brother
When wrapped in darkness, the touch of a body pressing against your own is reason enough to believe that you're alive. Or at least, so he thought, as he felt his stomach being jostled by the hard crevices of his brother's muscular shoulder, how his fingertips could taste the hard skin of leather with just a slight brush against his brother's back. His silver hair could not shimmer in so deep a darkness though he knew that his brother's hair would match his own, silver strand for silver strand. Because of the darkness, he could not see the crimson blood that stained his brother's stubby fingers. If he closed his eyes and took in the scent of the wood; the forest green of the trees and the dark earth underneath, he could forget Cloud, lying broken at the clearing, the sight of his blue eyes foggy with pain, his face lowered in defeat. His legs, plastered and heavy, slammed against his brother's stomach as he carried Yazoo like a child carrying a broken doll. Silence flowed between them, matched only by the pounding of his brother's feet as he ran through the forest, his eyes straight ahead, staring at a sight only he could see.
With one hand, Yazoo gently reached up to pat Loz gently on the head. He wanted to remember his brother but was grateful that he could not see Cloud's blood as it stained Loz's fingers, one, two, three.
The first thing Loz said, in a voice as rough as his memories, was, "Shoulda brought along the wheelchair." Yazoo shook his head, his eyes still closed as he lowered his hand from on top of Loz's head. "It's okay."
"Did they – do that to you?"
It was the flash of electricity surging through his legs, bare fists that slammed repeated against the soft of his cheeks. It had nothing to do with airships, a lithe girl who ate yogurt with honey and talked to him as he let his arms drop over the side of the deck, letting his palms kiss the sight of open skies. It was suits of identical blue, topped by black ties and faces that were relentless in their pursuit, the mechanical roar of a helicopter that sliced the air in angry splinters. It wasn't a fire that burned deep shadows into a cave, a man with crimson eyes that read out loud with a voice that lulled him to sleep or reprimanded, quite firmly, the excess use of alcohol as a means of dulling pain, either physical or mental.
"No."
Loz blinked twice and coughed, not expecting the strength of Yazoo's voice. "Then who did, brother?"
Yazoo leaned his forehead against the hard knobs of his brother's back, trying to forget that his brother's eyes could glisten with that much hate, how he could have torn Cloud apart if Yazoo, crawling through mud and rain both, took a hold of Loz's ankle within the vise of his arms and pleased him to stop.
It wasn't enough to erase the river of blood that followed Loz's footsteps as he lifted Yazoo tenderly from the ground, brushing back his bangs with a hand that smelled of blood. He shouldered Yazoo's slight body, securing placing a hand against Yazoo's waist before turning and running as fast as he could through the forest. It wasn't enough to see Cloud, alone, covered by mud and rain both.
Life did, brother. But even as the words raised from the pit of his stomach to form, like stones, in his mouth, Yazoo let them go, dying in the darkness.
"That's why we gotta stay together, Yaya." At the utterance of his childhood name, Yazoo's face flinched, as if recoiling from a slap. He remembered Loz carrying him whenever he was tired, falling asleep as they walked, flanked by the setting sun. Kadaj, his hair barely enough for a short ponytail, would run ahead, his arms carrying whatever food they managed to steal or beg off the streets, his face a wide smile. The sound of his voice and Loz's as they chatted happily was a soft chorus that promised safety and most of all, love. Yazoo would bury his face into Loz's strong shoulders, hugging his brother tightly and laughing at Kadaj. He would fall sleep, knowing that once he woke up, his brothers would wait for him to wake up before eating what little they had.
Back then, he only knew his brothers. He didn't know anything about ninjas and a country called Wutai, where they still wore kimonos and strapped katanas to their waist with a length of rope. He didn't know about redemption and how the word etched itself over and over on the covers of all his books, even the ones he read by firelight, reading out loud the best and most beautifully written parts. Vincent and Yuffie and their kindness, their love was something Yazoo never expected to find in a world that showed only its dark roots and bitter-cold corners to him. Back then, all he knew was his brothers who stood watch over him as he slept, clutching knives and sharpened stones against the jeering crowds that followed their steps.
"Did you miss me, Yaya?"
Yazoo opened his mouth to speak when Loz suddenly turned on his heel. He jumped over a fallen tree trunk, jostling Yazoo with that swift movement. There was a shadow that squealed as Loz reached out a hand and grabbed at her hair. He gently lowered Yazoo to sit on the wet ground as he pulled the screaming girl to him.
