For Toothpaste Addict (or GunbladeMassacre, as he is known in deviantArt), and inspired by his art piece known better as Memory. - CLC.

I'm rating this puppy for two things: one of them is swearing. The other is a series of the most detailed sex scenes I've yet to do for any fan fiction in FFNet that I can't bring myself to keep within a T rating.

And now you know what I nearly, so very nearly, did to Chapter 12 of Gunmetal... eheh.

Thanks for stopping by.

It was Squall who initiated it, the moment they entered their shared dorm.

As Cloud shut the door and stepped into the darkness of the unlit room, his fingers felt the cool surface of the table. Then he felt a warm arm sliding around his chest, gently running down the line of his abs before drifting down through that small space between jeans and shirt. A hot gust of air tumbled clumsily down the crook of his neck. Fingers brushed against skin, suggesting all that would come, and then lifted back out and around.

His hand caught those fingers just as it reached for his belt, and he said the same two words he said every time they did this:

"No marks."

A second gust of air on his neck as Squall laughed quietly, then Cloud felt his lips press gently on that spot – not truly a kiss, nor was it the more possessive bite that he did not want. It was a silent promise to do as the other asked, and only then were the brunet's fingers released to resume their task.

Squall was the one who had started it, but Cloud was the one who made all the rules.

Still wrapped around the other, Squall's nimble fingers undid the buckle and allowed the belt to slide loose, dangling and jingling in time with his own belts to create an odd tune. But the hand drifted back up, snaking under the shirt to feel its way up the chest. Soft whispers blew gentle puffs warm air into Cloud's ear, as tender murmurs spoke of all that they would do that night, only interrupted by equally soft protests at anything that could not be handled properly.

And throughout, neither man said anything about love.

It was just another of Cloud's many rules.

Neither lost their shirts, in the case that either lost control of the situation, but Cloud eventually relented to allow a hand to push down against his belt. Denim scratched against bare skin as his jeans slid slowly downward, but then they stopped as well, revealing little else save his boxers. He knocked aside the other's inquisitive reach, and made the confirmation himself. With a hiss, he found the surprisingly hard bump pushing outward from between his legs. At his back, he could feel the other's arousal as well, just not as obvious with his pants untouched.

Without changing their positions, Cloud reached backwards, and Squall arched ever so slightly to allow the blond his administrations to one belt, then another, then another. With a loud chiming, the pair that crossed slid from their places and fell to the ground, forgotten. With almost urgent force, Cloud's hands blindly grabbed at the sole remaining belt and tugged at it. Squall's pants came down with an almost painful jerk, and Squall allowed a moan to escape his lips, implying anything from a complaint to a scolding for the rough treatment.

They never used the bed, doing everything standing up. Instead, Cloud backed them up until Squall was pressed against the cool surface of their refrigerator. He pinned the other there, capturing him just as he himself was captive to the gentler embrace. Hands latched onto the hips behind him, the blond braced against them as he uttered allowance for the brunet to continue. With a soft hum of agreement, the hand that was still under his shirt continued its exploration.

A genuine kiss was on his neck, followed by another, and then another, and in between them was a repeated murmur of assurance. No marks, no pain, no forcing – everything would be as Cloud wanted. It was just a step up from outright begging, and there was once a time when both wondered if Squall would have gone that far to get this.

Then any thoughts unrelated to the current time evaporated as a careful finger found a favored hot spot. Dexterous digits seized it in a deceitfully gentle manner, and slowly rubbed up and down, applying just a little more pressure each time. Arching his neck, Cloud leaned heavily against Squall's shoulder as he suppressed a groan from the activity. The hand at his belt left its place, instead threading through his hair, stroking his scalp to spark off more sensations of pleasure that left him light-headed in their passing.

"Trust me," Squall was whispering with each blissful stroke. "Trust me."

Cloud did not answer, but the hands that dug painfully into Squall's hips were trembling.

It's always a joy to watch Squall dive. It's especially so during trials for the annual freestyle relay.

