Happy December! This is a holiday present written for the esteemed Sawsbuckgo on tumblr.
This fic will feature Clack, Strifehart, and Zangeal. Full summary: Denzel's family is a bit unconventional, but he likes it that way. Zack and Cloud, divorced for two years now but still best friends, raise their son together along with Denzel's birth mother, Tifa. What does second grade have in store? (please circle one.) a) Zack, frustrated with his humdrum life, looking elsewhere for excitement; b) Cloud falling for the new (and very 'cool') teacher Mr. Leonhart; c) the growth of a family, one whose bond is strong and no less loving, or meaningful, for being a bit unusual; or d) all of the above.

When Zack was a child, he had never enjoyed any holiday or special day as much as he should have due to being half-asleep. At fancy dinners with his extended family he would be nodding off into his plate. Once he opened his presents on Solstice morning he would faceplant right into the carpet and take a nap beneath the tree, bathed in dozens of small, colorful lights and stray pine needles. It became something of a joke in his family.

The ribs about how Zack couldn't pay very good attention during family get-togethers stopped somewhat after his ADHD diagnosis around fourth grade—but they continued to tease him afterward about how his constant sleepiness on those big, important days left him largely unable to process what was going on around him.

Because, really, it was funny—Zack was exhausted as a result of getting so worked up the night before, just thinking about that special day, that he couldn't sleep. The irony of then not being able to appreciate that day properly was lost on no one. Zack's brain still kept him up fairly often, where he couldn't get his thoughts to slow and quiet, but these days his birthday or a holiday wouldn't keep him up the night before; he'd left that in childhood.

Small hands tugged at his comforter and Zack stirred with a tired grunt. He was on his stomach, with his arms up and folded underneath his pillow. He turned his head, blinking his eyes past their blurriness, and squinted at who had pulled down his blankets.

Denzel stood there, already dressed, his eyes very big and his expression very guilty. Zack recognized the signs immediately.

"You didn't sleep," he sighed.

That particular tendency of Zack's must have permeated the cosmic miasma somehow and made its way to Denzel, because his son was the exact same way.

"…I got an hour somewhere, I think," Denzel said. "I blinked once and then the clock was different."

Zack sighed raggedly, going boneless in his bed for a moment. He closed his eyes as if trying to forget Denzel was right in front of him. Then he sat up, put his hands under his small son's armpits, and hauled him into bed.

The kid looked spiffy as hell. He'd picked out his outfit for the first day of school two weeks back; he was devastatingly excited about second grade. There was a crisp white shirt with a tiny blue sweater vest over top (too damn cute, Zack had said to Tifa, who had gone shopping with Denzel to buy it) and brown pants with pockets that zippered, a little splash of actual style and attitude. Denzel had asked Zack that past weekend why real-life couldn't be like the cartoons he liked to watch on television, where the characters wore the same outfit every episode.

"Well," Zack had said, looking up from his work laptop, resting on his thighs as he sat next to Denzel on the couch, "Don't you think we'd all really stink if we wore the same clothes every day?"

"…I guess," Denzel answered, uncertain.

"We both know I smell like a Behemoth's butt when I get back from the gym," Zack said, reaching over to poke Denzel, making him grin. "Imagine if I didn't change out of those clothes and wore them every day."

"But no one on the shows ever tells their friends they stink."

"Maybe they shower every single night. And do their laundry every single night, too. I guess you can wear your first-day outfit day after day if you're willing to do that."

Zack hid a smile; Denzel reacted as he'd imagined, by wrinkling up his nose. It was nearly impossible to get that kid into the shower sometimes, and folding laundry? Forget it. Zack thought the subject was dropped and went back to his notations for work, but then Denzel said, after a minute, with a sly smile on his face, "…Daddy said he always picks up something so his hands're busy when you get back from the gym, so he doesn't have to hug you hello."

"What!" Outrage splashed across Zack's face. "You're lying!"

Denzel giggled, shaking his head. "He says you smell like the grease Tifa scrapes off the top of her oven."

"That's it," Zack said, scowling, "Next time I go to the gym I'm going to drive to Seventh Heaven, knock whatever he picked up out of his hands, and hug the heck out of him."

Denzel was laughing openly now, probably imagining what his Daddy's face would look like if Zack did that. Zack laughed too, at the same image.

Right now the outfit that Denzel liked so much was getting all rumpled, but neither of them particularly cared. His new boots—thank Gaia—were not on, and Zack nestled his son firmly beneath the covers, then hugged him back against his chest.

