Disclaimer: If I write them OOC often enough, can Square still claim them as their own? I guess it doesn't matter; they have lawyers on their side, and if they claimed Esse stole the Goodyear blimp, the court's gonna find her guilty. Now if Esse had any money, she could fight them, but sadly, no one's yet t' cut her a single check for her plethora of fanfic efforts. Life is so not fair.

Notes: This is supposed t' be a birthday ficcie for Becca. However… I wasn't able t' fit in a single one of her requests.; Ah… maybe next year?

Warnings: None. Well, I think I used damn once. Eee, make that twice, now. Mmm, and there might be a few other colorful words as well. And the plot meanders — if a casual afternoon can have a plot.

Thank-you: To Emily :shakes her head: I dunno why you beta for me, but I sure do appreciate it!

Saisei

He didn't mind being alone. People tended to crowd too near, and look too closely; he had nothing left to hide, but wasn't yet prepared to subject his psyche to scrutiny. Let others bare their hearts and search their souls; he was content to let past mistakes settle and fade with the passage of time. It had been hard, those first few months after, to let go of his guilt, his anger, his hatred. How he had hated; himself, those that would call themselves his friends, those who took pride in being his enemies — hated them all with a burning passion that consumed every small flickering of feeling, until, lacking nourishment, it had burned itself out, leaving nothing behind but a blackened, cooling void where once his dearest dreams had resided.

Being alone, he did not mind, but loneliness… Loneliness tugged at his sleeves, a fretful, frightened, large-eyed hollow-cheeked child who wanted to be loved, adored, soothed and taken care, whose family had left it behind, discarded — never to be reclaimed. Loneliness was what kept him going; going out, going among people who crowded and looked and walked away from him smugly. Yet still he went out, him and the lonely, grieving child — both of them wishing, hoping to find something, someone who could ease the pain away.

And it had worked. He had looked; he had found — he had been found. And now, years later, he no longer minded being alone. The apartment he kept was a small one; a place for sleeping, a place for eating, a place for taking care of the basic functions of life. He owned a couch, second-hand; a cast-off from an acquaintance more fortunate than he. He was owned by a dog, a cast-off as well; a thing of bright eyes and long hair that fit comfortably in the crook of his arm, a throne from which she ruled her small realm. He possessed gainful employment; a job that cared as little for him as he did for it. And he was possessed by a love that had filled all the emptied places inside; that left him warm when other's coldness threatened to chill him.

Such was his life. He got up in the mornings and went to work. He came home in the evenings and sat on his couch, Saisei a comforting lump in his arms, and watched reruns 20 years old on the little black and white set he'd found at a yard sale a few months back. And he'd wait; sometimes for an hour, sometimes all night, and sometimes — sometimes the wait was in vain. But that couldn't be helped. He was patient, with all the practice he'd gotten in waiting.

A knock sounded on the door, and he smiled. More than a curving of lips, it resided in the tilt of his head and the gentleness of his fingers as he sat the small dog down. It was early — golden treacle-evening not yet tinged with the somber colors of night. Hours, he had hours ahead of him, as many as he wanted, for there was no need for a self-imposed bedtime when he had all of tomorrow off. "It's open," he called out, making no attempt to get off of the couch.

"Of course it's open, it's always open," came the answering voice, while the door swung inwards, dragging against the napped carpet. Saisei's ears perked forward, then back; her tiny black nose crinkled in an orgy of sniffing. A familiar scent — a well-known scent, and she was off the sofa in one wriggling, sliding movement and across the room, as fast as her short legs could carry her.

The man on the couch snorted, and moved on with the next step of the ritual. "Why should I lock it when I have such a loyal protector?"

Saisei, ferocious watch-dog that she was, had bellied up, exposing her pale pink tummy in the hopes of adoration and a good rub. She was very seldom refused, for she handled disappointment poorly.

"Aye, so fierce…" Slim fingers ran through silky white fur, while laughter rumbled deep inside the visitor's chest. "With such a guardian, of course there is no need for you to worry. Tch, little one," he scolded the dog, who had nipped playfully but not hard, "I need those, you know…" He sighed, and stood, closing the door behind him. "And how was your day, Seif?"

