One should not exaggerate the importance of trifles. Life, for instance, is much too short to be taken seriously.

—Nicolas Bentley

Chapter Eight

The year came and went. Irvine was not entirely sure where he and Squall stood in their . . . whatever it was they had. Two more SeeD exams were held—and Irvine had six more graduates—and then, all of a sudden, it was his twenty-fifth birthday.

They went to Dollet, stayed at a pub-inn complex that they all rather enjoyed. There was no gift giving—Irvine said it always made him feel like a kid, and he didn't enjoy feeling like a kid—and no real 'party' atmosphere. Instead, they sat and talked and commiserated the short comings of the year. It was almost like the orphanage gang was back together—now with the new addition of Hillary.

Somehow, the topic of conversation got onto relationships and marriage and other such nonsensical things. Selphie, truly fixated with the conversation, sprawled over one of the beds in one of the rooms they'd rented and asked Zell and Hillary, "When's the wedding?"

"Uh—."

"Before the baby," Hillary laughed, caressing her stomach slightly. It had swollen a little over the past few months, and all of sudden, Irvine had that spark of knowledge as Zell blushed and Quistis and Selphie laughed.

"You dog," Irvine congratulated, slapping Zell on the shoulder. Hillary laughed softly, and said they were thinking that sometime in the spring would be good.

They spoke of such things for a while—or rather, Hillary, Quistis and Selphie spoke of such things, while Zell, Squall and Irvine sat off and watched them with a certain trepidation that one normally reserves for particularly brutal and horrific battle sites—until Selphie suddenly sat up and asked Squall, "Have you and Irvy talked about gettin' hitched?"

Squall just about choked on his own breath, if the slight widening his eyes was any indication. Irvine swore, and ducked his head, before hurrying to his feet and waving his hands dismissively.

"Sefie, Sefie. It's nothing like that. Go back to talking about i real /i weddings 'kay? Our . . . thing isn't for you to bring up." He stretched needlessly and quietly said, "I'm gonna go get some fresh air. Be right back."

He hurried out, his gut all knotted and suddenly worried that everything was going to go marvelously awry at any second. The balcony just off the hallway had a ladder that led to the roof; Irvine scaled it quickly, and collapsed onto a patio chair that had seen much better days. It groaned under his weight, the sound drowned under his self-deprecating laughter.

After several minutes, there was a groan on the ladder. Irvine looked up, peering around the edge of his hat and through his bangs, and snorted a little to see Squall hauling himself onto the roof gracefully. Slowly, he removed his hand and played with the band on it, before slamming it back onto his head.

With a quiet laugh, he said, "Sorry about her."

"Why?" Irvine looked up slowly. Squall's gunmetal eyes caught the street-lamp lights, reflecting crescents of golden light. He shrugged and said, "We aren't exactly doing anything to discourage ideas like that."

"Should we be?" The words were quiet and out before Irvine could think them through. Squall sat in a fellow over-abused patio chair, leaning over his knees. Irvine watched him closely, wondering if maybe everyone was right and they should just get it done with and make it formal.

But whenever that thought came to mind, his throat would clench and he would simply worry himself to an endless distraction.

"I don't know what we're doing," Squall suddenly said into the silence. He looked over at Irvine, shaking his head a little. "Do you?"

"I can't even keep a relationship going this long."

"Selphie—."

"Okay, correction: I can't keep a single, monogamous relationship going this long." Squall gave a quiet snort of laughter, shook his head and let his hair fall into his eyes. Irvine just watched him for a second, before laughing a little himself. "It's funny, right? Not even that long, and everybody has it i fixed /i that we need to make this some sort of Serious Commitment."

The capitols on those words were blinding and sharp, made Squall look up and over at him, then away and up at the sky.

"What's today?" he asked out of nowhere. Irvine worried his lip.

Finally, he deduced, "It's after midnight, so November Twenty-fifth." He looked up at the stars very slowly, watched a meteor streak across the inky blackness and sighed quietly. "You ever wonder what it'd be like if we'd not been all split up when we were kids."

"It's in the past."

"You don't like the past much, do you?"

Squall shrugged, cradling his head in his hands. "You can't do anything about the past, can you?"

"We could've."

"What would that have done, though? If we'd fucked things up when we'd been in Laguna and Kiros and Ward's heads, we'd have just . . . fucked things up."

"You wouldn't be here."

Squall snorted, looking over at Irvine. "Is that a good thing?"

"No." The word slipped out without thought, but Irvine meant it, even when Squall met his eye. With a smile, Irvine quietly said, "I want you here."

"Really."

"Yeah." He tried to put a vindication into his voice, but managed only slightly pouting peevishness. "You're entertaining, Mr Commander, sir."

"Is that all?" Irvine shrugged, smiling slightly across the darkness at Squall. There was a short burst of laughter from the brunette, and then he stood, stretching widely. "Come on. Everybody will be thinking we're doing obscene things up here if we don't get back soon."

