Archive of Our Own ^beta

Zack Fair rides into Nibelheim on a Tuesday.

It’s humid, maybe capping eighty-three degrees outside. Inside the tiny town market, it’s even worse: the heat’s gathered in such a way that it’s physically tangible. Torturesome, really, the way it clings and sweats all over the peeling blue paint of the market walls.

The windows are all open, in a desperate attempt to create some form of airflow, but it’s useless with the stagnant, hot breeze. Up above, the sole, ancient ceiling fan creaks as it frantically yet uselessly twirls itself around in violent circles.

At the front counter, Tifa fans herself off with a magazine. Cloud sits off to the side, cheek tucked into his palm, his platinum blonde ponytail tied at the nape of his neck. His white t-shirt sticks sweatily to his back. They both blink in heavy, muggy succession.

“I think it’s supposed to rain later,” Tifa mumbles.

“That'll be nice,” Cloud says. He reaches over and grabs a chip from the open bag between them. “Maybe it’ll break the heat.”

Outside, the din of chirping insects is drowned out by the approaching roar of an engine. At first, Cloud’s expecting to see Zangan’s familiar brown flatbed, and Tifa already has her hand half-poised in a wave. But then the truck doesn’t come, and instead, an unfamiliar guy on a motorcycle steadily pulls up to the rundown, inoperative gas pump.

It’s a Kawasaki Vulcan 1700 Nomad, specifically. Sleek black paint job, platinum polished frame and brand new rims. The bike’s nice but so is the guy who’s just unmounted it, six feet of long, midnight hair and lean muscle that strains against a black tank and ripped jeans. He’s wearing thick black sunglasses and a pair of military dog tags around his neck, glinting against his sweaty collarbones in the harsh summer sun.

Tifa and Cloud stare, eyes half-lidded, in mild interest.

“You recognize that guy?”

“No,” Tifa sighs. “Probably just someone passing through.”

“Mm.” Cloud hums. “He knows that pump is out of commission, right?”

“Not yet,” Tifa says, boredly amused as they watch the guy stare, in utter confusion, at the dead payment screen. A web of thin moss has grown over the pump in recent years, making it look more like an archaeological small town artifact than an actual machine.

Cloud’s pretty sure someone was supposed to drop by and set it up, at some point, years ago. But they never showed. Not that anyone particularly cares about this non-development: Nibelheim is allergic to modern technology. There’s maybe one or two flatbed trucks in the entire vicinity.

Tifa leans back in her stool, dangerously close to toppling over. She pinches her bottled cream soda by the neck and sips at it through her straw. “Twenty gil he’s gonna come in here and ask me to turn it on for him.”

“Twenty-five says he’s gonna buy a soda first,” Cloud says, glancing sidelong to where the motorcycle guy has just killed his engine and is now sauntering up to the market.

He moves with languid purpose, stopping for just a moment to glance at the array of community-placed flyers pinned to the corkboard outside the front door. He struggles to tug open the flimsy door handle, and then accidentally yanks it open so hard that the screen door nearly snaps right off the hinges.

At this, Tifa hums. “Thirty.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I think he’s gonna buy a beer.”

The guy ducks through the door, instantly making a face at the mass of heat that blankets him as soon as he steps inside. He lifts his sunglasses up onto the crown of his dark hair, and in doing so pushes some stubborn black locks out of his face, revealing startlingly clear blue eyes that scintillate as he gives Tifa and Cloud a quick, enthusiastic salute.

They both wave back, slightly lazier. Stickier. The guy briefly scans the minimally-stocked shelves and the dusted wooden floorboards before bravely venturing towards the rattling old coolers.

After a few minutes, he re-emerges with a root beer (Cloud suppresses a grin) and sets it down on the counter. Glances down at the jars of candy lined up underneath, clicks his tongue a couple of times, then grabs a cherry lollipop and sets that on the counter, too.

He’s been in the market for maybe five minutes, max. The exposed, tanned ridge of his forehead is already damp with sweat.

“Does the pump outside… work?” He asks, politely.

Tifa shakes her head. She punches at the thick, blocky keys of the register as she rings up his total. “Some guy from Junon was supposed to come set it up a couple years ago. He never showed.”

“Huh,” he says, and then flashes his phone screen at them. “The internet thinks it’s still in service. It showed up on my phone map.”

“Weird,” Tifa says. It’s not. She had this exact conversation with a truck driver last Wednesday. “So are you totally out of gas, then?”

“Yeah.” The guy worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “You guys sell any at all here?”

“We don't, but someone might give you a ride over to Rocket if you ask nicely. That’s where everyone gets their gas around here. If you’re extra nice, they might even fill a gas can for you.”

The guy looks mildly skeptical. He absentmindedly taps his fingers against his thigh, considering.

“It should all be unleaded,” Cloud says then, popping another chip into his mouth. “If you were driving anything newer, I'd say you’re out of luck ‘cause nobody around here uses premium. But your Nomad should get on fine with whatever they give you.”

The guy turns, as if truly noticing Cloud for the first time. He scans interestedly over Cloud’s groggy cobalt gaze, his flushed, humidity-ridden cheeks and the silver cross necklace hanging around his neck.

Something in his face brightens, clandestine. Cloud blinks back at him openly, curiously.

“Do you ride?”

“No,” Cloud says, somewhat regretfully. “I just, um, know a lot about bikes. What size engine you got on that thing?”

“1700,” the guy responds with a growing grin. He leans forward slightly, dog tags dangling precariously from his exposed neckline. “What’s your name?”

“Cloud Strife,” Cloud says, then flushes a little at the awkward formality of it. “Um. Just Cloud, though.”

The guy laughs faintly. “Cool. I'm Zack Fair, but… just Zack.”

“I’m Tifa,” Tifa says pointedly, in a way that very much states, I am right here and watching your every move, asshole. Zack glances over at her, smiling with full genuinity. She smiles back, warningly, and says, “Your total comes to fifty-two gil.”

Zack hums lowly as he pulls a black wallet out of his back pocket. “That’s cheap. Back at home, this would easily cost around two-hundred.” He starts to take out a scratched-up credit card, thinks again, and digs around for some loose bills instead.

Cloud gapes, awed. “Two-hundred? For a soda and a lollipop?”

Zack nods. “Big city, even bigger cost of living. I get a military discount at most places though, which is relatively helpful.”

“Where are you from?” Cloud asks, because above all else, he’s too curious for his own good.

“Midgar,” Zack says. “I grew up in Gongaga though, which… I don't think is too far from here, actually.”

“Yeah, only on the complete opposite coast,” Tifa adds sweetly as she takes his outstretched bills and starts making change.

Cloud flashes her a stern look, and if she notices, she doesn’t elude. Instead, she carefully counts out each coin before sliding them back across the counter.

Zack, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to notice Tifa's blunt suspicion, because he’s too busy staring at Cloud like a big dog gazing upon a fresh tennis ball. After a moment, he snaps out of his trance and swipes up the spare coins.

He drops them graciously into the little glass jar at the foot of the register. It has a label taped around it that reads stray cat fund.

“Thank you for your honorable donation,” Tifa says flatly. “And have a great day, Zack…”

“Fair,” Zack supplies charmingly. “Like the weather.”

“Right,” Tifa grunts. Now finished with the transaction, she’s picked up her magazine and begun to drowsily fan herself off again. “Good luck with your bike. And be careful leaving town. There’s man-eating monsters out in the open fields.”

Zack stares for a comically long amount of time. Eventually, Cloud can’t hold back a giggle.

“She’s just kidding,” Cloud assures him. “Sorta. Some of the truckers are a little creepy. Just don’t look anybody in the eye after sunset.”

“Right,” Zack says, unsure. He gives the two another salute, gathers up his things and heads for the door. “Well, I'll see you guys around.”

Tifa waits very sweetly for Zack to turn around before giving him a pointed once-over. Eyes rolling, she mouths, fat chance. After living in this town for so long, it’s become a straight given: Nibelheim’s a town that’s meant to be passed through. Nobody ever stays.

Cloud smiles around a new mouthful of chips. He waits, politely and patiently, for Zack to exit the market before holding out his hand, palm facing up.

“You owe me twenty-five gil.”

Cloud doesn’t expect to see Zack Fair ever again.

Just as Tifa said, it starts to rain the moment she closes up shop. They notice the shift in temperature almost instantly: Cloud’s grabbing himself a cream soda from the coolers when he feels an actual breeze, promising and heavenly on his sweat-dewed arms. Just as he’s about to shout to Tifa that the heat’s started to let up, he’s interrupted by a distant thunderclap that startles them both.

They wait for Tifa’s ride underneath the thin portico outside. The rain’s hammering down at this point, and the skies are a dull, golden grey that swallows whatever was left of the setting sun. All of the sweltering heat has been smashed through, and now, Cloud’s exposed legs are covered in tiny, chilled goosebumps.

Tifa straightens when she sees the rippling, approaching glow of Zangan’s low beams. She waves once, gratefully, and slings her bag over her shoulder as she turns to Cloud.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to drop you off at home?”

Cloud shakes his head. “Nah. I brought my bike today. I’ll be fine.”

“You can just leave it here, you know. It’s not like anybody’s gonna steal it on you.”

“My house isn’t that far of a walk,” Cloud reminds her gently. “Besides, I don’t mind the rain. I still feel gritty all over.”

“Yeah, I could go for a shower,” Tifa sighs. “I keep trying to bribe my dad into installing an A/C in the market. Because, you know. Regardless of what he says, they do exist. And I’ve heard they’re quite helpful in the summertime.”

“I wish modern technology was real,” Cloud mumbles sarcastically, earning him a sharp jab in the side. But Tifa’s laughing, so he’ll count it as a win. He waits dutifully for her to climb into Zangan’s pickup, shooting the rugged man a quick wave before collecting his bike and starting up the road.

It’s an uphill walk. Which, yes, sucks. But it’s not unbearable, especially considering that, after dying of an acute heatstroke for the majority of his day, the rain feels nice. Cloud pushes a heavy, soaked clump of blonde hair off his forehead, squinting as he walks his bike through the downpour.

He’s left in silence for maybe five minutes before he hears the low rumbling of an engine pulling up beside him. Cloud doesn’t immediately look, half-expecting whoever it is to push right on past. And then, like a shot of sunshine on the cold wind, he hears:

“Hey! Cloud Strife!”

Cloud tosses a glance over. Zack Fair’s easing to a stop, deep blue eyes twinkling in bemusement. He’s not wearing a helmet, which is definitely a safety risk, and he’s soaked through, down to the bone. His black tank clings to his broad chest, dog tags iridescent and subtle against the wet fabric.

Cloud smiles brightly, doesn’t know entirely why. “Hi, um… Just Zack.”

“What’s up with this?” Zack shouts over the roar of the rain, gesturing plainly to Cloud’s sodden clothes. “Your bike got a flat tire, or something?”

“No,” Cloud says back, loudly. “Ah… it’s dangerous to ride in the rain.”

Zack studies Cloud intently, his gaze darkly entertained. He leans forward and rests his toned forearms over his handlebars, his Nomad idling quietly underneath him. “So if I asked you if you wanted a ride home?”

Cloud blinks. His own old bike is one thing, but a ride home on a motorcycle? In the middle of a rainstorm? His mom would worry herself sick. “Um, no thank you.”

A fresh wave of amusement dances across Zack’s features, like he’s mildly astonished that Cloud would turn him down.

The sky's spilling with dying golden light, but somehow its vibrance doesn’t even come close to the electric blue glint in Zack’s irises: two lazy whirlpools that Cloud could absolutely get sucked into if he let himself get too close.

Pretty, sighs an unsupervised voice, otherwise silent within him. It startles an impulsive verse from the recesses of his mind.

Cloud lets his gaze fall, slightly shy under the unfamiliar attention. “Did you make it to Rocket?”

“Almost. But you know, those damn field monsters.”

Cloud laughs. “You’re funny.”

Zack smirks. “Yeah?” Then he’s cracking his neck and leaning back, heaving a deep sigh. “Nah, I just didn’t wanna drive back in the dead of night. There aren’t a lot of streetlamps on these roads, either. Gets a little too dark for me.”

“Oh,” Cloud says. “Well, I don’t think you’re gonna have much luck finding a motel or anything like that here in Nibelheim. You’ll probably have to go up the road towards North Corel.”

“That far from here?”

“Shouldn’t be too far for you.” Cloud nods pointedly towards the Nomad. “I imagine that thing has a pretty decent RPM. 5000?”

Zack licks over his lips. Cloud finds himself watching the acute motion in unobtrusive fascination. “Not bad. Well, I won’t keep ya.” He gestures to the downpour around them as if it truly needs to be addressed. Cloud smiles and wipes a swell of water from his eyes. “You sure you don’t want a ride?”

“I live right up the road.” Cloud gestures to a small brown house at the top of the incline. A few of the windows are cast aglow with light, and his mom has left the porch light on for him. It ripples softly in the rain’s reflection.

Zack still looks mildly disappointed, but he shrugs a shoulder. “Alrighty then. See you soon, Cloud Strife.”

Cloud smiles. “Sure, Zack. I mean— um, Just Zack.”

Zack tongues his cheek, smirking lightly to himself. He kicks up the sidestand once more and salutes. Cloud blinks back at him, somewhat dumbly, and scrambles to awkwardly salute back without knocking over his bike in the process.

As Zack rides off, slow at first so as not to splash Cloud with any of the rivers that have formed in the street, Cloud has to softly admonish himself for staring. He continues home with steadfast purpose, uttering nerve-wracked prayers under his breath all the while.

Word spreads irrevocably fast.

At first, Zack Fair’s sudden appearance is defined as nothing but low murmurs between residents of Nibelheim in passing. And then, seemingly overnight, it becomes impossible to avoid him, whether it’s by unexpected run-ins at the market or through the town grapevine.

Twice, Cloud finds himself staring up at the menacing distance between his short height and a high shelf, only for his frustrated reverie to be broken by Zack Fair himself, who seemingly materializes just to grab whatever item Cloud’s been dejectedly staring at.

