I

On his eighteenth birthday, Seifer played hooky from school to go fishing at Balamb marina with Raijin and Fujin in tow. For a winter’s day, it was sunny and mild. Sweater weather on the coast, mist drifting over the water. Between the three of them, they managed to catch nearly a dozen fish, though they only kept two, placing them in a small blue cooler they’d brought along with them. They tossed the rest alive back into the sea.

Afterward, they browsed the movie rental store for something to watch that night, something dumb and actiony to go with a bucket of popcorn. While Raijin and Fujin stood bickering in the aisle over the martial arts epic he wanted and the sci-fi thriller she wanted, Seifer’s eye caught on a different flick, tucked away on a lower shelf.

The Sorceress’ Knight.

The cover art was familiar. Yeah, he’d seen it before.

Where?

No idea. All he knew was that he had, and that it was important.

The cover showed a woman in a flowing white dress, arms raised in a display of power, with a knight on one knee in front of her. She was beautiful, but the knight was the one Seifer couldn’t look away from. There was something about the shape of his profile, the shine in his long hair, his pose of devotion and complete obedience…

“Yo, Seif!” Raijin’s voice cut into his trance. He was holding up a movie case; the art on the cover was schlocky. B-movie quality at best. “Check out this crap Fujin wants to rent. Budget musta been three dollars, ya know?”

Fujin smacked Raijin with the cooler, eliciting a wounded “owww!” from him. Seifer scowled.

“It’s my birthday,” he said. “I’m picking.”

In the end, they left the rental place with a buddy cop movie that came out last year, and The Sorceress’ Knight tucked in the inside pocket of Seifer’s coat.

When Raijin and Fujin finally left, yawning and full of popcorn, Seifer pulled out The Sorceress’ Knight and popped the cassette tape into his VCR. It was close to midnight, but so what? Tomorrow was the weekend and he didn’t have anywhere to be.

Lines of static rolled down the black screen, and then the movie opened onto a scene of a town in smoking ruins. The knight from the cover—Zefer—was wandering through the wreckage, dazed, his face smeared with soot and his hair dishevelled. Seifer paused the movie on a close-up. Normally, he wasn’t all that into guys, but this one? Seifer could admit he was hot as hell. The dark smudges underscored his high cheekbones, the bright emerald of his eyes, the pretty shape of his mouth. And there was something really familiar about him, something that pulled at Seifer’s memory…

He unpaused and kept watching.

As the plot unfolded, it started to come back to him. He’d seen this when he was a kid, at a Garden movie night in the quad. Hadn’t just seen it, but harassed the school events coordinator to show it every Friday (not that he’d gotten his way all that often). He’d obsessed over it so much that it practically became his personality.

Even his battle stance was identical to Zefer’s, a fact that dawned on him when he got to a scene involving a fight with a ruby dragon. He must’ve started using it in his training when he was a kid, burning it into his muscle memory so it remained long after he’d forgotten the details of the plot, or even that he’d ever seen the movie.

But why did he forget?

How, if it was so important to him?

When the credits rolled, Seifer popped the tape out of the VCR and stashed it in his bedside drawer.

The return date came and went. He didn’t bring it back to the rental store.

II

The next time he saw Zefer, it was on a televised address to Esthar. At first, Seifer couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The man who’d played Zefer, the knight he’d modelled his entire existence after, was the fucking president of Esthar? It was crazy, but it was true. The name displayed on the lower third was the same as the one credited on the back cover of The Sorceress’ Knight.

Laguna Loire.

After he’d gotten over the shock, Seifer watched him quietly. He was older now—nearly twenty years older, if the release date for The Sorceress’ Knight was anything to judge by—but he was still hot. Dressed like a total dweeb, sure, but a hot dweeb. His facial features were sharper now, with subtle lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, a mouth Seifer couldn’t stop staring at.

Once upon a time, Laguna had shown him the path to knighthood. Seifer had wanted everything that came with it: a sorceress to protect, his name written in history.

But reality wasn’t the splendorous adventure he’d imagined. There was nothing noble about the things he was doing for his sorceress. Lately, he was feeling more and more like a useful idiot, a convenient stooge, doing all her bloody bidding without so much as a word of appreciation. Bending the knee wasn’t so rewarding when the person you were doing it for treated you like shit.

Watching Laguna now, Seifer wondered if maybe the sorceress wasn’t the one he’d wanted to serve after all.

