Disclaimer: We don't own Kingdom Hearts cause if we did, heh, there'd be a lot more action going on than just killing Nobodies and Heartless.

Dreams were funny things. Sometimes you knew they were real, sometimes you didn't. In them, the impossible became possible, heroic feats were easy, and monsters more than just hid under your bed or in your closet, they came to life, sharp claws, glowing red eyes, and all. So when Sora found himself falling into an ocean of darkness, it didn't surprise him or alarm him in any significant way. Scared him a little, the way someone tapping you on the shoulder from behind when you least expected it could, but it was more startling than anything else, and like most people who spent almost all of their waking hours in the light of day, he wasn't overly fond of the dark.

It wasn't until the speed of his fall began to pick up that his heart started to beat harder in his chest—and shouldn't water be a little denser than air? Shouldn't that kind of speed in an ocean be impossible? But it was a dream, and on some vague level Sora already knew this, so when he found himself shooting to the surface rather than falling, he didn't stress about it. Because it was, after all, only a dream.

He was suddenly standing on the shore and as he faced the horizon he saw a figure there—male, he thought, because no female had that many muscles in their arms. He couldn't see him clearly or distinguish the specifics of features that made up a nose, mouth, and the curve of cheekbones, but he knew that whoever it was had eyes the same color as the sea framed behind him. Sora, being a male, and not at all interested in the different shades that made up colors like cerulean, aqua, or sapphire—distinguished the eyes in his mind as ocean-colored, because green wasn't right, and neither was blue.

But what, or even who the person was didn't matter, because He was holding his hand out to Sora, and Sora knew—the way he knew that breathing was essential to keep the body alive, and that laughter was essential to the soul—that it was also essential to reach Him, to take a hold of that hand, and that if he didn't—

So he ran as fast as he possibly could toward Him, arm already stretched out in anticipation of the clasp of their hands, but the sand beneath his sneakers was pulling him down, and the figure just stood there watching him, not moving, not reaching—just standing there with his arm outstretched, as if he could wait there, forever frozen until Sora finally took his hand.

Sora.

He heard his name whispered, just his name, and as he looked up he realized that he was now close enough to make out some of His features—a wide chest and broad shoulders and

Sora! This time his name was yelled and Sora looked up, confused because he was close enough now to where He didn't have to yell and

"Sora! For the last time, get up! I'm not going to tell you again!"

And Sora rolled over and groaned into his pillow, because he was awake enough now to see the half-hearted light pouring into his window through barely opened eyes. He knew with certainty that his mother had only so much patience and if he didn't get up immediately, she would know, and come in, and complain to him about the state of his room and anything else that was bothering her about her son's lazy upkeep of hearth and home.

"Are you up?" She yelled again, which happened to be to good effect, because Sora bolted up, his sleepy eyes flaring wide as he yelled back.

"Yeah!" And now he was, for better or worse. He glanced longingly down at his pillow, imagined burying his face there once more and forgetting about today—or at least forgetting about the next few hours, so he could indulge in a lazy morning in bed, but as if reading his mind, his mother spoke through the door.

"Don't even think about it."

Sora stifled another groan, as more than likely she would hear him, and instead stood up and scanned his floor for presentable clothing, decisively moving toward the right side of his room because he was certain that he'd thrown something resembling a freshly clean t-shirt there.

As he dressed he tried to put together the puzzle pieces his dream had broken into, but his attention was fractured by the search for clean jeans to complete his ensemble, and then the smell of frying bacon from downstairs, which caused his stomach to growl in reminder that he hadn't eaten since—well, since whenever it was that caused a growing boy to be hungry.

His room really was a disaster, he thought, looking around grimly. Especially after all of the packing he'd done the night before (last minute) that had lead to clothes strewn from one end of the carpet to the other, a mish-mash of books and CDs toppled over on his little bookshelf, walls bare in places but not in others from where he'd pulled posters from the walls—mostly of bands he liked but with a few movie ones thrown in, like Pirates of the Caribbean (because Johnny Depp was awesome, eyeliner notwithstanding) and The Nightmare Before Christmas.

When he had finally brushed his teeth, washed his face, and pretended to comb his hair (because his chocolate spikes looked the same combed as uncombed and thus there was no point in bothering) he made his way down the stairs, glancing once at his two suitcases which were positioned in lopsided array by the front door.

