Disclaimers: All FF8 characters are respectfully copyrighted to their rightful owners, Squaresoft. No copyright infringement intended for the usage of their characters in this work of fiction. No profit is being made by this fan fiction; please do not redistribute unless otherwise stated so by me personally.
Warning: The story will eventually depict homosexual relationship(s). I don't write my characters as horny rabbits about to jump the sack, love at first sighters, or Shakespear-spouting lovers, but if you have a problem with being a mature and respectful reader about NON-heterosexual relationships, I suggest you STOP READING now. And really, don't be an idiot and flame me after I've warned you. It'll irritate me if you do, but I won't be losing any sleep over you. Possibly just some brain cells at your lack of comprehension.

Part Five:

Zell was lying on his bed, staring up at the cool, gray color of his ceiling. There weren't any of the rough, bumpy gradients on the surface like on the walls of his room back in Balamb, and there weren't any white-curtained windows above the bed's headboard. He finally forced himself upright, muscles protesting from the brutal and incessant training practice he had pushed himself through the night before. Wincing at a particularly sore stretch in his left shoulder, he stood and walked towards the bathroom on led-laden feet.

The reflection that greeted him once he stood before the bathroom sink made him cringe and the lines of weariness to draw even tighter at the corners of his eyes and lips. The darkened grooves beneath his blue eyes seemed to have deepened from yesterday's reflection and he ignored the clenching in his guts at the prolonged staring at his own face. Leaning quickly down to splash his face with water and begin his morning ritual of floss, gurgle, brush and wash, he mentally went over today's schedule.

A quick on the go breakfast consisting of some toast and a cup of coffee and prompt meeting with Squall and half of the staff on summer training plans for Garden. Then off to his late morning classes on physical self-defense till half past noon; lunch with Selphie, Quistis and possibly Squall should he deign to grace them with his presence, and afternoon classes assisting in the upper level endurance classes. Evening would probably involve a briefing and update on upcoming or current missions and if recent events were anything to stand by, he wouldn't be needed for any of them. A light dinner, more training to fill up the empty hours that hounded him with images and memories before he'd finally be able to rest his exhausted body to fulfill the minimal requirement of sleep he needed to function properly.

It was a monotonous and dead routine compared to when he was younger, but it was one that made him feel relatively normal and most importantly, sane.

If any of his friends and acquaintances noticed the lack of luster coloring his life these days, they refrained from approaching him on the subject. Zell wasn't sure if he was bitter and resentful, or relieved at the fact, or just a combination of both.

Only two more days until the weekend, and then the routine had to be broken to fill up the times that classes and meetings usually took. Zell mulled over his plans on what to do for the upcoming weekend as he chewed and swallowed automatically on the tasteless piece of toast, absently sipping at his coffee every now and then.

Zell brushed off the crumbs that lingered at the corners of his mouth and drained the last bit of his unsweetened, straight black coffee and crumpled the foam cup before tossing it into the small trash bin outside of the door as he walked into the meeting room. Taking his customary seat next to Quistis, he took a moment to look around the nearly empty room and noted that he had arrived early again. Not an unusual occurrence lately, but definitely one in comparison to a month ago when he still came in, shoelaces not yet tied, and mouth still smeared from raspberry donut filling as he would shuffle quickly and embarrassedly to his seat.

The other two current occupants of the room, Quistis and Squall, were talking in muted, hushed tones near the front of the room where Squall sat and would usually dictate the morning meetings. Every now and then, Zell could feel the almost tangible touch of eyes looking at him, but he resolutely refrained from looking back up from his notebook. However, the assumption--one that Zell would heavily bet on being true--that he was being talked about, either primarily or at least mentioned, made him tense and he ignored the pestering voice of his conscience wondering what they were talking about.

The fleeting though that they were possibly discussing his sanity left a small grin on his lips which lasted only a brief second under the weighted scrutiny of either Squall or Quistis.

It felt like Squall's eyes though; Zell was familiar enough with the piercing, and cool gaze that belonged to the current headmaster of Garden.

More people shuffled eventually came in, light chatter and laughter following them as they walked to their seats. A hand pressed down lightly on his shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze and Zell glanced up to find the familiar sight of Irvine giving him a wide, if still sleepy, grin. He mustered up a smile for the other man, knowing he'd probably only half-succeeded when concern touched the Galbadian's violet eyes.

Before Irvine could voice his worry, a slight cough came from behind the tall man and he turned to find Quistis expectantly waiting for him to take his seat at the end of the row. His grin broadened to a flirtatious smile and greeting before leaving to take his seat.

"Good morning, Zell." Quistis settled gracefully into her seat, opening up her own notebook and uncapping her pen.

"Morning, Quistis."

Any further conversation was discouraged by Squall requesting everyone's attention to the front of the room.

Zell leaned back into his own seat, the hard edges poking at his back, and tuned in with one ear to Squall's announcements. His mind wandering and attention barely there, the only thing that really seemed to anchor him to reality was the ghostly warmth of Irvine's hand where it had gently touched his shoulder.

Zell filed the strange significance of the action for later scrutiny, absentmindedly jotting down the important key points that Squall was relaying.