Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle; love is a war; love is a growing up.
—James Baldwin
Chapter Seven
Three weeks after their little abduction, Irvine and Squall were returned to Balamb Garden with a sharp admonishment from Kiros to i stop /i being such juvenile idiots about their relationship. After the two older men had gone, Irvine spared a glance over at Squall, taking in his stalwart expression. He cradled the back of his head, scuffing the ground with the toe of his boot idly, trying to think of something intelligent to say that wasn't completely off from the events that had transpired.
They weren't back to the place they had been before Irvine had experienced his dalliance with Shera in Deling City. But they were better; to a point where they weren't scoffing and glaring and avoiding all physical contact. Irvine felt as though a pressure had lifted from his chest.
Squall grabbed his hand, grumbled, "C'mon," and pulled Irvine away from the front gate and onto the campus proper. Irvine smiled a little; his fingers laced together with Squall's, making the brunette peer back at him suspiciously.
Sure there were no students or other Instructors around, Irvine pulled Squall close and delivered a swift kiss to the Commander's cheek. Squall made an annoyed sort of noise, though he put up no physical protest. Irvine went for his lips slyly, and Squall, once again, did not push him away.
When they broke from their kiss, Squall licked his lips and didn't look at Irvine. Then, he cocked a brow slightly. "I thought you didn't like men like that."
"I'll make an exception. But only 'cause you're so pretty, Squally."
". . . Fuck you, Kinneas." The tall redhead chuckled, continuing in their approach toward the main entrance.
"You do, actually. So I don't see how that's much of a—." Squall yanked Irvine's hair—still caught up in the braid Squall had tied him off with—and smirked slightly at Irvine's high-pitched yelp of indignation. Their hands had dropped; Irvine felt at his scalp, glowering at the abuse.
Squall sarcastically uttered, "Oops," and kept on walking. Irvine swore, grumbled, and hurried after him.
"Instructor Kinneas?"
"Oh. Good afternoon, Miss Gordon."
"Good afternoon, sir." She stalled for a moment, a slight blush on her cheeks, before thrusting a thick manila envelope toward the red-haired Instructor.
He chuckled and asked, "What's this?"
"I caught a couple of Junior Classmen with them. Presumably, they got them from some older student, but I thought . . ." Irvine wasn't listening any more, flipping through the sheafs of glossy picture-paper, staring at images of himself and Squall in rather intimate, if not overtly compromising, positions.
He looked up at Meya Gordon and quietly whispered, "Junior Classmen."
"Five of them. They were giggling over them in the quad."
"Have you . . . mentioned this to the Commander?"
"No sir," the young SeeD uttered, shaking her head. The blush on her cheeks was bright and shy. Irvine swore under his breath. Meya offered, "I know the names of all the Junior Classmen."
"Good. You're coming with me." He stood, and guided her quickly out of the room.
The walk down the hall and ride on the elevator were quiet, until Meya quietly said, "I'm sorry for embarrassing you, sir."
"Don't be."
"I didn't know you . . . were like that."
Irvine smothered a self-deprecating little laugh and replied seriously, "Neither did I, until a while ago." It was a lie, but not a complete one; it had taken losing Squall for him to realize that perhaps he was just covering up his emotions with his random, risky flings.
The elevator chimed. Simione, sitting before her desk, gave Irvine a strange, trepidatious look, which unsettled Irvine a little but not enough to stop his determined stride toward Squall's office doors.
Simione broke in, "You can't go in, Instructor!" which made Irvine slow and finally stop, turning to face the young woman.
Almost scathingly, he asked, "And why not, Simione?"
"He's . . . . The Commander's in a meeting right now, Instructor." Her stumbling and stuttering made Irvine tilt his head in suspicious speculation. Simione jittered her foot under his scrutiny.
Slowly, he leaned in, and said in a quiet, immediate voice, "I don't care if he's fucking somebody in there, Simione. If the door isn't locked, I'm going in."
"Instructor—." But Irvine wasn't listening. He stepped up to the door, turned the handle, and stepped in.
Squall looked away from his window, obviously ready to give a brutal reprimand to Simione. His expression softened when he saw Irvine, then darkened as he caught sight of the manila folder he held.
"We might have a problem."
It didn't seem like it should be terribly hard—and it wasn't, really—to fall back into their routine of Irvine showing up at random in Squall's office or outside his doors, smiling slightly and trying not to be an idiot. But it was different now. They couldn't just meet up, standing on the quad, and talk because there were students who watched them and whispered behind their hands and stared.