From where he sits, Cloud can see the brunet among the lineup of competitors. Each young man is grunting, strutting, swinging wildly, stretching, even splashing at the water's surface… basically, anything to ease the tension from their bodies before the actual swim. And Squall alone stands out among them, for he does nothing. He only stands there, his arms lax at his sides, and his head tilted up as he inhales deeply.

Squall is one who acknowledges that he has done all that he possibly can prior to this moment, and all that's left is for him to take the next step forward into the uncertain future, trusting in fate to do the rest.

That, Cloud decides, is what he likes so much about him.

Soon enough, the swimmers take their positions, and as they arch forward – fingers near touching toes - the blond takes amusement in how the whole row appears to be mooning the audience directly behind them. The first whistle blows; some tense up at once, some relax further, some ease into a better position. Then there is the second whistle, and the swimmers seem to slide right into the water. It is at that very moment that the true and the false are separated.

Amidst the loud shouts and whoops all around him, Cloud has eyes only for the brunet, watching him and how he does. He is not disappointed. Instead, he is so proud that his heart swells to the point of bursting. Squall glides through the water as though he were a part of it, his body surfacing and submerging over and over. To "swim like a dolphin" is a romantic delusion to them both, but in the eyes of the blond, the brunet is not the dolphin, but the mighty wave itself that hurtles forward, uninterrupted, gathering power and speed with every second before its crash into the banks.

But Squall does not crash into the other end of the pool. He makes the necessary contact with the tile, turns in the water and kicks off again without a break in momentum. Cloud does not cheer with the rest of the supporters, but there on his face is a traitorous grin. Not two seconds after he realizes what he is doing, he is assaulted by a pair of scrawny arms and a high voice.

Repressing a weary sigh, Cloud submits himself yet again to the unrestrained manhandling of their classmate Yuffie, taking satisfaction in the knowledge that she would undoubtedly come away with nothing to reward the unnecessary roughness. While others had teased, the girl was the only one with any suspicions – or perhaps hopes – that Cloud and Squall were sleeping together. Yet, without a single trace of evidence to back up the claim, she could speculate all she wanted and it would remain just that: speculation.

"Yuffie," he grumbles aloud for the umpteenth time, "is it that impossible to accept the horrible truth that Leonhart and I are just friends?"

"Listen to yourself talk, Cloud!" she cries, at last releasing him from a rather painful position. "You can't just be friends! You're the best center forward for water polo, and he's a star swimmer. Your teams hate each other!"

"So, by some weird association, we're supposed to hate each other as well, and any means of friendship is impossible unless we're down each other's pants?" he replies, sarcasm oozing in his tone.

"Yes!" she all but screams into his ear. "Don't you understand? It's romantic!"

"Are you hanging out with Almasy again?"

"Oh, shut up, you. He doesn't own the damn word."

At that moment, Squall rises from the pool, a towel dropped on his head and a smirk emerging on his face. He makes a beeline for the pair, and as he reaches Cloud his hand extends almost at once. Cloud smirks as well and takes hold. They squeeze gently before the near scandalous act is quickly disguised as a "secret" handshake, both doing some unnecessary movements of changing grips and snapping fingers. As far as anyone is concerned, it was some fool thing that only guys do with their buddies.

Yuffie, however, remains unconvinced, and her unnerving smile widens when Squall plops himself to settle comfortably against Cloud's shoulder with a deep sigh of contentment.

"You're getting me wet, asshole," Cloud reprimands at once, but he otherwise makes no move to shake the soggy head off him. In response, Squall breathes a soft sigh and relaxes further.

"I'm tired," he protests lightly, earning a snort of disbelief from the one he leans on.

With a long-suffering sigh of her own, Yuffie plops down as well, facing them like a tired mother before her wayward sons. "You two just have no idea how adorable you look together, do you?"

"Must you encourage yourself, if no one else?" Cloud retorts, rolling his eyes.

"Puh-lease! It's not like either of you can't see the death glares and universal hand gestures your captains are exchanging at the moment, and here you are snuggling against one another. You're like a real life Romeo and Juliet." She pauses for a blissful hum. "It's so beautiful…"

Squall shifts and turns his head against its resting place. "… Strife, which one of us is supposed to be Juliet?"