The man on the couch inclined his head while lifting up Saisei, who had come scampering back to him, consistent in the fickleness of her affections. "Much like every other day. I know it may come as a surprise, but painting tacky ceramic figurines just isn't as rewarding as I thought it would be. And yours?"

"My day was wonderful, as always. I get to stack fruit into large pyramids, which invariably get knocked down by pushy, bovine women, thus insuring my job security. We got in a delivery of honeydews this morning; I brought one — I thought we could share."

"Sounds good; sit it on the counter." Seifer stood and walked into the kitchen, his slippered feet sliding on the transition from carpet to dingy linoleum. He pulled open a drawer at random; organization was a skill he'd lost during that time when he'd lost so many other things as well. There was a clutter of silverware: spoons, forks, tongs and spatulas and an amazing variety of knives. He pulled out one he thought might work, observing the edge with a knowledgeable eye. "You know where the plates are."

"Yeah right. I know where they're supposed to be; if you let me put away the dishes, I wouldn't have to spend near the time looking…"

"Paper'll work." The scarred man thumped the wooden handle of the knife against the honeydew consideringly. "How much should I cut?"

"Whatever you feel like. I'll dice up what's left and stick it in the fridge. You'll need to remember to eat it tomorrow, though. Any longer than that, and it's liable t' get mushy." He reached up to pull down the plates from the cupboard, and one golden eyebrow raised in surprise. "Chinet. Getting fancy, aren't ya?"

"Had a coupon…" he mumbled, embarrassment staining his cheeks. It was true he'd had a coupon, but he'd still paid far more than he'd originally budgeted for on that particular shopping trip, a mistake that was going to haunt him when he came up 100 gil short on the next month's rent. He had yet to figure out what to do.

"I bet." Wisely, Zell chose not to pursue the subject. Instead, he opened a new cupboard, and began searching for the chipped yet still serviceable Corelle he knew to be hiding somewhere in shadowed corners; those, at least, were washable, while the paper plates could be saved for some other occasion. Not a special occasion, no, but for some evening when both were too tired to observe the social niceties of china settings and floral napkin rings and place mats of complimentary colors.

"You would." The other man made an abortive motion to smooth down his ruddy-blonde hair; a year spent as a short-order chef had taught him proper hygienic behavior towards the preparation of food, if very little else. Instead, he laid thick slices of pale-green melon onto the proffered plates, arranging them artfully more from habit than conscious choice. "Fork or knife?"

"Surprise me." Taking up his plate, the smaller man walked back to the couch, curling himself up at the far end, much to Saisei's annoyance. The bit of fluff gave the intruder a look designed to quell the most righteous of individuals, then sighed in frustrated doggy annoyance and flopped herself down against her antagonist's right foot.

Seifer leaned over the high back of the sofa, the hand that wasn't currently occupied with a dish of honeydew holding a selection of silverware. "Surprises aren't nearly as much fun as they used to be. Surprise takes away a person's ability to choose. It's a surrendering of your will; the choice has been made, and from that moment forward they must live their lives according to someone else's whimsical dictates."

"Uh-huh," Zell agreed facetiously, grabbing up a dulled knife and sticking it in close to the rind. "You just didn't want t' go back into the kitchen if I didn't like what ya brought." He cut out a square, and raised it to his mouth, biting it delicately off the end of the knife. He chewed, azure eyes considering, while the other man sat at the opposite end. "It's okay to make decisions, you know."

"Hmm?" The scarred blonde broke off a chunk of melon with his fork, then pushed it to the edge of his plate, where it was soon joined by others of a similar size. He didn't want to disagree, but he'd learned long since that decisions called for a level of responsibility he was uncomfortable with. When he had been younger — then, he'd made decisions. Wrong decisions. Spectacularly bad decisions that showed a lack of judgment and maturity that he was still in the process of owning up to. He'd leave the narrowing of choices to those more prepared to deal with the consequences. "And is there a problem in not making them?"