The house was too quiet. It was the first thought he had as he slid into his seat and piled his plate full with bacon, toast, and scrambled eggs. Roxas, his younger brother, had left for Twilight Town Academy the week before. The thought was depressing, so he did his best to ignore it, scarfing down his food as fast he could possibly shovel it into his mouth.

His mother finally came into the kitchen, glancing at him in that 'are you presentable' way that all mothers had, and swept over to the counter to pour herself some coffee.

"You ready?" she asked, and for a moment Sora contemplated how to answer.

Was he ready to leave Destiny Islands, his mother, his friends, and the long stream of memories that included beach picnics with Kairi and Naminé, long summers, short winters, and his brother beating the crap out of him at Halo? The answer was a wholehearted yes, because he hadn't spent all of his free time on sword-work for nothing, and certainly not to throw away an opportunity like this one.

"You bet," he said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs and toast, and she smiled, lighting up eyes as blue as his own, with the only real difference being the hint of crow's feet at the corners.

"Great." And that was it, because nothing more needed to be said and if they talked about it, or acknowledged the fact that she was now going to be alone—no Sora and Roxas in the living room after she got home from work, playing video games until she told them they needed to get started on their homework—then she might start crying, and neither of them wanted that.

"Let's go."

And that is how Sora Hikari spent his last morning in Destiny Islands.

Five months ago, Sora had won the Tri-City fencing tournament. Not a big deal, really, because Destiny Islands was small—small in the way that you'd met pretty much everyone at least once, and if you hadn't, then one of your friends knew them—but still, it was a victory. The Kinoa City, Kilika Port, and Destiny High Schools had competed against one another for top honors in fencing for as long as all three schools existed, and that spring was no exception. What did make that particular tournament special was that a freshman boy, barely fifteen and topping out at 5''2, became the unrivaled champion. Unheard of, and practically scandalous, especially when there were so many other more experienced, and let's face it, larger competitors, to which the championship trophy could've gone. But it didn't, and Sora was unrivaled. The closest anyone had gotten to beating him was two hits, and those had barely hit the target area.

None of that was important in the scheme of things and no resentment was held. Because Sora was one of their own, and if there was going to be a champion, let it be a native freshman fifteen year old boy, rather than one of the haole contractors' kids from the mainland.

But all of this was neither here nor there, merely a reference as to why Sora was standing in front of one of the most celebrated and well-known fencing academies in the world.

Radiant Garden was a bigger city than any he had ever been to. He had accompanied Roxas to Twilight Town to see him off, but T-Town was rinky-dink by comparison, composed of mainly suburban houses and one small marketplace. As for Destiny Islands, the biggest city there didn't even rate a mention. Radiant Garden, on the other hand, was a port city, which meant that commerce there was big, and although it had its share of tourists, it wasn't dependent on the trade.

Sora didn't care about any of that, however. Not when he was standing in front of the castle that would shortly be his new home. Radiant Garden Academy was housed inside the castle proper, and was one of the best examples of Reconstruction that existed to date. It was fully renovated, with all of the conveniences that meant modern living, and despite the archaic gray stone and wide springline style windows, it had central heating, electricity, two swimming pools, and most importantly, the largest fencing arena on the continent.

The elevator he'd taken to arrive on the front steps had been interesting, and slow, and rather than move up or down, it had swung on cables horizontally so that he'd seen a wide sweep of the castle as it had moved. He'd managed to ignore the elevator operator, who had been more than a little strange, with a long sweep of gray-striped dark hair pulled back in a tail, and a long scar over one eye partially hidden beneath a black patch. He had stared at Sora the entire time, winking with his one good eye whenever their gazes met (although Sora wasn't entirely sure he'd been winking, because with only one eye he could just as easily been blinking instead).

When Sora finally arrived on the front steps of the castle—long, narrow steps that a less agile person could kill themselves on—he had finally managed over his case of nerves, determined not to let the grandeur intimidate him, or to gape like the back-water Island boy he knew he was.

He was met at the Main Hall by the recruiter he'd spoken with about his transfer, and he did his best not to make the association between vampire and castle, because that was what Vincent Valentine looked like—a vampire. Not in the cheesy Twilight kind of way, all sparkly and ethereal, and unrealistically romantic, but in the fear-for-your-life, find-you-in-the-dead-of-night, drain-you-dry kind of way. He had piercing red eyes—and who else but a vampire had eyes that color?—long black hair that fell halfway down his back, and most incriminating of all, he wore scarlet—as in Dracula.