"If she answers that, I'll dunk her," Cloud promises calmly. And thankfully, the girl holds her peace until the swim trials come to a close.

It was still too early. Squall understood that, and did not touch the member that seemed to become more and more obvious with each second that ticked by. Instead, his hands kept themselves busy, one still stroking Cloud's hair in pampering comfort while the other continued exploring and teasing supple skin. He pinched lightly, careful to not bruise the delicate skin entrusted to his whims, and once the awaited noise escaped gritted teeth he moved on.

He was still whispering promises and reassurances, the tip of his nose pressed against Cloud's temple and his breath sliding down the side of his face. Under him, the blond was still trembling, but there was less apprehension with each achingly slow moment to pass. It was a torture to wait, but it was a torture that Squall had long since resigned to. Cloud mattered too much, and if it meant abiding by these frustrating rules, so be it.

At a whispered allowance, the brunet was finally granted access to what he desired. Kissing blond hair in unspoken thanks, his hand slowly traced its way out from under the shirt and gingerly settled over the waistband. His movements were not rushed, each second another chance for the other to back out if he so wished. When no protest was made, he started to pull downward, fabric brushing against the stiff erection eliciting another muffled cry.

Trust me, he all but pleaded against heated skin. And for a while, he did not move, only listening to the harsh breathing, only feeling the ache of fingers pressing so hard into his hip bones. Apart from that, nothing was said in reply – an unspoken consent.

Only then did Squall reach out again, and laid his hands on the coveted prize. It scalded his fingers to touch it, more from his own emotions than actual physical sensation, but he could hear the whimper of pleasure that came with his grip over the pulsating organ. A thumb brushed over the sensitive head in a teasing manner as fingers circled for proper pressure… Then his hand slid downward, then back upward, then downward again…

Slowly, gently, he was pumping, trusting his ears where his eyes could not see at the angle he was in. He winced at the tightened grip that threatened to dislocate something important, but he did not stop as he instead uttered soothing words to the other, their content no longer important to someone who was going through level after level of physical bliss.

He was not prepared for the sudden release that spilled over his hand – and no doubt pooling on the marble floor – but he did not stop. He kept going, kept listening to the gasps and the nonsensical noises associated with pleasure. When, at long last, there was nothing else to give, he tentatively started to pry his fingers away, one by one, as he reluctantly released his prize.

It was a little surprising that the other was not only still able to stand, but Squall was not expecting him to push off from his perch that quickly either. Before he could comment, Cloud had turned around, still leaning heavily against a shoulder for support, and through his erratic breaths, he managed to sound smug as he spoke again:

"… My turn…"

Humming in agreement, Squall surrendered to Cloud's clumsier moves. Lesser experienced in pleasing men, the blond was not as concerned with finding areas of interest before he went straight for his target. He only paused once at the waistband, but was soon pulling against the boxers until they came down. The rough endeavor was enough to coax a pleased moan from the brunet, and the moment Cloud's hand seized what it was after, everything else was just lost into a senseless whirl of pain and pleasure.

He could no longer make out one thing from the other, nor could he quite place the warm hard feeling that continued to drag panting cries for more from him. For a moment, he felt himself shaking, but even then he was unsure if it was happening at all. With each driving force against him, he felt himself getting closer and closer to breaking, toward that point where he could not take it anymore.

And then he had reached it, and with a dual cry, it ended.

They leaned against each other, both now thoroughly spent by their actions. Then, in a curiously slow movement, they sank to the floor and sat gracelessly in the puddle the event had left behind. Cloud was draped over him, too exhausted to pull back, and Squall did not care in the least. He drew his arms around the blond, inhaling a deep breath that was heavy with smells of sweat and lust, and indulgently nuzzled the top of his head.

The hours passed, as they drifted off into a dreamless sleep, uncaring for the mess under them as much as the states they were in. Eventually, their strength and awareness came back to them. Through a foggy mind that was slow to regain full awareness, Squall felt Cloud grip his shirt and push upward. He heard the other whisper the very words he had dreaded to hear.

"We have to end this."

