It was a nice day at Radiant Garden. Sunny, warm, and barely a cloud in the sky.

A perfect day to go to the beach.

In the streets, a young man was roaming around, looking about curiously. Cloud Strife was his name. He was looking for something, and he looked a might confused. Scratching at his head of blonde short spikes, he paused on a corner, turning this way and that, peering around for something specific.

His bright blue eyes screeched to a halt, staring through the glass window of a pretty little café over the street. He could see someone slouching in one of the little cubicle-things, their shoulder-lingth brown hair tangling together with the fur ruff of their jacket.

Cloud snapped his fingers together triumphantly. Only one person was stupid enough to wear a leather jacket with a fur ruff in this weather!

Hurrying over the road and dodging a parking meter, Cloud slid into the cafe and immediately put on a smug appearance, slipping his hands into his pockets, his eyes twinkling.

Squall Leonhart sat moodily at his table, staring blankly into his half-empty cup of coffee, his eyebrows furrowed at his distorted reflection, soft sighs puffing from his lips as he ran his fingers up and down the side of his mug.

Striding purposefully over to Squall, Cloud just watched the back of the other young man's head, the only thing he could see, before he easily passed him, did a dignified little turn, and slid into the seat opposite the brunette. "Leonhart," he greeted.

At the sound of his name, Squall whacked his knee against the bottom of the table out of shock, let out a loud and obscene curse from the pain, yanked his hand under the table to clutch the wounded appendage, knocking over his coffee in the process, and proceeded to let loose one of the most vulgar string of curses imaginable.

A pretty little waitress standing over by table two let out a horrified squeak at the words being said in increasing volume, nearly dropped her pad and pencil, and clutched at her frilly little apron as if it was her last life-line.

A goth who was sitting in one of the few dark corners, plotting his bloody and inevitable demise into the darkness, practising his monologue to the Devil, pledging his allegiance, and listening to some Metallica at the same time; lifted up one of the speakers on his earphones, listened to the string of curses, nodded, placed the speaker back against his ear and just mumbled "Word." and went back to his business.

Numerous other people in the café let out horrified looks and swivelled their heads around to stare at Squall.

Two of these people were a wife and husband sitting with their four-year-old at table fourteen, and they quickly ushered little Toby out of the café.

Toby, however, was interested at the new words that had inadvertently nestled themselves into his childish little vocabulary, and he decided that if these new words got such a spectacular reaction, he should repeat them.

He repeated them at dinner that night, and his grandmother nearly had a stroke.

Smirking smugly, Cloud slung an arm behind his chair and let out a delighted snigger. "Oh, you're happy to see me, darling," he chimed.

The string of curses instantaneously stopped, Squall still hunched over the table, his nose barely an inch away from the shiny wood, both hands clutching at his knee. His coffee languidly slithered across the table toward the edge like it had all the time in the world, bidding for freedom, while the colour drained from Squall's face.

Slowly lifting his face up, his grey-blue eyes widened and his skin a chalky-white; Squall stared at Cloud. "... S-Strife..." he croaked.

"Yes, dear?" Cloud replied pleasantly, a charming smile on his handsome face.

"... What a-are you doing here?" Squall wheezed, looking just short of horrified, his hands still clutching his bruised knee. The coffee made it to the edge of the table, let out a figurative whoop of freedom, and promptly started dripping off the edge and onto the nice cream-coloured carpet.

"Oh, finding an AWOL stripper." Cloud replied with a noncommittal wave of a hand and a dashing smile. "You know how it is."

Saying nothing, Squall's eyes lowered to the coffee, which was practically dancing about at the thought of never being digested, and was making quite a messy puddle on the floor.

"Of course," Cloud continued, "searching for AWOL strippers was merely a sidequest for me today. I was actually looking for you, but you appear to be hiding, Leonhart."

"I-I'm not hiding." Squall stuttered quickly. Cloud's eyebrows rose at this. "What? Can't a man enjoy a cup of coffee?!" the brunette snapped.

