy perfumes and crystalline laughs. In their mist, Zell could make out about twenty well-groomed young male listening to their patrons with complacent, fake smiles, pouring alcohol into their glasses when they were too busy giggling to their flattering jokes to notice. In the background, low enough as not to impede discussion but too loud to tune out, there was girly dance music - the kind with those terrible watery Estharian sound effects that got so much on his nerves.
No doubts, this mission was rapidly turning into the lousiest assignment he’s even been given. It even beat that one time he had to bodyguard the spoiled four-year old twin daughters of a rich Galbadian Industrial and ended up with vomit all over his clothes. And as if things couldn’t get any worse, they had been in there for nearly two hours and their target was still nowhere to be seen.
Zell toyed nervously with his too-tight collar. This was ridiculous. For the thousandth time, he wondered what on Earth he was doing there. Why couldn’t Squall have sent some other woman here instead? He couldn’t believe the Garden was so short on women they couldn’t spare another one, and totally didn’t buy Squall’s bullshit about this being a high-level, top-priority mission, or Xu’s ramble about how the three of them were already a proved team. This fancy bar-thing – this so-called host club or whatnot - was not his thing and he stood out like a sore thumb. At least Selphie and Quistis seemed to be somewhat in their element, and they looked the part with their glittering dresses, fancy hairstyles and over-the-top make-up. He was a tattooed man in a gray suit with a pink tie in a sea of women – how could he not stand out?
They could have at least picked up Irvine instead. The man was practically a living host himself, he’d have fit in all right. He wouldn’t have looked ridiculous in a suit, and he would have had no trouble sitting back for hours on in a sea of coy women, drinking expensive alcohol and pretending to be enjoying himself. Hell, the guy would have probably actually enjoyed himself! As things were, Zell had a hard time just staying still and refraining from squirming in his seat.
The blonde let out a sigh of frustration. He was a man of action, for Hyne’s sake! But ever since he told them he was homosexual, it was like they all assumed he’d suddenly become good at all those things gay guys were supposed to be good at – like saying the right things at the right moment, being patient, picking up clothes, stuff like that. Quistis said it was nothing personal, that he kept on getting those ridiculous missions because the war was over and their clients didn’t need hired muscles as much anymore. Zell thought that was total bullshit, because if it were the case, they would have at least picked up the most competent person to complete this team, which was very obviously Irvine, not him. But nooooo, of course, they didn’t give Irvine the damned mission. They put their service gay guy on the task. Again.
If Zell had known it would come to this, he would have stayed in the damned closet.
“Zell, could you at least try to stop scowling?” Quistis told him off under her breath as she took a sip of her outrageously expensive red wine glass. “You’re drawing attention on us.”
Zell let out a low moan. “We’ve been here forever, why isn’t she here already?”
“She should be showing up pretty soon,” Selphie piped in, her voice surprisingly mission-like considering the girlish smile she was wearing. “According to the file, she’s one of the regular patrons. She probably has her own assigned host, so we can expect her to turn in shortly before they do, around 11p.m.”
“Woah, wait. If hosts show up at eleven o’clock, who are these guys then? Walk-ons?”
Selphie dismissed the comment with a wave of her petite hand. “These are just decorative. They’re sort of the opening act; the real attraction is the senior hosts.” Zell’s blank look got him a genuine smile from the brunette. “They’re the most popular hosts of the moment, really. The ones patrons are ready to spend a fortune on.”
“There she is,” Quistis cut them softly, “seven o’clock, the purple dress.”
Reaching out for his glass, Zell subtly eyed their target, a middle-aged woman flanked by two grim-faced bodyguards. A pedantic groom was already guiding her toward one of the secluded love seats on the left side of the room while her guards awkwardly remained by the entrance. Her gorillas were obviously not allowed to follow their mistress into the patron lounge. At least, that was good news.
Discreetly, the three Seeds watched as one of the junior hosts appeared out of nowhere to entertain her. She rewarded his efforts with a polite smile, but kept on glancing at the massive velvet curtains on the other end of the room. Zell figured she was waiting for her informant, but when the lights suddenly got a little brighter and every patrons’ head turned toward the curtains, he understood she’d been simply waiting for her favorite to show up.
