Mind Games

“I took your advice,” Zell hiccoughed, a goofy grin plastered across his drunken mug as he leaned over Seifer’s shoulder, his voice quiet and sleepy in Seifer’s ear as he hovered, ignoring the ex-knight’s repeated attempts to swat him away. “I changed the key code.”

“Thank you, captain obvious, I couldn’t have figured that out on my own,” Seifer snarled as the display just to the left of Zell’s door beeped a second time and flashed red at him, a warning that one more wrong attempt to input the code would result in a two-hour lockout as well as a silent alarm being sent to the security office to alert them of a possible break-in - unless he were to swipe Zell’s school ID, which would nullify the entire process, but as the instructor had already admitted to not carrying his badge with him, it wasn’t an option. Seifer glowered at the inebriated blonde, who was hanging heavily on his shoulder; it was hard enough to concentrate on what he was doing in the dark while listening to make sure they weren’t found by security without having the added distraction of Zell breathing hotly down the side of his neck to deal with. He pushed the other boy away once again, growling, “D’you mind telling me what it is so I can get your drunken arse inside?”

“Hmm… I don’t think I shall, no,” Zell trilled in a singsong voice in reply, swaying on unsteady feet and falling sidelong into the elder SeeD. Getting angrier by the second, Seifer shoved him away for the umpteenth time that night.

“Why the hell am I even bothering…?” He mumbled, the question aimed more at himself than at Zell, who wasn’t listening in any case. He took a deep, steadying breath to calm himself. Just remember what this is for, Seifer told himself, trying to remain in control of his temper, which hadn’t been pushed as close to the limit as it was right now by anyone since the war. It’s just a matter of patience. Get him in that dorm room and he is all yours.

Seifer smirked, glancing down at the martial artist who had fallen over and was now sprawled across the hallway at his feet. “I ought to just fucking leave you there,” He said coolly, giving Zell a not-so-gentle nudge with his boot. “Come on, Dincht, just tell me already.”

“Fuck off,” Zell replied, waving a tired hand up at the gunblader but otherwise not stirring. “Jus’ leave me alone.”

“Why won’t you just fucking let me do something nice for you for once?” Seifer barked, yanking the smaller boy to his feet by the front of his tee-shirt. “It’s never going to happen again, you should be trying to take full advantage of the situation.”

“Nice? You?” Zell scoffed, grabbing the fist that was bunched in the hem of his shirt, but making no attempt to remove it from his person. “Can’t you jes’ go away? I know you never listened t’me in your life before, but how ‘bout you start now?”

“This is what I get for trying to do you a favor,” Seifer said huffily, releasing the other boy, who slumped against the wall next to him. He rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. Was this really worth the trouble just to get back at Zell for making a fool out of him? If that were his only motive, Seifer would have abandoned ship on this stupid plan a long time ago, but as he stood there watching Zell teeter tipsily from side to side, clearly unable to take care of himself in his current state, he felt something stir inside him, a sort of… what was it? Concern? Truthfully, there was a part of him that did want to help Zell out; the other blonde had, after all, done it for him during his last drunken escapade (even if Seifer had forced his assistance, Zell not simply rolling his unconscious carcass out into the hallway after he passed out was an act of kindness that he could not overlook, and pride demanded that it be repaid in some form or another.) Not that he cared about what happened to Zell after this, or anything. This was just for the sake of returning a favor, nothing more.

Seifer stared down at the keypad, a small green light winking periodically at him in the darkness, his jaw clenched in frustration. A fine fucking time for Zell to start taking his advice. Unless… He cast a glance over at Zell, who was managing to stand on his own with the support of the wall behind him, but just barely. A thought struck him suddenly, and with a half-grin, he turned to punch a sequence of numbers into the keypad, wondering why he was the least bit surprised when it opened this time - trust Zell to take his advice word for word, the one time he actually took it at all. He grabbed the younger boy by the arm before he had a chance to protest and dragged him inside. “You know, when I suggested you use a birthday, I didn’t mean your own,” He explained with a small shake of the head, shoving Zell into the dorm room before turning to slide the door shut and make sure it locked securely behind them. “The point is to use someone else’s birthday, something that other people wouldn’t expect you to know-”

