Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts – I think we all know what would be happening if I did. And it wouldn't be G-rated.
:3
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Guess-A-Sketch 01
AnOtic
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"I have something to say."
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It's that time of day when the sun is settling just above ground level. Its rays shoot desperately across the land, speeding straight through the slits of my window blinds and casting themselves in streaks on my floor. Strips of glowing orange light line the arm of my chair. Squinting against the soon-to-be-sunset, I bring my gaze up to the petit brunet across from me. His wide eyes travel all around the room, taking in every object they can as if a bookshelf or a lamp might give him his next words.
"I think I've forgotten it, though," he speaks carefully, a confused expression stamped onto his face. Those blue eyes fix on me, and he nods, announcing loudly, "Yeah, I forgot."
An annoyed twitch strikes me in the cheek; I manage to disguise it through a one-sided, fleeting smile, and nod to him. "Take your time, then," I say gently.
The boy smiles, too; he says something in a corroborating tone, and then goes back to thinking. I've already stopped listening – it's part of my job to know when I absolutely have to hear something and when I can get away with ignoring them into oblivion.
My clients, that is.
I reach up and brush back a few strands of my own brown hair. My bangs rebelliously swing right back into place, so I give up and settle for watching the window again. The bumpy mountain line is cradling all that awful sunlight. Still, it spills over and floods the town scene, casting elongated, disproportionate shadows on everything it can grasp.
There is a disgustingly noisy truck driving in the street below my office. I can hear it, and imagine I can smell the dirty exhaust fumes. I think to close the window, but when I look to it, the job has already been done for me.
That makes the truck even more disgusting and noisy.
"… at school, though."
Shit.
I pull myself to attention again, and raise an eyebrow at the boy. His head is bobbing up and down some more, and I mirror him in my own, curt way. He gasps suddenly, and his eyes go even wider. He whacks his own palm with the side of his fist, with the attitude of someone who has just received an epiphany.
"I know what it is now!" He exclaims obviously.
"What?" I pretend like I'm not suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, get up, and walk out.
"Roxas!"
He's grinning at me now. All his little teeth are showing, and I'm impressed at how white they are. He watches me as if he expects me to say something, and I figure I should respond.
"Who's that?" I ask. I try to sound interested.
"My twin! He moved back from Twilight Town, where he lived with our dad. Something went on there. I think he got kicked out, but he's not talking about it," the young teen squints with only his right eye, pursing his lips thoughtfully.
"What makes you think that?"
"I heard Mum on the phone with Dad… she said something like, 'You're overreacting, this isn't really necessary,' and they were arguing for a while. But then she got off the phone and told me Roxas was coming home. For no reason, she said. He's just moving back with us."
"And how long have your parents been apart?"
"About ten years?" The boy makes that thinking face again. "No, nine. I was seven at the time."
"And your sister moved with him at that time?"
"My sister?" The boy frowns at me. "I don't have a sister."
Oh. I pause awkwardly. "Your twin – is a boy?"
He grins again, laughing loudly while he nods. "Roxas moved with our dad when he left, yeah."
"When he was living with you, did you two share a room?"
He catches on now, and his eyes go wide again. "Oh, yeah, we did! And we had this nightlight, so I wasn't scared. I remember I used to be afraid of things, but I would just climb up onto Roxas' bed, and he'd let me sleep with him."
I nod like I care, but it's not too far from the truth. "So you saw heartless even back then, too?"
"Yes, I think."
I shift a little at this, think for a second. His most recent confessions are something I'm still trying to wrap my head around. He's a sixteen year old boy with a compulsive fear of the dark, scared of monsters in the shadows. He always stresses that they have no hearts, I suppose to emphasize the inhuman feeling he gets from them, and thus has termed them the 'heartless'. Sometimes when he imagines these, he has physical reactions. "So, did you have episodes when you were younger?"
The boy pokes his face while trying to remember. "Yeah, I guess so. That was when I was sleepwalking, too, so sometimes I just ended up in Roxas' bed anyway."
I guess he'd be too young to remember any attacks at that time. What a dead end.