When everything was said and done, Seifer found a job down at the Balamb docks as a longshoreman. It was hard, dirty, thankless work, but it let him keep a low profile. No one seemed to be coming after him—most of the wrongs he’d committed were attributed to the sorceress in the Galbadian press—but still. Better to stay under the radar, just in case.

Just in case Balamb Garden decided it had a bone to pick with him.

One evening, five months after he’d started the job, he was walking back to his dingy shoebox apartment above the dry cleaning shop when he saw him.

Laguna Loire. Here, in the flesh.

He’d gotten out of a car in front of Balamb Hotel. He was wearing khakis and a green fern-print summer shirt with multicoloured grats all over it, and a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head, holding his long hair back. Dumbstruck and frozen, Seifer watched him hand the car keys to the valet and stride into the hotel with a suitcase in tow.

When he got home, he called Raijin, who’d been working the hotel front desk since they came back to town.

“Is Laguna Loire staying at the hotel?” he asked.

“Umm … yeah. Management wants us to keep it hush-hush, but he’s been here a couple of weekends over the past few months, ya know?”

“No,” Seifer hissed, “I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal?” Raijin sounded legitimately confused, and Seifer realized he’d never told him or Fujin about his little crush. Probably for the best… “But yeah, he’s Squall’s dad, ya know? Guess the prez has been trying to get to know him.”

Seifer sat down heavily on his couch.

Laguna Loire—the object of his fantasies, both pure and otherwise—was Squall Leonhart’s dad? Why had the universe given Squall all the blessings and Seifer none? The love of a sorceress, the title of knight, a parent who wanted to be involved in his life… A parent who was Laguna fucking Loire, movie star and president of Esthar.

Not that Seifer wished Laguna was his dad or anything.

Meanwhile, Seifer was hauling freight down at the docks day in and day out, disgraced and forgotten, with no one to love him but Raijin and Fujin. Which he appreciated, but it wasn’t the same.

“You okay, man?” Raijin asked.

“Rai,” Seifer said, pushing the revelation about Squall aside for a moment to focus on the big picture. His mind was now flipping frantically through possibilities. “I need you to get me a job.”

“At the hotel?” Raijin said incredulously.

“Yes. Where the fuck else?”

“I dunno, man … you sure you’re up for it?” Raijin said. “You have to be polite and personable, ya know?”

“Shut up. I can be polite.”

Raijin howled with laughter.

“Just do it, Rai,” Seifer snapped. “Don’t make me sic Fujin on you.”

Raijin’s laughter subsided into a good-natured chuckle. “All right, all right, I’ll help. Give me your résumé and I’ll see what I can do.”

After a shower and dinner, and ample time to wrap his head around the fact that Laguna Loire was in his town and had been standing a mere fifteen feet away from him, Seifer put The Sorceress’ Knight into his VCR and sat down to watch it.

After he’d left Garden, someone had cleaned out his room and put his stuff in boxes. Fujin had kept them for him, handed them over when he returned to Balamb, and the movie had been in there. He’d thrown out almost everything else, memories of a life he didn’t want to return to, but he’d kept this, his treasure pilfered from the Balamb rental store. His late fee was probably a thousand gil at this point, but whatever.

Now that the GFs weren’t fucking with his memory anymore, Seifer could almost recite the movie word for word by heart. Every scene had been seared into his memory since childhood, so real it was hard to believe he’d ever forgotten it all. He knew every micro-expression Laguna would make before he made them, knew the scene where he walked through he wreckage of the village was followed by a fight with an enemy soldier, which was followed by a villager tending to his wounds in a cave.

It was the one scene in the movie that showed even a whiff of nudity. Laguna sat on a ratty pillow on the cave floor, shirtless, bleeding from a deep gouge in his arm. The lighting in the scene was dim, but it was more than enough for Seifer to see what he wanted to see. Laguna wasn’t ripped or anything, but there was some muscle tone, and his skin was soft-looking and golden in the light of the fire. Seifer could imagine touching it, drawing his hand down Laguna’s sternum and firm belly, trailing it over the spread of dark hair encircling his navel.

In tune with his fantasy, Seifer’s fingers crawled down to the band of his sweatpants. His hand slipped inside. He jerked himself to the image of Laguna on his screen, pictured himself rutting on Laguna’s thigh, pressing his face to that glossy hair, breathing in the scent of his sweat and shampoo.

