Obsession

When Riku first moved into his new apartment, the window was covered by thick purple drapes that completely blocked out all sunlight and kept the outside hidden from view. After a few days of unpacking and rearranging, Riku got close enough to the gaudy things to notice the small pink flowers embroidered into the thick fabric. As Riku took them down, not sure whether to burn them or not, he really wondered about the previous tenant; Marluxia, Riku gathered from all the random messages he'd left on the outrageously painted walls, and tried to find a place for the purple and pink flower-loving ex-tenant in his latest novel.

About a week after Riku moved in, the large living room window, that nearly covered the entire wall, was covered with simple white blinds. They went well with the new, light gray color of the walls, and they were simple, clean, and cheap enough to keep Riku, and his tight budget, happy.

Normally, Riku might have left the blinds off. He was living in New York City, and the view from all his other windows was inspiring and lively enough that when he made his trip down to the store, looking for blinds and curtains, he only bought one set, even though his apartment held many windows. The view from all of his windows was nice enough to make him lean against the sill, cigarette hanging from his lips, and eyes merely drinking in the sight of the people and the skyscrapers and even the faint bit of water on the horizon. All except, of course, for the window in the living room.

The view from the large and spacious living room window was that of another apartment building and, more importantly, an uncovered living room window of the couple living across from him.

Riku only knew a couple lived there, because while he'd been struggling with the pesky blinds that seemed entirely content to stay on the floor, he'd seen them. There had been a little brunet on the couch, and Riku remembered pausing in his actions to take in the sight of his pouting lips, and the curve of his arms as he crossed them. He's nearly lost himself in pools of endless blue, and he'd felt his fingers twitching to feel strands of the deepest chocolate—when the outrageously redheaded man had walked into his line of sight, looking obviously angry, and just as pouty. Riku has assumed they were just arguing friends, until the brunet rolled his eyes, and moved to kiss the other boy.

Then, Riku quickly set up the stubborn blinds, and barely passed by the window again that day.

For a time, things were well. Riku set up his work table in one of the empty rooms, and he would look out his uncovered window when he was in the need of inspiration for the novel he was working on at the time. Life was good and calm and everything seemed peaceful and perfect. But one day, Riku couldn't get any inspiration, no matter which window he pressed his cheek to. So, desperate for an idea, he turned to the only other window in the house.

When he slipped one pale finger between two blinds and pulled down, gently so as to not harm the plastic, only the brunet was in the room. He was lounging on the sofa, a book in his hand, and a large bruise on his right cheek that he fingered every so often, faint tears clinging to dark lashes until a rough hand was raised to rub them away. Riku, once again, found himself staring at the way his hair spiked, and at the amazingly blue color of his eyes. He found himself admiring the lines of his fingers, and the hue of his skin. And, he found himself wondering about the bruise, and worrying about the tears.

Before long, Riku was in the next room, typing frantically and rushing back to the window every so often, heart caught in his throat at the thought that the mysterious boy might not be there when he returned for another idea. But he didn't leave for some time, and before Riku knew it, he'd written a chapter, and then another, and another. And soon, he realized that that window; the only covered one in the house, would prove to be his biggest inspiration.

And indeed it did.

As the weeks went by, Riku began to notice that he spent less and less time by his open windows, and more and more time slipping fingers between his blinds just enough for him to peek out and observe the couple across the street. More often than not, it wasn't the couple he saw, and instead only the brunet. Riku decided he liked it when the brunet was the only one in the room, because the redhead was a little annoying, and Riku hated the way he held onto the brunet's arm, and the way he forced their lips together until the smaller one eventually gave in. Riku also hated the way the brunet would look when he was all alone, with bruises on his face and his arms, and stubborn tears pooling in his eyes. But, Riku was the most inspired with the boy was like that.

As the weeks went by, Riku moved his desk out of one of his empty rooms, and instead moved it into his living room, and right in front of his window. Then, he spent most of his time sitting in his chair, and leaning his head against his arm as he peeked out, seeking the form of the boy he was getting so used to.

As the weeks went by, Riku wrote, and wrote, and wrote.

As the weeks went by, Riku's editor frowned more and more, and rubbed his temples with an annoyed look on his face, because every time he tried to get Riku to show him his work, the silver-haired boy would refuse.

"It's personal," he would say. "I don't want anyone seeing until it's finished."

Now, Leon was a very understanding man. He also had patience up to his eyeballs, thanks to a writer named Seifer, and a kind enough heart. But even Riku could see that he was getting annoyed with his games. Still, he would shake his head, and close his door until the older man was forced to step out of the way.

"When it's done," he would promise, and then finish pressing it closed.

And then, one day, after spending weeks and weeks in front of his window, peeking in on the couple across from him, and wondering about the brunet, and writing and writing, Riku noticed that he could no longer see into the window he'd grown so accustomed to. But, day after day, he would check. And still, the curtains that had been hung up were never parted, and he could never peek in.

This went on for weeks. And soon, Leon was shaking his head, and throwing his hands in the air, and telling him it was over because if Riku didn't give him something within the week, he'd need to find a new editor. But Riku needed Leon, as he had been the only one willing to publish his work. So he quickly forced a smile, and promised him he would give him what he asked for, so long as he stayed patient.

"Don't worry so much, Squall. It's just a small slump, I'll get over it soon, I promise." But Leon just shook his head, not even bothering to correct him, and left his apartment with a soft "I hope you're right". And then, Riku was all alone, and the first thing he did was rush to his window, spreading apart the blinds without caring that the couple across the street might see, because now he was oh-so desperate. But still, there was no sign of his muse.

