Sora lost everything in a fire. Now orphaned, he is fostered to a rich, upscale family that already has a less than welcoming son, Riku. Struggle ensues as these two opposite scale brothers learn about each other, their pasts, and themselves.
UNDERGOING INTENSE REVISING UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
The heat was suffocating, billowing in dark, pungent clouds of black smoke, scorching throats raw. He needed water. No, he needed air. Desperately clawed at his throat as thick smoke blazed through his nostrils and tore at the tender flesh inside his neck. His lungs constricted as he swallowed a mouthful of ashes, sparks burning his eyes and causing his skin to itch irritably. He violently rubbed his eyes, not caring if his short nails absently raked against his cheeks.
His muscles tried to move vainly, but felt as if lead weights held them firmly in place as the shrill sound haunted his ears above the sound of the roaring fire. A partial wooden slate cracked down across his shoulder as he screamed, inhaling more smoke, eyes brimming with tears half from a pain only subconsciously pounding across his shoulder blade and half from the sound and the horrifying revelation that the noise he heard were screams.
He coughed violently, snapping a blackened hand across his mouth, stumbling through burning debris when he suddenly felt two sets of strong arms covered in strange, rubber-like material pin his arms down to his side.
"No!" His voice came out hoarse and his throat burned fehverently as he panicked, kicking his legs and flailing his arms wildly in a vain attempt to escape his captors. He tossed his head from side to side, hissing when the action pained his shoulder and bright lights suddenly wounded his eyes, blinking quickly to keep consciousness. The intensity of the light brought about a throbbing headache and he remembered struggling to voice two simple words as exhaustion and another fit of coughing overtook him.
"Mommy...
"Daddy..."
Bright light flooded through dusty, white blinds, creeping across a young teenager's face as he slept restlessly, whipping his arm around and curling to different sides every few seconds. His eyebrows pinched together as he heard a noise hovering above him and he mumbled something incoherently as he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Sora?"
He groaned, smacking the figure above him with his hand as he quickly turned to the other side of the bed, void of sunlight.
The voice growled, "Damnit Sora!" Suddenly, he was airborn, for not more than a milisecond, but his ocean-blue eyes snapped open and his lips formed into a small exclamation of surprise as he landed with a thump across the floor. He groaned, sitting up, discarding the wrinkled sheets that had somehow managed to follow him during his unexpected flight and turned to glare at the perpetrator.
"Roxas, what's going on?" He murmured, slowly rubbing his groggy eyes, as he stared up at a pair of bright, baby-blue eyes beneath a messy pile of short, blond hair.
"Come on," he urged, hoisting up his best friend by his arm pits, dragging him to his feet. "You overslept big time."
Sora groaned again, collapsing across the lumpy mattress, sighing as he took in the room around him. There were eight other beds, including his, spaced out evenly against the wall, each one held by a rickety frame and covered in old, graying sheets. There was a window on each side of the bed, but seemed to be useless in doing its job at making the room feel light and welcoming.
It did nothing to help the damp and musty feel to the room, or the wiry light fixtures barely clinging to the ceiling, or the inch-layer of dust that piled underneath each bed. The room was gloomy, sunlight or no sunlight.
He sighed softly again as he finally got to his feet, wary of a pair of electric eyes never leaving him as he began to make his bed. His progress was slow, and he wasn't sure whether or not it was because he was tired or because he was finally getting sick of living in this place.
"Sora, what's wrong?" Roxas asked worriedly, helping grab the corner of the sheet that was strewn across the floor and lifting it over the small mattress. He saw his friend glance wearily at a paper calendar taped on the wall. He smoothed the thin comforter over and sat down next to his friend, staring at their feet as they swayed back and forth.
"We're just doing the same thing that we always do each year before school starts," he mumbled thoughtfully. "Things just never change in this place."
Roxas sighed, drawing a hand up to jostle his already unruly hair. Sora never quite knew why he did that. "You never know, Sora. Maybe this time we'll get lucky." Sora just simply shook his head, a sad smile tracing his sunkissed features.
