Squall was great at thinking. It just kind of suited him, his brow would furrow and he'd get a hard look in his eyes like there were huge, important things rolling around in his head, and then when he finally said something, Zell always stopped to listen because there was gravity to it, like receiving orders. The others had to feel the same because nobody was really surprised when Squall became their commander, it just settled in like a missing puzzle piece and as far as Zell was concerned, Squall had always been a commander -- they just started finding and remembering good reasons for it.

But it couldn't be healthy, the way Squall thought so much. He'd stay quiet even after the thinking was done, like some kind of tense animal with its fur all bristled up, deadly serious and he hardly even smiled or anything. Thinking made Zell want to go out and get things done and take care of business and maybe knock a few heads together. If he just thought and brooded about everything, well, he'd go crazy. Anybody would go crazy after a while. It just wasn't natural.

Hell, everything was going crazy, except that there was no jumping up and pacing or anything that could make it stop. They didn't know what to do anymore, the world was spinning out of control and they hardly knew who they were supposed to be fighting anymore, with big stretches of nothing in between where the Garden was just slowly hovering along -- Zell wanted to see if he could swim faster, jump into the ocean water and try, just to see -- and nobody knew what was wrong with Rinoa and she was there in the infirmary all still and cold like death and they couldn't do anything about it, and he really itched for a mission because he could only splatter so many grats around the training center and how could everyone else just sit? Zell couldn't, he got so twitchy, he could never just sit still knowing that there was something to do.

And then he was outside the library, just screwing around and shadowboxing because it was better than nothing, when Squall came by. And Squall had to be going crazy, he was tensed up and glowering like he was figuring out whose ass he had to kick to make Rinoa better, and he had probably been to the informary about twelve times that day already and if he kept it up he'd just wear himself down to a tired little scrap. And when Zell reached out and touched fingertips to his shoulder, Squall jumped and he looked so tired and...and defeated, and it tore Zell's heart into little pieces because if Squall couldn't handle this, who could?

Getting together was routine now, in the most random and incredible sense of the word, but Zell liked to think he had a better reason this time. He was glad Squall tightened his lips and nodded. More than he was usually glad because oh god Squall actually let him get close and touch his hard-sleek body and pull the tiniest little gasping wonderful sounds out of him -- this time, it wasn't just for fun. It was a distraction, a fantastic distraction so Squall would just stop doing that scowl of his for a while.

It must have worked, because Squall didn't look like he was thinking himself raw anymore. He wasn't even getting up and muttering about something he needed to go do, the way that was normally Zell's cue to leave even if it was his own room. Squall was just laying there, Griever's chain pooled in his collarbone and belts jumbled up around his open pants, one hand stuffed under his neck and he was just staring at the ceiling, his breathing slowed back to normal. It was thickly quiet, peaceful like after a really hard training session, stillness just kind of flowing through Zell and relaxing all of his tensed muscles and that was the only time sitting still didn't drive him fifteen shades of insane, when it felt good not to move.

"Me and Seifer," Squall said slowly, "We used to be friends. Years ago."
They had all been doing that lately -- finding bits of memories, bright little pieces like bottlecaps poking out of beach sand. Squall and Seifer, friends... It did sound familiar. It was true but Zell didn't know how, couldn't find more than faint memory-shapes wrapped in crackling sparks and he chewed his lip. Trying to remember it directly never worked -- he had to sort of sneak up on his memories. Something like tables, desks, chairs so maybe it was in Garden, something familiar like going to class and the instructors always glared at him for fidgeting so it was nice to be a SeeD and not have to go to boring classes anymore-- he really hadn't been able to sit still back then, he had honestly felt like he was going to explode. And Squall and Seifer had been friends, they sat together in the back of tactics class. The electric buzz faded away from the memory and its colours trickled back in, the Garden was so bustling-full of strangers back then but the two smirking faces were familiar. Seifer was a jerk but Squall had... Zell really didn't know what he had thought of Squall back then, and it was a gap weird enough to trip over.
"Yeah...I remember that," Zell finally said, turning and propping himself on an elbow, "I had just come to Garden. I guess we woulda been twelve? Thirteen...?"
Squall made a muttering agreement sound. "The other kids...just weren't the same. And I don't know if I remembered him from the orphanage but...it was just...like he understood back then. And then things started to change... With him, with everything...I guess with me, too." He paused, like the ceiling was supposed to reply. "I... What happened? How did everything get like this?"

There weren't cracks in the ceiling of Zell's room, but maybe Squall had gotten so used to staring at ceiling cracks that it didn't matter if they were there or not, he just stared and thought anyway. Looking at something didn't make a difference, did it? It didn't really matter, not as long as Squall was actually talking, in a low tone like his soul was showing and he didn't want anyone else to see. He really...worried a lot, didn't he? It was a weird contrast with how Squall was always so cool and always claiming that he didn't care and wow, he was letting Zell see this little vulnerable place, like it was something so special he had to guard it all the time.
"I dunno...," Zell said because he honestly didn't, "It doesn't really matter how everything got the way it did, just that, y'know, we're here. Right now is the part we can do something about."
The ceiling-staring deepened into that deep, dark brow furrow, and hell, Zell just had to open his mouth and stuff in a foot or three -- Squall was thinking again.
"There's nothing to be done," he muttered.
"Like hell there isn't!"
It was out of Zell's mouth before he even had to think, and fury rushed up hot after it. Squall looked at him, startled but like he was still trying to think around it, like he'd sink into that stony shell and tune out the world and think himself to death unless Zell did something but he just couldn't let that happen
"We just have to find whatever it is! We're all behind you, Squall," and he jerked up and swept his arm back toward the door, toward the rest of the Garden and all their friends, "You know that, and you saw what all of us can do when we work together! And--"
This was where it got hard, and Squall probably wouldn't like it but there were things inside Zell clamouring to be said and making him twitch and they had to come out.
"--And we want you to be happy. I want you to be happy, so we're gonna get Rinoa better, and you'll be better off with her."
It was bad enough to think it -- saying it was like ripping out his own guts, he just felt so hard and he wanted to scream or cry or punch something to free it, his muscles begged him to, but he just clenched his fists and shook with the boiling feelings and held Squall's wide grey eyes.

