A HIDDEN BEAUTY 5/30/2008

The sun was bright in his eyes as he made his way through the small square in the main section of Winhill. Here, the air was clean and pure, virtually untainted by pollutants, and the sunrise, in all its riotous glory, cast all around him in a cool golden light. A slight wind picked up; he felt goosebumps roil up on the surface of his forearms and thighs. Dressed in a loose white shirt and long grey shorts of a similar fit, he sensed each and every chilly finger the inquisitive breeze hooked into his collar and used to play with his loose, ungelled bangs. The sound of the playful wind played counterpoint to the soft, airy squeaking of his cheap vacation sneakers.

Strolling casually down the dirt path, Zell turned his head, blinking away stray flaxen strands that danced too close to his clear blue eyes. He emitted a soft noise. There he is, came the thought. The martial artist made a cursory scan about him, and, finding things suitably quiet, stepped off the path into moist, dewy grass that whispered under his shoes.

After taking a few steps he grinned inwardly.

What the hell, he thought, and sprinted forward, the chill morning air making his teeth ache.

Unfortunately, his target, the broad-shouldered silhouette of a powerful young man, moved aside more from surprise than reflexes, leaving Zell, already in midair, to land rather artlessly in a particularly wet patch of grass further on.

Seifer had woken about fifteen minutes earlier, and had taken the chance to wander. He'd never made a point to visit this place, though he'd heard stories of it during his last training years at Garden. Now he realized there was beauty in the world too complex for superficial chatter, and much too deserving of its secrecy.

Six months ago, Seifer attained SeeD status, graduating at the top of his class with honors, the product of a lifetime of trial and error. Two weeks ago, he asked oh-so-graciously for a few days' vacation time, and was allowed it without question. A day after that, he asked Zell to come with him, offering to pay for all expenses in spite of the fact that the younger man had several ranks on him and an ample salary.

A minute later, Zell had replied with a "yes" (though he didn't allow Seifer to pay his way; there was no way in hell he'd make himself financially indebted to the swordsman).

Seifer made his sauntering way over to the now-soaking Zell Dincht and regarded him with a questioning green gaze. He smiled at the sarcastic glare directed back at him, at the pieces of yellow-blonde hair now plastered to Zell's forehead of sticking out in a rather amusing manner, and at the well-sculpted body he could all but imagine underneath the loose attire.

It had taken four months out of the six to capture the heart of the wild SeeD, and another before they treated each other's quarters as extensions of a shared space. Seifer had gotten used to the general disorderliness Zell left in his wake everywhere he went. It was the harmony to his own slightly careless way he dumped things on various surfaces – a habit blown out of proportion when the both of them 'came home' to either room otherwise preoccupied. Still, you had to laugh when you found another's sock or boxers atop your head when you woke the next morning.

The both of them had left their room at the inn in a similar state of disorder.

Pushing such thoughts aside for the moment, Seifer drawled, "I thought we established that coffee wasn't somethin' for you to drink."

Zell's mouth twisted as he stubbornly retained his glare. "Shut up, Almasy-" he got to his feet, shivering "- maybe coming with you wasn't such a bright idea."

Seifer closed the few feet between them and drew the smaller man closer, effectively soaking his entire right side. "Don't tell me that dressing like that in this weather is one of your brighter ideas, Chicken."

"Meh." Zell regarded Seifer's clothes perfunctorily. He'd intelligently chosen dark, thick pants, army boots, and the bastard had even worn a coat.

Oh, man. One more thing he was good at; dressing himself properly.

The wind picked up again, and Zell protested noisily, burying his face in the waterproof cloth of Seifer's coat. Both of them stood for a moment in silence.

It had taken six months and an hour for each to realize that a freezing matrial artist and a well-clothed swordsman made for a wonderful morning.

And, as an after thought: maybe they could deal with doing this for the rest of their lives.

FLUX 6/20/2008

Maybe it's just me.

Maybe- maybe it's just me, but lately things in general have begun to fall apart at the seams, like someone's found the cosmic loose thread and tugged, hard enough to cause the fabric of good intentions and fortune to unravel slowly.

