Chapter Two

Squall Leonhart, who had acted as Selphie's mentor when she had first transferred to Balamb from frosty Trabia a mere eighteen months ago, glanced across the grave at the tall, blond Seifer Almasy, who was hand in hand with their former instructor, Quistis Trepe. Ignoring the stab of jealousy he felt as Seifer stroked Quistis' hair as she fell onto his shoulder in tears. He couldn't help but notice how gorgeous his erstwhile nemesis looked in a properly laundered suit, and a black morning jacket rather than his usual grey trench coat. Recently, he had become a source of comfort to Squall, whose girlfriend Rinoa was becoming tiresome.

"She's a right moody bitch, lately," he confided to Seifer over a pint of beer in the bar of the Balamb Hotel, (well, Seifer would drink beer; Squall's drink of choice was Bacardi and Coke).

"She won't listen to a word I say," Squall would whinge. "She'd rather be gossiping to Sefie and Quisty." (the thought of Selphie pained him as he stood by the graveside.) "And I feel so left out, Seifer. God, sometimes I just hate the woman! What am I gonna do, man?"

Usually Seifer would give him some unhelpful advice on how to get their romance back on track, such as buying her flowers, taking her out, and then having hot sex in the Garden library, surrounded by her second love, books. But the thought of making love to his girlfriend made him feel sick. What Squall really craved was Seifer; to feel his arms around him, more passionate than the bear-hugs he would usually give Squall before he went running home to Quistis, who, at the graveside, was now bravely squeezing Seifer's hand, doing her best to hold back the remainder of her tears. He obviously had not told her yet.

A week ago, the night Selphie had been hit and killed by that hot dog van, Squall was bitching about Rinoa, this time about how he had shouted at her; this time for rearranging the furniture in their tiny apartment in Balamb Harbour which they had been sharing for the past ten months. Finally, Seifer had said the words Squall had been longing to hear:

"Leave her then," he'd said as casually as he could, "and come away with me. I know how you feel, because I've felt the same about you for a number of years."

The atmosphere seemed magic as they touched hands beneath the table, and Squall could control his passion no longer. Seeing that Seifer had nearly finished his drink, Squall drained his almost full glass, grabbed Seifer's hand, and led him out of the bar. One outside, he pinned his beautiful tall blond friend up against the rustic brickwork, and kissed him firmly on the lips.

Seifer's steely blue eyes stared back into Squall's, and his tongue rubbed invitingly upon his thin top lip.

"I've been waiting for you for so long, Squall," he whispered.

Squall returned Seifer's revelation with a rare smile. "Really?" he asked.

Seifer wrapped his strong arms around Squall's waist, pulling his sinewy body closer. He felt Squall's arousal against his leg, and sucked in his breath, as he felt himself getting hard in return. "Yes," he whispered, reaching down, brushing his hand over Squall's leather-clad bottom. "For ten whole years I've had a crush on you," His lips brushed against Squall's cheek. "I thought my feelings would fade away as I got older but… they didn't. They got stronger, Squall. So strong, I wanted to tell someone. But I didn't want anyone, not even Raijin and Fujin to know. So I started that rivalry with you to mask my true feelings and I…"

Squall gently hushed Seifer with another heartfelt kiss. "None of that matters now, babe," he whispered in Seifer's ear, his lips gently nuzzling the earlobe." Now, we have a choice to make a go of it… together." He pressed his body against Seifer, squeezing him tightly around the waist, his fingers sliding slowly down Seifer's waistband.

Seifer, fingering the scar on Squall's soft, sweet face, "it's no good," he panted, trying to think of unsexy things to make his arousal go away. Meanwhile, he was thinking about some of the butt-ugly monsters he'd had to fight to get as far as he did, to become the Sorceress' Knight, the commander of the second largest army in the world, and finally breaking out on his own as a lone, self-styled 'revolutionary.' Buels, Caterchapillas and those oh-so hideous Wendigos.