Denzel certainly had Cloud's spiky hair. These spikes were small, though, and not quite as gravity-defying. Zack loved to bury his face in Denzel's hair and did so now. They were particularly messy today, from Denzel tossing and turning all night.

"Papa," Denzel whispered after a minute, perhaps fearing Zack had fallen asleep again with his arms around him. He was notoriously hard to wake up in the morning, when it was so often difficult for him to doze off.

"Yeah, Denz?"

"It's the first day of school, come on!"

"You sure you're not tired? We can call in sick today, both of us, and stay here with movies—"

"No," Denzel said, wiggling now, trying to escape Zack's arms that had grown suddenly heavy and kept re-adjusting, keeping him prisoner. His clothes really were a wreck now.

Zack finally let him go with a sigh, and Denzel quickly crawled out of bed. He was so grown up already—he wasn't interested in playing hooky. It was probably for the best. Zack got up too, turning off his alarm that wasn't due to go off for another fifteen minutes, and ushered Denzel downstairs.

Breakfast was Denzel's favorite cereal (which was Zack's favorite too, to be fair, though he made Denzel split a banana with him for vitamins, which he stressed when Denzel's lip started to curl). Zack, like a lot of folks with mild insomnia resulting from his ADHD, downed a cup of coffee quick. Denzel had brought his backpack downstairs at some point in the early morning; it was new, and had Vincent Valentine on it, Denzel's favorite superhero.

Zack got himself ready (with another cup of coffee, swallowing his meds on the way) and double-checked Denzel's backpack. Sure enough, some of the paperwork they had for Denzel's new teacher was still in the living room. Denzel retrieved it as Zack got started on his lunch. "I'm putting one of my energy drinks in your lunch box, Denz," Zack called, speaking over the sounds of a moving truck outside. The house next door, empty for a couple months now, was finally being filled. "Much cooler than the juice boxes you usually get, yeah? Special treat for the first day?"

"Yeah!" Denzel called back. Zack bit back a laugh; the kid would be off the walls after lunch, but hey, at least he wouldn't be falling asleep. The poor teacher would probably think he was a shitty parent, but… what could ya do.

The early September air felt good on their skin. Denzel ran to Zack's car in the driveway, his backpack bouncing against his back. The driveway wasn't very long, and still had enough room in it for a motorcycle—not that there was a need for that very often, anymore. Zack lived in one of those neighborhoods where all the houses looked fairly similar, copy-and-pasted next to each other with a stripe of green, manicured lawn in between. The sidewalks were wide and smooth (and often covered in chalk drawings), and many of the roads ended in cul-de-sacs full of basketball nets, tiny bicycles resting on their sides, and small plastic swords, the kind SOLDIERs used on TV.

At the end of Zack's driveway stood a mailbox that Denzel had painted when he was three years old, when he, his dad, and Zack moved into this very house. There was a tiny paint handprint on the side that opened, Zack's on one of the longer ones, and Cloud's opposite Zack's. There was also a moving truck about to knock it over.

Zack dropped his saddle briefcase and ran down his driveway, waving his arms. "Hey!" he called, "Watch out, man!"

The driver of the truck did not hear him, and backed right into their damn mailbox. It did not put up much of a fight; the wood bent and leaned for all of a millisecond before breaking off where the rear bumper of the truck was pushing into it. It fell with a dull thud into the grass, and that was that.

"What the fuc—!" Zack had to clap a hand over his own mouth, glancing back at Denzel, who was staring at their downed mailbox like he'd just seen his friend Marlene's kitten get hit, not a wooden pole with a metal box on top.

The driver finally noticed them, hitting the brakes as he undoubtedly felt the crack of the mailbox breaking. An auburn-haired head poked out of the window, and he made eye contact with Zack.

"Come on, dude!" Zack cried, throwing up his hands. "You broke the damn thing!"

"Ugh, shit," Zack heard the man say before climbing out of the truck. He wore cowboy boots with large heels and designer jeans—plus a scowl. "That's not my fault," was the next thing out of his mouth.

Denzel's first day of second grade started with his father yelling at a stranger in their driveway.

Eventually, though, they had to get moving—it would not do to be late on the first day, and Zack had work besides. The truck driver, apparently "just a friend" of whoever his new neighbor was, and someone devoid of any sense of responsibility (and driving skills, apparently) kept bitching at Zack even as he hauled the mailbox into his house and slapped a 'SORRY' note onto his front door with instructions to slide their mail that day beneath the crack of the door.

