Because of the noise inside the ramshackle house, because of people talking and the thrumming of lighting and television and other appliances, it was hard to hear that it had begun to rain. The mirror finish of circular raindrops covered in streetlamp light...they made the road look coated in mercury. None of the party goers really took notice of the street or the rain, more interested in one another and their surroundings. Nobody was distractable enough to be enthralled by raindrops. Nobody really, except for Cloud.
The raindrops were absolutely facinating to him, slightly distorted through the glass and screen of the window. He could feel the floor under his feet and the texture of the windowpane under his fingertips with such clarity it would have frightened him, but he felt far above fear. He loved the raindrops and their shining finish, he loved the sensation of the glass, soft and cool. The room felt warm, cold, lit up like a star. The voices of people talking purred and rubbed against his skin like dozens of overly affectionate cats. He himself felt catlike, ready to stretch out on the floor and be petted or just to roll around a bit, loving.
A hand on his shoulder, a body pressed against his, Seifer's voice rode the wave of others and prevailed above them. It cooed, but unlike any bird, and although Cloud found it hard to listen in entireity, he knew that it was asking him for things, telling him things. He would agree. Nothing could frighten him or feel wrong, because nothing was frightening or wrong. The rain sounded like tongues clicking.
If people noticed them, they hadn't said anything. Cloud didn't care.
***
Video games could only provide so much of a distraction. Especially if you kept winning out of sheer luck. Zack knew he wasn't good at the games, that he was using a cheap character. He knew that the only real entertainment he was getting out of it was by razzing everyone else around him when they lost. Tap B rapidly and press towards their character. People would have probobly been going home already in small groups, filtering out onto the lawn and into the night if not for the rain. Most of them seemed intent on standing around, though, pretending to be having a hell of a good time. The party was okay, he guessed. Something to do. It could have been worse, there could have been bad music.
The disapproving click of a tongue next to him brough Zack's wandering thoughts back to the game they were playing. Freya, an exchange student he'd known since they'd both been freshman, was making disapproving faces at the screen and holding her controller lopsided in one hand. "For Gods sakes...if you're just going to press one button over and over, what's the point of playing?" Her whip-thin tail lashed side to side behind them.
Blinking, Zack realized that he hadn't been paying attention to the game at all. Yet, due to the amazing cheapness of any given secret character, he was still winning. Great, can't even keep my mind on a fighting game I'm so bored. This sucks, we could'a done this back in the room. Hell, at least there we woulda had the choice of music and food. Shrugging, he held the controller back over his head and made a hissing sound between his teeth. "Guess my heart's just not in it. Handing off."
"Or your head. Christ," Freya, in her amazing monotone cynicism, managed not to sound the least bit peeved with the dark haired young man slouched on the floor beside her. While she was still occasionally shocked by just how long and unkempt his hair managed to be, Zack had long since gotten over Freya's external peculiarities. Their campus was home to many eccentricites, but the world was an eccentric place, and even with so much diversity there were still people unwilling to accept it. Freya's features were animalistic, an extended muzzle and a thin velvety fur that covered parts of her body. At first, she had been the subject of ridicule. Before she opened her mouth, and proved to everyone that she was full capable of defending herself. She had managed to find general acceptance within a few groups, a few tight knit sets of friends who looked and acted no more alike than fish and birds.
That was the same group heading that Zack had found himself clustered under. It didn't bother him, he could get along well with pretty much anyone, given they didn't feel the need to cause problems. You'd think, the dark haired student thought with a mental sigh, that in an area as big as the college town most of them lived in, there'd be more of an acceptance of differences in lifestyles. But nah, there was the same grade-school level of immaturity on just about anything you could think of. Little physical anomilies...shit, don't even bring up sexual preference. Yeah, there's the Weapons to take care of that... You keep quiet around here. Well, ever since-
Zack's thoughts didn't have time to complete themselves. Powered by something between pixie stix and rocket fuel, something only identifiable as blonde, tattooed and insanely hyperactive shot overtop of both Zack and Freya, seeming to hang midair for a moment before unceremoniously dropping onto them. Flattened to the ground, Freya and Zack found themselves subject to a series of flails kicks and generally spastic behavior that was both extremely painful and hilarious. Gasping for air, Zack fought to breath around the laughter that was seeming both intent on shredding his ribs and muting him. Freya kicked and beat at their assailient with her controller, her dark eyes flashing dangerously.