Their conversation was short, which Sora was immensely grateful for, because staring too long at Vincent made the short hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and then he was off to the administration to confirm his enrollment.

A woman at the front desk who bore resemblance to the proverbial grandmother—white hair pinned into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, rosy apple cheeks, and a wide smile—was the first person he talked to. She asked him for his name and then skimmed down a list the size of a small book, handing him one of those old-fashioned keys, ornate, scrolled in bronze, and kind of heavy, before giving him his room assignment.

"You'll need the tour. You're a sophomore transfer student, and we don't get many of those. All of the freshman had orientation a week ago, but we've arranged to have someone show you around."

And for that Sora was grateful, because there was no way in hell he was going to be able to find his way around this copy-of-Hogwarts castle on his own.

"Here is your schedule, and if you have any other questions, please feel free to come see us again," she said, handing him a small piece of paper. "Zexion!" she said loudly to someone behind him, causing Sora to jump-and yeah, so he was still a little nervous.

When he turned around it was to see a boy, maybe a few years older than himself, with hair the color of—well, he didn't know what to call it, except that it was kind of blue, and kind of gray, and there was no way it could possibly be real, although he'd never seen hair dye that color either.

On Destiny Islands, street clothes consisted of shorts and t-shirts, and it was unprecedented for Sora to actually see the kind of outfit this kid wore. Black, Sora thought, was probably his favorite color, because that was all he had on—straight-legged jeans over combat boots, and a faded Slipknot t-shirt—and weren't they supposed to be wearing uniforms? He was sure he'd seen something like that in a brochure somewhere.

Despite the foreignness of it, Sora gave his brightest smile and held out his hand. "Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Sora."

The other boy—Zexion, the woman had called him, just stared at him with the visible eye that wasn't covered by blue-gray hair, then looked down at his hand like it was an alien object. Sora slowly withdrew it, scowling slightly and trying to figure out if maybe handshaking was some kind of faux pas or worse. But then he shrugged and smiled again, hoping that if he did it enough, the boy would show some kind of expression—nope, still nothing.

Instead, with the slightest tilt to his head, he gestured to the door, causing Sora to roll his eyes slightly, and something in Zexion's face changed, although Sora wasn't quick enough to catch what it was exactly. He took two steps toward the door, and finally Zexion followed, and then they were off.

Sora had never seen anything like the castle—and it really was an honest-to-God Castle, with towers, and gray stone, and miles and miles of hallways. There were more steps than he could count, and aside from the fact that the wall sconces held electric lights, rather than the torches he had half-expected to see, he felt as if he had gone back in time half a millennium. There were even—and this he never expected to see—rows of armor, with face plates and chest and leg covers, all done in solid iron, and while Zexion began droning on about the differences between Plate Armor and Full Plate Armor, Sora would interrupt him periodically to ask questions and Zexion would get a slightly confused, then irritated expression on his face for being interrupted.

There was a Chapel that was now being used as a lecture hall, a Great Hall in which all of the assemblies were held, and the largest library he had ever seen, with three stories of rows upon rows of books. There were smoking rooms, drawing rooms, all of which had been converted to class rooms, and finally the State Dining Room, where all of their meals were held.

By the time the first hour had been spent, Sora's head was spinning with facts about the Seven Year Siege, in which some neighboring province had taken offense over the rights to three cows and a milkmaid—and what direction was his math class in again?

By hour two, Sora had had enough, and besides, he was hungry, and if he had to look at one more tapestry—because really, what normal fifteen year old boy (almost sixteen) cares about tapestries?—he was going to set them all on fire with lasers shot from his eyes.

So he came to a halt just as Zexion was taking him down yet another hallway, and finally refused to move another inch. "Okay, I think I get it. Anything to eat around here?"

Again that flash of irritation and then that quick expression that Sora was never quite fast enough to grasp, before Zexion raised an eyebrow at him. "Lunch is over. But I think we can find something for you to snack on."

"Cookies?"

And this time Sora caught the expression, stark and clear. Amusement flashed—like the quickness of a shooting star—through Zexion's eyes, and Sora's eyes lit up in response, because he'd begun to think that maybe the guy in front of him was a robot.

