This is the beginning of a series of short and long stories I want to write with a focus on the 'infection' theme. Different scenarios, different endings.

In this story I have an homage to an author who has continually given me pleasure with her drabbles, brightspark or Shanaqui. Thank you for being such a devoted S/S writer! I hope this story makes you proud.

Infection: #1

By: Baby Chiba

I saw it in his eyes when I faced him.

The infection.

She infected him. And it was killing him…

No longer did he stand to fight by his own will. No longer stood the boy with the selfish romantic notions of being a knight.

She consumed him.

He fought it, with every broken piece inside him.

I saw it in how he stood hunched on unsteady legs.

I saw it in how he swayed with the weight of his blade as if he followed its command.

I saw it in his pleading eyes.

In those few moments of clarity they screamed 'stop me, beat me, help me' before they glazed over and gave way to the infection.

He was conscious inside his body, the body that hosted this disease.

And to think she could have just brainwashed him and taken his soul from the beginning… but no, such a merciful act would not suit a sorceress. She wanted him to suffer. She wanted his fight. She wanted to break him.

I wanted to murder her.

And then I thought of those haunting emerald eyes, fading…

And with a clenched jaw I hated and doubted… I wasn't sure I could bring him back…

Her death released him from the infection, but the damage had been done.

He denied the infection, claimed it was by his own will, all of it. But I knew better. He had to tell himself that. Because if he faced that he lost control, it would break him.

Those once proud gleaming eyes were now perpetually unfocused and glazed.

He was recalling his crimes.

Reliving the infection, the war, the blood.

I understood his pain.

Because it mirrored mine.

After all the blood he'd shed, it just didn't matter anymore. Whether it was the blood of one or a million, it was all the same. There was blood on his hands and he would never be clean of it. Once you get the feel of it on your hands, on your tongue, in your veins, it was addicting, infecting. You know at once, when the first splatter lands on your skin, that there is no cure, no salvation. You are a prisoner to the bloodlust, to the guilt, to the animalism, to the blade. And you see nothing else. No reason to stop, to repent, because once you spill blood, no god can hear you any longer, and you start believing that.

But he was labeled enemy, I, hero.

Therein began our separation.

The separation from my childhood friend, my lifelong rival…

The rival that kept me grounded, focused, human…

I felt utterly empty without him, that synergy…that give and take.

Whether I would have fought for it before the war or not, I can't say. But that magnetic pull I've always had to him, like gravity, was now defied, and I want it back. I want it like nothing I've ever wanted in my entire life.

I want my rival back.

But I don't know how to bring you back…

I'm not sure I can.

Damn it Seifer…

This is your job!

You were always the one who knew how to get under my skin.

I have no idea where to begin with you. I never bothered to learn. You were always the constant. I never anticipated it would change.

I'm no fucking savior.

I'm no hero.

Cause I just can't find the strength, to pull you up, and keep you taut…

I can't find the strength to hold you up.

One person.

But I can't do it.

So now I'm resigned to watch you die?

Fuck you…

Stupid selfish boy…you started this on your own accord, didn't think it through though did you?

Didn't think it'd break you.

Didn't think she'd rape you.

You started this…and now you can't finish it.

What do you want me to do?

I never thought killing her would kill you too…