Three weeks after the Junior Classmen refused to tell Squall and Irvine who they had gotten the pictures from—"A friend of a friend," was all they got—a thirteen year old in Irvine's Marksmanship class loitered after class, before finally seeming to build up the courage to come forward and ask what was on his mind.
It wasn't often that Irvine was solicited for knowledge beyond marksmanship, but he had a feeling that this was going to be something a bit more.
"Go to class for now," he told the boy before he could even ask his question. He smiled and patted the kid on the shoulder. "Come by after your last hour, and we can talk, alright?"
"Thank you, Instructor."
"It's no problem, Tern."
So, before Irvine's Advanced Sniping class came into session, Tern was seen loitering outside Irvine's office. He popped his head out and smiled at the young teen, beckoning him in. Tern sat uncomfortably on one of the chairs, and fidgeted with his uniform sleeve for several long, silent moments.
"Does it hurt?" he suddenly prompted. Irvine cocked a brow and laughed softly.
"You're going to have to be more specific, Tern."
"S-sex." There was a blush on his cheeks, high and dark. "W-with a boy."
For several long, tense moments, Irvine just stared gape-jawed at the young teen. Tern shot to his feet, stuttering and apologizing and hurrying toward the door, gripping the strap of his book bag like his very life depended on it.
"Whoa, whoa. Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait." He grabbed Tern's arm, and shut the door with his foot. "What prompted all this?"
"I-I-I—." Tern was looking everywhere but at Irvine, tears beginning to well in his eyes. Irvine smoothed a hand over the teen's arm, consoling him quietly without words. He took a deep breath, and rubbed his brow, before quietly saying, "There's this . . . guy. He's older than me. I don't think he likes me, but I really like him and—."
"Don't use sex to get him," Irvine instantly broke in, shaking his head. "That is a crappy way to have your first experience with a guy, by whoring your body off for affection."
"But I really like him—."
"Tern, listen to me." He cupped the boy's chin, and smiled a little. "Look. You asked me 'cause you know something about Commander Leonheart and myself?"
"I-I . . . saw some of the pictures . . ." Tern confessed quietly.
"Okay. See . . . the two of us, we aren't exactly something you should model after. In fact, i I'm /i someone you shouldn't model after. And trust me: no matter how much you like this guy, no matter how cute or funny or smart he is . . . if he doesn't love you, it isn't worth it." Tern nodded a little. Irvine smiled. "Now, go do your homework or something."
"Thank you, Instructor Kinneas."
An hour after his Advanced Sniping class was over, he sat outside Squall's door, waiting for the young Commander to come down from his office. It seemed the safer option, over going up to his office and making an idiot out of himself, doing something stupid like professing his love or breaking up with the older man.
He was beginning to wonder if Squall was ever going to come down when the brunette turned the corner, arms full of papers, and began a brisk walk toward the door. Irvine sprang up, hurrying over and saying quietly, "Lemme have some of that."
Squall started, his hands lax as Irvine took an armful and smiled gently down at the the brunette.
"What do you want?"
"Why do I have to want something to do something nice for you?" Squall looked supremely skeptical, but shrugged, and continued on to his apartments. The door slid open to his punch-code, and they stepped in together, setting the papers down before Squall turned to activate the lights.
After a moment of quiet, Irvine asked, "So why all the paper work?"
"Commissions. Esthar, Galbadia Garden, Shumi Village again. Some rich brat in Dollet that wants personal SeeD escorts for the rest of the year." Irvine snorted and smiled a little, settling onto the couch. Squall sat beside him with a tired sigh. "Want to help?"
They sat up for some time, flipping through and comparing the various commissions. After some time, Squall leaned back with a yawn, stretching widely, and asked with a tired sort of negligence, "You staying the night?"
"You want me too?"
"Whatever," Squall murmured, standing. He bent a twist out of his back, groaning softly. Irvine watched him intently as he strode out of the sitting room and into the bedroom.
After getting his brain up to a semi-functioning level, Irvine stood and followed. From the doorway, watching Squall undress—as Squall normally watched Irvine—he quietly asked, "Do you love me?"
The instant the words left his lips, Irvine wished he could retract them. Squall's hands stilled on his fly, and he turned slowly, peering at Irvine from behind his hair. After a moment, he shook his hair out of his eyes and quietly asked, "Where did that come from?"