And of course, because it was a relief not to have to deal with a robot as well as vampires, and castles, and maybe even aliens (the elevator operator), he couldn't resist teasing. "Aha! You almost smiled!"

"I didn't." And the indignant look on Zexion's face made it all worth it.

"You did."

"Didn't."

"Oh, yes, you did. Your mouth kind of curled up at the side and your eyes went this weird silver color."

"I made no such expression and if you keep it up, there'll be no cookies for you. No food. Period."

"Are they chocolate chip? I'll only stop if they're chocolate chip."

"You are ridiculous." But this was said with that same flash of amusement, which did, in fact, turn Zexion's eyes a weird sort of silver, before he deliberately made his face blank again. "Let's go."

"Chocolate chip?"

Eye roll from Zexion, a quirk of the mouth, and then finally a sigh. "Yes, Sora. Chocolate chip."

Sora nodded his head, let his mouth curve into a smile, and dropped into step behind Zexion. He figured maybe they were headed for the enormous Dining Hall, but Zexion stopped just before they reached the doors, instead turning a corner that was directed toward a set of swinging metal ones. The kitchens, Sora thought, which made sense if lunch was already over.

Zexion was just in front of him, about to put his hand on the door to push it open, when they both heard what sounded like a whimper, followed by a yell. Zexion and Sora froze then turned to look farther down the hall, now noticing the presence of two other students. The larger one, and from his angle Sora couldn't make out his face, was shoving someone else against a wall. It looked as if he was holding that someone by the front of his t-shirt, or maybe his throat, and judging by the whining noises he was making in his throat, he wasn't enjoying it.

"Listen to me, you little shithead. If I ever fucking catch you anywhere near there again, you're dead. I don't give a shit whether or not—"

Just then he must've caught wind of the fact that the two of them were no longer alone because his words abruptly cut themselves off and he froze for one long instant. Then, like some great cat who'd been deprived of prey, he turned slowly to face Sora and Zexion.

And Sora's breath caught in his throat.

He didn't know why, because up to this point all of his protective urges had gone into overdrive, tension and adrenaline, and the words 'get the fuck off of him!' still on the tip of his tongue, but they died there, unspoken as his gaze clashed for an eternal couple of seconds with eyes the color of the ocean.

Sora had never met him before, he was sure of that much. And because of that, the intense wave of déjà vu left him feeling disoriented and slightly dizzy. He knew with certainty that he'd never seen that broad torso set atop long, long legs clad in jeans, or that thick fall of silver hair that skimmed the base of the larger boy's shoulder blades—but his eyes, now those were familiar. Not quite blue, not quite green, but the same color as the ocean framed behind him—and where the hell had that thought come from?

Sora's reverie, which lasted maybe two and a half seconds past the time of the initial clash of eyes, was brought to a halt as the boy with ocean eyes finally spoke. "You have something to say or you just going to stand there mimicking Nemo?"

Sora felt his mouth snap shut, only then realizing that it had fallen open, and he scowled. "Yeah, I do. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Raised silver brows greeted the question. "And that's business of yours, how?"

Sora's scowl only intensified. "You're the one who chose to do this shit in the middle of a public hallway. If you didn't want someone butting into your business, you should've chosen somewhere private."

A smirk greeted this assertion. "Is that an invitation?"

"You can try."

At the challenge, Sora felt Zexion shift slightly behind him then move to lean forward and whisper in his ear. "Don't do this, Sora. Not with Riku."

Riku. So that was his name. Not familiar in the slightest. But those eyes…

Sora wasn't deterred by Zexion's warning. He didn't care who Riku was—he cared that the boy who'd been shoved against the wall, the one who had been making those pitiful noises, was now taking advantage of Riku's distraction in order to slide himself away. He was certain that Riku had noticed this, since it wouldn't have been hard to see if he had any kind of peripheral vision, but evidently Sora had made himself into his new target, and he was fine with letting his former prey escape.

Riku began to walk toward him, and his hips swayed in a swagger that only males with supreme confidence managed to pull off. There was something about the way he kept his weight balanced on the balls of his feet that let Sora know he wasn't just another bully with a superiority complex. Riku had some training, although he didn't know what kind, but he was very certain that he was shortly going to find out.