"Of course, but its dubious when said coffee is now all over the floor," the blonde sniggered, looking quite proud of himself. Squall glanced at the table, to find no remnants of coffee on it, or in his upturned coffee-mug, but, instead, a large puddle of brown liquid was slowly soaking through the carpet beside the table.

"What the hell do you want, Strife?!" Squall snapped. He'd been having a mildly pleasant day until Cloud had arrived. His 'pleasant' seemed to have taken a nose-dive the moment Cloud appeared, and is heading toward 'certain doom'.

The pretty blonde removed his arm from being slung behind the chair, dug in his pocket and removed his shiny black phone, wiggling it about in the air, where the mobile seemed to glint and taunt Squall.

'Certain doom' turned tail and ran, 'pleasant' smashed and blew up on an island animal reserve, and 'kill me now' settled itself in 'pleasant's place, with a box of kleenex close by.

Once again white as a sheet, Squall clutched his knee as though it was the only thing keeping him from bursting into tears there and then. "What..." he swallowed thickly. "What about it?"

Cloud somehow flipped his phone open in a manner that Squall deemed threatening, and musical little beeps floated through the air as the blonde navigated himself through the menus and through his lists of messages.

"La-da-da-daa..." sang Cloud as he scrolled through the messages with quiet musical beeps. "Crap. Crap. Bull." he listed. "Crap. Spam. Cra-- Oh!" a wide smile spread across his face. "Yuffie bought me another set of anal beads. Sweet girl."

Squall flinched violently at the homosexual-joke-that-he-really-didn't-know-if-it-was-a-joke-or-not, and wished that whatever mystical deity that was watching would stop laughing, and help him escape.

Hermes made himself a little more comfortable in the clouds and reached for the popcorn, which was being held by Venus. "Thanks, babe."

He got a swift kiss on the cheek, and the two of them went back to watching that poor brown-haired mortal-kid, who was practically being gutted emotionally. Gladiator was on this evening, but nothing else was on the TV except news. Teenaged drama would have to do.

Letting out a triumphant "Hah!" and a sharp beep from his phone, Cloud read the message he had before him aloud; Squall trying desperately to ignore the words being said, and trying to commune with the earth to get it to open up, swallow him, and kill him instantly.

"Now," Cloud sighed after he'd finished reading the message, his chin in his hand, tapping his phone into his temple, looking interested and just that little bit smug. "What I can't understand, is why the words 'horny', 'make out' and 'hot mansex' have managed to weave their way into what would be a seemingly innocent text," he said.

"Oh," he breathed, glancing back at the screen. "And don't forget 'homoerotic'."

Squall slouched further into his chair with each word, looking utterly depressed and suicidal.

The goth in the corner rose his hand to Squall in recognition, and went back to mentally spell-checking his monologue.

"So," sighed Cloud, his chin in his hand, watching Leon curiously, "care to explain why you apparently have a very, very gay alter-ego, or your phone has a mind of it's own, Leonhart?" he questioned nicely.

"Uh...well." Squall glanced away, rubbing his knee, which wasn't hurting that much at the moment, just a nervous movement than anything else, desperately wishing for an escape-plan. "It's simple really, Strife. If you use your head," he said after a moment.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Cloud smiled, his voice light. "Despite how many people have urged me to use my 'head', I don't."

The brunette promptly fell into a fit of chokes and splutters, wide-eyed at the blonde's statement. "w-w-What the hell is wrong with you?!" he hissed through his teeth after he had overcome the fact that breathing and swallowing are not recommended to happen at the same time, appalled with the blonde man.

"Well, what is wrong with you?" Cloud returned haughtily, pouting just that little bit. "You send me such a suggestive message, and then shoot me down on the runway!" The pout got worse. "I'm sure you'd look absolutely fabulous in chaps, but it hurts a little. Right here." The blonde's pout morphed into a smirk, tapping his phone over his heart.

The 'chaps' remark threw Squall's brain off-track, derailing it, and causing it to smash into a few poor cattle and a very old tree. While Squall's brain was being hefted back onto the track, the cattle were placed back into their place, and the tree was chopped up for firewood, Cloud ushered the pretty little waitress over with a sultry wave of a hand.