"Really. Maybe one day, someone will adopt us. Just you and me. We'll get our own rooms, own bathrooms, play video games, walk the dog-"
"Make our own breakfast instead of having runny eggs and lumpy oatmeal everyday," Sora grinned eagerly, his eyes glazing over as he fantasized with his best friend.
"We wouldn't have to share any clothes or toys."
"Toys, Roxas? How old are you now?"
"Can it, Sora!" Roxas growled, a thin frown lining his pale face. "You know you want that and more. Just like everybody in his hellhole." He finished, his voice fading away as his eyes narrowed.
Sora felt the smile disappear as he brought himself back unwillingly to reality. "Sometimes I wish I could go back, Roxas," he murmured, his tone dropping as he brought his feet up to his chest and a thin wrist vanished beneath a flat pillow as he retrieved an old, frayed, burnt edged photo. He fingered the faces delicately, almost as if they would diminish to ashes.
"But then again, I know everything happens for a reason, and what could I do with myself if you hadn't been dropped off into my life."
"Literally."
He nodded, faint traces of a smile appearing. "Quite literally," he agreed, shaking his head clear of rising emotions that he knew would send nightmarish torrents throughout his body. He glanced one more time at his own, carefree, happy, six-year old face, remembering how long ago it had been since that brightness in his eyes and the rose in his cheeks had visited his face, before clumsily stuffing it back under the pillow.
"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Roxas asked, worriedly gripping the sheets. Roxas was the only one who he felt truly understood him. He felt his heart and his pain and sorrow and desperation and the reason he rarely had a peaceful sleep. And he was the only one who had been thwarted from his previous life to live in this dump in a way closely related to his own.
But he really didn't feel like reliving the horrible events that landed him in the Hollow Bastian Orphanage. It was a rickety, old building at the end of a strip of rundown apartments, a rusty fire escape climbling up the corner of the building for several flights of stairs. It was home to over twenty different kids of various ages and origins, all whose parents had either dumped them in front of the door on a cold, stormy night, or had died.
His and Roxas' had been the latter. Roxas turned up at a most convienent time for Sora, making his stay three years after he had been placed in the home.
Eight years of his life had been dedicated to routine every morning in the orphanage, and Sora found himself following that boring, senseless routine at the age of fourteen.
Though he was the eldest of all the other children, his physical appearance deceived him. He was relatively small for his age, skinny limbs, a boyish face tanned from early years in the sun, and chocolate brown locks that spiked in every random direction atop his head.
"I'll be fine," he said despite the uncertainty lining every word. He didn't want to worry Roxas too much. The kid had already mostly gotten over and accepted his miserable life, or so it seemed. He just wish sometimes he could have done the same. "I think I should take a shower now," he stated with frim resolution.
Roxas smirked. "Good, cause you seriously need one."
Sora thwacked him over the head with his arm playfully. "How much time do I have until breakfast?"
Roxas shrugged his shoulders as he threw a hand over his friend's shoulders, walking with him to the main hallway on the third floor where they lived, along with the children who were eight and older. The second floor had been reserved for the orphaned children who were younger, along with the nursery. Sora supposed he should be grateful that they only shared a bathroom with the kids who knew how to bathe.
"I smell eggs already, so you'd better hurry up," Roxas warned, lifting Sora's thin arm off of his shoulder and darting towards the staircase at the end of the hall. "I'll save you a seat!"
As soon as he rounded the corner, Sora already felt his spirits drooping. He padded softly to a wide closet and opened it, retrieving the plastic container labeled "Sora Hikari" and opening the lid. His container was larger than many of the others, partly due to the length of time he had spent here, acquiring a few belongings that were granted his own, and partly per reason that he was older than the rest, allowing him less restrictions under the house rule.
For this, he found he was extremely grateful. He had his own towels, though old and no longer fluffy, and his own shampoo and conditioner. It was one of the things that Aerith Gainsborough, the owner and caretaker of the Orphanage, let him get by with.
It was one of the few things that set him apart from many of the children here. He knew he was being horribly selfish, but he hated sharing things that were his and only his. Things that he treasured, especially here, when something as little and meaningless as a photograph could be ransomed priceless, were his. He had nothing else that could define him or belong truly to him.
