restless spirits [ffviii; seifer/zell; teen]

[sodomhipped]

Title: restless spirits [or read on ao3]

Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII

Pairing: Seifer Almasy/Zell Dincht

Rating: Teen

Warning: None

Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Ghost Hunters, Getting Together, First Kiss, Late Night Conversations, Pining, Friends to Lovers, Humor

Author’s Note: Happy Phoenix Down, kalika_999! I hope you enjoy this story. I ended up taking a few of your prompts, but primarily I worked with ghost hunting, pining, and friends to lovers.

Summary:

“What are we doing in an abandoned house anyway, Seif? This place reeks.”

“Ghost hunting,” Seifer says, entirely serious.

---

Not an hour after Seifer picks Zell up at the train station, they stand shoulder to shoulder in front of a giant, run-down house. The house looks like it came straight from a horror movie. The windows are lined with cracks, filmed over by spider webs.

“Ugh, creepy,” Zell says. “And we have to stay here all night?”

“That’s the plan.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Zell mutters to himself.

“You afraid, Chickie?” Seifer asks, suddenly much too close to his ear. Zell swats at him, but Seifer dodges easily and laughs.

Zell says, “This wasn’t what I had in mind when you invited me to visit, okay? You should be thanking me for coming at all!”

“What did you have in mind?” Seifer asks, dropping his voice low. “Don’t leave out any details.”

“Ugh,” Zell says. He walks up to Seifer just so he can push him square in the chest with both hands. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“But you like it.”

The sad thing is, he’s not wrong. Why else would Zell have endured hours on the train to travel from Balamb to Fisherman’s Horizon? The SeeD cabin is nice, but there’s only so many times you can read this month’s Combat King magazine. And it’s the third time in as many months that he’s made the journey.

Seifer walks up to the door, seemingly unbothered, and it swings open under his hand with an ominous creak. “After you.”

Zell puffs up his chest and walks inside. The entry room is musty, like they’re the first visitors in a long time.

“What are we doing in an abandoned house anyway, Seif? This place reeks.”

“Ghost hunting,” Seifer says, entirely serious.

 

 

Zell is disappointed.

He had thought that he and Seifer were getting closer lately. He thought that they’d end up sharing a hotel room in FH. That maybe something would happen on this visit to finally tip them from friends into something more.

Well, whatever, nothing is going to happen between them in a musty old house.

 

 

It’s not the first weird job Seifer’s had since the mess with Ultimecia.

The last time Zell visited, Seifer was helping out on a movie set. The resulting movie made it to only the local FH theaters, but Raijin had been so thrilled that Seifer made it into the credits that he still won’t shut up about it. Even if Seifer’s name blipped across the screen near the very bottom and in text so small that Zell had to squint to read it.

Zell feels proud of him too, even if he hasn’t said as much.

So ghost hunting isn’t that different than a C-list movie. Zell watches as Seifer fiddles with a handheld video recorder. Once a red light flips on, and he points it at Zell.

“Say hi to the audience, Chickenwuss.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“My bad,” Seifer says. He laughs and the low rumble of it prickles the hair across Zell’s arms. “Wanna introduce yourself then?”

“Uh, do I gotta?” Zell responds. When Seifer only gives him a look from behind the lens, he gives in. “Fine. Hiya. I’m Zell Dincht, a member of SeeD from Balamb Garden.”

“Why are you here, Zell?”

Zell sighs and scratches the back of his neck with embarrassment. “Only Hyne knows. Because I have terrible taste in friends, I guess.”

Seifer turns the camera on himself. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s my biggest fan.” He switches the camera off, grinning at Zell. “Well, we’re all set up. The fun begins once the sun goes down.”

 

 

Zell only notices the sun is beginning to set when he realizes he’s squinting into the dim room. Seifer hands him a flashlight.

“Let’s get to hunting.”

“What are we looking for anyway?” Zell asks. “Besides, you know, ghosts.”

“Well, there is an old story about this place.”

Zell follows close as Seifer leads the way through the rapidly darkening rooms. He asks, “Yeah? What is it?”