As on cue, more hosts started pouring out of the curtains, the room shuddering and buzzing with excitement. There were about a dozen senior hosts, all of whom were wearing tailored black suits with one single, pearly-white rose in their front pocket. They all had stunning good looks, though Zell personally found most of them too lanky, too smooth and spruce for his tastes. But he could easily see what these women saw in these pretty men and their disarmingly charming manners. Obviously, they were luxury objects. Expensive fantasy material for women who already had everything money could buy. In a way it made sense, but that thought did little to improve the martial artist’s appreciation for the hosting business in general.
The senior hosts quickly started to work their magic and soon enough, alcohol was flowing freely and the room was filled with even more high-pitched laughers and coy giggles. Their target was joined by a tall, long-faced man who chat her into buying an expensive bottle of champagne in no time. Now and then, a senior host would get up and visit another group of patrons, a junior host rapidly filling the void they left, making sure alcohol kept flowing.
“I can’t imagine her meeting her contact here,” Quistis whispered after several long hours of watch. “And she doesn’t seem close to be leaving this love seat any time soon.”
“Perhaps she’ll meet her informant in the lady’s room,” Selphie suggested without conviction.
“Yeah, and I bet the host is their middle man,” Zell added as the middle-aged woman let out a very loud drunken giggle. “Look, it’s past 3 a.m. and she’s smashed. Whoever her informant is, obviously she’s not going to be meeting him tonight.”
Quistis sighed. “Perhaps. But we have to stay to make sure.” Zell groaned loudly, which earned him a pointed, disapproving look from his ex-instructor.
“Damn it, why can’t Estharian clubs close down at 3 a.m., like everywhere else? They think they’re too good to respect conventions or what?”
“Zell...”
Selphie suddenly gasped, her eyes widening comically. “Oh! It can’t be!”
“What?”
For a moment, she just gaped at a group of younger women a dozen of feet in front of them, looking thoroughly shocked. “I don’t believe it! It’s- it’s...! Look! It’s him! At four o’clock!”
Puzzled, Zell eyed the crowd curiously. “Who? The lanky brunette?”
“Behind them, dummy! The couch on the right!”
Stretching his neck, Zell gazed at the couch in question, which was occupied by three women in their prime and a tall, broad-chested man with short blond locks. Zell was about to ask what was the big deal when the host tilted his head and he got a sight of his face. Right then, his jaw hit the floor.
Twenty feet away from them, in an expensive senior host suit, was sitting Seifer Almasy.
Beside him, Zell thought he heard Quistis gasp, but he hardly took notice. He was wearing his hair a tad longer than he had the last they had met, but it was Seifer Almasy alright. With his blond hair, his ocean-coloured eyes, his chiseled facial features and this exceptionally manly built of his that set him apart most men, even among professional mercenaries and trained soldiers, Seifer Almasy afterall wasn’t the kind of guy that you could easily mistake for somebody else.
Yet, it couldn’t be him. Zell Dincht had known him most of his life, and he could feel it in every fiber of his body – this wasn’t Seifer Almasy. This handsome man, with his smooth manners and suave smile simply couldn’t be his rash childhood bully. Zell stared in utter disbelief as a tipsy women bend forward to mutter something in the blonde’s ear and the man started to chuckle –chuckle!- like a high class gentleman. Seifer Almasy, chuckling?! Had they landed in an alternative dimension or what? The martial artist felt it could start raining chocobos any minute – hell, it would make more sense to him than a nice, chuckling Seifer!
As the trio was gaping at the eerie Seifer-looking host, the blonde happened to gaze in their direction as he poured another drink and froze up at the sight of them. Would Zell not have been in a state of shock himself, he would have burst out laughing at the flabbergasted look on the man’s face as he gaped at them. One of the puzzled patrons put a hand on Seifer’s shoulder and the gunblade user snapped out of it and regained his charming host persona almost instantly, as if nothing happened.
Zell kept on staring, bewildered. So it was Seifer, afterall. No doubt about it: there had been recognition in those eyes. But he simply couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that the arrogant, self-centered bully was standing right there, acting like a charming gentleman to the benefit of spoiled, fanciful women. The very idea was so far-fetched it seemed to come right out of a Galbadian burlesque movie. To think they had looked for him everywhere, only to run into him in an Estharian host club, of all places!