Denzel, having buckled himself into his booster seat, was nearly in tears.

"It's okay, bud," Zack soothed, his voice soft and unconsciously higher-pitched. "We'll get it fixed. That guy was a butt."

With a great big sniff and his lips trembling, Denzel nodded.

Zack felt like shit. He tried not to lose it in front of Denz—tried to keep up that 'goofy, charming, pleasant' image he'd worked so hard to perfect over the years. The kid looked up to him besides; it was his responsibility to keep it cool. Still… it was hard to shake the image of the side of the mailbox with Cloud's years-old handprint stuck into the dirt. It made his stomach turn.

Zack discretely flipped off the guy as they drove away. The redhead saw, but not Denzel. With that done he let out a deep sigh, squared his shoulders, and fixed his son with a broad grin through the rearview mirror. "So!" he said, forced enthusiasm making his voice boom, "You excited for your first day!?"

On the way to school Denzel chatted Zack's ear off about all the exciting things second graders did (among them a unit on volcanoes, a trip to the aquarium, and a musical everybody participated in) and how cool everyone last year had said his current teacher would be. Zack's house was in the suburbs of Midgar, so it wasn't quite as difficult getting to work in the morning as it would be if they lived downtown, like where Seventh Heaven was. The ride to ShinRa Elementary was pleasant.

There were buses that came and collected some students, but the bus stop was a couple blocks down from where they lived and Zack wasn't comfortable having Denzel walk that by himself at his age. Instead, he and Cloud dropped Denzel off at school and picked him up directly. Over the summer Denzel had been at a different elementary school a few days a week for summer camp.

"You gonna miss summer?" Zack asked as they climbed out of the car, having found a parking spot at the edge of the lot; it was packed. Zack remembered the excitement he used to get for the first day… in fact, he probably stayed up the night before one or two of them, too.

"I guess," Denzel said. He was a bit subdued now, shyly holding Zack's hand as they walked into the building. It was a big school; it held five grades plus kindergarten and had three floors. "I might miss spending so much time with Daddy, but I'm still happy for school." Zack held his driver's license up to a reader by the front door. It scanned the thing and recognized him, granting him access.

"What room are you again?" Zack asked, as if he didn't already know.

"2-8!" Denzel said, pulling on Zack's hand. It was the famous Mr. Leonhart's room. From the way Denzel had been carrying on about the guy you'd think he was a celebrity. Apparently Mr. Leonhart was cooler than the other second grade teachers. Denzel had been so excited when he'd received the letter with his class assignment in the mail over the summer.

Denzel's room was on the second floor. For some reason kindergarten, first, and half of the third grade was on the first floor. Denzel looked excited to climb the stairs that previously he'd had little reason to traverse. They were buffeted on all sides by hurrying, often screaming children. A few guardians had decided to drop their kids off personally, like Zack. Some kids were trying to find their rooms alone, clutching pieces of paper in their tiny fists. Staff were in the hallways directing traffic.

Just outside room 2-8 were two long billboards—class work would be put out there in time. For now, there was a bright display that read WELCOME TO SECOND GRADE. They entered the classroom together. Denzel shifted to stand slightly behind Zack as they took in the new room.

It seemed to be slightly bigger than Denzel's first-grade classroom. Everything was bright and colorful, with one wall covered in vocabulary words and large swaths of Velcro so they could be maneuvered. Along the back wall were windowsills and empty pots; looked like they were going to be doing a plant unit. There was a chalk blackboard as well as one of the new, fancier boards with touch-screen capabilities, and several 'tables' formed by pushing desks together.

There were other students and a couple guardians milling around, finding desks and getting their charges situated.

Denzel's desk was on the side of the room with his back to the windows; his name was neatly written on a name tag. There was a folder on the desk—a quick glance showed it had some getting-to-know-your-classmates activities in it. They took out the paperwork they'd completed that week and placed it beside the folder. Denzel's letter to Mr. Leonhart—their only homework for the summer—was carefully placed on top.

It was about how Denzel's life had been that summer. How he'd spent most of his time with his Dad, who worked part-time and took care of Denzel on his off days, when he was thus not at summer camp. How Tifa had taught him a lot about cooking that year, showing him how to cook a sizzling bar burger and coat Seventh Heaven's onion rings in cold, sticky batter that Denzel loved to squish between his fingers. How Zack had taken him on a small vacation with just the two of them to the beach for a couple days; it was a vacation that Zack hadn't wanted to end.

