"So…" Quistis ventured, as Squall collected his discarded clothing and weapon. "Am I the only one you haven't laid lips on in the past twelve hours or so?"

Squall turned a flat glare on her. "What are you talking about?" he asked incuriously.

"Rinoa, last night. Irvine this morning. I came looking for you after talking to Selphie—that makes three, by the way—and I find you cuddled up on the ground with Zell. Four." She raised an expectant eyebrow.

"I didn't kiss Zell. He needed to work off some frustration and all the grats were too terrified to come near him." Squall indicated the monster carcasses with a sweep of his blade. "We were just wrestling."

Quistis looked dubious, but she let it rest. "I think Zell's plan is good. A shower and some lunch sound great."

No response.

"There's something wrong with the plumbing in my shower. Can I borrow yours?"

"…Whatever."

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Quistis followed Squall as he headed out.

Near the entrance, an undersized T-Rexaur stumbled blindly out of the brush. It growled at them, but as Quistis readied her whip it emitted a terrified-sounding shriek and ran away.

"What was that all about?" Quistis mused.

"Zell," Squall responded shortly. "I think he traumatized it."

"Oh."

Squall impassively made his way out and headed to his room. Quistis trailed behind him, thinking hard.

They caught quite a few stares as they made their way to the dorms, although whether they were prompted by rumors of Squall's amorous adventures this morning, or just due to the fact that the Commander of Balamb Garden was crusted with dirt, sporting a ferocious scowl, and had his hair sticking up in unruly tufts was open to debate. There were several Trepies as well, adding their sighs of longing as counterpoint to the silent chorus of stares as Quistis passed by.

"Why was Zell upset?" Quistis asked the back of Squall's head.

"He was dumped," Squall replied, not turning to face her.

"Oh, no! Is he alright?"

"Yes." His answer was cold and precise.

The reached Squall's dorm room and he let them in.

"You go first," Quistis offered when Squall turned, the question written on his face. He nodded abruptly and moved to gather clean clothing.

"Mind if I have a seat?" she inquired, gesturing to the bed. Squall merely shrugged and entered the small bathroom, clean clothes clutched in his arms.

Sinking into the bed, Quistis sighed. She couldn't understand why Squall, who had opened up to everyone else—confiding in Rinoa, kissing Irvine, comforting Selphie, and listening to Zell—was still as inaccessible as ever in regards to her.

"He said any of us," she whispered to herself. "Do I count as 'us?'?" Could he really think of them as a group of five, rather than six? "No… I asked him… he repeated it. 'What's a kiss between friends?' he said. So… am I a friend to him?" Only one way to find out.

She waited for a few minutes until the water shut off. There was a faint rustling from behind the door. She tried very hard not to think about Squall. Naked, wet, lovely Squall. Squall dropping his towel to the floor, soft, full lips parting, saying—

"Quistis?" His voice carried through the door.

She shook her head, trying to clear out the lascivious thoughts. "Yes?"

"The shirt I picked has a hole in it. Will you get me a new one?"

"Sure." Checking the drawer she'd seen him rummaging through earlier, Quistis found an array of nearly identical shirts. The colors varied from off-white to light grey. She chose one in an ivory that reminded her of his skin.

Tapping on the door, she said, "I've got it." The door creaked open a few inches and a strong, pale arm extended. Forcing herself not to look, Quistis placed the new shirt in the questing hand and sat once more on the bed. She felt very warm.

The door opened once again and Squall stepped out, dressed as he always was. Quistis' breath caught as she looked him over. "How you manage to put on all those belts so quickly, I'll never guess." Her voice quavered, the cheer in it patently false.

"Did you want to use my shower or not?" Squall demanded.

"Alright, alright, I'm going." Quistis slipped in and shut the door behind her.

Squall made sure the door clicked shut before he let out the breath he was holding. Quistis always put him on edge. She was beautiful, yes, but she always made him feel like a mouse in a falcons' mew. He thought about leaving before she came back out, but cringed at the thought of leaving Quistis loose in his room any more than she had been already. There was no telling what she might get into.

Dropping onto his bed, Squall rested his head in his hands, one finger absently tracing the scar between his eyes. The scar was still an angry red; he hoped it would fade to white, soon.

Why did Quistis affect him like this? Rinoa, when she had singled him out for decorative use on the dance floor, hadn't made him feel this way. Neither had Irvine, calling him gorgeous and kissing him… in a way he didn't want to examine too closely at the moment, but couldn't help remembering. Warm lips against his own, a flicker of tongue teasing his mouth, strong arms holding him tight…

No, he didn't want Irvine—probably—but just the feeling of somebody there. A warm body to hold and be held by… lips to kiss and fingers to touch…

Damn Zell, he thought. Now I'm dwelling on how lonely I am. That wouldn't do. Not now. Not with Quistis the predator naked in his shower.

Although…

No.

Well, maybe…

Maybe…

If he turned the tables, tried to catch her… would they catch each other?

Or kill each other?

No. Bad idea. Especially now, with Quistis the perpetually condescending teacher naked in his bathroom. Quistis the lovely, collected predator, always hunting him, never showing any physical weakness… only her emotional ones. Squall had enough emotional weaknesses of his own, didn't he?

He heard the water shut off and ran a hand through his hair, forgetting that it was still wet. He dried his hand on the bed and listened to the soft sounds of Quistis drying off… pulling on her clothing…

A ripping sound, followed by a muffled curse, snapped Squall out of his daze.

"Squall?" Quistis sounded strange.

"Yes?"

"My top tore. Can I borrow a shirt?"

Squall sighed. Quistis was on the prowl again, hunting as blatantly as possible. "Alright," he said, resigned. He pulled a shirt out of the drawer at random. "Here," he said, after a quick knock.

