AN/ Most important thing first: this is not beta'ed. English is not my native language so I'm sure there will be mistakes but please bear with them (and me). Ok, now the other thing: if you read this thing and think it's strange, that's great- it was supposed to be. I wanted Sora to behave and come across in a certain way. I would like to ask you he seemed to you, you can respond with 3 adjectives even. I'm trying to work on my workshop a bit and the feedback from you guys will be greatly appreciated. Thank you and enjoy the story.
*Really *
There was no point in pretending.
Sora always thought it futile and stupid. Kind of pointless too. There was no need to smile and laugh when he wanted to scream, grab that bitch by her ugly red hair and smash her head on the ground till she started bleeding from her ears and then some more.
Really.
Like right now. Every time one of his friends threw an uneasy glance at him he just let his hand drop. The hand in which he held a big round stone, so smooth, so warm and so nice to the touch. And every time he did that, it slammed on the ground with a wet sound, dirt flying around.
He liked doing it. If only the sound would be a little bit more hollow and the dirt a little bit more red it would be perfect.
Really.
She was not even ten feet away, leaning forward with a shrill giggle and placing a pale hand on a well toned arm. To just stand up, walk over, take a swing and let it crunch on her skull as he bashed it in. Sora was sure he could manage at least five hits before someone would react. Well, almost sure. One shouldn't underestimate … well, others- no need for details here. Labels -such as best friend, crush, almost traitor- changed so quickly Sora didn't bother with them anymore.
There was always the name, it stuck for the past 16 years, but recently it always left this coppery taste on his tongue, sneaking in between his teeth and lurking there through the day, just waiting to make him gag.
Really.
As he focused on his stone, who needed friends anyway, there was a movement on the other side of the campfire. Someone left, heavy steps soon disappearing between the trees. The giggles stopped too, turning to murmuring and choked gossiping. Three guesses who left and two don't count.
Sora scoffed. He ignored Tidus as the blond tried to talk with him and, instead, weighted the stone in his palm. It was pretty heavy, round two kilos, he'd guess. He moved it around till it laid comfortably, smooth edges fitting perfectly to the curves of his fingers. He raised his arm a bit, let it drop and then raised it again. Perfect for throwing.
Really.
Before he even noticed some muscles spasmed, some tendons flexed and some bones obeyed. His arm was behind his head, stone slipping a bit but stopping securely at the fingertips and there was no way to miss that bright red target just waiting to be hit. There might have been a gasp from his side, a throat closing convulsively and choking on sheer air but he didn't turn to check as the muscles over his shoulder blade bunched up, ready to shift.
But before he had time to finish the move, his hand was grabbed from behind. There were strong fingers tracing over his skin, following the blue veins down his wrist and back up. In no time the stone was tugged from his palm and placed in his lap as a warmer body slipped right next to him on the ground. His fingers were still held, played with and squeezed. Somewhere Tidus might have been spluttering and staring at him, since no one else saw a thing, and someone might have been whining about Riku (and here comes the coppery taste crawling on his tongue) changing place but oh well. Sora would not pretend to care. He just leaned on a bit to the right, body resting against a bigger one.
He could live with this. Really.
An/ Once again thanks for stopping by and I would really appreciate your feedback on the thing I mentioned earlier. Cheers, Dacara.