Denzel told Zack that he hoped Mr. Leonhart liked him; Zack told Denzel that it was impossible for anybody not to.

Mr. Leonhart himself was finally making his way over to them. The buses hadn't arrived yet, so the room was not all that busy. He was a tall man, maybe an inch shorter than Zack, in form-fitting black slacks, a long-sleeved white shirt with sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and…

"Hey, Denzel," Zack said, a grin growing on his face. He put his hand on the back of Denzel's shoulders and guided him out from behind him. "Your new teach has the same sense of style that you do."

Mr. Leonhart's sweater vest was black with a gray pattern, not blue like Denzel's, but Denzel looked amazed anyway.

The teacher made eye contact with Zack for a moment before sliding his gaze down to Denzel's. He put his hands on his hips. "You're a fan of these?" he asked. "I have quite a few of them, but no blue. You think I should add one like yours to my collection?"

"…Yeah," Denzel said, hesitating only briefly. He'd been so shy for so long—Zack was making progress in getting his son out of his shell, but it was taking time. "I got it from the store across from Palmer's Pizza near the art gallery."

Zack bit back a laugh; that store downtown only sold children's clothes. Mr. Leonhart nodded seriously though. "I might have to pay them a visit, then," he said. "I can't have my students better-dressed than me. Everyone might think you're the teacher here."

Zack rubbed a comforting hand down Denzel's spine. "Would you like that? Teaching everyone about Vincent Valentine for a whole year?"

"No way," Denzel said, shaking his head vigorously. "I'd run out of things to talk about."

"Story of my life," Mr. Leonhart quipped, making both Zack and Denzel laugh. He smiled—he was a hot dude, with long, soft brown hair and kind eyes. The scar running at an angle between his eyes and the bridge of his nose was a bit surprising at first—he'd seen Denzel's eyes widen as he tucked himself closer behind Zack's legs before Zack pulled him out—but it worked, for this man. He held out a hand towards Denzel. "You are…?"

"Denzel Strife," Denzel said politely. He shook his teacher's hand like a real grown-up, his grip nice and firm like Zack had shown him, an expert at them himself from conducting interviews and greeting people at countless board meetings.

"It's good to finally meet you, Denzel. I heard a lot of great things about you from your teacher last year." Mr. Leonhart then fixed his attention back on Zack. He held out his hand again. "Squall Leonhart. It's a pleasure."

Zack shook, but with genuine warmth, not the fake kind he presented at those interviews or board meetings. "Zack Fair. Denzel's my son. It's good to meet you, man."

"You too."

"Denzel was so excited about school today he didn't sleep much last night. He might be a little sleepy; sorry in advance."

"That's okay. We'll be doing fun things today, to keep you awake. Not a whole lot of gross…" Squall leaned down with a hand over his mouth, like he was going to whisper a secret to Denzel. "…learning today."

Denzel laughed. Mr. Leonhart had to go greet some new students who had just entered and left with a last smile at the both of them. "I like him," Denzel whispered to Zack as soon as he was out of earshot.

"Me too."

They hung Denzel's backpack up on his designated hook against the wall by the door. He had a small cubby, too, and Zack stowed his lunch. "Don't forget about your energy drink," he warned. Denzel dutifully said that he would not.

They sat Denzel down at his desk. It was bigger than the one he'd had in first grade… but then, Denzel was bigger, too. Seven years old, not six. Zack stared down at his son, feeling his heart well with affection. Denzel had not inherited Cloud's beautiful blue eyes, but Tifa's warm reddish-brown instead. They were just as beautiful.

"Bye, buddy," Zack said. He put his hand in Denzel's soft, short spikes and gave them a gentle ruffle. "Your Dad's gonna pick you up in the afternoon. I'll see you soon."

Denzel looked like he wanted to give Zack a hug but resisted, because he was cool these days. He settled for covering Zack's hand in his hair and removing it, but not before giving the larger hand a squeeze. Zack forced himself to leave, lest he stubbornly stay the rest of the day.

Kunsel had gotten so cynical of everyone at AVALANCHE's shit over the years. He and Kunsel had started at the company within a month of each other, twelve years back, at 22, straight out of college. Kunsel had gone to Edge College, not Midgar U like Zack. The two Midgar-based schools had a terrific rivalry and they'd initially gotten close by ribbing each other over Edge's dismal football team and Midgar's coveted last-place title in basketball.

