AN: Phew, I've had this on my computer for two years. Something moved me to post it today. Please forgive the writing; I like to think I've improved, but I wrote most it in this huge, angsty fit of inspiration that I don't want to mess with (even though it's super tacky). There's something to be said about unpolished writing, don't you think? No matter how much it sucks, it feels good to look back on, just because it was so genuine. This represents a part of my life that I'd like to forget, but remembrance is important. It just is.
Warnings: serious angst, melodrama, profanity, death, and a fairly graphic car accident. Pairings include RikuxSora, AxelxRoxas, and future LeonxCloud. There isn't really a lot of closure in this part, sorry--I'm posting this in two acts, and the second one resolves a lot more, I promise! I'll update as soon as I can. Do not be afraid to hit me up with hardcore concrit. I crave improvement.
Again, sorry for the sap. If you're in the mood to read heavy stuff, please read on!
(Oh, and forgive the stupid last names. They were fillers, but I didn't know what I should change them to.)
- - - - - - - - -
The Happiest Place on Earth
Act I
By paleozoic
- - - - - - - - -
"--and step back. Now Piangi and Meg--thank you, Roxas, Naminé! Beautifully done!"
Suspended in the fly tower fifty feet above the gleaming stage, Riku Marshak watched the cast hurriedly run through the blocking for their finals bows. Cloud had instructed them to wait for signals from the pit orchestra, and their movements were usually fluid and precise, as if choreographed--despite the oppression of being in full costume, they had perfected a ballet of forward and backward steps, often accompanied by their laughter and swishes of the female cast's voluminous skirts. But today marked the final dress rehearsal before opening night, and they were jittery with adrenaline and impatience. Everyone kept jumping their cues.
"Axel, wait for the impact point!" Cloud shouted over the swelling music. "Wait--okay, now! The Phantom, Christine, Raoul, go!"
Axel and Sora stepped forward, bowed, then lifted their hands to help Kairi to the center stage in her heavy white gown. They nearly dragged her off her feet in their urgency. She had only just straightened from her curtsey when Axel leapt out of the spotlight, whooping. The orchestra died out in a cheerful cacophony of squeaks and notes. Even Cloud broke into a rare smile, tossing his clipboard into one of the nearby folding chairs.
"Congratulations, guys--that's a wrap. Now get out of your costumes before you sweat them up."
"Always ordering us around," Axel complained. "Why don't you ever take off your director's hat?"
"Live a little!" Kairi chimed in.
"Meaning, please buy us alcohol for the cast and crew party," Roxas pleaded, and they broke apart on a warm wave of laughter, surging back to the dressing rooms.
Riku had lost sight of Sora in the crowd, but he occupied himself watching his friends squabble and clean their faces. Out of character, they were blessedly familiar--seeing them fit effortlessly into preexisting roles might've been a sign of their acting talent, but it made him feel lonely and out of place. Christine Daae was a fine enough personality, but he loved Kairi in her quiet maturity, not the dewy-eyed innocence of the woman she portrayed. He loved Axel's vulgar humor and Roxas' irritated rebuffs at his come-ons; their constant fighting, the affection towards one another that was obvious to everyone but themselves. Tidus' clumsiness. Hayner's overconfident smile.
And, of course, there was Sora. All of Sora.
They had met on the football field early in April, two freshmen quietly enjoying the first of spring's subtle warmth during lunch break. Riku didn't know how long they'd been standing side by side, but he glanced up to find that they were not three feet apart, separated only by a bench and a chain-link fence. Sora sensed the gaze and turned to him with eyes the same color of the sky, unfathomable cerulean. "Oh, hi," he said, hesitantly, and then yelped as the rotary sprinklers erupted behind him.
Riku ended up taking the shivering boy to his locker and offering him his clean gym shirt. "Keep it," he insisted. "I've got another in my backpack." And a shy "thank you" might've been the end of their interaction, except that it was soccer day in phys ed, and Riku was ordered to sit against the wall as a penalty for not dressing out. As he sat there with his back to the concrete, Sora spotted him through the open window of his second story biology class and drew in a quick, startled breath. Riku blinked up at him. A minute later, Sora was bursting through the double doors nearby, sporting a bathroom pass and a diffident, confused grin.
"Hey, wait a minute. Why would you take an F to keep me warm? We don't even know each other."
"I thought I had a spare shirt, see--" Riku began, flushing, but Sora cut him off.
"Two seconds and I already know you're a terrible liar? That's bad."
They stared at each other for a long time before Sora slowly sat down next to him, glancing first at Riku's red cheeks, then at his own feet. He began to fiddle with the pass, idly twirling it between his fingers. Twice, he opened his mouth to speak. He changed his mind both times, swallowing awkwardly instead.
"I think…I'd like to," Riku said finally, softly.
Sora looked up at him. "What? Lie?"
"No. I'd...like to know you."
Even though they would kiss hundreds of times in the future, in the hallways or at dances or after making love, nothing would ever match the tone of that first instant of contact. It felt both like damnation and salvation, a terrifying fall into tender arms. Sora had leaned in and kissed him on the cheek with a frightened delicacy, a nervous energy that manifested until they were attacking each other against that wall with legs and hands and mouths. It was a gasping, desperate three-minute session that earned them three weeks of after-school detentions. "Worth it," Sora whispered as they readjusted their clothing.
Riku had never again experienced such a glorious sensation of abandonment. They had known in that second that they were right; that they were destined. The moment had been powerful enough to lift them above their world of self-control and heterosexual pretense. When he closed his eyes, he could still remember how the sunlight had felt in his hair.
An amused query jolted him from his reminiscence. "Riku? Are you asleep?"
There was a gentle metallic tapping as Sora climbed the ladder to the catwalk, pausing a few steps from the top to rest his elbows on the platform. He was still wearing his stage makeup. Dark eyeliner traced the delicate curves of his lower lids, enhancing his pupils.
"It's too late to audition for the Phantom, you hermit," he informed, smiling. "Why're you sitting up here in the dark?"
"Just trying to get a little closer to heaven," Riku said. "You're helping a lot." He crawled over and linked his arms around Sora's waist, lifting him into his lap. Sora kissed him twice, then pushed aside one of the spotlights and rolled over to lie on his back. He stretched languorously and laughed when Riku poked the exposed part of his stomach where his shirt had inched up.
