Lola

Ryoga irritatedly raps the back of his hand against the large oaken door. When there is no reply, he jabs the doorbell. The deep, sonorous tolling of the chimes can be heard even through the thick wood. If that doesn't wake the Arclights, nothing will. He crosses his arms and begins to tap his foot impatiently. A waste of time. That's what it was. Who cared if III had been absent for a month and a half? He himself had been gone for more than a few months at a time and no one came to help him.

Anyways, III was from a wealthy family. Perhaps he had found a better college to go to. Maybe he transferred abroad. If it hadn't been from the combined pleading of Yuma and Rio, he wouldn't have even been here in the first place. Originally, Yuma had planned to go with Ryoga until a last minute altercation with Kotori stopped him. From what Yuma had told him, Kotori had seen his grades and was demanding he study with her. Ryoga shrugs. Although he was almost never in school, his grades were excellent.

As he was about to turn and leave, IV answers the door. His supposed friend made no effort to mask his surprise as he saw him. Not even a rude reply escaped his lips.

"Ryoga," he said flatly.

"Who else?" retorts Ryoga.

"What are you doing here?"

"Delivering school work for your brother," says Ryoga as he shows IV the stack of papers in a bag.

Nodding slowly, IV backs away and beckons Ryoga to come inside. Ryoga shakes his head.

"I have some things to do. I can't stay long. Just give these to your brother."

"I insist," says IV as he opens the door wider. "I haven't seen you in awhile. What have you been up to?"

More than what you'd expect, thinks Ryoga as he hesitantly steps into the house. The wealthy furnishings of the Arclight mansion dazzled his eyes and he thought back to the Kamishiro mansion. Where his and the barians' home was renovated and furnished with modernism in mind, the Arclights' was the very opposite. Old money. Ryoga allows himself to be led through the halls and into the living room, where he is seated on a settee. Instead of cushioning him like a normal seat, it seemed to push against him with its unyielding surface. It seemed that guests were not a common occurrence here.

Seating himself across from Ryoga, Thomas musters up a smile. Meeting the smile with an unchanged expression, Ryoga tries to lean back against the settee. The straight back refuses to yield and an almost imperceptible frown tugs at his lips.

"This was originally Yuma's idea until he got in a fight about his grades with Kotori," mutters Ryoga.

"Ah, young love," sighs Thomas wistfully.

Ryoga rolls his eyes and sets Michael's assignments on the coffee table.

"Yuma wants to know about why III hasn't been coming to class as of late," says Ryoga plainly.

Thomas's smile wavers for a bit and he slowly stands up.

"It's complicated. Let me get us some refreshments."

He heads into the kitchen and grabs the kettle. Taking a bag of tea, he puts it in the kettle and fills it with water. He can hear the blood rushing through his ears and his heartbeat accelerating. Ryoga would never understand. Turning on the stove, he quickly sets the kettle on it, trying to quell his nervousness. Remain calm. He must remain calm. Provide a believable excuse. But Ryoga can tell when he's lying. Those sharp eyes of his had always been able to see through Thomas's theatrics.

Opening up the pantry, he grabs a packet of cookies and rips open the bag with shaking hands. Remain calm. He takes in a few deep breaths as he pours the contents of the bag onto a plate. Ryoga cannot grow suspicious. But those eyes of his...those wide, deep blue eyes of his would know. With his beautifully smooth skin...those thin eyebrows and those pink lips...If only Ryoga would smile more. He'd look so cute. No matter how grumpy Ryoga was, there was always something oddly endearing about him. Maybe it was from the silly way he dressed. Although he had dropped the gem-studded jacket (thank goodness) and the matching shoes, he had moved onto leather jackets with metallic spikes and low cut band t-shirts underneath. He supposes that it was just a darker version of his 14-year old outfit, with more spikes than gems.

Or maybe it was just his face that amused Thomas. Whenever he glared, his nose would always wrinkle up in the cutest way. It was always so fun, teasing him. If he could do that every day and watch his reactions...that would be pure bliss. The urge to add to his collection pulls at him and he knows that this is wrong. This is oh, so wrong. But wouldn't his dolls like a new addition? He's sure they would. Things have gotten quiet between them for the last few weeks. A new doll would make everyone excited. Oh, how he would tease the new doll! Perhaps even to the point of crying. The thought of Ryoga crying is odd in itself. But, thinks Thomas, it could be cute. He licks his lips as he looks down at the plain sugar cookies.

Michael had loved these. He never understood why. They were always so plain. Occasionally he would dip them in milk or with his tea but they had always proved disappointing. No one would mind if he added some sugar, would they? He goes to the third drawer in the kitchen and pulls it out. Moving the small spice jars to the side, he then lifts the false bottom away and smiles. A small bottle, filled with what looked like sugar stared up at him. In neat handwriting, Sleeping Tonic was written on a label faded with age. He unscrews the cap and sprinkles some of it onto the cookies. Then he places a few chocolate squares atop of the cookies. He would slowly eat those while avoiding the cookies to avoid suspicion.

This is wrong, a voice tells him as the tea kettle wails. For good measure, he scoops a bit of the powder and pours it into Ryoga's cup. This is wrong, the voice repeats again. Thomas turns off the stove. I know. He pours the tea into both cups and watches as the powder dissolves. If Ryoga wouldn't eat the cookies, he still had the tea. Pouring the rest of the tea into a teapot, he places everything on a tea service, mindful of which cup was his.

