Well, here's chapter 12! Kind of a short chapter, at least compared to my other ones, but it was the only break-off point I could find until several pages. I'm quite happy with this chapter, mostly because it involves Songi being utterly adorable. I won't give anything more away here though. ^^

As usual, thanks to Barako for proofreading this for me! ^_^

Chapter 12

It was dark outside by the time Gala returned to the house. It'd taken a while for him to find a decent tailor's shop, since they were so scarce in Jeremi. The clothes had set him back quite a bit, but it wasn't surprising. Fabric and other such materials were still quite a bit rarer than they needed to be.

Despite trying not to, Gala had worried a great deal about Songi while he'd been out. In addition to everything else, Gala didn't want a new reason to to get into another fight with him when, just before, they'd been getting along so well - by their standards, at least.

Fumbling a little in the darkness, Gala pushed open the door to his new house and stepped in. He was immediately struck by how dim it was inside, especially as he'd been sure he'd seen candles in the main room. Why hadn't Songi lit any of them? Unless...

"Fine, fine. I'll wait here for you like a good boy."

Still struggling to find his way in the blackness, Gala found the sofa and dumped the clothes onto it. He would want to have his hands free to brace himself in case he tripped and fell.

As his eyes grew somewhat used to the darkness, Gala managed to find one of the candles in the room, along with a piece of flint. Once he'd succeeded in lighting the candle, he went ahead and lit several more, and then the fireplace for good measure.

The room was now a lot brighter, but still, the flickering shadows the firelight cast on the walls were a little disconcerting. Not to mention the fact that Songi...

A sudden, loud bang from the other side of the house caused Gala to spin around, alert. A figure hidden mostly by shadow emerged from one of the rooms and made its way unsteadily towards him. Gala tensed for a moment, but then relaxed when the brightness of the room illuminated the silhouette enough for him to make it out.

It was Songi, of course. Then again, who else could it have been? Gala smiled weakly, much more relieved than he ever could have admitted. The candles weren't lit, not because Songi had left the house again, but because Songi was a lazy idiot who used his fists much more than his brain. Gala's smile broadened, and he felt almost ashamed for doubting the guy. Almost. It wasn't like he hadn't had reason.

As Songi drew closer though, Gala began to feel a bit uneasy. Songi was staggering a lot, even more than Gala when the room had been so dark. And even more disconcerting, he was coming straight at him, very fast. And he wasn't stopping.

Instinctively, Gala held up his arms in front of him in a protective stance. He had no idea what was happening, but he'd be damned if he was going to take a full-on collision with Songi without even bracing himself.

Luckily, Songi stopped right before he could crash into him, although this did leave the two literally face to face. Up close, Gala could see that the red-head's eyes were bloodshot and unfocused, and his face was quite flushed.

"Songi," Gala started, "what the-"

"It hit me!" Songi yelled back.

Without warning, he stumbled forward, straight into Gala, who only just managed to catch him. In hindsight, this probably hadn't been a very good idea, since if Songi had lost control completely and put all his weight onto him, Gala's years of training under Biron would've been put through a serious test.

Slowly, Songi pulled away from his bewildered companion and stood, swaying a little, on his own two feet.

"I drank the whole bottle," Songi said, his voice unsteady, "and I didn't realize it was so strong, so I kept drinking, and I drank all of it, and it..."

It hit Gala like a painful fist to the gut. He'd seen Songi like this a few times at the monastery in later years, when he'd grown old enough to drink hard liquor. It could not be more obvious what had happened.

"You're drunk," Gala said blankly. He could hardly believe it. Where had he even found alcohol anyway? More likely than anything, he'd downed an entire bottle of cooking sherry that had been tucked away somewhere. Very strong cooking sherry, by the looks of it.

"Great perception there, Gala!" Songi boomed back. He grinned at him, his eyes on a spot slightly to the right of Gala's shoulder.

Idiot.

"I guess you'd better go and lie down," Gala said, resisting the urge to bang his head into a nearby wall. Admittedly, this wasn't as bad as coming home and finding Songi gone again, not by a long-shot, but it was still incredibly inconvenient and annoying.

"I'm not tired!" Songi protested. "I feel like talking!"

"You always do when you're drunk," Gala said. Except to me, of course. In those last few years, not even being utterly drunk could make you forget how much you hated me. "Getting you to shut up's the problem. Then again, it's hard getting you to shut up when you're sober too."

At this, Songi burst out laughing. There was no sarcasm in the laugh, as there would've been without the alcohol.

"You're actually pretty funny, Gala!" he said when he'd recovered. "I'm surprised I didn't notice it before! Have you ever thought about doing stand-up comedy?"

Oh, if only you knew...

Gala grimaced. "You have no idea..."

"What?!" Songi said. He was still feeling it necessary to keep his voice loud enough to wake the dead.

"Keep it down," Gala said. "You'll wake up our neighbors."

"To hell with them!"

Here we go...

"Yes," Gala said wearily. It was suddenly becoming a very big chore to stay standing. "To hell with our neighbors, to hell with the world, to hell with anyone who isn't you. Right?"

Songi glared at him, seemingly making an honest effort to focus his eyes directly on him.

"You wanna fight?!" he said, raising an unsteady fist. "I'll give you a fight if you want one, Gala! Just say the word, and I'll-"

Gala grunted impatiently.

"No, moron. I don't want to fight you. We did enough of that earlier. I just want you to go and lie down before you hurt yourself."

