38. Disaster
She kisses him back before she realizes what she's doing, and it's only when she's on her back amidst rumpled bedsheets and Seifer is kissing his way down her throat that a vague and disconnected part of her brain sends off a warning signal.
He's discarded his shirt, and his hand is sliding up her thigh when the signal turns into full-blown klaxons. "Stop," she gasps in a voice she almost doesn't recognize as her own, and he does, out of surprise, his head lifting to meet her eyes.
"What?" It's a ragged whisper of a question, and she knows that he's just barely able to hold off on whatever he has in mind. He rests his head against her shoulder and waits for a good excuse, one hand warm against her knee and the thumb of the other lightly grazing her cheek. He counts her heartbeats to regain his composure.
"Quis..." She's been quiet for too long.
"I can't." It comes out too much like a question for Quistis' tastes.
Seifer draws a deep breath. "You'd better go, then," is the only thing he can think of to say, and he lets her up from underneath him.
When she arrives back in her room, she evades Irvine's greetings and locks herself in the bathroom, running the shower over her body until all the hot water is gone. It doesn't help.