“You should see me with low doorways,” Zack always says in his nonchalant, friendly way as he passes the bag of chips over. And each time, Cloud finds himself laughing, even when he knows other customers are gonna be eyeing him worriedly on their way out the door.

As it turns out, Zack’s charming smile and unequivocal wit land him a room in a North Corel motel. Because the two towns are so close, Zack starts visiting Nibelheim constantly. It quickly becomes a sore subject during Sunday service, and more times than not, Cloud finds himself spacing out as he stands beside his mom, who gossips quietly with the other women in their church group.

Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong.

An incident that comes to be infamous is when Zack wanders by the local church one warm afternoon, and one of the pastors hands him a standard religious pamphlet. As the story goes, he takes it kindly, but otherwise has no idea what to do with such a thing — not wanting to be rude, he gives the pastor a high five and says something like thanks, I’ll try to get to this.

The town is bewildered. Cloud stares very seriously when his mom shares the incident with him, but the moment he’s alone in his room, he giggles to himself and immediately gets on his knees and prays as a result.

It’s not that Zack never leaves Nibelheim, because sometimes, if Cloud’s bedroom window is cracked open just enough, he can hear the sound of the Nomad tearing down the dusk-washed road. But soon, it becomes uncertain whether or not he ever had any intention to keep on moving in the first place.

The rumors rise and fall, spreading fast like cleansing fire, and despite everything, Cloud finds himself ignoring them all.

But still, he prays. Cloud prays whenever he finds the chance: for Zack’s sake, for his own, for his friends and his family, and most of all he does it for the tenacious realization, fresh in his chest as a newborn scab, that each time he looks into Zack’s blue eyes, they shine like an oceanside.

Some time after Zack Fair settles in, he shows up at the market yet again. It’s not a rare occurrence, especially when Cloud’s perched at the cash register in a t-shirt and shorts that expose his legs, but it’s the fact that this time, someone else comes with him.

It’s a Thursday. The sun is high and hot, and Tifa has bravely invested in a box fan that pointlessly oscillates the cramped, dry heat around a two-foot radius. Despite this, it courageously rumbles about on its highest setting, perched precariously on a rickety wooden stool directly in front of the counter.

Cloud is staring down at his handful of playing cards. Across from him, her dark hair tied back in a high ponytail, Tifa scrutinizes her own hand. They’re playing rummy and, as always, Tifa is winning.

Tifa takes a swig from her soda. Cloud uses his shoulder to rub the sweat from his jaw. For a long while, the only sound is the desperate humming of the box fan. Not after long, the humid quiet is steadily broken by the roar of a familiar engine.

Cloud looks up first. Tifa doesn’t quite direct her attention to the front door, but she does wordlessly reach over to adjust her lever-action rifle where it’s now begun to permanently rest, fully loaded, against the wall behind them.

Zack is in the process of parking his bike beside the inoperable gas pump, a lollipop stick dangling from his mouth. Today he’s wearing a ribbed white tank top that’s a little large on him, and therefore, every time he lifts his arms, the tank swoops forward and exposes his nipples, of which his left is pierced with a spiked silver barbell.

Not far behind, a girl pulls in on her own bike. Cloud stares at it, quietly listing off everything he immediately knows: it’s a white Suzuki GSX-R. A sport bike. He’s not sure exactly which model, but what he does know is that it’s fast, much faster than the Nomad.

The girl parks right beside Zack, her light brown hair braided over her shoulders. She hops off the Suzuki, careful not to get her long brown skirt hooked on the starter pedal as she does so. Zack pries his lollipop from his lips and says something that causes her to roll her eyes, smiling all the while.

Cloud is staring. Tifa is pretending not to.

They walk in together. The girl scrunches her nose at the heatwave that passes over them as they cross the barrier, but Zack appears wholly unphased as he saunters up to the register. Habitually, he grabs a pack of gum and slides it across the counter.

Cloud instinctively smiles at him. Zack grins back at him as he slides the lollipop back between his teeth.

“You look hot,” he says around the stick, his tone borderline playful as his eyes climb over Cloud’s pale legs.

“Yeah, well, it’s only a thousand degrees in here,” Tifa answers stiffly before Cloud can open his mouth. She spares a long, lukewarm look at the girl, who’s currently perusing the rattling old coolers. “Who’s the chick?”

“Oh!” Zack exclaims, somehow snapping himself out of la-la land long enough to turn his head in the girl’s general direction. He tugs the lollipop from his lips, and Cloud gazes helplessly all the while. “That’s my good friend Aerith. Aerith, c’mere!”

Aerith hums distractedly to let him know she’s on her way over. She hastily grabs a drink and navigates to the register, glancing about curiously at the dust-lined displays and sparsely stocked items.

Finally, Aerith turns the corner with her little treasures: a spiked seltzer and a small bag of chips. She flashes a wide, friendly smile as she sets down her things. The garden of her arms, exposed and pale under her tucked black shirt, are tattooed with all kinds of different flowers. There are faux freckles painted into the hollows of her nose.

Tifa examines all of this with not so much as a weighty exhale. She glances between the two beaming nonconformists with an air of complete disinterest, and then she sighs and begins punching everything into the register.

“Can I see an ID?” She asks Aerith, who blinks back at her curiously. She fishes through her wallet and, after a long, stretched moment, passes it over without dispute. Tifa pinches the card between her fingers and searches it for a few moments longer than necessary before handing it back. “Cool. Thanks.”

“That’s it?” Aerith asks, feigning a comical amount of despondency as she tucks the ID card back into her wallet. “You’re not even gonna comment on how pretty my eyes look in the picture?”

“Well, they’re certainly green,” Tifa says dryly.

Aerith stares at her for a while. The smile that breaks forth is insurmountable.

“So Cloud,” Zack says, after clearing his throat and glancing at the blonde, very casually. “I found a cool place nearby, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me today to see it. Unless you’re too busy, of course.”

“I’m not busy,” Cloud answers eagerly.

Tifa smacks his arm. When he glares at her, he’s confused to find that she’s staring at him in horror. Immediately deeming it as an overreaction, he sticks his tongue out at her.

“He’s incredibly busy,” Tifa says then, shooting Zack a lethal, rubied glare.

Aerith tuts teasingly. “Scared to be alone with me, is that it? I promise I won't bite.”

Tifa glances at her, quickly and quietly. “I open carry.”

“That’s hot.”

Zack, who’s watching Cloud remarkably closely, leans forward ever so slightly. His tone is urging, but soft in its endeavor. “So…”

“Sure,” Cloud says, smiling excitedly up at him. “I’ll come. Sounds like fun.”

“Cloud,” Tifa hisses warningly.

But Cloud’s already set down his hand of cards, which he completely forgot he was holding in the first place. He hops off the stool and tries to ignore Tifa’s glaring eyes, which burn holes in the back of his head.

“You know what everybody says,” she adds warningly.

Cloud rolls his eyes as he bounds over to the coolers. “I’ll be fine, okay? He’s harmless.”

The moment Cloud is out of Tifa’s sight, she glances over at Zack. He’s leaning against the wall, his head listed slightly in Cloud’s direction, smirking around the lollipop trapped under his tongue. As she utters a short, meaningful prayer under her breath, Cloud re-emerges with two water bottles that are already starting to sweat in the heat.

“You have to pay for those, you know,” Tifa says.

Cloud spares her a quick glance. “Can I pay you back?”

Tifa stares at him. He smiles back at her, good-naturedly.

Zack pushes himself off the wall. He grins and salutes to Tifa. “See ya. I like what you’ve done with the, uh, chip display.”

Whatever Tifa mutters in response, it’s lost entirely on them. Zack reaches the front door first and holds it open for Cloud, who gratefully slips out of the heat clustered market into the outdoor summer air. As he bounces down the front steps and goes to grab his bike, his heart patters like a songbird.

“Whoa there, Spike,” Zack calls, amused. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Cloud startles at the nickname. He turns around curiously, absentmindedly reaching up to feel his spiky blonde strands. Uncertain, he answers, “Grabbing my bike…?”

Zack shakes his head, teasingly scoldful. He jabs a thumb towards the Nomad. “You’re riding with me today.”

“I— I am?”

Zack smirks. “Yeah. Unless you’d rather try to keep up with me on that cute little bike of yours.”

Cloud flusters uncontrollably. “I guess not,” he mumbles, feeling a little dumb. As he takes a step closer, he wrings his hands in the hem of his shirt. “But I’ve never ridden before.”

“I’ll take care of ya.”

Even though Zack says it so confidently, Cloud can’t suppress the wriggling doubt in the pit of his stomach. His eyes flick nervously between Zack and the bike. After a long, awkward beat, he finally nods in silent agreement. Zack nods back, smiling brilliantly, as he mounts the Nomad.

Cloud takes a brave step closer. His heart is pounding for a thousand different reasons, none of them sensical in the slightest. He’s read about plenty of motorcycles before, yes, but actually getting on one is something that he is in no way mentally prepared for.

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Nervously adjusts his shorts. Wonders stupidly if Tifa’s watching, and then answers himself almost immediately: of course she is.

“Alright, climb on behind me,” Zack instructs him gently. “You can put the waters in the top-box.”

Cloud nods once. It takes a moment of searching, but he’s stared at enough diagrams of motorcycles to find the top-box with a decent amount of ease. Zack’s wallet and a golden cigarette case are already placed carefully inside. He sets the waters down beside them.

Then, carefully, he mounts the Nomad. Zack reaches back attentively to help get him situated, his strong arms a devout grounding point if Cloud finds himself too unbalanced. Cloud does his best not to grab them, mainly because there’s a darkened part of his brain that really, really wants to, just to see how the taut muscles would feel under his fingertips.

A prayer instinctively starts to surface like it’s been summoned. Zack’s warm, steady fingers ghosting against Cloud’s arms stop it firmly in its tracks.

Once he’s properly seated, Cloud lets out a shaky exhale. He leans back against the seat, his heart pumping excitedly.

“Um,” Cloud says. “I’ve never done this before.”

Zack grins. “You may have mentioned that already.”

Cloud fights the blush that threatens to creep up the back of his neck. “Sorry. I’m just...”

“Excited?”

Cloud nods.

“That makes two of us,” Zack tells him earnestly. “Alright, c’mon, wrap your arms around my waist. Can’t have you falling off on me, now. Your friend in there will kick my ass.”

Zack’s waist is truly a sight to behold, slenderly accentuated by the thin fabric of his tank top. From this angle, Cloud can make out the metallic ridge of his asymmetrical nipple piercing, and it does nothing to soothe his nerves.

He swallows, worries too late that the sound of it may be too noisy, and then loosely wraps his arms around Zack’s waist. Cloud’s face feels unnaturally warm, like a creek in direct sight of the midday sun. It’s clear that his reservations are starkly apparent — his grasp is too tentative, its weight distributed awkwardly around Zack’s torso.

Zack waits a few seconds, as if allowing Cloud this final moment of shyness, before turning the engine over. The Nomad jolts to life, and Cloud gasps, his grip around Zack tightening uncontrollably.

“Look at that,” Zack says, low but cocky over the fresh roaring of the bike. “You’re a natural.”

Cloud yelps, “S–Shouldn’t we be wearing helmets?”

“Don’t worry, we’re not going far. I won’t let you fall.”

Cloud glares at the back of his head, despite his flutterbeat heart. “That’s not what I—”

His rebuttal dies unceremoniously, punted very much like a football into the horizon, as Zack kicks off. Right off the bat, Zack moves fast and purposeful, his body leaning deliciously into the curve of the road as his bike slices through the wind.

Never once has Cloud considered what it might feel like to fly. To ride a boat, maybe, if he had reliable oars that would unequivocally bring him back to shore. He’s considered what it would be like to ride a motorcycle, yes, plenty of times — but strangely, none of those fantasies involved a dark-haired man that drives so determinedly silent that Cloud feels the need to shout for the both of them.

Instead, Cloud buries his face into Zack’s shoulder. Zack’s skin is hot against his cheek. Smells like salt and sweat and antiperspirant. Cloud bites back a curse and hangs on tight.

His heart is racing. He can feel Zack’s heartbeat, too, steady and sure. But rather than focusing on the feeling of it against his palms, he forces himself to soak in the silken bite of the wind in his hair, on his bare arms.

The Nomad, after having time to adjust to its own speed, has shifted into a ghost-like silence as it glides down the road. Somehow, it’s a thousand times scarier than if the engine was screaming.

Cloud finds things to ground himself. The hot sun on his shoulders. His ponytail, whipping viciously against the back of his neck. He taps his fingers nervously against Zack’s abs like one two three and then, after sucking in a harsh breath, lifts his head.

They’ve already soared through Nibelheim. As such, the sight of open mountains is there to greet Cloud’s eyes, a tantalizing watercolor canvas of fuschia and marigold. It’s as if the world has been opened up to him, stretched flat like the inside of a storybook.

“Oh, wow.”

Zack hums knowingly — Cloud can feel it against his arms more than he can actually hear it at the speed they’re going. As Zack takes a breath to speak, Cloud finds himself leaning in over Zack’s shoulder so that he can hear his words. “Cool, right?”

“It’s beautiful,” Cloud marvels.

“You ever leave Nibelheim before?”

Cloud shakes his head before remembering that Zack’s attention is directed entirely on the road in front of them. “Not ever.”

Zack laughs once. “Well, this is what you’re missing.”

Cloud stares in rapt wonderment. He straightens his spine, leaning heavily against Zack’s body for support as he peers around. Zack keeps himself as sturdy as possible, his spine stiff and solid as Cloud drinks everything in.

“The whole world is like this?” Cloud asks, because somewhere deep down, there’s a part of him that still doubts it.

“Spike, you have no fucking idea.”

After a long beat, Cloud finally relaxes. He settles back against Zack’s spine, and Zack shifts his body to accommodate the movement. Simply because it’s easier to communicate this way, Cloud rests his chin against Zack’s shoulder.