Ah, his father's secret stash was finally being put to good use. Despite their father's cheerful demeanor from before, he had always suffered from terrible migraines. No safe amount of pain medication could alleviate the pain and therefore, Byron had chosen sleep as his solution. Thomas could always tell when Byron had taken some of his medicine, for his father walked unsteadily and his eyes were drooping. His words were slurred and he couldn't walk up the stairs without assistance. The butler usually took him to his room whilst the maids tried their best to keep Thomas and his brothers from seeing their father in such a state. But Thomas had eventually seen it, secretly following his father around until he was led to the stash.

When he arrives in the living room, he places the tea service on the coffee table. Carefully, he gives Ryoga his cup and takes a chocolate square for himself. Ryoga sourly takes his cup and looks down at it.

"Took you long enough," he grumbles, blowing away the steam.

"You should've called," retorts Thomas.

Ryoga rolls his eyes and grabs a cookie. He takes a large bite out of it and swallows.

"So what's the deal with your brother's absences?" asks Ryoga.

Thomas lets out a sigh and blows on his tea. From over the cup, he watches Ryoga's reactions to his next words.

"He's been very sick," murmurs Thomas.

"Why didn't you call, then?" asks Ryoga contemptuously. He takes another bite of the cookie. This time, there is a slight raising of his eyebrow as he tastes the cookie, but nothing else.

Hopefully, the medicine didn't offset the taste too much. This is wrong.

"I've been so busy taking care of him that I forgot," admits Thomas. "He's bedridden and can't speak."

Ryoga acknowledges the reply with a nod. He scans the living room and blinks. The only sound that can be heard is the grandfather clock's ticking.

"Where's your older brother and Tron?"

Another sigh from Thomas. He takes a dainty sip of his tea and looks out the window. From the corner of his eye, he can tell that Ryoga's sharp eyes have remained focused on him.

"Out in the Arctic lab. I've tried to reach them, but they aren't answering."

There's a small shake of Ryoga's head as he takes another bite.

"So III isn't well enough to do his work, huh?" murmurs Ryoga as he looks at the stack of homework. "I'll take it back then."

"Don't bother yourself. He's too sick to do anything. Just stay here for a bit and talk. We haven't had a proper conversation in...ages," laughs Thomas.

Ryoga takes a sip of his tea and takes another cookie. He had dirt under his nails and the skin around them were peeling. Thomas would fix that. Beautiful, sturdy limbs that would lock in place. Yes, that would be perfect. Ryoga quickly finishes the cookie and takes another one. On the other hand, Thomas is only halfway sucking through his chocolate.

"I was so ready to get this over with, I didn't even have breakfast," Ryoga admits.

"That's fine! Eat as many as you'd like. We have so many of these, we don't even know what to do with them," chuckles Thomas.

Ryoga's eyebrow raises as he takes a bite out of his third cookie.

"You don't get a lot of guests, do you?"

"Unfortunately, no. Can't understand why though," replies Thomas breezily.

Another sip of tea. Followed by another finished cookie. Trying to hide his pleasure, Thomas begins another conversation.

"How is your sister?" he begins quietly.

There's a pause as Ryoga picks up a chocolate square. He then looks at Thomas with a guarded expression.

"The occasional nightmare here and there...otherwise, she's fine."

Thomas drains his teacup and pours himself another one.

"Me too."

Immediately, Ryoga's gaze sharpens.

"Of course you should. It was a horrific thing to do to an innocent bystander."

Much like Thomas, Ryoga's teacup has emptied.

"I'm truly sorry for what I did. I can't tell you how much I'm sorry. I never knew that the card would have done such a thing. But I know it doesn't excuse me," says Thomas quietly.

Ryoga nods with closed eyes. When he opens them, he glares at Thomas.

"Does Tron still think about what he did?" growls Ryoga.

The final letter from his father resurfaces in Thomas's mind.

"Yes. It haunts him every day," replies Thomas emotionlessly.

So much that he left.

Another nod from Ryoga.

"He has a conscience, then. I never expected that."

A spark of defensiveness flares in Thomas's chest. Of course his father had a conscience. He knows when things are wrong, yet willingly does them anyways. Just like me.

"We all regret our actions at one time or another," says Thomas as he takes another chocolate square.

"Some more than others," murmurs Ryoga, his eyes beginning to droop.

"Ah, well that's how life goes."

Ryoga rests his cheek on his hand, quietly looking out the window. He made such a pretty sight, the sun shining against his purple curls.

"Whenever there's a period of calm in our lives, I'm always worried that there's something lurking around the corner," he confesses, deep blue eyes growing distant.

They were so pretty, half closed like that.

"You don't need to worry about that anymore..," reassures Thomas.

He begins to clean up the table, Ryoga sleepily observing his movements. Entering the kitchen, Thomas places the cookies on a counter and opens up the fridge. Surely, someone would be paying him a visit in a few days. Placing the plate in the fridge, he then empties the teapot's contents into the sink. With a satisfied smile, he walks out to see Ryoga still sprawled on the couch, his eyes almost closed. Anger fills their depths.

"That shit was drugged...wasn't it?" growls Ryoga. "I'll never forgive you."

Shushing Ryoga, Thomas closes his eyes and holds Ryoga in his arms, waiting for his entire body to go limp. He would make an interesting doll. Cute and made to serve his every whim and need. Once he feels Ryoga's breathing slow down, he smiles and carries him upstairs.