Yazoo blinked at the sight of her; her eyes were as wide and as bright as Yuffie's, smiling as she stuffed handful after handful of stolen candy into his deep pockets. Her face contorted itself in pain as Loz held onto the end of her braid, his mouth a narrow slit of anger.
"Were you following us?"
Her teeth clattered from the cold and from fear as he wound his fist over and over through her hair, yanking as hard as he could so her eyes were forced to stare up at his own. "Were you?"
"N-n-no." Yazoo let out a yell as he reached up to grab a hold of the girl's kicking legs, his face a plea against the anger that blossomed over the rough contours of Loz's face. "You heard her."
"Are you running off then, to tell your daddy?" Loz lifted her higher into the air, causing Yazoo's broken body to rise as well, as strands of his hair clung to his skull, his eyes pleading. "Loz, stop!"
"N-n-no…"
"You're not a kid. Look at how pretty you are."
"I won't tell.." Her voice was cut off as Loz tightened his other hand around her throat, causing for her eyes to widen in pain, his fingers burying against her virgin skin. "Won't --- tell ---"
"And how can I believe you, eh?"
"LOZ STOP IT!"
--
The glass shimmered in air, as if catching all the light that surrounded it in one quick, eager kiss and then crashed to the floor with a resounding scream. He lifted the plate of food high over his head and brought it crashing against the edge of the table, sending bits of meat and brown gravy over the old carpet.
And still, Yazoo remained in his chair, unheeding of the noise or the sight of Loz's angry eyes. He kept his eyes peering out the window, staring at the quickly passing landscape, the way the darkness was made of different shades of black; the crisscross of twilight and the absence of light, the foggy black that hugged the shadows of trees and the pitch of the sky, shaded lightly with lavender and purple. The table gave way, crashing against the wall of their enclosed compartment. Only then did Yazoo look up, in time to see Loz sink to the floor, lowering his head into Yazoo's lap.
His voice was muffled and with the dull roar of the train, Yazoo had to strain to hear his voice.
"-Only one."
Yazoo lifted both of his hands to encircle Loz's head, his fingers still flat, level with Loz's silver hair. He wanted to be away from his brother, this tall menacing shadow of man, with pale skin and bright eyes that reflected his own sins. He needed to think, about the price of blood and the consequences of hate, someplace where his brother's voice would not weigh as much as his head upon Yazoo's lap.
"I can't be the only one." He lifted his face to stare up Yazoo, the silver hair that fell beyond his shoulders, now falling to shade his eyes, so Loz could not tell if he was smiling or crying. "They'll hunt us, again and again."
"Because they can't forget."
Loz lowered his head to place a cheek against the hard plaster of Yazoo's legs as the river of spilled gravy shifted with the roll of the train, only to steep into his knees. His brother's breathing was slow, labored and Loz tried to match it. In the days that separated them, Yazoo's hair grew longer, and his face, when masked in shadow and flickering light, grew longer as well. Scratches on his cheek mirrored the latticework on the back of the hands that crisscrossed over Loz's head in a slight embrace. His brother's neck ran deep with a river and a stream of scars, red scars that traced itself from the underside of his chin past the collar of his shirt. Loz took a deep breath, and smelled the scent of his brother's shirt; there was a trace of something sweet, more refined than sugar and the dust of a traveled road. It was a scent too unfamiliar to Loz, who was accustomed to smelling nothing but stale bread and the light stench of gunpowder from his brother's slender frame.
"We got nobody else."
He got slapped, just one eager palm across his cheek when he said that, weeks and weeks ago, during lunch, causing Yuffie to get up from the dinner table, leaving behind a plate full of food. Cid lowered his beer bottle as if in shock and Yazoo couldn't meet his piercing, knowing stare. He stared at the metal table as the Seirra floated through clouds at high noon, reflecting back the sun and the shadows of birds both. He had felt a hand on his shoulder, and turning, he meet Vincent's crimson eyes, that stern look that shook Yazoo out of his sheepish state. With some help, Yazoo got up from his chair, grabbing hold of his crutches and balancing Yuffie's uneaten food with some difficulty. He knew Vincent and Cid watched him as he hobbled out of the kitchen, his eyes searching for the slight ninja and his mouth open, as if practicing his apology, again and again.
How to tell Loz that there was more than just darkness, little girls that screamed at the sight of brilliant eyes and a belief, suspended over your head like a halo, that is nothing more but that; a belief as thin as smoke? Kadaj will never come back, and Yazoo could feel pangs of distrust and fear creeping into his stomach as Loz continued to talk, his eyes glazing over until there was nothing human in his voice or the way he smiled up at Yazoo's lowered face.
