Title: Starvation
Author: Her Valentine
Summary: Not only did he want him, he craved him. And despite his refusal to acknowledge him, he needed him. Warning: Yaoi. Soriku.
A/N: Thank you for the kind words, I appreciate it.
Part II
With a lazy creak, the door met its frame as the light from the hallway was blocked out of the room.
Wrapping his arms around himself he sighed, eyes clenched tight as he slumped against the wall.
Slowly sliding down the wall, his breath quickened, chest working at an irregular pace as shoulders trembled and leanly muscled arms tightened their grip.
He'd broken down, slowly deteriorating into nothingness with only his own being as a means of support.
The shout of "Dinner." could be heard through the thin walls separating one room from the other, but he chose not to hear.
Chose to close his ears to all and to everything.
After several moments of ladened silence and thickening darkness, the boy was suddenly jolted out of his misery, freezing as a gentle 'tat' drummed a rhythm against his door.
The sudden and entirely unexpected 'tat' being the product of a concerned, controlled rapping of fingers against wood covered in white paint reached his ears.
"Sweetie, are you ok?"
A dull thud was the only form of response to be given as a head fell back to meet the wall.
"Riku? Did you not hear me call?"
"'M not hungry."
"Still, even if you don't feel like it, you should eat something." The voice coddled through the door that acted as a barrier.
Nostrils flared as the disheartened boy exhaled heavily, long fingered hand rising to staunch the trickling flow of moisture and wipe away all evidence of such. With heavy-hearted acquiescence, weary limbs reluctantly pulled themselves up as the boy found his feet again, hand following the texture of the wall, questing for the light switch.
Green eyes blinked rapidly, squinting in pain as they were agitated by the sudden flooding of light within the room.
Impatiently, the woman at the other end of the door turned the door's handle, jerking it open to allow her self in and across the threshold.
"Riku..." She began just before halting, eyes rapidly moving as she paused to take in her son's distressed state, "Oh, dear…are you alright?" Cold hands reached out to cup a heated face, moving gently over the red tinted cheeks and forehead. "You're warm." She stated, the mild burning beneath the pads of her fingers and palms of her hands confirming her observation, "Are you feeling alright?"
Riku blearily shook his head in negation, perturbing long, untamed bangs as they to settled in disarray around his face, veiling it as green eyes fell shut. He leaned in to the compassionate touch of his mother, almost relieved at the contact. At the pure, unconditional affection found from it.
"Take a warm bath," She commanded, "then lay down. I'll wake you up after a few hours to check your temperature and to force feed you, if I must." She lovingly patted her son's cheek before placing a maternal peck upon it, "Sleep well, Riku."
After a decision made in only a couple of seconds, he chose to skip the recommended bathing. Choosing to instead fall back into the welcomed haven that was his single-sized bed, to curl up onto his side, to pull the sheets and hand made quilt up and over his head ... to allow himself to fall into a state where nothing existed and nothing mattered as he was lulled into a sense of peace.
A peace in which all he knew was the back of his own eyelids and the numbness that settled over his body alongside rapid REM.
The unpleasantness of the sun piercing through his blinds, of birds croaking just outside of his window, and the damned-be blaring of his alarm was what Sora woke up to.
At precisely six thirty a.m. he rolled out of bed, murmuring something about men and mice and kings, who continued to dance and frolic in a frivolous affair within his mind, having crossed the bridge constructed over his night time reveries, leading to his current state of awareness.
By six thirty-five he was rummaging through his closet, trying to find something that wasn't two years too old, two sizes too small, or something he'd worn less than two weeks ago, finally deciding on a stripped collared shirt and baggy shorts.
Having donned his selection of clothing for the day, he continued through his morning rituals with a leaden heart and weary head.
When the minute hand of the black, leather banded wrist watch strapped around Sora's left wrist halted momentarily at the black, bolded '10', the dark haired boy sat down at the high-legged kitchen table that took up the near entirety of the quaint, detached dining room.
"G'morning." Sora managed in a groggy, rubber-tongued slur as he absent mindedly poured milk into his red bowl, followed by general brand corn flakes.
"Morning." His uncle murmured in acknowledgement, fingers digging into and worrying a crack on the black lacquered face of the table's top.
Sora eyed the plain and simple meal set forth in front of him, the very same meal he consumed every morning as a means of breaking his fast.
The spoon in hand was spun in half circles, alternating between clockwise and counter as he sat still and contemplated.
With a troubled mind, he dipped the spoon's head into the heterogeneous mixture of milk and cereal contained within his bowl, catching some to be shoveled up to his seeking, gaping mouth.
At first, he hadn't thought he was hungry. Now, he felt beyond famished.
He continued the shoveling motions rapidly, in a desperate, raving fashion.
The older man ceased his investigation of the grooves forced onto his table as he stared, open mouthed, and observed at his nephews actions.
Once the entirety of the cereal was consumed, Sora only stared wistfully at the bowl, eyes searching, seeking.
Looking for more.
For something.
For sustenance.
For substance.
"Kid. . .you hungry?" The man inquired of his nephew, bordering amusement in his astonishment.
Sora nodded, wordless.
As his uncle stood up, muttering something about the possibility of some bacon being in the fridge, the boy's posture sagged, slouching heavily as he slumped far within his chair, head coming to rest on top of the table.
Breathing rate increased to a gaping, stagnated rate as a trail of moisture made its trek down tanned features.