"How were we?" he asked.
"Magnificent, as always. Hey, I didn't realize you guys did so much with your footwork."
"Cloud told us to always be aware of our body language, to never make a move that isn't genuine," Sora explained, spreading his arms with sarcastic grace and giggling. "He told us to practice talking with our hands for an hour each night. To which Axel responded with a rather eloquent finger gesture."
"Oh, I'll bet Strife loved that."
"Are you kidding? He gave him extra credit!"
"God, you theatre people are such bohemians," Riku said. "Is your philosophy 'anything goes' or is it more like 'if you're gonna do it, do it when you're drunk?'"
"Either-or. What's your motto, lighting tech? 'Suffer in solitude?'"
"It's actually 'suffer with the crazy-ass creature you call your boyfriend,'" Riku corrected. He continued to run his fingers up and down Sora's stomach, stooping to kiss the soft skin below his ribcage. "You're so beautiful," he said reverently. "It turns me on watching you rehearse. I start thinking about the hundreds of people who'll be watching you sing and act, and how I'm the only one who gets to go home and sleep next to you."
"You and my pimp," Sora taunted, but he closed his eyes when Riku leaned in and began to kiss him again. They touched tongues briefly. He ran a hand through Riku's hair, teasing the silvery strands between his fingers. After a long moment, he sat up and flirtatiously pinched Riku's knee. "Come with me, Kairi, and Roxas to the movies. We're having a pre-opening night celebration with popcorn and chick flicks."
"Can't. I've got to finish my watercolor project before Friday."
Sora pouted. "We haven't seen each other for three days. Passing period doesn't count."
"I'm seeing you now," said Riku, patting his arm. "I promise I'm going to be there tomorrow for opening, and the next day, and the day after that. Just give me one more day for school. The rest of my life is yours."
Sora hesitated, then broke into a smile. "I guess that's fair enough."
He had dropped his hands to his sides. Riku inched his own atop slowly, intertwining their fingers one by one and smirking at him.
"What's that grin for?" Sora said.
Riku licked his lips and parted Sora's knees so they could meet at the chest and groin. "It's just funny, because we're going to be together forever," he said huskily into his ear, making him shiver, "and we might never get another chance to have sex on a catwalk."
"Ooh, potential for wasted opportunities," Sora agreed, and pulled him close.
A voice below startled them apart. "Sick, guys! Am I going to have to start feeling for rain?"
Laughing, Sora poked his head under the railing and waved a hand in a shooing gesture. "Just give us two seconds, Roxas."
Roxas smiled up at him. "Is that how long it takes?"
"Shush!"
"Riku, the movie starts at six. Are you coming?"
"I might have been, if you hadn't stopped us," Riku called down, and laughed as Roxas pulled a disgusted face and stalked back to the changing rooms. He lowered a hand to help Sora to his feet. "I swear, this is the last night," he repeated, punctuating every few words with a kiss. "We're going to have a week-long party to celebrate your theatric splendor. It'll be disgusting; we'll be like newlyweds."
"Don't get too much of me, now," Sora said, smiling. "Forever's a long time. I don't want you to get bored too fast."
"There's so much to you. You'll never stop surprising me."
Sora touched his face tenderly and gave him one last, thorough kiss, lingering a little longer than was necessary. At their full heights, he had to stand on his tiptoes to reach. He rocked slowly back onto his heels and nervously wiped at his lower lip.
"I love you," he said suddenly.
Riku paused, taken aback. "I love you too," he answered, then reaffirmed it, stronger: "God, of course I do. I love you so much."
"Captain Obvious," Sora responded loftily, but something in his eyes softened, deeply touched. It was a sentiment they rarely voiced--in the context of their consuming relationship, such confessions seemed almost redundant--and because the words were seldom spoken, they still carried a furious intensity that was strong enough to startle them both. Riku met Sora's eyes directly and was frightened by the enormity of the admission: he did love Sora, fully, incredibly, with every ounce of his being. The emotion was so huge it threatened to swallow him.
No, something inside him whispered abruptly. Anything this immense is dangerous--it will hit you a thousand times harder when it's taken away. And the thought was so groundless that Riku stared back at Sora, puzzled, wondering why the dark taste of premonition was so strong in the back of his mouth.
"Riku?" Sora waved a hand in front of his face. "Riku, are you okay?"
"Y-yeah." He swallowed with difficulty, cleared his throat. "But hey, be..."
"Sora, come on!" Roxas shouted.
"Oh, shit! Wagon's leaving!" Sora jumped to peck him on the lips one final time and ran to the end of the catwalk, stooping to grab his satchel as he went. "Call me when you finish with your watercolors! I wanna hear your voice before I go to sleep, even if it's at two in the morning."
Riku watched as he quickly descended the ladder, apparently meaning to leave in costume. Roxas tugged at his outfit and made some teasing comment, and Sora swatted him, already laughing and throwing back insults. They caught Kairi at her makeup table and ushered her unceremoniously out the door. Together, the three of them faded to silhouettes against the bright orange light of mid-afternoon. The sun was setting scarlet on the horizon.
"Be careful," Riku called after him, faintly.
- - - - - - - - -
"Axel wants me to get a tattoo."
"You going to do it?"
"Are you crazy? No way! He doesn't own my body!"
"You did get the bellybutton ring when he asked--"
"That's completely different! That'll heal over if I ever get a boyfriend who doesn't have a piercing fetish. Emblazoning 'Axel's Bitch' on my ass indicates a deeper level of commitment than either of us have demonstrated so far. I mean, this is the ninth time we've gotten back together."
"It's also the ninth time you said you were completely through. What does that tell you?"
"That we're both ridiculously indecisive. And that the sex is really good."
It was eight o' clock, and the rush hour traffic had dissolved into deep blue twilight. The movie had been perfect for their before-performance tradition--funny, romantic, and utterly forgettable; another one to chalk up in the history of their friendship, which had begun shortly after they started first grade. They used to eat library paste together. They took trips to the supermarket on their bicycles, weaving between parked cars, struggling bags of groceries back home to their parents. Now, sixteen years old, Roxas sat behind the wheel of his Civic, twirling the dial on the heater and listening with a mixture of annoyance and amusement as his friends pretended to retch out the windows.