"That's why we're going to Great Glacier. Don't you remember the snow before the forest, Yaya? Don't you think that's where he'll be waiting?"
"Who, Loz? Who'll be waiting?" Yazoo tried to remember the taste and touch of snow, if its coldness and the vast spread of white, as far as the eye could see, was real and not just a part of his fragmented memories. Loz's arms encircled Yazoo's waist and in his eyes, Yazoo saw the stretch of long, endless nights, where fingernails dug into soft flesh as if in reminder that they were real, and not something born of fake intentions and nightmares.
"Brother will be there."
--
He could barely lift the boy up the stairs, the pain of his stomach and shoulders igniting fire throughout his body. She watched him as he walked, clutching Denzel to his chest, his face a determined smile.
It was only when he made it up the stairs, leaning heavily against the wall did she reached out, her arms open and waiting. "Ya big lug, can't even ask for help even when you need it." Her eyes were the same shade of new earth, kissed by a streak of crimson and in the flickering light, her shadow against the wall seemed to grow wings, stretching towards entirety.
Instead of handing Denzel to her, he sank into her arms, pressing his cheek against her own, letting the sleeping boy lie between them, suspended by his strong hold. Her eyes widen in surprise, then soften as she breathed in the scent of Denzel, his little boy smell and the half eaten apple he clutched in one hand.
Cloud placed his lips against her cheek, sneaking a kiss against the corner of her mouth and then stood, straightening his back and pressing the sleeping boy closer to his body. From the frayed edges of his sleeves, Tifa could see the heavy bandages that wove themselves from his shoulder all the way down to his wrist, knowing that another bandage hugged the sides of his stomach, all the way to his chest. Three times a day, Cloud had to reapply them, peeling off the bandages with a flinching face and teeth gritted in determined. He would let them fall to the floor, curling like snakes and stained in blood as he turned his naked torso to Tifa and let her curl a fresh set of bandages around and about his body.
Then Denzel would gather the bandages up in a bag and run downstairs, asking Shera if he could get a cup of water for Cloud to take his pills with. They'll watch him gulp down different colored painkillers, pills that looked like candy almost and then he'll give the heavy glass back to Denzel, who carried it back downstairs with a solemn look. Tifa would help him from the bed and together, they'll watch Denzel play in Cid's garage, Cloud sometimes leaning his head over Denzel's own as they tried to piece together a toy airplane, or help Shera in the garden, digging up worms to be saved in a plastic container until the weekend, where Cid and Tifa would fly out to the lake and fish. All the sun and all the open spaces of Rocket Town made Denzel's skin glow, his pale complexion blossoming and made Cloud's recovery a gentle, eager thing.
Little rituals, like Cloud's bandages and Denzel's complaints about school while eating dinner, Cid's insistence to drink beer at breakfast and Shera's biscuits dipped in honey and sugar both, made everyone happy, at peace, though Cid carried his cell phone wherever he went and Shera and Tifa were hard at work, putting together a bedroom filled with books, just in case.
Just in case.
Tifa watched from the doorway, leaning her head against the doorframe, as Cloud gently placed Denzel on the bed, pulling blankets around his curled figure.
"She said Yazoo was just like 'Zel, always falling asleep in the middle of something."
Tifa shifted her eyes to the ground, refusing to look at Cloud as he slowly got up from his crouch near the bed, his bare feet barely making a sound as he crossed the wooden floor.
"She said give Yazoo a chance, everyone deserves it."
His arms around her felt warm, and she placed a hand at the base of his neck, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. They kissed, just once, placing lip against lip as hands wrapped themselves tightly over her slender waist. She took in the scent of him, the green of field and of tree, the slight undertone of diesel, fuel, silver, metal. Her hand gently ran through his hair, pulling apart one blond spike with her spread fingers.
"That's what I told 'Zel when he asked why I didn't fight Loz."
He gently raised his lips to kiss her forehead and hand in hand, they left the bedroom and the sleeping boy in it, leaving the door slight ajar. If Denzel was to cry out in his sleep, they could hear him and be by his side.
"Maybe they could save Loz too."
He smiled at her, and she squeezed his fingers. "Cloud, you can't underestimate what those two will do."
"I'm just prayin' they'll come back without havin' to blow up a small country."