“I thought you said we weren’t going far,” he quips.

Zack smirks. Cloud can’t see it, but he can hear it in his tone. “Just taking the long way, that’s all. We’re almost there. It’s on the outskirts of Mt. Nibel.”

“Well,” Cloud sighs after a resigned pause. “Can’t deny that view.”

“You certainly can’t.”

They ride the rest of the way in comfortable silence. After a while, Cloud unconsciously finds himself leaning into each turn, his movements mirroring Zack’s perfectly, as if they’ve melted into one sentience.

He finds that he very much enjoys riding on a motorcycle, which comes as somewhat of a relief after spending years and years wondering what it’d be like. The hum of the asphalt is hypnotizing. Addictive. Cloud lets Zack support his weight and feels his mind wander like a riverbed.

As they ease down onto a slightly rockier path, Zack gradually shifts into a lower gear. They slow as the forest boxes them in. The Nomad quiets to nothing but a slight hum, and Zack carefully navigates his way through the woods until the path dies off completely, of which he parks beside a tree and kills the engine.

Cloud starts to unmount, but Zack’s faster: he hooks his arms underneath Cloud’s armpits and practically lifts him up, placing him safely onto the ground. As he rifles through the top-box, Cloud stands distractedly behind him and glances around at the forest with growing suspicion.

Like a pestering fly, Cloud’s brain begins reverting back to old fears. The looming threat of demons who swoop in to prey on those who are weak of heart, who stray too far from the light of God.

He thinks of Nibelheim, of its people — his friends and family — who whisper about Zack as if he’s the devil incarnate. Cloud chews his bottom lip, on edge suddenly.

Surely Zack would never do anything to hurt him. He doesn’t pray or confess or beg for forgiveness but still, God must love him anyway. Right? How could someone not love Zack? He—

“What’s up, Spike?”

Cloud slowly glances over at him, his heart pinched with nerves. “Nothing.”

“Scared I’m gonna kill you and hang your body in the trees?”

“Well,” Cloud says, narrowing his eyes. “I wasn’t until you said that.”

Zack laughs, delighted, and reaches over to adoringly ruffle his hair. Almost instantly, Cloud’s anxieties curb themselves. He smiles slightly.

“Would a serial killer seriously be as charming as me?” Zack asks.

“I mean, that’s kind of their whole thing.”

“Ah,” Zack says, and sniffs noisily. “Shit.”

Cloud laughs. “You suck at reassurance.”

“Yeah, I’m better at flirting.”

Cloud rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. Zack flashes his wallet and the cigarette case, which glints prettily in the sun. He pockets them both, grabs the water bottles, and nods towards the woods. “Alright, let’s head up the trail.”

The trail turns out to be a catastrophic minefield of huge rocks, hidden tree roots and sharp sticks. Cloud starts out stumbling behind Zack, but after a twig minutely scrapes his ankle, Zack grabs him by the shoulders and manhandles him towards the front so that he can be watched over.

Cloud blindly follows Zack’s vocal instructions — turn right here, left there, we have to cross here now, hold my hand so you don’t fall — and, after some time, they come upon a quiet pond.

Its surface is clear and strikingly blue. It veers off into a collection of soft, gurgling rivers up a ways, but here, all is still and cosmically beautiful where the water pools. Cloud crouches down at the pond’s edge and watches little fish flutter about underneath in a flurry of orange and white scales.

A breeze flutters across the silken surface, and Cloud tugs up the hem of his shirt to let the wind in. It graciously kisses his skin, dappled with sweat now after walking underneath the direct light of the sun.

Behind him, Zack heaves a large, relaxed sigh. Cloud lifts his eyes to stare beyond the pond, where the forest seems to re-congregate, the trees clustering together prettily in hues of green and brown.

“So whaddaya think?” Zack asks.

“It’s beautiful,” Cloud whispers. He straightens to his feet and gazes up, tilting his head back so that he can make out slices of the blue sky through the trees. When he looks back down into the water’s reflection, he notices that Zack is staring at him. Cloud turns, a pleased smile already forming on his face. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Zack watches him for a while, eyes full of something sensitively indiscernible. He smiles warmly.

Cloud tilts his head. “So what now?”

“What now?” Zack repeats with a laugh. “Now we relax, Spike.”

Cloud’s about to ask what he means, but he doesn’t quite get there. Before he can get the words out, Zack reaches back and pulls his shirt up over his head.

Cloud is helpless to the slow reveal of Zack’s tanned body, all sharp curves and lean muscle. The singular spiked barbell pierced through his nipple is even more dangerous without the layers to cover it up. The matching metal of his dog tags compliments it almost too well.

Cloud would gawp at it if he could, but something else catches his attention first.

Right in the center of his chest is a deep, whitened scar. Cloud examines the raised skin with his heart in his mouth. He doesn’t get the chance to stare for long, because Zack sighs contentedly and flops back down into the grass.

“Come on, Spike. Lay with me.”

You shall not lie with a male as with a woman.

He closes his eyes.

Cloud loses track of time.

He lies on his back in the grass, shirtless, his eyes closed. Zack has gone so quiet beside him that at first, Cloud thinks he’s fallen asleep. The sun is merciful and golden as it warms them.

He listens to the rivers, the birds in the trees overhead. Cloud’s moments from drifting off when he hears Zack rustling around. He lifts his head, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. Zack’s sitting up now, tongue jutted out in concentration as he pries open the cigarette case.

“I didn’t know you smoked cigarettes,” Cloud murmurs sleepily.

“I don’t,” Zack says with a smile, and then he pulls out a white stick of something. It carries an unmistakable scent. Cloud instantly recognizes it from the strangers that drift through the town market sometimes, their eyes rimmed red and hazy.

Cloud startles upright. “I–Is that weed.”

“Sure is.” Zack sets the joint between his teeth. He grabs a lighter from his pocket and snaps it to life. The joint glows as it burns, and Cloud watches on curiously. Zack holds the smoke in his lungs for a long while, sighs it out into the open air, and then politely offers the joint Cloud’s way.

“Uh, I’m good,” Cloud says.

“Why?” Zack asks, out of genuine curiosity. “Is it a sin?”

“Um.” Cloud furrows his eyebrows. “Probably?”

“That god of yours doesn’t let you have anything, huh?”

Cloud pouts at him. Zack raises his hands in immediate defeat like he’s being held at gunpoint.

“Kidding,” he insists, eyes wide. “Kinda. You sure you don’t want a hit?”

“I think so,” Cloud says, and to his horror, it sounds more like a question.

In response, Zack takes another drag. Except this time, he watches every minute expression that flits across Cloud’s face as a result.

“So… you’re either staring at the joint or my lips, and both seem awfully incriminating.”

Cloud tilts his head at this. “What’s it like?”

“My mouth? Soft. Strong. I like biting.”

Cloud blushes dark. “I meant the weed.”

“Oh, right,” Zack says, as if he wasn’t already aware of this. He grins wide. “Just makes your head all warm and floaty. I’m sure you’d like it.”

“You think so?” Cloud whispers, his heart completely betraying him. Zack extends the joint towards him and Cloud leans over, slowly but with purpose, so that he can sniff it. He’s practically leaning over Zack’s chest now, and Zack watches him, his eyes dark and calm as the sea.

“I think it’s only a sin if your conscience thinks it is,” Zack tells him quietly.

“So?”

“So just tell yourself it’s not. Don’t condemn yourself, Spike, that’s not cool.”

Cloud rolls his eyes, but he can’t hold back a snort. “Okay,” he relents, because he’s headed straight to the confessional after today, anyway. “One hit.”

“Fuck yeah,” Zack booms. He sits up fast, and Cloud scrambles backwards with a start before they have the chance to bonk heads. “Alright, c’mere. I’ll help you.”

Cloud eyes him suspiciously. “How?”

Zack smiles. He reaches out, slow as honey, and very softly takes Cloud by the chin.

Cloud sits very still for him, his eyes unblinking and full of trust as he watches Zack’s face. As the distance between them begins to close, Cloud forces himself not to suck a violent breath in.

“Open your mouth,” Zack mumbles.

Cloud stares. He slowly and very obediently parts his lips.

“Good,” Zack murmurs, pleased. Something in the back of Cloud’s chest goes stupid at the praise, and he wills himself to ignore it. Zack carefully tips Cloud’s head back and sets the joint between his teeth. “Now close your lips around it and suck.”

Cloud does, because there’s no room for him to turn back now. The embers within the joint glow and dance around, rhythmic, to the tune of Cloud’s very slow and deep breath.

They stare into each other’s eyes for what feels like an eternity. Cloud studies the flecks of green in Zack’s irises, pressed flush to blue like stained glass. Neither of them dare to blink. Cloud’s chest starts to tighten, imperceptibly, and he blames it on the way Zack’s pupils dilate, molten and warm as he stares into Cloud’s face.

Finally, Zack startles out of his reverie.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Cloud, stop. Exhale. Exhale.”

Cloud blinks in surprise. He quickly tugs his head away and breathes out, but immediately starts to choke on the smoke that spews from his mouth. Tears cloud his vision, and he pinches his eyes shut as he violently coughs.

Zack swears. He feels around in the grass for a water bottle, his eyes never leaving Cloud for a single second. Shakily, he twists off the cap and pushes it into Cloud’s hands. Cloud grabs hold of it, still coughing, and forces himself to stop long enough to take a sip.

As he drinks, Zack quietly rubs his back. He watches Cloud carefully as the choking finally subsides.

“Sorry,” Zack whispers. “I forgot how mesmerizing my eyes are.”

Cloud giggles, and it makes him cough again. He punches Zack lightly in the chest. Zack laughs and pats him reassuringly.

“You okay?”

Cloud nods. “Did I totally mess that up?”

“Hell no. You did perfect.”

For an overlong time, they sit, Zack’s hand slotted between Cloud’s shoulders. Cloud leans into the solid promise of its presence, a deep calm settling over him like scattered sun spots. His high rolls over him in waves, and he welcomes the lazy pleasure that comes with it.

Cloud watches the water. He follows the quickened path of a dragonfly as it flies too close to the pond and causes ripples on its otherwise still surface. He tilts his head upwards and tiredly watches Zack’s dog tags, swinging directly over his face like a slow, forthcoming pendulum.

He wants to grab them. Touch them. Run the warm metal between his fingers.

“Were you in the service for long?” Cloud finds himself asking instead.

“Five years,” Zack says back, his voice leaden and relaxed as he studies the sky above them. “I got injured. Discharged with honors.”

Cloud digests this quietly. He eyes Zack’s scar with a wavering curiosity. The slightly raised skin looks remarkably soft to the touch despite its cruel shape, the ghost of a mortally fatal wound that somehow missed its mark. Zack glances down at him after a time, catches his gaze, and smirks to himself.

“Sorry,” Cloud instantly stammers out, looking away. He can feel himself blushing like an idiot. “I shouldn’t stare.”

“Stare all you want,” Zack allows. And then he’s running his fingers over the purling skin, and Cloud can not look away for the life of him. “I don’t really remember getting it, honestly. Whole thing’s kind of a blur — the other guy popped up outta nowhere. I remember someone yelling. Next thing I knew, I was lying in the medevac.”

“Did it hurt a lot?”

“For a little while.”

Something in Cloud’s chest curls in on itself like wet paper. “I’m sorry.”

Zack laughs. “Why are you sorry? You’re not the one who shot me.”

“It’s just…” Cloud frowns. “I don’t understand why that kind of stuff happens to people who don’t deserve it. People like you, I mean.”

“Well, shit, Cloud. I’m not perfect.”

“You didn’t deserve that, though.”

Zack lists his head towards the sun. “Mm. No, I didn’t. But I guess you could say I got the best case scenario. Missed my heart by a whole lucky inch.”

His thumb, still cradled between Cloud’s bare shoulders, arcs in a small, soothing curve. Cloud’s heart involuntarily traces its path. “Were you afraid?”

“Of what? Dying?”

Cloud presses his lips together. He nods.

“Kinda. I mainly just didn’t know what to do. When I was lying there, all I could think about was each decision I’d ever made. Which kinda sucked. That was the scariest part, I think. Not knowing if I would be able to do anything more.”

Cloud hums thoughtfully. A part of him wishes to say something reassuring, as if to try and console Zack somehow, but there’s a stronger part of him that stills the urge. Zack is here. He’s alive. Surely that must count for something.

“I wasn’t scared of going to hell or anything like that,” Zack adds after a comfortable stretch.

“I don’t see you going there anyway.”

Zack laughs. He tousles Cloud’s hair. “Even though I kiss other men?”

Cloud flushes brilliantly. With a shy huff, he peels his eyes from Zack’s face so that he can study his tags instead. “You’re just doing what makes you happy. You’re not hurting anyone.”

Zack watches him for a while. Cloud stares at the engravings carved into the metal, the words amorphous from even this short of a distance. He can make out Zack’s name, possibly due to the sole fact that Cloud has murmured the syllables so many times at this point that he’d be stupid not to recognize it.

Zack asks, infuriatingly gently, “You wanna touch ‘em?”

Cloud perks slightly, to his repressed trepidation. “Can I?”

“Sure can.”

Warily, Cloud glances up at him. Zack looks certain enough about it, so with the whisper of a breath, Cloud slowly stretches out of his hand. As his fingers curl around the tags, his touch ghosts against Zack’s warm, tanned skin.

He loops his fingers around the silver chain and pulls Zack towards him, mere centimeters closer, so that he can read the words scored into the metal. Zack lets it happen, his breathing deep and easy.

Cloud runs his thumb over the neat carvings, his voice but a whisper as he reads them aloud to himself. Zack Fair. The name feels good on his tongue, neat and clean, a comforting weight in his mouth.

“You’re agnostic?” Cloud asks.

“You sound totally surprised,” Zack says, somewhat breathlessly.

“I just thought you’d be an atheist or something.”

Zack laughs, subdued in its strength, so as not to startle Cloud into releasing his grip. “Nah.”