Squall, battling a similar problem, was finding it hard to control. With his lips on Seifer's, whose hand was brushing against are, exposed flesh on Squall's midriff, their tongues gently exploring the taste of each others' mouths, and hearing the sighs of pleasure and the heavy nasal sighs of his long time foe, now seemingly turned lover, every single move Seifer made against his body seemed to be magnified tenfold. Every time his tongue slid against Squall's or Seifer's rough fingertips stroked Squall's torso, it made him feel more and more desperate to lead Seifer into a nearby forest or onto the deserted beach (hang the T-Rexaurs and the Fastitocalons!) and make love to him in complete solitude, where only Mother Nature would know about their love, and where they could be safe in the knowledge that she would never tell.

Squall's problem was solved at once by a terrible screech of brakes, a loud, drawn out banging noise, and a cacophony of shouts. Amongst the distant shouting he clearly heard the distressed cries of the nubile cowboy Irvine: "Selphie? Selphie? Oh, God, somebody help her. Please… somebody help her…"

Almost instantly, he let go of Seifer, who was at first reluctant to reciprocate. "Squall," he moaned, "don't go."

Squall pulled himself firmly out of Seifer's clutches. There were tears welling up in his eyes, torn between his distressed friends, and his forbidden carnal desire.

"I'm sorry," Squall croaked, "but my friends need me."

Seifer, noticing how upset Squall appeared, gathered him in a brief, warm embrace. "Listen Squall," he said. "I'm gonna get a room in the hotel. I'll text you my room number, and we can talk there, 'kay?" He pecked Squall on the lips, although Squall could tell talking was furthest from Seifer's mind. "I love you."

"Love you, too," Squall whispered back, before sprinting in the direction of the incident.

When he got there, he could see an FH FresH! Catering Company van lying on its side, back doors hanging off their hinges, its load of hot dogs bound for the Garden's canteen strewn across the road. Two men and a woman Squall knew by sight (they worked at the garage) were trying to pull Irvine back from violently pistol-whipping the driver of the van who was rooted to the spot, deathly pale, face shining with cold sweat, bloodshot eyes manically staring at his would-be assailant, as he absently tried to nurse a wound to his head with his sleeve. Worst of all, amongst the mess of thawing meat by-products, lay a motionless figure, wearing yellow hotpant dungarees, and brown knee-length boots.

Selphie would have looked like she was dozing, were it not for the awkward angle of her neck and legs. Squall knew in an instant that she was dead. He was tempted to run back to Seifer and hope that a lovemaking session with him would clear his mind of this carnage. But Irvine needed him. A few carefully chosen words would make him see that attacking the driver would be pointless; the man would have to live with the fact that he had killed Selphie, and that was punishment enough.

"Irvine!" Squall hollered over the sound of distant sirens. "Please! Stop it!"

The cowboy stopped struggling against the garage staff, and glanced at Squall.

"Thank Hyne you're here!" he said breathlessly. "Tell me Selphie's all right! Tell me she's gonna be fine! Help her!"

But no amount of Phoenix Downs or Life magic could help her now. It was too late. "I'm sorry," Squall tried to blink back tears.

"It's okay," Irvine said shakily, grabbing Squall's shoulders. "You're here now… you can help her, you can make her better again."

Squall remained as calm as he possibly could. "I can't," he quavered. "It's too late."

"Too late for what?" Irvine yelled, shaking Squall a little, seemingly oblivious to the police squad car, and the two ambulances that had just arrived on the scene. "C'mon, you've got tons of Life magic! Use it, damn it! Use it!"

"You don't understand…" Squall whispered. "Selphie… she…"

Irvine began sinking to his knees in front of Squall. In any other situation, this would have been Squall's idea of heaven, but the desperate Irvine was convinced that Squall could help him. However, he could not.