Golden lashes fluttered over burning-bright eyes, and the younger man gave the question due consideration. "No… But if you don't decide, you don't move on. You bend and sway in whatever direction people decide to push you…" Almost angrily he sliced off another wedge of melon, munching on it in the hopes of blocking the flood of words that threatened to spill. "It's a survival mechanism, is all it is — but don't you think it's time you tried living again?"

As if sensing her master's discomfort, Saisei shuffled over to him, draping herself across his knees. Absent-mindedly, Seifer began soothing her fur, strands of pale hair pulling loose, catching on old gunblade calluses that had yet to fade, though it had been years since he'd last picked up a weapon.

"I'm happy." The words were quiet, settling into the small room to rest amid the layers of dust coating the accumulated bric-a-brac decorating the apartment. "What's so wrong with that?"

Zell shrugged, a minimal movement of shoulders and arms, already rebuking himself for bringing the subject up. "Nothing. Nothing at all." He nibbled a bit more at the rind, then sat the plate on the floor, where hopefully he'd remember it, and not accidentally kick it across the carpet when next he stood. "A lot of people aren't…and wish they could be." He leaned back, careful of the spring that was making its way through the worn cushioning. "But are you happy because you have everything you want, or because you haven't allowed yourself to want anything at all?"

The taller man continued playing with his food, occasionally pausing to pet the small, demanding warmth on his legs. "There're things — I want," and his voice almost broke on the last word, but he'd had long practice in hiding his feelings, and a small amount of yearning could be easily excused, betraying none of his secrets, "but I'm content with what I have. Asking for more would just be selfish."

"Selfishness ain't necessarily a bad thing. And people aren't naturally altruistic; it goes against every survival instinct we have. We're greedy bastards, every last one of us, excluding a few saints — and most of them don't last too long." He closed his eyes, tired from the day, and tired from having variations of the conversation so many times before. It made him reckless. "Tell me what you want, Seif. We'll play make-believe."

"A game of Let's Pretend?" Seifer hunched in on himself, bringing Saisei up to his chest while setting his plate on the floor. "Why not? I'll start with my job. I'd have an occupation that commanded respect; not so much the respect of others, but… I want to wake up in the mornings, and know that if I don't show up, it'll make a difference to someone. They'll look around, and wonder to themselves, 'Where's Almasy? I hope that he's not sick…' A job where they'll woo me back, if I get an offer from a rival firm; where they care that they've hired Seifer Almasy, and not just any slob from off the street." His mouth tightened, and for long moments he did nothing but stroke the pale dog nestled in his arms.

"I'd have a house. A single story should be enough. And I'd have neighbors that drop by in the evenings, and invite me to weekend barbeques — which I'd have to refuse, because I'd've already made other plans — the Garden Festival is supposed to be lovely this year, and I'd want to show up a little beforehand so I'll have time to visit, because everyone's missed me so much…" His voice faded, while Saisei nosed worriedly at his collarbone. "And what good does it do to want that, when make-believe is all I'll ever have?"

Zell rubbed at the bridge of his nose, while his toes sought warmth against the creases of the cushion. "Look — I'd like those things too, but it doesn't stop me from striving for my smaller goals. Head of produce ain't much, but it's better than the bag boy I was before; the pay increase covered the new apartment, and in time, who knows? I might get promoted to regional, and there might be a house, and neighbors, and Festivals." The smaller blonde opened his eyes, and stared at his friend. "So here's an easier question: What do you want, right now, that's within reach?"

Almost, almost the ice-eyed man gave in; his arm — that wanted to reach out, to touch, to claim — tightened about Saisei instead. Within reach; there was only one thing he wanted that was within reach, but he knew he dared not speak of it out loud. Because the younger blonde would not say no. Zell would smile sadly, and nod his acquiescence, and in the morning he would leave. Leave because he had other obligations, and other promises to keep. And while Seifer knew he could live with the hope of 'someday,' he doubted he could survive a lifetime of knowing what he could never have again.