Cloud stares at the raised word curiously. “What does it mean, exactly?”

“I just think life’s too short to figure it all out in one go.”

“That…” Cloud frowns. “Kinda makes sense, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

Cloud tightens his grip, and Zack shifts closer to ease the rising tension around his neck.

They glance into each other’s faces. Cloud’s holding him inches away, now, and Zack’s eyes are starry and hopeful around their blue edges. Like he’s damned to do so, Zack glances down at Cloud’s mouth, which is slowly falling agape as he helplessly stares.

Then Zack’s eyes drop lower, to the silver cross hanging at the base of Cloud’s neck. He reaches up to gently toy the cross between his fingers, turning it this way and that like a souvenir.

Cloud doesn’t move. He barely breathes.

“Why, Spike?” Zack whispers. “What do you believe in?”

Immediately, Cloud thinks of Nibelheim. He thinks of how the entire town was so quick to judge Zack without truly knowing him at all. For the first time, it’s begun to feel all wrong, and Cloud can feel himself stepping away from its safe familiarity.

A shiver traces down Cloud’s back. He whispers, “I don’t think I know anymore.”

Zack watches him protectively. “Well, that’s okay, right? Maybe we can figure it out together.”

Cloud swallows. He nods. They hold each other by their chains for a little while, eyes softened by the fuzzy, summer sun. Finally, when Zack can’t hold back a chuckle, Cloud startles and loosens his grip so that Zack’s tags finally slip through his fingers.

“Cloud?”

Cloud glances up from where he’s seated in the church pews, uncomfortably flexing his fingers in his lap. The air inside the church is muddled and hot, its heat made even worse by the fact that Cloud decided to wear a tight black turtleneck to confession.

The confessional looms at the back of the church, its daunting brown doors open and waiting. As Cloud stands, the back of his neck is damp with sweat. On his way, he has to pass Reno Sinclair — local town menace and diligent altar boy — who’s just exited the confessional, and Cloud stifles a nervous groan at the way Reno roughly claps him on the shoulder when they cross paths.

“You got this, virgin,” Reno says, unhelpfully. There’s an uncharacteristically loud cough from inside of the confessional that immediately causes Reno to roll his eyes.

Cloud nervously tugs his silver cross between his fingers. As he slips inside the confessional, he’s slightly surprised that he doesn’t immediately burst into flames. He shuts the door behind him and gingerly gets on his knees. The hard, cold corner of the wooden bench behind him digs faintly into the small of his back.

They’re separated by a screen, but Cloud can easily picture the firm, silent presence on the other side. Despite having a stern hand, Father Rufus is a man of parts. He’s a younger priest, albeit serious about his preachings, and always keeps his white-blonde hair neat and kempt. Vehement on spreading the word of God, he’s guided solely by his desire to redeem each and every citizen of Nibelheim.

On alternate Tuesdays, Father Rufus locks the church around noon for special confessions. Cloud’s never attended one himself, but he knows solely by the loud banging and grunting that can be heard from outside that the sessions are particularly rigorous.

It’s always the same man confessing, too: Tseng, a local attorney. Cloud thinks it’s so admirable that he’s so resolute on reconciling with God. It makes it somewhat difficult to look Father Rufus in the eye afterwards, though — Cloud always feels unbearably self-conscious about the fact that he doesn’t confess nearly as much as he should.

That, and Father Rufus has always been incredibly intimidating in his adorned vestment and intricate gothic robes.

Now, Cloud takes a deep breath. He benevolently makes the sign of the cross and then solemnly utters, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” He pauses. “My last confession was, um…”

“Last week,” comes a tired voice on the other side of the screen.

“Y–Yeah. Well, I guess I’ll just get to it,” Cloud stammers nervously. He awkwardly rubs his silver cross between his fingers and pinches his eyes shut in preparation for what he’s about to say. “I… smoked weed and fondled a man’s dog tags out of wedlock.” Inhales raggedly, and: “T–This is all I can remember. I am sorry for these and all my sins.”

There is a pause.

“Cloud. Do you know what ‘out of wedlock’ means?”

Cloud startles violently. “What?”

“Out of wedlock,” Father Rufus repeats wryly, “typically pertains to a child produced from illicit sex. Fornication.”

“Oh,” Cloud says, his throat dry. The back of his neck, which is already damp with sweat, suddenly feels horrifically hot. Fornication. Sex. With Zack? Zack Fair? Fornicating? Fornicating with Zack Fair? “Oh no. W–We didn’t do that,” He rasps. “W–We would— I would never.”

Father Rufus hums, faintly bemusedly. He clears his throat. “When you were performing these… sins, did you at any point feel that you were straying from the trust and gracious mercy of God?”

Why, Spike? What do you believe in?

Cloud’s eyes have gone very wide. The cramped heat of the confessional is almost too insurmountable to bear. Suddenly, all he can think about is running far, far away from Nibelheim — far enough where the traces of his gradual betrayal can no longer reach him.

“No,” he scrapes out.

“That’s good, then.” A pause. “You may now make an Act of Contrition.”

Feeling like his heart is being pulled on a set of strings, Cloud opens his mouth and immediately begins to mindlessly recite the prayer. As he listens to himself speak, he wonders if he’s truly forgiven: figures that, since his body still has yet to burst into flames, he must be far from disgrace.

Something clinks blithely against Cloud’s bedroom window.

He makes a muffled, annoyed sound into his pillow. Lifts his head to squint blearily at his digital alarm clock, which reads 1:19 AM. Cloud stares at it for an ungodly amount of time before flopping back down. He’s seconds away from falling back asleep when something hits the window pane again, this time with slightly more force.

Cloud opens his window and pokes his head outside. Through his blurry vision, he can just barely make out the shape of Zack standing in his backyard, clad in a dark biker jacket, his arm already reared back to throw something else at Cloud’s window. When he catches sight of Cloud’s disheveled, messy blonde spikes, he breaks out into a sunny grin and waves.

Cloud smiles, habitually and uncontrollably, at the sight of it.

“Hey Spike,” Zack calls up. “You busy?”

“Sleeping,” Cloud mumbles groggily. He squints down at him. “What are you— are you throwing… rocks at my window?”

“What? No.” Zack quickly tosses his handful of pebbles aside into the grass. “Why, is that a sin? Is there something in the bible against throwing rocks?”

“Stones,” Cloud grunts as he rests his chin on the windowsill. “‘Let the one among you who is…” He yawns, “...without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.’”

Zack’s grin doesn’t dim a single watt. “That’s great! So what you’re saying is that I’m totally sin-free.”

“I… I guess.”

“Fantastic. Anyway, sunshine, d’ya wanna go for a drive?”

Cloud blinks. “Wh— right now? It’s the middle of the night.” Then adds, much too late, “What did you just call me?”

“Yes, right now,” Zack exclaims, ignoring the last question entirely. He spreads his arms. “Go ‘head and jump down. I’ll catch ya.”

“You’re so dumb,” Cloud mutters, but it’s impossible to mask the incessant grin that creeps back onto his face. He rubs his eyes. “Wait there, I’ll walk down.”

“Hell yeah!”

Cloud shoots him a dirty look.

“Sorry,” Zack says around a semi-believable wince. “I totally meant to say ‘oh my heavens.’ I find it so exciting you said yes that I kind of wish I’d brought pearls to clutch—”

Before Zack can finish, Cloud shuts the window. Once the thick glass is separating them, Zack dramatically drops his jaw. Cloud sticks his tongue out at him and shuts the blinds.

He briefly considers going down dressed as is — old shirt, drawstring pajama pants — and then quickly reconsiders. Isn’t entirely sure why, either: this meetup is sudden enough to excuse wearing pajamas, and Cloud knows for a fact that if it were Tifa down there, he wouldn’t care about what he looks like.

But it’s Zack.

Cloud rifles through his dresser with warmed cheeks. Eventually, he settles on a steel blue t-shirt and shorts that probably ride up his thighs a little too much, but it’s fine. He’s going out for a ride on a motorcycle, not Sunday Mass.

He slips quietly down the stairs, wary of spots that creak when a whisper of pressure is applied to them. More than once, Cloud shoots a cautious glance over his shoulder to double check that his mom’s bedroom door is still shut at the top of the stairs. Only when he’s pulled on his scuffed brown boots and slipped out into the night does he finally relax.

The air is cool for a summer night, stars blanketing the clear, black sky. Cloud gazes up at them curiously as he wanders around the side of his house to where Zack’s perched on the Nomad, tapping away at his phone.

To Cloud’s immediate relief, he notices that the bike is already running, its engine idling softly. Thank God. At least his mom won’t get woken up by the sound of it roaring to life in her backyard.

When Cloud steps closer, his feet skimming across the dew-flecked grass, Zack lifts his head. His eyes linger a bit too long on Cloud’s exposed legs, his pale thighs peeking out from underneath his shorts.

Cloud flushes. Zack’s tongue darts out, subtly, to wet his lips.

“Hi,” Cloud whispers shyly.

“Hey there,” Zack says. His expression is nothing but smug as he meets Cloud’s wide eyes. “Got all dressed up for me, huh?”

A startled noise escapes Cloud’s throat before he can even think to stop it. He frantically waves his hands in front of him. “N–Not at all! I just— I didn’t wanna come out here in my pajamas. T–That’s all.”

“Mm.” Zack smirks wryly. He pats the seat behind him. “Alright, cutie, hop on. Also, hey — I wanted to ask you for your number earlier but I never got the chance. Figured it would probably be a better way to reach you than throwing rocks at your window.”

Cloud’s frowning as he mounts the Nomad. “My number?”

“Yeah. Your phone number.”

“Like… the landline?”

“No, your—” Zack pauses. He gazes sidelong. “You do have your own phone, right?”

Cloud tilts his head, faintly bewildered. “No.”

The shock that strikes Zack’s face confuses Cloud greatly. Is it really so strange? There’s never been any crucial need for him to have his own cellphone — Cloud knows it’s common elsewhere, he wasn’t born yesterday — but Nibelheim is so tiny. If you need to talk to someone, all you have to do is find their house down the street. Not to mention, Cloud always hears truckers complaining about how terrible the cell service is here.

In Nibelheim, the spotty landlines are more than enough.

Despite his obvious incredulity, Zack doesn’t say a thing. He takes off slowly down the road, mindful of waking anybody in town. Of course, once they slip past town lines undetected, Zack leans hungrily into the surge of the wind.

The speedometer climbs on the dash. Cloud tilts his head back, welcoming the cool air as it hisses past his face. Above them, the moon is crystalline and strong. They don’t speak, which is fine for Cloud: there’s a part of him that adores the silence, the taut uncertainty of where Zack is taking him.

He’s not left unawares for long. Cloud immediately recognizes the approaching tree lines, the looming mountains. Tonight they’re basked in starlight, their violet tinges blackened. He settles comfortably against Zack’s shoulders, helps him guide into the turn that leads them down past the embankment of the forest.

Zack parks by the same trees as before and kills the engine. Tonight, their path is illuminated by the pinpricks of white stippled throughout the dark sky and Zack’s phone, which he dutifully uses as a flashlight.

Cloud hops off the bike with ease. He finds himself slightly unsure of how he feels about it: that it’s becoming such a simple feat, mounting and unmounting Zack’s motorcycle. He follows Zack quietly, his breathing as light as a ghost’s.

The pond looks exactly as they’d left it. Fat, white spherules of the moon’s pale reflection ripple passively on its surface. Cloud takes a deep breath in, soaking in the scent of the water and the woods. He’s almost surprised to find that he acutely missed it.

“Wanna go swimming?” Zack asks.

Cloud frowns. He casts a shy glance at where Zack’s turned towards the water. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”

Zack grins and something in Cloud’s chest sparks, like it’s learning how to be alive. “I didn’t either. We don’t need ‘em.”

Cloud raises an eyebrow at this. His momentary inquisition is shattered as Zack sheds his jacket. His shirt goes next, and the tanned curve of his muscular shoulders are bared to the ardent moon, Cloud feels chills erupt all over his body. “You’re not seriously—”

Zack’s hands deftly wrap around his belt. As he pulls it free of its loops, Cloud’s voice dies in his throat. He gasps, flushed down to his nerves. He briskly turns around and hides his burning face in his hands.

As Zack strips, the sounds alone are enough to conjure embarrassing images. Cloud keeps his heated cheeks pressed firmly into his palms.

“Zack,” Cloud squeaks. To his horror, there’s a noisy splash behind him, and then a cry of surprise — Cloud only feels himself get hotter.

“Holy shit! This water is freezing.” When Cloud doesn’t offer up a response, Zack’s voice shifts into something low and gentle. “Cloud?”

“Yes,” Cloud says, stilted.

Zack laughs. “Turn around.”

Cloud shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“You’re…” Cloud doesn’t even want to move his hands, but he valiantly does so in an attempt to create some form of a flustered gesticulation. His eyes stay screwed shut. “...naked.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna get my pants soaked,” Zack tells him earnestly.

“Oh my God,” Cloud scrapes out, before he can even think about it.

Zack feigns a scandalized gasp. “Spike. You did not just use the Lord’s name in vain.”

“I–I’m sure he understands,” Cloud mutters sharply.

“Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

Cloud sucks in a tight breath. After a long stretch of careful consideration, Cloud lifts his arm and then, slowly, uncurls his middle finger so that Zack can see it in the air. He doesn’t quite get the offended reaction he’s looking for: Zack snorts, and there’s another splash that sends icy spikes down Cloud’s spine.

“Spike, it’s just skinny dipping.” Zack sounds breathless, like he’s just dipped underwater. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“P–Peter 5:5–6,” Cloud stammers helplessly. “G–God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.”

Zack groans. “I do not like green eggs and ham, Sam–I–Am—”

Annoyed, Cloud grits his teeth. He keeps his eyes glued shut as he blindly feels around in the grass. His fingers close around a big stick, and with a huff of exertion, he flings it over his shoulder in what he hopes is somewhere near where Zack’s floating.