She laughed, " 'Cause they're brothers, I'm sure Vincent and Yuffie will swoop down, rescue both of them and be here, complaining about how there's no food."
"I hope so, Tifa. I want to believe in what Yuffie said."
"What did she say?"
They were lying in bed, her hair falling into Cloud's upturned face as she stared down into his sapphire eyes. He looked more beautiful than she ever remembered.
"That everyone wants to be saved."
Before she lowered her lips to kiss him again, before their bodies rose and fell in rhythm, before his breath caught itself in the hook of her ear, before they clung and hugged and whimpered together, promising love, Tifa reached out a hand to turn off the lamp, her voice reflecting like a star in the darkness.
"Because everyone can be saved, Cloud."
There was nothing more but silence and then the rise and fall of their breaths, her naked back pressed against the sheets and his face, eyes closed in pleasure and then opening to stare at her, giving him every little part of her body and her heart. He tasted tears and her sweat and let her lips catch droplets of his own as they kissed and folded and unfolded to the half-filtered moon, the lazy hum of grasshoppers outside their window and the feeling of home, so far away.
His name coming from her lips was sweet as Cloud lowered himself to lie besides Tifa, catching the folds of her long hair with one hand. He kissed her again, and drew circles across her naked back with one finger.
"Everyone." She hugged him and before she fell asleep, her cheek pressed against the crisscross of his bandages, she tried to remember Cloud like this, holding her in his arms, letting himself laugh and cry and kiss and talk about home as if what waited for him was only happiness and Denzel going to school each morning and lying in bed with her every night. She wanted to remember Cloud happy, completely exhausted from love and pleasure both, where memory could not pierce the blanket that covered their entwined bodies.
Cloud held her, as if her body was the only thing he knew, and still, he could not sleep. He remembered the glow of Vincent's eyes, the way his mismatched hand curled around themselves.
What a world to live in, where heroes are marked by how much they lost, instead of how much they have.
Because he wanted to live the rest of his days in obscurity, because he wanted to soften his blades until the only thing they could cut was shadows, Cloud began to count the things he had, right next to him, breathing and alive and more real than memory. In the two weeks since Scar, surrounded by life, Cloud began to give up the part of him that was revered as hero by the rest of the world, the world that could not understand why Cloud held her so tightly, as if she'll slip away into thin air.
He lowered his mouth to kiss the top of Tifa's bent head and thought of how tightly her hand was, wrapped in Vincent's claw, that cold metal thing no one else would ever think about touching. How human she was, chuckling at Vincent's silence, and how much Cloud hoped Yuffie would save Vincent from the lonely road that stalked his footstep like an assassin, planning on slicing him down with regret and pain.
He wanted Vincent to be cured, and because of that, he prayed that Yazoo would allow himself to be saved, to be different from his brothers that saw only hatred everywhere they went.
"I want –" he whispered to Tifa's sleeping self, "- to believe that too, Tifa."
--
The knife's blade glimmered in the moonlight, and slowly, he lowered his hand. His hair fell towards his face as he watched Loz sleep.
Because he remember his brother, carrying him through the streets where no one would even look at then, was why Yazoo lost his reserve.
He sank to the floor, letting his breaths rise like a chorus over his head. He lifted both of hands to cover his face, to let his eye close against the soft of his skin. He could still smell blood, like a phantom, drifting from his brother's sleeping, slumped form.
The train cut through the night, and Yazoo was trying to remember blue sky, white clouds and a night that was more blue than black.
Brother.
--
"Whacha thinkin'?"
Her question was innocent enough and slowly, Vincent lowered his glaze from the window to stare down at her, her body sprawled on the seat, legs kicking mindlessly at the empty space above them.
He tugged free the corner of his cape that her head was resting on and titled his head to look up at the ceiling. "For family –"
"That's why Loz fought Cloud, that's why Cloud didn't fight back."
Yuffie straighten herself, placing her knees together as she sat up to look at Vincent's figure.
"It's all very ironic, isn't it, Yuffie?"
Her eyes glistened as she pulled her knees to her chest, and spoke, softly, just in case Vincent might hear her.
"But we're Yazoo's family now, aren't we?"
He leaned forward, staring down at her curled figure and let out a soft sigh. Reaching out a hand to place upon her head, Vincent spoke, his eyes straight ahead, "Yes."
He prayed she didn't see the glimmer of doubt that rose to his eyes, the doubt that tasted like a hot spark caught in the tender part of his throat, cutting off all words and letting only silence blossom over their heads.
--