"I don't want to think about you and Axel doing the dirty!" Sora was wailing. "Oh, god, that's like imagining my parents having sex!"
"Okay, since when do you think of me as a father figure?"
"Since you expressed interest in his mother," Kairi said.
"I was nine!" Roxas yelled. "I didn't even have hormones back then! Don't blame me for your Oedipus complex!"
"Then don't reference your sex life in front of me!"
"You're one to talk! I caught you and Ri at second base today on the catwalk!"
Kairi tried to gag for emphasis and choked loudly instead, making them all pause to laugh. Roxas passed his soda back to her. After a long sip, she spoke up, her voice suddenly sincere. "Honestly, I think it's wonderful that both of you have found your true loves so early in life. I don't even mind hearing about your sex lives--which, by the way, you guys mention about every three minutes--because it's just so...I don't know, so sweet. It helps me remember that there's still some beauty in the world."
"Beauty in the form of gay boys," Roxas agreed serenely, and she flushed and kicked the back of his seat.
"Come on, I mean it!"
"We know you do," said Sora. He caught her eyes in the rearview mirror. "Thank you. Really."
She smiled at his sincerity, content that she'd made her point.
"Although I don't know if I'd call Axel my 'true love,'" Roxas said.
Simultaneously, both Kairi and Sora pelted him with handfuls of popcorn.
"Hey! No butter on the upholstery!"
"Curfew in ten minutes," Sora reminded him, leaning forward to browse the stations on Roxas's radio. He stopped at some guitar-laden song, hummed along for a few seconds, then frowned and cocked his head. "Do you hear something weird?"
"What?" asked Roxas. He stopped for a red light, pulling behind a few cars in the left lane.
Sora hesitated. "I don't know. Never mind."
"Love this song," Kairi said. "Don't you dare change it!"
"I used to like them, but their last album sounds almost reggae," said Roxas, reaching to turn it up. "Listen to it when they get to the chorus. How the hell do you go from punk rock to--"
"No, there it is again!" Sora broke in. He turned around in his seat, peering back over his shoulder. "Come on, don't you hear that? It sounds sort of like a motorcycle, except lower."
The light changed. Roxas waited a beat before slowly toeing the gas pedal, unsure what to say to Sora's sudden, emphatic anxiety. "Um, I'm not sure, Sor, I don't hear anything," he said, readjusting the volume of the radio to placate him. "It might be a truck or something from the highway. Sound carries really well at night, especially in th--"
He broke off abruptly. All three of them looked up as the sound suddenly rose above the level of the music. It started out as Sora described--low and grumbling--then the Doppler effect sharpened it to a high, revving whine, the sound of a not-so-distant vehicle steadily climbing out of control. The driver ahead of them seemed to notice, too--he stalled suddenly in the intersection, glancing around compulsively to find the source of the noise.
Roxas had to stomp the brakes to avoid rear-ending him. They were thrown hard against their seatbelts. "Oh no, don't stop in the fucking road," he said rapidly, when he got his wind back. His throat was closing with prophetic fear, and he punched his horn twice. "Please don't stop in--"
His words were lost in the roar of an accelerator.
"Roxas!" Kairi screamed.
Suddenly, the cabin was flooded in blinding white high beams. Roxas cranked the wheel sharply to the right, shuffling for the gas, the brakes, anything to get them out of the intersection. The moment seemed to pass in slow motion--his eyes adjusted just enough for him to register the oncoming vehicle, a battered green truck, being poorly operated by a bearded man with a flask at his lips.
Please, Axel, call me, he thought numbly, in that eternal expanse of time. I'll get the fucking tattoo.
A second later, there was a thunder of crumpling metal as the truck smashed diagonally into the front of the car, immediately swallowing Sora in a surge of shrapnel and shattering glass. The impact was like a concrete wall--he felt it from all sides, a crushing, furious blow that seemed to knock all thought clean out of his body. Even as they were forced airborne, Roxas's flailing hand caught Sora's and he registered his friend's fingers spasming in a trauma-induced seizure. Dimly, as if from outside on the sidewalk, he could hear himself screaming.
The car finished its flight and crashed across the intersection, fishtailing several times before catching its tires on the median. He lost hold of Sora's hand. Pain ripped through his head and neck as they rolled once, twice, three times. Everything around them was splintering under a shower of safety glass. Someone's blood splashed across the ceiling.
Kairi was screaming too, open syllables, disjoined words; he could hear their names and the names of people he didn't know, people in her private heart. The dome lights sputtered off. Immediately, the darkness swallowed them in full--the evening was utterly starless. Incredibly, Roxas found himself fighting to see the moon. Where was the fucking moon?
After an eternity, maybe five full rotations, they began to lose inertia. The car teetered on two wheels for a moment on the sixth turn, threatened to tip onto its roof, then crashed right-side up back onto the pavement. The back doors fell open limply, hanging from their single intact hinges.
People outside were leaping from their cars, shouting. Roxas tried to lean forward and couldn't; his whole body was burning in agony, a sharp, wide fire that he felt even in his teeth.
"Roxas!" Kairi sobbed from the backseat, her voice cracking. "R-Roxas, a-are you...oh god..."
His hands were still clenched around the steering wheel, steadily coalescing in blood. He yanked them free. Fresh pain tore up his arms. His head pounded, blood ran into his eyes. The world swam crimson and distorted in front of him, and he let the blackness swallow his vision, surrendering to some unknowable sleep.
We're going to be late getting home, he thought dully. Sora's going to miss curfew.
Sor…
His eyes flew open.
Sora.
The soft noise he had mistaken as the radio was faltering, breaking up into weak, choking gasps. In the salvo of wreckage, Sora was sobbing, convulsing, faintly struggling to fight himself free from the wreckage. His limbs trembled like the wings of a pinned butterfly. His body was failing right before their eyes.
He was dying.
"Sora! Sora!"
Roxas tried to depress the button that released his seatbelt, but his shaking fingers kept slipping in blood. He wrenched himself upright with grim effort. There was a tearing sound from beneath the steering column that might've been his skin or a pant leg. Dimly, in some other reality, it hurt. His veins were afire with adrenaline. He couldn't see his feet; didn't even know if there were still there. He managed to grab Sora's shoulder and watched as blood swelled thickly between his fingers.
"Sora, don't do this to me!"