"A coffee please. Two sugars and cream," Cloud murmured to her, the pretty waitress nodding, her curls bobbing about her ears, which were steadily turning a dark pink. "Oh, and do you have any carrot cake?" The blonde continued.

Finally, Squall's brain was chugging back along it's tracks, Cloud had ordered his cake and coffee, and the pretty little waitress quickly hurrying to the counter with a blush that could light up at least four worlds.

"It wasn't intended as a suggestive text!" Squall finally choked, looking horrified, his brain back to work, the cows going back to their grazing. "Whywould I even want to send you one?!"

Cloud opened his mouth at this, but Squall's line of thought was quickly occupied once more. "It must have been the predictive text..." he mumbled.

Digging in his pocket for his phone, the brunette finally yanked the little steel-silver device out of the confines of his tight leather pants, and placed it on the table so that the blonde before him could see what he was doing. Opening a message, Leon started clicking the buttons.

"You see, and as I type... It must have done... nothing? What? But surely..." The brunette mumbled angrily to himself, mildly distraught, jabbing at the buttons violently, completely oblivious to the smug smirk melting onto Cloud's pretty face once again.

"So you're trying to prove to me that you have a homoerotic phone?" Cloud asked lightly, the waitress moving over and placing his coffee and cake in front of him, the pretty little girl getting a wink in return, causing her to flush scarlet and hurry back over to her table.

"Maybe it was Yuffie messing about..." Squall continued mumbling. What Cloud had said filtered into the back of his mind and he snapped his head up. "Wait, what?!" he cried. "No! I dont have a homoerotic phone!" He took a moment to think about it. "Phones cant be homoerotic!"

"They vibrate," Cloud stated flatly. "Surely it's not that much of a jump."

A very sadistic tree promptly threw itself across Squall's tracks and his brain was derailed once more, smashing into some more cows, which let out indignant moos, wondering if that contract they signed up for was all it was cracked up to be, and some easily-startled sheep, who let out piercing cries for help and ran for cover, flailing their hooves above their heads and throwing their knitting into the air.

Squall stared blankly at Cloud.

"What was the purpose of your visit today?" the brunette asked, sounding resigned. "Apart from disrupting my life?"

The blonde smiled sunnily. "I like to screw with people's minds, you know that, Leonhart." he chirped. "It sort of skips out the middle-man. I don't have to fuck their bodies."

"But surely you would have worked out that I obviously didn't mean it in that way," Squall groaned, wishing for the removal of Cloud Strife from the Universe.

"But what if I did, Leonhart?" the blonde smiled, raising his eyebrows innocently.

The brunette's brain exploded just as it's wheels were settled back onto the tracks, and the cows just grumbled; now being rained upon by little chunks of ego, intelligence, and jack-assery.

"Shut up, Strife," Squall groaned. "Just shut up."

Smirking so wide that it was, no doubt, illegal in at least seventeen worlds, Cloud opened his mouth to start talking again, a gay joke or something of the like on the tip of his tongue.

Shooting a hand out, Squall grabbed Cloud by the front of the shirt, yanked him close and crushed their lips together.

After a few seconds, the brunette shoved the blonde violently away from him and quickly jumped out of his seat like it had burnt him. Turning on his heel, Squall ran a hand through his hair and hurried quickly out of the café; away from the staring costumers, who seemed to have taken a liking in whatever he had been doing ever since his very loud cursing before.

Cloud sat in his chair, his eyebrows lost under his hairline, his face blank, and his cake forgotten, his coffee upturned from Squall's violent shove, dripping off the tabletop to join it's long-lost cousin, Rafael.

The goth felt his phone vibrating, and he picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hello Matthew. This is God."

The goth died then and there.

((END. This crack was brought to you by YonderB and Knit . pump, who twisted their warped little minds into new U-turns, figure-eights and loop-de-loops to bring it to you. Knit thought up nearly all of it, I thought up most of the gay things that Cloud says, and I wrote it up, which is what you just read. Enjoy. If your mind exploded from reading this, It's not our fault. No cows were harmed.))