Sora felt Zexion move behind him, fall away as if he knew there was nothing he could do to stop two hotheads from trying to see whose dick was bigger, and Sora was fine with that. Less chance for distraction and collateral damage.

Riku stepped in front of him—two feet away, then one, then what the fuck?—and shoved his body into Sora's, pushing him back against the wall behind him. Damn, he was fast; he'd barely seen him coming, and strong; Sora could feel that in the hand on his chest, iron hold with no give at all. But he had underestimated Sora—not surprising given how small he was; it wouldn't be the first time. He wrenched away, shoving hard against Riku using the wall behind him as leverage, until Riku was forced to back up a few feet in order to keep his balance.

His ocean eyes were wide then as they looked down at Sora, naked surprise on his face. Then those eyes narrowed, calculating, measuring, before his lips quirked up in what might have been amusement but what was probably just a cover for misjudgment. "Well, well, not quite what I expected, are you?"

"I wouldn't know. The ways of the Neanderthal are a mystery to me."

Riku barked out a laugh, only it was more of a chuckle and something about the sound of it caused Sora to shiver. He didn't know why. "You'll learn eventually."

"Learn what?"

Riku didn't respond, just stepped toward Sora again, and he tensed, ready to defend himself, to push Riku away. But Riku merely placed his hand against the wall above Sora's head so that he was half-caged in, and he didn't like that at all, could feel his shoulders tighten and his breathing speed up. He felt trapped, but more than that, frozen by the look in Riku's eyes. Like a predator, who'd found a new and interesting toy, he gazed down at Sora.

He wouldn't let it get to him, couldn't flinch or back down now, even though he was almost tempted to for the first time in his life because those eyes…were familiar, yet not, and there was something hot in them that gave off sparks of heat and light. And he could feel his stomach clench, just once, in response to that look and—

"Headmaster Ansem is coming down the hall," Zexion said in a slightly bored tone.

Sora felt dazed, like he'd just woken up from some weird daydream. He looked toward Zexion, who was standing a few feet away with his back up against the opposite wall, arms crossed, blank expression on his face. And then Riku took one step back, then two, his eyes still locked on Sora. But whatever spell had fallen over him was over and he scowled at him, wary once again.

"We'll have to finish this later. In private, as you suggested," Riku said, smirk on his face, but his voice was hoarse and that hot light was still there, just behind his eyes.

With that, he turned and strode away, not looking back and Sora felt himself slump slightly back against the wall; felt his eyes close as all the tension drained from him.

"You're an idiot."

This comment came from Zexion who, when Sora finally cracked open an eye, was still standing there with his arms crossed over his chest.

"What do you mean?" Sora asked, both eyes now open in curiosity as he stared back at him.

"Riku's not someone you should be messing with."

Sora grimaced. "I wasn't messing with him. What did you expect me to do? Stand there while he made mincemeat out of that kid?"

Zexion tilted his head, staring at him like he was some new species of insect he'd never seen before and he'd really like to get out his microscope and start examining him. "Riku wields a lot of power around here. Pissing him off is not a good way to start your school year."

"Yeah, well, neither is standing back and letting some bully beat the shit out someone right in front of me. Just not who I am." Sora said this with something that resembled a stubborn pout. Zexion stared back at him with narrowed eyes before they finally flashed in evident amusement.

"I don't suppose it matters now. What's done is done. Just do yourself a favor—try to steer clear of him."

"I could've taken him," Sora said, mischievous smirk tilting his mouth crookedly. Zexion shook his head and rolled his eyes but then Sora remembered something. "Hey, where's Headmaster Ansem? Didn't you say he was coming down the hall?"

"Did I say that?' Zexion mused quietly, smirking as he lifted one brow in the supercilious gesture Sora was becoming familiar with. He had to smile back. Smart guy.

Sora suddenly remembered something else and his stomach was more than happy to growl in agreement. "You promised me cookies, remember? Chocolate-chip?"

A roll of the eyes and a huff of breath met his words as they then proceeded to make their way toward the kitchens, Sora still smiling as he followed.

Zexion eventually showed him where he'd be staying—a small single room on the second floor. He'd been confused at first before remembering the little white paper the old lady at the front office had given him with his room assignment on it. He hadn't paid enough attention when Zexion had given the tour. And so, with another roll of his eyes, the older boy had showed him where it was, and now Sora was sprawled on his dorm bed, contemplating the last few hours.