Two vivid blue reflections disappeared as eyes drooped shut in the darkness. Sora's head lolled away. A dark stream emerged from beneath the fringe of his bangs and slid down the side of his face, playing briefly on the curve of his earlobe.
"No! Sora--please, please!"
He grabbed for Sora's other arm. Missed. He tried again, this time heaving himself forward. Something in his chest screamed in pain, a rib, an injured lung, and unconsciousness claimed him again. He didn't know how much time had passed before someone shook him awake, so gently that he couldn't immediately bring himself to come back.
"Roxas," Sora said faintly, his voice coming from a thousand miles away. His breath caught and he coughed violently. Something warm splashed against Roxas's arm.
Please, God, tell me nothing happened, Roxas prayed. Tell me we're safe. I am going to open my eyes in my room, my bed, laughing because I accidentally woke Sora up during a horrible nightmare. We're going to run down to the school for opening night. We're going to get a standing ovation.
He moved to sit up. His ruined body immediately met the roadblock of his seatbelt, and he closed his eyes against the pain, tears spilling hotly down his cheeks. From beside him, Sora weakly lifted a hand and tried to touch his face.
"Roxas," he repeated, softer.
"Oh god, Sora," he managed. "Oh god."
There was a click from somewhere behind them, then a choked cry as Kairi thrashed out of her seatbelt and flung herself free from the backseat. She stooped to grab her coat from the car floor. Without pausing, she thrust it against the nearest injury--a wide gash on Roxas's right shoulder--applying a frail pressure and sobbing their names under her breath. With growing panic, Roxas strained to deflect her arm.
"No...Kai...get Sora, Sora's..."
She looked over just as someone's headlights washed over the passenger seat and let out a shrill cry. Her knees slipped in blood as she shoved between them, grabbing Sora's chin and forcing his face upwards. "Don't you dare leave us!" she screamed at him, shaking him every time his eyes began to drift shut. Now, incredibly, she was digging through her purse. Her shaking hands turned up with a nail file, and she rapidly alternated between digging at the clasp of his seatbelt and trying to wrench it free. It was hopelessly jammed. Her palms reddened with thin burns of the vinyl against her skin, then slickened with blood, but she did not reduce her efforts.
Roxas realized he wasn't breathing properly and gasped for air. Vomit swelled in his throat. His vision was dimming and refocusing in strange, immeasurable intervals, threatening him again with sleep. This time, though, it was different…almost peaceful. Despite the tether of his own lodged seatbelt, he felt like he was slowly floating away from the car.
All of his pain had disappeared.
Kairi sensed him fading and whirled around, her hair matted in disarray. "No, no!" She fell on him, barely comprehensible in her anguish. "Roxas, oh god oh god, please! Don't leave me here!"
Just as her fingers had found his, the car was suddenly awash with red and blue light. Someone wrenched open the door he was leaning against, and he tumbled to the pavement, dimly registering two cold hands probing at his neck for a pulse. The muscles in his legs and arms throbbed as he went into convulsions. He turned, coughing, spilling blood and bile onto the pavement.
The last thing he knew was someone feeding a tube roughly down his throat, choking him with stale-tasting air.
"Please," he tried to say. A dark hand closed over his body.
Please…
The world grew very quiet.
- - - - - - - - -
"There's been a collision on Chambers and Bridge Row, three cars involved. Definite fatalities--hurry."
The 911 operator's call had come six minutes and thirteen seconds earlier, as Squall Leonhart and his coworkers conversed over fresh cups of coffee in the employee's lounge. The rest was a flurry of action--uniform shirts were re-buttoned, tools thrown back into their receptacles, gasoline gauges checked. It was only a minute later that, en route to the scene of the crash, Leon realized that his hands were trembling. In his four years as an emergency medical technician, no one had ever told them to hurry--hurry was a given; hurry was their job. It was like telling a lifeguard to swim. His feet tensed grimly inside his shoes, recalling the airborne, slow-motion seconds following a vault from the ambulance.
It was eight-forty-five. Spring evenings were usually uncompromisingly dark, but there were enough sirens here to illuminate the night. In the flashes of red and blue, Leon could see only pieces of the accident--ragged metal, twisted chrome frames--but even those brief snapshots revealed that it was the worst collision he had ever seen.
"What the hell?" he demanded.
"Bastard must've been going at least eighty," his team leader said, rapidly thrusting med kits into the nearest hands. "Scott, McNaughton, get the truck. Leonhart, help with the blue Civic. Front passenger seat is still occupied."
Leon's shoes crunched in broken glass as he ran to the car, which had been hurtled a good sixty feet from the collision site upon impact. Two members of the team were already there, struggling an oxygen mask onto the face of the unconscious young driver. A girl in a blue skirt knelt near the sidewalk. Her red hair was tangled with sweat or blood, and she was sobbing steadily, her arms crossed over her stomach.
Pushing aside the other paramedics, Leon forced his way into the demolished vehicle.
His entire body went immediately numb.
The kid inside was maybe fifteen years old, sixteen at most, and insurmountably beautiful. Crushed between his seat and the mangled remains of the door, the boy was conscious, but preternaturally still--his half-lidded eyes were overflowing with silent tears, dark and flickering. Willing his throat to stop contracting, Leon fought his way past the airbags, grappling to reach him through the wreckage. "Hey, it's okay," he said. He pawed through the debris of metal, cutting himself through his gloves. "We're coming to get you, kid, we can help you; you're going to be fine."
Abruptly, the boy's body convulsed. He coughed in two short, hard bursts that splattered the dashboard with quarter-sized drops of blood. Two crimson trails ran from either corner of his mouth, mingling with his tears. He began to sob for breath.
Leon stretched out a hand for him and managed to touch his arm. "I got you. I got you, just stay with me, okay?"
He finally got his legs into the car. He began feverishly wiping the boy's hair from his face to check for head injuries, continuing a moment longer than necessary when he realized it had a calming effect on him. The boy slowly stopped gasping and resumed looking at him with his magnificent, pleading eyes.
"M-m..."
"Don't try to talk!"
He pulled a blade from his kit and cut the seatbelt. It separated with a violent snap, having been wrenched agonizingly tight sometime during the collision. The boy moaned, but his breathing was still labored. Confused, Leon looked down for the first time, his heart pounding loudly in his temples.
Oh, god.
