What We Shared
By Shiro
10/7/2003
Note: This fanfiction contains adult situations, sexual content, and brief language. Reader discretion is advised.
Other note: I don't own these characters, obviously. Square Enix does. Give them props for their awesome games.
Note also: I did the best I could to fit this into the game's timeline without actually -changing- the game at all. I think it worked out.
Fanfikku HASSHIN!
She really did look beautiful. Regal. Like a queen. She was stunning, and Zidane hadn't said a word to her. Dagger, Steiner, and Beatrix were gone, now, leaving only Vivi, Zidane, Freya, and Eiko. Even young, innocent Vivi noticed the change in Zidane, and he was the first to break the silence.
"Why didn't you say anything to her, Zidane?" His voice sounded both perplexed and slightly let down. The kid looked up to Zidane, idolized him, it wouldn't be a far stretch to think he might be disappointed seeing his hero act so coldly toward Dagger.
"I don't know..." Zidane replied weakly. "I tried..." He glanced down, thick sandy hair hiding his face for a moment. Not Dagger, Freya reminded herself. Garnet. She'd left her name behind when she left behind Alexandria. Now that she'd returned to take her rightful place, she had her proper name again and no other.
"And?" Freya asked as she took half a step toward Zidane. She felt like slapping him, shaking him, and telling him to run to Garnet and make everything right. But now, no matter what he did... things couldn't exactly be right anymore.
Zidane shook his head and blinked back tears. "I couldn't say anything! I had a whole speech ready for her. But it would have been a lie! How could I lie to her!? 'Good luck, Dagger! I'll be watching you from afar.' 'Come find me if you need someone to talk to.' It's a big fat lie! That's not how I feel at all!" He gave a bitter grin, scratching the back of his neck as his voice lowered in tone and volume to little more than a pained creak. "That's not how I feel...at all." And with that, he quietly walked out, tail swaying limply behind him. Eiko took two steps to follow but then stopped and ran in the other direction. Vivi simply watched for a few moments, shook his head, and walked down the hall, probably toward the library to speak with Dr. Tot.
Freya couldn't decide where to go. She was worried for Zidane, and for Eiko, and for Garnet. Eiko was feeling nothing but a crush whose illusion had been destroyed, and Garnet was beyond her reach now, so eventually she decided to follow after Zidane. He'd already walked out of sight, out of the palace and toward Alexandria proper, but she wasn't concerned about losing his trail. She knew where he'd be.
*************
A quick boat ride took Freya back to Alexandria and from there it was a relatively short walk to the tavern near the city's entrance. Sure enough, there was Zidane, sitting in a corner drowning his sorrows in ale (he was already on his second pint, amazingly enough; she'd only given him maybe five minutes' head start). The busty barmaid Maggie was fairly hanging on him, an unladylike arm draped around his shoulder as he described in overglorious tones some tale of his bandit past. She forced herself to ignore the woman and walked over, then congratulated herself for speaking not to her but to Zidane: "Well? Going to invite me for a drink?"
He blinked slowly as he looked up to Freya, obviously not expecting to see her there, but his bewildered expression was quickly replaced by one of his trademark grins. "Sure sure, pull up a chair. I was jus tellin Maggie here about the time Dagger an Steiner an Vivi an me got trapped in the Forest of Certain Doom."
Freya lowered to one of the free chairs, not bothering to correct his misremembrance (or overstatement) of the Evil Forest's name. Instead, she gave a telling glance to Maggie, and murmured, "Whiskey cut with cider, please. A large glass." Maggie gave a petulant little glare in return but stood and gave a half-curtsy before hurrying off to fetch the drink.
Zidane gave her a surprised look. "Lil harder than you usually drink, isn' it?" He then shook his head and lightly knocked himself on the temple. "Nevermind. I'm an idiot. You got plenty to get drunk about too, doncha..." He gazed at his ale a moment before taking another swig.
Freya nodded slowly, her own eyes straying to the table. Zidane knew how much Sir Fratley's memory loss had affected her. They remained that way in silence for several minutes, even after Maggie brought over the extra-hard cider. Perhaps sensing the change in tone around that particular table, she then found other things to do besides flirt with Zidane. Freya took a sip and half-winced as the drink burned on its way down her throat. There must have been practically as much whiskey in the twelve-ounce glass as cider. She didn't complain, though. She was in the mood for it.