Few kids had histories here; even less has memories of a life outside of the Orphanage. And he supposed as he stepped into the dirty, tiled floor, a rain of luke warm water cascading down his shoulders and drenching his hair, that it was the reason he still remembered his life prior to this, that he felt so desperately needy to have something to call his own.
He knew what it felt to have a large, spacious room to himself with a bed and soft mattress, your own shower with consist water pressure, and never having to worry about the pleasant water suddenly scalding your back or chilling you to the bone, or even waiting late at night in line to bathe.
He had never been rich. Far from it. But he had been comfortable and content with nearly everything his life had to offer him. It wasn't until he gazed up at the peeling letters on the front of the building and rang the dusty doorbell that he realized just how much he lost.
As he began scrubbing shampoo into his thick hair, he forced himself to stop dwelling on the negative outlooks and think about Roxas. Roxas was his first ever, even after coming to the Orphanage, and only best friend. His timing into Sora's life had been impecable. When he was taken in, Sora had been the only other older boy, so naturally, he struggled to form bonds with the other kids, due to their ages.
But Roxas was the same age, a few months off of his own birthday, and if his moon-white skin had ever lived on an island long enough to tan his skin, and his hair wasn't bleach blond and shorter, they could easily passed for twins.
After thoroughly washing his hair, he soaked a small loofa with soap and massaged his skin, cleaning off any dirt and grime that he was sure had already coated his body since waking up this morning. As he washed, he inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of cinnamon apples, one of his favorite smells in the world. He imagined he was in an apple orchard with his real family, soaking up the sun as he sat in the ankle-high grass.
The simple things were the things that made him the most happy nowadays.
As he rinsed off the last of the suds adorning his thin frame, he noticed that the tips of his fingers were wrinkled like raisins. He had been in the shower for too long, though it didn't seem long enough to him. He felt his stomach suddenly lurch with hunger and he realized he really did need to hurry up if he wanted breakfast.
Breakfast at the Orphanage meant every man for himself, and you had to be first at the table to get the best rations. That in mind, Sora twisted the cool knob of the shower until the water barely trickled and he stepped out, first drying his thick hair before patting down his damp skin. He wiped the condensation from a single, small mirror and he fumbled in his personal container for his toothbrush.
After brushing his teeth and combing unsuccessfully through his spiky hair, he returned all his toiletries into his container and swapped it in the closet for a small stack of clothes, which he carried with him back into the room. He knew it would be empty, considering breakfast was right around the corner, and he absently hoped that Roxas saved him a seat.
He dressed quickly, throwing on a pair of red shorts and a black t-shirt before carefully clapsing a small chain around his neck. There was a small three-point crown pendant at the end of the chain, engraved with his initials: SAH. After the photo, it was the only other thing that he had from his previous childhood, and he considered it his most prized possession. Even Roxas had hardly ever touched it.
A shrill bell ringing caught his ears and brought him out of his stupor. The raid for breakfast had officially begun, and he knew if he wanted to get something to eat, he was going to have to hurry. He slipped on a pair of plain black socks and tied up some worn sneakers quickly before descending down the stairs.
"So, are you coming over tonight or what?" A voice barked over the phone, only slightly agitated at the person on the other line. In his right hand, he tossed a ball moodily in his hand, alternating between tossing and throwing it against the wall and catching it as it bounced back.
"Are you going to do something other than mope around about how badly your life sucks?" The voice on the other line countered smoothly.
"Riku, honey, we're leaving!" A chorus of voices called down from the front door before he heard the distant click of the lock in place.
"Whatever," he growled deeply in annoyance, forgetting for a moment that he was still on the phone until he heard a huff from the other line, which he deftly chose to ignore. "They left," he added in a sullen voice.
"Maybe it's just a fluke. Nothing will come out of it. You're just being paranoid."
"The hell I am."