His chest cavity was crushed. His legs were pinned beneath the collapsed dashboard, his jeans drenched nearly black with blood. Even his sneakers were soaked. The only uninjured part of his body was one pale hand that peeked out from his torn sleeve, palm up, fingers twitching minutely. Leon grabbed that exposed piece of clarity and held on tight, suddenly aware that this boy had maybe four, five minutes left on earth.
Why? Oh god, why? After giving him so much beauty, those hands, those eyes?
"Okay, you're okay." He kept saying it, the words flowing from his mouth with no forethought. His lips were completely without feeling. "You're going to be fine, it's okay."
The boy tried to speak again. Gurgled up more blood.
"Shhh."
Outside the car, everything had gone quiet. Leon could hear the sirens dimly, as if from a great distance, and the world behind him was moving at half its normal speed. The other crash victims were being loaded onto stretchers, and he saw now that they were all just children, children with their whole lives ahead of them, children who weren't even old enough to get married or drink or graduate from high school. He looked back at the boy in time to see him mouth something soft but unmistakable.
Where is he.
"You have a special someone?" Leon asked, his voice cracking.
"Riku," the boy whispered, and this time, there was just enough air in his lungs for him to force the word out. "He...miss me. S-smile."
"That's nice. That's good."
More tears flowed mutely from his eyes, clearing trails of white skin in the blood on his cheeks. He shifted a little in his seat and grimaced. The adjustment allowed him enough room to draw in another shallow breath, and he released it as a sob, weak and tortured. "Am I...?" he mouthed, swallowing with great difficulty.
"It'll be over soon," Leon told him, unable to maintain the pretense. Hot tears prickled in his own eyes, and he let them fall, knowing they could not be contained.
"T-tell him..."
"I will. But I think he already knows."
The boy kept staring into his eyes. In his final moments, his irises were like open books--Leon could see through him, could feel all of him. Memories of a new spring. The taste of ice cream in July, the soft patter of rain on his rooftop. His high school, its freshly cut grass, the sounds of lockers slamming and showers running and the scratch of a pen on paper for biology notes. The reverent whisper of lips on lips. Sweet nothings.
He can't die! Leon screamed inwardly, holding his hand harder. Please, he can't die--someone is waiting for him!
Then, on the heels of that: Take me instead.
I have nothing. I can face it.
But after a few agonizing seconds, the boy slowly closed his eyes and slipped away without further incident, his only farewell a marginal tightening of his fingers around Leon's. His legs relaxed. His chest stopped heaving against the wall of metal that had held him prisoner in a grave of wreckage.
Finally, mercifully, he was gone.
Leon reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad, glancing at the face of his watch. It was smeared with blood. He spat to get it clean, cleaning the glass with the swipe of one shaking thumb.
Time of death, he wrote, as the stinging intensified in his eyes.
Thursday, April 24th.
8:37 pm.
- - - - - - - - -
Riku was painting in his room when the phone rang. With his watercolors, he carefully layered a soft gray sky across his canvas, blending in the blues and purples until the matte was tranquilly neutral. He didn't understand the artists who painted chaos--wasn't there enough of that in the world? Reaching around for his flat brush, he noticed his mother standing in the doorway, white-faced and clutching the cordless tightly against her chest.
"Mom?" he asked, frowning, putting down his palette. She said nothing, only pressed the phone into his hands. Bewildered, he lifted the receiver to his ear. "Hello? Who's this?"
"This is the Bridgeway County Medical Center calling for Riku Marshak."
"That's me," Riku said.
"Hello, Mr. Marshak," the voice continued, quieting. "Are you acquainted with Sora DeMaverick, Kairi Lisbon, and Roxas Capra?"
"Yeah, they're my best friends. Sora is...Sora's everything. What's going on?"
"There's--been an accident."
His mother guided him to a chair. He sat down numbly, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Your friends were involved in a serious collision on Bridge Row and Chambers. A man hit them after running a red light--police just retrieved the footage from the intersection's camera, and have approximated that he was going about eighty-five. He struck them near the front of the car, passenger side. Kairi sustained relatively minor injuries. Roxas has been in surgery for a few hours, and his situation is tenuous. Mr. Marshak...I'm so sorry to have to tell you this...Sora DeMaverick was killed."
Riku sat perfectly still. A high, shrill note began to whine in his ears.
"The vehicle struck him directly. He experienced severe internal damage, blood loss, innumerable broken bones and fractures...he was pronounced dead at the scene, but there was an EMT present who was able to speak to him briefly. He wants to talk to you, if you can meet him at the hospital."
"Yes," said Riku. "I'll be there in half an hour."
"Okay." She hesitated. "I am so sorry for your loss."
He hung up the phone.
His mother watched him as he carefully put away his paints, thoroughly scrubbing the brushes before tucking them back into his art case. He pulled on his socks and shoes. After removing his smock, he deliberated for a long time in front of his closet, seemingly torn between his letter jacket or the green sweater Sora had gotten him last Christmas. Eventually, he chose the jacket, shrugging it on and snagging his keys off his writing desk.
"I'm going to be out late tonight," he said, and walked by without meeting her eyes. "You don't need to wait up."
"Sweetheart," she whispered. "I'm so--"
Don't you dare say you're sorry. You don't even know what I--
Riku turned down the stairs. "Goodnight, mom."
Once behind the wheel, Riku drove much too slowly. Sora was everywhere in the car. His pictures were pinned to the sun visors, his algebra notes stashed unceremoniously between the front seats. He'd left a blue button-up shirt and a pair of socks in the back. His CD played in endless loops over the stereo--it was the one Sora had titled, "Me and You: The Years in Review." The mix contained the tacky theme songs for their Homecoming dances, an awful karaoke track from Hayner's sixteenth birthday party, and the fifties-style singing telegrams they had sent to each other for Valentine's Day.
The only serious track was at the very end of the CD, and it had taken Riku three weeks and a mind-numbing traffic jam to realize it was even there. "My All," by Mariah Carey. Cliché. Silly. But it was their song. It had been playing on the radio the night they had first made love, perched on the hood of Riku's car at a lookout high above the city limits. As they panted and touched and kissed in the darkness, a thousand lights blinked and shimmered below them, suspending them high in an ocean of stars.
