A/N: This is for the wonderful reviewer who asked for a angst-y one. I seriously cried while writing it in my head (but then again, I was feeling pretty horrible that night anyway) so, I have a belief this will satisfy your weird craving to be sad (Lol, I love you, don't be mad I just said that XD). I'm sorry it's so long this time, but I was really trying to make it impacting. You'll see why by the end of it... btw, this is not the end of this series. I will have more chapters up as soon as possible.
~For Old Time's Sake~
There is something horribly off about tonight.
It's tangible in the air, undeniably there, yet you aren't going to admit it because you assume you're paranoid and you brush it off as if it's nothing. To make things more cliche (and all the more reason to brush it off as nothing) it's thrashing outside as if the sky and condensation are at war. The sky isn't just crying, it's screaming and sobbing. The lightening trapezing through the night sky are the cuts in it's heart shown brightly for only that half-second, eerily making no sound. Silence grips our house except for the drum of rain falling on our windows and roof.
For once, I can't sleep, but I couldn't tell you why. It isn't that I am staying up, waiting for him to come to bed, because I know he'll be here pretty soon and even if I did fall asleep he wouldn't be able to resist his urge to wrap his arms around me, even though it's been probably twenty years now. At first I wouldn't wake when he joined me, but in the beginning he had nightmares, and I was the only one he'd ever go to for comfort. He would hate himself for having to wake me up, or for waking me up by his death grip around me, but eventually the dark dreams went away. Now I awake because that's just how it is, how it's always been. The time we have sleeping side by side is our only time to be intimate, though as the years have gone by, the intensity and frequency isn't the passionate love it used to be.
Don't get the wrong idea; we still love each other, but we aren't teenagers anymore, or even young adults. No, we're both in our forties and no longer wanting sex every hour or two. That's natural, and I wouldn't want it any other way, really. I don't think he would either. I'm not the gullible, naive Sora anymore, and he isn't the dark, mysterious, slightly-lost Riku he used to be. You could say we've grown up, but even that would be an understatement after all our adventures together or otherwise.
The bedroom door opens quietly, and I close my eyes. I would let him know I'm awake like usual, but there's something about tonight that urges me to listen. And that's what I do. I listened to the shuffle of him stripping down to his boxers, the little yanks of his hairbrush going through his long, brilliant silver hair, and the creak of the bed as he carefully crawls next to me in his vain attempt to let me sleep on. Still, despite himself, his arm immediately goes under my neck while his other wraps around my chest. His nose goes to the crook between my neck and shoulder as he silently inhales, just like always.
A weird thought rises to the surface of my mind: Had I been taking these simple things for granted?
"Hey," I say, openning my eyes and glancing toward my life-long companion.
He sighs, "Hey," he replies hoarsely, tiredly. A crash outside surprises me, but I don't jump, and instead only shiver at his voice and the dark ambiance the crash gave it.
"Are you feeling ok?" I ask, knowing that something must be wrong if his voice is hoarse.
He hums, "Mm, nothing unusual to report."
This is also something that happens almost every night, the small talk anyway. I can't tell if I feel as if something's missing or I treasure this. The melancholy of the night is making me think too much, but I swear there's something different in his voice tonight.
"You sure?" I press on, worried.
He doesn't reply for several long moments, and that's when I know something really is wrong. I've been with him for a long time and I know he can't directly lie to me.
But then his voice rumbles out, "How long has it been now?" So he doesn't want me to question it yet, even though he knows I heard his voice break. Great.
I smile after contemplating his question. "Probably somewhere around twenty years."
"Hmp," I can hear the smile in his voice; although I hear his voice daily, tonight I savor every note. "Twenty three."
"Eh, I was close." I say, moving to face him. He accommodates me immediately, lifting his arm that's around me and his head, letting me turn over. Once I've settled into his contaigous warmth, his arm rests in the arch of my back. "You've always been the one with exact dates anyway."
"And you've always been the one who gets lucky with guessing." he replies, smirking slightly. I note how he actually has a slight crease in his face from smiling too much over the years. So I have had some impact on him in the past twenty three years. Good.
Both of us have aged, but not nearly as much as most. Due to our daily potions (and/or hi potions), constant exercise from work, and generally good health (with only one exception to that, but his condition doesn't make him age more) we've been told we look 30 instead of 40, which we take pride in. Our eyes still hold that spark, revealing the fire for life inside. That in itself was an accomplishment that took time for both of us to achieve.
Somehow along the way, our small talk turns into a great discussion about aging and our adventures in life. Very few of our stories are new to us since after age 17 we never did anything without the other, but we talk of these things anyway to connect deeper, like pulling a needle tied to a string sewn into two cloths, binding them tighter together. We're always connected, always bound, but these late-night talks renew some of the old passions and fuel the flame in our hearts. We laugh together, smile together like we're 17 again, just relieved to be together and no longer fighting.
Why do I feel like it's the last time?
