A/N: The first entry to what I intend as a growing 'anthology' of an assortment of FF8 ficlets straight or slashy. The game just leaves too many unanswered questions :P Since some of these fics will be super short while some stories might be related to others, it seems neater to have them under the same title. The title for this intended collection is based on an impossible dream I have on opening an ice- cream parlour that serves ice- cream and yaoi works together. As usual, don't like don't read.
A Pilfered Bite
The most devestating truth is one that needs no proof. Truth that cannot be denied with mere lies or avoided with mere denials. Truth that can only be ignored superficially while it affects every area of our lives, extending its tendrils and twining tightly till all we can do is complain with our eyes shut why life has suddenly become so complicated, when all you really need to do is open your eyes . . ." . . . how long do you intend on pretending this isn't an issue?" a stern voice demaded while Zell hid behind the glossy Balamb's Aqua Platter menu dutifully ignoring it.
"That's right!" Another less authouritative but more persistent voice echoed, "You haven't stepped into the cafeteria for DAYS! That's like . . . YEARS!"
Zell pretended he didn't hear them but the girls saw the slight slump in his shoulders.
"Zell-" Quistis and Selphie began together but Zell shook his head vigorously behind the cover of the menu.
"It's no use persuading me, I'M NOT GOING BACK!!!"
A hush fell over the diner as the storm of Zell's outburst swept over Balamb's newest establishment.
Quistis sighed as she leaned back into her chair, rolling her blue eyes at the impossible youth as she brought her arms before her.
"You won't even tell us what's wrong," she complained without much enthusiasm and spared a warning glance for Selphie who was arched over the table, her fingertips almost brushing the menu as she readied her pounce.
In his personal dark sanctuary marked with the day's Balamb Fish 'N' Chips Special Deluxe Meal, Zell chewed his lower lip pensively, the dim luster of his blue eyes darkening. A tautness in his chest.
"It's . . . IT'S NOTHING DAMMIT!" he yelled before vaulting over the table and launching himself out of the open window behind the girls, blood- filled cheeks stinging in Balamb's bracing sea breeze streaming into and past his fleeting form. The girls watched him, Selphie fingering the discarded menu on the table.
"Will Zell be okay?" the brunnette wondered aloud as her green eyes idly scanned the appetizing menu.
Quistis sighed in quiet frustration, leaning back once more but shutting her eyes in a mute frown.
'Boys . . .' she deplored silently in her mind.
Running till his lungs were fit to burst Zell sped through the blending scenery. The homes, the neighbourhood, the town, all a blur of greyish blues and dark greens that gave way to an interminable sandy brown and endless azure. Well this was the beach after all and Zell could collapse on the soft, grainy sand without hurting himself in an intimately personal area. Panting more than he really needed, Zell lay down on the warm beach and let the fresh breezes cool him off. He gazed at the sky above him, a thick blue complete with mushrooming white clouds. A predictable sight as well as . . . a reassuring one. Something Zell needed apart from time away from Balamb and from those hotdogs and . . .
A shadow tinted the skies and looking up Zell noted the wide- brimmed hat that hovered above its source. His gut shifted uncomfortably and he struggled to raise himself on suddenly weak limbs. Irvine eased himself into a crouch as Zell managed to haul his unresponsive body into an upright sitting position, his legs self- consciously folded before his torso instead of its usual childlike, innocent stretch. Irvine took it in with the barest hint of a wrinkle in his apologetic grin, his light blue eyes brighter in the shade of his hat.
"Hey Zell," he offered in greeting once a respectable pause punctuated with the call of seagulls had passed between them.
"Y-yo Irvine . . ." Zell replied cautiously, unable to maintain eye contact for more than a breath's worth of time.
Irvine drew his brows together in a crestfallen frown as his eyes narrowed appealingly.
"Zell . . . come on man, talk to me already. I'm sorry about that hotdog, I really am," he pleaded turqoise eyes doing his best puppy- eyed look that usually worked wonders on the chicks.
"It's alright," Zell mumbled as his eyes lingered in the shoe observation segment of their orbit.
"It's not alright man, the cafetria lady has been giving me the evil eye for a week now, exactly how long you've been staying away from the hotdogs . . ." Irvine sighed as Zell shot him a swift glance at this before oscillating back to the fascinating study of footwear.
"It's . . . er . . . o-okay . . . I'm . . . dieting . . ." Zell offered as explanation while his fingers clutched restlessly at his denim bermudas.
Irvine sighed, slumping over his knees while scratching his head thinking of something to say.