After a few more silent minutes, and Zidane finishing his pint (and asking for another), Freya finally looked up at him. "You should have said something. Anything. Just a 'yeah, you look pretty' would have been fine. But the way you acted... You gave her the impression, I think, that you just don't care at all."
Zidane laughed half-heartedly and gazed at his empty stein, pondering that for a few moments. "Yeah, well," he finally began, "is' prolly better that way, anyhow. Is' not as if we could ever be together. She's a queen. I'm a fuckin thief."
Freya slapped the table, causing him to jump. "Dammit, Zidane, you're also her closest friend!" He just laughed again and shook his head.
"Friend? Nah. Steiner and Beatrix, Tot, Cid, those're her friends. Me? Marcus, Blank, Cinna, Baku? Vivi, Eiko, Amarant, Quina, you? The hell does a queen need with friends like those? She can jus go to the store an buy way better ones." Freya sat back down. It wasn't only that she'd been in that comparison that stung. The utter defeat and self-loathing behind his words, the hopelessness, reminded her too much of herself shortly after Sir Fratley left Burmecia. She took a long swig of her cider and instantly regretted it. Zidane, in one of his trademark and unfathomable turns of mood, tilted his head and gave a lopsided grin. "You okay there? I can order you some milk if you'd prefer."
"Fuck you." After a momentary staring contest she cracked a smile, and once she'd smiled she couldn't help but laugh. Maybe the whiskey in her drink was getting to her faster than she expected, but suddenly all her problems, all his problems, all the world's problems, seemed so far away and above everything as to totally disappear from consideration. There was nothing now except the tavern, the sunset filtering through the windows, the tasty but unbelievably intoxicating drink in her hand, and Zidane.
His two ales turned to five, her one glass of cider turned to two. They made small talk, sharing, laughing, and forgetting their problems for a couple hours. Eventually the tavern became more crowded as the evening wore on into night. It became less cozy, more rowdy. Freya stood up, bracing herself against the table, and laid a few gil down for the drinks. This got Zidane out of his seat, bolt upright. "Hey!" he cried to her in mock indignation, "don't you -dare- try to pay for your drinks!"
She laughed and made a show at declining his offer, but he was far more stubborn than she, and they both knew it. Eventually Zidane had paid for both of them, and they were strolling down the streets of Alexandria toward the town square. Both Freya and Zidane were rather tipsy, but neither was fall-down drunk; mostly because they had each other to lean against if they felt ready to fall down. A few minutes later they emerged on the square and walked toward the inn. Freya got her room key from the innkeeper and climbed upstairs, counting rooms until she got to the fourth. It took a couple tries to get the door unlocked and open, but once she did she was pleasantly surprised by the spacious and comfortably appointed room. A fire had already been set in the hearth and several rugs and cushions were spread over the floor to absorb the heat, all in an effort to chase away the chill air of night.
Zidane invited himself in, as he occasionally did, and flopped ungracefully onto one of the larger cushions, sprawling near the fire as he looked up at her. "Freya," he began, "do you think Fratley w--"
"Shuddap." She tossed a pillow at him, beaning him lightly over the head. "I don' wanna talk about him tonight. I don' wanna talk about anything like that." She grinned at him, pulling off her coat and hat and hanging them on hooks by the door. "I'm in much too good a mood right now to spoil the evening." She pulled off her fitted breastplate as well, hanging it by one of the straps. She was left wearing a pair of loose gauzy pants cinched tight at the waist and a thick, strong cloth wrapped tightly around her chest. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught Zidane watching her, and realized that this was probably the first time he'd ever seen her without the coat and hat obscuring almost everything about her. And, as typical of most everyone else, he seemed to expect her to be a lot less beautiful than she was. She had the form of a gymnast, true, with neither exactly wide hips nor exactly large breasts (made even less impressive by the tight cloth they were clad in), but her entire form was an exercise in anatomy, every muscle perfectly toned and proportioned. Her face was gorgeous in terms of her own race, though her tapering muzzle and large, swept-back ears reminded most humans too much of a rat's features for comfort.