After he came, Seifer thought he'd feel kinda weird about it. But he didn’t. The thing was, he’d finally realized something.

Seifer didn’t want to be the knight.

He wanted to fuck the knight.

The hotel agreed to hire Seifer as a bellhop.

Raijin was surprised, but not as surprised as Seifer, who’d thought, deep down, that the whole thing was a pipe dream. They gave him a dumb little jacket and a dumb little hat to wear, royal blue with bronze buttons, but Seifer shut his mouth and put them on, because they were his ticket to coming face to face with Laguna.

Not “maybe.” There was no “maybe” about it. He would make it happen if it was the last thing he did.

It took two months for the stars to align. Seifer was working the morning shift, busy wrestling some old lady’s dog carriers—chihuahuas, yapping their heads off—into the back seat of a taxi when a rental car rolled up to the front door. Seifer glanced at it, then did a double-take when Laguna got out of the driver’s side. Today he was wearing boot-cut jeans and a black button-down shirt. It was a far cry from the dorky tropical prints and khakis Seifer had seen him in lately.

The old lady was saying something to Seifer, but he was too star-struck to listen. With a huff, she shoved a bank note into his hand and got in the cab, which immediately drove off.

Laguna had the trunk of his car open and he was trying to pull out an oversized suitcase, but he was obviously struggling. Seifer immediately saw why. It had been shoved in at an awkward angle and now the corner was caught on the lip of the trunk.

“Let me,” Seifer said, stepping in and grabbing the suitcase’s handle. In his two months on the job, he’d gotten good at squeezing luggage into and out of tight spots. With a twist of his wrist and a hard tug, the suitcase came free and he set it gently on the ground.

“Ahhh,” Laguna said with a wry grin, rubbing the back of his head. “My hero.”

Seifer’s stomach jolted at the words—then positively somersaulted when their eyes met and Laguna smiled at him. Up close and in person, he was even hotter than he was on the screen. The sun hit his eyes just right, turning them a bright forest green.

“I probably should’ve been able to do that myself,” Laguna went on.

Seifer waved a hand dismissively. “Nah. It was jammed in there pretty tight.”

“Well, here.” Laguna opened his wallet and offered him a twenty-gil note. “Thanks for your help.”

Seifer looked at the cash, then at Laguna. “Keep it. I didn’t do it for the tip.”

Laguna’s eyes widened. Seifer touched his hat and turned to go, seeking another guest who needed his assisance. But his thoughts were whirling, stuck on Laguna, and it took everything in him not to look back.

As he walked away, he imagined—fantasized—he could feel Laguna’s eyes following his every move.

It turned out Laguna had taken notice of him.

When he came down to the lobby the next morning, he ambled over to the corner of the front desk where Seifer was pulling a guest’s luggage out of the storage room and loading it onto the bellhop cart.

“Hey, there, Mr. Hero,” he said in greeting.

Seifer slid a suitcase onto the cart without looking at him. Not that he didn’t want to; he just wasn’t sure he could meet Laguna’s gaze without melting into some kind of pathetic fanboy puddle. “You still on about that?”

“I don’t know what else to call you,” Laguna said.

Seifer stood up straight and turned to him. Laguna’s eyes fell to the name tag pinned to the front of his dumb little bellhop jacket, and he smiled.

“Seifer,” he said.

“That’s me. You need something, President Loire?” Seifer asked.

Laguna chuckled uncomfortably and scratched his cheek. “So you know who I am.”

“Hard not to. You’re kinda famous.”

“Well, not everyone recognizes me. And I’d rather keep it that way.” He looked pointedly at Seifer, who only nodded in understanding. He could keep a secret. “Anyway, I need to hit the road and the valet looks busy. Can I ask you to get my car?”

Seifer looked out the front windows. He could see Ando, the valet, standing unoccupied under the portico. Only one car stood idling in the drive, but it was waiting for Seifer to bring out the luggage.

“Yeah, sure,” Seifer said, biting back a self-indulgent grin. He gestured at the bellhop cart. “Just lemme deal with this first.”

Working briskly, Seifer wheeled the luggage out to the waiting car and loaded it up in the trunk. Then he grabbed the key to Laguna’s ride and walked—jogged, actually—to the lot around the corner. Ando would probably chew him out for stepping on his toes and “stealing” his tip, but Seifer was floating too high on the fact that Laguna had requested his help specifically to give a shit.

