A/N: Whoo! Second chapter up! This one's one of the angry ones, unfortunately. I decided to get it out of the way. Hope it doesn't disappoint.
Thanks to cerespallas for reviewing! +200 to Awesome.
WELL, THEN 6/29/2008 - 7/1/2008
The Balamb weaponsmith smiled welcomingly as Zell Dincht entered for the first time in over a year. "You have it, don't you?"
The martial artist unfastened his Gloves and set them down on the workbench, handing the weaponsmith a small box. "The last piece," he said, grinning.
"How'd you find the time?"
"I didn't."
--
This was the last fucking straw.
The last. Fucking. Straw.
As Zell laid a swath of death and destruction down in the Training Center, he couldn't help but visualize a Chocobo straining and collapsing under the weight of the bully Seifer Almasy. It didn't help that recent events banked other feelings under his frustration. In fact, the mild arousal at the thought of being under Almasy served to spawn feelings of defiance and reluctance to concede anything this time. He wasn't at all in the mood for reconciliation. And while the faint voice of reason in the back of his head prescribed about fifteen more minutes of monster bashing, Zell stormed into the showers, stormed out, had a door almost close on him, and was snagged immediately by an amused-looking Irvine Kinneas.
"Going off to meet your boyfriend?"
Zell snarled and jerked, or tried to jerk, his arm out of the gunman's grasp. "Let off!"
Irvine kept a firm grip as he rummaged through his own pockets for something... and quickly found his foot crushed under the pressure of a well-placed kick. When he finally found his voice again, he half-yelled after the retreating back of his counter-assailant, "Happy fucking birthday..." He stuffed the hot dog coupon into his pocket again and limped away, not quite sure if he needed Dr. Kadowaki's attention.
While Zell walked, he fumed. Of all the things to do, this had to be the worst. The epitomy of low insults. Unlabeled or no, that little 'gag gift' he found in front of his door this morning left nothing to the imagination. It had to be Seifer. Seifer's name was practically written all over it.
He didn't realize immediately that he'd passed the bully's dorm. Backtracking heatedly, Zell took a few breaths - to help extinguish or fan the flames? - and pounded a couple of times on the door.
The door slid open, and Seifer's irritated countenance loomed suddenly in front of him. "What in the hell-"
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Zell spat, pushing his way past Seifer into the dorm, needing the suddenly stifling privacy. He faced Seifer again, who was now more confused-looking than angry. "Who in their right mind leaves an unwrapped sex toy as a gift in the hall where everyone can see it?!"
"That wasn't me," Seifer growled dangerously.
"Of course it wasn't! Nothing is ever Seifer Almasy's doing! Ever!" Zell interrupted before Seifer could defend himself. "You bastard, nothing-"
"That wasn't me, Chicken-Wuss," Seifer snarled. "Will you shut up and listen-"
"No, you-"
"ZELL!" The leather of Seifer's gloves creaked as his hands curled into fists. He watched the younger man recoil from the sudden use of his first name, watched a shadow of the dark scowl reform on his face. His own teeth were clenched vise-tight. "The Disciplinary Committee apprehended the dumbfuck that left that thing in front of your door."
Zell's anger answered before the martial artist could stop it. "Sounds like something you'd do: handcuffing yourself just for kicks," he said, implications all too clear.
A thick silence filled the next few moments. Zell's face fell the slightest bit in belated realization before Seifer grabbed a suddenly limp shoulder and practically threw him out of the door. Something smacked Zell's temple and landed on the hall floor as the dormitory door snapped shut with a particularly angry out rush of air. He grabbed the small package, nearly crushing it in his gloved palm.
He opened the diminutive box - as if it hadn't been wrapped meticulously and neatly, in expensive-looking teal paper - and choked on his next breath of air in disbelief.
It was an Adamantine. The rough stone glinted as Zell picked it up between two careful fingers, placed it back in the box, trembling slightly. His stomach felt as if he'd swallowed a hundred units of the rare, expensive material, because he'd needed this last bit for his new Gloves, had never found the time to visit the fields near Dollet in the midst of his busy schedule - and only those closely associated with him knew anything about his passion for the new model.