"--I'd risk my life to feel your body
Next to mine...cause I can't go on
Living in the memory of our song...
I'd give my all for your love tonight..."
He ended up listening to the entire song despite the fact that he was drowning in the music. His fingers were trembling too hard to turn off the CD.
- - - - - - - - -
Even given its two dozen occupants, the hospital waiting room was completely silent. From his place in a corner seat, Axel Akuseru glanced around the room. Tidus was sitting sideways in his armchair, watching the clock. Hayner paced between the couches. Naminé and Olette sat together holding hands, two young women who rarely spoke to each other, consoling one another in their common grief. There were others, too--people Axel didn't know, waiting for the same nod from a doctor, hoping their son or daughter or mother or father would be coming home with them tonight. How many of us are there? he wondered, closing his eyes. Right now, in the world, how many people are praying on their knees for a loved one's recovery?
Next to him, there was a rustling as Cloud finally folded the magazine he had been pretending to read. He was the only teacher who had rushed to the hospital after hearing the news, but he could provide no comfort for his students--in his desperation, he looked just as young as they were. In a way, it was touching. It proved that his camaraderie wasn't a façade.
One of the three lit "Surgery In Progress" signs blinked out.
Axel leapt to his feet along with Tidus and Cloud, but the doctor who emerged pulled off his rubber gloves and gestured another family into the hallway. Axel slumped back into his seat, letting his head fall back in exhaustion. His legs were shaking. He couldn't keep them still.
"This night will never end," Cloud said quietly.
In the opposite corner of the room, the EMT was pouring paper cups of coffee. He brought the last two to Cloud and Axel, offering wordless consolation in caffeine. His brown bangs had slipped down over his handsome face, but he made no move to readjust them, perhaps hiding his own swollen eyes. Axel managed a small smile. Cloud just nodded and put the cup aside, not looking at him. The EMT sat down between them after a moment's hesitation, reeking of blood and rubbing alcohol. His lips were trembling faintly.
"It was bad, wasn't it," Axel blurted suddenly, without realizing he was going to speak. His voice was too loud. Startled everyone in the waiting room.
The EMT didn't look up for a few seconds. "Yeah," he said finally. "It was...the worst."
"Ah. Roxas always told me that driving at night was a bad idea. I mean, he was talking about being tired...but I guess people drink at night, too. And he only got his license a year or so ago, which isn't really all that long. Though he always remembers to turn on his lights. That was never a problem with him. Anyway, Kairi and Sora wouldn't have ridden with them if they weren't sure he was a safe driver." He knew he was babbling, but he couldn't seem to keep quiet. The EMT silenced him by placing a hand on his shoulder.
"This accident was not his fault," he said, firmly and deliberately.
Axel let out a long, shaky breath. He dropped his head, knotting his fingers tightly in his hair and squeezing methodically. "Right before they left," he said, his voice low, "I told Roxas that I didn't believe he was committed to me. I accused him of being unfaithful and leading me on."
"Axel, don't think about it like that," Hayner interrupted suddenly, and stopped pacing in front of him. "That's just the way you two are, alright?"
"That doesn't make it okay!" Axel shouted, making everyone jump.
Hayner flinched. "Axel--"
There was a loud bang as Riku Marshak burst abruptly through the swinging doors, his hair soaked with sweat and clinging to the sides of his face. He was deathly pale. Bruise-like shadows stood out under his eyes as he started toward the receptionist's desk, then stopped short, registering the presence of his friends. "Guys?" he asked, his voice choked. "Hey, I--"
"Riku," Tidus began, a strong start, then faltered.
Riku swallowed. His entire body was shaking. He made a move as if to sit down, then stumbled, wincing as everyone lurched for him. They all froze briefly. Then Naminé slowly stood up next to Riku, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pulled him hard against her. "Riku, we would do anything to change it," she whispered, stroking his hair, looking very small inside his arms. Tears fell from her eyes, soaking the shoulder of his jacket. "We're all sorry, Riku. We're so sorry."
She guided him to the couch. One by one, they each swallowed him in an embrace. Riku clung back with desperate fervor, holding them for too long, pinning them until they could feel his pulse throbbing in every inch of his body. Axel held onto him for the longest. They gripped each other's backs until their fingers were white and trembling. Axel let go when he felt Riku's breath hitch, but when he pulled back, his face was strangely neutral. The color was gone even from his lips, yet he looked okay. Serene.
"How are they?" he asked with deliberate composure.
Axel tried to straighten in his seat. "Roxas...well, he's better than he was. They've stabilized him, and it looks like he's going to make it. He had some severe head trauma. Right now, there's no way to tell the extent of the...um, the impairment. The doctors have already warned us that he might be permanently disabled." But God won't let that happen, he started to say, then, on the tail end of that platitude: Sora. Sora is fucking dead. He dropped his head into his hands and bit the inside of his lip until he could taste blood. Don't you dare take him away from me, you bastard. You cannot take two of us in one night.
Cloud saw that he was unable to say anymore. "Roxas is strong," he said steadily, folding his hands so they couldn't see that he was shaking. "Roxas will fight it; we are going to get through this."
Riku flinched, seeming to notice him for the first time. "Mr. Strife…how's Kairi?"
"Had a few stitches, a sprained wrist. She didn't say much after talking to the police. She went home half an hour ago, wanting to sleep." He hesitated. "I...think she'll be sleeping a lot for the next few weeks."
"Ah," said Riku. "That's--yeah. It's understandable."
Awkwardly, Hayner touched his hand. "Riku...when we heard about Sora..."
Riku pulled away abruptly. "We should be concentrating on Roxas right now. Don't you think?"
Hayner started to respond, but subsided when Olette cast him a quick, pleading look. They sat in silence for a long time, unable to meet each other's eyes. Riku was the only one who kept his head up. They tried not to notice the way he blinked furiously and glanced around the room at nothing, fighting to act casual. His foot tapped erratically against the tile. It was driving them crazy, but no one said anything.
The EMT had moved to the end of the receptionist's desk some time ago and was staring resolutely into his untouched cup of coffee, trying to disappear into the wall. Axel had nearly forgotten about him. "This is Riku," he offered uselessly, just to break the silence.
They glanced at each other. Unbelievably, Riku tried to smile. "Hi."