When he pulled up at the hotel doors, Laguna was waiting outside.

“All yours,” Seifer said as he got out.

He placed the key in Laguna’s outstretched hand. Their fingers brushed together, and Seifer felt a spark zip through his whole body. He raised his eyes to Laguna’s and found the older man watching him, but if he’d felt it too, he didn’t react. He just smiled and got into the driver’s seat.

“Thanks, Mr. Hero,” he said before he closed the door and peeled out.

After that, they were on a first-name basis. Whenever Laguna came to the hotel, he seemed to seek Seifer out. Their conversations were never in-depth—mostly small talk—but it was more than Laguna talked to anyone else on staff, and that seemed significant to Seifer. And as one month went by, and then another, and another, Seifer learned Laguna’s quirks and preferences so he could give him what he wanted before he even knew he wanted it.

Like filling Laguna’s ice bucket when he brought his luggage up to his room.

Or bringing his car to the front of the hotel so it was ready to go when he came down in the mornings. (It was always 8:30 a.m., without fail.)

Or delivering the weekend edition of the newspaper to his door before he could call the desk for it.

Laguna still tried to tip him all the time. Seifer always refused. He didn’t want their relationship, as superficial as it was, to be transactional. He wanted Laguna to understand intrinsically that Seifer did it out of devotion to him.

Because Seifer revered him and always had.

On Seifer’s fifth month of employment, Laguna returned from Balamb Garden looking glum. Seifer parked his car at the lot down the street and came back to find him sitting at the hotel bar nursing a near-empty lowball glass of whiskey with his head resting in his hand.

Seifer had work to do, but he couldn’t resist. He walked up to Laguna at the bar.

“You okay?” he asked under his breath.

Laguna glanced up at him with watery, unfocused eyes. Shit, was he already half in the bag after one measly drink?

Or had he been … crying?

“I’ve been better,” he answered.

Seifer watched him, waiting for an elaboration.

“It’s my son.” Laguna sighed and rubbed the side of his nose. “I was … well, I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I was an absent father. I don’t blame him for hating me.”

“I doubt he hates you.”

Another sigh. “Okay, maybe hate is a strong word, but every moment I spend with him is … difficult. I thought he’d warm up after a while, but he’s just as frosty as ever.” Laguna shook his head, dejected. “I guess he takes my explanations as excuses.”

Seifer snorted. That sounded exactly like the Squall he knew. Ice queen to the end.

“Your son’s an idiot,” he said. “I grew up without my parents too. If one of them randomly showed up in my life today, I sure as hell wouldn’t push them away. I’d wanna know them. Feel like I belonged somewhere. Your son’s damn lucky you care.”

Laguna gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m surprised you don’t think less of me too.”

Everyone made mistakes. Seifer knew that better than most. The way he saw it, at least Laguna was trying to make up for his.

“I never would,” Seifer said fervently.

Laguna just smiled sadly and shook his head again.

For the first time, Seifer saw him not as the knight from his movie, not the face from his fantasies, but as a real man who’d messed up, whose life was complicated and imperfect, who was, at this very moment, the furthest thing from the brave, chivalric character he’d portrayed on the screen.

Someone who was kind of like Seifer himself.

It made Seifer want to shield him. Raise him up. For a while, he’d thought Ultimecia had snuffed out every last spark of gallantry he had in him, but Laguna had breathed the embers back to life and given him a new purpose.

This time, Seifer knew his heart was leading him in the right direction.

Ultimecia hadn’t deserved his devotion. But Laguna did.

The next month, Laguna arrived late on a Friday, close to 8 p.m. Seifer had worked the afternoon shift and was just about to clock out when he came through the front door, pulling his giant suitcase behind him. Their eyes met across the lobby, and Laguna smiled, warm and happy. It did something to Seifer’s heart and belly (and, yeah, his dick), and he smiled back, even though he was exhausted from being on his feet all day and just wanted to go home to his couch and a shitty TV dinner.

“Mr. Hero,” Laguna said in greeting.

Seifer took off his dumb little hat and started unbuttoning his jacket. “It’s Seifer.”

Laguna laughed. “I know.” Then he paused, studying Seifer. “Does it bother you when I call you that?”

