Reasons why this shouldn't exist:

It's bad porn.

It's pretentious bad porn.

It's out of character, angsty, WTF-Susan-has-been-reading-too-much-emo-fic pretentious bad porn that doesn't make sense.

... I'm sure I should be more bothered by this. I'm just glad I wrote something where no one draws a weapon on anyone else. >_>

(Also, considering this song has a line that goes A little less conversation/A little more action please, I find it appropriate for these two! I WONDER WHY.)


Baralai isn't the one people suspected of having an overactive imagination - that honour belongs solely to Gippal, who, once in the desert, has a tendency to jump up at the first shift of sand.

Of course, living in Bevelle Palace would give anyone an overactive imagination. The hum of machina in the walls, the whispering of unseen acolytes, the echoes of long-faded screams from the Vias - it isn't the sort of thing that leads to peace of mind, even without Shuyin's echo.

If Gippal hears anything, he never mentions it. The temple and its history don't affect him. They aren't his.

Sometimes, Baralai wonders if that level of obliviousness is infectious, which usually leads to making sure the door's locked, then trapping Gippal in his chair while he fumbles with belts and snaps. Gippal usually mutters about how Baralai's lost his mind and what does he think he's doing - and then the words stop as Baralai curls his hand around him. They start again when Baralai lowers his head, at the first touch of Baralai's tongue and lips - breathless murmurs in Al Bhed and Baralai's own name endlessly repeated. With that to listen to, he has no attention to spare for ghosts.

Nothing - nothing - his overactive imagination could come up with compares to the sight of Gippal slumped down in his chair, eye glassy and body limp, trying to catch his breath; that image alone is enough to keep the ghosts away for a few more days.