Men are rewarded and punished not for what they do, but rather how their acts are defined. This is why men are more interested in better justifying themselves than better behaving themselves

—Thomas Szasz

Chapter Ten

The morning after Irvine's bizarre conversation with Rinoa in the Training Center, he stood looking into the mirror in Squall's bathroom, fingering the ends of his hair, listening to the thundering of water in the shower, and trying not to notice the rather large and quite noticeable bite he had just below his jawline on the right side of his neck; his collar would do nothing to cover it.

"I'm serious," he suddenly proclaimed with a huff, blindly tangling his hair into a braid. "I'm just going to cut it all off. That worked when I was a kid."

Squall, over the water, said, "The girls would like you less; you wouldn't be able to share hair care products."

Irvine flushed the toilet, and relished in Squall's surprised and pained yelp as the water ran hot. He left the bathroom humming, scouring the bedroom for his clothing; his uniform was rumpled and wrinkled, but that was nothing new.

Squall came out of the shower, dripping wet, naked and running his fingers through his hair. It was a pleasant sight, and Irvine's hands stilled on his tie as he just watched the wiry brunette go about collecting his leathers.

Suddenly, Squall seemed to notice he was being watched. He turned, cocking a brow at Irvine. The redhead chuckled humorlessly, flicked his hair out from his jacket, and settled a knee onto the bed to lean over and kiss Squall gently.

"Gotta motor."

"Yeah."

The day was, not surprisingly, completely uneventful—except for nearly getting shot twice by the same idiot Junior Classman. By lunch, Irvine was itching for something to happen to take his mind off that stupid conversation and Squall's strange behavior after finding them (though that night had, admittedly, been a really good night). But there was nothing—no recurrence of those hideous claims from the girls; no reiteration from Rinoa; and not even the vaguest sightings of Squall.

Long after the last of his classes was done for the day, he stood on the quad, fingers idling over a pack of cigarettes he couldn't quite bring himself to smoke. The label grinned at him like some sort of fiendish lecher, beckoning; and the addiction, under everything else, grinned right back. But his gut was tight and his head confused, and he didn't think smoking would help with this stress.

"Hey! Irvy!"

He turned to see Selphie bounding down the quads stairs at him, and only barely caught her when she tripped and stumbled, uttering a quick and utterly chipper, "Oops!" She smiled at him, straightening her skirt and dusting herself of nonexistent gunk; Irvine chuckled a little, the cigarette cartoon disappearing into his pocket.

"What's up?"

"We're going into Balamb. Wanna come?" From the look in her eyes, he didn't have much of a choice. He smiled a nodded, and she cheered thankfully, before turning away to rush back up the stairs. She called over her shoulder, "Go change, silly!"

He shook his head at her antics, but trudged off to his apartments to swiftly change from his Instructor's uniform to some normal civilian clothes. In the bathroom, as he washed his face, he found himself contemplating the length of his hair again, and frowned a little.

There was a pair of scissors in his desk. And if he came a bit later than everybody, it wasn't like they would think it any big thing . . .

He went to go find the scissors.

It felt almost like he was hiding, hat pulled low on his head as he scanned the bar for his friends. They were easy enough to find, once he caught Zell and Selphie's chipper voices over the din of the other patrons. Selphie was bouncing in her seat, waving energetically at him; he waved back with a more sedate enthusiasm, and wove his way over to their large booth.

There were a few other Instructors that Irvine was friendly with, Xu and Hillary and Squall, and Rinoa tucked away between Selphie and Quistis, smiling and nursing a mixed drink of some sort. She smiled at Irvine as he grabbed a chair and hauled it over to sit in among the others.

When he didn't remove his hat instantly, Selphie rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Irvy. Stay a while." He chuckled slightly, playing with the brim for a second, before removing the hat and hanging it off the chair.

For a second, there was a slightly dumbfounded silence, before Xu incredulously gasped, "You're practically bald!"

Admittedly, he'd taken off a bit more than was probably necessary. And it was sloppy, because he'd done it blind and by himself. Still, he ran a hand over his much shortened hair, and quietly said, "It's still pretty long. I used to wear it like this—."

"When we were kids," Zell and Quistis said in stereo. Irvine just shrugged. After a couple more minutes of confusion and mild complaints from everyone, the conversations moved away from Irvine's hair and rose high over one another.

Squall was watching him carefully, nursing a beer slowly. Irvine cocked a brow, and excused, "I said I would."

"I didn't think you were serious." He was quiet, until: "It looks good," and he reached out, running a hand through Irvine's hair slowly, pinning it away from his face. He stayed like that for a while, before his hand fell away and he seemed to have gotten over his sudden fixation.

