A/N: Written for Livejournal's 30-lies community, with the prompt "Blind Trust."

Descent

"You're going to get us both killed." Squall's got one arm around his waist and the other hand holding on tightly to the length of rope. It's the only thing between them and certain death, and Seifer is really hoping that Squall didn't skip out on the survival training courses, because he can't remember how to set a rappel line to save his life.

"Shut up," Squall mutters, "and hold on." Seifer does so, his hand clenching the rope just above Squall's, because it's always been Seifer's favorite past time to be on top. He hopes Tilmitt doesn't have a camera or something up there, because he's going to have to put his other arm around Squall's neck and it's not a position he's looking forward to being caught in.

"We're going to die," he says matter of factly–he's never been fond of heights but he'll be damned before he admits that to Puberty Boy.

"Do you trust me?" Squall asks, as serious as a head wound.

"No." There's nothing on Hyne's green earth that'll make him admit that Squall's probably the only person Seifer would trust with his life.

"Good."

Squall sends them flying.