A/N: Oh, lord, an AU. Lucky number 13, for prompt #3 – Sun.

This one was a little hard to wrap my head around. It's kind of weird to view their relationship from a detached and not-exactly-complete perspective. But it was fun, so I guess it's all good. XD

13 - Perspective

I remember the girl my brother fell in love with.

I even remember what meeting her for the first time was like. Yeah, I remember all that really well—right down to what she was wearing, and what I was thinking, and what color the trees all over town had begun to turn. But she wasn't the girl my brother fell in love with then, of course. At least, I didn't think so. It took a really long time before anybody started thinking of her as that.

Anyway, that first time that everything started clicking into place… It was after school, on a Monday afternoon in early fall. I remember, because when I closed my eyes and breathed in I could still smell the summer, but the air was already beginning to get that nice nip and nearly all the leaves had gold edges over the green.

I remember sitting at the bus stop, as usual—I didn't have to take the bus home, but Leon was always complaining about what a bitch it was to find me on school grounds whenever he came to pick me up, and it'd make it easier for him to find me this way. I remember having my discman on my lap pouring some of Dad's old jazz into my ear—though I'd never tell him I actually liked that stuff, he'd never let me hear the end of it—and bopping my head back and forth to the tune. I remember wondering what was taking my brother so long, that hypocrite, but don't the leaves look so pretty?

I remember the look on my face when he finally showed. And not just because he was late—by five minutes, but for my obsessive-compulsive freak of a brother that's five hours—but because, well. He had a girl with him. And I remember having to force my jaw closed, because, well. My brother. Leon. With a girl.

It was all really low-key. That might have been what threw me off. I mean, I don't remember them doing any of that really gross stuff that couples usually do, which might have been because they weren't technically a couple then. I think. I don't really know when all the couple blah started, but anyway. I'm just going off on one and missing the point. The point is that he wasn't holding her hand, she wasn't hanging onto his arm and giggling like some kind of idiot, and they didn't brush shoulders as they walked, not then.

I don't remember if they were even talking, actually. Even then, it was kind of like they didn't need to. Weird.

---

I remember a lot of things. I remember noticing her hair was the same color as the trees would be in a couple of weeks—this really soft, nice gold-brown that you just don't see on the heads of normal people. I remember she had on a pale pink sundress, this long flowy thing that made ripples when she moved, and a red cardigan over that, and a pink ribbon keeping her long braid back, and my god, everything about her was just so pretty I couldn't look at her without feeling like a church mouse.

I remember thinking she looked like a greeting card model, if there was such a thing, and then Oh god. That's a lot of pink.

The two of them drew up to me, and Leon introduced me to this strange creature as my sister, and I remember how she gave me her hand to shake and how these little silver bracelets jingled around her wrist when she did. I remember feeling even more like a church mouse then, with my rough palms and bitten nails, because even her hands were so smooth and graceful and pale and perfect—because in spite of everything there wasn't anything artificial about her when she nodded hello.

"I'm Aerith," was what she said. "But your brother wasn't polite enough to tell me what your name was…?"

I'm pretty good at reading people, mind you. I can tell a mile off when people are up to something, or just faking politeness, or toadying up to you when they want brownie points with someone you know. That might have been what weirded me out so much about Aerith at first, how it didn't seem like she was up to anything.

"Oh, it's Yuffie," was what I said. Then I gulped a little.

I remember her saying it was her pleasure, and it was nice meeting me and she should be heading home now, she lived on so-and-so street and her mother would be home from work soon. Then she touched me on the arm and turned away, towards Leon—I remember how she smiled at him, how this really bright, warm light kind of welled up and pooled in her green eyes, like she had the sun inside her.

I remember her thanking him for walking with her partway, and my brother's mouth twisting the tiniest bit in what might or might not have been a smile in return. But then I blinked and she'd already gone, and Leon was already setting off in the other direction. His strides were so long I had to jog to catch up.

We didn't say anything, all through the short walk home. I sneaked a look at his face, though—stony as usual. I remember thinking I must have imagined it.

---

I remember trying to grill him about it while we were making dinner that night—and failing miserably, of course. I'd kind of been expecting to be shot down before even starting, but you know. Had to try.

"So, how'd you meet her?"

At least I had the decency to keep my voice low. Dad was watching TV in the next room, and the walls had ears. But Leon just gave me that look of his that said he didn't have time to indulge his baby sister right now, I should go back to peeling potatoes… then he squared his shoulders and turned deliberately away from me.

"Leon!"

I heard him sigh audibly, turn back. "What?"

"How did you meet her?" I asked him again, but I had gone back to my potato. Just so he didn't have anything to use against me this time. He did give me a dirty look, though.

"…College."

"I know that." I remember just how much I wanted to throw up my hands. Or clock him over the head with the potato. Whichever. "But, I mean… how did you meet her? And, more importantly, what is she?"

He blinked. I hated it when my brother acted like his head was full of dishwater on purpose. I still do. "What do you mean, 'what is she?' She's a person, Yuffs." He probably got the message from my expression, though, because he added in a whisper, "She's just someone I met. We have a couple of classes together. Why are you making this such a big deal?"