Seifer turns, flashlight turned up into his face so that it casts shadows over his eyes. “The Malboro Killer.”

“That doesn’t sound…great.”

“They say he murdered his family here. Six people, most of them kids. Dead by poison,” Seifer intones like a typical campfire story. Zell tries not to let it get under his skin but shivers anyway. “Ever since then, they say weird shit happens here at night.”

“Like what?”

“People report hearing the disembodied laughter of his children, furniture moving itself around the house, and,” he pauses, dramatically, “a black inky substance—just like the poison he used—drips down the walls.”

He runs a finger up Zell’s arm, and Zell feels goosebumps rise in its wake. He rubs at the spot to chase the feeling away.

“You expect me to believe that?” he asks, his grip tight around his flashlight.

“Nah,” Seifer says, laughing again. “I’m just fucking with you. The guy who owns this place just wants me to walk through tonight to dispel some rumors so he can sell it for a higher price. I think he just has a shitty real estate agent, but he’s paying pretty well.”

 

 

Zell is prepared to play this cool. He doesn’t want to give Seifer the satisfaction of seeing him nervous. And he definitely doesn’t want it on film. So he steels himself, gets a firmer grip on the flashlight, and leads the way upstairs.

Except he doesn’t account for it being even more impenetrably dark than the first floor. The flashlight casts shadows as it catches on ornate banisters and various pieces of furniture.

Then, just as Zell makes it to the top of the stairs, the flashlight flickers and dies.

“What the..!” Zell says, foot catching on the last stair so he trips into the pitch-black hallway. The only light is the video camera, which blinks red to show that it’s recording. The recording light is too dim to illuminate the hallway—but it does outline the dim shapes of doors and paintings, making the atmosphere even more spooky.

“Careful,” Seifer says. There’s a firm hand low on Zell’s back, nearly touching his ass. “Let me turn on the other one. Just hold still a minute.”

Seifer’s flashlight comes on, a weak yellow light that he shines directly into Zell’s face. He probably does it on purpose, the bastard. Zell winces at the brightness, and Seifer shifts it so the flashlight is pointed at their feet instead. He’s still touching Zell.

“You good?” Seifer asks. The camera blinks in Zell’s direction.

“Of course!” Zell says, but he’s pretty sure Seifer can feel the tremors from where his hand still lays against Zell’s back.

“You sure? If you’re too scared, you can wait downstairs.”

Zell’s heart thumps wildly against his chest, so loud Seifer must be able to hear it. “I’m not scared—so shut up!”

“Whatever you say,” Seifer says, camera still on Zell.

 

 

And then it keeps happening.

They walk into the first bedroom, which still has all the furnishings from the last owner, and Zell is messing with his flashlight. He bangs it against his hand, trying to get it to come back to life. Finally, on the tenth hit, it lights up again—illuminating a creepy doll sitting in a rocking chair.

Zell shrieks, and Seifer busts up laughing so hard that it takes him a solid minute to recover.

Then, the second room has a creepy mirror that sends Zell skittering across the floor like a spider.

In the third room, he would swear he hears footsteps downstairs.

And so on.

 

 

By the last room, Zell clings to Seifer’s arm. His feet are barely on the ground with how much he’s leaning into Seifer’s warm body. He is so ready to be done but his pride won’t let him tap out before they finish the job.

Seifer looks down at where Zell’s hands are bunched into his coat. “You’re hamming this up, aren’t you?”

“No,” Zell says, looking up at him reproachfully. “This was your idea, remember?”

“So it was,” Seifer agrees.

“C’mon,” Seifer says, “We’re done up here. Let’s go downstairs and settle in for the night.”

He starts down the stairs without waiting to see if Zell will follow.

Zell stands in the darkness, barely remembering to hold onto his flashlight, dumbstruck.

“For the night?” he asks the now-empty room.

 

 

Zell marches downstairs, ready to give Seifer a piece of his mind.

“Listen,” he starts, “There is no way in hell we are staying here. It’s dusty and gross and I am not sleeping on a bed that’s been abandoned for a decade.”