Unfortunately, it lands with a badly aimed clunk in the water. When Zack speaks again, he sounds incredibly entertained:

“Come on, sunshine. It’s just swimming. It’s not like we’re having premarital sex.”

Cloud makes a funny noise. He makes the bold decision to not say anything to that, lest it just goad Zack on further. Instead, he timidly listens to the chirping crescendo of crickets in the underbrush.

“Ah, what was it?” Zack muses, then. “There is no fear in love?”

John 4:18. Cloud turns slowly to face the other man, tentatively spreading his fingers into thin slits that he can peek through. To his acute mortification, Zack looks absolutely empyrean in the water: golden skin glistening in the white moon, long midnight hair slicked back off his forehead. From this angle, Cloud can’t see much: Zack’s resting his elbows on a short, thick wall of rocks that obscure his body past his collarbones.

Zack cracks his neck as he mumbles to himself, trying to find the words. Cloud’s tongue burns with the memorized verse, but he keeps his mouth tightly shut — out of morbid curiosity, mainly. Finally, Zack says: “But perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.”

Cloud stares.

Zack immediately grins. There’s a fleeting hint of nervousness to it. “Did I pass?”

“How did you know that?” Cloud whispers.

Zack throws his head back, laughing delightedly. The cold metal of his dog tags catches the light. “You could say I’ve done some mild research on Catholicism.”

Cloud gawps at him. “Did you memorize a bible verse to impress me?”

“Depends. Did it work?” Zack asks. As Cloud watches him, hands slipping from his face, his flush becomes deathly obvious. Zack beams sunnily. “It did! It worked! I’m taking that as a yes.”

“T–Take it as whatever you want,” Cloud says around a thick, unconvincing swallow.

Zack smirks. He rests his chin on his arms, and Cloud stares hopelessly at the wide, strong length of them against the soaked grey rocks. Zack asks darkly, “You gonna come join me in here or not?”

“Are you…” Cloud takes a deep breath. He can’t believe he’s even considering it. “Like, fully naked?”

“Yeah.”

Cloud flushes. “I… I dunno—”

“Think of it this way,” Zack says, stretching back lazily in the water. “It’s not sinning if you’re not being sexual.”

“But it is,” Cloud croaks out, and there.

The moment he says it out loud, he can feel the dark, repressed twine coiled around his stomach loosen itself just a little. It comes as a relief, but with it brings a looming expanse of something insurmountably unknown, and this terrifies him.

Cloud isn’t sure when his admiration for Zack evolved into something so dangerous. It’s a line that he’s been commanded not to cross — a boundary that’s enforced, now, by nothing but weak tape and a poorly tied knot.

“I don’t intend to have sex with you in this pond, Cloud,” Zack calls, maybe a bit too eagerly.

Cloud crosses his arms. His whole body is on fire now, and it’s obvious that Zack can see it. That he knows.

“I mean, that’s just barbaric. You deserve a soft bed and some rose petals at least.” At Cloud’s reactional glare, Zack suppresses a hearty laugh. “Kidding, kidding. Sorry.”

“You’re so gross.”

“And yet you still haven’t left.”

Cloud sighs. Zack tilts his head imploringly, and it feels like a slow death as Cloud finally begins to relent. He slowly grabs the hem of his shirt, not for one moment missing the way Zack’s eyes track the movement.

“I’m keeping my pants on,” Cloud says warningly.

“I’d be insulted if you didn’t,” Zack says with a grin.

Cloud rolls his eyes. He pulls his shirt over his forehead and the weight of Zack’s gaze, heavy like steel on Cloud’s body, is impossible to ignore. The neckline gets tangled with Cloud’s necklace, and as he pries it free from the cross, he hears Zack mumble something under his breath.

The air is lukewarm on his pale skin. Still, Cloud feels his nipples harden. He swears, once and safely, in the back of his mind. Then he eases his way towards the water.

Zack watches him in heated interest.

“D–Don’t go hugging me or whatever when I get in,” Cloud weakly demands.

“I would never,” Zack says, very seriously. There’s a shadowy light to his eyes that tells Cloud otherwise, but he’s absolutely stupid with trust at this point — doesn’t even think twice as he slips into the water.

It is cold. Cloud hisses as the freezing water splashes up against his bellybutton. He takes a daunting step forward—

“Oh, shit, Spike, watch out for the—”

—and his foot immediately slips on an upturned rock at the bottom of the pond. Cloud plummets under the surface. He hears the roar of the pond swelling in his ears for maybe a full second before Zack’s darting out to grab him, arms like an airlock as they wrap around Cloud’s waist and lift him back up to the safety of the surface.

“—oud,” Zack strains. “Are you okay?”

It’s a flurry of subconscious motion as Cloud coughs up water. He nods, arms wrapping tightly around Zack’s neck, heart throbbing against Zack’s bare chest. As his leg brushes up against Zack’s thigh, as he makes contact with something more, a tiny voice in the back of his mind sounds in alarm. Cloud doesn’t allow himself to acknowledge either one of them.

His lungs burn. His eyes sting. Zack gazes worriedly into his face, and Cloud stares back like his heart’s been flipped over. Their noses brush. It’s imperceptible, but the way Zack’s pupils swallow up his blue irises is more telling than not.

“M’okay,” Cloud says quietly.

Zack’s metal tags stick wetly to Cloud’s skin. Cloud’s silver cross is latched onto Zack’s chest. Neither of them move, but if they did, Cloud knows he’d be feeling the loss of dripping friction for weeks.

Cloud peers at Zack through his wet lashes. Zack lifts his hand tentatively, as if he’s afraid the slightest movement will destroy this moment forever. When Cloud doesn’t pull away, Zack moves to tuck a soaked blonde spike behind his ear.

Cloud’s mouth is hanging slightly open. He can feel it. But for some reason, he can’t remember how to snap it shut. “We… shouldn’t.”

“We shouldn’t…”

Cloud tries to speak, but a whimper escapes him instead. He flushes deeply.

“Spike.” Zack’s voice is husky and low. “Do you want to kiss me?”

God.

“No,” Cloud whispers.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Zack breathes. He frowns. “Why? Are you scared?”

Cloud blinks in mild offense. Not for his own sake — it’s clear as day that Zack would never do anything to hurt him. Rather, Cloud feels offended in Zack’s defense. Zack shouldn’t ever be considered in any sort of negative light. Not at all. “M’not scared.”

“Then what is it?”

“We just… we can’t. It’s wrong.”

Zack licks over his lips. “How do you figure?”

Cloud swallows, his throat straining. Zack watches with rapt attention.

“Well,” Cloud answers nervously, “That’s, um, what everybody says.”

“Everybody, like… in town? In Nibelheim?”

Cloud nods.

“Mm,” Zack hums. “I suppose they might have a point, then, if everyone seems to think so.”

As he speaks, he’s reached over and begun toying with Cloud’s necklace. Zack possessively rubs his fingers over the cross, and Cloud stupidly lets him. His eyes are wide as he stares into Zack’s face.

“Zack,” Cloud says experimentally, testing the new weight of it on his tongue.

Zack tilts his head. “But they also seem to think that I should be avoided at all costs, and here you are. Inches away from me.”

Cloud scowls at that. He’d try to pull his head back, but Zack’s still loosely holding his necklace, and it seems to pin him in place despite the fact that Zack would certainly let go the moment Cloud tried to put any sort of distance between them. “They were wrong about that.”

“So how come they can’t be wrong about a little kiss?” Zack pushes. “You shouldn’t let other people dictate what you do.”

“I…” Cloud sucks in a nervous breath. “I don’t. It’s just… something like that…”

“What? You can tell me.”

“You know. I could, um…”

Zack observes him quietly. The realization dawns on him before long, and he clicks his tongue. “Ah. Scared you’re gonna go to hell over a little chaste kiss?”

Cloud glares at him. “I–It’s a real thing, you know.”

“So is the abominable snowman.”

“Zack.”

They stare at each other, both with unyielding levels of defiance. Cloud chews his bottom lip.

“Spike,” Zack presses.

Cloud keeps his eyes narrowed, but he can already feel the spike of mild outrage steadily leaving his body. “Mm.”

“Let me put it this way. If we really are governed by a god that won’t allow us to be truly happy, I don’t wanna be anywhere near ‘em.” Zack smirks. “I deserve to be happy. And you do, too.”

Cloud sucks in a tight breath. Zack searches his face curiously, and all Cloud can do is stare back at him with this sense of trust that’s so defined, it feels stupid not to go along with it.

“Trust me, Spike, the devil isn’t gonna care about a pretty thing like you kissing other guys. Dude’s got, like, a whole grocery list of things he has to take care of first.”

Cloud laughs.

Zack smiles. “Yeah?”

Cloud nods quietly. Zack watches him carefully, allowing him time to mull it all over. The pond laps calmly at them, their forearms dappled with matching goosebumps. Finally, Cloud whispers, “You… think I’m pretty?”

Zack snorts. “That’s all you care about? Whether or not I find you pretty?”

“W–Well, you said it, not me.”

Zack rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing. “Yeah, Cloud, I think you’re pretty damn fine.”

Cloud gawps. “Sorry, it’s just— it’s kinda hard to believe. Not that I’m calling you a liar or anything. It’s just, um, nobody’s ever… looked my way.”

“I doubt that,” Zack says almost immediately.

“It’s true,” Cloud insists, frowning.

“Well, sounds to me like this town isn’t the best judge of character anyway.”

Cloud swallows. He nods very, very slowly.

Zack glances down at his lips. A laggard calm falls over them, and as the moon bears down in slices through the trees, he carefully moves in. At the last second, Cloud goes tense. He quickly puts his hands out, bracing them against Zack’s chest to keep him from coming any closer.

“I’ve… never kissed anyone before,” Cloud admits, his cheeks burning.

Centimeters away from Cloud, now, Zack smiles. His half-lidded eyes shine with amusement. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Cloud rolls his eyes this time. There’s a double meaning to that, somewhere. “Um…”

“Yeah?” Zack murmurs.

Shyly, Cloud allows his lips to part. “I–I’m a fast learner, though.”

Hungrily, Zack surges in to close the distance. Their mouths crush together with fervent curiosity, and as Cloud tastes tongue at the back of his mouth, his brain sparks. His hands claw senselessly at Zack’s bare chest — grappling, feeling, yearning for any sort of purchase at all.

Zack groans, the sound like screeching electricity on Cloud’s teeth. Cloud can’t speak. He can’t think. He has no idea what he’s doing — if whether or not the way he moves is good enough. Where Zack comes at him with fever and experience, Cloud is slow and stupid and shy, eyes tightly shut as if he can hide behind them.

Eventually, Zack momentarily breaks away so that he can cup Cloud’s cheek. Their foreheads knock gently against each other, and Zack sighs, his mouth rosy and spit-slicked. “Baby, you’re stiff. C’mere. Open your mouth like— yes, that’s perfect. You look so good. M’gonna kiss you again, now, okay?”

Cloud nods, his eyes half-lidded, pupils blown so wide it’s a wonder he hasn’t fainted back into the water. At this rate, he can barely process what the other man is even saying to him. He can do nothing but whine as Zack finds him again, raw and open and so very, very trusting.

“Good,” Zack murmurs. He catches Cloud’s bottom lip between his teeth. Cloud boldly mouths back at him and Zack hums. “Look at that. You listen so well. Taste so fucking good, too. How are you feeling, Spike, are you doin’ okay? Are—”

“You talk a lot,” Cloud grunts. He draws Zack back in with a low groan, flushes at the feeling of Zack grinning into it. Their kisses slow as Cloud gradually starts to take control, his hands cautiously moving from Zack’s shoulders to the back of his head.

Cloud experimentally trails his tongue over Zack’s lip. Very gently makes a fist of Zack’s soft, dark spikes and tugs, curiously, so that his head steadily tips backwards. There’s an obvious throb against Cloud’s thigh that instantly tells him Zack likes it.

Zack moans breathily. His hand travels low, dipping beneath the sharp curves of Cloud’s abdomen, and Cloud mindlessly rolls his hips into Zack’s waiting palm. Zack runs his thumb over the soaked fabric of Cloud’s shorts, the half-hard swell growing underneath.

“Spike,” Zack rasps, voice darker than Cloud remembers. He exhales softly. “Fuck.”

“I–Is this okay?”

“Perfect.” Zack plants a quick, sticky kiss against his cupid’s bow. “Keep goin’, baby, just like that.”

Cloud’s eyelids flutter at the friction of Zack’s palm, tender but stern as he caresses Cloud through his shorts. Both of them moan in turn, the noise promptly swallowed by their restless kisses.

It’s good. So good. Cloud has never imagined anything quite like this, being kissed so tenderly, a blooming adoration like worship. Zack cradles him within the benign lull of the pond, his grasp secure and immovable, like he could never trust himself to let Cloud go.

The panic starts to set in when Cloud is halfway home.

As Zack glides into the turn that’ll lead them towards Cloud’s house — more specifically, where his mom is sleeping, blissfully unaware of what he’s just done — Cloud nearly chokes on his own breath. His hand snaps out and wraps around Zack’s forearm.

Zack immediately cuts their speed. He asks, warily, “What’s up?”

“Not here,” Cloud hitches, his heart thundering in his chest. “Don’t drop me off at home.”

“Why?”

Cloud swallows, thinks of something fast. “What if my mom sees you?”

It’s a cold night. Cloud’s lips are still buzzing from the soft pressure of Zack’s mouth, the slide and friction of their tongues against each other’s teeth. And he knows it’s wrong — that Zack’s a good kisser and it’s hazardous for them both — but for some reason he can’t stand the thought of going home just yet. Of sleeping alone. Of leaving Zack’s side.

Zack smirks. “You want me to drop you off up the road or something? We could find you a ladder, hoist you up through your bedroom window.”

“I shut my window when we left,” Cloud says nervously. His hand is still wrapped tightly around Zack’s wrist, and it’d be stupid to think that they’re not both aware of it. “Just… keep driving.”