Zexion was surprisingly cool once you broke through that automated, analytical exterior. Oh, he hadn't said much once the whole scene with Riku was over, but still he'd been kind in an understated kind of way, and after leading him to the kitchens, had let Sora stuff himself with as many chocolate-chip cookies as he could handle, and more besides. It was possible they could be friends. Sora didn't really doubt this, mostly because he liked people, and people seemed to sense this, so making friends had never been really hard.

Riku on the other hand…

What the hell had happened? One moment there had been tension in the air, the kind that signaled a rip-roaring, beat-the-shit-out-of-each-other fight, the next—it had been something different—more. Sora wasn't at all certain he was right. He could've imagined it, that spark of heat in Riku's eyes, his own unnerved and slightly trembling response. It wasn't as if he had any frame of reference for that kind of thing, or even knew what that thing was.

He rolled over, staring at the room that would be his new home. It wasn't much to look at, despite the grandeur of the rest of the castle—a single double-bed with a desk and a chair. The most impressive thing in the room was an antique wardrobe—cherry-wood, he thought it was called, almost black, with intricate scroll work that had probably taken its maker a good amount of time to carve. Inside were five sets of uniforms—white-collared shirts, sports jackets and slacks all in black, except for the crest over the breast pocket with two swords clashed over a heart. The insignia was done in red. He recalled from reading the school's brochure that freshmen wore white; sophomores, red; juniors, blue; and seniors wore yellow.

On further inspection he had found what he believed Zexion called a dressing room next door. It had a love seat and a set of overstuffed chairs around a coffee table. On the other side of the room had been a locked door, which Sora had puzzled over, put his ear to the door to see if he could hear anything, but then had decided it must be some kind of storage closet.

He shivered as he rolled over, realizing for the first time just how drafty a castle could be. The thought made him miss home; miss his cluttered room with knick knacks—baseball glove his father had bought him before he'd been lost at sea, the frayed and slightly tattered quilt his grandmother had made him which he'd refused to get rid of. He missed video games and watching reruns of Scooby-Doo with Roxas on Sunday mornings. He missed shouting at his brother to get out of the bathroom, because he always, always took too long to do his hair, and the weary smile his mother gave him when she finally got home from work.

But there was nothing to be won in contemplation of the past—he was here now, had gained a championship title and achieved a scholarship to go here. After all that, there was no going back. Sora let the thought drift through his mind, closing his eyes, until finally he sank into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

When he woke up it was dark, darker than he had ever seen the sky because there was no starlight to see. In Destiny Islands there were always stars, except for those nights when a storm was on the way. He hated those times, because it always reminded him of the night his father didn't come home, reminded him of his mother pacing in the kitchen, phone glued to her ear as she called anyone and everyone to hear if his father's little fishing boat had made it back to the dock. But Radiant Garden wasn't the Islands, and instead of stars, there were city lights. From the castle window he could see them, distant and hazy, like trapped lightning bugs in a dirty jar.

He sat up and yawned, stretched, rubbed his face and then his hair, then slid his legs off the end of the bed. He was hungry again, his stomach insisting that it needed more than a dozen, nope, make that two dozen cookies, to live on. He figured that the Dining Hall would be closed at—he glanced over to check his alarm—nine-thirty, but maybe the kitchens might be open. And maybe while he was at it he could find a few things to stash in his room for later.

The halls were dark and quiet when he left his room. He knew that most of the students had already settled in but he didn't see any lingering outside their rooms. As he walked he could hear noises from inside each dorm he passed—sounds of laughter, and banging, and the occasional loud music. The sounds made him smile because they were comfortable and safe and, man, the halls were really dark, lit dimly by the wall sconces as they were.

Down two flights of steps covered in red carpet that looked black in the weak light, through the Main Hall, past two gargoyle statues with menacingly grinning faces. Then through two more halls—right, right, and then finally a left, and then there they were—a set of metal double doors.

He pushed them open without a thought, thoroughly confident now that everyone had already gone home for the night because he hadn't heard or seen anyone on his journey.

He was wrong. Sitting at the steel butcher's block was a male—pretty sure he was male given those broad shoulders and long torso—who was currently enjoying his own little raid on the kitchen goodies. Sora stopped just inside the door, not sure whether to move forward or to forget about cookies, and hot pockets, and maybe even left over pizza.