It is disappointingly easy to sabotage his peers' ridiculous attempts to booby trap the swim team's side of the shared locker room, and in the rest of the time forced to wait, Cloud spends it tapping buttons on his cellphone while taking occasional drinks from his canteen. At least he and the other are alone here, at last rid of Yuffie if only for a few moments longer.

The air is still, trapped in the four walls of an area designed for privacy, and it is quick to become uncomfortable. Although he has been here countless times before, Cloud shifts and fidgets, his one source of distraction not doing its job very well. Still, he maintains his seat with good effort, driving any thoughts out of his head in attempt to focus on the mindless game displayed on that tiny screen before him.

Just then, the sounds of running water come to an abrupt halt, and the lone occupant of the showers steps out. Rubbing the towel through his hair, Squall cares little for covering himself in front of the other. Neither really expects him to, anyway, and Cloud merely waggles an appropriate finger in response to the sight he has seen enough to no longer flinch at. The brunet only chuckles, resuming the task of drying off even as he sticks a key into his locker to access dry clothes.

With the other busy at that task, Cloud at last looks away from the game that is doomed to be lost. His eyes travel over the bare back, and for a very brief moment, he allows the guilt to stab at his chest for what transpired between them. It hurts even more that the other does not blame him – that he expected it to happen – for the closure given to the situation. Even if he was not the one who started it, he had arranged the agreement between them. Even if the other had accepted every last term of that agreement, now that he fulfilled it…

Suddenly, he hears another laugh over the grinding of a zipper sliding into place. Now decent for the world, Squall shrugs on his team's jacket before crossing the space between them. He has a knowing look on his face, but he does not give his comment. Instead, he tilts his head back toward the door in silent invitation. Nodding, Cloud gets to his feet, both hands still occupied with an object each.

He passes the other, but then he feels one hand wrap over the protruding end of his cellphone. The other boldly touches his clothed shoulder before wrapping in a warmer grip. He feels that familiar breath on the back of his neck, and for a second, he tries to relax – to remember with fondness what that warmth did to him in those nights.

"No regrets," Squall reminds him in his low voice, "just another happy memory between friends."

With a sigh of defeat, Cloud at last smiles and turns his head. He feels Squall kiss the side of his lips gently – a last parting gesture – and he allows it. He owes the other that much, after all. Neither really moves more than that, content to remain in something that is not close enough to be an actual embrace. And then he hears a breathy chuckle, feeling the vibration of the following hum rumble against his cheek.

"Whose camera is that?" Squall suddenly asks humorously.

"No idea," Cloud answers in a similar tone. "I think I'll find out."

"If that's what you want," the brunet speaks in acceptance, at last leaving go of the blond. That was it – the very last time either would touch the other. They exchange that one last glance, not as the friends they will continue to be, but as the lovers that they had been in the years that came to past.

Cloud gives him a final, forced smile: his apology.

Squall returns it with a warm, gentle lift of his lips: his forgiveness.

"I'll see you around…"

"You too…"

And then Squall turns and steps out of the locker room, and Cloud is left behind.

He was expecting this day, ever since that very second that they made the mutual agreement between them. There they were, confused young teenagers with hormones and emotions to sort out, and they conveniently found one another to do just that. When they first met back then, Squall was already certain he was gay, while Cloud was unwilling to believe he was anything but straight… and just very, very confused.

Squall had wanted a partner, and Cloud had wanted an outlet. Their agreement was that the affair would last only as long as their time in high school, and once they left high school behind, so would they leave this behind.

That did not mean it didn't hurt.

Yet he refused to say anything, remaining still as the other pushed off completely from him and wobbled to his feet. Fingers were futilely attempting to wipe off the dried evidence of the previous night from crusty skin, already embarrassed for its existence. But as this happened, Cloud kept his head down, refusing to meet the glance of the other as he attempted to rid the silence with an unnecessary explanation.

"I… and you… it was… It was great while it lasted," he started uneasily. "But it's over now. We can't do this anymore. It's time we grew up and moved on. We have futures ahead of us, futures involving the real world."

The real world: a world that involved the Dream, of a good life with a good job, of a good family with a loving wife and strong healthy children… a world that had no place for two men to lie with one another, no matter how tolerant the people would get.