She couldn't help but giggle at the gaze. It wasn't exactly fair, she'd caught him off guard, but she relished it all the same. But then she twisted a thumb toward the door. "Out, mister, unless you plan to stay and watch me take a bath."
He climbed to his feet and gave a mock groan, pleadingly asking, "-Can- I? Pretty please?" She reached for another pillow and he threw up his hands, laughing and hurrying the rest of the way to the door. She lobbed it at his posterior. Direct hit. Laughing, she walked to the door, closed it, and began heating some water in the large fireplace for the bath tub.
A short time later Freya had heated enough water to a comfortably hot temperature and was able to finally recline in the tub and relax. She allowed the water to merely seep into her fur, letting out a grateful sigh as it removed days of trail dust and soaked clean warmth all the way down to her skin. Eventually she used the small bag of lavender the inn had provided to thoroughly wash then stepped out of the tub and briskly dried off with a plush towel. She wrapped the towel tightly about her breasts as the cloth had been before and slid her pants back on, opening the window to allow a burst of refreshingly cold air to sweep over her.
On the breeze came the sound of someone whistling. It was a tune that sounded somewhat familiar. She stepped out of her room and followed the sound down the hallway to the inn's one balcony, set to overlook the wide town square. Zidane was there, half-sitting half-lying languidly along the bannister, tail flicking idly side to side as he whistled that tune.
"It's beautiful," Freya murmured. "And I know I've heard it before." Zidane stopped whistling as she spoke, but he didn't start. There was very little that could still startle that boy, given all he'd been through.
"It's a song I heard Dagger singing. I don't know the words, but I'm not a good singer anyway." He shrugged uncomfortably, still gazing over the town, away from her. His tail's flicking side to side became slightly more agitated in character.
"Oh. Sorry. Didn't mean to bring that up, after I yelled at you for talking about Fratley." She gave him a grin, but he couldn't see it. He just lay there, his tail slowly going limp, and she almost gasped as she realized the barely audible sound she heard was Zidane crying. "Hey.. I really am sorry. I didn't mean--"
"No. It's.. not that," he murmured quietly in response, his voice barely shaking. He rolled off the bannister to his feet and stretched overdramatically, trying to pretend that he was rubbing sleep from his eyes rather than wiping away tears. But Freya wasn't fooled. She just took a step forward and hugged him warmly. After a moment of surprise, he hugged back. She was glad to be able to help in some small way, but thinking about Zidane's pain could not but bring her back to her own. They walked arm-in-arm back inside, and she stepped back inside her room, turning to face him.
"Zidane," Freya murmured, "...Thank you." She didn't specify for what. She wasn't even sure herself what she was thanking him for. She knew only that she was grateful to him, and thankful for him. She hadn't really had a friend she cared about as much as she did Zidane since... Her eyes flickered to the floor before closing, tears welling up.
Her reverie was broken after a moment by the feeling of lips brushing gently but insistently against hers. She opened her eyes and gazed at Zidane. He looked so different like this. He had to reach up somewhat to reach her, and his lips were not very well matched to hers. He looked downright clumsy. And yet that kiss was flavored with just the right mix of compassion, brashness, and naivete to utterly melt her heart. After only a moment's hesitation she allowed her eyes to drift shut again and kissed back, murring in the back of her throat as his arms encircled her waist.
Freya's mind swam with more than just alcohol now. She opened one eye and glanced over her shoulder into her room then wrapped her arms around Zidane's hips and pulled. He half-stumbled into her room, but his tail grabbed the door on the way and pulled it shut. Another two steps and she fell backward onto the bed. He fell with her but managed some grace now that a bit of his ale had taken the time to wear off. He raised his head, gazing down at her through a curtain of sandy blond hair, and opened and closed his mouth a couple times, searching for words. Eventually he realized he had none and merely hugged her tightly, pressing feathery kisses to her nose, lips, jawline, and all over the rest of her face. Heat rose to her cheeks and her nose and ears flushed crimson with a blush, but she returned each kiss, her own hands softly stroking his back.
Their clothing was quick to abandon the bed and drop to the floor, but eventually they two followed suit themselves. They spent a good deal of the night rolling about, reveling in each other, making passionate love to the warmth and light of the fire and of the stars shining through the window. Each time Zidane thought himself spent Freya would find a very effective way to convince him otherwise, and each time Freya thought she had no more energy to give Zidane would find a way to bring out more in her. They spent hours in each other's embrace until they eventually fell to the bed still locked together, prey to fatigue that finally could no longer be ignored. They slept soundly, their respective troubles forgotten for a while.