Quite honestly, they'd gotten each other through the past decade together. Without Kunsel, there through the management switch and mass lay-offs of five years back, or the last boss they'd had, there only for six months but absolutely tyrannical during that time, Zack probably would not have stayed.

Without Zack, who had a kind smile whenever Kunsel came back with gloomy news about his now ex-girlfriend or a funny thing to say when politics hit too close to home, Kunsel would have quit too, he'd said more than once. Together the two men had combed at least ten blocks in every direction from AVALANCHE's location for all the good lunch restaurants. They sent each other funny emails and popped into each other's offices for a good talk when someone wasn't feeling like working (which was more often than not, to tell the truth).

Kunsel's utter disdain for half of their executive board always made Zack laugh, even on his worst days.

A few hours earlier Zack had trudged into the building with a scowl on his face, one he didn't bother trying to hide around Kunsel, unlike everybody else. He grunted something about Denzel's first day of school—the angst of a parent whose kid was growing up too fast was something Kunsel could empathize with, even if he had no children of his own—and then muttered about his mailbox getting downed by some asshole after that.

Kunsel did not quite understand what about the mailbox was depressing Zack so much, but it hardly mattered; he'd launched into a rant about Barnaby Hojo's presentation they were both going to have to sit through that evening until Zack was nearly in tears from laughing so hard, and things were mostly better after that.

It was their lunch break now, and as Zack chewed the leftover pasta he'd brought he tilted his head, considering Kunsel's criticism of AVALANCHE's newest acquisition. They were buying out a small advertising firm on the western edge of Midgar city. Kunsel seemed to think that it was a foolish decision.

"We all know they're just doing that so the top execs are closer to their mansions and don't have to commute as far in the morning," Kunsel said. His sandy blond hair flopped into his eyes as he hung his head, a defeated look spreading across his face.

"Well, hey," Zack said, fighting a smile. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"What."

"They're farther away from us."

Kunsel looked up; his eyes were narrowed. "…You've gotta point there," he conceded. "I won't have to run into Rufus and that dog of his in the elevator anymore."

"Dark Nation is cute," Zack said. "And such a good service dog, too. She got Rufus help for his seizure last month when he was talking to the CEO of Corneo's, remember?"

"I ain't sayin' she's not a good service dog," Kunsel said, "I'm sayin' that he's an asshole and I'll be glad to not have her glaring at me when I'm trying to get down to the basement levels."

Kunsel's office was nearly identical to Zack's in terms of layout and furniture, but it was decorated differently. There was a diploma from Edge and not Midgar, for starters—and unlike Zack, he didn't have tasteful throw pillows on the armchair in the corner nor a blanket. Zack's office was in the mighty path of a faulty heating coil that left him shaking with cold in the winter time. Zack stared at a photo of Kunsel with his current girlfriend and their dog, Lux.

"Denzel wants a dog," Zack said, frowning. "I don't really wanna take care of the thing, but he really wants one—and dammit, how is he in the second grade already!?"

A gentle knock on the door made them both look up. A familiar brown-clad figure was leaning into the room, fixing them with a soft smile. "Hey," Kunsel greeted warmly, but Zack, a little spooked, said some awkward mix of "Oh!" and "Hello!"

Cloud grinned and came further into the room. "Tifa and I don't have space for a dog at our place," he said, shrugging, "It'll have to be you, Zack."

Zack was standing already, leaving his small tupperware container on Kunsel's desk top. He could tell Kunsel was on the verge of saying something like It's okay, you don't have to leave, but he ushered Cloud out and down the hallway because he could. If Cloud was here… that probably meant he had something important to say, and Zack just wasn't up to doing that in front of a friend.

Cloud seemed to sense Zack's anxiety. "I was doing a delivery to a place across the street," he said, "And I thought I'd stop in. I'm glad I caught you on your lunch break."

"Yeah," Zack said, his heart doing strange things, "I am too."

They entered Zack's office and shut the door behind them. Some of the papers on Zack's desk had been straightened—Cloud likely came here first, poked around a bit, and then left to find him at Kunsel's room down the hall.

Cloud always looked damn good in the summer version of his work uniform. Brown shorts, short enough to show a few inches of his toned thighs… a belt cinched tight around his thin hips, and a sleeveless, starch brown buttoned top. He'd cut the sleeves off of all of them himself, but his boss didn't give a shit and let it slide. Zack's eyes lingered, and Cloud, of course, caught him at it. Cloud tilted his head, frowning.