The storm outside rages on, but we shut the melancholy, out engaging each other in fluent conversation. I push away my curiosity to what he's hiding, even as the hours go by and I could swear Riku's started to shake, and his voice has broke more than once. I know him well enough to know he won't explain until he wants to. Asking won't do anything, but as the night goes on, there's an anxiousness in my heart that only grows with my appreciation of him (which is always increasing). Our intertwined limbs and hands hinder my efforts to push the pending stress away; they make me ache as if I'm missing them even though it's right there.
What is wrong with me tonight? Why am I so worried and paranoid?
It's two A.M. now, and finally we've fallen into a mutual silence. We hold each other for a long time, neither falling asleep (I can tell by his breathing), but when I feel a tremor go through him for the fifth time in the past ten minutes, I have to ask, "Riku, why are you shaking? I haven't said anything till now, and deserve an explanation."
He looks into my eyes, knowing what I'm thinking. He must know by now that I'm thinking about that; he must know by now I'm worried sick about it. But he meets my gaze with determination, and once again I wonder if I'm worrying about nothing. How can that be it when he's looking at me so fiercely?
Suddenly, he rolls us both, me on my back with him on top straddling my hips, and kisses me deeply as if trying to reach my soul.
It works.
He pulls away, playing with my spiky brunette locks. The arm that isn't busy props him up on the other side of my head and that's the side he ducks toward before whispering in my ear, "For old time's sake?"
Despite myself, I blush a little bit. "But what about...?"
"I don't care."
I look at him worriedly, but he doesn't see it. I'm still a bit hesitant, not because I don't want it, but because I'm worried it'll put him in pain. He seems to read my thoughts and the hand in my hair leaves its post to trail down southernly, caressing the member hidden innocently under my plaid boxers. Once again, despite myself, my breath hitches slightly and becomes deeper; there's no denying I've become a little aroused because with his hand there, no matter what I say, that region will betray my words.
He's still too good to resist. It would be infuriating if he wasn't mine.
Sighing, I nod and guide his face towards mine though he doesn't need help. It's my way of invitation, and he takes it, kissing me again with perhaps a little bit more edge. Things get heated, and before I know it, it's been an hour and we're both lost to our pleasures, kissing roughly, panting, and moaning, feeling as if we're 20 again, like we are in our hearts. Even the thunder and heavy rain can't cover up our sounds but I wouldn't have it any other way.
We lie together side by side, sweating and trying to catch our breath. It's probably around 3 A.M. or later now, and I can't help but laugh at myself. "It's taking a lot longer to calm down than it used to."
He pants, "Tell me about it," and lets out a barkish kind of laugh. I smile, turning my face to him. I take in the way his hair sticks to his face from sweat, the way his cheeks are flushed, and the way his eyes are wild, like a glass of wine; some things never change. He's like my own personal brand of heroin.
I had almost forgotten about my worry for my silverette... until he started coughing violently a couple minutes later. His eyes look scared, almost as if he'd been expecting this, and I become afraid too. Automatically I take him into my arms, just like I do when he's sick, and he obliges to my temporary dominance, cuddling into me. He continues to cough off the side of my chest where his head lays. I take his hand and intertwine our fingers swiftly only to find his hand is trembling. "If you weren't feeling well, why did you decide to seduce me?"
Once again, he doesn't answer, just like several hours ago. Somehow it's still storming outside and more frightening than it was earlier. The anxious feeling comes back. "Is it...?"
"D-don't talk about it." he replies, sounding as scared as his eyes. That's when my blood turns cold; suddenly everything fits together.
Memories of that time come back, when he was terribly sick to the point he couldn't even stand. The doctor said it was cancer, but we knew better when chemotherapy didn't affect him at all. Letters between us and the different worlds revealed no one had ever heard of this before, and we all understood. Riku couldn't absorb the darkness of a whole world and expect it to just go away. Nothing compares the the horror I felt at the prospect of losing him or the shock of my so strong companion not being able to even move; we tried everything we could to get rid of the Darkness infecting everything from within him. King Mickey said it would likely 'go away' for awhile and only come back in bursts. Because it couldn't take his heart anymore, it'd work like a cancer. Now, whenever we had to talk about it, we called it his cancer to make it sound better than it was.
I didn't think it'd take him like this. I never thought it'd take him anytime soon.
"No. No, no, no. Riku, you aren't going anywhere." I say frantically, gripping his hair.
Something wet falls onto my chest and it instantly make my eyes water overwhelmingly. Tears fall down through the corners of my eyes, but I try desperately to make no sounds. Why tonight? He can't leave me. There is no way he's going tonight. What would I do without him? Is there any point to living without him?
I don't know what to do. There's nothing to do; we can't stop this. "How long did you know?" I ask thickly.
"For the past five hours."
"Goddamnit, Riku, you didn't have to over-exert yourself and it wouldn't have started! What the hell were you thinking?" I ask angrily. Was he trying to commit suicide!
"I-it wouldn't have mattered what I did, Sora. It's determined tonight."
"N-no! Y-you can't...!" He grips me tighter as I fall into despair.
"What do you expect me to do without you?" I cover my eyes with my free arm trying to hide my onslaught of tears going down my temples like a waterfall. He lifts his face and moves my arm, pinning it over my head. I glare at him tearfully; he knows I hate it when he has to watch me cry. He still looks scared and somehow it just makes me angrier.