*************
Zidane awoke to a soft kiss on the cheek from Freya, the very first rays of sunrise streaking through the window above them. He was pleasantly warm, pleasantly aching, and it had been far too long since he'd awoken with another body cuddled close to his own. Twisting his head to bring them nose-to-nose, gazing into her eyes, he could read her easily enough. He closed his eyes again, exhaling softly. "Last night didn't change anything, did it?" he whispered. "You still love him."
She cast her eyes down and after a few moments nodded. "I'm so grateful to you for what you shared with me. But yes... I still do love Sir Fratley." She looked up at him again, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
Zidane gave her a mysterious smile and kissed her nose reassuringly. "It's okay. I'm grateful to you too, but then..."
Freya gave him a light squeeze. "But then, you're still in love with Garnet." He nodded shortly in affirmation. She closed her eyes, snuggling her face against his chest. "Those are problems for later," she murmured sleepily. "Let's not deal with them until then.." He whispered something of agreement, kissing her forehead. She was asleep again after a few minutes, curled up against Zidane.
*************
And when she next awoke, she was alone.
The bedsheets where he'd lain were warmer than the air but cooling, and all of his clothing and gear was gone. She sat up in bed and hugged her knees to her bare chest. It didn't seem right that he'd just leave like that... But she chided herself. She had no right to suddenly act possessive over Zidane. What they had shared was friendship and compassion, nothing more. What she felt for Zidane was nothing like what she felt for Sir Fratley, and what Zidane felt for Freya was assuredly very different from what he felt for Garnet.
She got out of bed and dressed mechanically, walking slowly downstairs. No, he wasn't here either. A trip to the bar found Amarant and Vivi, but no Zidane. She tried not to feel hurt and asked Maggie for a water, which the flighty barmaid brought with a dubious look. Freya rubbed her eyes. "That Zidane... Where did he go?"
Amarant rasped straight to the point in his unique way, "Who knows..."
By Shiro
10/7/2003
Note: This fanfiction contains adult situations, sexual content, and brief language. Reader discretion is advised.
Other note: I don't own these characters, obviously. Square Enix does. Give them props for their awesome games.
Note also: I did the best I could to fit this into the game's timeline without actually -changing- the game at all. I think it worked out.
Fanfikku HASSHIN!
She really did look beautiful. Regal. Like a queen. She was stunning, and Zidane hadn't said a word to her. Dagger, Steiner, and Beatrix were gone, now, leaving only Vivi, Zidane, Freya, and Eiko. Even young, innocent Vivi noticed the change in Zidane, and he was the first to break the silence.
"Why didn't you say anything to her, Zidane?" His voice sounded both perplexed and slightly let down. The kid looked up to Zidane, idolized him, it wouldn't be a far stretch to think he might be disappointed seeing his hero act so coldly toward Dagger.
"I don't know..." Zidane replied weakly. "I tried..." He glanced down, thick sandy hair hiding his face for a moment. Not Dagger, Freya reminded herself. Garnet. She'd left her name behind when she left behind Alexandria. Now that she'd returned to take her rightful place, she had her proper name again and no other.
"And?" Freya asked as she took half a step toward Zidane. She felt like slapping him, shaking him, and telling him to run to Garnet and make everything right. But now, no matter what he did... things couldn't exactly be right anymore.
Zidane shook his head and blinked back tears. "I couldn't say anything! I had a whole speech ready for her. But it would have been a lie! How could I lie to her!? 'Good luck, Dagger! I'll be watching you from afar.' 'Come find me if you need someone to talk to.' It's a big fat lie! That's not how I feel at all!" He gave a bitter grin, scratching the back of his neck as his voice lowered in tone and volume to little more than a pained creak. "That's not how I feel...at all." And with that, he quietly walked out, tail swaying limply behind him. Eiko took two steps to follow but then stopped and ran in the other direction. Vivi simply watched for a few moments, shook his head, and walked down the hall, probably toward the library to speak with Dr. Tot.