Zell’s fists suddenly spun Seifer around by the front of his jacket and cut him off, pinning him back against the door; Seifer registered somewhere in the back of his mind that the instructor must be junctioned; the ease with which he was holding him prostrate even while plastered and the fact that he couldn’t even struggle against Zell’s hold were both clear indicators of that, but any rumination he might have done on that train of thought was pushed to the back of his mind as Zell leaned close to him, sleepy blue eyes staring with utmost loathing up at Seifer. “I hate you, Almasy,” He said quietly, and despite the fact that he’d said the same thing more than a half a dozen times already that night, he seemed for the first time to be really sincere, and Seifer felt himself wilt just a little - sure, Zell had probably told him that hundreds of times since they’d known each other, and he’d probably returned the sentiment at least twice that much, but this was the first time he’d ever felt disconsolate in the face of it, and the feeling was wholly unpleasant.

“Yeah, I heard you the first fifty times you said that,” He replied flippantly, reaching for Zell’s wrists to try and pry him away, but Zell wasn’t budging and apparently wasn’t about to let Seifer do so, either. He continued to stare, seeming to be thinking hard about something.

“I don’t want you in my room,” He said next, his tone soft and slightly slurred, but coldly menacing. His face was mere inches from Seifer’s and the ex-knight found he didn’t know what to do; all of the cool nonchalance and levelheadedness he prided himself on seemed to have deserted him as he stared into depthless azure orbs. The room was dark, Zell’s skin a corpselike white in the moonlight that fell in wide beams through the windows, blemished only by the sharp, inky lines of the tattoo that ran down from his temple; his heavy-lidded gaze was dark with what Seifer took to be anger, hidden behind a few spikes of golden hair that had fallen into his eyes.

Seifer fought to find his voice, forcing out a weak reply. “What, are you afraid I’m going to try something? Remember who you’re talking to here, Dincht.”

“No,” Zell mumbled, his head nodding forward, and he laid it gently in the crook of Seifer’s neck, much to the gunblader’s surprise and confusion, before going on, “I’m afraid I might…”

He trailed off and didn’t continue. Seifer stared down at the top of his head, hardly even able to think coherently, let alone figure out what to do about this strange new development. His first instinct was to push Zell away, but the blonde’s fists were still entangled tightly in the lapels of his trenchcoat and not only was Zell a fair deal stronger than him while junctioned, he was also still quite drunk, which made him unpredictable; Seifer wasn’t certain he wanted to test the martial artist’s patience just then. But all the same, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, the feeling of another warm body pressed so closely to his own, Zell’s hair falling softly against his neck. The younger boy’s breaths billowed against his neck, hot and slow, sending little shivers down his spine.

“If you puke on me, Dincht, I swear to Hyne I will slaughter you,” He warned grouchily, but even he could hear that his own threat had little sting to it. Zell stirred slightly, lifting his head as if it weighed a hundred pounds and unfisting one hand from the front of Seifer’s coat, each movement long and torpid as though he were simply too tired to move any faster.

Seifer grabbed the younger boy by the shoulders, pushing him gently back a step. “Get the fuck in your bed, Dincht. I’m not gonna stay here all night taking care of you like a fucking baby,” He growled.

“This is your fault,” Zell said again, keeping his gaze low, but he sounded fairly more lucid than he had at any point during the night so far. He was quiet again then, but only for a few moments before continuing, “You’re such an arsehole. Makin’ me think shit. ‘S wrong.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but I can assure you I don’t give a damn,” was Seifer’s terse reply. He moved to push Zell back again, trying to steer him toward the bed, but before he could take even one step Zell, displaying an agility and speed that Seifer had hardly seen him touch when at his athletic peak, let alone when wasted, turned and spun the gunblader into the nearest wall, his head colliding painfully with the hard surface behind him; but it wasn’t for another half a minute or so until his head cleared from the impact that he was able to register that an entirely different, much more interesting collision had occurred - Zell was kissing him; sloppily, certainly, but a firm and enthusiastic effort on the martial artist’s part. Seifer was so shocked by the action at first that he couldn’t seem to even think, much less react to such a perplexing and wholly unexpected act. Zell was kissing him. Zell.