"I don't want to think about you without me."
"How the fuck do you think about how I feel?" I respond, "You're leaving me behind!"
His eyes flash; he's just as hurt as I am. With a sorrowed glance I relent. "I'm sorry," I whisper to him.
"I know," he says shakily. Thats when the talking stops. His hair covers his face as he looks down to hide his own tears. He always hated crying, like me, but I don't let him run away from me. I entangle my fingers into his insanely long hair, proof of the years, and pull it back, unraveling the knots the strands recently acquired from me. He looks so beautiful even like this; I always told him he looks the best when he feels his worst, when he is vulnerable.
Minutes go by in sets of ten, but each second isn't taken for granted as I come to accept the little time we have left. I braid his hair like I used to, I kiss every inch of his skin softly and he looks away blushingly, glancing back because he can't not look. He pins me down and watches every expression I make, watching the emotions go through my eyes even though I try my best not to let them show. He attacks my neck with his lips, and tickles me even though he knows I hate it (or so he thinks). I laugh through tears and he smirks softly, trying not to let the tears clouding his icy turquoise eyes fall again. I push him around softly, muttering about how much of a sap he is and he pushes me completely off the bed in revenge, laughing as he calls me a sissy and lays down again, resisting those damn cough attacks.
I climb back to him, poking him in the chest, "You're an idiot."
"At least I don't have gravity-defying spikes for hair."
"Who's the one who has their hair down to his ass, eh? And you think you're seme!"
"I am seme," he says feigning arrogance, forcing me into a kiss.
I kiss him back but pay more attention to how his lips feel on mine. He's always had soft lips, his skin's always so soft. He's always put his true emotion into his kisses, making him more of a push-over than he'll ever admit. I've never told him how much I love this fact, and I don't tell myself this is the last time we'll be like this.
I don't think I could handle the thought.
Finally we pull away. "Ah, damnit." he says.
"What?" I ask, looking concerned all over again.
He looks away, "I can't move." My gaze softens, chosing to ignore the impact of the knowledge that this is the last set of ten minutes we have.
The tears are still in my eyes, but I ignore them too. "That's ok," I say, even though it isn't. I never told him how much it terrifies me to see him paralyzed by the darkness inside him.
He accepts my lie and I move his limbs to rest around my lithe form. He sighs sadly that he can't do it himself and at the same time happily that it was done at all. "Thanks," he says.
"Mm," I reply, placing my cheek on his shoulder and kissing his neck. I usually don't but I know he thinks its adorable when I do.
"Sora... Where do you go after this? Will the darkness...?" he says, staring determinedly at the ceiling.
A lump returns to my throat. I wish I knew the answer, but I rarely ever do. "You aren't going to the darkness if that's what you think." I say firmly, my mouth pressed into a thin line from anger at the very thought of it.
"I could always do what Kairi did and keep my heart with yours."
"I don't think it works that way." I say sadly.
"I know," he replies. A shiver goes through his body, and he mutters, "That... was odd."
"Odd how?" I ask, before gasping. His body suddenly dropped in temperature. "What the hell?" I exclaim.
Riku looks simply terrified but says nothing. With every shiver his body gets colder, and his breathing slows significantly. His heartbeat follows, and I listen with my ear to his chest in fascinated horror. Tears spring to my eyes again, but adrenaline urges me to just let them fall as my heart races and my thoughts become more and more frantic.
I want to scream, I want to sob, but the look in my silverette's eyes stops me from doing any of the above. I couldn't blame him and yell because I don't know what I would do without him, I don't know where he will go, or why this is happening to him, us. It's not his fault and I know that. If anything it's mine, for the whole misunderstanding in our teen years, and my tears stream down my face harder as I sit up and stare at the result of it all.
"Hey," he says thickly in protest, tears streaming slightly out of the corners of his eyes, "get back over here."
With a muffled sob I oblige, looping my arm around his shoulders and bringing myself down to hug him close. My other hand interlocks our fingers again and I bring them to the side of my chest, trying to warm his icy hands.
Minutes pass by in silence because there's nothing left to do or say except silently lament our sorrow with tears. Finally his breath becomes frighteningly laboured and his heart is only thumping lightly. His body is shivering against mine, and we know its the end.
"I love you, Sora." he croaks out thickly.
With wide eyes, I look up at him and reply just as brokenly, "I love you too. Always have."
Almost immediately after the words sucessfully leave my mouth, the shivering stops. His last breath leaves his lungs slowly, as if he's silently protesting, silently screaming at the horrid thing inside him that's stealing him away. But it's stronger than he is, and the breath is gone and no air comes into him again. His heart follows only moments behind, stopping suddenly as if someone froze it. The bright turquoise eyes I've been in love with for more than twenty three years darken and lose it's spark. A great rip of lightning illuminates the last shades of Riku and me, and only my cry of anguish outweights the crash of thunder that follows.
My best friend, my lover, my soul mate, is gone.
A/N: Well... what do you think? Did it make you want to cry? Were there any spots that needed to be written better? Rating on a scale of one to ten?