Freya couldn't decide where to go. She was worried for Zidane, and for Eiko, and for Garnet. Eiko was feeling nothing but a crush whose illusion had been destroyed, and Garnet was beyond her reach now, so eventually she decided to follow after Zidane. He'd already walked out of sight, out of the palace and toward Alexandria proper, but she wasn't concerned about losing his trail. She knew where he'd be.
*************
A quick boat ride took Freya back to Alexandria and from there it was a relatively short walk to the tavern near the city's entrance. Sure enough, there was Zidane, sitting in a corner drowning his sorrows in ale (he was already on his second pint, amazingly enough; she'd only given him maybe five minutes' head start). The busty barmaid Maggie was fairly hanging on him, an unladylike arm draped around his shoulder as he described in overglorious tones some tale of his bandit past. She forced herself to ignore the woman and walked over, then congratulated herself for speaking not to her but to Zidane: "Well? Going to invite me for a drink?"
He blinked slowly as he looked up to Freya, obviously not expecting to see her there, but his bewildered expression was quickly replaced by one of his trademark grins. "Sure sure, pull up a chair. I was jus tellin Maggie here about the time Dagger an Steiner an Vivi an me got trapped in the Forest of Certain Doom."
Freya lowered to one of the free chairs, not bothering to correct his misremembrance (or overstatement) of the Evil Forest's name. Instead, she gave a telling glance to Maggie, and murmured, "Whiskey cut with cider, please. A large glass." Maggie gave a petulant little glare in return but stood and gave a half-curtsy before hurrying off to fetch the drink.
Zidane gave her a surprised look. "Lil harder than you usually drink, isn' it?" He then shook his head and lightly knocked himself on the temple. "Nevermind. I'm an idiot. You got plenty to get drunk about too, doncha..." He gazed at his ale a moment before taking another swig.
Freya nodded slowly, her own eyes straying to the table. Zidane knew how much Sir Fratley's memory loss had affected her. They remained that way in silence for several minutes, even after Maggie brought over the extra-hard cider. Perhaps sensing the change in tone around that particular table, she then found other things to do besides flirt with Zidane. Freya took a sip and half-winced as the drink burned on its way down her throat. There must have been practically as much whiskey in the twelve-ounce glass as cider. She didn't complain, though. She was in the mood for it.
After a few more silent minutes, and Zidane finishing his pint (and asking for another), Freya finally looked up at him. "You should have said something. Anything. Just a 'yeah, you look pretty' would have been fine. But the way you acted... You gave her the impression, I think, that you just don't care at all."
Zidane laughed half-heartedly and gazed at his empty stein, pondering that for a few moments. "Yeah, well," he finally began, "is' prolly better that way, anyhow. Is' not as if we could ever be together. She's a queen. I'm a fuckin thief."
Freya slapped the table, causing him to jump. "Dammit, Zidane, you're also her closest friend!" He just laughed again and shook his head.
"Friend? Nah. Steiner and Beatrix, Tot, Cid, those're her friends. Me? Marcus, Blank, Cinna, Baku? Vivi, Eiko, Amarant, Quina, you? The hell does a queen need with friends like those? She can jus go to the store an buy way better ones." Freya sat back down. It wasn't only that she'd been in that comparison that stung. The utter defeat and self-loathing behind his words, the hopelessness, reminded her too much of herself shortly after Sir Fratley left Burmecia. She took a long swig of her cider and instantly regretted it. Zidane, in one of his trademark and unfathomable turns of mood, tilted his head and gave a lopsided grin. "You okay there? I can order you some milk if you'd prefer."
"Fuck you." After a momentary staring contest she cracked a smile, and once she'd smiled she couldn't help but laugh. Maybe the whiskey in her drink was getting to her faster than she expected, but suddenly all her problems, all his problems, all the world's problems, seemed so far away and above everything as to totally disappear from consideration. There was nothing now except the tavern, the sunset filtering through the windows, the tasty but unbelievably intoxicating drink in her hand, and Zidane.
His two ales turned to five, her one glass of cider turned to two. They made small talk, sharing, laughing, and forgetting their problems for a couple hours. Eventually the tavern became more crowded as the evening wore on into night. It became less cozy, more rowdy. Freya stood up, bracing herself against the table, and laid a few gil down for the drinks. This got Zidane out of his seat, bolt upright. "Hey!" he cried to her in mock indignation, "don't you -dare- try to pay for your drinks!"