It was almost as though Zell could read his mind, though it was far more likely that the tattooed man was reading his expression. His gaze softened; his hands fell loosely to his sides. "This is stupid," he whispered, resting his cheek against the threadbare back of the sofa. "Seifer, all ya hafta do is ask."

"I know." Admittance was bitter on his tongue. Saisei squirmed, wanting to be sat down, and he obliged. "But it wouldn't be enough." He rubbed damp palms against his thighs, while struggling to keep his rising emotions under control. He stared at the younger man, arctic eyes hard and lips pressed so firmly together that they lost all color. "…How long were you planning on staying tonight?"

"Ah…" Zell covered his face with fine-boned hands, thin fingers tangling with over-grown strands of wheaten hair. "Not long. We're going out this evening, to the promenade. The eclipse is tonight…"

"She'll be by soon then, to pick you up?"

"Seifer…" he nearly moaned the name, his shoulders trembling and his hands pressing harder against his forehead. "What would you have me do? Just tell me. What do you want?" His hands slipped, revealing moist eyes.

"I want…" The larger man sighed, while bending down to pick up his abandoned plate, "I want so many things — I'm selfish. Go Zell. Go walk with your wife, and gaze up at the stars with her, and know, know that there're two people in this world who love you, and that one of them will be waiting — just in case anything happens."

"She doesn't love me, Seif." Zell rubbed at his face, wiping away dampness. "We're nothing but friends. She didn't want to be alone — and neither did I. She understands."

"It's not enough." Kneeling, the scarred blonde picked up the other plate, and carried them both into the kitchen, Saisei crossing his path at awkward intervals. "She may understand, but she's not prepared to let you go. But she'll let you come over, and she leaves me be, and that — that I can be happy with."

"How did we come to this?" The younger man joined his friend in the kitchen, and began filling the sink with scalding water and lemon-scented antibacterial soap. "All three of us, so afraid to take a misstep that we refuse to take any step at all." He rubbed fiercely at a plate, though the surface was already clean. "We can't keep this up forever…"

"We can try." Seifer rescued the dish that had been in dire peril of having its lacy ivy pattern scrubbed completely off. He rinsed it underneath the flowing tap, and began drying it with the purple and pink checked hand towel he'd found in a clearance bin, marked down for its sheer tackiness. "Is it really so bad, what we have?"

Zell didn't answer, busily scowling down into the foamy dishwater. He washed the other plate, and the various pieces of silverware accumulated over the day, and the pastel-plastic cereal bowl left over from the morning. "I think, if we showed up for the Festival, they might let us in." He passed over the bowl, and began wiping off the counter. Abruptly he stopped, leaving the wet rag to drip sporadically on the linoleum, little misshapen circles spattering against the grimy surface.

"What is it?"

"I forgot about the honeydew. I was gonna cut it up…"

"Just throw plastic wrap around it; it'll keep." Seifer took the rag from the other man and deftly tossed it back into the sink. "It's not like it's the end of the world."

"I suppose." He searched through drawers until he found what he was looking for. Saran Wrap, not the cheaper store brand; the small price difference counted for little when a person wasted half a roll due to it sticking together. "It'd be nice though, wouldn't it? If preventing such little things could make a difference?"

"Yeah." The scarred blonde finished putting away the dishes, and turned around, his ice-hued eyes hiding beneath bronze lashes. "Don't you know, that was Ultimecia's problem all along? Mushy melons."

The smaller man began laughing, almost dropping the honeydew as he attempted to place it in the fridge. "'Kurse you SeeDs! Bekause of you, my kasabas have molded. My kantaloupes have mildewed! I will destroy all time; and maybe, if I'm lukky, halt fungal growth!' It almost makes me feel sympathetic towards her."

"For all the havoc she managed to wreck, Ultimecia was still an amateur at villainy. I think she had no more clue as to her purpose than we did."