"Zell, what the hell are you doing? Get off us. Zell!" Her protests were cut to a sort of gurgle when the weight load doubled, two elbows planting themselves in front of the game system as a shock of brown hair flopped downwards, followed by a smooth featured smiling face.
Freya stopped clawing at Zell, who was still flopped lengthwise across the both of them, and slitted her eyes grumbling. "Irvine..."
"Yo," the dark haired lanky upperclassman flashed her a grin and sumersaulted forward, crouching on his heels and folding his hands between his knees. "How's it goin Freya," He added emphisis on everyone's name, like he was jokingly trying to seduce them...or something akin to that. Actually given the long haired student's reputation it probobly was only half-joking. Gah. "Zack," His pronunciation on Zack's name didn't change. Freya rolled her eyes and shoved again at the unyeilding lump of Zell pinning them to the floor.
Zack, on the other hand, had adapted rather well to being flattened by a shorter, more hyperactive person and returned Irvine's grin with one of his own and a sloppy false salute, once he freed his arm from under Zell. "Hey, Irvs. What goes on?"
"You're blocking the SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEN," Zell interupted any response Irvine felt like making and rolled forwards off Freya and Zack, elbowing the taller boy out of the way and knocking Irvine onto the ground. Sitting up and picking the dangling controller off his shoulder by the wire, Zack raised his eyebrows slightly.
"Nevermind..."
"Is someone gonna play me over here, or what, ya damn pansies?" The resounding clomp of the additional member of their party sent shockwaves through the floor as Barret grumbled and motioned to the game impatiently. Zack felt kind of bad for Barret, who was obviously built to be a jock...but since the summer time had had his arm confined to a sling and cast. He'd gone on a trip with some friends rafting, there'd been some unexpected rough water, and he'd been thrown overboard. There wasn't much else for him to do besides wait for his arm to be free of the cast and play video games.
"Not like I can see the screen anyway," Zack bit the side of his cheek and hopped to his feet, dropping the controller into Freya's lap. The rodent-like girl shot him a slow withering death glower, but if Zack did see it he didn't pay it much mind. "Frey'll cover for me for now, I gotta walk before my ass becomes stuck to the floor. Which would suck, because then you'd have to come here to water me once a week." Both Barret and Freya looked at eachother patheticly, knowing what was coming. Irvine and Zell were already up and gone after the first sentance. Zack took not notice, and continued. "I guess eventually you could throw a tablecloth over me or something and claim I'm some sort of greatly meaningful art, but until then it'd be kind of weird to have a person stuck into the middle of a living room floor, huh?" Waving over his shoulder with one hand into the pocket of his cargos, Zack continued to ramble as he walked. "I mean don't get me wrong I'm sure there's plenty of art majors who'd really appriciate it, and I could wave my arms really slowly on Sundays and make weird sounds like 'fwooozaaaa' at three in the afteroon on Tuesdays. Then it'd be living art, but only so long as you guys remembered to water me," Walking backwards, Zack wasn't watching where he was going as he talked...not like it mattered to him. "Then I'd just be stinky, decomposing art. Or garbage that's stuck to the floor. I'm not really sure there's a difference at this point in time-"
"Do you ever stop with those stupid rants you start on, Knightblade?"
That voice...is not a good voice to be saying that. Zack turned with a sheepish grin prepared on his face. And there he was, as expected and unappriciated. Silver white hair almost obscured the light green eyes that radiated boredom and discontentment on the face that had lurked at the dark haired student's back. He was at the top of the class, always hovering behind anyone doing anything that could potentially get them into trouble. Sephiroth was an expert at being in every place you'd expect a dean's list student not to be. He was a sophmore, like Zack, but acted as though he'd been at the school for years prior. Given how quickly he picked up and peiced together information, it wasn't an unreasonable bet that he knew more of what went on over the campus than most of the seniors.
