Eighth, he blamed Selphie. At that exact moment, she chose to appear at Irvine’s shoulder, overdressed in one well-placed flannel sheet. Her cheeks were tinged a ridiculously bright pink, as they should be, but that was the only part of her face that looked like it ought to. Instead of casting her eyes down, embarrassed and regretful, she was looking him straight in the eye with an expression that was—no, no way. He was crazy. There was no way—

Ninth, he blamed Irvine. When Zell looked back at him, intent on denying what he saw in Selphie’s eyes, Zell found the exact same thing there. Swiftly, his gaze went back to Selphie, then to Irvine, then back to Selphie again. However, no matter how many times he looked between them, it was still there. Behind the embarrassment, in the way Selphie glanced between him and the blackness of the room, and the way Irvine not-so-subtley raised his eyebrows: invitation.

Tenth, Zell blamed himself, because even though his first instinct was to bolt back to his room and get acquainted with the lint beneath his bed, he soon found himself stepping back inside, to be welcomed by two very pleasant kisses.