"Hmm. You know, you made an excellent villain." Finished taking care of the honeydew, Zell moved on to the floor — the water splotches marking the dust were bothering him. On hands and knees he began swiping at the linoleum with a sponge he had scavenged from underneath the sink. "Clear motivations; you wanted a position that utilized your talents, you wanted recognition, and you wanted t' whup Squall's ass." He applied pressure against a stubborn black streak. "You've been wearing your boots in here again, haven't cha?"

"Maybe." Seifer shrugged, and sat down on the carpeting, watching the other man work. "But what makes you think I didn't have some other motivation for taking over the Galbadian military and invading — just about every place imaginable?"

"I know you had other reasons." Floor cleansed, he rinsed out the sponge and drained the sink. "We all have other reasons for doing the things we do. Ain't nothing straight-cut enough t' fit into a single-line explanation in some kid's history book. 'This is Sir Almasy of the Cross Sword; it is believed he raised Lunatic Pandora for the sole purpose of pasting popular slogans on it to boost the Galbadian military's moral — enlistment being at an all-time low due to various economic and sorceress factors which shall be discussed in detail in the following chapter.' And that's all the kiddies will know about you for the next thirty years or more."

"How depressing." He patted Saisei while he stood, taking time to stretch out the muscles in his back in an upwards rolling motion. "The way you rattled that off, I'd almost think you'd read it somewhere."

"Hnn." Zell rubbed his hands along his charcoal slacks; a vain attempt at removing the white fur that clung to them. "Khoral got next year's approved texts in last week." He began grinning, a show of pointed canines. "With any luck, Squall will never see one. They misspelled his name."

"How badly?"

"Our dearly beloved ex-Commander has gone down in history as 'Squat Lionpart.' The publisher has promised to correct the mistake in the next edition, which is due out sometime next decade."

The smirk came naturally to Seifer, though the snicker that followed was a bit rusty. "All the more reason to want to crash the Festival." He would have said more, but was forestalled by a timid knock on the front door. Saisei barked in return; sharp yaps that displayed her blunt, miniature teeth. "Huh. Looks like your date's here. The door's unlocked!" he called out, his voice more strident than usual, echoes of his earlier laughter still breaking through.

"Of course it's unlocked; it's always unlocked." A woman walked in, followed by a small boy, both of them with dark hair, and both dressed in solemn colors. She closed the door once they were inside, taking time to toss her long hair back behind her shoulders. "I swear, I'd lecture you, if the thought of someone trying to steal from you wasn't so incredibly hilarious." She bent down to give Saisei proper greeting, but the tiny dog was more interested in the child behind the pale woman.

Zell's smile had dimmed, though it still contained hints of fondness. "Khoral, you're early…" He moved forward, clasping his wife in a gentle hug, while staring down at the young boy. "Hey Dryn; whatcha doin' here? I thought you were gonna spend the night at your Uncle Irvie's?"

"Irvine called, and regretfully cancelled fifteen minutes ago." Khoral rubbed her hands together, her brown eyes shadowed with weariness. "Seifer, I was hoping…if it wouldn't be too much trouble…"

"Sure, I can watch Dryn, no problem. We'll have fun, won't we?" he asked the young boy, winking rather conspicuously.

The umber-haired child smiled happily and picked up Saisei, who settled herself in his arms with an air of authority. "Sure Uncle Seif; can we play cards?"

"I thought you'd sold off all your Triads," the tattooed man said thoughtfully, tilting his head to one side.

"Yeah, I did." The scarred blonde grinned sheepishly, spreading his hands wide. "I've been teaching him rummy. And he's been winning every hand to boot. I was thinking of moving on to cribbage."

"My son, the card shark." Zell shook his head, bemused. "Are you sure it's okay?" he asked the other man, while tugging fretfully at his shirt's cuffs. "We'd planned on picking him up tomorrow…"

"He's spent the night before, he can spend the night again. Only…there's nothing around here to eat besides honeydew…" He frowned, glancing towards the fridge. "I'd planned on going shopping tomorrow."

"That's okay." Khoral flourished a bag she'd been hiding behind her. "I brought you guys take-out. I hope shuminese is okay?"