So he slumped against his couch, with his head in his hands, and thought and hoped and prayed to gods he didn't believe in to just give him one last chance. Because he really needed this chance, and he really needed his little brunet to open his window like he always used to, so Riku could finish and so he could get a glimpse of the boy he longed to see. But no matter how much he wished and prayed and pleaded, the thick curtains didn't move. And soon, he was at his breaking point, and before he could even process what he was doing, he was walking to his door, and slipping shoes onto his feet and grabbing the keys from the dish on the table, and then he was walking down the hallway, and then out the building. And before long, he was standing in front of a door he wasn't even sure belonged to the one he hoped it did.

But then, before he could doubt and reconsider, the door was opening, and a redheaded man was standing in front of him, looking just a little surprised and just a little confused, and as he stared at Riku, the silver-haired man could only wonder if he'd knocked, because he didn't remember summoning up enough courage to raise his fist. But no matter if he'd knocked or not, he was standing in the door, and the boyfriend of the boy he'd been watching for weeks and weeks was staring at him, so he opened his mouth to say something, even though he'd come unprepared and on a whim. Thankfully, however, the man didn't seem to care, and with a scoff and a roll of his eyes, he was pushing past Riku and shoving hands into his pockets as he walked down the hall.

And with that, Riku turned as if to go, but was stopped by a weak call of "Axel?" and then the sight of his brunet as he came into view, thick tears falling down his very red and very bruised cheeks. Riku gasped at the sight of the trembling boy, and the boy seemed to gasp at the sight of Riku as well. So it wasn't much of a surprise to Riku when he squeaked, and apologized rapidly, and went to close the door.

But it was a surprise to the boy, when Riku reached a hand out to stop the moving door. It was a surprise when Riku gazed at him with pure worry in his eyes, and asked if there was anything he could do. But, really, Riku wasn't very surprised by the fierce shake of the boy's head. So he nodded, and offered him a strong smile, and then turned to go away, but then hesitated, and glanced over his shoulder.

"You should take the curtains down," he told the brunet, and then he left, not bothering to watch for the look of surprise and confusion on the pained face.

But, the next day, when Riku moved to peek out his window, the drapes were indeed pushed aside, allowing sunlight to move into the brunet's window, illuminating his drying hair, and the angry bruises on his face, and the mug in his hand as he sat on his couch, idly reading a book and glancing every once in a while outside, as if waiting for something spectacular to happen.

With a small smile, Riku decided he could give him something spectacular.

So he reached one arm over, and grabbed the string he hadn't touched since he'd put the blinds up. And then, with a tug, the plastic rose higher and higher, until he could see out freely, just as the boy across could see in. The movement had the boy picking his head up, and he gazed onto Riku's face in shock. Confusion and interest settled onto his features as the silver-haired man sat down, and it stayed when he started typing at his computer, gorgeously aqua eyes flickering out the window every few minutes, and then locking shamelessly onto startled blue.

This went on for an hour or so, with Riku typing, and then gazing up and out the window. Shockingly, the boy did not move for some time, and instead stared right back at Riku. Though, after a while, he forced his head down and attempted to read his book. But the eyes on him were too heavy, and by the time the hour was up, the boy was crossing the distance to the window, and was pulling the curtains closed.

Riku's hand stilled then, but he still had a small smile on his face as he stood, and moved to close his blinds. He nearly left them as they were, once he'd gotten them all the way down, but after a moment of hesitance, he opened them enough to let in light and curious eyes. The curtains were still closed, so instead of sitting back down, he moved to the kitchen to make dinner, and was just a little surprised at the sound of a knock on his door.

He moved the finished pasta off of the stove, and murmured a soft "coming, coming," as he made his way to the front door. He didn't bother glancing to see who it was before he flung the door open, startling both the person on the other side, and himself. Because the person who was staring over at him had impossible blue eyes, and bruised cheeks.

"Hello." The brunet looked away, and, without murmuring his own greeting, instantly asked; "why are you watching me?" Riku really shouldn't have been surprised. But, for some reason, he was. Because for a moment, he'd expected this person to act as if he knew who Riku was. As silly as it was, Riku felt like he knew this boy; this boy with no name.

"I'm a writer," was all he offered, as if that simple statement was enough to justify his actions. And, in his mind, it was. Still, he found himself clutching for something else, something with more meaning. "Do you…want to come in? I just made dinner, and you're welcome to join me. I, ah…I can show you my story, if you'd like."

Just when Riku expected the boy to shake his head and shuffle away, the brunet nodded a bit and replied with a soft "yeah, I'd like that."

And that was how Riku found himself sitting to the side of brunet, dinner long forgotten and dishes piled in the sink. The other boy was settled in Riku's computer chair, and was intently reading the computerized ink on the treeless paper, eyes moving swiftly, but carefully.

The silver-haired boy found himself holding his breath, and waiting impatiently for the other boy to finish reading. When he did, Riku could only tell because his eyes had stopped moving, and his back had hit the chair, as he'd been leaning forward just a tad too close to the screen. And then Riku looked at him, curious and waiting with baited breath for his judgment.

"Wow," Was his eventual murmur. "It…it's very good. But, who is the other boy in the story? You never said his name."

"You," Riku replied, easily and simply. The brunet boy gazed over at him in shock, and moved to open his mouth, as if to say something. "I watch you, because you are my muse; my inspiration."

A few minutes later, and Riku was walking the brunet to the door. He watched with heavy eyes as the other boy placed his hand on the door, sighed, and then turned to face him.

"Sora." Riku raised a brow in confusion. "The boy in the story. His name is Sora." What he meant was: my name is Sora. So Riku smiled. "And," Sora went on, "he would like to come over again. He thought your pasta was really good, and…his boyfriend won't be back."

Without another word, the door was opened, and Riku quickly reached an arm out to wrap around the other boy's shoulders.

"Riku would love to have you back, Sora."

And many a story was written, from then on.