Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me they belong to Squaresoft.

Quistis looks like a goddess with her hair unbound and her glasses and clothes discarded, her gleaming yellow hair spread out like a golden net across the pillow. A goddess or an angel or a sorceress, Selphie decides, squinting at Quistis thoughtfully in the soft lamplight of her dorm room. If Selphie tries to tell her that though, it will come out all wrong and besides, even if Selphie was able to talk in rhyming couplets, like in those poems which Quistis so wishes she could teach the students, even though this is a military school and fighting has nothing to do with poetry, Quistis would still just laugh until her shoulders shook and cover her face with her hands. She doesn’t believe that she is beautiful and always watches Shiva unfold from between her spell-casting fingers, like a delicate white, blue and crystal blossom, with envious awe.

Yes, Selphie has an almost-boyfriend, but anyone who thinks that Irvine is ever going to be completely faithful is out of their mind, so she didn’t really feel guilty for peeling Quistis like a grape and laying her out on Selphie’s bed. Instead of feeling guilty, Selphie tastes Quistis’s sweet, spicy, sticky girl juice, much tastier and more exotic than grape juice. Selphie kisses the inside of Quistis’ thighs and watches her writhe helplessly and drag her slender hands restlessly across her own breasts and against the sheets where they sometimes clutch, fingers tensing and relaxing. Selphie watches Quistis’ lips expel silent outcries and relishes making Quistis finally twitch and heave out desperately deep breaths while she shudders out her orgasm.

Sometimes Selphie thinks about sharing Quistis with Irvy, but Irvine, dear though he is to Selphie’s heart has as much tact as a T-Rexaur sometimes, and Quisty doesn’t seem to like that much. That’s probably the reason why Quistis sends such angry heated glares Irvine’s way. Anyway, it’s nice to have someone who Selphie knows she doesn’t have to share. It’s very nice not to worry about what other girls’ saliva moistened nipples Quistis has breathed hot breaths against, or what other girls have wriggled and squirmed beneath her clever tongue. Quistis’ tongue is very clever; it flicks and flutters like a butterfly against Selphie’s tender parts and she gasps and sighs and melts like ice cream for Quistis’ clever tongue.

Sometimes Selphie makes Quistis put her hair up and wear her glasses and her SeeD uniform and then they play the naughty instructor and the naughtier student, but usually they collapse together in giggles before it gets to Quistis sentencing her to detention. After all, it’s a bit of a joke, isn’t it? Hot Instructor Trepe who trains students in the use of the whip is comedy gold and they both know it, despite the prim and proper miss act that Quistis puts on most of the time.

Quistis and Selphie paint their fingernails together and sneak popcorn from the cafeteria and read girlie magazines and do the quizzes together while they dish about the hot men and sometimes the hot women at Garden. They gossip and play Triple Triad and do Squall imitations till they nearly pee themselves laughing. Quistis’ Squall imitation is better than Selphie’s, but Selphie thinks that Quistis has a crush on Squall and that makes Selphie exaggerate the sullen looks and the angry glares and the cutting Squall-like remarks.

Sometimes Quistis gets angry because Selphie never thinks enough and never takes anything seriously and then Selphie gets angry right back.

“Do you want me to change who I am, all for you?” She shouts, shaking her fists and stamping her feet like a little kid. Selphie does think enough and she is serious sometimes; she can’t help it if her thoughts get tangled up and confused before they manage to make it out of her head into words or actions. She wants Quistis to be the beautiful pliant angel, spread out across her crisp white sheets, not the stern school mistress, tapping Selphie’s knuckles with her wooden pointer.

When Squall sends Quistis, Rinoa and Selphie to infiltrate the missile base, Selphie sees it as a chance to impress Quistis with her maturity, but she can tell that Quistis thinks she’s overdoing it, getting caught up in the fun of being a spy. She tries her best to be sneaky and moderate, rather than just smashing and fighting her way through. But she doesn’t know enough about computers to know which buttons to press and there isn’t time. There isn’t time. Selphie is foiled in her attempts to be careful and mature by her concern for her old school. Surely Quistis will understand that, but maybe she won’t; maybe she’ll be a big old meanie about it when it comes time to report back to Squall and the others. Selphie can hear Quistis now, “She was too dramatic; she didn’t think enough; she wasn’t serious enough about this mission.” But Selphie is deadly serious about it. Selphie knows what is at stake and she wonders why Squall let her be in charge of it. Wouldn’t Quistis have been a better leader?

When they’ve fought their way out of the base and set the self destruct mechanism for twenty minutes, when they’ve destroyed the weird robot machine, Selphie strides confidently towards the gates and thinks now she’ll have to be impressed with me. Now Quistis will have to admit that she is wrong and that I can be serious enough and I can think enough. Then everything goes wrong and Selphie wants to believe it isn’t her fault, but she isn’t sure. The gates are locked.

She has to tell them that the gates are locked, it’s as good as saying, “We’re all going to die.” When the minutes are ticking down in her head, Selphie doesn’t think about Irvine at all, or about herself. She crouches on the ground and thinks, “This is it. Quistis is going to die because I’m stupid and had funky music tripping through my head the whole time we were fooling guards and screwing with electronics.” She hugs her knees and sighs.

But Quistis just says, “It came quite quietly, I thought the end would be more dramatic,” which is like a gentle apology, since “too dramatic” is what she’s always calling Selphie when she’s at her worst, leaping around and shouting, “Yay explosions! Let’s blow stuff up!” It’s Quistis admitting that there’s a time for drama and that Selphie isn’t always wrong.

“Squall, did you put me on this team because you hated me?” Rinoa says pitifully, mewling like a kitten. It’s a selfish kind of thought to be having now, but Selphie forgives Rinoa for it immediately because thinking you’re going to die is a time to be selfish too and it isn’t a time for accusations.

Then suddenly Selphie realizes that she’s been selfish wanting Quistis for herself. Quistis can never have Selphie just for herself, but always has to share with Irvine. Selphie wants a chance to apologize for the ways she’s mistreated the golden-haired sorceress, who is kneeling here, fearing for her mortality. She wants to change how she acts, all for Quistis because Quistis deserves that kind of devotion. Selphie can’t do anything now, though; it’s too late. All that Selphie can do it wrap her arms around Quistis’ quaking shoulders and huddle with her against the coming onslaught of death as if the fragile circle of their arms could save them from all of the fire and destruction in the world.

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