Pairings: Leon times Cloud equals fun!
Disclaimer: If I owned SquareEnix, all the characters would be on a lot more crack and sugar than they already are. And the females would all go away so the males could have their parties outside of the closet. So no, it is not mine (yet!).
Dedication: To Setsuntamew, for getting me addicted to fanfiction and yaoi (to the severe detriment of, you know, any social life or good grades that I might have been wanting to have . . . ever). And to Dualism, for writing the fic that first addicted me (SGW).
So, this is my first ever fanfiction. Basically, whether it gets finished, or if any others ever get written, depends on if anybody wants to review. So . . . if you read it, write a comment, even a word or two, and this will keep me updating. If not, it's been fun! :)
It was raining the night they met. A hard, driving rain, of the sort that no reasonable person would go outside in.
Cloud Strife had never been called reasonable.
Drops pounded down blond hair, flattening messy spikes and making wet cloth stick to skin. Great sluggish beasts of cars stumbled down the street, trailed by a small shadow leaping after, from puddle to puddle – laughing like a madman – outpacing every one, then returning to challenge the next.
Cloud Strife was in his element. Only he could appreciate the rain. Nobody else would go outside tonight; they were all too content in their warm beds. To him alone this was happiness – to dance all alone, to run and jump as the sky kept him cool, slick, cloud-drenched. He always felt as though he was living his name.
If only he really was the only one in the street.
"Hey!" the stranger protested, as Cloud, in the middle of a particularly spectacular movement, twirled straight into him; then over him, unable to stop. The tall shape extended an arm to catch himself on the pavement, which was twisted away as Cloud's weight fell onto him. The two fell to the sidewalk in a tangle of arms and legs.
"Oops", the little blond murmured, blushing bright red against streams of rain. He attempted to untie himself from the long limbs of the stranger whom he had just steamrolled. "I, um, I'm sorry . . . I totally wasn't watching where I was going."
One Squall "Leon" Leonhart, resident creeper and suspected "there's something odd about that guy" of the neighborhood, stared up at him from underneath.
"Ack!" Cloud leapt off the trampled body. "I – uh – I – " his senses took total leave of him for a moment, off to some safer brain. His mouth kept going all the same: "Please don't sell me for drugs! I promise, it was a mistake. There are better ways to make money! I can be an asset to my community!"
Leonhart stared up at him complete and absolute confusion. Slowly, the tall man raised himself to his feet, using his umbrella as a prop. At full height, he towered over Cloud, who cursed his parents (not for the first time) for giving him such miniscule genes. Yup, the adolescent concluded. He had better wave his organs goodbye right now. He was doomed.
"What's your name?"
Cloud blinked. Then stared. "I'm sorry?"
"Your name," the stranger repeated with a little impatience. His voice was very deep. The blond suddenly realized that he had never heard Leon speak before, despite the fact that they had lived on the same street for years, long enough for Cloud to know his face and name on sight. The timbre did something odd to his bones.
"I'm Cloud. Cloud Strife."
Leon nodded. Then, without preamble: "Do you always dance in the rain?"
Cloud wasn't sure what to respond. Did this guy want to know more about him so that he could stalk him? Not that the "creepy stalker" rumors were necessarily true. People just saw a solitary person like Leon and had to make up something plausible. The blonde knew; it had happened to himself often enough, though usually others saw him as an abandoned child or some such. True enough, he had seen Leon looking at him oddly a few times when they passed on the street (Cloud always moving as far as possible to the end of the pavement. It wasn't that he had anything against Leon in particular, it was just . . . the rumors, and he was so damn imposing). But that didn't prove anything.
The silence had stretched on already too long. It couldn't hurt to answer one simple question, right?
"Yes? I mean, I do. A lot of the time. Whenever it storms."
Leon made no response, just stared at him. Cloud fidgeted. After a second, he began babbling, just to fill the silence. "I mean, I – I really like the rain. It's soothing, you know? Not that – I mean – you would know . . . you have an umbrella . . ." he shut up, embarrassed. Leon was still looking at him.
After what seemed an eternity, the older boy moved. He threw aside the umbrella, which had been held between the two of them, stopping the rain for them to talk. Now the storm poured down on both of them. Cloud noticed, for the first time, that Leon had never once seemed tense, even through all the awkward silences. Only now did his body tighten – like a lion, or a panther, the blonde thought.
Then Squall Leonhart smiled, and something inside Cloud jerked a bit, like an odd fish on a too-tight string. "No. I like the wet too. Race you."
He said everything in the exact same deadpan tone, so Cloud didn't realize the meaning of that last phrase until the brunet had already taken off. Leon was five paces ahead by the time his shadow launched.
"Right!"
"This is my apartment," Leon mentioned, as the pair raced past half an hour later. They had gone all up and down the block, and several further streets beside, but appeared to be fairly matched. Leon had longer legs, Cloud more energy.
"Yeah, I know", the blonde said, without looking up. He ran a few steps further before he realized that Leon had stopped.
"Tired already?"