And so they surge through Nibelheim in pleasant, comfortable silence. Cloud keeps his arms hooked around Zack’s waist, his cheek pressed comfortably into the hollow of his spine. Zack smells good, like summer wind and water and a detergent that Cloud’s unfamiliar with.

Cloud wants to kiss him again. He’s never wanted anything more in all his life and everything’s changing, way too fast. It’s terrifying.

As they near the church, Zack shifts gears. The Nomad gradually slows, and its engine is soon reduced to an idle murmur. Cloud knows that, deep down, this all means he’s gonna have to pull away from Zack soon, and for some reason it makes him feel sick to his stomach.

Then, Zack pulls up onto the grass. He parks his bike next to the sign that reads Nibelheim Community Church, careful not to disturb the flowers that are tenderly planted by its wooden posts. Cloud stares at the sign, at the peeling paint, and something in his gut twinges uncertainly.

It’s weird, feeling comforted moreso by the open, black sky than the church he’s been attending since he learned how to walk.

Zack kills the engine.

For a long moment, neither of them move. Cloud keeps his face pressed into Zack’s jacket, and Zack leans back and soaks up Cloud’s body heat. They both gaze at the cream-tinted stone church, the dim golden lamps fastened into the ground beneath that illuminate its gentle frame. Cloud glances up at the black cross on the sharp-edged roof, the river of stars that lie beyond it.

“Awfully pretty,” Zack mumbles appreciatively.

Cloud hums faintly. “It’s prettier inside.”

“You ever been in there this late at night?”

“No.”

Zack considers this for a short while. “You wanna?”

“D–Do I wanna…?”

“Go inside.”

Cloud tries to ignore his flush. “With you?”

“Yeaaah?” Zack says, sounding incredibly amused. “Why not? You sound nervous, Spike.”

“M’not,” Cloud stubbornly insists, even as he shyly peels himself from Zack’s shoulders.

Another quick look cast at the church, and Cloud’s chest does something funny. Admittedly, even considering stepping inside the church after gluing himself to another man’s mouth doesn’t provide any sort of holy comfort. But surely nothing unrighteous can happen in the house of God.

In fact, bringing himself and Zack closer to God may be the smartest option here. Maybe there’s a higher chance that Cloud will be forgiven if he goes inside.

Cloud folds his arms over his chest, heart pounding, and blames it on the cold breeze. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Zack grins back at him. “Atta boy.”

As always, Zack helps Cloud unmount. It’s obvious that Cloud doesn’t need the help anymore, that he’s had more than enough practice climbing on and off Zack’s bike himself, but still Cloud lets himself be babied. And if his fingers close too tightly around Zack’s forearms as he’s lowered to the ground, neither of them say a word about it.

Once Cloud is situated, Zack strolls right up to the front door. Cloud immediately finds himself harboring a twisted hope that it won’t open — that tonight is the one where Father Rufus decided to lock everything up when he left for the night. But then Zack turns the handle, and it groans open with ease.

“You think I’m gonna catch fire the moment I step inside?” Zack asks, hushed.

Cloud smacks his shoulder. Zack’s head falls back with the weight of his laughter as he pushes the door fully open. He slips inside first and, despite being a nervous wreck behind him, Cloud dutifully follows.

The church really is beautiful like this, quiet and empty, nothing but the moon’s light to guide the two of them inside. Its high, intricate glass windows pull starlight in like the tide.

Cloud instinctively pauses at the holy water font, gently gathers some water on his fingertips, and makes the sign of the cross. Zack watches this exchange curiously, and then tentatively does the same.

“So… is this, like, the equivalent of taking your shoes off at the front door?” Zack whispers. Cloud narrows his eyes, and Zack’s mouth twitches as he poorly masks his smile. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Nah.”

Grinning, Zack tousles his blonde spikes and saunters past. His neck cranes as he stares up at the labyrinthine artwork carved along the arched ceilings, the sturdy beams holding it all together. Cloud trails quietly behind him, his heart erratically thudding.

Cloud reminds himself that he knows this place like the back of his hand. Has built his entire life around this: its structure, its teachings, and most of all its spirit, which is fastened like a watchtower inside him. But yet again, none of this comforts him at all.

Zack runs his fingertips along the polished wooden pews. He glances over at the confessional and slows to a stop. “What’s that?”

“That’s the confessional,” Cloud says. Zack eyes him inquisitively, so he adds: “Um, it’s where you go to confess to your sins.”

“Sounds scary,” Zack muses.

Cloud smiles at this. “It can be.”

Zack’s quiet for a moment. Then, “Wanna try?”

“What.”

“I mean, I’ve never done it before. Could be a fun bonding experience. A team-building exercise, if you will.”

“Zack,” Cloud strains, his tone horribly pitched. “We can’t just— Zack!”

To his horror, Zack’s already strutting up towards the confessional. He nosily peeks through the slatted windows, frowns as he tries the door.

“Zack.”

“It’s locked.”

Cloud’s blood thrums wildly in his ears. He stares like a petrified deer as Zack crouches down and begins fiddling with the lock. With a whimper, Cloud glances back at the entrance of the church, then grits his teeth and hurries over.

“Zack,” Cloud repeats, for the umpteenth time.

“Yes?” Zack sings. When Cloud doesn’t immediately reply, he turns and gives the blonde a cheery smile.

“You can’t…” Cloud takes a deep breath to steady himself. His body has gone dizzyingly hot with dread. “You can’t do that.”

“I can’t do what?”

“You can’t go in there. Only Father Rufus has the power to forgive sins.”

“I thought it was Christ who forgives your sins,” Zack says, with a genuine sense of confusion that instantly causes a multitude of conflicting emotions to stir themselves around in Cloud’s stomach like a demonic minestrone soup.

“Well,” Cloud says, for lack of anything smarter. His throat is so dry. “Yes.”

“So why do we need a priest here for that?” Zack asks.

“Because he’s a messenger of God,” Cloud squeaks, but his argument is starting to fall a little flat.

“And who’s to say I’m not?” Zack huffs as he turns back to the lock. It gives a series of stubborn clicks as he futzes around with it.

Cloud anxiously shifts his weight between his feet, but it’s with a morbid sense of curiosity that he peeks over Zack’s shoulder when a promising cllk echoes throughout the church. Zack makes a small, victorious sound as the lock comes undone. He nudges open the door.

“Zack,” Cloud strains uselessly, yet again, as Zack curiously pokes his head into the cramped interior. “I’m serious, Zack, I don’t think this is a good idea—”

“How does this usually work?” Zack muses. He’s so tall, he has to crouch slightly to fit inside.

“Um, you kneel on one side, and… um, the priest sits on the other.”

Zack hums. “Looks kinda uncomfortable.”

Cloud’s throat makes a strangled noise, like the air is slowly being choked out of him. He casts an exasperated look towards the front of the church, half-expecting God himself to come barging in to stop them. Then he turns back to Zack, who’s curiously knocking his fist against the ceiling.

“Small as fuck in here.”

Cloud folds his arms over his chest. He’s so nervous, it’s taking every ounce of willpower to keep his teeth from chattering. “Mm.”

“Why do they make you kneel when there’s a perfectly good platform to sit on, like, right here?” asks Zack conversationally as he takes a seat on the narrow bench wedged against the wall. He gazes around, brows furrowed. “Do you ever just… sit anyway? There’s no way the priest can see you through that screen.”

“No,” Cloud says around a dry lump in his throat. “I always kneel.”

Zack shoots him a weird look. “Doesn’t it make your knees sore, though?”

“Sometimes.” Then, “Depends on how long you’re confessing for. I’m usually not in here for very long.”

“Oh? You don’t do a lot of bad stuff?”

Cloud shakes his head.

“But you’ve done some bad things, right? Like, before you met me?”

Cloud gives him a long, blank look. He doesn’t say anything to that.

Zack gasps excitedly. “You have!” He exclaims, leaning back casually against the wall as he stares. “Cloudy, tell me what you’ve done. Confess your deepest, darkest sin to me.”

There is a very, very slow heat climbing up the back of Cloud’s neck as he fights off a traitorous smile. “You don’t look like a priest.”

“You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”

That piques Cloud’s curiosity. Just a little. His eyes widen. “I–I don’t want you to judge me, though.”

“No judgments here,” Zack swears, as he incorrectly makes the sign of the cross. “As you’ve already stated, I’m not a priest.”

Cloud narrows his eyes. Zack’s ensuing grin is nearly contagious, but Cloud does a pretty decent job of keeping his expression neutral. Although his mouth does twitch upwards once or twice. He turns away to hide it. “Okay. Um… when I was seven, I… stole something.”

“Holy fuck,” Zack marvels. He leans forward interestedly. “Go on. What was it?”

“I—” Ashamed, Cloud pinches his eyes shut and forces the words out before he can even think to stop himself. “I stole a pack of gum from the town market. Back when Tifa’s dad was the one who ran it. But!” He quickly adds, noting the stunned glint to Zack’s eyes incredibly self-consciously, “I–I gave it right back. I felt so bad that I ran right back in and returned it.”

“Did you cry.”

Cloud flushes about nine different colors. Zack slowly lifts a hand to cover his mouth.

“Holy shit, Spike—”

“N–Now you have to tell me yours,” Cloud croaks, maybe a bit more aggressively than necessary. His ears are so hot that it’s mildly uncomfortable. “You promised you would.”

“Well,” Zack says, tipping his head back as he considers. “I’m not sure I can top that. Stealing gum from a local business is pretty intense. What flavor was it?”

“I don’t remember,” Cloud huffs, but at Zack’s raised eyebrow, he quickly folds. “Spearmint.”

Zack shakes his head. “You scoundrel.”

“Okay, okay,” Cloud rasps. He bounces his leg anxiously. “Enough about me. Please. I wanna hear yours.”

Zack smirks at him. Then he sighs. Drums his fingers against his thigh as he contemplates. “Well… once I was waiting outside in my car at the laundromat. Super late, nobody else in the parking lot, and I was bored, so I decided to… y’know,” he says lightly, and makes a vague jerky motion with his fist. He blows a lazy raspberry.

Cloud squints at him. “You… shook a bottle of soda?”

“What?” Zack laughs. But when Cloud continues to stare at him, his face quickly goes blank. “Oh Cloud. No. Are you being serious?”

“What?” Cloud asks, feeling quite bewildered suddenly. “Serious about what?”

Zack’s still staring at him. Cloud blanches. He casts a quick, unsure look over his shoulder just in case someone has materialized behind him. Only when he’s confirmed that there’s nobody there does he nervously turn back around.

“Did I say something wrong?” He asks, strained.

Slowly, Zack jerks his wrist one more time. He holds eye contact. “You don’t know what this means?”

Cloud tilts his head. “N–No?”

A look of utter horror crosses Zack’s face. “Holy fuck. Wait. Tell me you’ve… Cloud, have you ever jerked off before?”

“Jerked… off,” Cloud echoes, like he’s reciting some incomprehensible scripture from an ancient library archive. “I–I don’t know what that, um… means.”

Zack makes a funny noise. He sits up, suddenly, so that he can bury his face in his hand.

Cloud’s eye goes twitchy with anxiety. He nervously reaches out to grab Zack’s shoulder. “Um, are you—”

The doors to the church fly open.

Cloud barely has time to react before Zack’s seizing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging him inside the confessional. With a choke, Cloud crashes headfirst into Zack’s chest, narrowly keeping from falling off the bench as Zack reaches over and deftly locks the door from the inside.

They listen, hyperventilating, as muffled voices file into the church:

“Why the hell are you bringing me here at this hour?”

It’s one of the altar boys. Rude. Cloud squeezes his eyes shut and represses the urge to cry.

“‘Cause I forgot to bring back the sacred vessel.”

That’s definitely Reno — Cloud can tell by the snotty tone alone. A mortified, high-pitched sound escapes him, and Zack is quick to muffle him by crushing his hand over Cloud’s mouth.

“Shh,” Zack breathes hotly into his ear.

“You… took it out of the church?” Rude asks.

Reno huffs. “Well, I needed something to drink out of, and this thing’s so damn fancy. So, like, how could I not?”

“What the hell were you drinking?”

“Tito’s.”

“You drank Tito’s out of the sacred chalice?”

It’s dark. Cramped. Cloud’s eyes are so wide, it kinda hurts. Zack’s lied back against the bench, now, his heart thudding frantically. He’s pulled Cloud on top of him, and therefore Cloud’s leg is uncomfortably hiked up between the wall and Zack’s waist.

Cloud tongues his cheek. Holding his breath, he shifts so that his knees are locked instead around Zack’s hips. The instant relief that washes over his tense leg is insurmountable.

“Dude, keep your voice down,” Reno snaps. His voice is slightly closer — sounds like they’re nearing the altar, now.

“Why? Literally nobody’s here.”

“I dunno. Sometimes I think Rufus bugs the place with cameras.”

Rude snorts. “Why the fuck would he do that, you idiot? You think he wants immortalized evidence of him nailing— yeah, okay. Try to stomp on my foot again, see what happens to you.”

“Gonna give me the attorney treatment?”

“No. You’d enjoy it too much.”

Cloud furrows his eyebrows. Are they talking about Father Rufus and Tseng’s special confessions? Why would Reno need to partake in one of those? He already serves the altar. Isn’t that enough?

“Cloud,” Zack whispers, his voice like a ghost’s. Cloud blinks.

To his confusion, Zack’s cheeks have gone unexpectedly rosy in the dark. Cloud opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but before he can even get the words out, he becomes acutely aware of the gradually hardening bulge pressed against his—

Cloud slams his eyes shut. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it—

“Sorry. You’re pressing into me,” Zack whispers through a hitched rasp. “Like, really hard.”

Carefully, Cloud pries Zack’s hand from his mouth so that he can hiss, “S–Should I move?”

For lack of a better answer, Zack rolls his eyes. He asks, “Where are they?”

Cloud glances towards the slatted window of the confessional, which is showing him nothing but slices of violet, moonwashed color. He slowly sits up so that he can squint through them, and just barely manages to catch sight of Reno’s scarlet ponytail before it disappears from view entirely.