Or maybe I'm just being bitchy. I do that a lot these days. It's no help at all that after those few months of celebration and recognition, no one knows the names of the individuals who ended the Time Compression and saved the world. Political problems have settled back into their places. Esthar has enacted new laws pertaining to Sorcery; at the latest summit, Trabia protested; the Gardens are all rotting, not noticeably from the outside, but the putrid core is clearly visible from within.

Maybe it's just me, but I think this world doesn't need a fresh batch of mercenaries turned out on the streets...

"... what are you doing?"

Zell jumped nearly five feet into the air, protesting with a barely restrained 'Agh!' On the library desk in front of him lay an open tablet. Its pages still looked crisp.

Seifer would have snatched the tablet away in an instant, but watching his younger companion - was that what he would call him? It sounded so strange... - proved much more entertaining than whatever he'd been scrawling on the page.

"... nothing."

... and it doesn't help that that bastard of a boyfriend lover companion SEIFER insists on derailing my train of thought.

Seifer handed the journal back to Zell, who lay prone on the bed, tickled halfway to Hell. Somehow the smaller man couldn't manage to glare with his shining, mirth-saturated eyes. "Happy now, you prick?" he asked, no spite behind the words.

"Very contemplative. Never thought that something like that could come out of a head like this," Seifer replied, making it very obvious which head he was referring to with an affectionate pat. His face changed a bit as his eyes took on a more serious sheen. "The Gardens are changing, Zell. Slowly, but surely."

"It's not fast enough."

"... look, Dincht, I might not be a SeeD, but I know Balamb Garden, our Garden, has changed dramatically since-"

Zell sat up, smoothing the suddenly tense planes of his boyfriendlovercompanion's face with a gentle, bare hand. He didn't finish the sentence aloud, didn't really want to.

Though, I have to admit, he is right. The Garden is changing... though the seeds blooming are still the same strain of #(&#&--

Gah, I don't even know anymore.

I have to be here for Seifer's sake. He may act sane, and is, but without a constant watch, there's no telling where his dreams or where the remnants of Ultimecia could take his mind.

... and if I want change, might as well be the first to change.

Seifer didn't ask why Zell had come over unannounced, carrying two duffels and a dazed air on his face. He simply let him in and allowed him to settle before sitting on the couch next to the martial artist.

A few moments passed.

"I- I resigned." He wasn't sure if Seifer heard him, the words were so quiet.

Seifer did. It took a few more moments for him to register the full force of Zell's statement. "I see," he replied, equally quiet. To most people, resigning from a decorated post as a Garden Commander of the Fleet after only a year of service was beyond their comprehension. He understood perfectly. "Do you want something to eat?

"... a hot dog," Zell said absently.

Sometimes Seifer's attitude pisses me off. But right now, I can't afford to get hung up on the traits I managed to come to terms withalmost a year ago.

Seifer snorted. "Some things never change."

God help me when I start to speak in cliches.

And he leaned over to cover Zell's mouth with his own, reaching into a formerly intangible tapestry and reweaving its threads with the utmost care.

Some things never change...

A LIVING METAPHOR 6/27/2008

Seifer took a moment to gaze out at the sea, pondering its immensities and wondering at what he had yet to see. He'd been nearly all around the world by now, traveling intermittently alone and accompanied to the remoter areas of the globe, and was now here, on Centra, visiting Matron Kramer's resurrected orphanage. He could hear the laughter of children mingling with the sound of the ocean; smell the tang of salt and life intertwined with the comforting odors of the afternoon meal.

If he could have remembered the orphanage of his childhood, this is what his memory surely would show him. As he passed through the entrance, Seifer had to veer immediately left to avoid careening kids engrossed in a game. They barely took notice of him. This was good: he'd intentionally worn unimposing casual clothes in lieu of his trenchcoat and steel-toed boots.

Zell, however, just missed getting his shins broken. He laughed good-naturedly as he danced out of the children's way and grinned at Seifer, who smiled back amusedly.

