Originally written for the Strifehart Kink Meme.

Prompt: Squall the foreigner and Cloud the Al Bhed have a little trouble understanding each other.

(I wrote this in a way that would not insist on the need for an Al Bhed translator. Still, if you'd like to know what Cloud was saying, here's a link: http: // www. pixelscapes. com/ twoflower/ albhed. html )

Squall awoke to pain. A lot of pain. Especially in his head. Just as he registered the dull throbbing, he noticed the scratchy quality of his throat and the distinct, nauseating reek of having been sick at some point. Thankfully, the bed he was in smelled clean enough.

Wait… Bed?

This was not his bed.

"… Where the hell am I?" he croaked, wincing at the pain it caused to his scratchy throat.

Yet, speaking aloud had its intended effect, and the form he had not noticed beside him shifted, rising. He blearily registered blond hair and a definitely male torso as his unidentified bed buddy slipped out from between the covers, got to his feet and crossed the room silently.

Staring blankly at the man's rear and still too disorientated to decide what he thought of it, Squall decided to just lie down again and stop his head from swimming. "… How long have I been out…?"

"Ypuid desa oui fuga ib," the man suddenly spoke up, returning to the bedside. "Pid cdyo tufh vun y meddma muhkan. Oui haat dra nacd, mad dra nacd uv dra duqeh binka vnus ouin cocdas."

In his too-slow mind, something clicked and echoed over and over. Bloodshot eyes widened.

… Oh, hell no, Squall concluded drearily. You finally did it, Leonhart. You've finally drunk yourself into a coma and woken up next to a stranger who doesn't speak a word of English.

The blond man paused, studying him, then huffed before sitting down on top of the covers. "Tuh'd kad yho etayc ehdu ouin rayt, huf..."

"… I have no idea what you're saying," Squall answered. "Just tell me if I married you while I was wasted. That's all I really need to know."

"Cdub lryddanehk eh so ayn. E tuh'd ihtancdyht y funt oui'na cyoehk," the man countered gruffly; whether or not he understood in turn what was being said to him was left a mystery. "E lyh'd pameaja oui fana cdibet ahuikr du dylgma y paycd dryd buecuhuic mega dryd. Ed'c y senylma oui'na ajah ymeja."

"… Is that a yes or a no?"

The man stared at him incredulously, then sighed in what seemed exasperation. He got up once more, this time coming back with a thermos flask in hand. Pouring out a measure of thick greenish-brown beverage, he offered it to the brunet. Hesitating for a brief second, Squall finally accepted the drink and raised it to his lips. A stuffy nose had prevented necessary warning from reaching him, so the taste instead had him choking and spluttering at once. Regardless, the man attempted to offer him more, and would have if it were not for a near desperate wave of the brunet's free hand.

"No, no, that's plenty…" Coughing a final time, Squall attempted a deep breath through the lingering pain in his body. "I don't even recall drinking last night. Just how many did I have?"

This time, the blond did not answer him, resigned to studying him as he set aside the rest of the herbal mixture. After a few brief seconds, he got up and crossed the room yet again. This time, he lifted a very familiar set of clothing from behind a seat.

"… That's my stuff!" Squall protested, nearly getting to his feet; it was only a second wave of pain and nausea that kept him down. "Don't touch that!"

"Cdub dryd! Tuh'd kad ib oad," the blond shot back at him. "Oui fyhd du gemm ouincamv? E haat du kad draca fycrat vun oui, ugyo? Kud du kad dra buecuh uid."

"Put that down!"

"Ced tufh!"

Squall looked ready to keep arguing, but his body fought his wishes all the more. At last, subdued by his momentary weakness, the brunet slumped back against the covers, his breaths shallow and weak.

"Fine," he groaned. "Take them. I don't care anymore. Bloody idiot I woke up next to…"

And with that, he passed out again. Watching him for a moment longer, the blond shook his head and stepped out of the room with the clothes in tow.

About time he dropped, he thought. Bloody idiot foreigner…