It was a rather striking contrast to see the two of them standing face to face. Sephiroth wasn't that much taller than Zack, but the smooth orderly fashion in which he wore his hair was such a sharp contridiction to the unkempt disaray of Zack's. Their cloths contradicted as well. Zack in loose and worn teeshirts and old pants, Sephiroth in fitted, clean, nearly-new looking white shirts and dark pants. Dark and light, polar opposite...and the year prior hadn't helped to dispell that imagery. Zack tended to try to avoid confrontations with Sephiroth in public, simply because their mirror opposite selves drew stares. There was that, and it seemed to directly go against both their natures to be talk to eachother. Sephiroth was orderly and buisnesslike, and kept his thoughts in quiet order. Zack was out there on his sleeve, and extremely vocal about it.
This. Was bad.
"Hey, Seph..." Zack knew that eyes were on them now, and didn't particularly like it. At least it wouldn't cripple him like some of the other students he knew of...Usually a confrontation with Sephiroth meant that he wanted to let out some little sliver of cryptic information meant to drive you up a wall for weeks in advance. His little tidbits were meant to keep students out of trouble, but by the time they got figured out, it was too late. At best, what could be done with Sephiroth's little warnings was try to not dwell on them...Sometimes anyway.
Brushing strands of silver-white hair from his face, Sephiroth's eyes settled into their nuetral state. The tone of voice he used as well was lowered to something more slick and confining, like a bodybag made of velvet. It made Zack feel slightly uncomfortable every time, but there wasn't much he could really do about it. "Knightblade, you are aware that your little group of friends isn't the most highly thought of by the Dean of your college and the school board, am I right?"
Zack nodded. It was obvious that the teachers seemed to have dark omneciant eyes out after the fringe students. His freshman year hadn't helped that image, and he knew it. But it was too late to reverse time, and the best he could do now was cope with the reputation he'd given himself and his friends. "Yeah, I know that," Would Sephiroth just hurry up? He didn't need this announced to a whole new year's worth of students... "Is there a problem or something? We're all mostly innocent unless you count the dozens of naked midgets we have chained under our beds. Oh god. The dozens upon dozens of midgets-"
The very corner of Sephiroth's misty green eyes twitched slightly. "Knightblade..."
"Yeap? Oh. Sorry about that. Rare disease ya know, my brain's slowly being eaten by a plant-like parasite."
"I'm opting to ignore that...I just feel it my obligation to warn you that, well...were anything to happen to anyone here, I highly doubt the blame would find the appropriate party. So... Keep a watch out, will you?"
Seriousness flickered a moment on Zack's face and his voice dropped into the tones seldom used, ones he kept on reserve for dangerous situations. "What are you talking about?"
The head of last year's class chose to say no more, brushing lightly past Zack on his way towards the door. The silver strands that drifted behind him seemed free of gravity and followed like obedient ghosts after their master, held back and tamed by a tight black band which held the silver cascade into a ponytail. When the cryptic sophmore was gone completely, Zack was left standing with fists involuntarily clenched at his sides. When Freya's body dusted the air beside him, Zack found himself unable to abandon the serious tone of voice. "Where the hell is Seifer."
"Probobly upstairs. Why?" Freya didn't appriciate Sephiroth's way of skirting important details, but being another one of the more upstanding students she couldn't find much fault with him as a student. She respected him as a rival. She didn't enjoy, however, his tendency to manipulate her friends.
Zack offered no reply to Freya, pushing past her into one of the house's larger rooms. His knuckles tightened around the doorjamb when he looked across the fifteen or so people still talking or amusing themselves. Some faces he knew, some he didn't. The cracked half-white walls on the old house worked against him. What he needed to see was what he had expected to see. Everything looked normal, whether it was or not, and he couldn't pick Seifer out. He hadn't left. He hadn't left, Zack was by the door, he would have seen it if Seifer had left. Shit, Sephiroth wouldn't have told me that if it was nothing. Where is he? Nothing was unusual. People talking, Zell causeing havock with a coffee table and Irvine cleaning up after him. People he vaguely knew...but...Upstairs, maybe. Fuck, not upstairs.
Cutting through the room, Zack did his best not to look like he was about to cause World War Three. No luck, people were giving him weird looks. Well, now everyone knew he was involved in whatever was going to happen. Fun, fun, silly-willy. Zack tried to ignore it and thumped his sneakers against the staircase, the landing squeaking as he hit it. Slightly above the room now, he could still see no sign of the blonde scarred man. But there's Kuja...Oh, this is lovely. Where there's smoke there's fire, so where is he?
