You May Have Noticed
A/N: I take pride on this as my very first almost-completely-written-in-one-sitting-while-listening-to-the-KH-soundtrack fic. That aside, there isn't very much to say about this, except that I hope it's not too long to maintain interest, and that I'd like very much for someone to leave a review.
Sora never would have admitted it out loud…but he was terrified that his own family would never accept who he was.
"Oh, yeah, Riku, that's fucking perfect for a eulogy, tell your dead boyfriend's parents that he thought they were bigots, real goddamn crowd pleaser," Riku growled at the unshaven face glaring back at him, loathing every detail visible to his jade eyes, blurred by tears. He raked his unkempt bangs out of his eyes, tearing a few hairs out in the process. Barely flinching at the pain, Riku's hands scrabbled across the grungy counter for his comb. Instead, his fingers closed around a disposable razor. Riku breathed a curse as the cheap, rusted blade nicked his skin. Overcome by wanton fury, he hurled it at the far wall.
As the razor rattled around the bathtub, Riku stared at the bloody smear left on the surface, his eyes riveted to the scarlet river trickling through the tiles and staining the grout. It was all too familiar; the memories returned unbidden, and Riku wanted none of it. Stricken with horror, terrified of the past, Riku fled the bathroom.
We met as friends, but as our relationship deepened, we realized how we really felt, and vowed to keep no secrets, since it was secrecy that had kept us apart so long. So Sora told me about his depression, about his first attempt and how he'd been having therapy for over a year. He was thirteen at the time.
The sky was grey, with pendulous clouds and an atmosphere of tension that you could almost smell through the thick fog of impending rain. God must have gotten the memo that there was a funeral today.
Sora's family had opted for an open casket. The father was averse to the idea, probably terrified Riku would rape his son's corpse if his face was exposed to the light of day, but everyone else wanted to see his face one last time.
Riku didn't care either way, but it would have been nice to not have to avoid looking at the casket itself when he went up to lay down his bouquet of roses. He didn't want to remember Sora as a lifeless corpse, but the prospect of seeing his face again was almost too tempting to resist. Instead, Riku gazed intensely at a particularly large rose as he spoke to Sora's memory.
"I..." Riku frowned and bit his lip as a premature tear already beaded on his lid.
What do I say to something like this? And how do I know he's listening?
"Sora..."
"Riku?" Standing uncomfortably before him was a young man about nineteen: Roxas, Sora's brother. A petite blonde who came up to his shoulder stood by, looking deeply uncomfortable. They shook hands, and Riku learned that her name was Namine. Roxas' eyes were bloodshot, and he rubbed at them as he spoke.
"I'm just…I know you were the one who found Sora, and…" he sniffed loudly and spoke only when encouraged by his companion. "I guess I just want to say thank you, for staying with him even when you found out about it…He told me how much you did for him…He held out all that time for you."
Riku smiled weakly. "Thank you, Roxas." His lover's brother nodded, sniffled again, and unexpectedly pulled him into a hug.
As quickly as it happened, it was over, and Riku barely had enough time to blink. "Sorry," Roxas said sheepishly. "It's just so great to see someone who cares about Sora. Cared." He wiped his nose on his sleeve and drew a shuddery breath. Namine sensed the floodgates were about to open and subtly took Roxas' hand, leading him away as the boy's composure began to crack.
I knew Sora…loved him…lived with him for years…And I know there's nothing harder to face than depression. I'm not belittling his struggle…but it felt just as hard, watching someone else battle their way through a disease most people aren't willing to recognize. And honestly, I don't know if I should be relieved that Sora's battle is over.
Riku stood with his head bowed behind a podium in the church hosting the funeral (a fucking miracle he could find one willing to hold a gay man's memorial service). All his rehearsed notes escaped him, and he stood there, unable to read his false sentiments and nuggets of poignant wisdom with watery eyes. He blinked, and a tear leaked onto the smooth polished wood of the plinth. In an eerie echo, rain began to patter on the roof.
Someone seated in the crowd coughed and shifted in the pews.
"Look, my boyfriend just died, got that? Fuckin' slit his wrists. So pardon me if I don't know what the fuck to say," Riku seethed into the mike. "God bless." He jumped out from behind the dais and stormed off into the midst of the pews, shoving aside a pastor who stepped forward, mumbling entreatingly.
"Way to show some respect for the dead, man," someone called jeeringly. "I can see why my cousin killed himself. I would too, if I had to live with a jackass like you."
"Fuck you!" Riku shouted. "You don't even give a damn, do you?" He shook his head, unable to understand why the world was melting, losing its clarity like runny paint. "You don't care…" he repeated, chanting in a hoarse voice like it was his mantra of misery. He backed away, intimidated by the blank, impassive stares from the congregation.
A sympathetic eye here, furious glares there; a teary face to match his own, a face Riku recognized as Roxas, weeping with his head tucked in his knees. Namine wrapped a comforting arm around the boy's shoulders, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek, and Riku couldn't take it.
The doors yielded easily to him, or maybe he just hadn't expected such little resistance to his fists.
Words can't really describe what it's like to lose a lover…Maybe a really loud scream could do it, but, uh, I don't want to deafen anyone here tonight, so…
The rain Riku had heard earlier was now tangible, wetting his hair and making his shirt cling to his body. Water He threw back his head, closed his eyes, and surrendered to the raindrops caressing his arms and his chest and it was all too familiar, but he wanted this memory, he longed to cling to the evanescent sensation of skin on skin, the sound of Sora's breath as they entangled themselves in the sheets and each other.
"Riku." Someone was standing behind him, and only as they spoke did Riku realize that he was on his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground. To the unseen person, it would have looked like he was praying.
"Go away."
Whoever it was didn't respond, and Riku could only hope that they'd obliged. He straightened his arms, lifting himself up and blinked slowly to dislodge water drops and tears from his eyelashes. It felt like an eternity of staring at the ground, listening to his own shallow breath and wondering what this would mean, the end of them, the end of Sora, the end of himself?
Riku finally stood, wincing as his legs protested being cramped for so long. He gave a mighty sniffle, wiped his nose and reluctantly re-entered the church. Everyone seated in the sanctuary sat completely still, their expressions somewhere between between sympathy and terror.
One woman Riku had never seen before, probably one of Sora's myriad sisters, approached shyly with a handkerchief held forward as a peace offering. "Are you feeling better?" she asked timidly.
Riku raised an eyebrow and took the handkerchief. After blowing his nose loudly, fully aware that it would irritate the anxious congregation, he nodded his thanks and cast his eyes through the crowd. All eyes were on him, and he had eyes only for the casket at the front of the sanctuary.
Without a word, Riku turned and walked to the parking lot.
You may have noticed that I'm not the most eloquent guy you'll ever meet in your life. But I can say what I mean, and I think that's more than most people can say about themselves. And you know that when I say I loved Sora, and I still do and I always fucking will, you can believe me.
Fin.