She laughed and made a show at declining his offer, but he was far more stubborn than she, and they both knew it. Eventually Zidane had paid for both of them, and they were strolling down the streets of Alexandria toward the town square. Both Freya and Zidane were rather tipsy, but neither was fall-down drunk; mostly because they had each other to lean against if they felt ready to fall down. A few minutes later they emerged on the square and walked toward the inn. Freya got her room key from the innkeeper and climbed upstairs, counting rooms until she got to the fourth. It took a couple tries to get the door unlocked and open, but once she did she was pleasantly surprised by the spacious and comfortably appointed room. A fire had already been set in the hearth and several rugs and cushions were spread over the floor to absorb the heat, all in an effort to chase away the chill air of night.
Zidane invited himself in, as he occasionally did, and flopped ungracefully onto one of the larger cushions, sprawling near the fire as he looked up at her. "Freya," he began, "do you think Fratley w--"
"Shuddap." She tossed a pillow at him, beaning him lightly over the head. "I don' wanna talk about him tonight. I don' wanna talk about anything like that." She grinned at him, pulling off her coat and hat and hanging them on hooks by the door. "I'm in much too good a mood right now to spoil the evening." She pulled off her fitted breastplate as well, hanging it by one of the straps. She was left wearing a pair of loose gauzy pants cinched tight at the waist and a thick, strong cloth wrapped tightly around her chest. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught Zidane watching her, and realized that this was probably the first time he'd ever seen her without the coat and hat obscuring almost everything about her. And, as typical of most everyone else, he seemed to expect her to be a lot less beautiful than she was. She had the form of a gymnast, true, with neither exactly wide hips nor exactly large breasts (made even less impressive by the tight cloth they were clad in), but her entire form was an exercise in anatomy, every muscle perfectly toned and proportioned. Her face was gorgeous in terms of her own race, though her tapering muzzle and large, swept-back ears reminded most humans too much of a rat's features for comfort.
She couldn't help but giggle at the gaze. It wasn't exactly fair, she'd caught him off guard, but she relished it all the same. But then she twisted a thumb toward the door. "Out, mister, unless you plan to stay and watch me take a bath."
He climbed to his feet and gave a mock groan, pleadingly asking, "-Can- I? Pretty please?" She reached for another pillow and he threw up his hands, laughing and hurrying the rest of the way to the door. She lobbed it at his posterior. Direct hit. Laughing, she walked to the door, closed it, and began heating some water in the large fireplace for the bath tub.
A short time later Freya had heated enough water to a comfortably hot temperature and was able to finally recline in the tub and relax. She allowed the water to merely seep into her fur, letting out a grateful sigh as it removed days of trail dust and soaked clean warmth all the way down to her skin. Eventually she used the small bag of lavender the inn had provided to thoroughly wash then stepped out of the tub and briskly dried off with a plush towel. She wrapped the towel tightly about her breasts as the cloth had been before and slid her pants back on, opening the window to allow a burst of refreshingly cold air to sweep over her.
On the breeze came the sound of someone whistling. It was a tune that sounded somewhat familiar. She stepped out of her room and followed the sound down the hallway to the inn's one balcony, set to overlook the wide town square. Zidane was there, half-sitting half-lying languidly along the bannister, tail flicking idly side to side as he whistled that tune.
"It's beautiful," Freya murmured. "And I know I've heard it before." Zidane stopped whistling as she spoke, but he didn't start. There was very little that could still startle that boy, given all he'd been through.
"It's a song I heard Dagger singing. I don't know the words, but I'm not a good singer anyway." He shrugged uncomfortably, still gazing over the town, away from her. His tail's flicking side to side became slightly more agitated in character.
"Oh. Sorry. Didn't mean to bring that up, after I yelled at you for talking about Fratley." She gave him a grin, but he couldn't see it. He just lay there, his tail slowly going limp, and she almost gasped as she realized the barely audible sound she heard was Zidane crying. "Hey.. I really am sorry. I didn't mean--"
"No. It's.. not that," he murmured quietly in response, his voice barely shaking. He rolled off the bannister to his feet and stretched overdramatically, trying to pretend that he was rubbing sleep from his eyes rather than wiping away tears. But Freya wasn't fooled. She just took a step forward and hugged him warmly. After a moment of surprise, he hugged back. She was glad to be able to help in some small way, but thinking about Zidane's pain could not but bring her back to her own. They walked arm-in-arm back inside, and she stepped back inside her room, turning to face him.