"No," the brunet muttered, a strange look on his face. "How do you know where I live?"
"Well, I, uh . . . "
Cloud shifted. Now he was the one that sounded creepy. "I watch you, sometimes. I know you're still in high school – I've seen you in the halls; you're a senior, right? You have upperclass English in the room next to my locker – but I've never seen anyone else come out of your house. It's just . . . I just thought it was odd. Plus, I mean, we live on the same street. It's not like I would never have seen you around," he defended.
Leon was silent for a moment. His green eyes were fixed on the short boy, who could not meet them for more than an instant. As always, Cloud was not expecting it when he finally spoke.
"Not many people come out of your house either."
"My parents are business people," the small teen defended. "They travel a lot."
"Leaving you alone?" the question was personal, but not probing. Leon's voice was surprisingly gentle.
"Sometimes," Cloud muttered. He would never tell the brunet that this was the reason he had watched him before – it felt as though they had something in common, something mutually absent, that nobody ever left their houses and nobody ever came in.
The pair stood there for a minute, neither looking at each other. Cloud felt odd. He didn't talk about his family, not ever, and certainly not to a near-stranger like this.
"So!" Leon broke the silence. "If we have so much in common, how is it that we've never met before?"
"I thought you were a stalker," Cloud blurted out.
Awkward silence.
Leon raised one eyebrow. After a moment, the other joined it.
Then he laughed, and the sound made Cloud laugh too. Once started, the tremors seemed unstoppable, and they giggled until they could hardly stand and had to lean against streetlights for balance. It suddenly seemed impossible that Cloud had ever found the brunet scary.
Leon looked at the little teen, still smiling. "Hey. You're all wet. You're going to catch a cold."
"I never get colds," the blond started to demur, but Leon already had his arm and was towing him away.
"Too bad. Come inside!"
It was warm inside Leon's house. From the doorway, Cloud surveyed the TV room and kitchen – warm, tiny, and familiar, he concluded. Everything there felt like the brunet: all spare and functional, but at the same time aesthetic, calming. Cloud had only known the man for half an hour, but that much was obvious, just from his speech and the way he dressed – and what, the boy wondered, was up with all those belts? It wasn't as if his pants weren't tight enough to stay up by themselves. More than tight enough.
It was also obvious that, as Cloud had thought, no one else lived here. Leon's utility was the only style; only his coat hung on the rack, and there was only one chair at the table.
The boy suddenly wondered if Leon were lonely. He must be. Why else would he have bothered to race a short, unknown sophomore through the rain?
"Hey." The senior in question waved a hand in front of Cloud's face. Cloud jumped.
Leon touched his shoulder, guiding the sky-eyed sixteen-year-old across the room. A strange shiver ran down his spine from that hand. "You really are going to get sick," the older youth commented, reaching over into the bathroom next to the kitchen door to throw a towel at him. "That would be a problem."
"Why?" Cloud asked, genuinely curious.
"Nobody there to take care of you."
The blonde looked up from drying his hair. Leon was staring down at him, an oddly soft look on his face.
"I'm used to it." Cloud turned away – before he would have had to think about why Leon's expression made him feel so mushy. Concern annoyed him, not made him feel like a preteen girl at any hint of affection. When the tall boy turned his back, reaching for a towel of his own, Cloud, curious now, examined him for the first time.
Leon was at least six feet tall, perhaps 19 or 20 years old. Too old to be a senior – maybe he had started late? Or had been held back a year? He looked very fit: not like a weightlifter, but like someone who did a lot of sports. Cloud recalled seeing his name on a school roster for the fencing club – back when he had been considering sports himself; back when his parents might have been able to give him rides; that had been a few years ago – but Leon probably still fenced. He definitely did some sort of training: very few normal people could run fast enough to keep up with Cloud.
The object of scrutiny was rubbing his hair at the moment, drops of water falling down his face. The planes of bone under slightly-tanned skin were angular, sticking out at the elbows and edging up to green eyes under straight eyebrows. He looked a bit underfed, Cloud noted dispassionately (wondering why he cared). But there was something attractive about that face. It drew him in.
Leon turned, and saw him looking. That same soft smile again. "Warmer now?"
"Yes," said Cloud, but he shivered again in spite of himself, and did not know why.
Leon had gone to make some food. He had left the younger boy free reign of the house. This was why Cloud was in his bedroom.
If anywhere, the bedroom would probably be the only place in the house with some real Leon-personality in it. So (the blonde concluded) it would be the best start for him to figure out why he liked the solitary youth so much, despite that he barely knew him. And he did sort of wonder if the dude owned any clothes other than black leather and the pelts of dead animals – not that he wanted to rummage through Leon's clothing. That would be weird. Enlightening, but weird.
So far, though, the bedroom had not been accommodating. Leon was just so damned neat! Where were all the clothes scattered over the floor? Where were the CDs of boy bands that he could deny ever having liked? But no, Leon's bedroom was like a museum, one with very obsessive curators. Even the posters on the wall (Good Charlotte and Star Wars – that one made Cloud laugh) were hung perfectly straight. The only "Leon" the blond could feel came from the brunet's desk.