The real world was no place for them, or at least, for the relationship that no longer could be.

"Everything that happened between us will be just like the rest of high school life: the past."

Every concerned caress and loving touch… every warm embrace and tender kiss… every moan and cry… every tear and every comfort… every close brush with the line that was drawn… every near break of the rules, of the agreement that bound them together for so long…

Everything…

… It was all in the past.

Cloud no longer had anything to say, but the silence was slowly choking him, punishing him for being so callous over the situation. It shouldn't be this way, he wanted to rationalize. He had not allowed love in between them, while they were doing this – love would be reserved for a real relationship with a woman. All this was just physical things, things that had nothing to do with bonding as the books described them.

He was caught unaware when a firm hand took hold of his shaky one, squeezing in reassurance. It was only then that he lifted his head to meet the other's gaze, and in those eyes of blue-gray he did not see any hatred or anger. All he saw was the same gentle understanding that had first coaxed him into the room their first night.

"I know."

Not leaving go of the hand he held, Squall pulled on it gently in persuasion for the other to come closer. When the distance had been narrowed suitably, he let go to rise to his feet. With a soft, tired sigh, he gathered the shaken blond into his arms and held him tight.

"It's okay," he reassured the both of them, himself as much as the other. "It's what we agreed on."

Slowly, in jerking motions, Cloud's hands came up as well to cling to the arms that supported him. They stayed that way for a little while, drawing on the warmth and comfort that the embrace gave each of them. And then, remembering their place, they slowly unwrapped themselves from one another and each took a step back. Jabbing a thumb at the shower room, Squall prompted Cloud to be the first to use it – after all, he had earlier classes even for the final day of their life as high school students.

Cloud took the offer, and when he reemerged clean and in fresh clothing, he could not see the other's expression as they stepped pass each other. The door drew closed a second time, and rushing water was heard all over again.

Alone in the dorm, Cloud sought out his satchel. He found it sitting neatly on the tabletop, waiting for him, but the moment he dug in its interior for his keys, he instead came away with something else.

It was a heavy silver pendant, and on its end was a roaring lion mounted atop a partial Celtic cross. He knew this pendant well, for he had been the one to purchase it two years ago. It had been on impulse, a sudden urge to get something nice for the other, not as his secret affair but as his best friend. Ever since then, Squall only wore it during their nightly activities, joking that it was a symbol of Cloud's "ownership".

Now it sat here, back in his hand, and secured to it with a rubber band was a folded piece of paper. Curious, Cloud freed the paper and unfolded it, revealing the words written inside:

"I've only ever worn this pendant for you. As far as the world is concerned, it was never mine. Just as you gave it to me out of friendship, I give it back to you now out of love. Perhaps this can remind you of all the good times we had together, regardless if you wear it or not.

"All I ask in return is this: when you say goodbye, please let me know if you accept."

Staring at the silver lion in his hands, Cloud felt his fingers go numb, as though they could not fully comprehend the task given to them. Then, as though having a mind of their own, they moved. The lion was laid upon its final resting place…

When Squall reemerged from the shower, he found Cloud sitting by the table, waiting for him. His gaze traveled from the blank eyes downward, to where something different and silver dangled over the young man's collarbone.

Crossing the room, his hand reached forward to touch it, but stopped midway and dropped once more to his side. Instead, he smiled fondly at the lion in farewell.

"It suits you," he commented softly.

"… Yeah," Cloud uttered back. The words he had nearly said remained unspoken, as he grabbed his satchel and turned to leave.

It suited you more.

And then Cloud opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, and Squall was left behind.

The seven years since graduation came and went, and it was only when they were truly gone that anyone cared to miss them at all, or muse at how quickly time flew by.

He is no longer the stumbling teenager of then, but a stable adult in the working world. He is twenty-four, not seventeen, and though he remains single, he has times in his life where he does consider finding someone to spend the rest of his life with. He is Leon, not Squall, and though he has no issues with the emotional baggage his name carries, he prefers to be known by something more common and less likely to confuse his clients.

Time changes a man, he muses, as he retraces the steps that take him back down the road he took seven years ago.