"Kids these days," the younger man mused as he made his way up the steps.

The rest of the trip into the depths of the orphanage was uneventful. Once or twice a child stopped to stare at Seifer's height, or Zell's tattoo, but none of them seemed afraid of either SeeD. It was as if they sensed the subtle bond that drew both young men to this place.

"Matron! Matron!" A little girl ran out into the back, towards the garden, calling her guardian.

"Yes, child?"

"Two men are here! Tall ones!"

"Is that so...?"

"One has this wicked-awesome tattoo on his face!" A scruffy young boy around the age of four with dirt all over tugged at Matron's darkly-colored dress. His brown eyes shone fascinatedly, and he squealed as the men in question approached Edea Kramer.

Almost simultaneously, three adult faces softened in knowing smiles, a gradient of solemnity.

In spite of the composure Zell had managed to grow into over the years, he fidgeted in an obvious attempt to keep from embracing his first real mother. The kids that had amassed around the trio giggled and hid behind each other, smiling up into the brilliant profiles of the adults.

Seifer was the first to speak. "The garden looks beautiful, Matron. The orphanage does, too. Garden's funds certainly helped patch this place up," he chuckled, severely understating the orphanage's current state. Completely rebuilt on the original planning, the warm grey bluestones used to construct the new walls radiated a sense of rebirth. They fit... they fit so perfectly. And the garden... the garden was flourishing, though it was obvious where little feet had trampled the grass while playing games. Everywhere, flowers grew. Lilies, roses, irises, and anything Matron could nurture out of the poor Centra soil poured forth from the earth in profuse riots of color and subtlety. It would make a million hearts ache.

The trio carried on a conversation for a little while, then agreed that it would be best to let Matron alone as she put the children down for their afternoon nap. When the last child asked if his tattoo was real, Zell turned to Seifer and nodded, and they made their way into the garden, drinking in its beauty. It wasn't until they spotted a pair of blooms nestled in a small enclave that the pair stopped.

"Hey, I think I remember these..."

Seifer raised an eyebrow. "What, these? What do you remember?"

The younger man squat down thoughtfully. "Well, I think these were the flowers Edea gave us to plant - you know, to help us get along?"

Seifer shook his head, almost regretfully, and came down to Zell's height, resting an arm across the other's slighter shoulders. "Not really."

"Huh. Well, what I think happened was that we'd just gotten into one of our little spats. As always, it was your fault." Zell squeaked as the other pinched his ear. "It was! It usually was, anyway. But... Matron gave us two seeds and told us to go pick a place to plant them in and care for them together to help us get along. And..." He trailed off.

"... were they supposed to be the same plant?"

In the small planter, the two flowers had grown up almost symbiotically. One, large and stocky with maroon leaves and stalks towered over a shorter one. The taller's bloom was white, profusely petaled, and tipped in red; its head reached plaintively for the sun so easily obtained by the second, whose head nestled neatly under the first's, a lush green plant with blue petals widely spread to reveal a buttery-yellow center. Their stems had twined so intimately that to try and extricate one or the other would result in death.

Zell stared at the living metaphor, and then at the soil in the planter. The side the taller had been planted in was rocky, and obviously acidic from the minerals that had leached out over years and years of ocean squalls. Softer, more earthy material made up the soil from which the blue and yellow bloom drew its strength.

He planned to answer, but his line of thought completely unraveled as Seifer's insistent lips caressed his neck.

"God, you just can't get enough, can you?"

"Never," Seifer answered, smirk all-but-figurative in his voice, and drew the other young man closer before-

- the giggles of children startled the both of them. A few murmurs of 'kissing' emanated out from behind them. When the pair looked over their joined shoulders, Zell nestled in Seifer's arms, the group of kids scattered with shrieks and more giggles, and the sea behind them crashed audibly.

The pair only smiled and laughed, one head tucking in under another's as the orphanage awoke from slumber.

A/N: And so ends the "Sweetness" chapter of Five Flavors! I'm still trying to decide between doing the "Acerbic" or "Salty" chapter next... ah, well. Time will tell.

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