He tossed the ball for another ten minutes trying to control the flood of confusion and sharp pain that ran hot through his blood as he barely listened to one of his only friends that he had left talk nonchalantly on the phone. He let the ball fall into the covers and he flipped over on his flat stomach, covering his head with his heavy, navy blue comforter, ignoring his friend who was still insistently talking on the other line, oblivious to the fact that he wasn't getting a reply.
He closed his stern, aquamarine eyes and exhaled deeply, his mind whirring out of control, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edges of his pillow angrily, running through as many curse words as he knew of and clenching his teeth in bare hatred.
He hated his mom and he hated his dad and he hated what they were doing to him. He hated how badly life dealt him this infuriating hand. They were no foster family of any kind. So what in the world did they want with another kid? Wasn't one enough? Or did they so easily move on after the death of their second?
He fisted his blankets, biting his tongue to keep himself from screaming out loud as every muscle protested against his passiveness and every fiber of his being tensed at his current situation.
Nine months. Nine months until he would finally turn eighteen and he could leave for good. Get out of this town and the forbidding memories and scars and leave it behind. One more trecharous year of high school, enduring pity and concern and gossip about how he lost it, and he was done. He would go somewhere where no one knew him, no one could stare down on him with sad, accusing eyes.
Where he didn't have to face the truth anymore. It was too painful, and what his parents were doing now was unforgiveable, as if they were bestowing their own pain and hurt on him as if he hadn't dealt with enough as it was already.
They had the room. Space and money wasn't a problem. He lifted his head from beneath his covers, narrowed eyes darting over towards his abandoned phone, which his friend had long already decided to hang up. Though Riku wasn't so sure he realized right away that he was merely talking to himself. He gritted his teeth and threw his phone against the wall, effectively separating it from its battery so he wouldn't have to worry about anyone calling him.
The violence may not have been necessary, but when it came to Riku's domineer, it was his best way of expressing himself. He sighed, exhaustion setting in as the self-hatred and anger took its toll on his body. He looked around his room wearily.
His personal room was large enough to hold several more king-sized beds than the one that was already centered, mahogany headboard resting against a plain white wall. To the right of his bed, was a huge desk, a few textbooks stacked next to slightly rolled and stepped-on notebooks. He had a fancy laptop that connected to a separate monitor nearly as big as the plasma flat screen television standing in a mahogany cabinet.
Inside the doors of the cabinet, were each different game station, along with controls and numerous stacks of videogames. Next to the fixture stood several case holders that were filled top to bottom with DVDs.
Forming a semi-circle around the t.v. was a jet black futon and two, large beanbag chairs, and a rug slid underneath the furniture. To the left of his bed was his closet, which was the size of a normal bedroom, overstuffed with clothes, school uniforms, and shoes. Next to the closet, was his bathroom, marbeled floors, dark gray walls, and complete with a Jacuzzi tub and steam shower.
He glanced at his nearly empty walls, void of everything except for an adoration of guitars, ranging from Les Pauls to Gibsons of various colors, and then he returned his attention to one wall that was an entire window right across from his doorframe. He sighed as he stared out at the glass, overlooking an evergreen forest, masked in the late stages of sunset, casting dark shadows across his room.
It never looked quite so beautiful until he wanted to smash his fist into it and shatter the image, because it was all just a fraud. The view may have been spectacular, but beyond it was the cold, unforgiving world.
He didn't used to be so cold-hearted and shut off from the rest of the world. He had become desolate among his very own family, even now, after two years. Two long, unbearable years, and it still probed at him. He wasn't one of those material-oriented people, though first impressions often told otherwise.
Yes, his family was rich. Very wealthy. They lived in what couldn't be considered a normal house nor a mansion, more than three stories high and over five thousand square feet, patio and pool built into an entire outdoor living area with a grill and fireplace, everything built upon marble tops.
He even owned a sleek, silver Cadillac that he had gotten on his sixteenth birthday; and had it replaced after it was totaled.
But other than his expensive car, the pool, and his room, Riku found himself disinterested in everything and everyone. The house was far too big and far too lonely for him to venture elsewhere. Which became one of the reasons he secluded himself from others.
