Following Quistis' lead as she skillfully negotiated the back alleys and side streets of Balamb, Squall said, "I've been wanting to talk with you."
"Oh?" Quistis tensed.
"I wanted to know why you didn't come by last night."
"I thought you might." She took a deep breath. "I was talking to Zell last night. I asked him about you."
"Why ask Zell?"
"That's what he wanted to know. I know you think a lot of him so I thought you might have told him enough for him to figure out how you might react." She fell silent.
"React?" he prompted.
"To… what I asked you."
"You told Zell you asked me to sleep with you?"
"Shh!" They'd approached her chosen destination. Quistis looked around; satisfied that no one was gawping at them, she opened the door and hustled him inside.
"Why would you do that?" Squall asked, perplexed.
"Because I thought he might know. And… because I was having second thoughts." She looked down, appearing entirely too sweet and demure in her modest, yet revealing, dress.
Squall waited silently until she either spoke or picked clothing for him. After a pause, she did both.
Rifling through a rack of silky shirts, Quistis finally said, her voice flat, "Zell didn't know how you would feel about it, but he… he wanted to know why I didn't ask him."
He blinked. Quistis' carefully blank face, Zell's ease in touching her during lunch when he'd been nothing but respectful in the past… Zell showing up this morning, telling Quistis he'd fixed her shower…?
But… Zell?
Squall didn't know what he felt: a welter of hurt, confusion, jealousy, anger… but why? Why was he hurt? Why was he angry? Just who was he jealous of?
Quistis had said she didn't want to get involved, she only wanted a quick fling for the sake of experience. And Zell surely needed the comfort of a warm body after the way he'd just been dumped. Why couldn't Squall be happy for them, since they both got what they had needed?
Looking into Quistis' face, he knew why; she did not look like someone who had gotten what she wanted. She looked like she'd been hurt. He couldn't imagine Zell hurting her, though… at least, not on purpose. Maybe…
"Did… are you okay?" Squall asked, hesitantly. "Did he hurt you?"
"What?" It was Quistis' turn to blink in surprise. "No! No… nothing happened. I mean, nothing much."
"Nothing much?" He accepted the shirts Quistis thrust at him and followed her as she went to inspect pants that, at first glance, bore a striking resemblance to vinyl. "Quistis?"
"He asked why I didn't choose him. I told him that I thought he'd get too involved. He promised me he wouldn't and tried to prove it. He kissed me." She frowned at the pants she was holding up. "I think these are vinyl," she murmured.
"And?"
"Vinyl's really hot and sticky. You wouldn't want to wear it."
"Not the pants," he growled. "Zell."
"It wasn't… bad. Zell kisses like he fights—fast, hard, and full of energy. He was absolutely right, too; there wasn't even a hint of emotion to it. It was clinical… cold, even. That's when I realized I was lying to myself; I don't want a quick… experience. I want more." She sighed heavily. "I figured that showing up in your room last night would be a bad idea, since you'd either take me up on my offer—which I don't want anymore—or else send me away. I decided to wait, to explain later. You've been very patient. Thanks for that." She smiled weakly and passed a couple of pairs of pants to him. "You should try those on."
Too confused to speak, Squall just nodded his compliance. Once locked in the cramped dressing room, he examined his clothing and his emotions; slowly, one at a time, he stripped himself of both.
That surge of feeling when he thought Zell had slept with Quistis… what was that? Obviously there's something there, but for who? Perhaps he should break it down.
What did he feel about Quistis? She was his teacher, and in some cases his mentor. She'd also been his stalker, which was… rather less than positive. She was beautiful. Kissing her, yesterday, had been one of the most spontaneous, natural, unforced things he'd ever done in his life and it had felt incredible. He'd been prepared to do more than kiss… at least until sense had reasserted itself. He cared for her, certainly, but how much?
Now, Zell… Zell was complicated. He liked Zell. He trusted Zell. Zell was reliable. Boisterous, perhaps, frequently uncomfortable to be around, true, but very reliable and a good friend. And equally beautiful, in a different way. Squall knew that he'd felt the pull of Zell's looks when they were wrestling, staring up into those sapphire eyes, tousled blond hair falling forward, lips parted as he breathed…
Shaking himself, Squall directed his attention to the clothes Quistis had pressed on him; introspection was getting him nowhere good. "Quistis?" he called through the door. "I don't understand these pants."