“No.” And Seifer wasn’t lying. He liked that Laguna saw him as a hero. He just wanted to make sure Laguna knew him by his real name, not a nickname, even if it raised the risk of Squall finding out he worked here. “Did Ando take care of your car?”

“Yes. He said he’d bring my suitcase up too.”

“It’s all right, I got it. Just give me a sec to finish clocking out.”

Laguna frowned. “Your shift is over? Then I couldn’t possibly ask—”

“It’s all right,” Seifer said firmly. “I want to.” Laguna still looked dubious, so Seifer gestured at the front desk, where Raijin was glancing between them with raised eyebrows. “Seriously. Raijin’ll get you checked in. I’ll be right back.”

It took Seifer all of thirty seconds to duck behind the front desk, punch out in the office, and trade his uniform for his wallet and keys in his locker. Laguna was still busy with Raijin when he came back out, but it seemed like he was nearly finished. Seifer grabbed the handle of his suitcase and waited, shrugging when Raijin shot him a questioning look. At some point, he’d have to tell his friends about his crush on Laguna, but today was not that day.

When he was done, Laguna turned to Seifer, tucking his wallet into his back pocket. “Shall we?”

They rode the elevator up together. Laguna’s suite was at the end of the hall. It was the nicest room in the hotel, and he always stayed there. Seifer knew from experience that it was painted in soft seaside blue, and that the art nouveau balcony doors, with its seaweed and starfish motifs, led onto a terrace overlooking the harbour. Tonight, the doors were open, letting balmy summer air into the room.

As Seifer pulled the suitcase inside, Laguna turned to look at him.

“Thanks,” he said, scratching his head. This was usually where guests offered him a tip, but by now, Laguna knew better than to do that with Seifer. “Someday I’ll find a way to repay you.”

Seifer nodded, looking around. He was in Laguna’s room, alone with him, the romantic sounds of the waves on the beach pouring in through the open doors, the sunset painting the room in gold. And he was off the clock. Realistically, he knew he was supposed to represent the hotel even when he wasn’t working, but there was less pressure to keep up the professional facade.

This was his chance.

“Listen…” he said, licking his lips. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you.”

Laguna cocked his head, his eyebrows lifting a smidge, clearly curious. Didn’t seem he was too eager to get Seifer out of his room either.

For a second, Seifer’s nerves shivered. What he was about to say was pretty ballsy, and to the president of an entire country, no less. But he’d always been good at ignoring the voice of caution in his brain. He’d always gone for the things he wanted, and that would probably never change, no matter how many times it landed him in hot water.

“I really like you,” Seifer said.

Laguna smiled. “I like you too.”

Seifer looked straight into his eyes. “No, I mean … I like you.”

“Oh.” Laguna’s smile faltered. His face cycled through about fourteen different expressions—surprise, pleasure, pride, guilt—before it settled on a wince. “That’s, um … well. The thing is…” He grimaced and scratched his head again. “You look around the same age as my son. It wouldn’t be right.”

“I ain’t your son,” Seifer growled. He stepped forward, right into Laguna’s personal space, and it felt like a victory when Laguna didn’t back away. “I’m nothing like him.”

Before Laguna could come up with another excuse, Seifer grabbed him by the back of the neck and kissed him. Laguna made a shocked sound against his mouth, but he didn’t protest, didn’t push Seifer away, and guess what? His lips parted when Seifer traced them with his tongue. His hands came up to grasp Seifer by the biceps, not to shove him, but to pull him closer.

Slowly, Seifer backed him up until his calves bumped against the bed frame. Laguna sat down almost automatically, and Seifer sank to his knees in front of him. It struck him that he was in the same pose as Laguna on the cover of The Sorceress’ Knight, grovelling at the feet of his sorceress. Well, there were no sorceresses here, but Seifer was gonna serve Laguna the way he’d once thought he wanted to serve Ultimecia.

Seifer put a palm on Laguna’s thigh, thumb along the inseam of his jeans, and squeezed gently. “Can I?”

Laguna stared at him, wide-eyed, but he nodded. Seifer went for the button of his pants, deftly popping it and pulling down the fly. The boxers underneath were tropical-print. Seifer would have laughed at how predictable that was, except he was too preoccupied by Laguna’s dick. It was hard, bulging against the fabric of his underwear.

Because of Seifer.

Eager, he pulled the band of Laguna’s underwear down to free it, licking his lips as it strained toward him.