"Nowhere. Never mind. I shouldn't have asked—."
"Irvine," Squall began softly.
"I should . . . go or . . ."
"Why are you running?" With his back to Squall, he thought he could hear hurt in his voice. He didn't dare think . . . . But maybe . . . . He shook his head firmly and buried his hands in his hair, growling under his breath. "Irvine, what are you afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid," Irvine growled. He removed his hat, played with the brim a moment, than slammed it back onto his head. "I just fuck everything up. Selphie, every other girl I've been with. Fuck, I even managed to fuck i Seifer /i up, and . . ."
He whirled, glaring accusingly at Squall for a moment, before the annoyance went out of his eyes and he said, "I don't want to fuck anything up. And I don't wanna get fucked up, which is what you do."
"What?"
"No, you don't fuck things up," Irvine corrected, removing his hat again. He sighed, angry at his own inarticulateness. "I mean . . . you fuck me up. And I can't just hit the pause button and think it over and try and get used to it, because I don't want to. I'm afraid to: afraid that you'll get bored, or I'll get freaked out. And then I fuck things up and I just don't—."
Squall silenced him with a kiss.
"So when are you two tying the knot?"
Both Zell and Irvine choked on their foot as Hillary sat down with that concise little sentence. Zell took a while longer to recover, muttering under his breath and shaking his head and quietly asking of his fiancée, "Why am I marrying you?"
"Because you love me," Hillary responded with a wide smile. Her gaze turned back to Irvine. "So. When are you and the Commander—."
"We aren't!" Irvine squeaked. She cocked a brow at him, a slight smirk on her lips, and Irvine could have damned her for her perceptions. He picked at his mashed potatoes and shook his head, muttering, "We aren't doing anything—."
"You said that before the two of you disappeared, and I know something has changed. So. When are you—?"
"I'm not having this conversation." He shook his head, standing. The nervous knot in his stomach tightened as Hillary smiled that knowing smile of hers, and he hurried away from the table.
They hadn't talked about it, Irvine's strange behavior. Squall hadn't so much as hinted that he i wanted /i to take about it, and that was fine by Irvine. He didn't like feeling the way he did—like the entire planet had turned on end and his world had been flipped inside-out. Vaguely, he could remember the early months of his relationship with Selphie being like that: all nervous energy and unsureness every time he so much as thought of her.
He wondered . . .
Somehow, he ended up at Selphie's office. She was just getting ready for her next class, but she looked up and smiled at Irvine politely.
"What can I do you for you, Irvy?"
"How did you know you loved me?"
She stared at him stupidly for a second, a certain sadness coming over her eyes. Then, she forced that smile back into place and stood, grabbing his shoulders and bouncing up onto the tips of her toes to peck a kiss to his nose.
"I just knew," she said simply.
"You didn't . . . feel different."
"Different like how?" There was this edge to her voice, like she was thinking, "Silly boy, you have to actually i string words together /i or I won't understand you." He tried to get his tongue around the words, but they wouldn't come as easily as he wanted them too.
She was very quiet, and then whispered, "This is about you and Squall?"
"No!" Irvine shook his head, then shrugged with a huff. "Maybe." He sighed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. "Yes," he finally deduced, almost sullenly. She rubbed his arms gently, and kissed his nose again.
"Just do what feels right."
"But it doesn't 'feel right', Sefie!" He was whining, and they both knew it, but he couldn't stop the edge in his voice that kept trying to say, "Tell me what I should do."
"What's it feel like?"
"Like I got kicked in the balls. Only less painful. Not really. Less physically painful." She nodded a little, as though she understood completely.
"Have you talked to him?"
"Kinda." She cocked a brow, and he huffed. "Not really."
"So what're you doin' talkin' with me, silly? You should be talking to him about this." Irvine shook his head a little. She pouted, slapping his arm. "Why not?"
"I fuck things up." He laughed thickly, shaking his head. "Look at us. I fuck things up."
"You do not either, Irvine Kinneas." She slapped his arm again, harder than before; he cringed slightly, bringing up a hand to rub the offending hurt. With a smile, she bounced onto her toes and kissed him again, this time on the mouth.
They stood like that for a second, her hands on his shoulders and his hands on her elbows, a soft kiss between them, before she pulled away and quietly said, "Do you feel any better?"
"Not really."
"I have to get to class. Go and talk to Squally for me, okay?"
"Okay Sefie."