He tried to back away, but Zell’s hand placed fixedly at the nape of his neck held him in place, and when he opened his mouth to protest Zell only took it as an opportunity to thrust his tongue into Seifer’s mouth, effectively rendering any further endeavors at resistance on Seifer’s part futile; the ex-knight’s knees went weak and the blood rushed to his head as he tried to grasp what was going on. Get a grip on yourself, Seifer! This is Dincht you’re kissing! You should be knocking his arse the fuck out!

But he didn’t. Or perhaps he couldn’t; Seifer felt as though all his strength had been drained as his knees buckled and only because of the wall at his back was he able to remain standing, and it was… it was… well, it was good; it shouldn’t have been, but it was. Zell was an amazing kisser. Did I really just think that? he spared a half second to wonder, but no longer than that; Zell’s tongue twined slickly around his own, and the capacity for intelligent thought was lost to the sensations he was drowning in. The alluring softness of those lips that he had, for so long, been accustomed to hearing spew insults and profanities at him, now pressed against his own with an urgency that bordered on desperation, almost as if Zell was afraid that Seifer might push him away at any second - although the fear was not unjustly founded, considering their relationship; Seifer himself was surprised at his own reaction to the kiss - and his complete lack of aversion to it - and was only just beginning to grasp what that might mean when Zell leaped away from him as though scalded, swaying on unsteady feet as he seemed to try to comprehend what he had just done. Seifer wondered if he was regretting his impetuous action… or if he was at all aware of what was going on.

“Dincht,” He growled softly, reaching out and grabbing the younger boy by the shoulder to stabilize him, even while mentally Seifer was still struggling to stabilize himself. Sure, seducing Zell had been a part of his plan, but he’d never given much thought to the actual act of it, nor had he expected anything like this to happen so quickly; he’d figured on having to spend quite a good deal of time charming Zell into recognizing his appeal, and he most definitely had not expected Zell to make a move on him first. He’d taken Zell for a complete closet case. Oh, Seifer hadn’t been ignorant of the instructor’s little “problem” when he had visited Zell’s dorm those few weeks ago, and he hadn’t pretended not to notice it simply for Zell’s sake, either - while he had noted that the martial artist hadn’t then and possibly still didn’t possess an awareness of what his body’s curious reaction to Seifer’s provocations meant, the gunblader understood quite well what Zell was very likely in denial of, even if the other boy had scarcely yet touched upon the notion that there might be something to deny.

Zell wanted him in the basest and most licentious way, and the silly boy didn’t even know it.

Of course, Seifer knew he was walking a thin rope when it came to the seduction part of his plan; Zell could easily go to anyone in Garden and accuse the older boy of harassment, and next thing you know half the student population would be lining up against Seifer to defend their favorite instructor’s virtue, but he was banking on Zell’s pride - as well as his fear of retaliation should he do anything to endanger the ex-knight’s position within Garden - to keep Zell from blabbing about any happenings that might occur between them. That Zell might actually admit to his attraction to Seifer - an attraction which he was probably not even consciously aware of himself - might be hoping for too much. Seifer didn’t trust that his luck would be good enough for things to go that smoothly.

“Seif…” Zell began - not Almasy, the gunblader noted with a small surge of triumph, or even arsehole, one of Zell’s more frequently utilized pet names for him - grasping the front of Seifer’s coat with shaky hands, his head hung low, whether out of shame or embarrassment or simply because he hadn’t the strength to keep it up any longer, Seifer didn’t know. The drunken boy teetered back and forth on his feet, still and quiet for a few long, uncomfortable minutes. Just as Seifer was about to bite the bullet and ask Zell what the fuck he thought he was up to, the younger boy turned and bolted - not out the door, but into the bathroom, wherefrom the dulcet sounds of the instructor losing his lunch could soon be heard. Lovely, Seifer thought to himself, giving a quiet sigh as he slumped back against the wall. At least he thought to do it after and not before he kissed me...