He sits up straighter. Cranes his neck, and in the process, Cloud accidentally slams the top of his head off of the ceiling. Zack gasps. Tears instantly well in Cloud’s eyes and Zack swiftly yanks him down into the narrow space between him and the wall, his hand finding the freshly sore spot and quietly caressing it.

“What was that?” Rude asks.

“Sounded like something crashed,” Reno muses.

“Probably your ass knocking into the altar.”

“I was nowhere near the fuckin’ altar!”

“Are you okay?” Zack whispers, directly into the cusp of Cloud’s ear. His warm breath tickles Cloud’s neck. Cloud focuses on that, because it helps him forget the fact that his skull is ringing.

“M’fine,” Cloud murmurs. He’s not. His head hurts. He’s trying not to cry but stupid, hot tears are trickling down his cheeks anyway. Somehow it’s even worse when Zack gently grips him by the jaw and forces him to make eye contact.

Of course, once the tears start, Cloud has no way of stopping them. It’s not just his head: everything’s hitting him all at once now, overwhelmingly, and Cloud fights off a frustrated groan as Zack wipes his tears away.

“Sorry,” he grumbles.

Zack narrows his eyes. “Why?”

Cloud forces himself not to laugh. He shrugs once, and for some reason this makes him feel a thousand times worse. His vision blurs entirely through the fresh wave of tears, and as he opens his mouth to gasp out, Zack moves in to muffle it with a kiss.

It’s impossible not to melt into it. Cloud sighs wetly into Zack’s mouth and his reservations steadily fall away, one by one. He finds that it’s easier to give in. To let Zack have him, because really, Cloud wants nothing else anymore.

Zack cradles Cloud’s head against his palm. Thumbs tender, soothing circles at the crown of Cloud’s hair. He licks hungrily at the corner of Cloud’s mouth, where one of his salted tears has strayed too far down.

A wave of arousal crests over Cloud’s senses in an uncontrollable wave.

“Zack—”

“I know,” Zack murmurs. He loops his fingers in the chain of Cloud’s necklace and tugs. “So damn pretty.” Another kiss, this one sloppy and nearly forcing a moan out of Cloud’s throat. “Hey, so, have you seriously never touched yourself before?”

Cloud shakes his head. “M’not…” He tilts his head back, baring his throat, as Zack’s mouth slides down to suck at it. “Mmh. N–Not supposed to.”

“Why not?”

“S’bad.”

“I have.” Zack nips experimentally at Cloud’s collarbone. “So many times.”

“W–What’s it like?”

“Wanna find out?”

Cloud’s eyes flit to Zack’s in heated, nervous interest. He licks at the corner of his mouth. Nods.

“Fuck,” Zack rasps. “Are you sure? Don’t wanna go too fast.”

Cloud nods feverishly. “P–Please touch me.”

Zack swears. He wastes absolutely no time peeling Cloud’s damp, tight shorts away from his legs. They stick uncomfortably as they slide down his warm thighs, and Cloud utters a shaky sigh as he lifts his hips.

The air’s cold on Cloud’s exposed cock, which faintly throbs with arousal as Zack wraps a big, warm hand around it. Just the touch alone is enough to send hot, electric shocks up the expanse of Cloud’s spine. He ruts up indigently into Zack’s palm.

“There you go,” Zack instinctively whispers. Cloud flushes at the tenderness in his voice. “That’s better, huh?”

Cloud nods shyly. He glances down at the head of his cock, trapped between Zack’s fingers, and bites back a whimper. His fingers dig crescents into Zack’s arms as Zack twists his wrist and—

“Zack…”

Zack quickly slams his hand back over Cloud’s mouth. As a result, Cloud’s ensuing whine is completely lost against the heat of Zack’s palm. Zack’s in his ear in an instant, his tone smug and heated. “I know. I know. Oh, you sweet thing. Look at you. You’re so hard already.”

Cloud’s mouth has fallen completely open. He pants brazenly, stupidly, as Zack pumps his wrist. Something tantalizingly spiteful curls in Cloud’s gut as he watches Zack through half-lidded eyes.

Zack’s beautiful. Disheveled, his pupils blown so wide with lust that it’s hard for Cloud to think just looking at them. A voice is chanting in the back of Cloud’s head like it’s wrong it’s wrong it’s wrong, and for some reason this just eggs Cloud on evermore.

He arches underneath Zack’s touch, love ornate and raw as it bursts into full bloom. His heart is a quick, heavy presence in the roots of his chest, and as Zack runs his thumb over Cloud’s aching slit, Cloud plants a wet, sloppy kiss against Zack’s palm.

Then, like it was never there to begin with, Zack slips his hand away. Left to fend for himself, Cloud bites down to mute his groans. Zack smirks at this, but gratefully says nothing as he scooches down the length of Cloud’s body so that his cheek rests lazily against Cloud’s soft, pale thigh.

“You’re perfect,” Zack murmurs, his eyes predatory as he studies the stiff, leaking cock in front of him. “Prettiest cock I’ve ever seen. You think you can take over for a second?”

No, Cloud thinks, selfishly, because for some reason it doesn’t feel as sinful when it’s Zack’s hand doing all the work. But it’s a stubborn combination of his desire to obey and the sudden loss of pleasure that has him wrapping a hand around his length the moment Zack lets him go.

Cloud never expected it to feel so silken, so warm, so gentle. He experimentally tugs at himself a few times, doing his best to copy Zack’s previous motions.

“That’s it, baby,” Zack praises. He lifts his head. “Slow and steady. Curl your wrist a little on the upstroke— yes, Cloud, just like that. You okay with putting it in my mouth?”

“Y–Your mouth?”

Zack nods. “Wanna taste you.”

“Oh,” Cloud breathes, and it takes everything not to careen over the edge at those words alone. He shakily angles his dick towards Zack’s lips, and the moment Zack wraps around him, all it takes is a few sloppy strokes before a blanket of euphoria hits Cloud like a train.

His vision goes white. Cloud comes with a whine, his brain static as Zack loyally swallows around him. He doesn’t even realize he’s lifting his hips until Zack pins them against the bench.

Again and again and again the waves hit him, and then all at once it’s over, and Cloud collapses back with a moan.

Zack pulls off with a content sigh. Cloud shivers.

“How was that?” Zack asks, his voice slightly rough.

“I… don’t know. N–Never felt like this before.” Cloud blinks, peering up at Zack through bleary, heavy-lidded vision. “Are… Are they still out there?”

“Not sure.” Zack presses his ear against the wall of the confessional. Cloud watches his dog tags swing back and forth as if he’s been hypnotized. “I… don’t hear anything anymore.”

“Maybe they left,” Cloud whispers.

“Maybe.”

“You think they heard us?”

Zack tilts his head. He smiles sunnily. “No?”

Cloud frowns at this, but he doesn’t offer any sort of argument. Instead he silently gazes up at the ceiling and tries to ignore the knot of nerves that are starting to unspool deep in his gut.

The reality of what he’s just done looms over him like a shadow. Even worse, Cloud has no idea why he’s even slightly calm about it. Has he really strayed so far from God’s light that even the notion of sinning does nothing to frighten him anymore?

Cloud chews on his lips. Perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.

If he loves Zack, does that make it all okay?

Cloud takes a deep breath. He positions himself up onto his elbows so that he can stare at Zack freely. The other man sits dutifully across from him, straddling the bench with thighs that, even now, Cloud feels that he’d be greatly honored to touch.

Zack grins at him. “You look dazed. Feeling a little cumdrunk?”

Cloud narrows his eyes. “N–No.”

“Really,” Zack muses. “That’s a surprise. You came kinda hard.”

Cloud flushes brilliantly. “No, it… it felt good.” His eyes dart to a dark corner of the confessional. “I–I’m just kinda scared ‘cause… what we just did, it was really bad. I think.”

Zack hums sympathetically. He shifts in closer so that he can brush his knuckles against Cloud’s cheek, and stupidly, Cloud leans into his touch. “Oh, Cloudy. That god of yours would be an idiot not to accept you.”

Cloud juts his lip outwards in a faint pout. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Why?” Zack asks. He plants a kiss to Cloud’s forehead. “Is there something I can do? Something that’ll make you feel any better at all?”

“Um,” Cloud says after a bracing breath. “I… I don’t think it’s a sin if it’s done in love.”

Something indiscernible flashes across Zack’s eyes, then. His hand slows. “You want me to love you?” He asks, quite seriously, to Cloud’s immediate embarrassment.

Despite the flip-flop of adoration in Cloud’s stomach, he frantically waves his hands in the air between them as if to negate what they’ve both just said. “I–It sounds a lot more serious when you say it like that,” Cloud stutters, voice cracking like stained glass. “You know what? Just forget I said anything at all. I’m actually comfortable with going to hell. I—”

Zack dexterously clears the space between them so that he can cup Cloud’s face between his palms. The kiss he carries with him is sticky sweet, adroit in the way it swallows up the rest of Cloud’s words. It’s not deep by any means: if anything, Cloud’s breathless just in the sense of how quickly Zack’s rushed to reach him.

When they break away, Cloud’s eyes are very wide.

“I can love you,” Zack whispers, vulnerably earnest. “Cloud, if that’s what it takes to get you out of this place, I’ll do it.”

“Like… the confessional?” Cloud breathes.

Zack smirks. His thumbs trail fondly over Cloud’s cheekbones. “No. This town. These awful, awful notions that you’re a bad person because you want to follow your heart. You deserve so much better. Cloud, you’ve never even left Nibelheim.”

Cloud blinks dumbly at him. “Not until you.”

Zack nods. “Have you ever even thought about college? Fuck, I don’t know, getting a bike license? Traveling the world, even?”

“Sometimes. Mostly when I was younger, though.” Cloud tilts his head. “You think… you think if I left with you, I could do all that stuff? Get my license and race you on the road?”

Zack stares at him for so long, it almost makes Cloud nervous. He’s about five seconds away from snapping his fingers in front of the other man’s face before Zack’s crushing their mouths together again.

“You’d leave with me?” Zack asks between kisses. He loops his arms around Cloud’s neck and lowers him back down against the bench, body moving to cage him in. “Spike, fuck, you barely know me. Are you sure?”

Cloud laughs lightly. “Why else were you staying at Corel if not to woo me?”

“Fuck,” Zack groans, and then he’s kissing Cloud’s neck, slow enough to leave burn marks on the way down. “Feels crazy.” His hands wander down further, to where Cloud’s skin has begun to grow warm with attention. Cloud’s mouth goes slacken with pleasure. “T–Think we could make it work, though. Maybe.”

“Definitely,” Cloud moans, as Zack’s hand begins to roll along the soft swell of his balls.

“I have an extra room.” Zack’s hand nudges Cloud’s shirt aside so that he can lay ardent kisses up his sternum. His mouth makes patterns on his skin like he’s salting the earth beneath. “Can make it up all cute, make it yours. We don’t have to stay together, either, if it doesn’t work out. I’ll help you out. I—”

“You’re talking a lot again,” Cloud quips, laughs when Zack lifts his head to shoot him a dry look. “Sorry. Sounds real nice. Do you have one of those cool fridges that has ice in it?”

“Ice?” Zack asks, emphasizing the last syllable in such a way that his teeth linger together for a few seconds too long. “Cloud, all fridges have ice in them, what are you— oh, like the ice dispenser? On the front?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t, but if that makes or breaks your decision, I’ll go fuckin’ buy one, rent be damned.”

Cloud smiles at him. It’s warm: he can feel the strength of it radiating through every inch of his body. Zack melts at the mere sight of it, his throat releasing this crushed oh as he crawls onto Cloud’s front so that he can kiss him again.

Their hands wander. Zack explores the warmth of Cloud’s inner thighs and Cloud wraps his fingers around Zack’s tags, lazily, so that he can use them to tug him closer.

Zack groans into his mouth. “Fuck. Lemme touch you.”

Cloud nods shyly. Zack nods back, somewhat dazed, as he begins to pat himself down. He recovers a small bottle, pops the cap and drizzles its contents over his fingers.

For some reason, gravity starts to teeter at the sight of it. Cloud feels an icy-hot tendril of doubt curl in his stomach as Zack lines up his first finger. “I’ll start slow,” Zack’s saying, tone reverent as he glances back up at Cloud’s face. “One finger first. Once you’re used to it, I’ll put in another. Okay?”

“Okay,” Cloud confirms. He bites his lip as Zack pushes forward — just slightly — so that just the tip of his finger nudges past Cloud’s rim.

It’s tight. Weird. Cloud squirms against the intrusion. But Zack’s so good: he starts only with the tip, carefully edging it in and out, until Cloud suddenly lets out a muffled whimper and Zack’s finger finally slips in to the first knuckle.

The deeper he goes, the more Cloud swims inside his own head. Zack makes it to the second knuckle, then the third, and then he’s rolling his finger so intimately inside of him that Cloud goes all fuzzy around the edges.

He doesn’t realize Zack’s smirking at him until it’s too late. Cloud’s panting, now, as Zack readies the second finger. But then they lock eyes, and Cloud notes the amusement on his face, and—

Cloud rasps, “What?”

“You’re praying.”

“I— I am?” Cloud asks, and as Zack pointedly inches his second finger inside, the world shudders like water around him. He stammers out a verse so instinctively, it’s like the pull of Zack’s fingers are prying it from his very subconscious.

“See?” Zack murmurs. He only quickens his pace. “Being kinda quiet, though.”

“Shut up,” Cloud groans, but there’s no bite behind it. Can’t be, not with the way Zack’s fingers are carving rapture inside him.

“Keep going then,” Zack says. “Let’s see if your god can still hear you.”

Cloud’s eyes roll back. He arches his back so high, it’s a wonder Zack doesn’t slip out entirely. He pants, “S–Set me as a seal upon your heart—”

Zack’s fingers are long. Slender. They fit perfectly inside of him, know exactly where to push up against. Cloud’s broken prayers grow louder and more frantic, staccato, and as Zack edges the third inside, he sobs.