"We aren't?" Irvine managed as he sprang to his feet and grabbed Squall around the middle. Squall made an indignant little sound, tensing for an instance as Irvine nuzzled at his neck a little and quietly said, "You didn't give me a birthday present, you know."

"Get off, you horny pervert." But Squall made no moves to remove himself from Irvine's embrace.

Somewhere nearby, despite the hour, there was music playing. Irvine chuckled softly against Squall's neck, humming along with the tune as he swayed gently to the music and dragging the young Commander along with him. Squall let out a nearly exasperated sigh, turning in Irvine's hold and giving him a very serious look.

"I don't dance."

"I'm sure you're a wonderful dancer."

"No, really. Two left feet. I don't dance." Irvine rolled his eyes, leaning his forehead down to Squall's. His hat titled precariously atop his head, shading them from the moonlight. Squall's breath puffed along Irvine's lips, and he smiled slightly.

"Everybody can dance," Irvine supplied. Squall huffed tiredly, shaking his head a little. He pushed against Irvine's chest, breaking the circle of his arms. Irvine made no qualms, did not attempted to pull Squall back in; he shrugged, righted his hat, and stepped toward the ladder that led to the hallway landing. For a moment, Squall looked genuinely confused, before shrugging it off as well and climbing down after the redhead.

At the landing, Irvine shyly captured Squall's hand, gripping it tightly. He leaned in, stole a quick peck to Squall's lips, and then smiled stupidly for a moment. Squall blinked at him, then slowly slid his fingers between Irvine's.

He tugged him along, toward where they could hear the others raucously celebrating Irvine's now spent birthday.

"Can we kick them out of my room and into their own?"

"It's your birthday." A shy yet decidedly wicked smile broke in Squall's eyes as he leaned in to Irvine's chest and said quietly, "And I still haven't given you your present."

When they returned from their impromptu break, all returned to the way it was. They returned in the wee hours of the morning, and while the others slipped off to their apartments to catch some much needed sleep before classes began later in the day, Squall said he had to make sure that his desk wasn't completely overflowing, and Irvine volunteered to help carry anything back to his apartment that needed to be immediately looked over.

It was really only a subtle ploy to make sure he ended up spending the night in Squall's bed, and it wasn't terribly subtle at that. Squall made sure Irvine was well aware of his knowledge of Irvine's ploy on the elevator.

Simione, of course, was away from the desk, which meant there was no awkward confusion on her behalf when Irvine scurried after Squall off the elevator, laughing and grabbing for the brunette, who so much dared as smiled and opened his office door one-handed, tugging at Irvine's jacket.

The light in Squall's office was on, and he faltered in his steps as he noticed that. Irvine stumbled, nearly asking what Squall was waiting for, until his eyes alighted along the same vein as Squall's.

Sitting atop the desk, flipping through a few of the miscellaneous papers strewn there, was Rinoa, looking harried and forlorn. She looked up, eyes only for Squall for all of the half moment it took her to notice his hand tangled in Irvine's jacket and Irvine's hands snaked around Squall's waist.

Irvine flinched away from him as if burnt. He licked his lips nervously, and quietly said, "I'll see you later, then." Louder, as he tipped his hat, he said, "Hey Rinoa. Glad to see you're doing well."

"Kinneas." There was an edge to her voice that Irvine knew was the Sorceress in her. He forced a smile for the both of them, stepped out into the reception area, and closed the door soundly before him.

Twenty minutes later, he sat on his bed, polishing the Exeter and wondering why he couldn't sleep and his stomach felt like it had been tied into a thousand little, grating knots. The read of his clock, across the blank expanse of his ceiling, said it was quarter passed three in the morning. His mind couldn't quite stop racing long enough for him to quiet down and get to sleep.

Rinoa was there. Squall loved her. And, for all their camaraderie and affection, Irvine knew—as far as he could know—that he had no hold and sway on Squall. He knew, as only one in his position could know, that once Rinoa made it known that she wanted to try it all again there would be no place left for Irvine's misguided affections.

It . . . stung a little. Like being too long under Poison, until you were weak and pitiful and not even an Esuna and three Curagas could help bring the vitality back into your step. It stung like losing your memories did.

There was magic in his veins, the sharp thrill of Diablos deep in the back of his mind. He made a very conscious effort, then finally removed the GF from his system. Left behind was a hollow ache in his joints, and the slim crystal that was Diablos that applied to his skin and now sat forlornly on his bedspread.

The call buzzed annoyingly. He wondered why he hadn't had that changed yet.

At the door stood Squall, looking frustrated and out of sorts. He looked up at Irvine, lounged in the doorway, and quietly asked, "Can I come in?"