When Seifer covered the head with his mouth, tasting the salt of him, Laguna made a sound that was almost a yelp. A hand flitted over Seifer’s hair before moving down to grasp his shoulder. It held him there, neither encouraging nor rebuffing him.

Seifer didn’t have a damn clue what he was doing, but it couldn’t be that hard to figure out, could it? It wasn’t like he’d never had his own dick sucked before. In his experience, even bad head was good head. A hot, wet hole was a hot, wet hole and all that.

So, gamely, he bobbed up and down, his tongue awkward and sloppy along Laguna’s shaft. There was probably more slobber than Laguna would like, and Seifer was sure his mouth was too full of teeth for this to feel good, but Laguna was moaning. His thighs quivered against Seifer’s shoulders, as if the pleasure coursing through him was too intense to sit still. It had Seifer hard as steel, hell-bent on getting him off.

But then Laguna’s moans suddenly turned sharp and alarmed, and his right leg spasmed.

“Wait. Wait,” Laguna said, shoving Seifer’s head away. He stood up and started to limp around the room, holding his thigh.

Seifer looked up at him, confused, his mouth swollen and wet with saliva. Laguna’s face was twisted in a grimace of pain.

“You okay?” Seifer asked.

“I’m fine,” Laguna said. His pacing slowed, and he looked at Seifer before glancing away again, his cheeks ruddy. He sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “We shouldn’t do this. I can’t … I can’t take advantage of the staff like that.”

Was that the only way Laguna saw him? As the staff?

Seifer pushed himself to his feet and faced him, breathing hard. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t deal with another crushed dream, another rejection. Not when he’d adored Laguna for so long, not when Laguna was finally standing right in front of him.

“I’m off the clock. I’m not the staff right now,” he said. “I’m just me. Seifer. And I’ve liked you for so long. Way before I even met you.” He took a step toward Laguna, emboldened when Laguna looked at him with a mix of uncertainty and longing. “I want to do this,” he said, softer. “I want you.”

Laguna didn’t stop him when he came closer. Didn’t stop him when Seifer put a hand on his hip, or leaned in to kiss him again, chaste at first, then hotter and hungrier. Fact was, Laguna met him with just as much heat. He wanted it just as much as Seifer did.

And he sure as shit didn’t protest when Seifer walked him backwards to the bed and tipped them both over onto the mattress, tangling their legs together in the sheets.

When they were done, a crescent moon hung over the dark sea beyond the balcony doors. Seifer got out of bed and started to get dressed. Laguna stayed where he was, lounging on the pillow, watching Seifer, face drowsy with satisfaction. Seifer smiled at him; the feeling was mutual. It was the first time in a long time that Seifer felt like he’d found what he was looking for.

“Are you working tomorrow?” Laguna asked.

Seifer sat on the edge of the bed and started pulling on his socks. “The early shift, yeah.”

Laguna nodded, absently running his finger over a fold in the bedcover. Finally, he looked up and met Seifer’s eyes.

“What time are you off the clock? I’m supposed to be at Garden for most of the day, but I can come back in time to meet you.”

It took everything in Seifer not to crow in victory. Laguna was going to cut his visit with Squall short just so he could see Seifer? The idea was just about enough to get Seifer hard again. (Not to mention the memory of blowing his load on Laguna’s chest, or how pretty Laguna looked when Seifer made him come a second time.)

What would Squall say when he found out about whatever this was? Probably tell Laguna about all the shitty things Seifer had done. But that was a problem for tomorrow’s Seifer. Today's Seifer was too busy enjoying Laguna's attention to worry about it.

“I’m off at three,” Seifer said. “But don’t rush or anything. I can wait at the hotel bar.”

“Okay,” Laguna said softly.

Seifer studied him for a second, and then he leaned in and kissed Laguna. He was tempted to deepen it into a full-blown makeout, but really, they were still just acquaintances, and he had things to do to get ready for tomorrow’s shift. Shower, make his lunch, get an early night’s sleep. Plus, leaving now would give him something to look forward to.

As they parted, Laguna smiled up at him. It softened his face, made him look younger and bright-eyed, and for a split second, Seifer thought he was once again looking at the idealistic knight he’d fallen for on the screen.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Laguna murmured.

Seifer grinned back. The illusion was fading, but Seifer didn’t mind. He liked the real Laguna, faults and all, even better than the fantasy he’d been chasing most of his life.

“See you tomorrow,” he answered.