He felt his cheeks flame a bit at recalling the strange series of events that had led up to this moment - the kiss in particular, which, though indisputably unexpected, had not been entirely unwelcome. Seifer came to the conclusion that he had not disliked it, strange as the very notion was, and that he might not object to a repeat performance; Zell’s kiss had certainly stirred something inside him that had lain dormant for too long. Being loathed by the general populace pretty much guaranteed Seifer a solitary existence; sexual encounters of any kind were few and far between, and real relationships practically ancient history. After all, who would lower themselves to the level of a disgraced ex-knight? Seifer had all but given up hope of having a normal, healthy relationship with anyone… not that he was thinking about having one with Zell; but the thought had sprouted in his mind, all the same, that maybe the only way he would ever have something resembling normal would be with someone who hated it as much as he did.

A quiet groan sounded from the other room, and Seifer, stopping for just a moment to collect himself, went to the doorway. Zell was laying on his back on the bathroom floor, eyes shut and breathing slowly, and Seifer thought he was passed out until he realized that Zell was mumbling something under his breath which, upon closer scrutiny, turned out to be more “I fuckin’ hate you, Almasy… hate you…”

“Come on, Dincht,” Seifer said gently, leaning in the doorway. “Get up, get in your bed. I’m not gonna let you pass out on the bathroom floor, for fuck’s sake.” He paused to consider that, while Zell remained impassive on the tile. “Or maybe I should. You sure as shit don’t deserve otherwise.”

“Can’t you take a hint?” Zell finally replied, pulling himself into a sitting position against the tub. Pushing his disheveled hair back from his face, he stared around until his bleary gaze focused on Seifer, and went on, “Get out. I won’ tell you again.”

Seifer didn’t doubt that, seeing as the martial artist seemed to be rapidly losing the ability to convert his thoughts into proper sentences. Ignoring Zell’s belligerent demands, he remained in the doorway, waiting. Zell seemed to have momentarily forgotten about him, slumping down a bit further against the side of the tub and giving a forlorn little sigh. He didn’t look to be going anywhere soon, and Seifer was finding himself at the end of his dangerously-strained patience. Amusing as he was finding this situation, it was getting old fast.

He approached the tub and knelt down next to Zell, hauling the other boy up on his shoulder with a gentleness that belied the grimace of irritation on his face. Zell swayed, steadied himself, and after a short moment, seemed inclined to cooperate with Seifer, who cautiously began to lead him back toward the bed. “Hate bein’ drunk,” He declared at the doorway, throwing his hands up dramatically. Seifer shook his head, trying to withhold a smirk - Zell was unexpectedly humorous when he was sauced, although he was sure the instructor would be none too pleased to hear that from him.

“Why the fuck’d you start drinking, then?”

“Had no choice,” Zell huffed. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

Seifer tried not to show his surprise. Well now, isn’t that interesting, he thought to himself, absentmindedly wondering just what kinds of thoughts Zell might be having about him that he couldn’t get out of his head... and the stream of images that brought to mind was so disturbingly raunchy that he found himself growing hot, and he unceremoniously dumped Zell at the edge of his bed, ignoring the martial artist’s angry exclamation at such treatment, and skittered back a few feet, anxious to put some space between Zell and himself.

“Why are you helping me?” Zell mumbled, flopping onto the mattress with a commendable amount of grace considering how very drunk he still was. Seifer frowned in thought at the question.

“Just trying to return a favor,” he answered.

“When did I ever do you a favor?” With a fair amount of effort, Zell pulled himself into a sitting position, grasping one foot and tugging at his trainer to try and remove it. Seifer watched him attempt this, stifling a snicker as Zell proceeded with the task first with frustration and then anger, before finally realizing that his sneakers needed to be untied before they could be taken off.

“You never were the brightest crayon in the box, were you, Dincht?” Seifer smirked.

“Y’know,” Zell said in response, not with indignation as he usually did to the gunblader’s taunts, but with a creepy, uncharacteristic collectedness as he successfully divested himself of his shoes and threw them to the floor. “I don’t think you hate me as much as you pretend to.”

“Why would you think that?” Seifer asked.

