"Would you like me to obtain your breeches?"

Squall arched his brow. "You mean my pants?"

"Yes, of course: your breeches."

There was a sigh.



"How is that so?"

Nabbing the entire lot of played cards, Squall shuffled them into his deck and dealt another round.

"You were the one who wanted to try the 'All' rule."


Squall frowned. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I know naught of what you are referring to."

Sighing, the former rubbed the bridge of his nose before he sat up, raking his hand through his hair as the other stood in inquisitive patience. "The armor has to go."

"For a quick rest before resuming our defensive line? I think not."

"Look: I'm not going to be sleeping next to forty pieces of metal jabbing at my back. You either take it off, or go share the bunk with Bartz."

"I am appalled—I thought that you indeed enjoyed my presence, especially during the act of fornicat—"

"That is besides the point," the gunblader interrupted, scrubbing his face in incredulity at the candid statement. "Take it, or leave it."

" … I relent."

Squall shrugged and laid back down on his pillow once more, closing his eyes to the sound of equipment being removed and the annoying buzz of Bartz's snoring, his brow, as usual, furrowed in everlasting thought. He raised the blanket higher over his shoulders and automatically scooted over for the older man to get in when he was done—assuming his mundane position of laying on his side, he allowed the latter to slide in behind him and settle a comforting hand on his shoulder, ready to drift off into slumber.

Or so, he thought.

"That also means your helmet."

There was a noise of disbelief. "Surely, you jest?"

"Does it look like it?"

"I … heavens." The Warrior of Light reluctantly took off his helmet and placed it on the shelf above them. "I feel quite … vulnerable."

A muffled huff silenced his declaration.

"Are you going to sleep, or not?"