“—for love is strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave.”

Zack hums lowly. The sound of it sends shockwaves of pleasure down Cloud’s spine. As he withdraws his fingers, Cloud cries out at the loss of pressure. “Look at you. You’re gonna make this real easy for me, huh? Such a good boy, always doing what you’re told.”

Cloud feels impossibly spacey with bliss at the praise. He’s not sure what look he has on his face, but whatever it is, it makes Zack grin incredibly wide. He gives Cloud a reassuring squeeze around the waist as he undoes his belt. “Alright, c’mere. Put your leg on my shoulder.”

“My leg?” Cloud asks, as he slowly lifts the limb. Clearly he doesn’t move quickly enough, because Zack gently takes hold of him and hikes his leg up. The sudden position change drags Cloud up into his lap, just slightly enough where he can now feel Zack’s dick now, hot and waiting against his thigh.

“M’gonna be honest with you,” Zack mumbles sheepishly. “I don’t have a condom. See, I kinda wasn’t expecting—”

“It’s okay,” Cloud pants out. “A lot of Catholics don’t use condoms anyway.”

Zack’s face does something funny. He blinks a few times. “What?”

“Yeah, it’s this… general opposition to contraception, or something? Anyway, it’s fine. I trust you not to get me pregnant.”

“I…” Zack pauses, hand wrapped loosely around his dick. For once, he actually looks completely speechless. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Duh,” Cloud says, and the incredulous look that appears on Zack’s face has him bursting out in delighted laughter. “I mean I’m kidding about the pregnant thing, yes. But the church genuinely hates contraception. It’s this whole thing.”

“Right,” Zack mutters distractedly. He furrows his eyebrows, deeply contemplating this new influx of information. “But you’re… okay with me not wearing a condom?”

Cloud bobs his head up and down. “It’s okay if it’s you.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re a good person,” Cloud says, very certainly. “I trust you.”

Zack stares at him for so long, Cloud squirms a little.

“What?”

“You’re too good,” Zack whispers. “Fuck, what am I doing?”

“Wooing me,” Cloud mumbles, feeling a little timid as he hears the words come out of his own mouth. He cluelessly reaches down and strokes himself in a way that he hopes is somewhat reassuring. Or distracting. Whatever the method, it works. Zack stares down at Cloud’s cock, hard and weeping against his stomach, and swallows at the sight.

From there, it doesn’t take much. Zack lines himself up. He splays a hand beside Cloud’s entrance, uses his thumb to lightly spread it open further. A filthy noise slips out from between Cloud’s teeth as he stares up into Zack’s focused expression.

“Cloud. Sweet fucking angel, are you sure about this? You wanna give it up to me here? In the confessional?”

“Please,” Cloud whispers, begs, and that’s all it takes. Zack sinks in with a low groan that’s almost as delicious as the stretch that gradually encompasses Cloud’s entire body.

“Z…ack.”

“Yes, fuck baby, that’s it, open your legs. Let me in.”

Zack hooks an arm around Cloud’s calf, holding him steady as he cants his hips inside. Cloud can feel each separate inch as the length reaches deeper and deeper, until Zack bottoms out. He shifts his hips once more for good measure, and Cloud whines at the fullness that’s almost immediately overwhelming. Then Zack folds himself over Cloud’s body, his leg a point of leverage between them, and slowly snaps his hips.

Cloud feels it like fireworks. He moans so loud that, all at once, it no longer matters to him if anyone else is in the church with them. It’s almost mortifying.

Above him, Zack’s in a similar state: he’s staring down at the shared space between them, mindlessly sinking in and out of Cloud like his body is nothing more than a vessel. His hand is curled so tightly around Cloud’s leg that it’ll leave marks for days.

“Please,” Cloud groans, and he’s not even sure what for anymore.

Zack’s face twitches. A dark strand of hair has fallen into his face, and Cloud kinda wants to brush it out of the way.

But Zack’s strong, and Cloud can’t move. Zack’s strong, and he pins Cloud to the bench with ease, and the more Cloud pays attention, the more he can hear each thrust banging loudly against the confessional walls.

“Zack,” Cloud breathes. “Z–Zack, it’s— we’re being too—”

Zack tsks softly. He slows his pace. Releases Cloud’s leg just long enough so that he can pry his tags from around his neck instead. “Here. Open up, baby.”

It takes Cloud a second to understand, but soon he obediently opens his mouth. Zack uses two fingers to guide the tags in over his tongue, and from there, he folds Cloud in half so that they’re chest to chest.

Cloud’s cross is still dangling at his neck, so with a groan, Zack reaches over and seizes it between his teeth. At this angle, Cloud’s thigh is burning, but he doesn’t dare say anything, not with how divinely Zack thrusts into him.

Even worse, Zack’s still gripping the chain of his tags in his fist. Every so often, he’ll tug it like a leash, and Cloud’s head roughly follows wherever he leads. He grips Zack’s tags between his teeth like an oath, his tongue twitching as it traces over the raised letters of his name.

In return, Zack grits his teeth around the cross. “Fuck,” he rasps out, but it’s muffled through the metal. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Cloud wants to sob. Wants to thank him, really, but the tags in his mouth make it impossible. He lets out a pathetic whine that causes Zack’s eyes to flutter shut in instantaneous pleasure.

Zack’s so deep. He gives it to Cloud like he’s always deserved it, like a subset of worship. It’s maddening.

Cloud hooks his other leg around Zack’s waist and squeezes him in close, is rewarded with a shaky whimper directly into his ear. His mouth falls open, tags slipping from his teeth, as he sighs out Zack’s name. Over and over and over, until it’s all he can stand to remember.

Zack reaches the brink first. His grip on the tags loses its tautness, movements growing hurried. He slams into Cloud like one, two, three and then it’s over, Cloud’s name spilling from him like a confession.

He rides the aftershocks with a low moan. Cloud feels each and every throb of them throughout his own body, and it’s almost enough to send him over the edge. But then Zack’s wrapping his hand around Cloud’s throbbing, neglected cock and it’s done.

As Cloud’s orgasm hits, Zack lazily angles his dick so that it paints Cloud’s chest in warm spurts. It splashes up onto his shirt, pushed up from the intensity of being jostled around. Then the cross necklace, and Cloud groans helplessly at the insinuation of it. There’s a satisfied chuckle somewhere from Zack as he watches it all unfold.

Cloud’s head tips. He meets Zack’s eyes defiantly. Flicks his gaze towards the tags that Zack’s hovering over his face, still, and then slowly extends his tongue.

Zack stares. He lowers the tags. Swallows when Cloud closes his teeth around them. He bites hard, like he’s trying to bend them to his own will. Like he’s trying to engrave into them the sound of his own voice.

”Oh,” Zack rasps.

It’s rough. Powerless. Cloud smiles and slowly releases them.

At that, they crash land into each other. They’re sweaty and sticky and utterly spent, and as Cloud lies there in a daze, staring up at the ceiling, he finds himself not particularly caring whether or not it makes him a bad person.

A comfortable while goes by before Zack mutters, his face buried in Cloud’s shoulder, “We can’t fall asleep in a confessional.”

Cloud shakes his head in quiet agreement. His smile is so wide, it kinda hurts. “Take me home?”

“Mm,” Zack says. He twirls Cloud’s disheveled little ponytail around his finger. “Let’s get you cleaned up first, though. Don’t need another reason for your mom to kill me.”

“What’s the first one?”

Zack stares at him.

“You’re not seriously doing this,” Tifa says, her arms crossed over her chest as she watches Cloud load up a bunch of snacks into the brown rucksack that he’s plopped onto the front counter.

It’s obvious that, in fact, Cloud is very seriously doing this. He’s already packed most of his clothes, his toothbrush, his deodorant, his favorite hat and his singular disposable camera, which already has half the film roll filled up. Cloud’s been saving the last half for something special, and he figures that moving to Midgar is an exceptional excuse.

“I’ll be fine!” Cloud braces his hands on his hips as he stares at the bag. What has he forgotten. He’s forgotten something.

Oh, he thinks, and then prances off to grab them some sodas for the road.

Tifa pinches her nose between her fingers. “Cloud, you barely even know the guy. What if he’s a serial killer?”

It’s futile at this point: Zack’s already waiting outside, tapping away at his phone as he pulls up a map. Plus, there’s an unrelenting ache in Cloud’s thighs that does nothing but remind him of the confessional, which promptly erases any fresh common sense that might be trying to sprout its way forth.

“I promise you, he’s not.”

“Yeah, sure. Has your mom even met him yet?”

As Cloud circles back around, a Sprite in each hand, he eyes her somewhat self-consciously. “No. Are you nuts? She’d kill him.”

Tifa tilts her head up towards the ceiling. She sighs in exasperation.

“And that doesn’t set off any alarm bells? Seriously?”

“...No?”

Seated at the front counter, fanning herself off with Tifa’s trusty magazine, is Aerith. Except this time, she’s wearing a pink bralette and a pair of jeans that Cloud’s caught Tifa staring at more than once. As the two argue, Aerith watches them with a quirked smile. Her brown hair sticks to her forehead with sweat.

The sight makes Cloud reminiscent. He gazes up at the creaky, old ceiling fan and the dusty, cramped window sills, most of which are so ancient that they refuse to open anymore. Cloud sighs deeply, taking in one last loyal breath of the muggy, sweltering air of the market, and almost wishes he’d miss it.

A pair of approaching footsteps cause all three of them to turn their heads. Zack pries open the rickety door with a soft grunt, phone in-hand. He makes a face at the immediate shift in temperature. “Christ, Tifa, it’s especially shitty in here today. You want me to prop this door open?”

“I want you to leave and not take my best friend with you,” Tifa snaps.

“You’re welcome to tag along, if you want.”

“I’m working on it,” Aerith says lightly. Which earns her a dirty look from Tifa, who doesn’t look nearly as venomous as everyone’s expecting her to.

Zack smirks at this. He crosses the market in a few eager, starry-eyed strides so that he can ruffle Cloud’s hair. “Ready to go?” He asks, and as Cloud stares adoringly up at him, he clicks his tongue and possessively takes Cloud’s necklace between his fingers. “God, I’m so glad you’re bringing this with you.”

Cloud perks a little at the rugged shift in his voice. He glances down at the silver cross, which gleams comfortingly in the harsh sun peeking through the windows. As Zack releases his hold on it, Cloud tentatively runs his thumb over the warm metal.

Before they leave, Zack makes one final purchase: a pack of spearmint gum and a candy bar. He braves his way through the prickly transaction with Tifa, who grills him about nine different ways as she slides him his change. At the end, he tucks a few extra bills into the stray cat fund jar.

“Alright,” Zack says. He seizes Cloud’s rucksack and swings it over his own shoulders. “All set? If we start for Midgar now, we’ll still be able to order some Chinese food before the shop on my street closes for the night.”

Cloud eagerly bobs his head up and down. He throws his arms around Tifa, who kinda looks like she’s gonna cry as she hugs him back. That is, until Cloud leans up to whisper demonically into her ear, “Move in with Aerith so we can go to college together.”

Tifa rolls her eyes. She shoves Cloud back and folds her arms over her chest. “Unlike you, I’m not ditching my faith just to run off with some girl.”

“Not yet,” Aerith quips, and she has to duck in order to avoid the water bottle that Tifa launches her way. “Tifa, come on! Did our chaste kiss under the sun mean nothing to you?”

“It wasn’t a kiss!” Tifa shoots back. In this moment, the lack of customers in the market comes as a cardinal blessing. “I moved my head and you were right there. It was an accident.”

“I reserve the right to inform you that you were, in fact, blushing—”

“That would be a sin.”

“The call is coming from inside the house,” Aerith says innocently as she twirls her hair around her finger.

Cloud feels a light nudge against his arm. He turns to look at Zack, who’s offering out a piece of spearmint gum. It’s with a huge smile that he happily accepts it, and as he unwraps the thin packaging, Zack gently takes him by the shoulders and starts steering him towards the door.

Zack shoots a quick, good-natured salute towards the girls. Aerith returns it. Tifa glares at him.

“Bye, Tifa,” Cloud calls over his shoulder. “I’ll come visit.”

“I still think you’re insane,” Tifa shouts back.

“Drive safe! I’ll be right behind you,” Aerith promises, and when Cloud glances gleefully over his shoulder, he just manages to catch the dark look that Tifa sends hurtling to the back of her head.

And with that, they step out into the late humid morning. Zack’s hands are a reliable, comforting weight on Cloud’s shoulders, and if Cloud listens closely, he can hear the cheery jangle of Zack’s tags swinging low on his neck.

“I’ll hand this off to you, now,” Zack says as he passes Cloud’s rucksack over. “I’d much prefer to feel you draped over my back.”

Cloud grins at him as he pulls his arms through the thick straps. “That’s fair.”

They mount the Nomad. Cloud tilts his head back and listens to the low, dull hum of the cicadas. With an unexpected pang, he realizes that this is a sound he probably isn’t gonna hear again once he’s settled in Midgar.

“Zack,” Cloud says, his heart in his mouth. “We can come back and visit, right?”

“Whenever you want,” Zack promises. He swipes something from off his seat and passes it over. “Here. Put this on.”

“No way,” Cloud exclaims as he lifts the helmet up to the sun. “You got me a helmet?”

“It’s a long ride,” Zack says with a smirk. He watches Cloud pull it over his head, and then immediately struggle with the straps. With a fond sigh, he reaches over to latch the buckle underneath his chin. Once Cloud’s all set, Zack gently raps his fist against the top of the helmet. “You ready?”

Cloud takes a deep breath. He nods eagerly. “Let’s go.”

“Lit.” Zack grins and turns the engine over. Cloud instinctively wraps his arms around Zack’s waist, and it feels like a new beginning. “You ever have Starbucks before? I know one we can stop at on the way.”

“Sounds fancy,” Cloud says.

Zack laughs. He shakes his head. “It’s really not.”