“Dunno.” The martial artist yawned, stretching his arms over his head and looking sleepy, but somewhat more lucid than he had the whole night so far. “Jes’ it seems like you wouldn’t be helpin’ me out if you really hated me. You’d just’ve left me layin’ on the stairs and laughed ‘bout it. So I don’t think you really hate me.”

Seifer was quiet, mulling this over. Zell was far too mentally coherent for someone who had been, just a little while ago, too drunk to even traverse a set of stairs without help. The older boy took a step toward the bed, folding his arms over his chest and smiling disarmingly down at the other. “You might just be on to something there, Dincht.”

“Eh?” Zell didn’t appear to have expected an affirmative answer, and his brow creased in concentration before he realized, with a slight start, what Seifer meant. “S... Seifer. Don’t joke ‘bout summin like that.”

“Who’s joking?”

“Seifer,” Zell repeated his name, standing on wobbly legs and facing his rival down, albeit slightly blearily. “I mean it, don’t fuck wi’ me. I don’t like you.”

“I’m not fucking with you, chicken-wuss,” Seifer said quietly, leaning forward until there was hardly space to breathe between him and Zell. The martial artist looked highly affronted and, the gunblader couldn’t help but think, slightly scared at Seifer’s implication; time to go in for the kill, Seifer grinned. “I don’t hate you. In fact, I like you. What do you have to say about that?”

He really is quite cute when he’s angry, the gunblader thought to himself, just before Zell’s fist gave him all the answer he needed.


If there was one thing Seifer hated more than being woken up too early, it was being woken up too early by the shrill ringing of his telephone. No, check that; it was being woken up too early by the shrill ringing of his telephone with a mammoth of a headache. Just why his head was pounding harder than a T-rexaur trying to crack a raldo’s shell was yet a mystery to him, but trying to think only made the pain worse, so he immediately stopped. Groping blindly about next to him, his hand collided with the leg of his bedside table, and he yanked the phone down off it and snarled his greeting in the form of the most hostile and unfriendly “What the hell do you want?” that he could manage without actual mental exertion.

There was a fairly long pause on the other end of the line. “Pardon me?”

“Leonhart?” Seifer growled. There were few people in the world he wanted to hear from less at that particular moment. “Where the fuck do you get off calling me at this shitty hour?”

Another considerably longer and discernibly trepidatious pause. Then, “Seifer?”

Seifer’s heart stopped. Oh, fuck. He sat bolt upright, ignoring the throbbing inside his skull, and opened his eyes to see that, yes, he was still in Zell’s dorm room, and yes, he had just answered Zell’s phone to a call from their headmaster. His stomach seemed to momentarily vanish as he silently panicked. He had completely forgotten where he was. Well, it could have been worse, he supposed - it could have been Quistis.

Hardly missing a beat, he barked into the phone, “Yeah, who the fuck’d you think it would be?" In response, there was only another lengthy silence, and Seifer hoped against hope that Squall would buy into his gruffness enough to assume that he’d simply dialed a wrong number and not think overmuch about why Seifer was answering when he’d expected Zell. While he was certainly not against the spreading of rumors - for the right purposes, at least - the very last thing he needed just now was anyone else looking into the extent of his relationship with Zell, or suspiciously pointed lack thereof.

“I’m sorry,” Squall said after a moment, his tone flat and not at all indicative that he was, in fact, sorry, “I must have dialed wrong. I apologize.”

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Seifer grumbled, hanging up before the other had a chance to respond to this, and thrusting the phone back into its dock as if it were tainted. He got shakily to his feet, momentarily forgetting about the stabbing headache lingering behind his eyes as he focused on a more immediate, much more precarious problem; this was the second time in recent weeks that he’d woken up on the floor of Zell’s bedroom, although at least this time he was in a comparatively better state than the last time. He remembered having brought Zell back to his room and, with some effort, getting the drunken boy to bed, and the last thing he could recall was Zell decking him - and deservedly so. Well, at least that explained why his head hurt so damn much.