"Hmmn," I say, putting some measure of effort into my tone. My eyes flicker to the clock on the wall, out of habit, although I'm well aware of the time. Usually, I sit with my back to the window, and I use the opposite clock for reference. I put up that one myself, because I didn't like having to crane my neck to get a glimpse of the one over my shoulder. The second clock is much more discreet for keeping an eye on the time – by no accident.
It's because Cloud insists that we let our clients choose their own seating; this kid is the only one that goes out of his way to steal my spot, and made me install another clock.
"We're sharing a room now, too, so I'll probably be okay from now on anyway."
"Well," I say, trying to come up with something resembling advice. "It would be useful to learn to deal with your fears on your own, too. You should probably be trying to overcome any episodes without involving Roxy."
"Roxas."
"So, I guess that's all the time we have for today," I say, standing up and setting aside my clipboard. I make sure it's face-down, so the kid won't look over and realise that my notes on our discussion had invariably turned into a grocery list.
"I'll change my schedule for mornings from now on. You'll have to remember that next week."
"I will." The brunet boy looks to the clock, too. "Aa, you're right! I was talking too long." Here, the teen blushes. He just spent the better part of an hour explaining away how much he misses his older friend who'd left town for a couple weeks, some guy he obviously has the biggest crush on in the history of in-denial highschool boys.
He stands and shuffles around me to the door: he's also the only patient of mine that opens the door. All the others wait for me to let them out. This boy, though, he swings it ajar and stands to the side, grinning at me like the doormat he is. I thank him with a short nod and step past.
It's always awkward when he lets me out.
"Hey…" He makes a noise behind me, and I turn to look over my shoulder.
The office is split into two rooms. One has our desks and file cabinets; the other is set up for ideal discussion environment, and an overall more comfortable atmosphere. As both my partner and I have many young clients, half of the second room is lined with buckets of plastic figurines and various toys, and there's a large, annoyingly pink dollhouse in the corner. One incredibly squat table, for the vertically challenged children of about six or seven years of age, sits to the side. On it is usually some construction paper and a pencil, and one of those Lisa Frank multi-coloured erasers with the pony on it or some shit.
This was all of course Cloud's doing. Sometimes he tells me that I'm not enthusiastic enough for my job. That's about when I quite articulately point out that a good, lengthy, heartfelt conversation with him is about as stimulating and advantageous as humping a brick wall.
The brown-haired boy picks up an Etch-A-Sketch from the midget table.
"Who drew this?" he inquires softly, staring at it in awe. "A paopu…"
I lean back through the doorway to glimpse it. There's an image of a star with a leaf hanging off of it, giving the impression that it's some deformedly shaped fruit. Even for a basic shape, it is well done, and includes shading. For me, the creator is easily identifiable.
"That's one of our recent other clients. You should see, they do some pretty impressive stuff with that thing." And it's true, too. The strange boy in question is quite deserving of the compliment. I had never been aware of the true potential of an Etch-A-Sketch. He isn't my patient, though; he is Cloud's.
"I would like to," he answers, smiling gently up at me.
"Eh? Like to what?"
"See what they draw. Can you save it for me next time they come back?"
What a strange kind of demand. Unsure, I nod. "I can try."
He smiles again in that cute, innocent way. "Thanks, Leon."
I have to admit that I don't normally give a real damn about much at work. For a psychologist, I don't honestly get many interesting patients – Cloud does, though. Last year, he had a lot of drama working with these two girls: one was a schizophrenic highschooler, Tilmitt, and the other was an incredibly violent woman who was earnestly trying to get help for some anger management issues. I'm not too fond of Tifa – since she had no more need for sessions with Cloud, she started hanging around a lot outside of work. I guess you could call her a friend; I prefer the term man-eater. She's absolutely smitten with Cloud and he just doesn't seem to get it.
Anyway, he gets all the personality disorders and serious people. It's like I'm given the leftovers to work with, the fourteen year old girls who cut themselves because they broke up with a boyfriend, or the odd family conference. I guess it's because I do a lot of family therapy work that I'm finding myself uncompelled towards my patients. Really, the families that come to me are not the ones that need it.