"Because she's a girl! You don't… I've never seen… And I've known you for sixteen years! You don't walk girls home—even partway—you're such an insensitive boor. For a while dad and I thought you didn't even like girls! But then you come around with this flower princess and you're not even going to tell me who she is or why she—"

Wow, that came out wonderfully. Good go, Yuffie. He'll really tell you everything now.

I remember how my brother's hand came up and chucked me gently under the chin, silencing me, and his shoulders squared again and all he'd say was, "You ought to look at that potato, not at me. Do you want to lose a finger?"

I didn't get to ask any more, because dad picked that moment to decide he was hungry and start shouting—good-naturedly, of course—for we useless excuses of spawn to hurry up with bloody dinner.

I remember being really, really frustrated. But not much else.

---

I remember the next few days. Or weeks. Or months. The one thing I have a hard time remembering is how much time actually passed.

I remember waiting at the bus stop every afternoon when classes let out, hiding behind the pages of a random pocketbook I had no real interest in, sneaking glances at the street out of the corner of my eye for my brother and his girl. I remember how infuriated I was because sometimes she came with him and sometimes she didn't, and there didn't seem to be a particular pattern but I was absolutely sure stupid Leon was just doing it to keep me from knowing too much.

All my nerves went haywire whenever I saw them turn the corner together, taking little notes in my head about what she was wearing and if he'd actually taken time to fix himself up nicely that day, and how closely together they walked, and whether or not they were talking and if he ever smiled when she laughed. But then whatever it was would always dissolve when they saw me; their choreography always changed when my brother nodded in my direction and lifted his head and walked a little faster, when Aerith smiled a different smile and followed a short way behind him instead of beside, and the sun inside her became something only he could see.

Most of all, I remember how that change wasn't the least bit sudden or awkward or jarring. Not like glass breaking. Like acting. Like they'd been acting for years.

I remember almost believing she really was just someone he'd met… and then thinking nothing he'd done in all the sixteen years I'd known him had ever irritated me quite this much.

I remember tailing him pretty obsessively during weekends, even—I always found some excuse to head out with him on as many errands as I could. I'm pretty sure he was sort of on to me, but he never did anything about it other than sigh and refuse to answer any questions I threw at him that had anything to do with you-know-who. So I stopped asking.

I remember running into Aerith once or twice like that, at the grocery store or whatever other place, and telling myself each time that I was going to draw her aside for a little bit to tell her what was on my mind, that I didn't mean to be nosy and I had no doubt she was a great girl but my brother was being an insensitive boor and all this secrecy was just killing me and just what the hell are the two of you on about? Except my brother would send me off before I could even open my mouth, to get something ridiculous that we probably didn't even need. So I missed… like a million chances.

I remember hiding behind the vegetable stand a million times and watching them while they did the proper shopping and walked and talked as much as they could while I was supposedly away. And if I was lucky I'd see her trace a hand along his arm, or him tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear when he thought no one was looking. Then she'd laugh, and he'd almost smile, and the tableau would actually hold for a few seconds more than usual.

---

I remember wondering a lot how he managed to hide it so well when we were at home—how he stayed so normal in front of me and Dad, when there was this girl who lived a couple of streets down who had the sun inside her and walked brushing shoulders with him when no one was looking and knew how to make him smile. Almost. I remember not understanding very much, if at all.

I asked Dad once if he'd ever noticed any difference. Dad grinned and patted my head, took a drag from his cigarette and told me we had already gone over this many, many years ago—Leon was not gay, just withdrawn.

"That's not what I mean!"

I could have died on the spot. But he just took another drag and cocked one eyebrow.

"So what do you mean, sweetheart?"

Well, I couldn't exactly answer that, now could I?

"Yuffie, unless you see your big brother with a guy—which, god, I hope you haven't because that'd just be fucking terrible, and I'd never wish that sort of shit on my baby girl, you know?—you shouldn't assume that he's—"

"I already told you, that's NOT what I mean!"

I remember resigning myself to a life of curiosity, suspense and stealth. For a few more months at least. Until my idiot brother got the balls to own up to both me and my father that he was not gay. I mean, seeing somebody, and therefore not gay. I remember thinking that the fact that we had ever thought that in the first place was all his fault, because he was such a blasted clam who never expressed one bit of interest in the female species, until now—and now that he did he was keeping that fact under a rock like he'd murdered the girl and not started going out with her.

I think I remember Leon peeking through the doorway when he heard my voice, amusement flickering across his face for maybe a second or two, but I'm not sure if I imagined it or not.

"Dad? Can I have a word?"

---

"Are we doing anything tomorrow night?"

"…Nah, I don't think so. Why d'you ask, son?"

"Would you mind if I had an acquaintance over for dinner?"

"Hmm? An 'acquaintance,' eh? Where from?"

"…Just a friend of mine, someone I have a few classes with. She lives a couple of streets down."

"Ohohoho! 'She!' Absolutely, then! By all means! And why stop at dinner?! Ask the girl to spend the night! Gods above, Leon, don't you have any man—Yuffie?! Yuffie, girl, what's the matter with you?!"

I remember choking on my own spit, rolling onto the floor shortly after, away from any objects I might use to stab my brother for keeping us in the dark.

I remember thinking the jerk owed me big time.