"Second grade," Zack said nervously.

"Second grade," Cloud repeated, a bit of awe in his voice.

Zack sighed, and the two men stood there in thoughtful silence for a long moment. Cloud eventually said, rubbing one of those muscular biceps, "…He's getting so fucking old."

"I know!" Then Zack was laughing—and Cloud joined in. "He was so cute this morning. He didn't sleep at all. Well—he says he might have gotten an hour in there somewhere. He woke me up and he was all dressed up by the side of the bed with these huge dark circles under his eyes."

"Poor kid," Cloud said, smiling widely. He snorted at Zack's decision to leave Denz with an energy drink. "He's gonna be crawling all over me on the ride home this afternoon."

"Probably. Oh—the room's on the second floor; you should take the staircase on the far right end of the building. We took the wrong one this morning and had to hike it a bit." Cloud nodded as Zack gave him the basic info about Denzel's new classroom and what second grade would entail.

"His new teacher seems okay? After the constant discussion of him all summer he better live up to the damn hype."

"Yeah." Zack nodded. "He seems like a cool guy. They both wore sweater vests today—I think Denzel got a kick out of it. It was cute."

"…Second grade," Cloud said again.

Zack confirmed, "Second grade."

All those ridiculous existential thoughts he'd had that day about the passage of time and the cycle of birth, growth, adulthood, and death must have shown on his face. Cloud shuffled closer and then pulled him into a hug. His arms slipped around Zack's shoulders with the same familiarity they'd had for hundreds of such hugs over the years. Zack's hand fell to the small of Cloud's back and pushed, gently, holding Cloud to him, because his emotions needed it.

It was not because he was horny and frustrated lately, after another shitty date two nights previous. When he'd seen a deliriously happy mother and father dropping their kid off together for first grade his stomach had not tightened into a knot. When he realized how much younger that couple was than him he had not looked away, clenching his jaw.

Except that Cloud knew that it was, and that it had, and that he had, and was understanding about it—which was the worst part. Cloud let out a soothing hum as Zack buried his face in his hair, much like he had Denzel's earlier that morning, cuddling him in bed.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice so wonderfully deep, vibrating against Zack's chest.

"Yeah. I don't know. It's just that a lot of weird things are happening at once, you know?" Zack opened his mouth to tell Cloud about the mailbox, but something made him bite it back.

"Yeah." When Cloud drew back, his hands lingered, sliding down the front of Zack's suit jacket. It felt good. They made eye contact, feeling each other out.

Cloud's hands retracted and went back into the pockets of his shorts. "You can do it, Papa."

Zack grinned. "Not if you're not with me, Daddy."

"Don't call me that," Cloud said, scowling—but then they were both laughing again.

It had been two years since Zack and Cloud peacefully and amicably ended their six year marriage in divorce. They never stopped raising Denzel together though, with both of his fathers just as involved as before—along with Tifa, Cloud's oldest friend, who had offered to be the surrogate for Denzel all those years ago. Denzel did not call Tifa 'Mom' but she was the mother figure in his life all the same.

Originally none of them had planned for Tifa to be as big a presence in Denzel's life as she came to be, but when it came down to it, the more love that kid had the better off he'd be. And it was a lot of love—Cloud and Zack worked hard to raise their son right. They were far better off as friends, they realized way, way too late, but despite that, two friends could take care of a kid pretty damn well.

(And each other. The romantic element of their relationship had died—or perhaps never even existed at all—but the physical one… less so. They hadn't hooked up many times after their divorce but it had happened… often enough.)

Cloud had known Zack since he was 20 and Zack 23. He couldn't stay and Zack had to finish his lunch, and as they said goodbye to each other with another hug, more chaste this time around, Zack could feel Cloud's feelers out, trying to sense what exactly was wrong with him, and where this was going. The blond man was excellent at figuring him out; he'd had a long time to practice.

"You still gonna come by for dinner Wednesday night?" Cloud asked.

"Yeah, I'll be there. Denzel said he wants Tifa to make his favorite."

"Got it. See you, Papa," Cloud said. The look he sent Zack over his shoulder as he left was almost flirty; he strutted off down the hallway, knowing Zack's eyes would follow him out.

Fuuuck, Zack thought, crossing his arms.

"What are you doing tonight?" Kunsel asked a couple minutes later. He'd eaten half of Zack's remaining pasta in the time Zack was gone.

"Got another date," he answered, "For my own sake, I hope it goes well."