"I'm Leon," said the EMT. He opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head and took a few rapid, stumbling steps towards the exit. "Please forgive me for intruding," he said without meeting their gazes, quickly bowing his head. "This is none of my business; it was a mistake to--"
"You're the EMT?" Riku broke in.
Everyone turned to look at him. Leon glanced away and gave a barely perceptible nod.
For the first time since his arrival, Riku's voice cracked. "You actually spoke to him before he--wh-what did he say, did he mention me or anyone?" he asked, barely coherent. He seemed to recognize his panic, sucked in a deep breath, and tried to wet his trembling lips. "Please, stay," he begged finally. "Please…we want to hear everything you can tell us. We kind of…we have to know."
Leon wanted to say no. He didn't know Sora DeMaverick, didn't have any right to be standing in the waiting room with his friends--especially Riku, who looked as if he was inches away from following his lover out of the world. The kids were beautiful, all of them. Good, real kids, the sensible kind that wouldn't die or OD or end up in jail before they were twenty. The teacher, Strife, was straightening, too. Their eyes met briefly, and Cloud tilted his head minutely; a quiet go-ahead from the only other adult in the room. It gave Leon strength. He exhaled slowly, raising his eyes.
"He passed well," he said softly. It hurt to see them tense, but they needed to hear it. "He was quiet. I didn't even realize how...how severely he'd been injured. I kept trying to placate him. To keep him calm for as long as I could."
"He was still conscious?" Olette whispered.
The quiet horror of that. Riku hugged himself tightly as a shudder seized him, making him quiver.
"He was brave," Leon said, desperately trying to convey the sheer beauty of what he had seen--a dying sixteen-year-old whose last moments were not of blood or anger, but of grace. Love. How common was that, in a world where there was war, rape, murder, suicide? How many children professed tenderness in their final breath?
"Was it bad?" Riku asked, his voice breaking again. "His pain, I mean."
He began to gold-plate the answer, then realized that he could tell the truth. "By the time I found him, most of his pain had passed. He was…scared, I think. That was the worst."
With a soft chime, the middle "Surgery In Progress" sign dimmed. Axel shot to his feet. A moment later, a slender blond man pushed through the doors. He had removed his gloves and washed his hands, but his scrubs were still smeared with blood. "I'm Doctor Even," he said, pulling down his surgical mask and looking around the waiting room. "May I speak to the family of Roxas Capra?"
"His parents are out of town," Axel said. "Tell us what's going on."
The doctor hesitated, apparently torn between protocol and their obvious distress. Axel's expression seemed convince him. "We've just treated him for epidural hematoma," Even said. "There was no actual blood within the tissue, but the buildup beneath the skull was creating pressure against his brain. We've surgically drained it. He experienced some additional neck trauma that might cause problems with dexterity, and one of his arms is broken. We won't know for sure until he's lucid…but with physical therapy, and your support, I think he's going to be fine."
Axel let his breath whoosh out of him. He collapsed against the wall, choking back his sobs. "Fucking Roxas. Putting us through all this shit."
"Can we see him?" Tidus asked.
Even shook his head. "Only in the hallway, through the glass. He looks bad, but don't panic."
He held the door open for them as they filtered down the corridor. They let Axel step ahead, Hayner keeping a steadying hand on his back, Olette and Naminé again linking elbows. Cloud paused to tentatively shake Leon's hand, lifting his cup in silent thanks for the coffee. The door swung shut behind them. Their sounds quickly disappeared behind the walls.
Leon turned to regard Riku, who was sitting alone on the couch, looking very small and very numb. Leon didn't care much for consolation--he'd seen too many accidents and gunshot wounds to believe that real sympathy existed. But he found himself walking to Riku on his own accord and taking one of the boy's limp hands in his.
"He mentioned you," Leon said quietly, "and asked me to tell you that he loved you."
"He said that?" Riku asked. He didn't squeeze back. Tears rolled soundlessly down his face.
"I told him you already knew that."
"I did. I…I do."
Riku pulled away suddenly. He reached into his back pocket and extricated his wallet, pinching the billfold open. He was still shaking. It took him a few tries to reach inside the credit card holder and extricate a small photograph, which he placed in Leon's hands.
Leon looked at it. It was a school portrait of Sora, clean-faced, free of blood and bruising. God, those eyes. Attentive, intelligent, delicately lidded, framed by dark lashes. In the close-up, he checked the edges of the irises for the telltale lips of contacts, but the color was real. He'd never seen a clearer blue. They were Pacific Ocean eyes, where the deepest water in the world enjoyed perfect silence.
"I can't take this," Leon said, feeling his throat swell. He tried to hand it back.
Riku ignored the gesture. "You've got to," he said simply. He had composed himself again. He moved backwards towards the exit, toeing the steps strangely, as if preparing to run. "You were there, and that might not seem like anything, but--it was--just, thank you so much for everything. Thank you. I need to go, now."
Leon had no idea what to say. "Wait--your friends?"
"They'll be fine. I just--I need to go."
He'd barely finished the sentence before pushing through the swinging doors, leaving Leon standing alone in the waiting room. His footfalls grew rapid as he moved down the hall, quickening to a sprint, stumbling and erratic. The hospital was too quiet. A soft trail of cologne tingled in his absence. That faint undercurrent of bergamot was the only evidence of their interaction--his departure had been so sudden that their entire conversation seemed unreal.
But that was the danger of leaving.
Of dying.
Leon squeezed his eyes shut. Slowly, he closed his hand, allowing his fingers to fold back around the photograph of a boy who was no longer present to smile. The memory burned in the back of his mind. Leon could still taste gasoline in the air, blood and fire, hospital sterility and existential debris. Sora's spirit like a brand in his heart, the school picture a casualty he could carry with him to work. And maybe this is what Riku had wanted. Someone who wouldn't be able to walk away from what had happened on April 24th.
- - - - - - - - -
Beloved son, truest lover, purest heart,
Too early lifted from our lives:
Now, you are free.
They had decided on the epitaph together, sitting in the overstuffed armchairs in the funeral home's lounge. It was hell, those hours with Sora's broken family--a young mother who paged through psalms and chatted with frantic enthusiasm, a stolid, red-eyed father, unable to meet anyone's eyes. No one spoke at the funeral except for the priest, who hadn't been acquainted with Sora at all. And maybe that made it easier. It was easier to settle for earth when you'd never known heaven.