He looked around to find Zell, fast asleep, sprawled over the bed, clutching a pillow over his face; he was bare-chested, prompting Seifer to wonder just when the martial artist had been clearheaded enough to undress himself - and to be thankful that Zell had only gotten halfway done before passing out; he was, at least, still wearing pants. The gunblader was struck by how very small the younger boy looked; Zell had never been large by any means, but considering his strength, he was deceptively slight. Of course, fifty percent of his strength was purely skill - Seifer knew firsthand how little physical bulk accounted for when Zell could usually drop him before he even got close to landing a hit on the other blonde - but he was still a good deal stronger than your average person, hell, even your average SeeD, and his physique just didn’t reflect that. Seifer’s gaze wandered down from the line of Zell’s collarbone over a well-sculpted but not overly-muscled torso, and was lingering on the sight of a slender, defined waist and the tantalizing ridge of hipbone peeking out of the edge of his jeans when the phone shrilled again, jerking him from his daze.

Feeling unnaturally hot and trying to stifle the startlingly lewd images that were popping up in the back of his mind, he strode quickly to the side of the bed, shaking Zell by the shoulder rather more vigorously than was probably called for to wake him, while the phone continued to ring. Presuming it was Squall again - because who else would it be, really? - Seifer was certainly not planning to answer it; Zell, however, was not stirring, swatting idly over his shoulder as the ex-knight continued to try to wake him, and Seifer was quickly losing patience. Snatching the phone up from its holder, he grabbed hold of a corner of the pillow Zell was clinging to with all his might and yanked on it hard enough to send the martial artist flying off the bed, and he thrust the phone into Zell’s hand before hissing at him, “Answer your goddamn phone, dipshit!”

“Uhhhh?” answered Zell, staring blankly at the device in his hand for a moment before bringing it to his ear. “H’lo?”

Resisting the urge to roar, Seifer moved to the other side of the room and began to pace, half-listening to Zell’s side of the conversation. “Err, Squall, g’morning, wassup?” the blonde mumbled absentmindedly as he looked around, as though trying to figure out where he was and what he was doing there. He rubbed his eyes sleepily, still looking quite confused, until he caught sight of Seifer on the opposite side of the room, and he seemed to suddenly become aware of what was going on - he stifled his surprise admirably well, however, in Seifer’s opinion, ruffling his hair and speaking into the phone, “Yeah, sorry, I was sleepin’, don’t worry about it.”

There was a pause. Seifer watched the other boy intently, waiting for any sign that Squall was inquiring about him or that Zell was going to let something slip, but the next thing the instructor said was, “It’s what time?!” and he fumbled for the little alarm clock on his bedside table, peering closely at it - something that Seifer had not, in fact, thought to do, and he could see when Zell replaced the clock on the table with a heavy sigh that it was nearly 11:30; and even Seifer, late sleeper though he was, would normally have been up by now, which made what he’d said to Squall earlier all the more suspicious. “Err, yeah, I had a late night is all. I didn’t realize what time it was...” Zell was saying now, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin that was wasted on Squall, who couldn’t see it.

“Ah... sure, I can be round in a half hour or so, is that okay?” He nodded into the phone at whatever Squall was saying, his expression quickly morphing from abashed to despondent and growing more so with each second. “Sure, sure. Er, your office or your room? Right... see you,” He ended with a very forced chipperness, and a few moments went by before he hung up with a decidedly gloomy sigh and promptly flung the phone across the room, narrowly missing beaning Seifer in the forehead - which, judging by the downright sinister look in his baby blue eyes, was probably his intent. He jumped to his feet, casting away the pillow he’d been inattentively clutching in his free hand, and Seifer was almost expecting him to charge first and ask questions later, he looked so furious; but neither of them moved for a few long minutes.

“Why are you in my room?” was the first thing Zell asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he stared at Seifer. The gunblader smirked.

“What, you don’t remember?” He practically purred, mimicking Zell’s casual coolness from their last drunken encounter - his own. Zell was not amused.

“I’m not in the mood for your fuckin’ head games, Almasy!” he shouted, sweeping his arms dramatically about. “Just answer the damn question!”