I shouldn't say that. I've worked with some pretty fucked up people. That's when I'm good at my job, that's when I can take a problem by the horns and work through it with people. That's when I can help them, y'know, when they need it. I'm just not too sure what to do with the rest of the weirdoes that land in my office.
I'm not the most empathetic person, naturally.
Irino Sora is a different story – at first, he was just another family therapy kid. His mother coerced him into weekly sessions with me because he has motivational and social problems. I've learned since working with him that his real issues are more deeply troublesome. He has agoraphobic tendencies and deals with other forms of anxiety problems, such as nyctophobia and a sleep terror disorder, and I believe he even experiences hysteric moments because of these fears. As a direct result of these, his sleeping patterns have no consistency and are often quite unhealthy.
Aside from that, I've just become used to him. He's been meeting with me once a week, fifty-two weeks a year, for nearly four years, so we were bound to develop some sort of a relationship, despite my own anti-social inclinations. He's annoyingly innocent and talks too much about this guy he's obsessed with, and often I barely listen to his ramblings. But even though it's just work, the kid really has grown on me.
"No problem, kid."
I am met with absolute, dead silence. I blink slowly, stupidly.
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Sora has already left.
Reminiscing sucks.
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"You're done work now, right?"
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It's much later that evening. Actually, only an hour or two, but sitting at a desk is painfully boring, and the boring kind of time doesn't move much faster than city traffic does, just when you happen to be late for class. That's part of the reason we decided to practise on an island like this one. No city traffic; just a lot of bad drivers. I look up, a ballpoint pen clipped onto my lower lip.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, wincing at the way my voice betrays just how tired I really am.
The blond man leaning against my doorway smirks and steps forward. "I wanted to come pick you up," he replies, eyeing the water cooler. "I told you we were low. Why didn't you fill it today?"
"Because I'm a lazy bastard and that's your job?"
"Tch." He turns his attention to me again. "You're a brat," he says.
"Whatever." I stretch my arms behind my head, trying to repress a yawn. My eyelids are heavy and tired from an evening spent under the sickening flourescent lights of the office, and I have to will them to keep open. The blond appears to have read this on me, and a small clicking noise sounds before darkness floods the room. The doorway is open, and the bright light of the hallway shines directly on my desk, where he now leans casually. My notepad is left there, face up, still at the page with my notes from the Irino kid's five o'clock.
"Are you getting these?"
I look over to the grocery list. "Hmn," is all I manage. He'll get the right message from that much. Probably.
"Wait until tomorrow," he says, ripping the paper out and folding it neatly. He looks up at me. "We should go out tonight."
"It's Monday, Cloud."
"That's okay." He smirks, and places the folded note in front of me. "We won't stay out late."
"Hmn. You have to be here tomorrow morning, remember that," I say, but in truth I've already submitted. It really will be great to get out of this god forsaken office. I move to shut down my computer.
He smiles a little, and swipes the keys from my desk. He locks up the file cabinets, and moves to the door of the conference room. I watch him close it as my computer whirs to sleep, noticing the red plastic frame of the Etch-A-Sketch lying on the table.
That's right, Sora's request. "Cloud…" I start.
He steps up behind me and drops the keys in my lap. "We going to go or what?" he asks, his mouth awfully close to my ear.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'," I answer in an impatient tone. His arms fall around my shoulders and one hand reaches its slender fingers for my face.
"What are you doing?"
"You have a pen stuck on your lip," he whispers into my neck. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and my head tilts to the side naturally to give him easy access to whatever he wants. He pulls off the offending pen and tosses it onto the desk in front of me, then takes a soft grip on my chin and turns my face so I'm looking right up at him. He somehow manages a sweet smirk at me before covering my lips in an easy, light kiss.
He pulls back quickly, catching and pulling my lower lip lightly between his teeth as he does so.
"Ready to go yet?" he asks in a hushed voice.