Naminé soloed "Unchained Melody" at the end of the service, a rite that might've been offered to Kairi, had she been capable of singing, or even speaking. The quiet strength and reverence in Naminé's voice was soul-shattering in the church, resounding a hundred times with the bell-like clarity of grief and farewell. Of all the spectators in the pews--nearly the entire student body and faculty, neighbors, relatives, supportive townsfolk--there was not one person who remained unmoved.
Except for Riku.
He sat in the first row with his hands clasped in his lap, staring blankly past the coffin at the stained glass windows. His suit jacket was meticulously pressed, but his shoes were scuffed, as if he'd just finished a marathon down a dusty road. Earlier, he had accepted his classmates' consolations with an uncharacteristic graciousness that undermined his effusive attempts at being casual, then lapsed into silence, as if exhausted by his efforts. He had looked at the coffin only once to straighten the framed photograph that sat on its polished maple surface. It was a closed-casket service. His family had wanted it open, but the morticians had not been able to mask the devastation of Sora's ruined body. Tall candles burned on the altar. The smell of cinnamon was strong enough to taste.
Riku was thinking about the last day they had spoken. He had promised Sora that they would be together forever, that there would always be more time. The idea of his being gone was absolutely unfathomable. The two of them had been planning a summer trip to Disneyland, patiently saving up dollar by dollar from their minimum wage jobs in hopes of sharing two glorious weeks alone. What could he do with all the money he'd collected? Donate to charity? Spend it on grief counseling?
The burial itself was a private service. There were fourteen of them standing around the gravesite--Sora's closest friends, including Cloud and excepting Roxas, his parents, and a few relatives. Riku traced his fingers slowly over the letters of the epitaph, carved in cursive on clean white granite. The priest spoke with the placid piety of someone completely unaffected by emotion:
"'In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, until thou return unto the ground, for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.'"
One at a time, they spilled their handfuls of dirt into the grave: Naminé first, slowly, then Tidus, Hayner and Olette, Axel, and finally Kairi a few moments later, clenching her eyes shut as hiccups forced themselves free from her pursed lips. The sound of the earth pattering on the coffin lid seemed to shatter her, and she collapsed suddenly by the grave, sobbing. Naminé fell beside her, struggling to urge her to her feet. Kairi thrashed away with furious anguish.
"Sora!" she cried, her fingernails clenching in the grass. The gauze on her arms needed to be changed. Blood had blossomed in the elbows. "He was right there, and I couldn't--I wasn't able to--"
Naminé reached for her again. This time, Tidus caught her other wrist, and the two of them were able to hoist her into a standing position. Supporting her heavily, they began walking back to the parlor. "We'll see you at school," Tidus called back, mechanically. It was beginning to rain.
Everyone dispersed slowly, one or two at a time. Axel lingered, clutching the bouquet of lilies he had brought to put on the grave. Sora's headstone was buried under a mass of gifts--flowers, ribbons, framed photographs, stuffed animals. Someone had left a small white teddy bear that was quickly dampening in the escalating storm, and for some reason, that cut him more deeply than anything else that had happened during the day. It made it too vivid. And yet I can go home today and kiss my boyfriend goodnight, he thought, closing his eyes. God knows why I deserve it, but my life is still worth living.
When he looked up, he realized that Riku was standing beside him, one dirt-filled hand still extended over the hole.
"Riku?"
Riku shivered, but made no response. Axel stepped beside him, silently shielding him under the span of his umbrella.
"C'mon, man, it's time to let it go," he said, softly.
It was only then that he noticed Riku was sobbing through his clenched teeth, his eyes squeezed so tightly shut that his lashes were trembling. Rain and tears dripped down his chin. "I can't let go," he choked out, his voice low and thick. "What the fuck is wrong with me? I can't let go yet. I..."
He wasn't talking about dirt, Axel realized. He wasn't talking about a tradition at a funeral service--that was too fucking simple, wasn't it. It was only easy to let go of the material when there wasn't a memory tied to it.
"My stomach hurts," Riku whispered.
"Riku," Axel tried, helplessly, balling his hand inside his coat pocket. His fingers closed around something, and he pulled it out, confused. It was the small plastic bag he'd stashed away that morning for disposal of his cigarette butts. At present, it was empty--he'd dumped it out when he'd gone to the restroom to dab quickly at his swollen eyes. Glancing at Riku's shaking fist, he slowly pulled it free, shook out the remaining ash, and held it open. "Hey."
Riku looked up at him after a lengthy pause, seeming to register his presence only dimly.
"It's okay, you don't have to let go yet," Axel continued, struggling to attain some sort of cheer. "You can just put that in here for now. You know...keep it until you're ready to...until you're ready."
There was another long pause. Then Riku shivered again, causing the rain to trickle down his cheeks. "Okay," he said brokenly.
It took him a few tries to position his hand over the bag. Axel finally grabbed his wrist and held him steady as he pried open his fingers, watching the dirt filter into its plastic receptacle. Riku clutched it close as he ran to the parking lot, where Sora's parents were waiting to give him a ride home. Axel let out a deep breath and turned around. The priest was looking at him angrily, with a perfectly readable look on his face: You are prolonging the grieving process. You're telling him it's okay not to accept what he doesn't want to believe, doing more harm than good. It's time for him to let go. The boy is dead.
"Fuck you," Axel said calmly. "You didn't even know him."
The priest stared at him for a long moment, then turned away ashamedly.
Axel waited until he had taken a few steps back before placing the lilies on the grave. All those bouquets. A beautiful garden that Sora would never be able to see. Axel picked up the soggy white teddy bear on the headstone and squeezed it against his chest, tears trembling behind his shut eyelids, letting the pain course through him in slow, silent waves.
"We miss you so much, kid," he whispered. "Help us out, okay? It just doesn't feel real yet."
A horn blared in the distance. Hayner, offering him a ride from the curb. Axel put the bear back down and watched the precipitation bead softly on its black glass eyes, as if it were crying. Sora. Name etched deep in the granite, so no one would ever forget. As if they could. Axel stood up and walked towards the parking lot, leaving his umbrella over the gravestone, holding his arms over his head to shield himself from the falling rain.
- - - - - - - - -
End of part one
- - - - - - - - -
Closure in the next half; thank you so much for reading. Please review if you want!