It wasn't pleasant to think about, but the staircase stretched on beyond the landing into the second floor. Zack could feel the drywall familiar under his fingertips when he touched the wall, turned and looked up. He knew when his nails started to dig into the chalky surface, down under the paint, through paper. Yes, the stairway was familiar, just like the rest of the building. Yes, he knew that that's probably where Seifer was. All the same, he didn't want to go forward, and all the same, he could feel his sneakers going toe first onto the next step. All the same, watching for creaks in the boards, Zack made his way to the top of the steps.
The hallway was the same as it was last year, too. The carpet on the floor was still that gritty faded maroon, the walls were still half-painted that off-white colour someone had probably thought was relaxing a long time ago. The lights were off, but Zack could hear people moving in the half-lit hallway. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the shadows.
At first it looked like only one person against the wall. It didn't take a genius to know that one person didn't move like that, though. It was Seifer, his jacket swept outward to obscure whomever he had up against the wall. That person pinned against the drywall, but if they could have run, the distant gloss in their eyes said they weren't in any state of mind to do so. The glossed blue irises drifted down the hall absently and landed on Zack, who stood staring with one hand against the wall. Seifer's fingers were closed claw-like around the shorter blonde's wrists, holding them to the wall with one arm. The other hand, blocked from view by both bodies, was delved down between their waists. Both of them were moving, the strange circular motions nobody's ever interested in explaining. If the blonde had any inclination to speak, it was cut short by Seifer's mouth, his scar pale against the new student's flushed skin.
There are certain things that trigger strong reactions in human beings. Once adolesence is left behind, people tend to deny their ability to snap out at these triggers, but they still exist. Those who do snap usually aren't regarded with much respect, even though everyone wants to lash out at one time or another. Sometimes the triggers are words, sometimes actions, sometimes memories.
Zack was triggered.
It didn't take an athlete to leap from the top of the stairs across the hall, to slam shoulder first into Seifer and knock him aside. Zack's feet tripped over those of the other blonde, and he staggered a moment before regaining his footing. His shoulder hurt now, but he was too angry to think about it. Anger was thick and heavy, filling up against his eyes until he felt blind. The drugged student was taller than Zack had thought, he'd been slouching against the wall, and pulled himself up haltingly. Didn't matter. No time to notice. The no-name's pants were halfway down around his waist but it wasn't important. Seifer was already coming back at Zack with a punch and dangerous eyes.
Zack threw himself against the wall, out of the way of Seifer's fist. For a second he was flat up against the no-name, so close he could see the thread sized muscles that made up his eyes. Pull away. Zack came away just behind Seifer and jabbed hard with his elbow. The other man made a sick, choked grunt and went sideways. Good, the bastard. Get ahold of him. Zack caught Seifer's jacket collar before he had time to fall, swung the blonde around by it. His body hit the wall with a shudder that rattled the doors on their hinges, and probably dented the drywall. Zack held tight to Seifer's collar, doing his best to hold the scarred man up. His free fist was hurting, itching. He wanted to beat Seifer. He wanted to.
"What the hell are you doing?!" He didn't mean for his voice to be as loud as it came out. Seifer flinched at the volume, slitted his eyes into a glare and stayed silent. Zack's fist lashed out and felt the satisfaction of being slammed against human flesh. The blonde winced again. "What the hell is wrong with you?! You think this is funny? You drug freshmen, then you drag them up here? Do you even know his fucking name?" Zack could feel his arms shaking, he didn't care why.
"Leamme alone, I'm fucking fine..." The no-name made a weak and off-balance effort to pull Zack away from Seifer, his fingertips slipping against the fabric of Zack's shirtsleeve. Out of the corner of his eye, Zack watched the no-name with erratic short hair protest halfheartedly, watched him pull again before falling back against the wall and sliding down to the floor, legs folded up, icey eyes glaring up at him. "Bastard..."
Returning his attention to Seifer, Zack saw the scarred man was watching the blonde no-name himself. Another flare, another trigger, and Zack pounded Seifer in the stomach, under the ribs. In, twist, up, like he'd learned in a karate class six million years ago. Seifer's skin went pale a second, shock on his face, air wooshing from his lungs. Zack let go of his collar and Seifer dropped to the floor, his arms wrapping around his stomach and shoulders heaving for breath. Hands still in fists, Zack took a step back. The trenchcoat Seifer wore spread around him on the carpet, spread out in different angles like a starfish.