"That's — fine." Seifer took the flimsy bag from her and opened it, examining the contents. "Thanks. It'll be a treat." His smile was some-what strained; he hoped she wouldn't notice how insincere it was. "What do ya say, Dryn; ready to eat?"

The young boy nodded his head enthusiastically. "Mom even got dessert. You know, those ginger cookies with the frosting and happy faces on them?"

"Only after you eat your vegetables." The dark-haired woman clutched her husband's hand as if grasping for a lifeline. "You'll make sure, won't you Seifer?"

"Of course." He planned on no such thing, but had no hesitation over telling white lies. Personally, he saw no reason for holding dessert back until last; it was his experience that children would eat what they wanted to, regardless of the order it was presented to them in.

"Of course." Zell caught the older man's eyes, and sniggered silently. "I guess we should be going. See you tomorrow morning, then?"

"Make it more towards noon." The ice-eyed man ushered his visitors to the door, and held it open for them. "It's my day off; if I'm up before 11:00 I'll not be held accountable for my actions."

"We'll do our best not to wake you." Khoral searched her purse for her car keys, eventually releasing her death-grip on her husband.

"'Night, then…" The smaller blonde sighed, while stuffing his hands into his pockets for safekeeping.

"'Night. You two have fun." He watched as the couple walked down the hall, like two strangers that — by sheer coincidence — happened to be heading in the same direction. Silently closing the door, he rested his forehead against its cool paneling, trying to regain the calm peacefulness of before.

"…Uncle Seif? Are we gonna eat?"

He turned around and looked down at Dryn; looked down into eyes that were solely his fathers, gloriously bright and terribly intense. "Yeah, we're gonna eat. Why don't you get down the paper plates, while I start opening the boxes, okay?"

"Okay!" The small boy scurried into the kitchen, heading unerringly to the cupboard that stored the unopened package of Chinet. "How many… Hey!" He drew back, his right fist clenched around something. He stared, then gave a burbling sort of laugh. "I think Dad left this here for you." He skipped over to Seifer, and handed him a folded piece of paper.

"What is it, a note?" The scarred blonde held it out, wishing he had his reading glasses.

"Mmm-hmm." Dryn scratched at his head, his expression suddenly serious. "I think Dad likes you; he doesn't leave Mom notes anymore."

"I think that you don't need to worry about what your parents do or do not do." He paused, then crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue at his small housemate. "And I have no idea what I just said, so be good and go get the plates while I wander around like the senile old fool I am."

"Sure thing!"

Chuckling ruefully, Seifer once again tried reading the note. 'Seif, a little something to help out until the end of the month. Chinet. Man, you've gotta do something about your high-class tastes.' He unfolded the messily torn piece of paper, exposing three worn bills; a 100 gil note, and two 50s — more than enough to cover the shortage on his rent.

"Damn." He'd use the money; of course he would. Returning it to Zell, after the younger man had worked so hard sneaking it to him, was unthinkable. But it did nothing for the teary, choking feeling welling up inside. "Dryn, have I told you your father's an idiot?"

"Yep, lots of times." The blue-eyed boy handed his uncle a plate — a heavy, molded Chinet plate — and grinned impishly. "He says the same thing about you. I'm gonna get forks. You're gonna open boxes, right?"

"Right." And Seifer opened boxes, and scooped out spiced rice, and stir-fried vegetables, and ginger-molasses, insanely smiling cookies. He wondered briefly where Saisei had gotten herself to, but that was quickly pushed aside by small talk and the giggling at of childish jokes that Dryn told with remarkable aplomb.

Ending Written Specifically for Becca

"Now how did she get out?"

Khoral looked down to see Saisei trailing merrily after them. "Why you little scamp! I know Seifer keeps better track of you than this…" She plucked the fluffy white furball from the ground and tucked her underneath one arm. "Why don't you go on ahead," she told Zell, handing him the car keys. "I'll take her back up. I can't believe Seif hasn't noticed her missing yet."