Suddenly, he finds himself standing once again at the gate to Radiant Garden High, and he is suddenly impressed by how it looks exactly the same.

"… Squall? Squall Leonhart, is that really you?"

The voice has matured over time, but he would know it anywhere. He does not panic or run, but stands perfectly still to allow the tackle he knows is coming from a mile away. Bracing himself to prevent the both of them from hitting the pavement, he smiles fondly at the girl who has grown up well.

"Hello, Yuffie," he greets warmly, which encourages her even further.

"I can't believe you're finally back! You're home!" she squeals, tightening her hug about him. "It's been so lonely since you left for further studies after graduation…! And you were so far away-!"

"It was just Traverse Town," he reminds her. "Besides, you have the others around for company."

"Yeah… but it's not the same, you know that…!" she whines. Still, she relents and stops attempting to crush his ribs, instead settling for hugging his arm as she pulls him toward all the old haunts of Radiant Garden. "I've gotta tell you everything that happened when you were gone!"

And as she rattles in his ear, he finds himself drawn toward all the familiar sights. He can't help the wave of nostalgia, and as he finally reaches the old bar that Tifa's father used to run, he remembers the sodas the old man used to reserve just for them when they were too young for alcohol. Something in his expression catches Yuffie's attention, and at once she pulls him through the old wooden swing doors.

There, sitting by the bar alone, is the face he knew of a nervous boy trying to figure out what he wanted with his life. Now a man, he is still recognizable by the spiky blond hair and the startling bright blue eyes that have hardened over the years. He freezes at the sight, only able to stare at the other before the man notices it.

Then he turns, and their eyes meet for the first time in seven years. The man who is now Leon swallows once, wets his lips carefully, and speaks in what he hopes is a normal voice.

"Hello, Strife."

There is no verbal answer, as Cloud settles with only nodding in his general direction. At a careless wave – an invitation to sit – Leon enters the bar fully and slips onto the bar stool next to his friend. A bottle is slid his way, and he accepts it, grateful to note that the cap was freshly popped beforehand. Sensing the need for them to be alone, Yuffie leaves with a cheery smile and a promise to meet up for dinner later.

Side by side, the two drink in silence. Deciding that the blond is not in the mood for breaking the silence, Leon does it for him again.

"How are you?" he asks. Cloud mutters something that sounds vaguely like "good" or "so-so" or something else that may have bordered on vulgar.

"It's good to see you again," Leon continues earnestly. This time, no answer at all is given to him. Instead, he feels a strange tension in the air, and when he returns his gaze to the blond beside him, those brittle blue eyes seem to flash dangerously.

"… Are you alright?"

His hand reaches to touch the other man's shoulder, but is knocked aside violently at once.

"Get your dirty hand off me."

He is startled, both at the icy tone as well as the words. Perhaps it is his shock that prevents him from realizing it before it happens – when a surprisingly powerful fist is driving into his face, knocking him off his seat and onto the hard floor with a resounding crash. Shaken, he manages to bring his arms up to defend himself as more blows are rained down upon him.

"You son of a bitch," Cloud is growling murderously, not letting up any of his strikes. "You bloody Hyne-damned son of a bitch…!"

"Cloud," he manages between blows, "Cloud, stop."

"You did this to me, you damn dirty fag!" he shouts. "You ruined me! You ruined my life!"

Something snaps inside Leon, and he suddenly throws a punch of his own. It hits home, knocking his attacker off him and onto the floor beside him. He starts to straighten, starts to realize what he just did, and he starts reaching for his friend again. And again, the offered hand is rejected forcefully.

"I'm not gay," Cloud utters in what sounds like a choked sob. "I never was… I never wanted to be… But then I had to meet you… You had to go and ruin me… make me just as dirty as you…"

And then he is sobbing, words coming out strangled with emotions that had been bottled for too long. Leon does not move, only listening as he had in those years before.

"I still see them," Cloud whimpers between sobs, "all those things we did together, all those words you said to me to make me hard like no other could… All those times you just held me close and promised to keep me safe… All those things we… All those damn, filthy things… I wanted to forget them, forget every last Hyne-damned one of them…! But they won't leave me… they just keep coming back…"

Then he laughs – more of a hoarse croak – as he points a shaky accusing finger at the man he has been blaming with his words.