Rinoa was watching them, smiling slightly. Irvine shifted in his chair a little, and tried to ignore the tightness in his stomach.

An hour later, as he went up to get another round of drinks, Rinoa followed him, and settled on a barstool beside where he stood.

He quietly said, "I woulda thought you'd've headed home by now, Rinoa."

"Haven't had much time to catch up. I'm going tomorrow though." He nodded, drumming his fingers on the counter. "So, what brought on all of this?"

He shrugged, telling her about how he'd been complaining about his hair since Kiros and Laguna had spirited them off to Winhill, and had only now gotten up all the courage he needed to actually chop it off; now that it was done, he'd just trim it a bit, and not worry about it any longer.

She said, "I don't think I could cut my hair like that. I'd just feel . . . naked. I don't know how Selphie wears her hair so short."

"She always has. I did, until I was about fourteen or so; haven't cut it since then, so—." He broke off to take the tray of drinks from the waitress, smiling flirtatiously. She gave her own shy smile, blushing and hurrying off. As they walked back to the booth, he didn't bother to bring it back up.

As the night wore on, Irvine found himself under the random scrutiny of Squall's cool gaze. It wasn't until after they returned to Garden, though, that he finally asked what was up with all the staring.

"Zell and Quistis remember you having short hair," and he pinned the hair back again, "but I don't. It just looks strange. You don't look . . . right."

"It's just hair," Irvine said with a laugh. They stood outside Squall's door, leaning in closer than was probably necessary.

Squall looked away suddenly, grunting his agreement and nodding a little. Irvine sighed, put a smile on, and stepped away, saying, "I've got an early morning. I'll see ya."

"Yeah."

But Irvine stilled, that step away, and Squall didn't move to enter his apartments. The brunette seemed listless and out of sorts. Biting his lip, Irvine quietly offered, "Unless . . ."

"Do you want to come in?" Offers like that were normally subtle, shy attempts made by one to have the other stay over. Squall punched in his pass-code, and the door slid open with no prompt; Irvine followed the brunette in, flicking on the lights as Squall settled onto his couch and stared at his hands.

There was a heavy silence, until Squall said, "Rinoa came in today, to tell me what she'd been talking to you about."

"Oh." Squall was looking up at him then, watching him. Irvine ducked his head a little, scuffing his boot on the floor and trying to hide behind his hat now that he didn't have bangs to conceal his eyes. "Uh, look. I . . . . It's just that . . . and I . . ."

He trailed off into nothing, looking up at Squall, who stared at him evenly. After a moment, Irvine sighed, shrugging a little. The words wouldn't come to his lips the way he wanted them to, and they both knew it, even if they wouldn't say it.

Squall stood very slowly, staring at the wall boredly before turning toward Irvine. He stepped toward him and, much in the same way he had when Rinoa had found out about their 'affair' at the start, curled against Irvine's chest, hugging him about the neck and resting his head against Irvine's shoulder. With only the slightest hesitation, his own arms came slowly around Squall's waist.

"What are we doing?"

"We're hugging, bright one." Squall thumped Irvine in the back of the head for the wise-ass comment, but didn't pull away in the slightest. After a moment of silence, Irvine closed his eyes and rested his cheek against Squall's head, murmuring, "Haven't got a clue."

Squall moved as though to speak, but then fell silent, curling closer to Irvine's body. The redhead chuckled very softly, and said in a shy sort of voice, "I really do have an early start."

"I know." But he still didn't let go.

"Or . . . I could stay." Squall only nodded. A bottomless feeling came to Irvine's stomach, and it felt like his heart had thudded all the way up to his throat. His arms grew slowly tighter around Squall's middle, and he quietly said, "Want me to stay?"

Squall didn't say anything, just slid away a little and stepped toward his bedroom.

"I thought you had an early start."

"I'm sick." He faked a cough, badly, and moved the frosted glass door away from the shower cubicle to smile at Squall disarmingly. "Besides. It's a weekend class. I only have the one."

"You're wasting my hot water."

"So get in here; it won't be wasting if we're both using it." Squall just shook his head, brushing his teeth. Irvine smiled, calling in a soft, sultry voice, "Squally."

"Shut up, Kinneas."

"I'll let you do your crazy thing with your crazy cold hands."

"They're warm," Squall muttered, tilting his head to check and make sure he'd shaved off all the stubble on his chin. Irvine pouted slightly. Water was beginning to leak off his arm and side and onto the floor.

"I'll let you pull my hair?"

"You've barely got any hair now."

Irvine didn't have much left. He squinted at the lithe brunette, and offered in an almost sullen voice, "I'll suck you off."