The elevators were moving particularly slowly — it was a wonder the tiny dog had managed to navigate them at all. More than likely, some friendly tenant had recognized the pooch, and had held the doors for her, assuming, for whatever reason, that she knew where she was going. Khoral would've liked to of had a word with them, whoever they were; Saisei may have been an exceptionally smart dog, but everyone knew Seifer never let her out of his sight.

"What were you thinking, little one?" she questioned the dog — rhetorically, one would hope. "Planning on going to the promenade with us, were you?" She scratched behind Saisei's ears, while impatiently waiting for the elevator to reach its destination. "I don't think you'd've had much fun…" She blinked coffee-colored eyes, tired beyond belief.

The doors chimed, and she stepped out, heels snagging on the worn-out carpeting. Within moments she had reached the appropriate apartment; her demanding knocks echoed down the empty hallway.

"It's open!" her son's voice chirped, and Saisei wriggled urgently, curious to see what had happened in her absence.

"Of course it's open…" She'd had enough. She was sick of pretending — tired of it all. Opening the door, she sat the small dog down, then fixed her gaze upon the one man she wished she could hate — who happened to be nibbling on a cookie. "I'm just bringing Saisei back; the little vixen got out some how."

"Saisei!" Seifer's scolding was tinged with relief. "You know you're not supposed to sneak out! Someone could snatch you right up!" The bundle of nerves and fur jumped into his lap and proceeded to smother him with kisses. "Thank you, Khoral! I don't know what I'd do, if I lost her…"

"Sure." The dark-haired woman rubbed the side of her face, smearing her eyeliner in the process. "Whatever." She raised dulled, glassy eyes, meeting his shocked stare. "Just… Seifer Almasy, you're going to need to keep a better eye on Zell than you do your dog. You don't want to lose him. Trust me; it will tear you apart, losing him…" A tear escaped, then another, tracking inky lines down her cheeks. "I need to go."

She spun around and darted from the room, ignoring the confused cries behind her. Luckily, an elevator stood open; she jumped inside and jabbed viscously at the buttons, forcing the doors closed. That accomplished, she leaned back against the railing and tried drying her face with a crumpled tissue pulled from her purse.

Tonight, she'd tell her husband. As they walked the promenade, and gazed at the stars, and stood with the other couples underneath the eclipsed moon, she'd tell him. Tell him that she understood. Tell him that it wasn't enough. Tell him — what she should have told him years ago.

"Be happy."

End

Drivel: I guess I should start out by telling you all what Becca's request was… Seifer likes Zell, but refuses to admit it. He gets jealous when he sees other people going out with Zell. And, if possible, bash the Library-girl-with-a-pigtail. (And didn't she have cruel parents, t' name her that?) If you look really hard, and squint your eyes, and down a pint or two, you can sorta see some of that in the ficcie… right?

Well, maybe not. Think of it, maybe I just wanted t' write big macho Seifer living with a little yap dog. We all know how fond he is of canines. Bet he has a closet full of Big Dogs shirts. I don't particularly like the product placement I did — but at the moment I can't think of any way around it. Name brands have recognition. I say 'Coke', you think of a big company going back who knows how long, and you know I'm talking about a cola-flavored carbonated beverage. I say 'Toksa', and you'd just look at me funny. I say cola-flavored carbonated beverage, and you'd wonder why I just didn't say 'Coke' to begin with.

So, I guess I need another disclaimer. Esse doesn't own Chinet, Corelle, Saran Wrap, or BigDog. She does own Coke…or at least a minuscule portion of it. That has t' count for more than a few cents in dividends, shouldn't it? Esse adores Coke. She adores her Coca-Cola Zell even more.

Let me know what you think of the story. The happy ending is there for Becca only; for everyone else, the ficcie ends with nobody getting what they want. So — ignore the last few paragraphs, eh? Hated the entire thing, and want t' tell me I'm a sell-out to my principles for writing a happy ending? The Ogre eagerly awaits your mail. Want t' tell me it was a good try, and better luck next time? That can go to me. T' everyone else, I hope you enjoyed. And Becca? I'm really sorry. I'll pass on the 'better luck next time's to you as I get them.