Before he could make the decision, the other boy sensed his presence and swung around to face him.

And that is about the time Sora forgot how to breathe.

The other wasn't really a boy, but was instead at that perfect stage where puberty gives way to manhood. It was all in the eyes. And this boy, no—man—had old ones, like he'd seen things, done things that Sora couldn't even imagine. They were storm-colored, gray and green, with little specks of blue just around the corners of the iris. His face was a study in perfection—straight nose, sculpted cheekbones, full mouth—and why in the hell was he even noticing this? But he couldn't stop, couldn't help but stare. There was a scar that ran diagonally from the corner of one brow down the bridge of his nose to the top of the opposite cheek, and it only made him look that much older, more masculine. Chestnut hair skimming the base of his collar, broad chest, strong shoulders—

Sora still wasn't breathing. The other stared back at him without a word, and there were no sounds, no distractions to break the hold he had on him, and oh, but he wished there were because not breathing was painful. Finally, a million and a half years later, the other turned away to finish eating whatever he had in front of him and Sora inhaled sharply, his heart pounding hard from the lack of oxygen and the curling tension he still felt in the pit of his stomach.

"Hi." The word burst from him, as involuntarily as taking an oxygen starved breath, but worse because his voice cracked on the word. Sora winced. He was positive that he'd sounded like Mickey Mouse on helium, and oh God, he felt like an idiot.

The other ignored him, and Sora tried not to take offense because he had sounded like an idiot, after all. So he marched forward, walking around the butcher's block to face him, hoping that would force some kind of acknowledgement.

He was right, because the older male looked up at him, but now Sora wished he hadn't because now he couldn't breathe again, and he had to consciously remind himself that yes, breathing was good for the body.

The older boy lifted an eyebrow at him, obviously content to sit there and let Sora make a cake out of himself.

"Hi," Sora said again, after much practicing in his head. A dozen things he could say ran through his mind, all so fast that he no time to process any of them, and he couldn't stop at just hi because then he'd really look like an idiot. He opened his mouth, closed it, tried again—

"You're not supposed to be here."

"Huh?" He knew his mouth had flopped open like a fish, but the comment was so unexpected that he couldn't help himself.

"I said," and now he was looking at Sora like he must have a few screws loose, "you're not supposed to be here."

Sora's brow wrinkled as he thought about this, but then he decided that thinking wasn't helping and he should just go with it. "Uh, yeah. I guess." He could feel his face going hot as the older boy stared back at him and he had to swallow before continuing. "But you're not either, right? I mean, you are a student here too, aren't you?"

The older boy shifted on his stool, reaching out to take a sip of the drink he had in front of him before he chose to answer. "I'm a dorm leader. You're not. It's that simple. If it weren't for the fact that school hasn't officially started yet, I might've had to report you."

Sora didn't know what to say to that, was at a complete loss for how to act, and the older male's nonchalance wasn't helping in the slightest.

"You should get back to your room," the other finally said, rising from his seat and tossing the remains of his meal into a nearby receptacle. He didn't look back as he headed for the door, and something that felt a little like panic filled Sora's chest—he had no idea why, because he didn't even know this guy, might never seen him again—and that thought was enough to cause the panic in his chest to tighten even more.

"What's your name?" he finally managed just as the older boy reached the exit. For a moment Sora was sure he was going to ignore the question, push through the double doors without a second thought.

But then he paused, turned to stare back at Sora. Tension—heaviness in the air that felt like a storm was imminent, electric, and tangible, and impossible to ignore—built between them as their gazes locked again. Breathing wasn't even an option. His gaze skimmed over Sora's face, flickered down his body once before he looked up again, and those eyes were hot now, burning, the weight of them solid and real and slightly scary.

"Squall," he said roughly but in a surprisingly hesitant way. He glanced away then back at Sora for one long instant. Then he was gone.

And Sora could finally breathe again.

When Sora finally made it back to his room—through six hallways, past two gargoyle statues, up two flights of stairs—he realized that he'd forgotten to eat anything. He didn't care, because he wasn't hungry any longer. The memory of gray eyes left him feeling full.

Haole is a term used by Islanders (Polynesians) for white men, often in a derogatory way.