The walls in his room heard so much more than the people in his life. He distanced himself from his friends and the arrogant smirk that he was notoriously known for had flipped into a near permanent scowl. He delveloped what his former friends had called the poker face, expresionless eyes and impenetrable walls built around his person. He refused to let himself get hurt and abandoned again.
Years of practice yielded him nearly perfect, and with a single sentence spoken by his mom and dad, it crumbled. As if anyone or anything could ever fill the void massing in his heart, as if he was okay and accepting of someone to be ripped out of his life again.
Growling, he sat up abruptly in bed and left his room, slamming the door hard against its frame, shaking the hinges, and neglecting to pick up his scattered phone pieces. He stalked moodily down the hall, fists clenched, footsteps echoing loudly throughout the empty house, and burst through the front door. He shoved his hand into his front jeans pocket and stalked towards his Cadillac, unlocked the door and slammed the car into gear, enjoying with bitter satisfaction the protesting roar as the engine came to life.
Neglecting his seatbelt, he jammed his foot into the gas pedal. He needed a long, fast drive to clear his head. And he knew exactly where he was headed.
When Sora reached the kitchen on the first floor, he realized his shower had taken way too long, and his face fell as he looked at several platters of bacon and eggs that had been reduced to nothing more than a few crumbs or bites. His stomach growled impatiently as if reprimending him for taking so long in the shower.
In a house, if it could be called such a thing, holding more than twenty starving children, it was survival of the fittest. It was eat or go hungry, and Sora realized he was unfortunately skipping breakfast today. Roxas was one of the few still seated, nibbling on the end of his fork as he stared blankly at the stark clean bowl infront of him, thinking.
Only when Sora sat down next to him, the old, wooden chair creaking loudly against the tiled floor, did he tear his gaze away from his plate.
"Eat up," he said quickly, moving his hand, which Sora had suddenly realized was positioned underneath the table, and revealing a plate with a good portion of eggs and several slices of bacon.
A wide grin plastered across Sora's face as he quickly grabbed the plate and began wolfing down the food. "Thanks, Rox," he attempted, cheeks slightly stuffed as he chewed, before swallowing hard and taking a sip of Roxas' glass. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
The blond shrugged his shoulders, clinking the fork across his teeth. "You'd starve, that's what." But he smiled at the genuine look of thanks that his best friend was giving him. After a few minutes of silence, he cleared his throat. "Hurry up. Aerith has a couple coming in today," his smile faltered.
Sora munched hungrily on a bacon slice. "Why does that concern us?"
"Because apparently this couple is looking at some older kids," Roxas said in a warning tone, catching Sora off guard. It had been four years since anyone had taken any remote interest in him.
There could only be two logical explanations for this reason, the first being that Sora was a bad kid. Except he wasn't. He obeyed when people told him to do something, he never spoke back and couldn't remember the last time he had ever copt an attitude with an elder.
But he wasn't a happy kid either. After the first twelve foster homes proved to be disasterous, he decided to give up completely. It wasn't worth his time and effort to try and please a family that had high standards, and then just be dropped back at the Orphanage. If he had any charm and laughter, which he was quite positive he did have, he never used it, resorting to being overly shy and meticulous.
He could only give himself partial credit, however, because often times, parents and their rising expectations would cause him to fall short. He didn't want a new family; didn't want to start all over, pretend that this new "mom" who wore too much make-up and used him as show like a zoo animal to pronounce her cause to help humanity, and didn't want to give up hope every single time, blinded to think that maybe this next family would be the one that he was meant to stay with.
No. Life had already refused him so much. He chewed slowly this time, contemplating the news that Roxas had just explained. He had thought Aerith had given up a long time ago; twelve families was too much for him then, and she had known it. If Roxas hadn't mysteriously come into his life, he was sure he wouldn't be here right now.
Sighing, he folded his hands in his lap, ignoring the few bites of egg he still had left untouched on his plate. Roxas noticed his sudden mood change and quickly drew him into a tight hug, face obscured by Sora's unruly hair for a few moments. "Don't worry about it, Sora," he urged. "Remember what I used to tell you?"