Her muffled laugh carried through the door. "The laces go in the back," she said.
Eyeing the cloth suspiciously, Squall turned the pants around and shimmied into them. They felt uncomfortably short in the waistline, only barely extending past his hipbones. The back was gored and threaded with black cord, and the front crossed itself in a V, the right flap buttoning on his left hip and the left, crossing in front, buttoning on his right. He managed to get the buttons done correctly, he hoped, but couldn't quite manage the laces just below the small of his back. He opened the door a crack. "Quistis? A little help?"
Squeezing into the tiny dressing room with him, she shut the door and turned to look.
Hard pressed not to break into an overwhelmingly pleased grin, she turned him around and tightened the laces, tying them in an elaborate knot. She spun him back around and looked him over.
The iridescent fabric clung to him like a second skin, emphasizing his narrow hips and lengthening the already long line of his body. His bare, carved ivory chest was stark against the glistening expanse of black, pendant showing clearly against his skin. Silvery lashes framed silvery eyes, hair like cobwebs in the morning dew trailing down in a delicate fall making him look irresistibly coy.
Her eyes dropped and her breath hitched in her throat. "I think we've answered Irvine's question," she muttered.
"Which one?" Squall asked, unconscious of the effect he was having on her.
Reaching out a tentative hand, she lightly stroked the line of pale hair beginning just below his navel and thickening in a steady stream until it vanished into his waistline. "That's one impressive spell."
Squall caught her hand as it touched the edge of cloth and lifted it to his lips; he placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "I've been thinking," he began.
Quistis wisely refrained from a sarcastic comment.
"About what you asked," he continued. "I can't do it. Not like you said you wanted." A wry smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not emotionless. If I were to… to have sex with anyone, it would have to be because I have some feeling for them."
"And do you have feelings for me?" Quistis asked, uncertain what answer she was looking for.
"…I don't know. I might, but I can't tell. My world has done so many somersaults lately that I'm amazed it's not throwing up in the corner."
Startled, Quistis laughed. "Obviously, if you're making comments like that," she remarked with a sad smile. Trying to hide the perplexing hurt she felt, she pulled out one of the shirts she'd picked for him. "Here, try this one on."
It was deep blue interwoven with metallic silver. Watching Squall pull it on, Quistis noticed that his eyes darkened to a rich, clouded blue, and his hair picked up a blue sheen. He looked spectacular. "That's the one," she whispered. "You're… It's perfect."
Turning to regard himself in the mirror, even Squall was impressed. "You have good taste," he complimented Quistis.
An impulse crept over him; before he could think about it, Squall caught her hands in his own and drew her to him. He tilted his head and slowly made to kiss her; pausing a hair's breadth away, he flicked his tongue out to caress her parted lips. "Very good taste," he whispered.
Shuddering slightly, Quistis met his soft touch and responded with a kiss of her own. She slid her hands up his chest, underneath his open shirt, and worked the muscles of his body in her hands, reveling in the silken softness of his skin. Their lips moved softly together before Squall's mouth began to wander. Moaning quietly, she retaliated, action for action, grazing her teeth over the pulse in his neck and gently licking along his collarbone, exactly as he was doing to her.
A low, rumbling noise made her retreat. Squall was growling, half-closed eyes unfocused. "Squall?" she asked, concerned. "What's wrong?"
He breathed deeply, in and out, several times before answering, "I think you should go until I'm less confused." He blinked a few times, trying to control himself, still panting. "I should change back… save this for tonight."
Unsure if this was a good development or not, but having thoroughly enjoyed every touch, Quistis smiled and opened the dressing room door. "One last thing," she said, ducking out.
"What?" His voice was still unsteady.
"Buy some bikini underwear to go with those pants—it's tacky to have your undies hanging out like that." The door closed firmly behind her.
Squall turned back to the mirror and looked at the waistband of his pale green briefs peeking over his pants. Okay, he thought, she's got a point.