Squall was sooooo not going to believe his ears when he heard the news.
“What’s he doing here?” Selphie babbled breathlessly. “I mean, I figured he was hiding away in an abandoned shack in Centra, or in a grotto in Trabia, or-or living on a fishing boat off Fisherman’s Horizon...! But here...? In Esthar, working in a host club?!”
“In a way, it makes perfect sense,” Quistis murmured, a pensive frown marring her pretty features. “Esthar is a pretty big city, easy to get lost into... Most people here wouldn’t know much about him. And none of us would have ever thought to look for him here, of all places.”
Still gazing at the tall blonde, who was now very carefully avoiding eye contact with them, the martial artist shook his head. “Seifer, the biggest self-minded, arrogant prick in modern history, flattering rich old hags for a living? How’s that even possible? Nobody can change that much in five years!”
As to prove him wrong, Seifer let out another discreet laugh, looking dazzlingly handsome and suave. Zell frowned. It just didn’t seem right. Seifer not constantly acting like a dick was like Selphie refusing to go to a party. Or Squall not wearing leather. Or Irvine being prude. You get the general idea. It was plain weird.
Suddenly, lights dimmed down. One after the other, the senior walked back to the curtains they had come out of, smiling flirtingly to the crowd as they disappeared behind the thick velvet walls. The room started buzzing anew with excitement, and Zell had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what would come next. As music suddenly died down and spotlights lit the closed curtains, his worse fears came true.
“Oh, dear God!” Selphie gasped, “Don’t tell me they’re going to sing...!”
The curtains parted to reveal a small stage, on which all senior hosts were lined up, holding a microphone and smiling seductively at the crowd. Overjoyed, the patrons started applauding and cheering on them loudly, nearly drowning the sound of the very cheesy karaoke music that started coming out of the speakers. Seifer was the fourth one from the left, standing out from the rest of the well-groomed men for he was a few inches taller and fairly manlier than most of them – it was truly a wonder they hadn’t spotted him before. The ex-knight smiled warmly at the room, but even from afar Zell could tell his smile wasn’t reaching his ocean-blue eyes, which were carefully looking everywhere but at them.
That was when they started singing.
They all sang in turn, smiling coyly and flirting shamelessly with the crowd. None of them were very good signers – some of them barely sang on tune, but the patrons didn’t seem to mind in the least. On the contrary, they were drinking in the men’s voices with obvious bliss. By the time Seifer’s surprisingly deep and melodic voice came out of the speakers, Zell was so flabbergasted a mini-van could have fit into his mouth. When he thought it couldn’t get any weirder, music picked up some rhythm and all the hosts started singing in chorus while executing the lamest, gayest choreography he’d ever seen. Thrilled, the captivated audience cheered on them loudly, asking for more.
Zell Dincht had gone through a great deal of strange things in his short life. He’d fought fearsome monsters, hosted GFs in his head, battled against a crazy sorceress from the future, gone through time compression, let Selphie drive his car and even had a rabid herd of chocobo chase him across Windhill because of Irvine once, but nothing compared to this. Nothing prepared him for this.
It was official. He was traumatized.
To Be Continued.

A.N.: I know, I’m supposed to be working on my other fics... But, you know. One morning, I was having a perfectly normal breakfast like any good, normal citizen, when the plotbunny unexpectedly dropped by, uninvited, as per usual. So I started laughing like a loon alone in my kitchen at the thought of what would happen if Seifer Almasy worked in a Japanese-style male host club. And ever since, I haven’t been able to get the ridiculous idea out of my head, so I decided to write it down as a oneshot to appease the Gods of Author’s blank. Alas, in the meanwhile, the plotbunny visited me again – it’s become a bad habit of late, really – and in the end the short oneshot I had foreseen turned into this monstrous, multi-chapter story.
Enjoy and leave comments, please.
The usual warnings apply: not my characters, not my native language, unbetaed, yada yada. Oh, and this is rated M, by the way. If you’re young and impressionable or narrow-minded, don’t read this. Unless you want to be traumatized – then proceed. If it’s already too late, then it’s your own damned fault for not heeding my first warning at the top of the chapter.
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Of All the Unlikely Things to Happen