Hi, it's me again! ^^ It's been a while since my last fic here and so I just thought I could post my FF9 story here because I found someone complaining about far too few Blank/Zidane fanfics here. (To what I absolutely agree. ^^)

It isn't very good anyway, just something I wrote when I was bored. Bad English, bad writing style, bad story. 's all fitting, isn't it… ^^  Oh, Well!

Warning: Shonen Ai (slight spoiler?)

Disclaimer: Not mine. Was never, will never be, and noone would ever think that anyway, so it is pretty useless to mention it. ^^

Four Little Words

By Kia

It's cold. That happens from time to time, especially so high above the earth but it is hardly ever that cold. I normally don't care about low temperature but the cold wind that comes in through the open window makes me snuggle even deeper into my coat I usually don't even bother wearing.

Zidane doesn't seem to mind. He is sitting there, on the windowsill, with the icy wind playing with his hair and his far too thin clothes. He doesn't seem to notice. Doesn't seem to notice that his hands are already turned blue from the cold.

He hasn't moved since I came here and probably not for a long time before. He just sits there, staring at the darkening sky out there while seeing nothing at all, totally shut out from the world even though he must have heard it when I entered.

I know what he's thinking about.

I know who he's thinking about.

And I don't like it a bit.

Zidane has never been someone who let himself be pulled down by something, at least not openly. That he is so obviously grieving now, open for all the world to see and not giving a second thought about it only shows how much his brothers death had hurt him.

How much he had loved him…

It's still a mystery to me how he could possibly have loved someone like that. Some cold hearted, arrogant bastard who more than once tried to kill him. Not to mention the fact that they are brothers which I don't give a damn about. As far as I care he could have been an alien living on the moon, it wouldn't make any difference. If someone hurts my Zidane I can't stand him, no matter who he might be. And if my Zidane loves someone I also can't stand him.

Selfish? Of course. But who realistically isn't? Who the fuck would be happy if the person they love most in the world is in love with someone else?

Especially when that certain someone is in fact some kind of psychopathic murderer.

I can only hope that there was at least a little feeling aside from hatred for Zidane in that heart of ice. But, however, even if there was, he doesn't deserve this. Doesn't deserve Zidanes love. Doesn't deserve his grieve, the tears I'm sure he had shed for him when nobody was looking.

At least he did ask for his brothers forgiveness. And he got it. Even though I don't always understand it, in Zidane's eyes everyone deserves a second chance. A chance Kuja hasn't really got because he died. That's what I think he deserved.

I'm too hard? Who cares? I look at my friend and I just want to cry for what I see and that's all Kuja's fault so who can possibly blame me for not liking him?

God, it's freezing. The air is so cold it hurts my lungs and every breath forms a little cloud in front of my face as if wanting to become one with the mist. It is beyond my imagination why anyone would want to leave open a window by such a temperature. But Zidane just sits there on the windowsill and only the occasional movement of his tail shows that he is still alive.

His legs are hanging outside with nothing but some fivehundred meters of air beneath them, making me fear that by any second he might fall down. Or jump.

And even though I don't really think he would do something like that I can't help but to walk up to him and warp my arms around his slender body that feels so cold under my touch, colder even than the air around us. As cold as Kuja's heart maybe, but then I don't think that's ever possible.

Not even in death.

Death.

I try to push that word out of my mind.

I try not to look out of the window.

I try not to show how worried I am about him jumping down there.

I try to make myself belief that he would never do that.

In the end I fail.

He is surprised, hadn't thought I would actually touch him, I can tell from his reaction, even though his only reaction is him getting stiff for less than a heartbeat before relaxing again.

For a few seconds neither of us moves while I am standing there in the cold wind and all I can feel is his body pressed against mine. Then he turns his head to look at me and that smile is on his face again as if it had never dissapered. There isn't a single hint of sadness written on his face if one didn't look into his eyes too deeply.

Put the mask down, Zidane. I know you better than that.

"What's the matter, Blank?" he asks. "Got lonely without me?"

It is a joke but it isn't too far from the truth. Of course he doesn't know that. He is confused by my arms around him, I can feel it, but they aren't going to leave there until he is in here again and the window is closed.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to fall out here or something like that." he says in a light tone as if he read my mind. I know he wouldn't fall. Falling isn't exactly what I'm worried about.

"I know."

"So, what do you want?" He wants to be alone, I know it even though he's good at not showing it. He wants me to leave. I'm not going to. Not without him.

What do I want? I'd have a thousand answers for that but no words to voice them. What do I want?

What could I possibly say to him? I could say that I want him to leave that window. That I want him to stop hiding his feelings. That I want him to stop being sad. To stop thinking of Kuja.

That I want him to love me.

In the end I say nothing.

I don't think I'll ever be able to answer this question. Four little words. 'What do you want?'

So simple. So pathetic. So impossible.

I don't think he'll ever be able to believe me.

But he doesn't resist as I carefully pull him back in, as I warp my coat around him and close the window. He's still smaller than me. Little boy.

He suddenly shudders and snuggles against me, trembling violently as if he only now, pressed against my warm body, notices how cold it had been. His skin feels like ice.

I suddenly realise that I'm hoping he would start to cry. Even if it was for Kuja. So he won't have to do it alone.

But I know he isn't going to. Not now, when I'm here for him. So I'm pretty sure the single tear that left his eye when I hugged him was caused by the wind.

I'm not going to ask him.

"Let's go to some place where the air hasn't turned to ice." I suggest instead and Zidane only nods and doesn't leave my side as I lead him away from the window and out of the air that filled the room, too cold for anyone to bear.

-owari-

05.21.2002

Well, I guess it isn't too hard to see that I have yet to see the end of the game and am not too well informed about it. But I think that isn't too important for this story anyway. (I know this fic isn't good, but I kinda like it for some unknown reason. I want to do another. *sniffles*)

By the way, I don't have anything against Kuja. In fact, I like him al lot.^^