Look at the no-name, look at Seifer.
Pure hate wasn't so easily sedated.
Taking hold of Seifer's collar again, Zack wound his wrist up in the fabric and tightened his muscles. With the wind knocked out of him, Seifer was in no position to fight back. The dark haired sophmore shot a look towards the no-named blonde slouched against the wall, his voice in low, backed tones.
"Don't move. I'm going to come back."
Zack dragged Seifer behind one of the heavy, old oak doors of the upstairs, its hinges creaking shut and Seifer's muted gasping still auidable in the hallway. When the door shut, there was a yelp and a sick weighted sound. Dull and prolonged, muffled by the door and rug, the beating being administered could not be entirely hidden.
*****
It seemed like time had stopped completely by the time Zack reemerged from behind the oak door, his knuckles scraped raw and his muscles tired. His toes hurt. Zack hated getting angry, but Seifer always pushed him over the edge. Not true...he didn't used to, but before was before and now was now and now Seifer had the amazing ability to send Zack off like a packet of firecrackers. He hated being angry, he hated hating. It made him feel sick in the pit of his stomach, and tired. Not to mention as dangerous as an oncoming Mack truck. It wasn't even like he was really thinking about taking care of that blonde no-name when he started beating on Seifer, either-
The blonde, shit! He'd forgot...Wiping the back of his hand over his forehead, Zack felt his fingers trembling in the air and glanced down the hall. The light-built student was still there, coiled up against the wall. Maybe asleep. Walking through the orange-lit hallway on weak knees, Zack leaned against the wall next to the blonde and nudged him with the side of his sneaker. The blonde stirred slightly and batted at his leg, his hand recoiling under his knees almost instantly. A shivering sigh escaped Zack's lungs and he sank downwards, running his fingers through his dark hair, his entire body trembling.
Jesus Christ...what the hell had he just done...What he'd just done was crazy, nobody sane would have done it. Yeah, wonderful, he'd gotten the satisfaction of beating up on Seifer, but it wasn't like Seifer wasn't going to try to get back at him. Why had he done that? What the hell had he just done? He felt cold and weak... shaken. Leaning his head back against the wall, Zack breathed deeply for a few moments, trying to place his thoughts.
The only placement he could make was the same question he was repeating over and over...
"Zack? Are you upstairs?"
Freya's voice broke through his merry-go-round of thoughts as Zack rocked onto his knees and shouted a reply back down the steps. "Yeah...Freya..." Words seemed to slip and drift away when he reached for them, his entire thought process was dulled by the shock of his own anger. He couldn't just leave no-name here...when Seifer woke up and stepped outside, the blame would probobly fall on him. So...no way he could be left. Digging one arm under the blonde's knees and taking hold of his far shoulder blade, Zack pushed himself up off one knee and lifted the new student. No-name made sounds of protest and clawed blindly again before shifting his weight in Zack's arms and latching onto the dark-haired sophmore's shirt. Zack gritted his teeth, turning to shuffle back down the steps.
Freya met him at the top of the stairs, her small feet making nearly no sound as she bounded up the steps. Zack's long silence had her concerned, and reaching the awning into the hallway above, she realized her concerns had been valid. Coiled limply in Zack's arms was a boy with erratic blonde hair and a build similar to his own. The look in Zack's eyes was hollow, his skin paled and hands shaking even as they held the blonde up. For a moment, Freya's stood quiet in disbelief. By the time she had recovered herself, Zack was speaking. His voice was pleeding, desperate.
"Freya, can you drive the truck back to the dorm tonight? I think we have a slight problem..."
Her mousey features softened as she nodded, slowly backing down the steps so as to make sure Zack wouldn't trip on his decent. "Sure, not a problem. Do you want to borrow my room tonight?"
"Yeah...thanks..." His words were absent, elsewhere. That much was obvious.
A few moments later, a battered silver pickup truck rolled into the driveway beside the sophmore dormitory, a darkhaired shape hunched down in the bed with a lithe blonde clutching against him tightly in drugged sleep. Tail lights reflected on the damp black pavement as tires growled on gravel in the black night. All of it felt so terriably surreal, Zack wasn't so sure he was entirely sober himself.