It had been, in a manner of speaking, his transgression but he hadn't thought twice about it back then when all he wanted was a bite of those famous hotdogs and a chance to taste what he intended to replicate for this babe he had set his mind on wooing. Irvine had heard all about the queue and even the fights but he figured after a pressured Squall had put his foot down on cafeteria violence he only had to worry about getting there early. He definitely wasn't expecting the ticket thrust right under his nose by a plain- looking guy who turned out to be the cafeteria lady's son. When the harassed youth had finished explaining it to him Irvine had slumped next to a startled Zell who ogled the sharpshooter with barely decent amazement, a ticket clutched tightly in his fist.
"They draw numbers from a box and only lucky ticket holders get a hotdog?" Irvine had moaned knowing his luck as well as the smiling dealers at the Galbadian Lucky Golden Casino did.
"Yup," Zell had agreed sparing Irvine a concerned look before whipping his head about as the numbers were called.
Cheers erupted sporadically and explosively as Irvine waited out the predictable ending when he was buffeted by one such blast. Zell had leapt up onto the bench, screaming a warcry and stomping about in a clumsy victory dance. As wistful eyes turned anxiously to the cafeteria lady who held the next number in her hand Irvine's look of hopeless despair had evaporated into unbelievable joy. It was like the day he learned that there was to be a bikini club o fhappy pillow- fighting girls in the recently rebuilt Trabia Garden.
"Zell!" he had called as the crowd of mixed reactions began their tidal exodus and Zell was still standing next to the counter, the hotdog held reverentially in his gloved hands, its thick mustard and white wrap shining in the light. Zell hadn't heard him.
"Zell! Zell!" he had cried in vain as the crowd swallowed him, their mournful groans and excited chatter drowning his voice as well. With a last burst of effort he had stumbled out of the mass of bodies only to see Zell in the midst of shoving the last half of the hotdog into his gaping, mustard- stained maw. He remembered the world slowing to a crawl as his horror- swept mind went blank.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
The next thing he knew he was nose to nose with a thunderstruck Zell, the remnants of the hotdog locked between ther mouths. Suddenly noticing their startlingly awkward situation he attempted to swallow the sudden knot in his throat, unwittingly biting down at the exact same moment Zell did, sealing an ill- fated kiss. The utter devestation he saw in Zell's eyes wasn't an image Irvine was likely to forget in a hurry.
Come to think of it, he should have known better than to trust that his luck had changed. Following that blasted incident his life's greatest tragedy followed. First, in his shock he had swallowed too quickly to properly analyse the taste for his project, then the cafeteria lady had berated him for stealing a growing boy's lunch AND his first kiss in one full swoop and finally Zell had made it all too clear on how he felt about the matter by boycotting the cafeteria and Irvine altogether. Silent treatment absolutely killed the sniper. He had tried everything he could to get Zell to talk to him normally again but Zell had declined to acknowledge he was upset and murmured quiet "it's alright"s before scurrying away too traumatised to even look him in the eye.
"I tried getting a hotdog this past week but you know me and my luck . . ." Irvine began despondently, "but I'm not giving up, I just . . . I'll make it up to you no matter how long it takes so . . . at least . . . don't stay away from Balamb Garden."
Sneaking a peek from his sullen pose Irvine watched hopefully at the downcast youth.
"Oh," Zell said simply drawing circles in the sand.
Irvine groaned inwardly. It looked like the blond youth wasn't just upset over the pilfered last bite. Irvine understood. The first kiss of a boy was the property of his first love and Irvine had ruined that. Clearing his throat the sharpshooter resigned himself to the only thing that could possibly square it.
"I know . . . that accident ruined your, your er . . . firs- ahem, yeah . . . but I'll make it up to you," he hesitated uncertainly, "I'll arrange a hundred genuine kissing opportunities with whomsoever you desire!"
That declaration ripped out of his mouth in a desperate bid for reconciliation, Irvine prayed it would be enough. His heart pounded as he watched Zell's finger slow and stop and he barely checked his recoil when Zell met his gaze.
"Promise?" the martial artist asked with wide- eyed suspicion.
Irvine hesitated. It was a tall order but he couldn't very well back out now. He nodded slowly.
"Then . . . we'll wait for hotdogs tomorrow. Together," Zell proposed, a slow smile lighting the faint blush to his cheeks.
Irvine stared for a moment and then broke into relieved laughter.
"Zell my man, it's going to be so easy setting up those kisses if you keep that smile with you," Irvine teased freely, happy now that the air was sweet again without the awkwardness hanging above his head.
Zell watched Irvine thoughtfully.
"I guess . . . you would know," he replied, an uncharacteristic softness in his eyes.