"I've been sleeping around," he spits out with a vengeance. "I keep finding girls, trying to find that relationship I want. But you know… none of them work out for me… Every time I'm with them, every time I try to tell them I love them… I see you… I see your hand… and not one girl… not one of them can make you leave me alone… It was you who ruined me, so I'll never find that girl… So I can never have that life I wanted."

He pounds the floor with his fist, shouting in frustration even as that single shaky finger never stops pointing. Tears are still flowing steadily as he curses the man who was once his friend and lover, cursing every memory they had together, cursing the day that they ever met. Slowly, Leon is rising, getting to his feet as he watches the crying man with immeasurable pain in his eyes.

"I was supposed to get married. I was supposed to have a family. But you're stuck in my damn head... and you wouldn't let me… It's your fault, you bastard! IT'S YOUR FAULT!"

And then Leon is gone.

In his place, Squall is there.

Squall wraps his arms around Cloud no matter how the man struggles to fight it off. Squall ignores the punches that try to shove him away, holding fast and tight to the one he loved with his heart, whispering apologies and pleas for forgiveness into hair that smells so much the same, save for the addition of cigarette smoke and alcohol. Squall doesn't let go, rocking the other back and forth gently, until he feels the blows surely soften, then stop altogether.

Cloud chokes again, no longer able to land a punch. All he can do is latch on to the other's jacket, clinging to the last support he can find as he just lets himself go. He weeps into the embrace of the man he was very certain he hated moments ago, and he sobs in the pain that he has kept inside until it got big enough to consume him.

"Your fault…" he whimpers over and over again, "… your fault…"

Above him, holding him, Squall buries his nose in the spiky blond hair and, at last, allows his own tears to fall as well.

"… Strife, which one of us is supposed to be Juliet?"

"If she answers that, I'll dunk her."

… …

"No regrets… just another happy memory between friends."

… …

"Whose camera is that?"

"No idea. I think I'll find out."

"If that's what you want…"

… …

"…it's over now. We can't do this anymore. It's time we grew up and moved on. We have futures ahead of us, futures involving the real world…

"Everything that happened between us will be just like the rest of high school life…

"… The past…"

… …

"… It suits you…"

… It suited you more…

Cloud can't remember when he fell asleep, but he wakes up sore everywhere and with a splitting headache that gets worse with every sudden noise about him. He can't remember what happened to get him into this state, but what bleary images he conjures up seem more like a dream than anything else.

He groans into his hands and attempts to right himself without too much pain. To his surprise, he finds himself lying full-length across the old couch that Tifa decided was a nice touch to her father's bar. It still stinks of beer and vomit, and is enough to urge him back onto his feet. Too giddy to stand, he sits on the reeking couch a little longer, allowing his swimming vision to get back into focus.

Then he sees something sitting on the table before him. He recognizes it at once as the Griever pendant he swore he was still wearing a minute ago. When he picks it up, he sees it shine with a luster that he had not known for so long… not since he neglected to keep it clean in the years that passed.

It's what was under the pendant that catches his attention next. He reaches for it, and when it gets close enough to make out, he recognizes it as well.

It is an old photograph, torn a little at the edges and with an obvious crease across the center from being folded. In that picture is the shared locker room from his days as the center forward for the water polo team, and there in the center of the picture, he sees his younger self with Squall behind him. He sees, in one corner, his own handwriting that had been scribbled there hastily:

"Squall,

"Zack took this. I told him we'd cut his balls off if he showed anyone.

"Love you.

"- Cloud"

He blinks, wondering what the photograph is doing back in his hands. Then, out of curiosity, he flips it over. There he finds more writing, this time not his own.

Squall's writing… still so very recent…

As though he were right there, and had written those words only moments ago.

As Cloud reads them now, he drops the photograph back onto the table.

So very exhausted and tired, no longer able to reason with his struggling, broken emotions, he starts to cry again for something he does not fully understand.

"Cloud," the words read in one simple sentence, "I could never forget you either."