"Just give me a second…"
I turn the chair on its wheels without looking away from those warm blue eyes. Once I'm facing him, I pull the collar of his jacket so he has to lean down. This time when our lips meet, it's much hungrier and immediately gets wet. I hear one of his hands fall to the desk behind me, steadying him as I draw his tongue out with my own. I can feel my whole body heat up as his mouth works against mine, drawing agonizingly below the belt.
This really is quite a wonderful way to end a painfully anticlimactic work day.
It takes much longer for him to back out again this time, but he does eventually, wiping his mouth with the back of his free hand. He's still leaning over me, and he rests his forehead against mine. "We could just cut the night out and head straight home," he offers with another small smirk.
I nod against him, ruffling his messy blond bangs. "But I'll have to leave my car here overnight."
"That's okay; I'll drive you in the morning."
"Right."
I let him pull me up. I stand and meet his eyes again, for a moment wavering and telling myself to just the hell out of here, but before long I've shoved him against the file cabinet and I'm kissing him madly again. I don't want to wait to go home; I want him all at once. I want all of his awesome taste. I push deeper for more of it, and I can also pick up a trace alcohol on his tongue. He breathes warm against me, out his nose, and I can smell it, too. I smile against his lips.
That explains the pleasant visit. It's true; he doesn't normally do this – not at work, at least.
I move one of my hands from his face, trailing it lower, and I open my eyes to meet his. He watches me, sky blue eyes alight with amusement, and I can't help moaning into his mouth. My hand reaches his waist, so I slip my arm around him and pull him forward against me, needing every touch I can get.
He bites softly on my lip as our warm bodies collide through our clothes. "Come on, Squall," he whispers to me. I feel the m when he pronounces it, and I frown at him. He's the one who started this. I bite back, a bit harder. It gives me shivers; usually he only calls me by my actual name when we're... in more intimate situations.
He pushes me off of him. I resist pouting as the cold air rushes back against me.
"Someone's going to see, you idiot." He's hiding a grin.
"Let's go, then."
I take him by the wrist and lead the way out, snatching my coat as I pass. And the keys on the desk, where Cloud left them.
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Oh, that's right.
"Cloud, you know that Etch-A-Sketch genius?"
"The Miyano kid?" he asks distractedly as we step into the elevator.
"Sure," I say. I pull him close as soon as the door closes, and I can't help leaning in to taste him again. "Can you save the next one he does for me?"
Cloud looks confused, and there's a bit of saliva left on his lip. I wipe it for him as he answers. "He's out of town right now. Why?"
"Well, the next time he comes in. A friend of mine wants to see them." I pause and wonder why I used the word friend.
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"Yeah, whatever."
Damn, he tastes good.
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TBC
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A/N YAY. First chapter officially done! So, this wasn't supposed to be Leon's POV. It just kind of happened. I think I was confused about whether Sora bored him to death or at the end where he loves him… uhm, I'm just going to say that it's possible for both to happen! XD And Cloud wasn't supposed to molest him, either. That just kinda happened on its own, too. Never mind that it's the lamest molest'd scene evar… XD sorry, sorry… And about the title? Hopefully it will be relevent at the end.. if that scene isn't delted for complete corniness. It's titled after a song, so I guess that's pretty emo of me. Sorry again.
As a final note, I'd like to say that I was totally lost about their last names. I mean, I could just use Harada and Misaki like the awesomes before me, but I don't want to copy their creative genius. So, I just went with the names of their voice actors… I'm wishing that I gave Sora and Roxas the Roxas' name. I don't think I like Irino. T,T Mybye it'll grow on me…
Or not.
Mindless Advertisement: Everyone who wants to be one of the cool kids should listen to me in this section and go download the loves that I will explain to you. First up is Diouf, and their song J'aime pas ça ("I don't like that" – talking about racism). You know you're a cool kid once you have Diouf. They do AWESHUM African beatness because they are AWESHUM black men-ness. X3 I love it. I found out last week that they played HERE, in this boonietown, two years ago, and I was oblivious. I also didn't know of them at the time… If you're still reading for some strange reason, feel free to stalk me and I'll totally send the songs to you because SHARING IS CARING.
Review for me with love, plox?