"Zidane," Freya murmured, "...Thank you." She didn't specify for what. She wasn't even sure herself what she was thanking him for. She knew only that she was grateful to him, and thankful for him. She hadn't really had a friend she cared about as much as she did Zidane since... Her eyes flickered to the floor before closing, tears welling up.
Her reverie was broken after a moment by the feeling of lips brushing gently but insistently against hers. She opened her eyes and gazed at Zidane. He looked so different like this. He had to reach up somewhat to reach her, and his lips were not very well matched to hers. He looked downright clumsy. And yet that kiss was flavored with just the right mix of compassion, brashness, and naivete to utterly melt her heart. After only a moment's hesitation she allowed her eyes to drift shut again and kissed back, murring in the back of her throat as his arms encircled her waist.
Freya's mind swam with more than just alcohol now. She opened one eye and glanced over her shoulder into her room then wrapped her arms around Zidane's hips and pulled. He half-stumbled into her room, but his tail grabbed the door on the way and pulled it shut. Another two steps and she fell backward onto the bed. He fell with her but managed some grace now that a bit of his ale had taken the time to wear off. He raised his head, gazing down at her through a curtain of sandy blond hair, and opened and closed his mouth a couple times, searching for words. Eventually he realized he had none and merely hugged her tightly, pressing feathery kisses to her nose, lips, jawline, and all over the rest of her face. Heat rose to her cheeks and her nose and ears flushed crimson with a blush, but she returned each kiss, her own hands softly stroking his back.
Their clothing was quick to abandon the bed and drop to the floor, but eventually they two followed suit themselves. They spent a good deal of the night rolling about, reveling in each other, making passionate love to the warmth and light of the fire and of the stars shining through the window. Each time Zidane thought himself spent Freya would find a very effective way to convince him otherwise, and each time Freya thought she had no more energy to give Zidane would find a way to bring out more in her. They spent hours in each other's embrace until they eventually fell to the bed still locked together, prey to fatigue that finally could no longer be ignored. They slept soundly, their respective troubles forgotten for a while.
*************
Zidane awoke to a soft kiss on the cheek from Freya, the very first rays of sunrise streaking through the window above them. He was pleasantly warm, pleasantly aching, and it had been far too long since he'd awoken with another body cuddled close to his own. Twisting his head to bring them nose-to-nose, gazing into her eyes, he could read her easily enough. He closed his eyes again, exhaling softly. "Last night didn't change anything, did it?" he whispered. "You still love him."
She cast her eyes down and after a few moments nodded. "I'm so grateful to you for what you shared with me. But yes... I still do love Sir Fratley." She looked up at him again, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
Zidane gave her a mysterious smile and kissed her nose reassuringly. "It's okay. I'm grateful to you too, but then..."
Freya gave him a light squeeze. "But then, you're still in love with Garnet." He nodded shortly in affirmation. She closed her eyes, snuggling her face against his chest. "Those are problems for later," she murmured sleepily. "Let's not deal with them until then.." He whispered something of agreement, kissing her forehead. She was asleep again after a few minutes, curled up against Zidane.
*************
And when she next awoke, she was alone.
The bedsheets where he'd lain were warmer than the air but cooling, and all of his clothing and gear was gone. She sat up in bed and hugged her knees to her bare chest. It didn't seem right that he'd just leave like that... But she chided herself. She had no right to suddenly act possessive over Zidane. What they had shared was friendship and compassion, nothing more. What she felt for Zidane was nothing like what she felt for Sir Fratley, and what Zidane felt for Freya was assuredly very different from what he felt for Garnet.
She got out of bed and dressed mechanically, walking slowly downstairs. No, he wasn't here either. A trip to the bar found Amarant and Vivi, but no Zidane. She tried not to feel hurt and asked Maggie for a water, which the flighty barmaid brought with a dubious look. Freya rubbed her eyes. "That Zidane... Where did he go?"
Amarant rasped straight to the point in his unique way, "Who knows..."