Squall's razor slipped on his skin a little, and a blossom of red came to his pale skin as he turned quickly and stared with an incredulous look on his face that was harbored somewhere between perverse attraction and woeful disgust. Irvine gestured at the cut on his neck as he slipped back behind the frosted glass. "Don't bleed out."

As he washed the shampoo out of his hair, Squall slid back the frosted glass door; so when Irvine opened one eye just a crack—the shampoo Squall bought stung like a bitch when it got in your eyes—Squall was just resting against the cold tile wall, looking slightly speculative, and perhaps a little bit shy. Irvine finished washing the shampoo out of his hair, then quietly asked, "What?"

"I . . ." He trailed off, that speculative look turning a little confused. Irvine chuckled, stepping closer so he could press an arm over Squall's head and lean in close.

"What? Rinoa never went down on you?" A slight blush came over Squall's cheeks, and Irvine's chuckle became a sultry, open-mouthed laugh. "You've been missin' out, buddy."

He didn't say anything. Just looked at Irvine through his hair and lashes and didn't even move. But there was that look his eyes, that slight smile that was a challenge, that made Irvine's stomach twist and knot and made a soppy grin break over his mouth as the water from the showerhead crashed around them and he slowly sank to his knees before the brunette.

One of the big things that drove people away from marksmanship was that they had PT with the martial combat students, because they were during the same hour. So every third Friday, they would march down to the track that had been set up in the Training Center—well away from Irvine's firing range, and where the monster area was—and Zell pushed them through drills like none other.

Irvine had never really got why people were intimidated by this situation. He thought the arrangement quite well thought out and generally spectacular, mostly because it meant an hour where Zell had to teach his class and Irvine's. Quistis always said it was because Irvine had gone through intensive military training, so he was used to the vigor that Zell put into that PT session; Zell said it was because Irvine knew that tired muscles meant a good night sleep.

And they were both right.

When he'd mentioned his confusion fleetingly to Squall, the lean brunette hadn't even looked up from his papers. He said, "Your students expect guns and bullets. They expect sore shoulders and bruises and maybe a bullet wound in the foot or side. They don't expect a martial artist telling them they can do ten more push-ups and five more laps and still have energy in them. They aren't endurance fighters; they're hit-and-run."

And Squall, more than Quistis and Zell, was right. But Zell said that was because Squall was shagging Irvine; then again, he hadn't heard the Commander's words, so Irvine just kicked him in the shin with his steel-toed boots, and smiled winningly when Zell proceeded to try and bash his head into the ground.

There wasn't any secret any more, about what was happening. But Irvine didn't know what was happening. Rinoa was still around, and there were no declarations of undying love—which was probably a good thing, because Irvine probably couldn't have handled that. They never really talked about it. When Rinoa was in Balamb to see Squall, Squall saw her, and Irvine went to bed after running the track and shooting a couple of targets all to holy hell; when Rinoa was in Balamb to see anyone else, or simply wasn't in Balamb . . . well, that was fine too, and in the morning Irvine would find himself in his or Squall's shower, trying to fake sick so he could drag Squall away from work and teach him the finer points of being sexually active.

He wondered, at times, if Squall and Rinoa had ever done anything, like he and Selphie had. He never brought it up.

His twenty-sixth birthday came and went. The SeeD arsenal grew with snipers and gunmen and other things from Irvine's program. Meya Gordon was appointed as an auxiliary for Irvine's program; he was defined as a Head of Department, much as Quistis.

One night, as Irvine lay in Squall's bed half naked and helped leaf through commission reports, he plucked up an interesting sheet and perused it idly. After a moment, he turned his attention more firmly onto the commission.

"What's this?" he asked. Squall peered at the paper, clearly only seeing the commissioner and the pay-slot.

"Something out near the Grandidi Forest," he muttered, tapping the paper with one slim finger. Irvine nodded, but kept staring at the report for a moment. "What?"

"It's from Esthar."

" . . . yeah."

"Why aren't you taking it?" Squall was blinking at Irvine when the redhead looked up, his hair hanging into his eyes (after chopping it all, he'd just let it grow back out; Quistis had said he was being stupid; Selphie had said he looked dashing with a T-boarder cut).

"It's not an important mission."

"Dude," Irvine said shortly. "It's your dad."

"He's a soldier. He's perfectly capable of taking care of—."

Irvine shoved the paper under Squall's nose, tapping it menacingly. Squall read through with quick eyes after a moment. Eyes that grew quicker with every pass, then finally stopped, and slowly lifted to Irvine's face.

"I'll take it."

Squall shook his head. "If this is all right, they're as organized as the SeeDs are. Not by yourself."

"Then send someone with me, but I'm taking it."

Squall agreed to send Irvine to Esthar.