“Pipe down,” Seifer says, pulling a bundle out of a bag that Zell hadn’t noticed earlier. “I brought everything we need, so stop fussing.”

“Nope, nope, nope,” Zell says. “I’m walking out right now. I’m not settling for anything less than a real bed—I took leave for this! There’s gotta be a hotel around here somewhere.”

Seifer doesn’t listen to him. He spreads out a bed roll on the dusty floor and plops down on it, leaning back against the wall and both legs stretched out in front of him.

“Take a seat,” he says. “You’re so antsy that it’s making me nervous.”

Zell gives him a look, but Seifer stares back, unmoved.

Eventually, it’s Zell who gives in.

“Hmph,” Zell huffs, but he takes a seat next to Seifer anyway. He’s got too much energy pent up from today. He can feel it leaking out in his tone, sulky and petulant. “Well ain’t this comfy.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

“I’m just gonna sit for a minute,” Zell says. “Then I’m leaving even if it means I gotta walk the whole way.”

The light is better down here, so Zell can see Seifer’s mouth tilt into a smile. He watches as Seifer leans closer—so close that Zell can feel the proximity of his body—and then Seifer kisses him.

Zell has been waiting so long for this to happen. A sound wells up in his throat, pathetic and warbling. But if Seifer notices, it only makes him kiss Zell more firmly, large palms holding his face in place.

When they break apart, Zell is panting. His heart thunders in his chest, wild and electric.

“Stay, Zell,” Seifer says.

“Yeah,” Zell agrees, “Okay.”

 

 

“Why are you doing all these weird jobs anyway?”

“A job’s a job,” Seifer says. They are sitting close enough that Zell can feel him shrug. “Not all of us can be super special rank A SeeDs like you.”

There is still some bitterness under the words.

“You’ve been doing good,” Zell says, a bit awkward. “You’ve changed a lot over the last year or two.” He pauses, debating on whether he should say the next bit, or if he’ll be teased mercilessly forever. “I like how you are now, you know?”

Seifer looks at him. Zell doesn’t know what to make of his expression, but he likes how Seifer regards him so fully, eyes intense even in the dim light.

Seifer finally answers, changing the subject. “It’s kind of reassuring to know you’re still a scaredy cat after all this time.”

“Am not.”

“You are,” Seifer disagrees. “But you’ve changed a lot, too. In a good way.”

“You think so?”

“Why else do you think I’m asking you to come to see me so much, dumbass?”

“So what was that? Earlier?” Zell asks, needing to hear the full admission. He hopes, for once, Seifer doesn’t make him say everything. His lips still tingle with the feeling of Seifer’s mouth—but it seems so surreal. Like if he said it aloud, Seifer would laugh and say it was just another trick of his imagination.

Seifer rubs a hand along his face. He is certainly blushing, Zell thinks, with surprise. He’s never seen Seifer—always confident to a fault—look so nervous.

“I already said it, didn’t I?”

“Say what?” Zell asks, prodding.

Seifer opens his mouth to speak but seems to think better of it. He reaches out, fisting a hand in Zell’s jacket, and pulls him close. He watches Zell’s expression, eyes flickering from Zell’s down to Zell’s lips.

Then they’re kissing again, and Zell is pretty sure that Seifer initiated it. He feels self-conscious. He tries setting his hands on Seifer’s waist, but it feels awkward. He flails, unbalanced, before finally resting one against Seifer’s shoulder lightly while the other dangles uselessly at his side.

Seifer breaks away. He says, voice rough, “I planned to make a move somewhere more romantic than this.”

It’s Zell’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, I bet. Maybe tomorrow you can take me somewhere with less—”

“Ghosts?”

He shoves Seifer’s shoulder, companionably. “Less gross.”

“I think I can do that,” Seifer promises.

The last of the adrenaline is ebbing out of Zell’s body, his eyelids getting heavier and heavier. As they lie down to sleep, bodies separated by inches, he forgets the musty house around them. Instead, he thinks of what tomorrow might bring.