Irvine stepped aside. He set his coffee machine to percolating without any prompt, and sat on his couch. Squall stood in the doorway as the door slid shut and blanketed them in darkness. Then Irvine heard him move across the room, and felt him settle down beside him. They sat at a distance.

"What'd she have to say?"

". . . I don't know." Irvine could hear the shrug in his voice. He sighed, peered at Squall's silhouette in the darkness, wondered how someone could not know what the woman of their life wanted from them as they sat in the darkness.

From nowhere, Squall asked, "Does this mean anything to you?"

"What? Rinoa showing up?"

"Us." Irvine held in the laughter. Barely.

"Is there an Us, Squally?" He could feel Squall rotate, look at him in the darkness. His eyes seemed to glow with the preternatural energy of his GFs. With a sigh, Irvine said, "Look. I . . . don't know. I don't. If there's an Us, then cool beans, but I've had an Us, and I fucked it over, and I just—."

"Is there an Us to fuck over?"

"Maybe?" The coffee machine buzzed quietly. Irvine shot to his feet, trying to welcome the distraction. His throat and chest were tight. When Irvine offered, Squall took the steaming cup of coffee, only to set it onto the low sidetable beside the couch and stare through the darkness at Irvine.

"Irvine . . . I know Rinoa loves me. And I love her."

"Then what's the question? If you've got it figured out, then what's stopping you?" There might have been frustration in his voice. There probably was; Irvine was too tired and confused with himself to know or care.

"Because I don't know . . ." Squall made a frustrated noise. Irvine sighed, set his coffee aside, and rounded his coffee table.

He grabbed Squall's hands, and leaned in very close.

"The way I see it, you've got two choices," he explained breathlessly. "Choice Number One—you go with Rinoa. She makes you happy, and you make her happy, and the two of you are happy and wonderful and have happy, wonderful kids that make your dad a happy, wonderful gran'pa, and you generally enjoy life, as much as you can. It's a nice life, you know, and everybody thinks you're real smart and real great, like they already do. Maybe you two grow old together. Maybe you see your own gran'kids and great-gran'kids and stuff of nonsense."

"I like that choice," Squall quietly said, his words a puff of humid breath across Irvine's face. He was quiet, then asked, "What's the other choice?"

"Choice Number Two—you don't go with Rinoa. You stick around with me, and you don't know how that ends."

Squall was very quiet, then groaned in frustration. "Why are you trying to make the first option sound better than the second one?"

"Why do you so not want to take an obvious good choice?"

"Because I don't know that I'll be happy with her!"

"You love her," Irvine justified simply. He could feel the annoyance and confusion radiating off Squall.

So when Squall snapped, "What if I love you too?" Irvine didn't so much as blink. He shrugged one shoulder, removed his hands from Squall's, and moved away. The tightness was there, thick and invasive, and he couldn't quite understand why he was so loathe to take what was being freely given.

That was a lie. He was frightened. Selphie had loved him, and look what he had done. Already he knew how Squall would respond to any infidelity. How could Squall say he loved him when he i knew /i what that would get him into.

"Squall—," Irvine began, wrenchingly slow and unsure. He stumbled on his words for a while, before sighing, and saying, "Do what's right."

"I don't know what that is, Kinneas."

"It's what feels right," Irvine murmured with a shrug.

There was a heavy silence, then the sound of Squall standing and trumping over to Irvine. His lips were sudden and hot, and the cabinet that housed Irvine's coffee machine and his mug shifted with the force of Squall's body against Irvine's. After a moment of the swift movement of Squall's tongue between Irvine's teeth, the brunette pulled away; Irvine trailed after him with a soft sound, his eyes slowly slatting open.

Squall's hands were tight in the fabric across Irvine's shoulders. He gritted, "That feels right." He shook his head, then contradicted himself with, "But kissing Rinoa feels right too."

"I'm all for sharing." It held none of the humor Irvine had hoped for, and instead fell flat between them. In the silence that marred them, Irvine finally sighed. He picked Squall's hands from his shoulders and said, "Give it a few days. Just . . . think about it."

"I don't want to think about it; it makes it complicated."

"News flash!" Irvine snapped, pulling away from Squall and throwing his arms up in despair. "Life is complicated. And sometimes, you have to make that jackass complicated choice that doesn't feel like a good choice. But then you make it." He uttered a soft, almost hysterical laugh. "And then everything's okay."

"Everything is not okay."

Irvine pressed his hands to Squall's shoulders, directing him in backward steps toward the door. "You should be going, right? I'm sure the Princess is waiting for her Knight."

"Irvine—."

"I'll see you. Later. Today, tomorrow, whatever. I'll come by." The door slid open, and Squall stepped into the hall. Irvine forced a smile in the light and quietly said, "Go catch up with your Princess."

The door slid closed. The metal was cold under Irvine's palms as he slid down to his knees and wondered what idiocy had fallen over his pitiful life to purposefully shove away something like that.