A sad smile planted on the boy's tan face. "Destiny brought us together for some reason," he whispered quietly between them, like it was a lethal secret that could be overheard by no one. "I still don't really know what that means."
Roxas smirked, ruffling Sora's hair good-naturedly. "It means it was no coincidence that we met and both became best friends. Everything will work itself out in the end; it always does."
"Geez, you sound like a philosopher," Sora teased, rolling his eyes at Roxas' uncharacteristic statement. He knew deep down inside that the blond was just telling him in a fancy way that they were never going to be separated. But he still had his doubts. Destiny had never been on his side to begin with. It was just mocking him, lending him a hand and then jerking his feet out beneath him when he finally got the courage to stand.
"Just trust me."
"I guess," he drawled, uncertainly. But before Roxas had a chance to open his mouth to argue, a rather tall woman with long, plaited brown hair came into the kitchen.
"Sora, Roxas, what are you two still doing in here?" Aerith asked, straightening her coral dress that hung over her brown boots.
"Just finishing breakfast," Sora said hastily, clattering his plate on top of Roxas' as he stood up.
Aerith studied him with concerned, green eyes, chewing dutifully on her bottom lip. Aerith had always been like a mother figure towards Sora; he admired her persistance and will to continue to help orphaned and abandoned children, even when she doubted she could find them a home.
Which was much like the situation with Sora. He appreciated it at first, believeing that she too knew he would find the one, maybe not the first or second or third time around, but eventually he would. But she didn't know when to stop. She should have given up trying to find him a home long before Roxas even dropped into the picture, and her strong fight to ensure him happiness had left the hope drained from him.
"Well, everyone else is in the play room, so go ahead and just stack your plates in the sink," she said calmly, watching as the two best friends did her bidding. They followed her quickly down the carpeted hallway into an office room that linked with another room. To Sora, it looked like it was a dining room, living room set-up, but Aerith had turned the smaller room into her cluttered office and a sort of interogation room where she talked with her hopefuly foster parents and adoptees.
In the second room that was divided by a single doorway, was several lounge chairs hugging the plain walls and a small table with an abandoned game of monopoly strewn across the top. There were two small cabinets along the wall across the door that held a stack of old board games. A few more children were sporatically sitting around the room, two playing a wild game of checkers.
As soon as Sora stepped through the threshold, his entire domineer abruptly changed. He pursed his lips into a slight frown and his jaw set tight and he glued his eyes to the old, blue carpet. It was facade that he had begun to develop long before Roxas ever dropped into the Orphanage.
His immediate goal was one of two things: to stand out as least as possible and not draw attention to himself, which was a difficult feat in itself considering his unruly chocolate brown spikes and emaculate blue eyes tended to stand out among crowds, and to make himself look entirely unapproachable. The last thing he wanted was a family even remotely interested in him.
He didn't want to start over anymore, and he didn't want to raise his hopes up to only find himself thrown needlessly back into the Orphanage. Twelve families were too much, and he dared never to dash his hopes again.
Obviously, Playing With Fire is undergoing some intense revising, and for several reasons:
1) I want to make my stories less predictable, and not describe everything about each character right as they are introduced. I want my readers to find out more about the characters as they read and along the way, discover new things about them.
2) I want this story and others to become much more chronologically realistic and some events that occur, I am taking out, and some I am keeping in. Also, I am going to be adding much more conversation between characters in different settings, so that the story doesn't just jump from angsty event to angsty event.
3) This is my wish for all my stories, and I will be constantly fixing them up, this one being my first priority. Before I finish writing the last few chapters, which I was so close to, I am going to rewrite everything as I see fit and see where it takes me. Hopefully, the updates will not take too long, since I am only fixing a few things up.
4) Then of course, as everybody can tell, I realigned the paragraphs correctly, and I am going to stop replying to reviewers on the chapters and just reply to them through e-mail or review replies. So everything is going through a lot of changes. I wasn't sure how to fix all these new chapters without having to start a completely new story over again and without being able to send everyone an update about it, so I am going to do my best and fix everything.
-xcontagiousx-