It wasn't supposed to mean anything, he remembered as Squall looked away at nothing, sat up and rubbed at his scar. They had sort of agreed that this thing they did wouldn't mean anything, that there wouldn't be any stupid fiddly complicated relationships where people got hurt, but Zell just cared, damnit, that wasn't complicated.
Squall left his scar alone, and tension was building back into his shoulders and his forehead and the set of his jaw.
"...Do you mean that?"
Zell had never, ever in his whole life said anything he wasn't willing to back up, and he clenched his fists tighter so they went numb and he straightened up stiff and proud. "Yeah," he said, "I mean that."

And it was really quiet in there, just their breathing and the big thick silence and the passing seconds damn near hurt, sitting there with his nails digging into his palms and all he wanted was to jump up and run around and do some katas until the worries and tight frustration faded away. But there was something so fragile and unsure forming on Squall's face, like the special vulnerable place was coming a bit farther out and maybe moving would be be enough to wreck it, maybe moving would bother Squall and he'd glower and go back to his cold damp miserable brooding place and Zell would never get another chance again. So he could wait. He could sit still and handle it.

"You...," Squall started, and he stopped and stared harder at nothing, "...I...don't know how I feel about Rinoa. It's like sometimes I want her gone, just gone, but then...I don't know what I'd do if I never saw her again. A-and sometimes she'd smile at me like...everything was okay. She...I don't know," and his voice had gotten so small and lost, and he looked at Zell like he couldn't even remember his own name, "I don't know, but...you...don't mind that, do you?"

No, Zell didn't mind. He not-minded with every bit of his heart and soul and anything else he had.
"It's okay," he said and his voice broke a bit, probably took a hit from all the welling-huge feelings struggling in his throat, and he swallowed and tried again, "You just gotta stop thinking and do what feels like the right thing."
It sounded so corny and stupid when he actually said it out loud, but it was true and it was all Zell knew how to do for anything, and it worked for him so if it could work for Squall too, if it could help actually feel as cool and collected as he seemed sometimes, it didn't matter if it was the stupidest thing anybody ever thought of.

Silence, the kind that was heavy and long like an old damp-smelling temple. And then Squall shifted onto his knees, bed frame creaking as he leaned closer. He was moving, hard and frosty-smooth -- Squall was confident when he moved. He didn't move unless he knew exactly what he was doing, how to approach and where to strike, it didn't matter if he was using his silver-flashing gunblade or slow fingers over skin. And this time he...put a palm to Zell's chest and pressed. It took a moment to make sense but Zell obeyed, leaning until he was on his back in the soft-cool covers and Squall's hand stayed there, pressing on his breastbone like he was a pinned bug or something.
"This isn't complicated," Squall murmured. He was doing a softer version of the thinking look, an intense stare that sent fire licking through Zell's body because god, it was aimed right at him. "This is supposed to be whatever feels good."
Squall was thinking, but he was talking, too. And doing. That was a good combination.
"Yeah," Zell said, and a firm hand ran down his side and settled into the dip above his hipbone, and that made it an even better combination.
Slow thought moved across Squall's face, almost suspicious. "Just for a good time?" He kept his hand planted on Zell's chest, like an order Zell absolutely had to follow even though laying still drove him twitching, screaming, hair-ripping crazy, it was Commander Squall's order and he just had to stay there and, well, there was no reason he couldn't get those pants off, right?
"Yeah," he said, the maddening heat of it pulling his voice lower, and he slid leather away like maybe if he was really, really smooth about it, Squall wouldn't even notice, "Like, when you just have to do something or you'll go crazy. You just go ahead and do it and then you feel better for letting it out." Kind of like that first time in Squall's room, when Zell was pretty damn sure he was going to get his teeth knocked out but it was a chance he was willing to take.
Squall paused, and it was thick in the air like really meaningful words he just couldn't say. And he stared and Zell stared back, and Squall kicked his bunched-up pants off and stared again and then quietly asked, "...Why?"

Why? What the hell, it was sex and-- no, wait, there was lots more to that question that Squall probably wasn't saying. And orders or no orders, the stillness was just too much and Zell forced Squall off, one of those moments where he resisted and it was some strangely exciting version of a fight, muscle against tensed, sweat-damp muscle, struggle and then he was successfully on top and it was just running his hands over Squall and nipping his neck to feel him shiver and taste the salt on his skin. Much better -- something to do, taking charge of it. But...why did he do it? Why did he really do it?
"I dunno," Zell replied, and straightened up to look at him and grin, "I just like you."

Squall didn't say anything, but it was okay because Zell hadn't really expected him to. He just stared up, hair spilled out and he was doing some weird little start of a shy smile that looked incredible on him, and then it was the same fight they always had, lips and hands and hard presence, fever-hot wrestling and and racing and Squall made that little gasping needy sound that made it perfect with all that heat and skin to touch. However long it went on, however many times it happened, it didn't have to mean anything. It was just something to do -- something much, much better than nothing.