Slowly, Songi lowered his fist. His face was going from flushed to extremely pale alarmingly quickly. Gala had a horrible feeling he knew why.

"Songi," he said, carefully. "You need to sit down, or have some water, or... something. Your face is completely white."

Songi shook his head adamantly, causing his face to go, if possible, even paler.

"I'm not... not thirsty. I just downed a whole bottle of... something. Idiot."

"Alcohol dehydrates you, you stupid ignoramus," Gala snapped.

"Hey, don't call me... thing!" Songi said.

Without warning, he stumbled and grabbed the nearest wall to steady himself. For Songi, walls seemed to be more about keeping his balance than holding a roof over him. Then, a second later, he threw up, all over the floor. Even though he'd been expecting it, Gala still recoiled, although that might just have been because Songi vomiting was one of the least pleasant sounds - and sights - one could ever suffer through.

The best Gala could say for him was that he didn't get any sick on either of them. Maybe he would've if he'd gotten the chance, since once he was done bringing up everything he'd eaten over the past few hours, he lurched forward, face-first. He likely would have fallen right into his own vomit, had Gala not managed to catch him again at the last second.

"Nice... catch, Gala," Songi said when he'd gotten his breath back.

His voice was barely above a slurred whisper, and rather than pulling away from Gala, he was sagging weakly against him. He was seemingly too drunk or too tired to notice that he was being completely dependent on someone he was supposed to hate so much.

Gala didn't trust himself to let go of him, even though Songi's weight was almost forcing him to his knees.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Knowing he didn't really have any other options, Gala half-led, half-supported Songi to his room. It wasn't as bad as when he'd been practically dying on the way to Zalan's, but still, Songi didn't make much of an effort to help.

When they finally reached the bedroom, Gala all but dumped the older man onto his bed. He probably should've been more gentle, but at this point, he lacked the patience. He just wanted to have something to eat, change his clothes, then sleep for at least a week.

Roughly, he spread the bed's blanket over Songi's body. The last thing he needed was the idiot catching a cold. Then, letting out his breath in another long sigh, Gala turned and began walking out of the room.

"Why were you even drinking in the first place, you idiot..."

He'd been speaking to himself, as he'd thought Songi was beyond hearing him, so he was amazed when he actually got an answer.

"I wanted... to forget."

Gala stopped short and turned back to him. Songi was huddled under the blanket, his back to him. Even from the little of him that was visible, it was striking to Gala just how helpless he looked when he was lying down.

"What? What did you want to forget?" Gala asked, surprised at how gentle his voice had become.

Songi was starting to doze off. Gala could tell by the way his breath slowed and his body went even more limp than it already had been. Nevertheless, he spoke, his voice drifting along with his consciousness.

"Everything... Everything I did, my dad, Juggernaut, Cort, you..."

With a low sigh, he turned over to his other side, facing Gala, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. The moment he saw him, all Gala's irritation, anger and frustration seeped right out of him, leaving only fatigue and a desire to be alone.

It seemed Songi was much more open about things when he was under the influence of alcohol. Or Jigul grass. But these were things Gala thought he would've been better off not knowing.

Because, when he heard things like this, clear confessions of the guilt and regret Songi felt for the things he'd done, it was so much harder to feel nothing for him, and Gala wanted to feel nothing for him. If that wasn't possible, he at least wanted to hate him, the way Songi had hated him for so long and probably still did. Hatred hurt much less than... than this.

But he'd never been able to hate him, even when he'd attacked the Biron Monastery or Rim Elm. He'd wanted to save him, to get him back to the Songi he'd known and loved.

Well, you managed to save him, a musing, inner voice pointed out. But is he the way you remember, back when you were friends? Do you think he ever will be again? If not, was it really worth saving him?

Yes, Gala answered himself stubbornly. I am glad I saved him. Even if he stays like this... even if he gets drunk every other night and I have to spend the rest of my life babysitting him... I'm glad he's alive.

Slowly, very carefully, Gala reached out a hand and brushed it gently to Songi's left cheek, to the place where he'd struck him the night before. The skin was hot and sweaty under his fingers, and the bruise felt tender, almost like overcooked meat.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Gala pulled his hand quickly away, terrified that the contact might awaken him.

Why, in the name of Biron, had he just done that? What could have possibly possessed him to...

Songi mumbled something indistinguishable and pulled the blanket up higher, hiding most of his face from Gala. He didn't seem to be awake, but nevertheless, Gala wasted no time in leaving the room and closing the door swiftly behind him.

I'm tired, he thought to himself as he staggered down to his own bedroom. And I felt sorry for him. That's why I did it. I didn't realize what I was doing, and... and it's not like it's a big deal to begin with. Why'm I even... It wasn't like I did anything... weird. I just...

Gala's thoughts continued to run in a hazy mess, even after he reached his room and collapsed, fully clothed, onto his bed. They probably would've gone on much longer, even into his dreams, if he hadn't been so tired that he literally fell asleep within minutes and slept dreamlessly for ten hours straight. The last conscious thought he remembered having was:

Damn you, Songi...

He didn't wash up. He didn't change his clothes. He didn't even remember to clean up the sick.

Hehe! I must admit, I really, REALLY enjoyed writing Songi drunk. It's one of the few times he'll completely let down his guard and speak openly about his regrets (even though he won't remember doing so the next day). And yeah, things got a little shippy in this chapter, didn't they? Finally! But still no kissing, and won't be for a while. Sigh... XD