Here we go, chapter five, complete with sappy get together! Yeah, I'm a sap, and this fic is an angst-free zone.

Two more chapters to come! Maybe an epilogue, too, depending on whether I feel the story has any more material for one.

Anywho, enjoy:)


I should have anticipated that today, when I'm tired and irritable, he'd decide to start bothering me again. After my dreams and thoughts of last night, of course he'd be hanging around, knowing instinctively just the right times to bug me in his inimitable way until I give in to whatever he wants from me. I just wish I knew what that was.

"Yo, Squally-boy," he says, cocky as ever, leaning against the wall. "What's up with you today? You've got a face on you like someone just stole your favourite teddy."

I ignore him, or pretend to, going past him into my office. Why is he out there anyway? He follows me inside, obviously intent on talking to me, and hell bent on breaking some rules as he does so. He has no respect at all for my privacy, and damn him, I don't mind it too much. Maybe I'm used to it. Hell, maybe I've even got to like it – I'm certainly masochistic enough.

He snorts softly. "Talking with the voices in your head, Leonhart?"

What? I look up, questioning, to find him too close to me. I step back quickly, shooting him a quick glare, as if it would change anything. "What are you here for, Seifer?"

"I wanted to play with my favourite Ice Princess, of course," and there's that over confident smirk that I've long grown to expect. I roll my eyes at him, trying to avoid a confrontation or more of the kinds of 'conversation' I always end up having with him. For once, I'm going to try and keep my thoughts to myself.

There's a long moment of silence that drags on and on. I don't look at him, but I know he's still there, his presence too… solid not to feel. It's as if his heat creeps through the room, warming it… I can just tell he's still standing there, in his usual cocky position.

Damn him. Why does he always throw me into confusion? He stands there and I want to turn, acknowledge him, and give him whatever he wants. Go away, Seifer.

"You really are ice," he says suddenly.

Of course, that has the effect he wants – I turn to look at him, eyebrow raised. Shit, why can't I control this? I don't want to know why he thinks I really am ice, or whatever.

He tells me anyway, of course. "You're so fucking frigid." He walks closer to me, and I daren't step back, that would be admitting that he makes me feel vulnerable. He puts a hand on my arm, smirking at me. "I bet you never did anything with Rinoa, did you?"

Before I even think about it, the words leave my mouth. "Never."

He smirks at me more, and inwardly, I curse myself. Damn him, damn me, damn whatever draws me to him and makes me answer. I can see from his smirk that he doesn't really care.

"Not even a kiss? Surely she couldn't keep her hands off you…"

I glare at him, brushing the hand off my arm easily. There are better things for me to be doing, but he has me cornered. "She wanted to, I didn't. Leave now, Seifer."

"Didn't your mommy ever teach you manners?" he asks, smirking some more. And then he softens, apologetic. "I'm sorry, I know Edea raised us well, I'm just… well, you know me, speak before I think."

He's apologetic? I don't understand this man, and I don't think I want to. He confuses me so much, standing there, close to me. His body solid and real and warm; I really can feel his body heat seeping through the space between us. He's standing too close; arrogance and confidence and pure Seifer. Of course this doesn't bother him.

I ignore him.

He snorts again, contemptuous as well as arrogant. "I bet you've never been kissed at all, have you, Princess?"

"No," I say, again without thinking. Now all I want to do is curse, curse at him, at me, at my mouth for opening without my permission. He steps forward, closer to me again, and I step back, my back against my filing cabinet. "Seifer, you should leave now."

He looks down at me, knowing amusement in his eyes. "Why should I? I don't want to."

"Why don't you want to?"

The words are out there, between us, but all of a sudden, I'm not sure I want to know the answer. But he hums softly, smirking still, and answers me.

"Because something as pretty as you should at least have been kissed by now."

Before I can even think about the implications of that statement, his lips are on mine. He leans down a little, putting one hand on my shoulder to hold me still. And damn me, I can't think of anything to do but respond. I want this.

Well, one part of me wants this. The rest of me, the part that hates vulnerability and will never open up – the sensible part - is what makes me draw back, push at him to make him leave me alone. "What the hell?"

"Squall," he says softly, almost pleadingly, "I'm tired of teasing you, it's like I said, when you want to stop running, there are some people around who'd be interested in getting to know you I meant me, Squall, I want to know you, I…" He trails off, looking into my eyes as if he can find something there, and apparently, he does, because he bends down again, resting his forehead against mine.

Why is he saying this now? What makes him want to… admit this now? I close my eyes, confused, just trying to sort something out, but then his voice interrupts me again.

"You kissed me back, so… You're confused, right? Don't talk to the voices in your head, Squall." Not Squally-boy, Ice Princess or Leonhart, but my name. I open my eyes and he takes my chin in his hand, tipping my head up. "Talk to me."

And damn him, as always, I can't help responding. "What do you want from me?"

"Just you."

"Me?" He's so confusing, as always.

"Yes, you. I want… Oh, fuck it to hell." He straightens, pushing me back a little so I can see his face clearly. "I love you, Squall."

What?

I don't realise I've said it out loud until he smirks slightly, repeating it clearly, as if I'm deaf or stupid. "I love you, Squall."

His mouth is on mine again, and now I can't do anything to protest, kissing him back, confused, but willing to go with it. I've always thought I could open up to him… and he won't be able to hurt me any more whether I'm open or closed to him… he's already in my heart… I already…

He pressed me back against the filing cabinet, his hands on my hips, and then his arms slide around me, holding me close, his face pressed into my hair. He knows, of course he knows, he always did know me better than I know myself. "Squall," he whispers softly, and nothing else, just holding me.