In addition, his furor at this morning's "gift" had made him forget one thing: he was eighteen years old today.
"Goddamn," he swore, and looked over at the closed door.
As he walked off, feeling like the biggest bastard of all, he didn't even stop to imagine what that muffled noise behind the door was.
On the other side, Seifer ran a hand through his hair and said lowly, "Happy fucking birthday..."
--
Zell walked out of the weapons shop, hearing the last echoes of the smith's well-wishing in his brain. He didn't care in the least that his new Gloves were a bit too tight.
He'd learn to deal. Maybe.
It was hard, though, when you later ran into the very person you've pissed off and are pissed off at while in the midst of venting your anger on Training Center Grats. It's worse when you're dripping with dark green bodily fluids and generally looking like an emotional time bomb.
Seifer, as always, looked pristine, unwrinkled. One shake of the hand and Hyperion's wicked matte black blade was suddenly spotless. Only his expression marred the unearthly facade. On anyone else it would have looked strange, but the dichotomy between the scar and the rest of Seifer's aristocratic face, along with the weight of his tight glare, was disconcerting in too many ways to count.
He said nothing. Zell followed suit.
When a T-Rexaur emerged from the foliage, they both took it on without giving a thought to the members of their makeshift party. By the end of the battle, Zell spat a bit of blood-stained saliva into the bushes and glared as Seifer raised his hand to cast Curaga, pointedly refusing the offer. "I've got Hi-Potions back in my dorm."
Seifer's hand lowered slowly to his side. He nodded, cleaning Hyperion on a patch of clean grass and sheathing it, then turning to go. When he paused for a moment, Zell froze, expecting him to turn and do something violent and painful to him in return for the verbal assault Zell'd dished out at noon. But he only sighed, a soft, barely perceptible exhalation, and kept walking until the grey of his coat disappeared into emerald shadows.
"What the hell..." Zell breathed, slumping against the nearest tree. Ow. That hurt. He gingerly straightened up and began to follow in Seifer's footsteps, freezing again and wincing again as said bully returned from the shadows, hand upraised.
Zell cried out in surprise as he felt the Curaga wash over him.
Another thick silence descended on the pair for the second time today, but it was soon shattered by Zell's rather loud exclamation of "I told you that I had Hi-Potions back at my dorm, man! Stop wasting your strong Magic on stuff like that!"
"I'll use my Magic at my own discretion, Chicken-Wuss."
The martial artist growled heatedly. When Seifer was showing signs of leaving again, he muttered a 'thanks,' hoping half-heartedly that the other didn't hear it. He expected to hear 'go fuck yourself, you stupid dick,' or 'bite me,' but didn't try to stay to hear it.
As he passed Seifer on his way back to the dorm, the swordsman thwacked the back of his head lightly and caught the martial artist by the arm as he spun to face his taller peer. Seifer peered with an incisive gaze down the sharp angle of his nose at Zell. When Zell tried to pull free (rather pathetically, actually) he tightened his grip.
Then he opened his mouth-
-and faltered.
Zell stared. Almasy at a loss for words? What's the temperature in hell, by the way?
"... whatever." Seifer let the other go and walked off, this time for good.
The martial artist groaned and sat back against another tree, wincing with a different kind of pain. His throat felt tight, and his eyes were stinging. He could barely inhale without feeling the mass of Adamantine grow heavier. And... h-hey... this tree was actually rather comfortable.
Zell passed out, exhausted from the day's events, right in the heart of the Training Center.
Needless to say, his wakeup call the next morning was a giant horde of Grats.
Hopefully he wouldn't grow older, if this is how much each birthday would suck.
And the damn Gloves were still tight.
A/N: Don't ask me why Irvine seems to be hitting on Zell. I don't even know why.
Anyway, hopefully the next chapter will be a bit happier. I did like my exercise in virtually fluffless SeifZell, but I'm used to reading angry love, not writing it.
The offer of +200 Awesome still stands for those who R&R. See you next chapter!