A young paramedic was tending to the shocked driver, with the remaining three were crowded around Selphie's lifeless corpse. Carefully, they lifted her body onto a stretcher, and covered her up with a red blanket.

Upon finally noticing them, Irvine jumped to his feet. "Look at that," he said angrily, pushing Squall away. "At least they're helping her. They're helping her, which is more than you did. Hey!" Turning on his heel, he began to stride towards the ambulance, which was preparing to take Selphie away. "Is she going to be all right? I'm her fiancé. Please tell me she's okay."

"I'm sorry, sir," a middle aged paramedic told him, "but your fiancé …"

"Selphie!" snapped Irvine.

The paramedic eyed Irvine, a little irritated. "Selphie," he corrected himself rather sharply. "Selphie is likely to have died instantaneously," he explained in a softer, more sympathetic voice. "I'm sorry, mate…"

Irvine's face drained of colour, and he began to shake his head slowly. "No…no…no!" he screamed. The scream became an horrific crescendo, which sounded more like a wounded Anacondaur than a human.

A tall policeman approached and motioned to the ambulance man. "All right, you're cleared to return to the hospital. We'll take it from here." He removed his hat revealing dark wavy hair, which he swept back quickly with his hand. Blinking a couple of times, he crouched down next to the prostrate Irvine, who was banging his fists, which were becoming bloodied, onto the concrete. "Here," he said, reaching out to Irvine, and pulling the tearful sharpshooter off the pavement, and out of his tantrum. "I'm PC Bryce, and I'll be in charge of investigating this incident. Now, I realise this is going to be difficult for you," he said to Irvine, "but as the closest known relative of the deceased… I mean… your fiancé…" He took a breath; glad he had changed his wording, as he didn't feel like upsetting a man brandishing a shotgun. "You will be required to identify the body. Is that okay?" He smiled weakly at Irvine, who turned away and shot an icy look at Squall. "Yeah," he growled. "Yeah."

"PC Rawlinson and I will take you in the squad car," he said gently. "All right?"

Irvine nodded.

As he was led to the car, he turned to glower at school. Nodding in his direction he told the police: "There's your man! Squall Leonhart! He just stood by and let her die! I pleaded for him to help but he wouldn't…"

"Okay, calm down," PC Bryce tried to appease the furious Irvine.

"I'll have you, Leonhart!" Irvine hollered as he climbed into the police car. "I'll have you, you murderer! You see if I don't!"

With the police car gone, and only another ambulance and a tow-truck remaining, Squall stalked away. Feeling something vibrate in his pocket, he reached to check his phone. It was a message from Seifer, as he had promised:

Room 203. Can't w8 2 cu. ILY.

No longer consumed by passionate lust, but now feeling the need to talk to someone, Squall ran all the way back to the hotel, and leapt up the stairs to the hotel, and leapt up the stairs to the room where he knew his lover would be waiting.

Seifer opened the door with a lusty grin, which immediately dissolved the moment he saw Squall's tear-streaked face and damp, bloodshot eyes.

"Oh, shit," Seifer sighed. "What happened?"

Squall wanted to explain that Selphie was dead, killed in a tragic accident, and Irvine, desperate for help, and in denial, blamed him for not intervening, but he couldn't. Instead, he burst into tears.

"Oh… Squall," Seifer took him into a warm embrace to comfort his tearful lover. "Baby, what happened?" He stroked Squall's soft auburn hair, twirling strands around his fingers. He kissed Squall, who wilfully removed his jacket.

Unable to talk, Squall shook his head. Seifer led him to the bed, and helped him onto it. He climbed onto it next to Squall and held him close.

"Tell me what happened," he whispered, curling Squall's locks over his left ear. "Please. There's gotta be a reason why you're so…"

Squall sunk his head into Seifer's lap. He smiled as he got the message; Squall didn't really want to talk about it.

"That's okay," Seifer whispered. "You tell me when you're good and ready." He sighed and relaxed, as he petted Squall's silky hair.