This, at least, was a little messier. Pencils and folders scattered the wood. Obviously seniors had a lot more homework than sophomores. Looking at the strings of mathematical problems and Latin questions that covered the desk, Cloud suddenly considered graduating early to become a garbageman . . . or a very bad artist . . . one book among the many caught his eye, breaking into those imaginings. It was thinner than the others, and had no title on the cover, just a matte black book-jacket. The blonde couldn't resist a look.
Thin pages crackled as the pretty mechanic turned over each leaf, unable to resist a look. She stopped at random somewhere near the end of the most recent entries, ears pricked for any sound from outside. The page was covered with elegant cursive.
"Dear diary", she read, "today I was pompous and my sister was crazy. Today, we were kidnapped by hill folk never to be seen again. It was the best day ever."
Kaylee closed the book. She felt confused, and a little guilty. Did Simon really feel as though this was a good day with the ship's crew? He must really hate it with such an uncivilized bunch. And what did this mean for them? Did he feel the same about a grease-stained mechanic like h – "
"Uh," a voice boomed from behind, and Cloud jumped a foot. "Gah! Leon!"
The taller man gently reached over and took the page from his hand. "That's, um, that's not finished yet."
Cloud turned around. Leon was holding a bowl in his hand, filled with what looked like chicken noodle soup. There were two spoons.
"What is it?" the blonde asked curiously, not to be distracted by the sight of nummy food. Leon was more interesting anyhow.
The gray/green-eyed youth's sober cheeks tinged with red. "It's a fanfiction . . ."
"What, really?" Cloud stared at him. Leon did not seem the type to write fanfiction. At all. Ever.
"Yes," the man responded, defensive. "It's a good show! And since they cancelled the series, it's not like they're continuing the storyline themselves . . . "
He fell silent. Cloud stared at him for a long moment. The OCD fashion-consultant-dress-alike liked to write? Maybe there was more to the taciturn senior than he had thought.
All of a sudden, Cloud realized that the two of them were standing very close together. He could feel the heat from Leon's body; and Leon wasn't moving.
It became very hard to breathe. All the blood rushed into the boy's pale cheeks: why didn't the brunet move? Or why didn't he want to move himself? He couldn't bring himself to look into those odd-colored eyes. Instead, his gaze stayed fixed on the chest in front of him. It was very flat. Probably muscled . . . Cloud felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to reach out and touch –
What! The blonde leapt away. "I, I, I should probably go to bed now. I mean, go. It's late."
Leon looked surprised, even – disappointed? But he stood aside to let Cloud pass. The small teen rushed out without even saying goodbye.
Out on the street, Cloud knelt on the pavement. It was still wet, and smelled clean and pure, cleansed by the rain. Usually Cloud felt the same way after a storm. Relaxed. Cleansed.
This time he was just confused. What was that? It felt so . . . odd . . . why was I blushing? Why did I want to – gods, I'm even weirder than I thought he was!
He buried his face in his hands. For some reason, all he wanted was to go back and feel that heat again.
The lock clicked gently, letting a shadow inside. Everything was quiet in that house – soft, in the grey wash of twilight through picture windows. It was much nicer than Leon's house: much larger and better decorated, if not more clean.
Looking at the peaceful chairs and photos, the vacant doors and bookcases, Cloud suddenly remembered why he went to dance in the rain. Again and again, every time the thunder roared.
His shoes made the only sound on the wooden floor. The blonde moved forward slowly. Something inside him felt empty, and it wasn't leaving Leon that caused it.
Above the mantelpiece, a picture caught his eye – a small boy with hair like sunlight, standing with a brown-haired woman and stern-eyed man on the edge of a mountaintop. The boy's eyes were gleaming with deep blue happiness.
Something snapped inside Cloud, some essential strand that left a sharp pain where it should have been. He took the photo with shaking hands. Made no move to save it when it slipped from his fingers, falling and tumbling until it hit the ground with an echoing crack. Glass littered the fashionable parquet.
Cloud stared down, eyes unfocused. He could still see a glint of white from the portraits' teeth, stretched in happy smiles; the gleam of sun from a little boy's hair. Long hair, before it was cut and spiked in a futile attempt to be fashionable, to be what others wanted of him: pretty hair to earn him friends, friends to fill the gaps where things that had once existed no longer were.
The silent house was mocking and cold. Cloud could no longer remember the sound of raindrops on pavement, the exhilaration of thoughtless dance. Everything faded away into the dark grey of another night. Loneliness, the boy remembered. The darkness has a name.
And suddenly he remembered footsteps and laughter in the last drops of daylight; a smile bright as the pictures'. A warmth that reached inside him and felt like the touch of a friend.
Cloud reached down to gather up the shards of glass, not noticing the blood that flowed when one cut his hand. He remembered a house that was empty, yet filled with light.
He suddenly missed the confusion of grey-green eyes.