“I brought you here last night,” Seifer said flatly as thought it should have been quite obvious, his every word dripping with disdain. “I found you outside. I figured it would be a shame to just leave you there to get discovered by security, seeing as you’re the only person in this prison who will spar with me since Leonhart stopped obliging-”

“I don’t give a fuck about your motives, arsehole,” Zell cut him off mid-sentence, a flash of ambivalence fleetingly crossing his expression, as if he were having doubts - as if he did, in fact, want to know Seifer’s motives - but he quashed it, continuing gruffly, “Just tell me what happened. Quietly, please.”

“I brought you to your room. I got you inside - with absolutely no help on your behalf, I might add,” the elder remarked with just a touch of irritation lacing his voice. “You puked. You shouted at me for a while. I tried to get you to bed, and you slugged me. That’s as far as I can remember.”

Zell nodded absently, making a face that suggested he was trying very determinedly to recall that that was really what had happened. He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Where’s my shirt?”

“I don’t know. Last I remember you were still wearing it.” Seifer shrugged. Zell didn’t look at all assured by this statement, but he didn’t dwell on it. He was silent in thought for another moment or two, and to Seifer’s relief, he didn’t seem to be having any ideas of his own - he looked to be taking the older boy’s word as truth, since he clearly could not remember any of the previous night by himself. The memories of the kiss and Seifer’s taunting confession were lost to the depths of his liquor-drenched mind, and unless the gunblader did anything to jar said memories - and short of kissing Zell or confessing again, both events which he planned to prevent at any cost, Seifer didn’t imagine anything could - with some luck, Zell would never remember just what had gone on while he was drunk that night.

“Are you sure that’s all that happened?” Zell asked once more.

“Who do you think you’re talking to here, Dincht?” Seifer growled. “And by the way, I totally resent the implication.”

“Shut up,” Zell interrupted, waving at the ex-knight in a very vague manner and moving to sit heavily on the edge of the bed, clutching his head in both hands. He sighed. “Uhhh. I feel so shitty. I never drink. I hate drinking.”

Seifer loitered by the door, stuffing his hands down into his pockets and feeling slightly awkward - he wasn’t sure if Zell was talking to himself, but regardless, he ventured to ask, “Then why did you?”

Zell shot him a chilling glare, ruffling his hair over his face the next moment, presumably to hide the blush that was spreading like a stain over his cheeks, to Seifer’s slight surprise - he recalled that the martial artist had said something to the effect that he was having thoughts about Seifer the previous night when the elder had posed the same question, and Zell’s reaction to it now only solidified Seifer’s suspicions that said thoughts were not at all innocent. He tried to hide a smirk as the younger boy snapped back at him, “None of your damn business, that’s why!”

“Hm,” was all Seifer said in response.

Both were quiet for a few minutes, aside from the occasional pained grunt on Zell’s part as he massaged his forehead with trembling hands. Then, quite suddenly, he jumped up from the bed, jabbing an accusatory finger in Seifer’s direction, although he avoided meeting the other’s eyes as he snarled, “You! Don’t go anywhere! I’m jumping in the shower, but you had fucking well better be here when I get out; I’m not finished with you!”

“Ooh, is that a promise?” Seifer hummed, and was rewarded with the vision of Zell turning scarlet in fury before he fled into the other room and slammed the door shut with enough force to jolt the books on the shelves. The gunblader smirked to himself; teasing Zell just never got old - although he found that he was enjoying it far more now that he could fully appreciate just how fetching his rival grew when he was in a seething rage; that rich, deep shade of red he attained when Seifer hit a particularly sensitive nerve became him rather well, the elder thought. And if Zell knew what kinds of diabolical intentions were lurking beneath Seifer’s witty taunts and retorts, rage would be the least of it; hell, he would probably sooner tear Seifer limb from limb with his bare hands than let the other man near him if he knew what wicked schemes were being devised behind green eyes.

He continued to grin smugly to himself while from behind the closed door the sounds of running water and Zell clattering about in the cabinets could be heard. Things appeared to be looking up... and in more ways that one...


