It was over. He could feel it in the silence when he closed the door behind him, turned in the dark to find a rack full of clean dishes, and that old crumpled uniform gone from his floor. He had torn it from the boy's shoulder's and legs only four nights before, reminded him to pick it up every time they passed after that, sliding by each other in the kitchen, brushing by each other in the halls. Angeal wondered if they were ever as obvious as he felt they were, because he felt wide open, like Fair had knocked out his ribs and muscle with his quick mischievous hands, exposed his heart for everyone to see. He didn't like it, but couldn't ever help the reactions he had to things those hands would do.

Currently, those hands were polishing up a sword near an open window. The greasy, caustic smell was even in his hair when Angeal bent to kiss a temple, tried to ignore the look in his eye, the tensing of his shoulders. He wasn't ever going to admit to knowing it, partly because Zack would deny it, partly because the thought of it alarmed and angered him but the red around the boy's eyes said enough. Too much even.

He wondered if it was perverse of him to notice by contrast, the brilliance of his eyes. Angeal made to give him some space, but Zack did stop him there, reached a hand forward to tangle in his hair. Angeal wondered if he noticed how much grey there was in there now, felt strangely self-conscious.

It was all there in the tilt of his head, the way he wouldn't even look at him. Zack moved his fingers soft against his scalp, looked as if he might say something. Silence was a horrifying fit on him, strange.

Zack was leaving him, before he could do it first.

And it was coming, he'd known about Genesis, even though Angeal had tried to hide it. He pretended that a friend leaving was something he could simply get over, a friend dying one of those terrible facts of life. But then Zack was lying in his arms, the only one of the two of them who wasn't fooled, saying,

You loved him didn't you? But it wasn't really a question.

It wasn't even that he loved him. People love people and lose then all the time. There can always be others. The thing was-

There couldn't be others. There was no way he could explain it to Zack, that Genesis wasn't something he'd ever be able to let go of, that in the man's love and damage, he'd monopolized every bit of him that was man, and every part still boy lying in an orchard somewhere in a Banora.

There was a box of Zack's things by the couch.

Zack stood up and slid his sword into the sheathe on his back. His hand was still in his hair, and he looked like he wanted to say goodbye, but just couldn't get the words out.

Angeal knew he didn't deserve it, but he stole a rough, clumsy kiss.

And he wasn't pushed away. He would've understood too, if that was what Zack did.

But Zack didn't, he actually kissed him back. It felt like they were strangers, and it felt like no one would ever know them in quite the same way again.

It was more than he could've hoped for, but they took their time. Clothes were shed in long seconds, limbs tangled damp against each other, but it wasn't the same. It occurred to Angeal that Zack wasn't his anymore. It occurred to him that Zack's eyes were filled with evening, but no laughter, despite the real craving in his cries.

And when he told the boy that he loved him-a terrible thing for him to do, Zack did cry in front of him then, started saying over and over, I'm sorry Ang, I'm sorry and Angeal couldn't finish, he could barely keep from breaking down himself.

In the silence, they both got dressed. The air was stale and when they were both dressed, Zack picked up his box, and headed by himself to the door.

Angeal stared for a while after him, thought to find comfort in his dreams, and honor. But all of his dreams were nightmares now, and honor in love had brought him nothing but shame.