The door opened and Squall caught a glimpse of long, slender legs before they disappeared under the brief towel she wore wrapped around her body. He looked up at her face. Contrary to the lecherous smile he expected, Quistis looked terrible. Her eyes were bloodshot and there were tear marks down her cheeks. Her nose was running unpleasantly. She looked… fragile. Human.

"Quistis?" Squall still held the shirt out, but didn't let go when she grasped it. "What's wrong?"

"What makes you think something's wrong?" she snipped.

"You're crying."

"You noticed. Thanks for the shirt."

"Quistis…" Squall warned.

"I'm just feeling sorry for myself. That's all. Not that you care." She bit off her words distastefully.

"Funny, so was I." Squall still gripped the shirt. "What was yours about?"

"Now you care? I think I'd rather talk to a wall." She glared meaningfully at him. "Now give me that shirt unless you want rumors going around about why I left your room naked and crying."

Squall released his hold instantly and had the bathroom door slammed in his face. He sighed, walked to the hallway entry, locked it, turned around, and sat on the floor, his shoulder blades pressed into the door.

Shortly thereafter, Quistis emerged from the bathroom, her face somewhat repaired. She was wearing her usual coral skirt with the fringed belt, but Squall's sleeveless, V-necked, light grey shirt made a distinct contrast to her usual appearance. The color washed her out, made her look delicate, unreal. The fact that she carried her tall boots draped over one arm, exposing her legs, only added to the impression.

"I deserved that," Squall said before she could speak, "but I'm here to listen this time. Or, if you don't want to talk to me, there's a wall right there." He pointed behind her. "Either way, you're not getting out of here until you tell me what's wrong with you."

"What's wrong with me?" Quistis exploded. "What's wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with you?" Her eyes were frosted with anger. "You cold son of a bitch! I have been trying to help you for years! I've been the one to put up with your asshole attitude, the one who stayed by you, no matter how nasty you were. What do I get for all that? What's my reward for putting up with years of your shit? More shit!"

She was pacing furiously now, venting her rage. "You utter bastard! You'll joke with Zell, you'll cuddle Selphie, you'll freaking well snog Irvine, but I don't even rate a civil 'hello'?"

Stopping, Quistis looked at Squall. A cold, hard look that spoke of years of buried pain. "You want to know what's wrong with me? You. You are what is wrong with me, Squall Leonhart." She laughed, a short, pain-filled yelp. "I was trying to figure out if I actually counted among your so-called friends. I had planned," she choked back a sob before going on, "to come out in that towel and ask you, straight out, if you were friend enough to do something for me. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that you would just throw me off like you always have. I didn't want to have to deal with that." She smiled, a bitter, brittle thing. "I've been rejected by you often enough. I just couldn't deal with it again."

Squall slowly rose to his feet. His eyes caressed her, from her dripping blonde hair, wetting her shirt—his shirt—in a way that spoke straight to his groin, to her bare feet, as fragile-seeming as the rest of her, and so different from any way he had ever seen her before.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she demanded. He only watched her as she walked up to him. He watched her lift her hand. He watched her eyes narrow. The force of the open-handed slap landing on his cheek broke his view, but he turned his head back soundlessly and resumed his watching.

"You don't feel anything, do you?" Quistis asked, conflicting emotions dragging her voice into a hush.

Wordlessly, Squall reached out and pulled her to him. He watched her eyes widen in alarm, then surprise, then he stopped watching as they both closed their eyes and simply felt.

A soft press of lips, the warm wetness of a questing tongue. The taste of coffee and mint. The slender comfort of her body against his, hesitant hands fluttering at his back.

Rough cloth, toned flesh, smooth skin, tangled hair, warm breath, wet lips, firm bed…

Bed?

Squall looked down and found that he'd backed Quistis across the room and was kneeling over her. "I felt that," he answered.

"Oh… good…" she said breathlessly.

"What did you want to ask me?"

"What?" Quistis was trying to clear the haze of fog from her brain.

"You said you had wanted to ask me for something. What was it?"

"It—it was… I think it was granted." Quistis smiled up at him, staring at eyes that had gone as softly blue as a winter morning. She lifted a hand to touch his damp hair and admired the curve of his cheek as he looked down at her, something dark and passionate lurking behind the serenity of his expression. He leaned in to her—

—and their stomachs growled in unison. They looked down, then back up. Their eyes locked.

"Maybe we should have some lunch." Quistis broke the silence.

Amusement crossed Squall's countenance. "Perhaps we should." He stood and offered her a hand. She accepted.

"Did you want to wear that, or change into one of your own?" Squall asked, indicating her shirt.

"Oh…" She looked slightly embarrassed. "I should probably get one of mine." She started for the door.

"Quistis?" Squall's soft voice stopped her. She turned. "I'm sorry," he continued.

Placing a hand on her hip, Quistis admonished him, "It would have saved a lot of trouble if you'd said that earlier." She smiled affectionately. "At least now I know you're not gay. Bi, maybe, but not gay."

"What is it with people thinking I'm gay, today?" Squall exclaimed. Seeing Quistis' glance at him, he looked down. Sure enough, his hand was resting on an off-center hip. He looked back at Quistis, who just now realized that they were mirroring each other.

He straightened up and folded his arms across his chest, noticing too late that she had done the same. They both dropped their arms—this time identically clasping them behind their backs.

There was a long moment.

Simultaneously, they laughed.

"Go change your shirt," Squall said. "I'll see you in the cafeteria."

"And… maybe tonight?" Mischief ghosted through her smile.

"Maybe," Squall replied.

Grinning, Quistis turned and left.

Squall thought over what had just happened, and what had happened with every one of his friends today. "Oh, no," he moaned. "There's going to be a riot at my door tonight."