“...It’s fairly straightforward, as you can see; at least as far as your objective goes,” Squall concluded, handing the folder he’d been leafing through for the past five minutes over the desk to Zell, who put his all into appearing enthusiastic as he received it. “The hard part is going to be finding someone for you to partner up with, but I’ve got Xu working on it. Frankly, we’re short of good SeeDs right now, and this mission requires a certain skill set...”

“Uh-huh,” Zell nodded and hummed his way through the conversation, paying only minimal attention as he browsed the files that detailed the mission he was going to be taking, and doing a good job of pretending to follow Squall when his mind was actually quite otherwise occupied. The mission was about as uncomplicated as they came - simple bodyguard work - and just as soon as Zell had grasped that concept, he proceeded to fade out of the conversation, content to allow Squall to talk on while he himself lingered over a few thoughts that had been stuck firmly in the back of his mind since earlier that morning... thoughts that all had to do with a certain gunblade-wielding hunk and his unnerving continual presence in Zell’s head.

He gritted his teeth, irritated just remembering their earlier encounter - he hadn’t been entirely surprised to find Seifer gone when he finally emerged, overcautious and somewhat leery, from his shower; of course, he shouldn’t have expected Seifer to listen to him, but it grated nonetheless. What was more aggravating, though, was trying to suss out Seifer’s motives, mostly because he simply couldn’t - nothing Seifer had related to him about the previous night had sounded fishy, which in itself was fishy.

He could vaguely remember meeting the gunblader on the outside steps to Garden and bits and pieces of his memory connected the rest; Seifer had helped him inside, brought him to his dorm (although how they got in the room Zell thought he’d like to know; he didn’t recall having told the other boy his keycode,) and they had been fighting about something; after that his memory was a void. It seemed odd to him that Seifer would do anything to help him without trying to take advantage of his drunken and therefore highly susceptible state in the process... but then, Zell suddenly realized, even if nothing suspicious had happened, it was also extremely suspect of Seifer to admit so; it was certainly not below the ex-knight to pretend that he’d done something just to get a rise out of Zell. No matter which way he thought about it, the entire confrontation was strange, and Seifer’s disappearing before Zell even got a chance to interrogate him more thoroughly only made his involvement that much shadier.

“Will you be ready to go by then?” Squall asked, cutting into his thoughts.

“Oh, sure,” Zell replied automatically, noting with a glance down at the mission file that his departure date would be in eight days, which gave him plenty enough time to finish up any outstanding professorial duties or find coverage for his classes during his absence - not that he needed to do either, since he didn’t teach any courses over the summer. In his opinion, eight days wasn’t soon enough; he was finding himself eager to get away from Garden and everything - or everyone - therein for a while; it would practically be a vacation. Hell, after being dogged and tormented by Seifer on a daily basis for near on a month now, getting to trail around after some political celebrity in Deling City for a few weeks would be a vacation.

“Good. I’ll let General Caraway know,” the brunette replied, startling Zell out of his reverie again. He blinked, trying not to show surprise, and glanced down once more at the papers in his hand.

“As in Rinoa’s old man...?” He murmured, the question not particularly directed at Squall, but caught nevertheless. Of course, if he’d been paying attention at all to what Squall had been telling him, he would have known that the young heiress he had been assigned to keep an eye on was the General’s new wife; Oh well, I know now, he thought to himself. Squall shot him probing look.

“He specifically requested our best,” the commander said somewhat frostily. “I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve found your teammate - unless you can suggest anyone?”

Zell shook his head, coming up blank, and Squall shrugged as if he had expected such an answer. The headmaster went back to his paperwork then, and Zell, recognizing this as the gesture of dismissal that it was, exited the office with the file in hand, making his way leisurely toward the elevator; he was still, after all, not feeling his best, and rightly so considering the state he’d woken up in earlier in the morning. Thinking about that, however, led him to thinking about other things that had happened that morning, things which he was quite determined to put far from mind - at least until he was well away from Garden and certain inquisitive colleagues who liked to nose into his business.

He sighed, giving a little smile as the elevator arrived and he stepped on, jabbing the 1F button with his thumb. Just think, a whole month away from Garden, away from students, away from work, and most importantly, away from Seifer! This mission couldn’t begin soon enough...